The Vanishing Witch (34 page)

Why had Catlin not waited for him before dining? Edith always had for, as she used to say, it was what a dutiful wife should do. Now he’d be forced to eat alone from pies already cut and meats that been cooked too long. No one could have known the hour of his arrival, or even the day on which he was returning
but, angry, he dismissed that.

The moment the door opened, Leonia ran to him and flung her arms about him, pressing her face into his chest. He ran his fingers through her long silky curls, and kissed the top of her head. He was gratified by her delight, but it emphasised his new wife’s failure to come running the moment she had heard his horse in the yard. Indeed, he doubted she had heard it
at all for as he entered he’d seen Catlin’s head inclined towards a young man, so engrossed in conversation, that the house might have burned down around them and they wouldn’t have noticed.

The man was three-quarters turned away from the door and Robert’s heart gave a little jolt. For a moment he believed it was Jan, sitting in the chair he had always occupied since he was a little boy. But
instantly the image of his son vanished like a wraith at cockcrow to be replaced with the face of Catlin’s son, Edward.

Catlin rose and came towards him. ‘Robert, you’re home. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow at the earliest.’

‘Evidently,’ he snapped.

Catlin seemed not to notice the curtness in his tone, or his stiffness as he received, but did not return, her tender kiss. ‘I hope your business
was concluded well, my sweeting.’

‘Well enough.’ Robert strode to the laver set ready in the corner and washed his hands in the bowl of rose-scented water, splashing some over his face. Beata, who could move faster than Diot, handed him a clean linen napkin to dry his hands, smiling triumphantly at the tiny victory over her rival. Catlin poured her husband some wine, handing it to him as gracefully
as a virginal bride on her wedding day, but he offered no thanks to either woman. Beata was used to that, but a frown creased Catlin’s brow.

Robert strode to the head of the table, still clutching his goblet of wine and flopped into the great carved chair. The wooden joints groaned under his weight. Edward rose and made a courteous enough bow, but Robert was indignant that he resumed his seat
without waiting for the master of the house to give him leave, as if he thought he was more than a guest. Robert hadn’t agreed to Catlin’s son taking up residence in his house.

Adam and Leonia glanced at one another. Leonia’s eyes were glittering with excitement. The boy sensed she knew some secret, but wasn’t going to tell, not yet. He was quickly learning that Leonia enjoyed playing a watching
game. He hugged himself in a thrill of anticipation.

Robert helped himself to a large portion of veal pie and ate in silence for a while. Then he turned to Edward.

‘I’m surprised to find you here, Master Edward. I’d thought that since you no longer had to care for your mother and sister you’d be eager to seek your own way in the world, perhaps returning to your father’s kin. That is customary
for a son.’ Not, Robert thought sourly, that there had ever been much evidence of Edward ever doing his duty by his mother. Rather, he had dangled from her, like some bloated river leech.

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Catlin motioned him to silence with a slight shake of her head. ‘As I told you, Robert, after the evil my late husband, Warrick, committed, I couldn’t allow my children
to remain there and suffer the cruel tongues of our neighbours. Even when sons are innocent they are always blamed for the wrongdoing of their fathers.’

And fathers for the behaviour of their sons, Robert thought bitterly.

Adam glanced curiously at Leonia from under his long lashes, desperate to ask her what her father had done, for it must have been something terrible. But he knew he couldn’t
ask her, not even when they were alone. Leonia did not like to be questioned. She bestowed her secrets as a queen rewards her servants with gifts, only when they had pleased her.

‘There’s something else,’ Catlin said, leaning forward, ‘though I hadn’t intended to tell you so soon after your return, knowing it would distress you. While we were at mass on Sunday, someone entered our bedchamber.
Beata insists that whoever did it must have broken in, climbed up a ladder and through the casement. It might have been the Florentines or even that friar who was watching the warehouse. They slashed our bed, Robert. And I’m sure it was meant as a threat against us, a warning that they could break in and murder us as we sleep.’

Robert’s knife clattered to the floor as he stared at her in shock.
It was one thing to fear an ambush on the darkened street or out on the open road, but for someone to break into his own bedchamber, the one place he had thought himself safe . . . ‘Did they steal anything?’

Catlin shook her head. ‘They did nothing but slash the bedding.’

‘They did far more than that, Master Robert!’ Beata interrupted. ‘The worst of it was that evil thing they left on the bed.
Tell him about the skull and candles, Mistress. It still gives me the shivers just to think of such a curse in our house. It was witchcraft, that’s what it was.’

‘What?’ Robert demanded, now thoroughly shaken.

But Edward and Catlin were staring at Beata as if she was raving.

‘There was no skull, Beata,’ Catlin said gently.

‘There was! You saw it same as me, didn’t you, Master Edward? A seagull’s
skull with two candles wedged into it all stuck with thorns.’

Edward shook his head. ‘I saw nothing like that.’

‘And I came in shortly after you discovered the damage,’ Catlin said. ‘I should have been terrified if I’d seen anything so hideous but, as Edward said, there was no skull or any candles, save the usual ones Diot had set on the spikes and trimmed ready for the night.’

Diot had been
staring fixedly at Catlin, bewilderment and alarm on her plump face. Now she jerked, as if woken from a trance, and nodded vigorously. ‘Candles . . . on spikes . . . set them there myself, same as always. I always tend my mistress’s chamber. I know how she likes things arranged. Wouldn’t trust it to no one else.’

Beata looked in puzzlement at the faces round the table, as if they were babbling
in some foreign tongue. ‘The accursed thing was there, Master Robert, I swear it,’ she protested. ‘I saw it with my own eyes, right in the middle of the bed.’

‘Are you calling my mistress a liar?’ Diot said indignantly. ‘Witchcraft, curses, my mistress knows nothing about such things, nothing!’

Catlin grabbed the old woman’s hand, squeezing it so hard that Diot’s eyes opened wide in pain. ‘I
will tell you if and when I require you to speak remember!’ The old woman looked as if she was about to retort, but was silenced by a furious glare. She waddled out of the hall, massaging her hand. Her lips were compressed into a sullen pout, but there was a trace of fear in her faded eyes.

As if the exchange with Diot had never taken place, Catlin turned to Beata, with a kindly smile, her tone
gentle and patient. ‘Your confusion is understandable, Beata. It must have been a terrible shock finding the bed slashed. Perhaps the feathers from the pillows drifting about made you think of birds. In your distress you might easily have mistaken a shadow or a twist of the bedcover, for something more sinister.’

Beata began to protest again, but Robert held up a hand to silence her. ‘My wife
is quite upset enough as it is by someone breaking in, without you making it worse with wild stories. And I forbid you to frighten little Leonia.’

Leonia looked anything but fearful, rather as if she was hugging the dark image to herself in excitement.

‘Beata, would you be so good as to fetch some pickles for your master?’ Catlin said.

Robert was on the point of saying he didn’t want any, then
realised that this was Catlin’s way of getting Beata out of the room. Beata knew it too and banged the door unnecessarily hard as she left.

Catlin lowered her voice. ‘Robert, I am concerned about Beata. The way the bed was slashed was horrible . . . as if whoever had done it was mad or possessed by a fit of uncontrollable jealousy.’ She hesitated, glancing towards the closed door and tugging
her lip with her sharp white teeth. ‘Beata was alone in the house at the time and you’ve observed her hostility towards me, how possessive she is towards you and Adam. I confess I wondered if she might have . . .’

‘No!’ Robert flapped his hand in irritation. ‘All women are given to strange fancies from time to time, Edith certainly was, but Beata’s been with us since she was a girl and I’ve never
known her to attack anything or anyone. I can’t believe she’d do such a thing.’

Catlin gave an anxious smile, fingering her bloodstone necklace. ‘Poor Edith was so afraid of her and begged me not to let Beata near her when she was sick. It made me think . . . But, of course, you know your own servants. If
you
trust her, Robert, then it must have been someone from outside the household who broke
in. But, in any case, you will understand that I was greatly alarmed, especially for our children’s safety. I pleaded with Edward to move in with us. I knew you’d never want us to remain unprotected and defenceless.’

Robert nodded curtly at Edward. ‘You have my thanks. I’ll speak to Sheriff Thomas in the morning, insist his watch patrol this street day and night. You may rest assured, Catlin,
my dear, I’ll not allow anyone to get inside again.’

Catlin dressed her face with one of her most winning smiles. ‘It’s such a comfort for me to have my son close. I would fret so if he was in another city and I didn’t know if he was sick or well. We foolish women worry so about our children, don’t we?’ She reached out and squeezed Robert’s hand. ‘And I was telling Edward I was sure you could
find him a good position in your employ.’

Robert could understand Catlin trying to advance the cause of her son. He supposed Edith would have done the same, but Edward was hardly an orphan child to be found an apprenticeship. Besides, even though he was Catlin’s son, Robert could not bring himself to like the fellow, or see why he should. He wanted Edward gone. Robert’d had the pleasure of his
new bride for just a few weeks, and the last thing he wanted was her attention diverted from him to fussing over her son.

‘I’ve no work to offer Edward, my dear. As I’ve explained to you many times, our profits are falling and will continue to do so as long as the Flemish weavers remain in rebellion. With that and the huge sums those Florentine swindlers stole from us, I shall be hard put to
pay the wages of those men I already employ, never mind take on another. Besides, I need experienced men who know about wool and cloth, selling and shipping. I can’t let a squab loose in my warehouse. He’d ruin me in a week.’

‘I’m no squab!’ An angry flush spread over Edward’s face and his hands clenched into fists.

‘Edward,’ Catlin said warningly, ‘Robert meant that you know little about the
wool trade, which you must own is true. You will have to learn that people in Lincoln are plainly spoken.’

It was Robert’s turn to take umbrage. Was she accusing him of being uncouth in his speech? He prided himself on his manners.

Catlin turned the full light of her smile once more upon her husband. ‘My son knows he’s much to learn and he’s eager to do so. He’s willing to start in a humble
position until he’s proved his worth. For my sake, my sweeting,’ she wheedled. ‘He is my only son.’

But Robert had caught the sulky expression that flashed across Edward’s face, when Catlin had mentioned a humble position. He’d been in business long enough to know that giving a man a job he considers beneath him is like putting a rotten oyster into a barrel of good herring: it will corrupt the
whole mess of them. So, for the first time since he’d known her, Robert refused to surrender to Catlin’s coaxing.

‘I’ve nothing to offer him.’

He heaved himself to his feet and turned towards the stairs, but not before he’d caught the furious glare Edward directed towards Catlin. Far from being dismayed, Robert found himself positively gloating as he laboured up the steps. He prided himself
on being able to appraise the quality of a man as well as he could read that of a fleece. And the moment he’d clapped eyes on Edward he had concluded he was third-quality wool, taken from the legs of the beast, kempy and fouled with dung. Such wool will never take the master’s dye, no matter how long it is immersed: better to waste no time on it.

Robert was confident that as soon as Edward realised
there were no fat purses to be wheedled out of his mother’s new husband, all they’d see of him was the cloud of dust at his heels as he marched out of Lincoln.

A man who desires to know which of his family and neighbours will not live another year must stand in the church porch at midnight on Midsummer’s Eve. Then he shall see the spirits of those who are about to die come in solemn procession to the church.

The wool-walker hung back until he saw the women leave the house. Diot, clutching a basket, waddled out of the yard, dragging
Leonia by the hand. The wool-walker, thin as a weasel, slid into the shadow of the doorway as they passed. Diot, chattering to the girl, wouldn’t have noticed if half of the King’s army had been concealed in the archway, but Leonia turned and stared straight at him. The child’s face was expressionless, but there was a flash of recognition in those gold-flecked eyes. The wool-walker thought she might
draw the maid’s attention to him, but she said nothing, only frowned a little, then twisted round to look behind her, as if she were listening to someone. So intense was her gaze that the wool-walker, too, turned his head, expecting to see someone behind him, but the street was empty.

As soon as Diot and Leonia were out of sight, the wool-walker turned his attention back to the heavy gate in
the wall that led into the courtyard. He’d lingered outside Robert’s house for days, waiting for the right moment to approach. But so far, whenever Diot and the girl were out, Catlin was at home, or if she was out riding, the children were playing in the stables. He didn’t want to approach the house when any of the women were there.