The Witch of Eye (7 page)

Bemused, William watched her. Yes, he’d been right. He had a feeling this one was going to be a good worker and, to be honest, he could really do with another willing pair of hands to help around the farm, especially since his wife was so busy elsewhere.

Still, perhaps Margery was right to say she was far better employed in selling dreams to fine ladies of fashion, rather than working her fingers to the bone in a draughty dairy. One day, she promised, she would make enough money to buy him a holding of his own, making him the equal of his older brother Robert in Acton. Then he’d be grateful to her and he could take on all the dairymaids he wanted.

Margery was always one for grand ideas. A clever woman, too. William had to admit that Margery seemed popular with the fine ladies up at the palace and they did pay absurd amounts of money for what she sold to them. Her eyes lit up with laughter when she came home and regaled him with stories about which great ladies had paid ridiculously high prices for her creams, her lotions and perfumes. Gentlemen, too, for whom toothpicks, ear scoops or tweezers were absolutely essential aids to grooming. Yes, Margery was undoubtedly clever.

He shook his head and brought his attention back to the woman who was still sweeping the yard with great diligence and skill.

‘Thank you, Mistress Harding,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of you to do that.’

‘Oh, tut, that’s nothing,’ she said, straightening up. ‘It’s a pleasure. And please ... call me Jenna.’

‘Not jonnack?’

She laughed, delighted to realise that William Jourdemayne had a sense of humour to rival Robin’s.

‘No, not jonnack. Jenna will do very nicely, thank you!’

‘Very well, Jenna,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think I need trouble my wife to make a decision in your case. Consider yourself hired.’

***

M
argery made sure the linen squares were scrupulously clean before packing them up with the order. It would be stupid to run any risks with Lady Northumberland’s eyes for the sake of re-using a small pad of folded linen. She crossed the kitchen floor to the fire where a pan full of blue liquid was boiling ferociously, and judged it to have reduced by half since she had placed it on the hob.

‘Come in,’ she called, mildly irritated by a knock on the outer door.

‘Excuse me, mistress.’

Margery frowned. ‘Yes, Hawys, what is it?’ she said, wrapping a cloth around her hand before removing the pan of liquid from the fire and placing it on the hearthstone to cool. She straightened up. ‘Speak up, girl. Is there a problem in the dairy?’

‘It’s Kitty, Mistress Jourdemayne. The child has a terrible belly-ache and I wondered...’

‘Has she been sick?’

‘Yes, mistress, twice.’

‘Then it’s probably something she’s eaten.’

‘Well, yes, mistress, but I wondered whether you would be able to come down to the dairy to give her something to aid it?’

‘No, I’m far too busy. Make her an infusion of sweet camomile. That will help.’

‘And where would I...?’

‘Wait there.’ Margery went into her own room and closed the door to the kitchen. Really, these women didn’t seem capable of doing anything for themselves. Camomile was such a well-known cure for a stomach upset and it wasn’t difficult to make an infusion of it. Reaching for a coffer on the shelf, she took out a rough handful of dried camomile flowers and put them into a clean linen bag.

‘Here,’ she said as she returned to the kitchen. ‘Make the child an infusion of these in boiling water.’

‘Will I boil up the water here, mistress?’

‘No, Hawys, I’m busy here, you’ll have to take it to the brewhouse. And, remember, let the infusion cool before she drinks it. That should do the trick.’

‘And what if it doesn’t, mistress?’

‘It will,’ said Margery, becoming impatient. ‘Now, Hawys, I suggest you get back to the dairy as soon as you can. There’s always more than enough work to do.’

‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.’

The kitchen door closed behind Hawys and Margery turned her attention back to the saucepan. She tested the temperature of the blue liquid with a cautious finger. Her Ladyship must suffer dreadfully from pinkeye if her constant demand for Margery’s decoction of cornflowers was anything to go by. Her maid had come to the farm yet again this morning to buy a bottle of it for her mistress and Margery didn’t have any of the decoction made up, so the job was urgent.

Her Ladyship wanted some yarrow, too, to settle her stomach, though Margery was not sure it was the best remedy for the wind. Generally she preferred tansy but Lady Northumberland swore by the efficacy of yarrow and was rumoured to take it after every meal. And she was always prepared to pay good money for it, so why argue? If it meant a higher profit, that suited Margery very well.

But there was one problem. William said there was a big cattle drove coming up from Devon this afternoon. This meant all hands were needed to settle the animals and see to the milking so there wouldn’t be anyone available to deliver the order for her. She’d simply have to deliver it herself: she couldn’t let a good client down, she dared not. The word would spread around the palace that she was not reliable, so there was no other option. What with one thing and another, she certainly didn’t have time to go wandering down to the dairy to attend to that child, whatever her name was.

But at least William wouldn’t be getting under her feet tonight, not with the Devon drovers staying in Westminster for a day or two before returning home. He’d probably be in the ale house with his friend Robin Fairweather. It’s what they usually did.

***

T
he loft above the stable was much like many others where Jenna had slept during her journey from Devon, fragrant with stored hay and still retaining the warmth of the departed day. She stuffed hay into the canvas sack she’d brought with her, pleased that it seemed fairly clean: it would make a dry, comfortable pallet. She shook it vigorously then laid it flat and levelled the hay inside it before lying down. There were two other women already fast asleep in the gathering darkness, exhausted after a hard day’s work. Next to her, a much younger girl was still awake, wide-eyed in the gloom and apparently hungry for information about this newcomer to the farm.

‘So, whereabouts in Devon are you from?’ she asked.

‘Kingskerswell,’ Jenna answered shortly. She didn’t want to be quizzed.

‘And where might that be, then?’

‘If I told you, you’d be none the wiser. What about you? What’s your name?’

‘My real name is Keturah.’

‘That’s nice. It’s in the Bible, isn’t it? Wasn’t she one of Abraham’s wives?’

‘Yes, but I don’t care who she was. I hate my name. It’s horrible. Most people call me Kitty. I’d rather that.’

‘Then that’s what I’ll call you. Kitty. My name’s Jenna.’

‘Jenna? That’s a strange name!’

‘It’s from Cornwall.’

‘Is that in Devon?’

‘Well, down that way.’

‘I wouldn’t know anyway, like you said. We get drovers here from Devon sometimes. There’s one called Robin who comes here quite often.’

‘Yes, I know, I walked part of the way with him.’

‘With Robin! Oh, you’re so lucky! He’s lovely. I think I’m going to marry him when I grow up.’

‘Oh, really? Does he know that?’

‘No, not yet. I haven’t told him. But I expect I’ll tell him soon.’

Jenna smiled to herself in the half-darkness. This little girl sounded very young, ten or eleven years old perhaps, or less, still young enough to think all her problems would end at the altar. She’d learn soon enough that they didn’t.

‘I’m tired now, Kitty. I’d like to thank St Christopher for keeping me safe on the journey and then I’m going to go to sleep. I have work to do tomorrow!’

‘Where did you sleep when you were travelling?’ Young Kitty wanted to know everything.

Jenna sighed. ‘Well,’ she said, turning on her side, her back towards her persistent interrogator, ‘I mostly slept in hay lofts like this one. Under a hedge once or twice.’

‘It’s a good thing it was summer,’ Kitty observed, nodding sagely to herself.

‘Yes, it is, for lots of reasons. There was plenty of work to be had and the field workers always got fed. And I sometimes earned enough to pay for a share of a straw mattress. But nobody ever kept me awake like you’re doing. Now, Kitty, I really want to get to sleep.’ Jenna yawned exaggeratedly, feigning a tiredness she didn’t really feel. But she was not yet ready to confide in Kitty, or anyone else for that matter.

Kitty was not to be deflected. She inched closer to Jenna and leaned on one elbow, still determined to talk. ‘You’ll like it here,’ she said in a confidential tone. ‘The monks keep themselves to themselves and Master Jourdemayne is ever so nice, for all that he’s very fussy about keeping the dairy clean. No one likes his wife though – we call her Old Mother Madge – so it’s as well we don’t see much of her.’

‘Why is that?’

‘She spends a lot of time up at the palace. She makes creams and ointments and things like that and sells them to the gentry up there. I’ve heard tell she makes a tidy living at it, so she’s away quite often. Mind you, there was a time when she was away for a couple of months. But that was different.’ She waited: surely curiosity would get the better of Jenna.

‘Don’t you want to know why?’ she asked, after a long pause.

‘Oh, all right then. Why?’

‘She was in prison!’ Kitty said, dropping her voice dramatically.

Jenna twisted herself up to face her. Now it was her turn to be wide-eyed.

‘In prison! Really? What had she done?’

‘Well, it was never really proved, but I just remember it. Not many people do these days, because it was ... oh, I don’t know, a good few years ago. But I remember my mother saying she came out of prison in May. The ninth, I think it was. Or perhaps it was the tenth. Mind you, my mother’s dead long since, so I could be misremembering. But I can just remember her coming home to the farm, even though I was only a very, very little girl. I remember I was ever so frightened...’

‘Kitty!’ By now, Jenna was shaking Kitty’s arm. ‘What had she done? What was she accused of?’

Kitty paused again, a little too long, for the greatest dramatic impact.

‘Tell me, Kitty!’

Kitty took a deep breath and composed herself.

‘Witchcraft,’ she whispered in the darkness.

September 1435

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S
eptember was one of the busiest months of the year on the monastery’s manor farm. The harvest was barely home when Michaelmas was upon them. Hiring fairs were in full swing and not only were the quarterly rents due to be paid, but Abbot Harweden would also want to see the accounts for the whole year, and reckoning was not one of William Jourdemayne’s greatest talents. He hated doing it so much that he always found something else to do instead, putting it off until the very last moment, then becoming agitated about it. So he was more than grateful the new dairymaid had proved her claim to be able to keep account. Surprisingly, she appeared to be quite at ease with reckoning.

For her part, Jenna had been delighted to help, pleased to be entrusted with the responsibility of helping the Master in this way, even though she had only been working at the farm for little more than two months. Though the old days at Kingskerswell were slipping further and further into memory, she would always be able to use the skills she’d learned under the enthusiastic tuition of Parson Middleton. She could read moderately well, but her real talent was for figures and she was easily able to add up simple numbers in her head. But these days, when it came to more complicated calculations, she relied on using an abacus. Since she had never had occasion to use one before arriving at Eybury farm, it had taken more than a little determination to master the techniques required. But, having been shown the basic principles, she could now achieve correct answers to the most complicated calculations with impressive speed and unfailing accuracy.

In the small room behind the brewhouse which served as the tenant-farmer’s office, she sat across the table from the Master, a small frown of concentration on her forehead and a quill pen held awkwardly in her hand. The abacus lay on the table to one side and she was checking a column of figures on an accounts roll in front of her, her lips moving silently.

William watched her for a moment. ‘I do appreciate you doing this, Jenna,’ he said. ‘I confess it doesn’t come easily to me.’

Jenna looked up from her work. ‘That’s all right, master,’ she said, ‘though it’s much more difficult reckoning than I’m used to. The milk tallies are easy compared with this. But it does make sense eventually.’

She took a breath, hesitated a moment, and then spoke again. ‘You know, master, looking at what you’ve got here, I’m sure we could do better with the hens and geese. I do know about those. Each hen should be laying enough to give you four silver pence a year at market and if you were to buy another four dizzen –’

‘Dozen?’

‘Yes, four dozen hens, that would be a profit of one hundred and ninety-two pence a year for the farm, not for the monastery. The monks keep their own hens up there to provide for the refectory.’

‘Haven’t got time for hens,’ William said.

‘But ... just another three or four dozen birds...’

‘Neats are our main concern,’ he said, ‘then sheep. We only keep hens to provide eggs for the kitchen.’

‘Well, I’d look after them for you, and maybe I could take the extra eggs to market in Chelsea each week. Young Kitty could help me. It would teach her a bit of responsibility.’

‘Perhaps, one day,’ William said. ‘We’ll see.’

That seemed to be an end to it. But William’s expression softened. ‘By the way,’ he asked, ‘how is Kitty? I haven’t seen her lately.’

‘Kitty seems very happy,’ Jenna said, putting the abacus away tidily in its box. ‘She’ll make a fine dairymaid when she’s a bit older.’

‘Her mother was a good dairymaid. And if Kitty is half as good as Elizabeth was, she’ll do well. Perhaps she’ll be nearly as good as you are.’

Jenna smiled. She’d had to concede the argument about hens, but it didn’t really matter. William Jourdemayne was an agreeable man, easy to work for and appreciative of what she did. She was settling in well at Eybury Farm and beginning to forget the reasons why she had fled her old life – though she was still a little hard of hearing in her left ear, so she could never forget Jake.