Witchfall (22 page)

‘And what is your part in all this?’

‘When I speak to the spirits, Meg, they tell me things to relay to my master. Secrets presented in coded images, or clues on how to interpret the deeper meaning of the Scriptures. Once or twice a month, the spirits will speak of this sublunar world, and give warnings or information they think might be helpful to my master.’

‘Sublunar?’

‘This planet,’ he murmured, gesturing around us. ‘All that lies beneath the moon.’

I glanced across at Alejandro, feeling his gaze steady on my back. I did not want to make him any more jealous, but I had to hear what Richard knew. ‘And these spirits told you about Marcus Dent?’

Richard nodded, watching my face. ‘When Dent was in Germany, he supervised the burning of a whole coven of
witches. The youngest was only fourteen but she was the most powerful. The spirit said this girl prophesied his death as she burnt.’

I felt my tongue dry in my mouth. ‘What . . . what did she say?’

‘That he would die at the hands of a witch. But not any witch. An English witch with the power to raise a dead King. That’s why Marcus Dent is so obsessed with hunting down every witch he can find. He’s killing them before they can kill him.’

I felt a warning in my spine and spun round, so nervous I nearly cried out in shock when I found Alejandro standing right behind me, listening to the apprentice’s story. He was very still.

His eyes met mine, a remembered pain in them. Suddenly I understood. He too had once unwittingly caused the death of a witch and been cursed for it. But not like this. This was no error.

I struggled to understand what Richard had told me. ‘A witch who could raise a dead King? Are you sure that’s what the spirit told you? Not . . . not a dead Queen?’

Richard raised his brows. ‘Why, do you have a preference?’

The door to the hut opened at that moment and our conversation had to end. The Lady Elizabeth emerged, thanking John Dee for his reading. She looked tired, but seemed to be arranging to meet him again the following
night, for there were other secrets he wished to share with her before he returned to London.

‘I’ll come back at nightfall tomorrow,’ Elizabeth promised him, and let him kiss her hand. ‘I shall not forget your loyalty, Master Dee.’

‘I pray you will not, my lady,’ Dee murmured, then hesitated. ‘I have been sent word by Bishop Bonner that I must join his household next month, for he has need of certain skills of mine. I am not sure what that means, but I cannot refuse such a man. He could have me back in prison with the slightest word. I trust you will not hold this against me in the future, my lady.’

Elizabeth looked aghast. ‘Bishop Bonner? He who has condemned so many true Protestant souls to the stake?’

‘Forgive me, my lady. I have no choice. To refuse him would arouse too many suspicions and lead to an accusation of heresy against myself.’

She nodded, thinking rapidly. ‘No, no, you must go. These are dark times, and what purpose would your death serve but to deprive me of another faithful servant? Accept Bonner’s invitation and keep yourself safe. But do what you can for the poor souls under his charge.’

John Dee bowed. ‘With all my heart, my lady.’

That night, I was woken by the sound of terrified screams. Alice and I staggered out of the bedchamber in our night-shifts, bleary-eyed, to find the household in darkness and
confusion. Young Lucy came running from the servants’ quarters with a lit candle to see what was wrong, old Rufus lolloping up the stairs after her, barking hysterically. Blanche Parry was shouting for help, and from the Lady Elizabeth’s room we could hear her struggling to restrain our mistress.

‘My lady?’

Blanche looked up as we rushed in, white and shaking as she pressed a writhing and bucking Lady Elizabeth down into the tangled bedclothes. ‘Quick! Help me to hold her ladyship still. I fear she will do herself a mischief in this fit.’

‘But what is it? What has alarmed her?’

The Lady Elizabeth clutched at my arm as I helped to restrain her. I had never seen her so wild, even in the grip of one of her violent tantrums. She was flushed and panting like a lunatic at the full moon, her face upturned to mine.

‘Oh Meg, Meg, please, you are the only one who can help me. I woke and saw him in the darkness. He was a terrible black shadow above the bed, with such long teeth! Yet I would know those cruel eyes anywhere. It was him, I tell you, in this very chamber!’ There was sweat glistening on her forehead and cheeks, and her hooked fingers dug like claws into my bare arm. She began to weep. ‘Do not leave me alone, I beg you. The shadow will creep back down the chimney as soon as the candle is out. He means to murder me, I know it!’

I could not understand her ravings. ‘Who, my lady?’

‘My father!’ she gasped, almost incoherent with fear. ‘My father that was King Henry when he was alive. He took my mother’s life, and now he has come back for me.’

The next day it began to rain heavily again. The rain poured down relentlessly all day, the sort of rain that soaks through a cloak to your skin in a few moments. It pooled and puddled under every ill-hung door and window frame in Hatfield House, leaving everyone miserable and the air damp as a grave. The Lady Elizabeth stayed in her room, stricken and with dark bruises under her eyes from want of sleep. I had sat in a chair at her bedside until dawn, for she would not let me leave for fear of the shadow creature’s return. Then I had stumbled down to the kitchen to beg some ale, for I did not wish to go back to bed myself even though it was now daylight. My body ached with exhaustion, yet my mind was sharp and keen, watchful for every shadow that moved in the house. I had left Elizabeth reading fervently from the Bible, and Blanche snoring on a hastily made-up trestle bed beside her, her hair in disarray, still wrapped in the cloak she had worn half the night to tend her mistress.

Bessie had gone out at first light in the cart with one of the grooms, to fetch flour from the mill to make bread. She came back sodden and in tears, the sack of flour ruined by the rain.

‘Father Toms is to be executed!’ Bessie exclaimed when
her father asked what was wrong. Her eyes red-rimmed with weeping, she stared around at us in wild despair. ‘As soon as the rain has dried, the miller says he will be burnt as a heretic, right there in the market square in front of his own church. Old Father Toms, the gentlest man in the world, who never harmed a soul in his life. To burn him for not saying the Mass right . . . Oh, it’s wicked! Wicked!’

Her father John was horrified, but said nothing, shaking his grey head. No doubt he did not wish to say anything that might sound treasonous. He looked at me, standing silent by the kitchen table, then pushed the ale across to me.

I thanked him and poured a fresh cup for Bessie. ‘Here, drink this,’ I said, putting my arm about her. ‘It will calm you.’

She drank, then sniffed, wiping her wet mouth on her sleeve. ‘Father Toms buried our mother. He married me and Ned, then buried Ned. I remember the holy Father at Lucy’s baptism, making the sign of the cross on her forehead.’ She shook her head, her mouth agape. ‘I don’t understand it. He’s a good man, Mistress Lytton. You’ve been at court, have you not, with the Lady Elizabeth. Tell us, why does the Queen do this? Burn an old man, almost in his dotage, and for what? Because of some old book?’

‘Hush now, Bessie, that’s enough,’ her father warned her. He glanced nervously at me, clearly unsure if I was a servant of Elizabeth’s choosing or planted in her household by the Queen. ‘Please forgive my daughter, Mistress Lytton. She’s
upset, that’s all. Father Toms has been our priest all her life. It goes hard to see him brought to such a cruel end. But we take Catholic Mass like everyone else and won’t hold with any other way of worship. I’m sure Queen Mary only does what’s right, God bless and preserve her. It’s not for us to question her ways, is it?’

I nodded, and left the kitchen. There was nothing I could say to help with their grief which would not sound like treason, or heresy, or both – and we all knew it. I made my way back to the Great Hall, fumbling along the unlit walls. It was hard not to be overwhelmed by the sense of creeping horror that I had been holding at bay ever since Elizabeth’s description of her nightmarish visitor. Her shadow monster had sounded remarkably like the vile creature I had seen on the ceiling at Hampton Court. But had her ladyship’s visitor been dream or reality?

King Henry. A dead King, indeed. What had Richard said of the witch who would eventually destroy Marcus Dent?

An English witch with the power to raise a dead King.

Well, I had not raised a dead King. The spirit I had called for the Lady Elizabeth had been her long-dead mother, Anne Boleyn, and she had slipped back into the spirit world afterwards as easily as she had slipped from life. So the prophecy could not refer to me, could it?

It was dark and chill in the stone-flagged passageway that led to the Great Hall. The wall tapestries flapped uneasily in
the draught and I could hear the constant depressing lash of rain outside, echoing about the walls. I felt something brush the back of my neck, light as breath, and turned, instantly on my guard against whatever evil might be baiting me.

But there was nothing there. Only shadows.

Alejandro was standing alone in the hall. My heart lightened at the sight of him, and I smiled, barely able to restrain myself from kissing him. ‘Looking for me?’

He nodded sombrely. ‘The Lady Elizabeth wishes you to consult with John Dee on the matter of her nightmare. He cannot come up to the house, for fear of being seen. So I am to escort you to his hiding place, under the guise of collecting plants for her ladyship’s medicine.’

‘Very well.’ I glanced about, but the hall was dark, the fire still unlit, and there was no one within earshot. ‘What is it? Are you still angry with me for talking to Dee’s apprentice? He knows many useful things that may help us.’

Alejandro looked at me, tight-lipped, and I knew I was right. He was jealous of my long conversation with Richard last night. ‘Such as?’

‘That Marcus Dent and John Dee were at university together.’ I saw his eyes widen and nodded. ‘And that Dent was once told he would die at the hands of a witch. Hence his deep hatred of witches.’

He frowned, searching my face. ‘And this is the only reason why you were so close with that boy last night?’

Daringly, I put my hand to his cheek. His skin was warm
and rough, as though he needed to shave. Alejandro did not flinch away this time, as he so often did when we might be seen, but let me touch him, his eyes intent on my mouth. Suddenly I was glad the fire was unlit and rain was darkening the high windows along the length of the hall, the shadows deep and intimate enough to hide us.

‘Can you doubt it?’

‘You smiled at him, Meg. I saw you.’

‘I smile at lots of people.’

‘I wanted to run him through with my blade.’ His dark eyes brooded on my face. ‘Then drag you away to Spain and force you to be my wife.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Is that all?’

‘Don’t laugh at me, Meg. I’m serious.’ His eyes closed briefly. ‘Do you know why I didn’t do that?’

‘Because you knew I would have turned you into a toad long before we reached Spain?’

Alejandro smiled and shook his head, his eyes opening. He put out a long finger and slowly traced the line of my mouth. ‘Because I am in love with you, Meg Lytton.’

My heart lurched to a halt, then juddered back into erratic life. I said nothing, largely because I did not know what to say. Though I knew what I wanted to do.

‘I want you to be in love with me too,’ he continued softly, taking a step closer so our bodies were almost touching. ‘I want you to choose to be my wife with all your heart and soul, not feel you have been forced to marry me. In my
country, it is common for marriages to be arranged between noble families before a girl is even a woman, and for a man to meet his bride for the first time on their wedding day. For myself, I do not believe this is how it should be done. So I will wait until the day you are sure and come to me willingly.’

‘Thank you,’ I managed huskily.

We were standing face to face, his finger stroking my cheek, my hand resting lightly on his shoulder. I wanted so badly for him to kiss me but did not dare suggest it, for I knew his desire was held on a tight leash when we were together, and it was unfair to tease him.

His voice was ragged. ‘It’s killing me, but I’ll wait.’

Our eyes met.

‘Meg . . .’ Alejandro gave a groan under his breath, then bent and brushed his lips across mine. On impulse, my hand curled about the back of his neck and held him there, my prisoner. He did not seem to object. Instead, the kiss deepened. His mouth explored mine. I could feel the full length of his body pressed against me.

His arm slipped about my waist and pulled me closer. My eyes closed and my cheeks began to flush with heat. I felt as though I was drowning again. Only this time I welcomed it, my whole body longing to be his.

A loud giggle from behind us broke the spell. ‘Well, I didn’t think priests were allowed to do that kind of thing!’

Alejandro released me abruptly and took a few steps back, a hard colour in his face.

‘Forgive me,’ he managed huskily, the words meant only for me, then he bowed and left the hall.

I struggled to catch my breath, straightening my gown as I turned to glare at Alice, her face alight with mischievous laughter.

‘What are you doing, creeping up on people like that?’ I demanded. ‘That wasn’t funny, Alice!’

‘I didn’t know you and Señor de Castillo were . . .’ She tried to hide her smile. ‘I take it he isn’t going to be a priest any more?’

‘For your information, he belongs to a Catholic order that is permitted to marry. And fight in battle too, so you can wipe that smirk off your face!’ But it was impossible to stay angry with her. I could still feel the imprint of Alejandro’s lips on mine, a warm glow spreading throughout my body. Was this how it would feel to be married to him, to have him kiss me like that every day of our lives? ‘Anyway, what did you want? I take it you had a good reason to interrupt us?’