Chapter 14

They were borne in savage triumph to the village and onto the green where the stocks and the whipping post stood.

“Where’s the beadle?” Phoebe demanded in a last-ditch attempt to avert this horror. “You cannot conduct this business without the beadle.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “And you cannot conduct it without the Justice of the Peace,” she continued on a rush of ascendancy. “Send for the Justice.”

“The Justice has no say in the matter of witches,” the witch finder declared in stentorian tones. “Strip her and seize her to the whipping post.”

He advanced on Meg and was about to rend the collar of her already torn gown when he gave a shout of triumph.

“Alia! She carries a serpent’s tooth at her neck.” He grabbed the thin string that held the tooth Phoebe had drawn, and snapped it. He held it up for the crowd. “See, the serpent’s tooth.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd!” Phoebe cried. “It’s her own tooth. I pulled it for her myself.”

“It takes a witch to defend a witch,” the finder said in triumph. The crowd’s murmur became full throated and Phoebe felt the terror she had so far held at bay begin to overwhelm her.

Two men rushed at Meg to seize her to the whipping post, and Phoebe closed her eyes under a wash of despair. Once the witch finder began his poking at Meg’s naked flesh with his long pins, looking for the devil’s mark, he would find it.

Not an inch of her skin would be left untouched; the most intimate crannies would be prodded. Every tiny blemish he would prick and they would bleed, but eventually he would find one that didn’t bleed. This witch finder would ensure that he found his witch, but he would give the crowd a good show before he did so.

Phoebe knew as Meg did that there were witch finders who would use a pin with a retractable point. At some point, when the crowd was sufficiently worked up, they would apply that pin and it would draw no blood. Their fanatical love of their profession, if thus it could be called, permitted any subterfuge. And Phoebe knew that they had here such a witch finder.

And soon it would be her turn.

But for the moment she was standing ignored, her hands bound behind her, all her senses straining towards Meg, who was lost to view in the crowd.

Olivia glided away from the throng. Phoebe’s heart jumped as she saw her. Olivia seemed to stroll away, casually, as if the scene no longer interested her. A couple of heads turned in her direction, but then the witch finder gave a cry and the mob surged forward jostling for a view.

Olivia stepped behind Phoebe. She knelt so that she was obscured by Phoebe’s body and began to saw at the bonds with the awkward carving knife, terrified she would cut Phoebe’s wrists. Phoebe held her breath and let her head droop as if in defeat, surreptitiously spreading her legs to give Olivia more of a shield.

The last strand broke. “Run!” Olivia hissed. “Before they finish with Meg.”

“I can’t leave her.” Phoebe knew they were wasting precious time, but her feet seemed planted in the ground.

“You c-can’t do her any good here!”

Phoebe saw her point. She turned and raced with her, across the green to the tangle of narrow lanes running off the main street. Every minute she expected to hear someone cry the alarm, but the interest in Meg and the witch finder was at fever pitch, and all eyes were riveted to the finder’s long pins as they slid into Meg’s flesh.

They reached the corner of Church Lane and stopped, panting for breath.

“What can we do?” Phoebe demanded on a gasp as she bent double trying to catch her breath. “We have to rescue Meg.” She looked desperately towards the village green. “Dear God! What can we do?”

“If they swim her, she’ll drown!” Olivia said, agonized. “Should we go for help? C-call my father?”

“There’s no time,” Phoebe said. She felt sick and exhausted and stupid.

A great shout went up from the rabble, and Phoebe and Olivia shivered at the surging triumph of the sound. And then the calls of “She has the mark… the devil’s mark. Swim the witch… swim the witch…” went up.

The crowd parted as the witch finder came through, brandishing his long needle. And only then did they notice the absence of their other victim. “Where’s the other witch?” he demanded in ringing tones.

A murmur grew from the crowd and it became clear to the pair in the lane that Lord Granville’s tenants were having second thoughts about pursuing his wife.

The witch finder tried to arouse them once more, but now that Lady Phoebe was no longer in front of them, they had no stomach for a second round of pins. They had their witch, they didn’t need two, and particularly one of Lady Phoebe’s standing.

They turned back to Meg, who lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, and “Swim the witch” rang out anew.

“We have to get to the river first.” It was all Phoebe could think of. Once at the riverbank maybe inspiration would come. “We’ll move much more quickly than the mob.” She turned and darted down Church Lane, leading the way through the lychgate and across the churchyard into the field beyond.

The field sloped down to the riverbank where Brian Morse was sitting his horse, his gun raised as he sighted on a flock of mallards that had broken cover under an onslaught from Cato’s hounds.

Brian fired and a duck tumbled from the sky, its blue-green breast luminous as it fell through sunlight. The dogs shot into the rushes to retrieve the bird, and it was then that Brian saw the two figures racing across the field towards him.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he murmured, sliding his gun into the loop on his saddle. Something was awry.

“Oh, you have a horse!” Phoebe exclaimed as she reached him a few paces ahead of Olivia. “Thank God for that! We can do nothing without one.”

“Yes, you have to help!” Olivia stated with a ferocious glare.

“They’re bringing our friend to the river to swim her for a witch,” Phoebe explained in a tumble of words. “You have to ride them down, pull her onto your horse, and ride with her to safety.”

“I have to do what?” Brian stared at her in disbelief. “What in the name of the devil are you talking about, Phoebe?”

“Don’t bring the devil into this!” Phoebe snapped. “We’ve had more than enough of him already. Oh, listen, they’re coming.” She grabbed his mount’s bridle, completely forgetting her fear of horses. “You have to do it. Ride them down, particularly the witch finder, and get Meg. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, don’t be obtuse!” Olivia exclaimed, stamping her foot in exasperation.

The sound of the mob grew closer. Brian glanced down at Phoebe again and there was calculation in his eye now. Would it benefit him to help her in whatever this craziness was?

Probably, he decided. Banked favors had their uses. He turned his horse to face the crowd seething towards them along the bank.

Immediately he saw the woman they were dragging along behind the tall figure of the witch finder, who strode out in front. Brian recognized in his eyes the glitter of the fanatic. He’d met his like before. They too had their uses.

“Where should I take her when I have her?” He shifted in the saddle, gathering up the reins. The horse sidled beneath him, sensing the preparation for action.

“To the manor,” Phoebe said. She and Olivia had moved behind Brian so that they were not immediately visible to the mob. “God knows what those bastards have done to her. She will need physicking. Hurry!”

“You’ll need to take Phoebe too,” Olivia stated. “They’ve lost her once. If they lose Meg, they may well lay hands on Phoebe again.”

“They’ve taken you… taken Lady Granville… up for a witch!” Brian whistled through his teeth. He could almost find it in him to feel sorry for Cato.