“This sounds strange from your mouth.”

“I see what is going on around me. Who cannot, when it is so obvious? But you are too blind to notice, it seems. So I thought, at least. I thought you were a simple scholar who was so enthusiastic about his learning that he would share it with anyone. But that is not the case. For having taught her that she can be listened to, and made it so this becomes the one day in the week she looks forward to, you then cast her off, and will have nothing to do with her anymore. Then take her back again. What will you think of to hurt her now, Mr. Wood? I should never have let you into my house.”

“I never intended her hurt. And as for the rest, I think that I have taught her nothing. She seems to be the teacher now, I think.”

She looked immeasurably sad, and reluctantly nodded. “I am very frightened for her. She is so strange now, I think she must come to harm.”

“When did she start speaking at meetings?”

She looked at me sharply. “You know of this? Did she tell you?”

“I found out on my own.”

“When Ned came back that last time, and then we heard he was dead, we talked time and again about him; it was our memorial for him as we could not bury his body. We talked of his parents and his life, and his battles and campaigns. I was grief-stricken, as I loved him very much; he was all the world to me and my greatest comfort. But my grief led me into indiscretion and Sarah never misses anything. I talked about the Edgehill campaign, when Ned commanded a platoon, and ended with a whole company of his own, and I told how he was away for more than a year, and how much I missed him.” I nodded, thinking there must be a point to this, for she was not a woman to ramble in speech, even when ill.

“Sarah looked at me very quietly and gently, and asked the simple question she had never asked before. ‘So who, then, is my father?”

She stopped until she was satisfied that my face did not register disgust.

“It was true, of course. Ned was away for a year, and Sarah was born three weeks before he returned. He never questioned or reproached me, and always treated Sarah as his own; the matter was never referred to again, but sometimes, when I saw them sitting together by the fire, with him teaching her to read, or telling her stories, or just holding her to him, I could see a sadness in his eyes, and I felt grief-stricken for him. He was the very best of men, Mr. Wood. He truly was.”

“And what was the answer to the question?”

She shook her head. “I will not lie, and cannot tell the truth. I spend my days and nights considering my sins to prepare for my death, and I need all the time I have left. I have never claimed to be a good woman in any way, and there is much to repent. But the Lord will not reproach me for fornication.”

Still not an answer to my question, but I hardly wanted to know in any case; I take little pleasure in such gossipy matters at the best of times, and Anne Blundy in any case was beginning to drift from me into her memories.

“I had a dream, the most wonderful dream of my life, that I was surrounded by doves, and one dove perched on my arm, and spoke to me. ‘Call her Sarah, and love her,’ it said. ‘And you will be blessed amongst women.”

I found myself shivering strangely as she said this, then smiled bravely at her. “You have done as you were told, at least.”

“Thank you, sir. I have. Shortly after I told her this, Sarah started traveling and talking.”

“And healing?”

“Yes.”

“Who was that man? The one I saw leaving the house a few months back?”

She thought for a moment, to decide how much to say.

“His name was Greatorex, and he calls himself an astrologer.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. I was here when he knocked on the door. I opened it and he was standing there, white as a sheet and trembling with fear. I asked him who he was, but he was so frightened he could not say anything to me. Then Sarah called from inside that I was to let him in. And he came in, and he just went down on his knees in front of her and asked her blessing.”

The memory still alarmed the mother, and the telling of it alarmed me.

“Then what?”

“Sarah took him by the hand, and told him to stand as if she was not at all surprised, then led him to the seat by the fire. They talked for more than an hour.”

“What about?”

“Sarah asked me to leave them alone, so I didn’t hear. Just the beginning. This man said he had signs of Sarah in the stars, and had crossed the sea and traveled here to see her, as they had directed him.”

“For we have seen the star, and are come to worship,” I said quietly, and Anne Blundy looked sharply at me.

“Do not say things like that, Mr. Wood,” she said. “Please do not. Or you will turn as mad as I am becoming.”

“I am well past the stage of madness,” I said. “And I am frightened beyond speech.”

I now had only a short time to follow the urgings of my conscience, for the trial was due to begin, and the preparations for the assize were already under way. I drank a certain amount before I could force myself to act, and I still recoiled from my task. But eventually I succeeded in overcoming my cowardice and walked to Holywell to ask for an audience with Sir John Fulgrove, the magistrate. Though it was his busiest day of the year, he granted my request, but did so with such brusqueness that I became even more nervous, and stammered and shook as I tried to speak. “Well, man? I don’t have all day.”

“It is about Sarah Blundy,” I said eventually.

“Well? What of her?”

“She is innocent, I know it.” A simple sentence, but it cost me an agony to come out with it, to step over the cliff and willingly cast myself down into the inevitable perdition that must follow. I claim nothing for my courage, my honor or my fortitude. I know, better than most, what I am. I was not born to be a hero, and will never be one of those to whom future ages look for example and instruction. Other men than myself, better men I should say, would have said these words earlier, and with more dignity of manner than the poor, sweating, shaking performance that I put on. Yet we must do as we can; I could do no more than this and, though it might elicit a sneer from those stronger than myself, I say that it was the most courageous act of my life.

“And how do you know it?”

As best I could, I repeated my story, and said that I had placed the poison in the bottle.

“She was seen in the college,” he said.

“She was not there.”

“How do you know?”

To this I could not reply, having given my solemn word that I would not betray her on the matter of her prophesying. So I lied instead, and in the lie, ruined all.

“She was with me.”

“Where?”

“In my room.”

“When did she leave?”

“She did not. She stayed with me all night.”

“And your family will say this?”

“They did not see her.”

“They were in the house, I imagine? I can ask them, you know.”

“I’m sure they were in the house.”

“And did not see her enter, did not see her climb to your room, did not see her leave again?”

“No.”

“Heard nothing all night long?”

“No.”

“I see. And you took this powder to his room for the purpose?”

“No. He had it there, and asked me to add it to his bottle for his stomachache.”

“But not half an hour before, he had been told it was useless, and said he would never use it again.”

“He did not mean it.”

“Everybody who heard him believed he did, and was grateful to the Italian for the advice.”

“He was not.”

“That is corroborated by witnesses who were present.”

“I cannot help that.”

“And can you tell me how Dr. Grove’s gold signet ring came to be discovered in her hands? Did you steal from his body and place it there?”