Hiding From the Light

Exhausted, she slept the moment her head touched the pillow, one cat at her feet, the other in the crook of her elbow. In the bathroom the steam slowly cleared. As the temperature dropped one by one the old oak floorboards creaked, settling into place.

Quietly, Min extricated herself from Emma’s sleeping arms and, jumping from the bed to the window sill, sat staring down into the dark garden.

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The dream was there lying in wait for her. One moment she was drifting in and out of consciousness as she tried to get comfortable on the new unaccustomed mattress, still missing the solid reassuring form of Piers beside her, and the next she was standing, dressed in a long gown and embroidered shawl, in a strange room, by a heavy oak table staring at an open window where someone had called her name.

‘Mistress Sarah! Hurry!’ The figure at the window looked surreptitiously over his shoulder, clearly afraid. ‘Hopkins and his madmen have gone for Liza. You’ve got to come!’

She felt her stomach turn over with fear.

It was Hal. His father Tom managed the Bennetts’ farm. She hurried to the door. ‘Hal? Where are you?’

But he had already run away.

Her breath came in short gasps; her mouth was dry with terror. It was only when she could see the thatched roof of the cottage that she slowed down and began to think. Hopkins was a dangerous man. She knew how he worked, setting neighbour against neighbour, encouraging spite, subtly enflaming suspicion and engendering hatred. Anyone who crossed him or questioned his methods was liable to be arrested. Everyone despised him, but with the country at war with itself and everyone afraid, and with him claiming to have Parliament’s authority for what he did, there was no one to gainsay him. No one!

Her heart hammering under her ribs, she climbed awkwardly over the fence and tiptoed down the line of the hedge towards the back of the cottage. She could hear shouting. Men and women. They must have come and found Liza somewhere in the garden. Oh please God, let her be all right. There was a rousing cheer. She crept closer. She couldn’t see round the corner of the wall. Keeping out of the sight of the windows as best she could, she ran towards the cottage and edged carefully along under cover of the tall hollyhocks, then carefully she peered round. She could see them now, a crowd of men and women in the lane. They were bundling something – someone – into a cart. There was another cheer and they were gone. She could hear the horse’s hooves on the mud and stones of the lane and then the laughter and shouting of the crowd who followed behind.

‘Wait!’ she shouted. No sound came from her mouth. For a moment she found she couldn’t move, then she was running towards the gate. On the path she stopped suddenly, looking down. The old cat lay there, its body broken and bloody, its eyes still open as it stared up at the sky. ‘Oh no!’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Liza, no.’ She crept down the path into the cottage and stared round. The room was empty. Where was the other cat? Suddenly it was terribly important that she find him. ‘Blackie? Blackie, where are you?’

She glanced up the stairs. ‘Blackie. Are you there?’

The cat had crawled upstairs to die. It gazed at her from swiftly dimming eyes, its ribs broken, stomach and spleen ruptured, its face smashed, all from the boot of one man. As she knelt beside it and put a gentle hand on its head the pain and fear were already passing. In a minute it was dead.

She looked round, sobbing. ‘Liza?’ The word was soundless on her lips. ‘Liza, why didn’t you hide from them?’

Sweet Jesus. She could feel it. She could hear it in the echoes. Evil. Terror. Death.

‘Liza!’ She was screaming now as she ran down the stairs. ‘Liza, come back!’

Her sorrow and fear turning to anger, she ran towards the gate. There was no sign now of the rabble in the lane. The dust was settling. Nearby a thrush hopped out of the hedge, a snail in its beak, looking for its usual anvil. The stone had been pushed to one side by the scrabbling of a dozen pairs of feet but the bird spotted it at once and began to hammer the shell in quick brutal thumps as she watched.

Sobbing, she made her way home.

‘Papa?’ There was no answer. ‘Papa? Where are you?’ Her voice echoed down the oak-panelled corridor.

He was in the great hall, speaking to his steward. ‘What is it, Sarah?’ Anthony Bennett turned with a frown. His expression softened as he saw his only daughter.

‘They have taken Liza. The witchfinder and his rabble have taken Liza, Papa. You have to do something!’ She saw her father’s steward scowl. John Pepper had worked for the Bennetts for as long as she could remember. She had never liked him.

‘It was only a matter of time, mistress. That old woman has cast the evil eye too often for my taste, or anyone else’s in the town.’

‘That’s not true!’ Sarah’s eyes blazed. ‘She has done nothing but good. I remember her making medicines for your family many a time, John Pepper!’

‘And my family died, mistress!’ The retort had an almost triumphant tone to it.

‘They died of marsh ague, not of a curse!’ She was indignant.

‘And who is to say that? Liza gave them medicines. Maybe they were poisoned.’

‘Enough!’ Anthony Bennett slammed the book he had been holding down onto the table. ‘Leave us please, John. We’ll continue our discussion later. Sarah, calm yourself. I fear there is nothing you can do. The law must take its course. I am sure justice will be done.’

‘Justice!’ Sarah stared at him, white-faced. ‘Where was the justice for the others? They had done nothing wrong.’

‘If that were true, my darling, they would not have been hanged.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come and sit by me and we will discuss it, see if there is something we can do.’

She was trembling. ‘He will hurt her, Papa. He will force a confession.’

Anthony Bennett frowned. ‘Liza is not entirely innocent of whatever charges have been laid against her, Sarah. You and I both know that. Her intentions may have been benign, but her methods have not always been Christian.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Have never been Christian, if we are honest! That is, sweet daughter, why your mother first dismissed her from our service. She decided Liza was not a fit nurse for you.’

Sarah’s face was burning with indignation. ‘But you brought her back, Papa, after Mama died. And she cared for me as her own child. She never harmed me –’

‘No. She never harmed any of us. She has been loyal and kind to the Bennett family, which is why I gave her the cottage, and for that reason we will support her and do what we can for her.’ He stood up and walked towards the window. His elbow resting against a carved wooden mullion, he stared down into the garden. ‘I will speak to our neighbour, Sir Harbottle, who may well end up the judge of the case,’ he said slowly. ‘Our friendship is severely strained however, as you know, as he is for Parliament and we are for the king. It is not a good time to seek favours.’ He turned back to her. ‘You must leave this to me, Sarah.’ His voice was suddenly stern. ‘Do not become involved.’ He knew his daughter. For a while, during her short-lived marriage to Robert Paxman, she had settled into blissfully demure matronhood, or so it had seemed to her father. He had sighed with relief. His daughter was safely settled, married to a good, wealthy man. Not gentry, as he would have wished – she had spurned the suitable men whom Anthony had produced for her inspection – but a decent burgess of Colchester who was strong, well-educated, successful and she adored him. The only blight on their five-year marriage had been the emptiness of the nursery. The cradle remained unused, to Robert and Sarah’s deep unhappiness, and when Robert had died of the pox Sarah was left wealthy, independent, and alone. Anthony sighed. This was the third time she had ridden over to see him in as many weeks. The loneliness was beginning to wear her down.