The Elsingham Portrait

Fifteen


Elspeth Cameron was having a particularly bad day. The bread had fallen into a doughy mess in the oven, the soup had burned, and the milk, left to cool in the ice house, had acquired a peculiar, bitter taste. Elspeth, grim-lipped, knew What Had Happened. Some evilly-disposed person was “over-looking” her.

Feeding her jealousy, she disregarded all the rational explanations for what had occurred, and convinced herself that the Witch of Brionny was attacking her. She debated whether to warn the Vicar—he was not of her faith, being High Church of England, the next thing to Popery in her Covenanting mind—but he was a decent, honest man, if gullible. He’d taken the Strange Woman in and let her run tame in his house. No telling what spells the witch had cast, what evil she had already done.

The villagers at Crofton and Elsinghurst, a gaggle of feckless fools, were forever praising the creature. What a fine piece of work she’d made of getting the Vicar’s books in order; how learned she was for a woman! For nearly two weeks Elspeth had had to listen to it. The fools were even talking of asking the creature to set up a dame’s school for their children!

“ ‘A false prophet shall show great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray even the elect!’ ” Elspeth quoted grimly to herself. She loved the chapter in Matthew which foretold famines and earthquakes and the abomination of desolation. Well, she decided, the besom won’t lead me astray!

Elspeth got her shawl, put it over her head, harnessed the cob to the trap, and set out for Crofton. First she’d talk to that Debbie at the inn, the girl who’d brought the lock of red hair. Likely she’d be able to tell how Mistress Radcliffe had arrived at the inn—who was with her—what had been said and done . . . Elspeth drove along the lane, oblivious of its fresh beauty, planning ways to discredit the witch.

Luck was with her.

She was talking to Debbie, asking her for every possible detail about ‘Mistress Radcliffe’s’ arrival, when the London coach clattered past the inn, with its usual attendant racket.

Debbie twisted her hands together. “It’s like I told you, Mistress Cameron, I found the one curl of pretty hair under the bureau, where I reckon Mistress Radcliffe dropped it. I truly got to go now! There goes coach, and Master be very strict about getting ready for custom!” She ran off, thankful to be away from her sour-faced inquisitor.

Elspeth, left standing in the inn parlor, debated the wisdom of staying longer in hopes of extracting further information. So far she hadn’t got much. The woman had come alone on the stage coach from London. She’d been heavily veiled. She’d paid promptly and well. Would Lady Nadine Elsingham have ridden on a common coach? Not too likely. Elspeth glanced out the window. A tall, veiled woman clothed all in black was coming to the front door of the inn. Another of them! Was there a coven of witches gathering? With a thrill of pure horror, Elspeth went grimly out to challenge the forces of evil.

The woman was speaking to Debbie in a foreign accent.

“Can you be after tellin’ me, my dearie, if a pretty red-haired lady has come hereabouts in the last little while?”

“Oh, you must mean Mistress Radcliffe, ma’am,” said Debbie.

“Must I, then?” smiled the stranger encouragingly.

“If you mean the young widow—she’s the prettiest red-haired lady I ever seen! She came here three weeks back and is living at Bennet Farm, between here and Elsinghurst,” explained Debbie in a burst of words. “The one that’s from America?”

The strange lady, putting back her veil, smiled broadly. “My own dear daughter! I have found her at last!” She raised her flat black beady eyes to the sky piously. “Heaven has heard a mother’s prayers! Bless you, my child! You said she was in Elsinghurst, at the Bennet Farm?”

Elspeth could no longer resist the urge to meddle. She came out onto the wide inn porch and confronted the black-clad stranger. “You are claiming that Mistress Radcliffe is your daughter?”

The gaunt female, who certainly bore no resemblance to the red-headed temptress, fixed Elspeth with a glance at once fawning and vaguely threatening. “Sure an’ we heard her young husband was killed in the Colonies, and it fair drove her mad with grief! The poor girleen ran away from her loving mother and all her good friends. ‘Tis frantic we’ve been, trying to find her, for we feared she would do herself a mischief in her grief-stricken state. But I have that which will calm her mind and restore her happiness! Her own dear husband, not killed after all, but returned safely to her.”

She pointed down the road, where a handsome youth trudged toward them from the direction of the other inn. “Asking for her all along the London road, we’ve been! I’ll just run to tell Adrian that his poor wife is found!”

The black-clad woman hurried toward the man and they had a conference by the road. Then they both came toward the inn. Elspeth scrutinized them carefully. She was reluctant to abandon her conviction that Kathryn Radcliffe was a witch, whether or not she was Lady Nadine. Still, if she was crazed, and her mother and husband had come to take her back to London, that should serve almost as well. It would get rid of her. Elspeth realized that having Kathryn taken away out of all their lives was the thing she wanted most in the world. She neither liked nor trusted the newcomer, and the young man appeared to be no better than he should be—very flashy and bad-tempered he sounded, with his voice raised to his mother-in-law like a spoiled bairn. But then, thought Elspeth, with a surge of relief which quite surprised her by its intensity, I don’t have to live with any of them, and they will take that creature away from here!

She resolved to help them all she could. “I’m Elspeth Cameron of Bennet Farm,” she announced, approaching the arguing pair briskly. “Debbie has misinformed you. Your daughter’s not at our farm. She’s staying at the Reverend Archibald Percy’s vicarage, over near Elsinghurst. You’d best jump right back on the coach and get over there to collect her.”

Here her good luck received its first check. As she spoke, she observed with dismay that the London coach was drawing away from the George and Horse Inn.

“Hurry, then! You’ll miss the coach!”

The young man sneered. “In that event, I’m sure you can lend us your broomstick!”

Elspeth whitened and drew back as from something evil. The woman tried to smooth things over. “You’ll have to forgive a young husband, ma’am, half out of his senses with grief!” she began. But Elspeth was having no more to do with them. “¼Tis my belief you’re all witches and warlocks—you and that unholy creature you call daughter! I’m going to Father Percy this day, and tell him what a viper he has taken into his bosom!” She turned her back and hurried away to where she had stabled the cob.

Donner turned on Adrian Bart with a fury that shocked him. “I’ve let you come with me this far, little man, because I thought you’d be of some use to me in getting Nadine back to Ireland. I had that old bitch ready to help us and you wrecked all with your loose mouth. One more trick like that and I’ll see you die.”

Adrian tried to bluster, but his performance wasn’t very convincing. He was afraid of this terrible old woman; he knew she would stop at nothing to achieve her purpose. Finally he capitulated.

“All right! So it was a mistake to taunt the old woman. What do we do now?”

“We hire a cart and we get over to Elsinghurst Village and spread it about that you’re the husband reported dead in the Colonies. And we make very sure indeed that everyone believes Nadine is out of her mind with grief over the loss of you.” She curled her lip scornfully. “Look pretty, little man, and very much the fine buck that sets the ladies’ hearts to beating. If she denies us, or tries to run away again, we’ll restrain her for her own good—poor mad girleen.”

Adrian stared at her with loathing. “You devil!” he whispered.

Donner answered him with a harsh bark of laughter.” It’s well for you that I am, little man! When we have her safe at Brionny Keep, I’ll pay you your share of his fine lordship’s money.”

“And if she won’t come with us willingly?”

“Then we’ll compel her,” said Donner with a quiet viciousness that silenced further protest.