‘It was right on the top step.’
‘Good God.’ Sarah’s lips trembled, wilting rose petals ready to drop. ‘I never meant – I’m so sorry, Mrs Bainbridge. You know, don’t you, that I would never put Hetta in the Great Hall? She was in the garret, I promise. She was locked up in the garret, I do not understand how . . .’ She fell silent. Muscles twitched in her face, as if she were fighting with an emotion. ‘The truth is, it happened in the diary. Anne’s diary. A horse was mutilated, right after she bought the companions. And I’m starting to think that maybe . . . maybe Anne was a witch, after all. She writes about these potions she used to conceive Hetta . . . Perhaps that’s what Hetta is trying to do: warn us of her mother’s power.’
Elsie closed her eyes. Every inch of her throbbed. She was beginning to wish she had never woken up. Sleep was simple, safe. ‘Sarah, have you mentioned any of this to Jolyon? Or to Mr Underwood?’
‘Yes.’ Suddenly her tone hardened. ‘I told your brother, and I begged Mr Underwood to perform an exorcism. They would not believe me. They had a talk, and then they made me see the physician.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, he gave me some beastly medicine. He was more concerned with this.’ Sarah held up her hand, still bandaged. ‘The skin has gone white and soft around the cut. He thinks it is infected.’
An infection making Sarah see things. The medical men always had some explanation, but this one was insufficient. Elsie did not have an infection – nor did the maids. How could he rationalise what they saw?
‘The worst of it is,’ Sarah cried, ‘they want to separate us! Mr Livingstone is taking you back to London at the end of the month.’
‘London?’ Elsie’s eyes snapped open. Right now, London sounded as far away as Heaven.
‘To convalesce. He says a change of scene will be beneficial.’
‘But what about you?’
Sarah was struggling to hold in tears. ‘The gentlemen say I am nervous. They think the trip would be too much of a stimulant for me and I had better rest here. Without you.’
Elsie scoffed. ‘Rest? In this house?’
‘I used to love this house, I thought it was where I belonged. Until . . .’ Sarah met her eyes, beseeching. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mrs Bainbridge. You will be in London while I am here, alone, with . . . Whatever it is. Whatever they are. Tell me what to do.’
‘Burn it. Burn Hetta.’
Sarah hesitated. ‘As you burnt the others?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did burn them, after I took Hetta inside?’
‘Of course.’
Sarah’s hands were in her hair, distractedly tugging it out of its pins. ‘You are sure that you burnt them?’
‘Of course I am sure! Peters and the maids watched me.’
‘Good God.’
‘What? Sarah? What is it?’
‘They are back, Mrs Bainbridge.’ Her voice broke. ‘The companions are all back in the house.’
THE BRIDGE, 1635
I do not suppose there ever was a shame like ours. I can barely breathe for the despondency that lays upon my spirit, the guilt I cannot scrub off.
Again and again, that morning circles in my mind. I remember the shocked silence all around; how the courtiers were no longer gay but grave, stern as judges. I hear the humiliation ringing shrill inside my head as the Queen sobbed. She loved that horse. Of course we gave her my mare, but how insufficient it was compared to the fine-blooded creature she had lost. It looked like a poor woman’s horse. They rode away with a double guard, leaving us alone at The Bridge. Alone, with the echoing taunt of our failure.
My disgrace is twofold. I have failed not only my King but my lord and husband, my heart’s dearest hope. He was not aware of my treachery – at least, not the nature of it. He came to me soon after they left and gripped my hands. When he stared into my face I saw that his own was drawn and quivering, as if the muscles themselves shook for fear.
‘Anne, you must tell me the truth.’ I could not speak. ‘I know we never mention it, but we must now. The time has come.’
My guilty mind flew straight to Merripen. ‘Josiah . . .’
‘I know you have always seen things. Sensed things, before they are there. Those tisanes you gave me . . . I thought it a gift from God. But . . . Tell me truly.’
‘Tell you what?’
He had difficulty pushing the words up his throat. ‘You had a daughter. They said it was impossible to birth another child, but you had a daughter. I rose faster in court than any other man of my station. Was it herbs? Or . . .?’
I know I coloured, conscious of my transgression, of drawing my skirts a little too close to the flame of sin. ‘How can you ask me such a thing?’
‘I know you would not do that awful, that wicked act in the stables,’ he ran on hurriedly. ‘But do you think that you might have accidentally . . .’ He glanced at my diamonds. They flashed as I swallowed. ‘I do not know. Is it possible that some dark force has its eye fixed upon you?’
‘Josiah!’ I cried.
‘Answer me, Anne. For I looked at that animal and I cannot believe this is the work of human hands.’
So I told him. I told him the excruciating, miserable truth: that it was his wife’s stupidity, not her cunning, that brought a demon upon him.
He has not spoken to me since.
I cannot summon the strength to cry. I do not resent his hatred. Nothing can burn hotter than the contempt I feel for myself. I ripped off my sparkling diamonds, ashamed to think how much my poor Josiah spent, how much he invested in me.
He is confined to the country now; he cannot show his face at court. His acquaintances no longer answer his letters. He has nothing to do but stomp about like a caged bear, shoot our grouse and pick quarrels with the villagers as we prepare for the harvest. They do not want to work our land after what has happened. They are afraid that the gypsies have cursed us.
Heaven grant that the servants do not follow suit. For now they seem minded to stay and revel in the gossip, yet when all is said and done only Lizzy can be trusted to remain with us. Not that Lizzy is quite content – her every glance reproaches me for keeping Merripen a secret from her. Dear Lizzy, she never can accept that I am a lady grown. She does not realise how many secrets my traitorous heart can keep.
The house falls silent as a tomb. No guests, no decorators, not even my sons to cheer the gloom. Years ago, we placed the boys in noble households so they could learn how to run vast estates. They are back with them now, but I do not suppose Josiah’s relatives will be prepared to keep them for much longer. It is a risk to be allied with us.
Even Hetta is not the comfort she once was. As I sat in the Great Hall today it was heartbreaking to see her skipping around those wooden cut-outs, as if the prospects of our house and our family had not gone up in smoke around her.