Read Online Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Sharratt
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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round the fields and pastures to bless the land, the animals, and the crops, for Christ's passion was the promise of life everlasting. Now the cross that hung in our church was stark, bare wood, and those walls, once painted with pictures of the saints and their stories, were whitewashed, empty as my stomach was now.
Not waiting for an invitation, I sat myself down at Mistress Bradyll's table and stared at her with unblinking eyes till she shut the door and dragged herself to the pantry to fetch me bread, butter, cheese, and beer. Didn't take my leave till I'd eaten and drunk my fill. I wasn't going to go to bed hungry this night on account of Master Bradyll's bad leg. I kept my eyes level on Mistress Bradyll till she took the hint and packed a bundle of bread and cheese for me to take home to Liza. By the time I walked out her door, she was shaking like a reed, well glad to see me gone.
So back to Malkin Tower I tramped. Didn't know if I'd find Liza home. She might have been spinning at the Holdens' or helping with the threshing at Thorneyholme Farm. Instead I found her sat regal as a duchess upon the bench beneath the elder tree. As the swaying branches, weighted with purple-black berries, cast their shadows over her face, she looked older and wiser, a woman and no mere girl. Two strangers were sat facing her on the good bench she'd dragged out of the firehouse. Ladies, they were, sporting fine gowns of new wool trimmed in velvet and gold thread. Never before had we been graced by such fancy folk.
I was about to barge forward and announce myself when a hare flitted across my path. Tibb's voice whispered in my ear.
Stay back and watch a spell, my Bess. You'll learn something of your daughter.
The elder of the two strangers spoke to Liza. "We've never before resorted to such measures, you understand, but when needs must." She spoke half in bossiness, half in trepidation. Wanted something done for her, she did. Right plump was our guest, with a lace-trimmed coif to cover her grey hair. I tried to put a name to her face, but she appeared an utter stranger.
"Madam, I can bless as well as my mother," said my Liza.
The cheek of her! She'd sat herself beneath that witchy elder tree to make herself look like a charmer, and she made no show of trying to hide her squint.
"Tell me what I may do for you," said my daughter, speaking smooth as Tibb, who laughed in my ear.
"It's my Alice." The stranger indicated the young woman at her side. "Two years wed and barren as a mule."
"Mother!" Young Alice's voice came sharp as broken crockery. A comely thing she was. Crow-black hair and smooth white skin, cheeks flushing red from her insufferable mother's nagging.
"We made a good marriage for her," the shrew blistered on. "Her sons, should she ever bear any, shall be addressed as Esquire. Her poor father nearly killed himself to raise her dowry."
Young Alice blinked, full miserable, staring down at her small hands. Soft as kid, they'd be. No work for her but sewing and embroidery.
"Yet we've no sign of a babe." The mother went on to explain that Alice's husband had a child by a previous marriage, a daughter, and if Alice had no children, that daughter would inherit the husband's estates. "My Alice," she said, "must have sons. What if her husband has the marriage annulled on account of her being barren?"
Right harridan, the mother was. No wonder her daughter couldn't conceive. What babe would want to be born to such a grand-dam? Judging from her speech, the mother wasn't from the gentry, despite her good clothes, but the wife of some middling merchant hoping to raise herself up through her daughter's marriage.
"Peace, Mistress Whitaker," said our Liza, sounding patient and wise. "What do you want from me?" Liza looked from mother to daughter, her wandering eyes lighting on the girl's downcast face. "Herbs to bless the womb? A charm to help the young lady conceive?"
"There's a curse you must lift," Mistress Whitaker said. "My Alice
Not waiting for an invitation, I sat myself down at Mistress Bradyll's table and stared at her with unblinking eyes till she shut the door and dragged herself to the pantry to fetch me bread, butter, cheese, and beer. Didn't take my leave till I'd eaten and drunk my fill. I wasn't going to go to bed hungry this night on account of Master Bradyll's bad leg. I kept my eyes level on Mistress Bradyll till she took the hint and packed a bundle of bread and cheese for me to take home to Liza. By the time I walked out her door, she was shaking like a reed, well glad to see me gone.
So back to Malkin Tower I tramped. Didn't know if I'd find Liza home. She might have been spinning at the Holdens' or helping with the threshing at Thorneyholme Farm. Instead I found her sat regal as a duchess upon the bench beneath the elder tree. As the swaying branches, weighted with purple-black berries, cast their shadows over her face, she looked older and wiser, a woman and no mere girl. Two strangers were sat facing her on the good bench she'd dragged out of the firehouse. Ladies, they were, sporting fine gowns of new wool trimmed in velvet and gold thread. Never before had we been graced by such fancy folk.
I was about to barge forward and announce myself when a hare flitted across my path. Tibb's voice whispered in my ear.
Stay back and watch a spell, my Bess. You'll learn something of your daughter.
The elder of the two strangers spoke to Liza. "We've never before resorted to such measures, you understand, but when needs must." She spoke half in bossiness, half in trepidation. Wanted something done for her, she did. Right plump was our guest, with a lace-trimmed coif to cover her grey hair. I tried to put a name to her face, but she appeared an utter stranger.
"Madam, I can bless as well as my mother," said my Liza.
The cheek of her! She'd sat herself beneath that witchy elder tree to make herself look like a charmer, and she made no show of trying to hide her squint.
"Tell me what I may do for you," said my daughter, speaking smooth as Tibb, who laughed in my ear.
"It's my Alice." The stranger indicated the young woman at her side. "Two years wed and barren as a mule."
"Mother!" Young Alice's voice came sharp as broken crockery. A comely thing she was. Crow-black hair and smooth white skin, cheeks flushing red from her insufferable mother's nagging.
"We made a good marriage for her," the shrew blistered on. "Her sons, should she ever bear any, shall be addressed as Esquire. Her poor father nearly killed himself to raise her dowry."
Young Alice blinked, full miserable, staring down at her small hands. Soft as kid, they'd be. No work for her but sewing and embroidery.
"Yet we've no sign of a babe." The mother went on to explain that Alice's husband had a child by a previous marriage, a daughter, and if Alice had no children, that daughter would inherit the husband's estates. "My Alice," she said, "must have sons. What if her husband has the marriage annulled on account of her being barren?"
Right harridan, the mother was. No wonder her daughter couldn't conceive. What babe would want to be born to such a grand-dam? Judging from her speech, the mother wasn't from the gentry, despite her good clothes, but the wife of some middling merchant hoping to raise herself up through her daughter's marriage.
"Peace, Mistress Whitaker," said our Liza, sounding patient and wise. "What do you want from me?" Liza looked from mother to daughter, her wandering eyes lighting on the girl's downcast face. "Herbs to bless the womb? A charm to help the young lady conceive?"
"There's a curse you must lift," Mistress Whitaker said. "My Alice
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