Read Online The Witch’s Daughter by Paula Brackston - Free Book Online Page A

there was something irresistible in those snatches of conversation, those glimpses into lives other than her own. Lives that seemed to offer so much more variety and excitement. Even loving her family as she did, Bess harbored a secret yearning for something more. Quite what that might be, she had no idea, but she was certain it was out there, if only she knew how to set about finding it. In the meantime she made do with learning what she could of her mother’s skills and nourished her desire for adventure with tidbits of other people’s lives. The act of worship itself did not interest her. She had a distant memory of a time when musicians had accompanied the hymns and dazzling hangings and tapestries had glowed from the walls of the church. Now, however, the whole event was a somber affair. The interior was unadorned, except for the color added by the congregation—though even the dresses of the women had subtly altered to keep in step with the trend for modesty and simplicity. Disappointingly so, to Bess’s mind. From the pulpit, the parson, the very embodiment of restraint and humility, called on his flock to live godly lives in an ungodly world. Bess was willing to accept God’s presence in her life and did her best to behave in a way she had been taught to understand would please Him. She envied those with a true faith. She saw their radiant faces when they prayed or sang in the pews. She watched them nod and smile as the preacher reminded them of God’s benevolence and His love. Although she would not dare voice such thoughts to a living soul, Bess herself could not see evidence of all this love. Where was it to be found? Not in the poverty and hunger that afflicted everyone if the crops failed and the harvest was bad. Not in the cruel stamp of disease as it strode through families, crushing the weak and the old beneath its feet. Not in the agonies suffered in childbirth nor the grief of losing children.
    As she joined in with the closing hymn, Bess felt Margaret nudge her. She looked down to see her sister grinning and inclining her head toward the end of the pew opposite. Glancing up, Bess’s eyes met the pale gray gaze of William Gould. She saw him blush almost as deeply as she herself did in that moment. She cast her eyes down, then slowly looked up again. He was smiling at her now, all pretense at singing abandoned. Bess pointedly put her nose in the air and sang with much more conviction than she felt. She was aware that he continued to watch her, which was no less than she expected.
    With the service over, the godly began to file out slowly. Margaret could not contain herself.
    ‘Mam, did you see? William is here. He must have come just to see our Bess.’
    ‘Hush, Margaret!’ Her mother took her hand.
    ‘Surely he has,’ the child persisted. ‘Why else would he choose our plain little church over his own pretty chapel?’
    Bess caught her mother’s stern glance, but they both knew there was truth in what Margaret said. The Goulds had worshipped at the chapel at Batchcombe Hall for as long as the great house had stood.
    Anne sought another explanation.
    ‘The Reverend Burdock is known for his fine sermons,’ she said. ‘It may be, as a young man of learning, he has an interest in what the reverend might say.’ She began to pull Margaret toward the door.
    Behind her, John offered Bess his arm and smiled. ‘Mibben he does,’ he said with a mischievous lifting of his eyebrows, ‘or mibben Margaret speaks the truth of it. I’ll wager there be nothing so pretty to look at in that chapel of his than what he could gaze upon from the pew ’cross the aisle from where our Bess stood.’
    Bess feigned indifference, but she enjoyed the idea of William’s affection for her. What young girl would not? True, he was quiet and did not have an exciting manner or clever way about him, but he was kind and gentle. And she was not immune to the fact that he was wealthy and high-born. Too high for the likes of