It was late one Saturday afternoon; grey December rain thudded against the wooden window shutters in Bett White’s cob cottage as she sat at the spindle, Grace at her shoulder, watching the yarn twist and lengthen. Bett was calm, almost hypnotised, as her eyes followed the turn of the yarn, and she recited to herself.
‘If the maids a-spinning go,
Burn the flax and fire the tow;
Scorch their plackets, but beware
That ye singe no maidenhair.’
Grace frowned. ‘What are these words, Grandmother? Is it a poem?’
‘It is, and a famous one. The poet, Robert Herrick, was a cleric, and he lived to an old age. He died some years ago, in ’74, I think. Have you not heard of his poem that begins “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may”?’
‘I have not.’
‘Ah.’ Bett sighed and for a while there was no other sound than the thrum of the spindle. ‘The poet warns maids to marry while they are young. Time passes and we are too soon left old.’ She was quiet again. ‘I like his wise words. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.”’
Grace inclined her head. ‘Wise words, and sad ones too.’ She watched her grandmother, the side-to-side movement of her cap as she spun the yarn. ‘You must have seen many a change in your lifetime, Grandmother.’
‘I have, indeed.’ Again, Bett was thoughtful. ‘I was born in ’21. Four years before, King James died of a tertian ague and his son, Charles, came to the throne. And before I had reached ten years, King Charles had dissolved Parliament. I was just married to my John when the Civil War began. That was a bloody time: the castle at Taunton was damaged over and over. Men came to fight from all corners of the land; they used to say that the Cornishmen were some of the king's toughest soldiers. And by 1645, the New Model Army was a proper force to be reckoned with and Sir Thomas Fairfax was appointed its Lord General. Oliver Cromwell was his second-in-command, and we all know what happened after that. The king went to the scaffold in ’49. They say he held his head up high before it was chopped from his body.’
‘I have never known any king other this King Charles.’
‘You have lived but a few years. Pray God that when you are my age, Gracie, all you will have known is a time of peace.’
‘By the time I am your age, Grandmother, my child will have children too, and I may be made a happy grandmother just as you.’
Bett was troubled by a sudden thought. ‘And may God keep you all safe. I have heard whispers of witchcraft from some people in the village and once the talk starts, it is not long before someone is accused. Although Robert Hunt has gone from Taunton now, there are many more men keen and willing to do his work. I heard that a woman was seen dancing on the Devil’s Stone in Holcombe Fitzpaine and the next day, her mother-in-law was struck to the ground and took numb down one side.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘They set fire to the young woman’s thatched cottage. Have you not heard tell, if you set fire to a witch’s thatched roof, she’ll come running? And, sure enough, she ran from the house and confessed all.’
‘She said that she was a witch?’
‘Oh, and it was true. She had turned herself into a hare, as many do, so the farmer could not catch her when she came to curse his farm. And, of course, she will hang now and they will bury her in an unmarked grave at Dead Woman’s Ditch.’ Bett’s tone was hushed, grave. ‘Once they have breathed the word witch, Gracie, there can be no unsaying of it.’
Grace shivered and Bett turned to meet her eyes, her hands still busy twisting yarn.
‘The child flutters?’
‘Oh yes – I feel it constantly. It brings me joy to know that the baby quickens and is strong.’
‘And your father – does he know yet?’
‘I am sure that he does – I see him watching me as I cook, when I bend over slowly, his eyes are sad, but he says nothing.’
‘Then you must speak to him of it yourself.’
‘I dare not, Grandmother. I am ashamed of what I have done.’
Bett sighed and suddenly her hands were still. ‘Let me make you a raspberry infusion, and we will sit at the hearth and talk of names for the child. I am eager to know what you will call the baby.’
‘I put such things from my heart in case it brings bad luck.’
‘But you must not think such thoughts. Being with child is a time of contemplation and joy: it is a good time when we must use our hands wisely, making ready for the day he comes into the world.’
‘I have been making a string ladder, just as you told me, Grandmother, with knotted rope and feathers, and I have been saying the words over that you taught me. Then if I should die when I am birthing, it may lead me to heaven to be with my mother.’
Bett took her hand, soothing the rough skin with gentle pressure. ‘I would rather eat a pincushion as have you worry yourself about what will happen when you are bringing forth the baby. I will be there with you.’
‘I have never seen a pincushion, not a real one like the fine ladies have.’
‘They keep them to ward off evil. Do you know, a lady will put a tomato on the mantel of a new house to make the family prosper and to keep away evil spirits, but when tomatoes are out of season, she will use a round ball of red fabric filled with sand, and that is how the pincushion came to be.’
Grace smiled, a slight curve of her lips. ‘You are so wise, and I always love to hear your stories, Grandmother. And you must promise me that you will be by my side when the time comes…’
‘Nothing will keep me from the birth, Gracie. You have my word on it.’
Grace smoothed the fabric of her skirts. ‘I must leave now. It is already dark and Father will be in need of his supper.’
‘That you must,’ Bett said sadly. ‘How I wish you could stay here with me and I could take care of you and the child, when he comes.’
Grace kissed her cheek. ‘You’re the best of grandmothers. But the walk to Slaugh Cottage from here is good for me and the baby. It warms us, and there will be a fire in the hearth and a pot of food warming over it. Now I must bid you goodbye.’
Bett accompanied Grace to the low door of her cottage. ‘And how goes the milking at Hill Top Farm?’
‘I am a good worker; I fill pails more quickly than anyone and I think that is why they keep me there.’ Grace shrugged. ‘They look at the milk that I get the cows to yield; no one notices me while I am seated on the stool milking cows.’
‘And Master Nathaniel? How goes Mistress Alice?’
‘I rarely see Master Nathaniel; he busies himself with the menfolk on the farm and in the fields, and I am seldom disturbed. As for Alice, I see her each week, and she asks me for more potions, nettle infusion, oil to rub on her skin, but there is no change in her condition. It seems she cannot get with child.’
‘She has been wed for six months. It is not unusual to take a year, more, oft times. Perhaps the yuletide will be an occasion for her to put her mind to festivities; these things often come to pass when a woman does not fret over them.’
Grace agreed. ‘I hope it does, for her sake. She tells me that both Mistress Harriet and Nathaniel are out of temper with her; they long for sons to fill their farm.’
‘It is their folly to make so much fuss. It will not help poor Alice.’
‘Alice’s sister Nancy is big with child now. I believe the baby will come in March. I rack myself about how I can help Alice, Grandmother. Especially since I have a child coming and she has none yet.’
Bett shook her head. ‘Think of yourself, Gracie. Take care of yourself and the little one. And come and see me tomorrow – we must not miss church on Sunday.’ Her expression changed to one of concern. ‘May God keep you safe.’
‘And you too.’ Grace waved her hand and was on her way, the old sheepskin cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She hurried as fast as she could through the grey drizzle, her head down against the gusty wind. She was almost outside Ashcomb when she heard a low voice call her name.
‘Grace.’
Grace walked on, quickening her pace.
‘Grace, tarry awhile. I would walk with you.’
The voice was quiet, a man’s, urgency in the tone. She recalled with a pang of sadness what had happened when Nathaniel had walked her home. She had trusted him and he had misled her.
‘Grace.’
She turned. ‘Who’s there?’
A young man was level with her; he was thick-set, with rough brown hair, honest hazel eyes. ‘It is me, Ned, George Shears’ brother, George that married Nancy Bryant.’
Grace continued to walk, and he was at her side, speaking quickly. ‘Tonight, I sleep in the barn in Hill Top. Oft times, I stay with my brother and his wife, but they are ill at ease with me there.’ He continued to chatter, his expression amiable. ‘Nathaniel Harper knows I like to sleep in the straw – he pays me no mind. I have been to The Royal Oak, drinking with George and the others. The walk back is pleasant – even more so in your good company. Please, allow me to walk with you as far as Slaugh Cottage.’
Grace did not look at him. ‘I have no need of anyone to walk with me, Ned. Thank you, but I am quite well alone.’
Ned kept up with her pace, moving closer to her side. ‘I won some money from my brother tonight – we were playing Noddy and Penneech. George is not skilled with his cards. He has ill luck. I think he has ill luck with his wife too –most times I am there, they quarrel and bicker. He is in his cups and she is a scold.’
‘Do not speak ill of Nancy,’ Grace said softly.
‘Speak kindly to me then, Grace. I have seen you working in the strawed-down barn. I often wonder if you have need of a good man, one who will care for you.’
‘Thank you, Ned, but I have need of no one.’ Grace was walking as fast as she could. She was aware that, months ago, she could have broken into a run and left Ned Shears behind her in a moment. Now her gait was lumbering, slowed.
‘Pretty Grace, do you not like me?’ Ned was insistent. ‘I am hard-working, strong, God-fearing. I would make a young woman a good husband…’
Grace heard the plea in his voice and felt sorry for him. She paused, catching her breath, and turned to look at him. ‘I am not in need of a husband.’
Ned misunderstood her intentions; he thought she had stopped to talk, that she feigned disinterest in order to persuade him to court her, and he seized his opportunity and clasped her in his arms. ‘Dear Grace.’
She pulled away, but Ned’s arms had circled her waist, then he jerked back in shock. Grace saw the horrified expression.
‘No, Grace Cotter, you have no need for a husband. It is too late for that, I fear. You have already been tumbled.’
Grace put her hand to her mouth. ‘Ned, I pray you say nothing of this.’
‘I will not speak of it.’ Ned stepped back, his eyes on her. ‘For it is not mine to speak of. I am no village gossip.’
Grace took a breath. ‘Thank you, Ned. I am in your debt.’
‘Your belly is big with child. Who fathered it?’ Ned caught his breath, taking a step back. ‘You are no jade. I know you for a simple village girl who works hard. How did this come to pass?’
‘I cannot say.’
He was staring, mouth agape. ‘I recollect back in May, after the dancing, when I was walking back to the barn from the inn, I saw you in your garden with a man. Was it then that this happened?’
Grace recalled the evening she had stood in the garden with Nathaniel. Two men had passed the gate on their way to Hill Top Farm; one had called out his name in jest, ‘Master Nathaniel,’ and laughed. Grace wondered if Ned would remember and if later he would speak about it in the village. Grace thought of Alice, desperate to have a baby of her own, and she thought of Nathaniel and his mother, angry because Alice had not conceived. Grace made up her mind and spoke quickly. ‘It was no one you know. No one from the village. And I beg you, Ned, to say nothing.’
Ned took another step back. ‘No man from the village? A stranger, then? An outsider. Was it an outsider, Grace?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I cannot speak of it…’
‘I have said it already – I will breathe no word to anyone.’ His eyes were wide and his expression strange. ‘I want nothing to do with any stranger who stands in your garden at nightfall and tempts you. I am sorry you are no longer in need of a husband. I would have treated you well and we could have been happy. But it is no matter now. I bid you goodnight.’
Then he began to walk away, to run at a pace. Grace watched as he pounded up the path towards Hill Top Farm. Ned had discovered that she was with child and it had frightened him. Grace wondered what would happen when other people knew about her condition: her father, Alice, Nathaniel. She shivered, passed a damp hand across her brow and was suddenly filled with despair.