Grace ran towards Nathaniel as the horse bolted away, up the hill towards the farm. The rain was falling steadily. She heard George Shears shout to Francis, ‘Go to Hill Top. Fetch Master Joseph. And any of the other men you can find.’
She and George arrived at the same time; Nathaniel was sprawled on the ground on his back, his hands over the left-hand side of his abdomen, groaning. Grace knelt next to him, her heart thumping. He was in pain, broken, and she wasn’t sure how to help. ‘What ails you, Nathaniel? What must I do?’
His hands moved to his shoulder and then back to his left side. His breathing was ragged and he seemed confused.
George snarled, ‘Don’t touch him, Grace Cotter. You’ve done enough damage already.’
‘I only want to help…’
Nathaniel’s eyes fluttered open. ‘I think Squire saw something running in the grass and he shied… or he stumbled. I can’t move…
‘Where are you hurt?’ Grace reached for his hand. Her cap and face were wet in the rain.
‘Here – on the left. I can’t breathe. I…’ He seemed to notice her for the first time and his face became terrified. ‘Grace – you made a poppet, and pricked me with a blackthorn… and now the horse has fallen on me…’
‘What did he say?’ George’s voice was loud. ‘What did you do to him?’
Nathaniel’s eyes closed slightly and he groaned, his breath shallow, wheezing. Voices came from behind, people running down the hill, their heads bent against the rain, and Francis arrived with three other men. One of them was Joseph Harper, Nathaniel’s father, a calm-natured man with a slow drawling voice. He crouched down next to his son. ‘What happened? Nathaniel, can you hear me speak?’
Nathaniel struggled to breathe, then he gasped, a slow strained sound.
Harriet Harper approached, screaming and hysterical. Alice followed her, clutching Gabriel.
George shouted, ‘I saw it all. The horse reared and rolled on top of him.’
Alice rushed to Nathaniel’s side, passing Gabriel to Grace, taking her husband’s hand. Harriet grasped Nathaniel’s other hand, weeping.
Alice pressed his fingers in hers. ‘Nathaniel… Nathaniel?’
He gave a low moan, then he exhaled, one long breath. No inhalation followed.
Joseph took off his wide-brimmed hat and leaned forward, listening, then put a hand to his son’s chest. He turned to Harriet, his eyes wide with disbelief, his face wet with rain and tears.
‘He’s gone. Nathaniel – he’s gone.’
Harriet’s keening cries split the air.
Joseph stood, shaken. Alice hung onto Nathaniel’s hand, her cheeks streaked with tears. Joseph asked, ‘How did this all come to happen?’
George stepped forward. ‘I saw it all, Master Joseph. It was Grace Cotter. She turned herself into a hare and frighted the horse and he fell on Master Nathaniel and rolled right on top of him.’
Grace said, ‘That’s not true.’
All faces turned to her, mouths gaping, as George added, ‘And his last words were that she made a poppet of him and pricked him with a blackthorn. She’s cursed him, that’s what she’s done.’
‘I did not.’ Grace held Gabriel close, looking from one angry face to another; she saw Harriet’s pale fury, Joseph’s disbelief, George’s triumphant smile.
‘She blasted him with her spells. Same as she did with my brother, Ned, and crippled his leg for him, and my daughter, Agnes, with her cursed lip.’
Grace shook her head. ‘No…’
‘And she turned herself into a hare another time before, when she brought the dead sheep back to life.’ George’s leer made Grace tremble. ‘You know what she is, don’t you? You know the word for her.’
Harriet’s sobbing stopped; her voice was shrill as she shouted. ‘You dried up Alice’s womb. I know what you gave her to eat; she cooked the caul you gave her from her sister’s birthing, and you know right well the use of the caul is against the Church. And now she is barren. You did it to spite us all.’ Her face was crumpled and crimson as she shrieked again. ‘And you have murdered my son. Why? What did he ever do to harm you? I cannot forgive you for it… not ever.’ She collapsed into her husband’s arms, a fallen heap of rags.
‘I did not do these things that you say.’ Grace’s heart was thumping too hard. She whirled around, surrounded by menacing faces, clutching Gabriel tightly.
‘We should stop Grace Cotter now before she turns on the rest of us and curses us all. Look at her. She’ll blast us all like she did with Master Nathaniel.’ George made to move towards Grace. ‘We should lock her up.’
She heard Joseph’s low mutter. ‘Someone, go and fetch the rector. She’s acted against the Church.’
‘She’s been wishting1 Master Nathaniel for weeks now.’ George’s voice was loudest. ‘I seen her at it – giving him the evil eye.’
Grace twisted round, the startled baby in her arms, and started to run, her feet stumbling on the hard rubble of the fallow field. The skies were dark with rain now. She could hear more accusing voices behind her; Jennet was there, saying something about how Grace cursed the cows so they would not let down milk for anyone else. Harriet screeched that Grace had murdered her son. Grace’s feet pounded across the earth, hugging Gabriel tightly, muttering softly to him as she hurried along, desperate to take him as far away from the howling mob as she could.
She arrived at Slaugh Cottage and immediately began collecting things in a basket: Gabriel’s clothes, linen, some food. Her mind was racing: she could go to her grandmother’s house, but Bett would not be able to hide her for long inside the small cob cottage. Everyone in Ashcomb would hear of Nathaniel’s death and Grace feared that the villagers would soon come searching for her. She would walk as far as she could, perhaps to Taunton – she had heard it was a large town, but she would not arrive before nightfall and the thought of walking through the lanes in the dark with her child in her arms frightened her. But Taunton was miles from Ashcomb: perhaps no one would find her there. Her heart was thumping: it was Gabriel’s safety she feared for most.
The front door opened and her heart leaped. She heard her father call her name. ‘Grace?’ His face was haggard as he rushed over to her. ‘Is it true? People are saying that Master Nathaniel died because you caused his horse to fall and tumble on him.’
‘No – I was there, but I did no such thing.’
He wrapped his arms around her and the baby. ‘You are not safe here. You must go.’
Grace nodded, indicating the basket. ‘I am ready. Oh, Father, it is so unjust.’
He stroked her hair. ‘I fear for you if you stay longer. Quick, go, take your child and Godspeed. I cannot protect you if they find you here.’
‘I know.’ She pressed her face against his sinewy shoulder. ‘What shall I do? How will I live?’
Will’s face was a mask of anguish. ‘I know not. But you must go, Grace, and quickly.’
‘I must.’ She adjusted Gabriel in her arms and gave her father one last look, then she rushed towards the door and flung it open.
It had stopped raining. The sun was beating down again, a sticky heat, the air heavy. Then she saw the mob waiting for her outside, in the garden. Grace froze. Reverend Walters, his expression grave, was standing next to a man she had never seen before. Behind them stood Joseph Harper, Harriet, Alice, George Shears and, further back, Jennet, Margaret. Francis Barnes and several more of the farmhands.
Grace searched the faces frantically for someone who might be an ally: she saw Alice, and met her eyes pleadingly, but Alice shook her head slightly, her eyes wide and troubled.
Then the rector, Reverend Walters, a thin man with a long face, said, ‘Grace Cotter. That is your name?’
‘You know that it is.’ Grace trembled, holding Gabriel to her thumping heart.
‘This is Barnaby Younger from Hockholler. He wishes to speak with you.’
Barnaby Younger was a burly man with a wide face and a turned-down mouth. He looked Grace over and said, ‘We have had a case of typhus in Hockholler. It is convenient that I was visiting Reverend Walters to discuss how we might stop its spread. And he and I both know that it starts with the cursing from a certain type of vile woman.’
Grace stared at him blankly; his words made no sense. She shook her head. ‘I know not of what you speak.’
‘Have you heard of Mr Robert Hunt of Taunton?’
‘I have not.’ Grace kissed Gabriel’s cheek. He had started to make soft noises of hunger and she feared he would soon cry to be fed.
‘He died three years ago; he was buried at Compton Pauncefoot, but he did great work in Taunton throughout his life to rid the world of vile pestilence. I am an admirer of his work and I seek to continue in his name.’
‘I do not understand you.’ Grace hugged her baby close.’ My child grows hungry – I need to nurse him.’
Younger ignored her, and continued to speak. ‘Have you heard the name Elizabeth Stile? She was a crone who died in Taunton gaol in 1664 after Mr Hunt got a confession from her. Have you heard of Edmund Bull and Julian Cox? They were hanged in Taunton by Mr Hunt for their crimes.’ He shook his head, ignoring Gabriel’s snuffling, raising his voice, addressing the crowd gathered around him. ‘Catherina Axford of Mere, Elizabeth Castle of Glastonbury, Anne Green of Wincanton who was stabbed so that her spell could be broken, Elizabeth Busher of Hinton, that was buried near the Bull Pit. Our county is rife with such cunning women, and men too, who consort with the Devil to do ill to good folk such as us.’
Gabriel wriggled uncomfortably; Grace rocked him in her arms, her face twisted in anguish. ‘He needs to be fed…’
‘Who is your child’s father?’ Barnaby Younger demanded.
Grace’s voice was quiet. ‘I cannot say his name.’
The crowd exchanged glances and muttered to each other as Younger raised his voice. ‘Who is the father?’
Grace opened her mouth, but no sound came.
Then George shouted from the middle of the mob. ‘I know who it is. I saw Grace Cotter with him on May Day after the dance.’ He looked pleased with himself: all attention was focused on him as he continued. ‘My brother, Ned, and I were walking back after the dancing. We’d been in The Royal Oak, had a cup of ale or two, and we were sleeping in the barn at the time – it was afore I was wed—’
‘Speak more quickly,’ Younger snapped.
‘Grace Cotter was in the garden with a man. I seen his face. I remember it as if it was yesterday.’
The crowd held one breath. Grace felt her heart knock harder as Gabriel writhed in her grasp.
George finished with a flourish. ‘It was a man all in dark clothes, and he and Grace were on the ground together, making the beast with two backs.’ He looked around him, hearing Harriet Harper gasp. ‘It was the Devil she was with that night. I seen them both together.’
Barnaby Younger faced Grace, pushing out his chest. ‘Grace Cotter, do you admit to consorting with the Devil?’
‘I do not.’ Grace pressed her lips against Gabriel’s hot face. He had started to whimper.
‘Do you admit to being a witch?’
‘No…’ Gabriel was crying now.
‘I accuse you of being one of a hellish knot of witches, and I will do the work of Mr Hunt of Taunton now he is no longer with us.’ Younger spoke loudly over the cries, making sure the crowd heard every word. ‘Do you admit to blasting Nathaniel Harper to death? Do you admit to turning yourself into a hare, and to consorting with the Devil?’
‘No, I do not,’ Grace replied.
‘And there are other accusations,’ Younger continued. ‘You and your grandmother assisted at the birth of Agnes Shears and you touched a baby’s mouth and cursed it, and so the child had the lip of a hare.’
‘No.’
‘You blighted Ned Shears’ leg and you dried Alice Harper’s womb so that she could not conceive.’
‘I did not.’
Grace felt her father’s hand on her shoulder; Will was behind her, whispering in her ear, ‘I am here with you.’
Younger frowned. ‘It will go easier with you if you admit it now. If you do not, I will have you taken to Taunton, where we will persuade you to say the truth, using whatever means it takes.’
‘I will not lie just to please you.’ Grace’s voice was soft. ‘I am no witch.’
The rector spoke, his voice thin and reedy. ‘Then perhaps we need to look for other witches who help her to malign the community. She may not work alone. Bett White, her grandmother, for instance. Her father, perhaps…?’
Grace said, ‘No.’
‘Then tell the truth, Grace.’ Younger turned from her to the crowd. ‘I can prove she is a witch. Look here.’ He produced a long needle from his pocket. ‘This bodkin will prove what she truly is. A witch cannot feel pain when pricked.’
George Shears shouted, ‘Go on… prove it in front of us all.’
Younger stepped towards Grace, tearing off her kerchief, exposing the flesh of her shoulder and thrusting the needle into her arm. Grace did not flinch. Younger was gleeful. ‘Proof, for everyone to witness. She feels no pain from the piercing bodkin. Therefore, I say, she is proven to be a witch.’
Will Cotter pressed his mouth against Grace’s ear. ‘I saw it disappear inside itself – the bodkin did not break your skin.’
Younger grasped Grace’s arm. ‘We need no further evidence. So – Grace Cotter, admit you are a witch, or I will take you to Taunton jail and, with you, your father and grandmother, where you will be tried, found guilty of vile deeds and punished, all three.’
Grace exhaled slowly, gazing from one angry face to another. Gabriel was silent now; she felt him sob once and tremble against her. She slumped back against her father, who held her up as she whispered, ‘Then it is just as you say. I cannot deny – I am what you say I am.’
A cry went up from the crowd. ‘Seize the witch.’
‘She has admitted the truth. There is no need for the courts to hear her. We will not delay further.’ Younger ordered, ‘We will take her to the top of Long Lane and deal with her there.’
Grace twisted round to her father. ‘Please… keep Gabriel safe…’
Alice rushed forward. ‘I will take him for you.’ She plucked the baby from Grace’s arms. ‘I will care for him, Grace, trust me. We have always been friends and I will make sure he will always have everything he needs…’
Grace held Gabriel a second longer, pressing him to her heart for the last time, then she let go, allowing him to nestle in Alice’s arms. Her eyes were filled with tears as she mumbled, ‘Thank you, Alice. May God watch over him. Gabriel is the best of me.’
Alice smiled, her eyes hard, glinting in a way that Grace had never noticed before. Grace looked on, numb, her face wet; she watched her friend hold Gabriel close as if he were her own child, nuzzling the baby softness of his skin, inhaling the sweet scent of his hair. Then Alice put her lips against Grace’s ear, kissing her cheek lightly. Her voice was low as she whispered, ‘And he is the best of Nathaniel too. I have always known it. But he is mine to keep now, as I have always intended.’