And Running Out

It was around nine o’clock at night when Christopher Southworth rode into Lancaster.

He lodged his horse at the Red Lion near Gallows Hill, took a room for himself and ate bread and meat. Then leaving unnoticed on foot he made his way to Lancaster Castle.

It was easy enough to get past the sentries. The fog had not lifted. He was as good as invisible. He had a rope and a hook and he scaled the wall. He had done this before.

He found the Well Dungeon by the grating in the ground.

He lay down. ‘Jane!’

Jane Southworth was standing in her customary spot under the grating, waiting for rain. She heard her name. Now she knew she had gone mad. The voice came again. ‘Jane!’

She looked up the thirty feet to the grating. She could see nothing. Then she heard the grating being lifted away. She looked round. The others were asleep but for Nance Redfern who was somewhere with the gaoler.

A rope dropped down into the dungeon. Down the rope came Christopher Southworth.

‘Jane!’ He threw his arms around her. She knew then that she must be dead. ‘Jane, climb onto my back and we will be gone. Hurry!’

She looked at him, shaking her head. ‘Is it you, Kit? Am I dead?’

He gave her water and she drank the whole flask. He gave her a piece of meat that she ate slowly, never taking her eyes off him. He told her that she was not dead. That he had come from France to rescue her.

‘It is a plot,’ she said. ‘They had a child accuse me of holding the Black Mass. My maid accused me of sticking pins into a poppet. They will find any way to ruin the Southworths.’

He held her to him. She was bones and filth. He wanted to cry and he wanted to tear the dungeon apart with his hands.

‘Catch hold fast to my body. I have strength to pull us both out of here. We shall go at once to London and then to France.’

She shook her head. ‘If I stand trial I may be acquitted. If I escape with you tonight, even if we are not caught, then they will claim it as witchcraft.’

‘What of it?’

‘Then they have won. If they win others will suffer. And do you believe that they do not know you are here?’

‘They are looking for me in Pendle. Not here. Come with me.’

Old Demdike woke up. Her eyes were filmy with cataracts but she could see the tall dark outline of Christopher Southworth. ‘It is the Dark Gentleman! I knew he would come!’

Alizon Device roused herself, rubbed her eyes and stared at Christopher. Chattox snored on.

Old Demdike struggled to her feet numb in their rags, and shoved her stinking body up against him. ‘I knew you would not abandon me!’

Christopher pushed her off. ‘Get away from me, you hag! Which one are you?’

‘Demdike. I am Demdike! You have my Soul. Here is my body.’

Her hair was matted. Her skin was thin and lined with red vein marks round her nose and cheeks. Hairs grew from her moles. Her neck had joined her shoulders. The rest was a shapeless mass.

He did not know what to say or what to do. Was this the lover of his lover?

She put out her hand. One finger was missing. It was the third finger of her left hand . . . ‘Remember me . . .’

He remembered the ring on Alice’s finger, her skin smooth and clear.

He looked at Old Demdike again. She had green eyes. Eyes like a pool in Pendle Forest. Eyes like the forest when it rains and the sky is green and the earth is green and the air is green. She had green eyes.

Jane would not go with him. She asked him for a Bible and he gave her his missal. He gave her money to bribe the gaoler for food and water. He took off his cloak and wrapped it round her.

There were noises outside. He had to leave. He kissed Jane and climbed rapidly up the rope hand over hand. He was strong and agile. He hauled himself out at the top and lay on the stones level with the grating. He could hear them below.

‘It was the Dark Gentleman!’

‘Then why didn’t he take us?’

‘He will, I tell you he will!’

He lay on the stones, his heart beating. Life was an intervention. At every moment the chances change. If Jane were with him now. If they were escaping together. If James had not come to the throne. If the Gunpowder Plot had never happened. If Elizabeth had not executed Mary. If Henry had not wanted a divorce. If the Pope had not excommunicated England. If England were a Catholic country still.

All the history, all the facts, what were they but chances? And for himself, so far, he was not dead. And there was Alice, who had chosen for him. If he had not come back, she would not have chosen for him.

He lay on the stones. He could change his name, his country, his faith. The tortures had changed his body. He had tried to change history.

He could not change the fact of his birth or, by very much, the fact of his death. This was his time.

He had an image of an hourglass.