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.
Dead Time
ALICE NUTTER WAS up early. She had dressed and was ready to leave when she saw them from the window. She was in no doubt. They had come for her.
She left her precious things in their secret place and went downstairs to open the door herself. She would not hide like a coward. Let them come for her. She would leave of her own free will. She would not be taken.
At Read Hall Roger Nowell had blazed up the fire. The room was warm and bright. He bowed. She curtsied. He asked her to sit down. Potts came in, his eyes like spears. He asked her if she had read the King’s book
Daemonology
.
Alice replied that she had. She added that she had no great opinion of it.
‘Then I will ask you to pay attention as follows,’ said Potts, reading from his own copy.
‘
The two degrees of persons which chiefly practise Witch-craft are such: as are in great miserie or poverty, for such the Devil allures to follow him, by promising great riches, and worldly commoditie: Others, though riche, yet burne in a desperate desire of Power or Revenge. But to attempt a woman in this sort, the Devil had small means … How she was drawn to fall to this wicked course, I know not, but she is now come to receive her trial for her vile and damnable practices
.’
‘There is no evidence against me,’ said Alice.
Roger Nowell lifted his hand and Constable Hargreaves brought in James and Elizabeth Device. Neither had slept.
They were asked to identify Alice as coming to Malkin Tower on Good Friday. They were asked to say her
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.
Dead Time
ALICE NUTTER WAS up early. She had dressed and was ready to leave when she saw them from the window. She was in no doubt. They had come for her.
She left her precious things in their secret place and went downstairs to open the door herself. She would not hide like a coward. Let them come for her. She would leave of her own free will. She would not be taken.
At Read Hall Roger Nowell had blazed up the fire. The room was warm and bright. He bowed. She curtsied. He asked her to sit down. Potts came in, his eyes like spears. He asked her if she had read the King’s book
Daemonology
.
Alice replied that she had. She added that she had no great opinion of it.
‘Then I will ask you to pay attention as follows,’ said Potts, reading from his own copy.
‘
The two degrees of persons which chiefly practise Witch-craft are such: as are in great miserie or poverty, for such the Devil allures to follow him, by promising great riches, and worldly commoditie: Others, though riche, yet burne in a desperate desire of Power or Revenge. But to attempt a woman in this sort, the Devil had small means … How she was drawn to fall to this wicked course, I know not, but she is now come to receive her trial for her vile and damnable practices
.’
‘There is no evidence against me,’ said Alice.
Roger Nowell lifted his hand and Constable Hargreaves brought in James and Elizabeth Device. Neither had slept.
They were asked to identify Alice as coming to Malkin Tower on Good Friday. They were asked to say her
Similar Books
