I know the netter’s house well enough but I hate to be in the village. Would she had me foraging hedgerows or even seashore over this. I am angry at her foolhardy plans for John, angry at my own silence in the face of them. Mam is lucky I do not yet fully embrace my power, which now calls to me with images not of reconciliation, but of those I despise bending to my will, cringing in fear. Every child that’s hurled a stone or spoke a cruelty, every person that’s turned away from Annie when she begged for food, will kneel and weep and beg as I mete out fit sufferings. And I imagine, just for a moment, that Mam is among them.

Gather and Stalk

Daniel stood in a corner talking to Bett and watching those dancing to the fiddle music. She drained her wine and leaned unsteadily towards him, reaching out to her husband to balance herself.

‘Come, heart-root,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Leave this poor lad be and dance with me.’

She frowned up at him. ‘He likes my company.’

Daniel laughed. ‘True.’

‘We all do, my love. But there’s other lasses he should be entertaining tonight.’ He jerked his head towards the dancers.

‘Aye, and one in particular,’ Bett said over her shoulder as Nathaniel pulled her away gently.

Daniel glanced over just as Molly looked in his direction. Yellow curls framed her flushed cheeks. He drained his drink. Her apple-eyes did not hold him the way the crashing colours of the witch-girl’s did. She was bonny, though, and all the lads craved to court her. Perhaps Bett was right. One dance would not hurt.

As he stepped towards Molly, a wailing and hollering, unmistakeably female, cut through the merry chaos and the music stuttered to a halt, the dancers stumbling and turning towards the sound. Daniel felt it like a fist in the stomach. He thought once again of the witch-girl’s eyes. She had been dragged there by Gabriel, perhaps, in his conviction that she had cursed him and stolen the lamb, that he might punish her in front of the whole village.

The taste of ale soured on his lips. He shoved and elbowed through the gathering crowd, past the tree decked with ribbons for the dance, to the edge of the green where the sound came from, standing uncomprehending when he came upon the sight.

It was not her, but Nelly Finch, the netter’s wife, shrieking and sobbing. Blood smeared across the front of her best clothes, though Daniel could see no injury on her. Not Sarah. Relief swept through him, though why he cared so deeply he could not say. He began to walk away. There were plenty others coming to Nelly’s aid, Father and Gabriel among them. She was calming enough to form words.