“Yes, but…”
Griffin turned his gaze on Widow Primmer. Like me, she was unable to look away from him.
“Her mother was sick with melancholy, or so we believed. Now I understand that it was part of the bewitchment to bring them here and deliver them to your home. They were in such a hurry to set their plans in motion that this poppet was left in my cart. It was wrapped in a linen shroud with the pin through its heart.” He turned to Gina. Her face was set like she was trying not to cry. “My sister found it, but has only just revealed it to me. If I had known earlier, I could have saved you more distress. But it isn’t too late!”
He swiped up the doll and threw it into the fire. Its hair flared first, a ball of flame. The gown and rag body smouldered then ignited. The round wooden head smoked but didn’t burn. Griffin picked up the poker and pushed the remains of my poppet deep into the fire.
Griffin hooked the poker back on to its nail. “Now it can hurt no one.”
“Go, Eve. Leave this house now,” said Widow Primmer.
I wanted to hold Griffin’s gaze in the same way he had held mine, but I would not let him see how close I was to tears.
“The charge is untrue. I gave Gina the doll. It was a present,” I said.
I thought Gina was about to speak, but Griffin put his hand on her shoulder. The fabric of her dress crinkled from the tightness of his grip.
“The accusation is witchcraft, Widow Primmer,” he said. “I expressed my concerns to the beadle last night. He said he would attend to it this morning. I had to remind him that torture by witchcraft is a hanging offence. He cannot be lenient.”
Widow Primmer shook her head.
“No. I don’t think… I am well. There’s no need.”
Griffin stood up and leaned over the table.
“Have you ever knowingly given lodgings to a witch, Widow Primmer? Have you knowingly allowed this to happen within your house?”
Widow Primmer’s mouth worked. A finger stabbed into my thigh. It was Gina. Her eyes were pink and sore, her face paler than the morning light.
She mouthed, “Go.”
I gathered my skirts and ran. It was not far to the rector’s house at All Hallowes, but it felt like I was running the wrong way round town. When I got there, the door was open and a bucket of slops was being emptied on to the path outside. It was the rector’s wife.
“Where’s Mama?” I gasped.
The rector’s wife gave me a sour look. “How do I know? Do you think I want to do servants’ work? Perhaps that sailor man turned her head.”
“Sailor man?”
“The one who came here two nights ago.”
Jacques Francis had returned?
The rector’s wife stood upright, stretching out her back.
“I didn’t mind the other one, coming to walk her home. This one, though… I don’t like loud voices on my doorstep.”
I touched my skin. “Was he like me?”
She shook her head. “No. He was a tall fellow with too much beard. Though I couldn’t help hearing a little of their conversation.” She scratched her head. “He was shouting so loud I couldn’t not hear it. He was weaving her a yarn about treasure in the water and she was saying there wasn’t any. I had to ask my husband to send him away. Perhaps your mother followed him later.”
“She was home last night,” I said.
“Well, she isn’t here this morning.”
She tapped the bucket so the last drips splashed on to the street and closed the door. The next time she opened it, it would be to the beadle.
Mama hadn’t mentioned meeting George Symons. But then, I hadn’t mentioned Griffin and the wooden beads to her. We’d both angered people looking to make their fortunes from us and we’d both kept secrets from each other. George Symons must have snatched her on her way to work. Perhaps he’d had a knife like Antonio, forcing her through the common land and orchards out towards the dock. He would make Mama dive. The Thames was treacherous but its currents were our everyday life. Mama knew nothing about the depths here. Would her nose bleed and her eyes burn? Would she become trapped between the bones of men who had drowned? Was she already struggling, her breath running out and the sea pressing around her? I stopped walking so abruptly that a man behind me slammed into my back. He swore and walked on, looking back at me, angry. I could not help Mama by myself. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even walk.
“Eve!” Gina was puffing towards me, tears running down her face. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
I wanted to be furious, but this wasn’t her fault.
“Mama’s not at the church,” I said.
“I know,” she gasped. “A black man just came looking for her at Widow Primmer’s. He said it was urgent.”
“A black man?”
“Yes! He said there was a man coming from London, an angry man, who thought your mama had taken his fortune.”
“George Symons?”
“Yes, that was his name.”
“And the … the black man? Did he say where he was going?”
“To the quay. The west side.”
I bobbed forward and kissed Gina’s forehead. “Thank you!”
I reached deep inside myself for more breath and I ran. I turned in to St Michael’s Square. The maypole was still standing, its drooping ribbons brushing the dirty cobble stones. My feet slipped on the petals and flower heads as I raced towards the West Gate.
The quay was usually busy, but there were only a few fishermen around now. Most of them must have been sleeping off the May Day celebrations. A few vessels bobbed in the water, small boats that looked worn from travel. I recognized Jacques Francis immediately, looking out across the water. He turned round and pointed.
“They’re there,” he said.
I squinted. I could just see a dark smudge out on the water.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He nodded. “We have to
