“Tell me now,” Kyle invited.
Nicole looked around. Len, Paul, and Anna were involved in a rather heated debate about Brexit, with Anna and Paul against it and Len in favor, and Lisa had left the room, probably to help Alastair with last-minute dinner preparations.
“I spent the afternoon working on the journal entries,” Nicole said, keeping her voice low. “I’m now certain that the journal belonged to Marjorie Lockwood, and there’s an entry where she specifically mentions Alys by name and says that Alys is to be married.”
“Really?” Kyle asked. He hadn’t expected that. “Who to?”
“It doesn’t say, but I rang Jonah Hargreaves. He’s going to be in Chesterfield tomorrow and will check the archives at the bishopric to see if he can find a record of a marriage license.”
“What makes you think a marriage license was obtained?” Kyle asked. “Did it say so in the journal?”
“No, but since no parish records from that period have survived, it’s the only place we can reasonably check. It’s a long shot, I know.”
“And if there was a marriage license?” Kyle asked, studying Nicole’s lovely features.
“Well, if there’s proof that Alys was married, then that changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“How?” Kyle asked, not seeing the connection.
Nicole sighed in resignation, her gaze dimming. “Well, actually, it might prove that she really was a witch.”
“Surely you don’t believe that,” Kyle said, surprised by the conclusion Nicole seemed to have jumped to.
“I know there’s no evidence to support this, but I have gravitated toward the conclusion that Marjorie Lockwood accused Alys Bailey of witchcraft out of spite, hoping to rid herself of a rival for her husband’s affections. She clearly states in this last entry that she believes her husband is besotted with Alys and has been seduced by her beauty. She is relieved that Alys is to marry and leave the manor for good.” Nicole paused, seemingly to organize her thoughts.
“If Alys was married,” she went on, “then perhaps the accusation of witchcraft had nothing to do with Lord Lockwood, and Alys had really been practicing what people of that time would consider dark magic. Perhaps she was a wise woman or a healer and had attracted undue scrutiny, as so many women of the time did. Her herbal remedies might have been seen as magic potions, her dog as her familiar. Or perhaps she had tended to Lady Lockwood herself and had either made her ill or frightened her in some way.”
“There’s no evidence of that,” Kyle pointed out.
“No, but it’s certainly a possibility. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
“Will you be very disappointed if Jonah Hargreaves finds nothing?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, but as much as I want to tell the true story, it’s really up to me which account of events I choose to focus on, and I now have at least two viable theories of what might have happened.”
“That’s true,” Kyle agreed.
Nicole was about to say something else when Brittany entered the room, her expression clearly letting them all know that they were no better than maggots. “Dinner is served,” she intoned, and left. Everyone got to their feet, ready to migrate into the dining room.
Nicole placed her hand on Kyle’s wrist and looked at him shyly. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation after dinner? In my room,” she added under her breath.
Kyle’s stomach muscles clenched with a combination of excitement and apprehension. He longed to be with Nicole, but he also had a vested interest in the story she was going to write. His confession would have to wait a few more days.
Journal Entry
The Lord has called my dear mother to Him and I rejoice for her. Her suffering has been great but now she is in Heaven, free of pain and basking in the light of Our Lord. Her last words to me were rather strange, but I don’t suppose she was fully aware of her surroundings, her mind already hovering between this world and the next. She bid me to Relent before it’s too late. I know not what she meant.
My Husband has been strangely subdued. I doubt it’s because He’s grieving for Mother. He most likely misses his whore. Even his dog is pining.
Chapter 58
Alys
Alys’s fraudulent marriage to Peter Warren went largely unnoticed since it very nearly coincided with the passing of Mistress Ashcombe. The village was in mourning, and with good reason, since Mistress Ashcombe had been respected and well-liked. The funeral was to be held on the Saturday that fell on winter solstice, and everyone in the village planned to attend, just as they had done when the lady’s husband was buried last year. Her death would make for a subdued Christmastide, more so because so many families would be missing loved ones at their table—those taken by smallpox only six months before.
Alys was secretly thrilled to be leaving the manor once and for all. Lady Marjorie’s tongue seemed to grow sharper with every passing day, and she was abusing the servants as a matter of course. She made Millie cry when the poor girl spilled a cup of ale, calling her a clumsy slattern and useless slut, and accused Stephen of being a witless oaf when he didn’t light the fire in her bedchamber quickly enough. Even Mistress Helmsley, who was normally out of bounds, felt the brunt of her ladyship’s anger and grief. The only bright spot in Lady Lockwood’s life was that Duncan hadn’t left Lord Lockwood’s bedchamber in days and had hardly taken any food. She hated the dog and was glad he was no longer underfoot.
Taking her bundle, Alys left with Peter Warren on the Sunday after the funeral. The rest of the servants had drunk a toast to their future and wished them well the night before,
