Jeremy was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall and Walter’s booming voice, demanding to see him immediately.
“Walter, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Jeremy exclaimed when Millie showed Walter into the study. “Is something wrong?” he asked, noting Walter’s grim expression. “Is it Father?”
Walter shook his head. “Bring us some wine,” he called to Millie, who was still within earshot. “Father is in good health, and this visit will be anything but a pleasant surprise once you find out why I’m here.”
Jeremy sat back in his chair, bracing himself for whatever Walter was about to tell him. Instead of sitting down, Walter stood before the desk, looking down at Jeremy as he had often done when they were children, usually when he was about to berate Jeremy for some minor transgression, such as spying on Walter while he was trying to romance one of the milkmaids.
“Walter, what happened?” Jeremy demanded, unable to take the suspense any longer.
Walter glanced toward the door, probably hoping Millie would materialize with a flagon of wine and cups, then decided wine would have to wait and shut the door, turning the key in the lock.
“Walter,” Jeremy prompted again. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his extremities were suddenly cold.
“Jem, your wife,” Walter enunciated the word as if Jeremy didn’t know what a wife was, “has made an accusation of witchcraft against one Alys Bailey. She claims the woman consorts with the Devil and has bewitched you using forbidden spells. Lady Marjorie demands that she be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
“How do you know this?” Jeremy asked. He noticed that his voice was quivering.
“She sent an affidavit to Magistrate Rivers in Chesterfield. Rivers is a good friend. He sent for me immediately.”
Jeremy’s hands were trembling so badly, he had to ball them into fists, his grip so tight that the nails dug into his palms. The room seemed to grow cold despite the mild autumn weather, and the rain against the windows sounded like thunder in his ears.
“What exactly are you saying?” he finally managed.
Walter looked at him with pity. He splayed his hands on the desk and fixed Jeremy with an accusing stare. “Jem, what is this woman to you?”
“I love her, Walter,” Jeremy said, his voice quivering with emotion. “She’s the mother of my son.”
Walter shook his head. “Your son is sleeping upstairs,” he reminded him savagely.
“Walter—” Jeremy began, but Walter cut across him.
“What you do in your private life is your business, Jem. In fact, I encouraged you to seek affection elsewhere, knowing how unhappy you were in your marriage, but this situation is no longer about you keeping a mistress. An accusation of witchcraft will not be ignored by the authorities, not these days. If you intervene, you will only be confirming your wife’s claims and strengthening her case.”
“But there’s absolutely no proof,” Jeremy exclaimed. “Alys has done nothing that could be construed as black magic.”
“Proof will be found. Did an epidemic of smallpox not sweep through the valley only last summer?”
“Yes, but what does Alys have to do with it?”
“According to your lady wife, Alys did not get seriously ill while sharing a house with two people who were afflicted, nor was she left marked. She was also able to nurse you back to health from a serious illness without suffering any ill effects.”
“And that’s proof?” Jeremy exclaimed.
“She led you into an adulterous relationship and had you contract a false marriage for her,” Walter said, still holding Jeremy with his steely gaze.
“How do you know that?” Jeremy demanded.
“It’s in the letter to Rivers. Seems your wife knows more than you give her credit for.”
“Alys is married to Peter Warren.”
“And will I find proof of that if I need to convince Magistrate Rivers?” Walter demanded.
“No,” Jeremy muttered. “There’s only the marriage license.”
“Which is worthless in itself,” Walter reminded him. “Marjorie even said that Duncan was Alys’s familiar and died as soon as she left the house because she was no longer suckling him with her blood.”
“What?” Jeremy cried. “Duncan was eleven years old. He was ancient.”
“I know that,” Walter replied, “but it’s the word of a noblewoman known for her excessive piety over the word of a village woman who’s the mother of your bastard.”
Jeremy sucked in a shuddering breath. “Should this matter not have been brought to Reverend Gilcrest?” he asked. Jeremy owned the church and the living. Reverend Gilcrest would not go against him.
Walter shook his head. “The Witchcraft Act of 1542 defines witchcraft as a felony, not a religious matter. It is tried at the quarterly assizes and punishable by death if guilt is proven.”
“And how can it be proven?” Jeremy snapped, fear gnawing a hole in his gut.
“There are ways to obtain a confession.”
“Torture is illegal,” Jeremy reminded Walter.
“Yes, but there are many ways to break someone, especially a young woman recently delivered of a child.”
Jeremy felt cold fingers of dread close around his heart. “Are you suggesting they would threaten to harm our son?”
“I’m suggesting that they will use whatever means necessary to obtain a result. Does she have a cat?” Walter asked, throwing Jeremy completely off balance.
“Yes. To catch mice.”
“They will say the cat is her new familiar.”
“Most people have cats,” Jeremy protested.
“Most people are not accused of witchcraft.” Walter’s gaze softened as he looked at his younger brother. “She will hang, Jem. Don’t make things worse for her. If you corroborate your wife’s account, Alys will not be tortured or put to the test.”
“What test?” Jeremy’s voice was reedy, barely audible.
“There’s
