“Oh, dear God,” Jeremy moaned, dragging his hand across his face in utter desolation. “What do I do, Walter? How do I help her?”
“You do nothing. You allow the law to take its course.”
“And allow them to murder her?” Jeremy roared, unable to believe Walter was asking him to sacrifice an innocent woman. “Would you allow Sybil to be accused thus?”
“Jeremy, do you trust me?” Walter asked. He’d lowered his voice to a whisper and was looking at him intently.
“Of course I trust you, but I won’t allow Alys to be sacrificed on the altar of Marjorie’s Puritan zealotry.”
“You must step aside and allow this to happen. You must not interfere, not in word or deed. You must protect your lawful son and our good name. Do I have your word?”
“You do not!”
Walter leaned closer, his voice still low. “You must let me handle this, Jem. Rivers is a good friend,” he said again, his dark gaze boring into Jeremy.
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means he’s open to persuasion.”
“And what do you mean to persuade him of, that Alys is a witch and must die?”
“I can persuade him to offer her a quick and easy death. She will not have to languish in prison until the next assizes or face a public hanging. The execution will be carried out swiftly and privately, with no documents laying out her case. The lack of record will protect her boy from future persecution.”
“No!” Jeremy howled. “No.” Tears ran down his cheeks, and he thought he was going to be sick. “Walter, please. You must do something. Surely the word of one person is not enough to convict an innocent woman.”
“There is also an affidavit from Mistress Ashcombe,” Walter said.
“But she’s long gone.”
“It would seem she signed the statement before she died, backing up her daughter’s claims and stating that she heard Alys chanting incantations and saw her suckling her familiar when Alys thought Mistress Ashcombe was asleep.”
“She wasn’t in her right mind,” Jeremy protested. “She was ill.”
“That doesn’t matter. She signed of her own free will.”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“There’s no proof she didn’t,” Walter pointed out patiently. “I will do everything I can to make sure Alys doesn’t suffer. Look after her child, Jem.”
“My child,” Jeremy cried. “He’s my child.”
“Then make sure he’ll go to a good family. Better yet, place him with Alys’s kin, who’ll love him and appreciate the financial windfall of such an arrangement.”
“Her kin is in Ashcombe, right under the nose of my wretched wife. One look at Jamie and she’ll know he’s mine, if she doesn’t already. She won’t leave him be.”
“Then remove him from beneath her nose,” Walter hissed. “Find a safe place for him to grow up.” Walter speared Jeremy with a hard look. “Give me your word you will not intervene.”
Jeremy shook his head. “I cannot do that.”
“You will only make things worse for Alys. Put your faith in me,” Walter said, lowering his voice again and holding Jeremy’s gaze.
Something in Walter’s tone reminded Jeremy of the time when he was about four and had climbed high up in a tree. Looking down, he’d realized how terrified he was and cried miserably until Walter found him.
“Jump down, Jemmy. I will catch you,” Walter had said.
“No,” Jem had cried. “I’m frightened.”
“I know, but you have to trust me. I’m your big brother. I will not let you fall.”
Jeremy had shaken his head, but even at such a young age, he could appreciate his conundrum. He could either trust Walter or remain in the tree until he fell asleep and fell out.
“Jump, Jemmy. I will catch you,” Walter had said. “Put your faith in me.” And Jeremy had. Walter had caught him before his feet hit the ground, holding him tight until Jeremy’s heart slowed down and he was able to breathe again.
“You little fool,” Walter had scolded him. “Why’d you go up there if you couldn’t get back down?”
“I thought I could,” Jeremy had said defiantly, no longer scared but embarrassed by his own foolishness and wanting the incident to be forgotten as quickly as possible.
Walter must have recalled the same incident because he allowed himself a wistful smile. “I will always catch you, Jemmy.”
Jeremy nodded and watched in helpless misery as Walter walked out, his black cloak swirling about his legs like the wings of a raven.
“Good day to you, Lady Marjorie,” Jeremy heard Walter say a moment later, and his anger and frustration nearly boiled over. He was sure Marjorie had been listening at the door.
After the hoofbeats died away and Jeremy was sure Walter was gone, he briefly considered finding Marjorie and beating her senseless. He’d never raised a hand to her in all the time they’d been married, but now all he could think of was how satisfying it would be to stripe that lily-white arse until it was as red as the mist that had descended on him. Knowing Marjorie, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out or begging him to stop. She’d take it with pleasure, seeing it as some sort of penance or test set for her by God, and his frenzy would only serve as proof of demonic possession.
It was his fault Alys had been accused. He should have known Marjorie wouldn’t allow him to lead a life she didn’t approve of. She was diabolical. For a brief moment, Jeremy considered accusing Marjorie of witchcraft, because only someone as sly and clever as the Devil
