Chapter 65
Alys
Alys trembled like a leaf as she was led outside, dressed in nothing but a white shift despite the morning chill. The muted light of the autumn sunrise nearly blinded her after the impenetrable darkness of the cellar where she’d been kept overnight. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she was afraid she’d piss herself when the time came for the noose to close around her throat. The rope was right there, swinging gently in the breeze, from the tree she’d looked at so often while sitting with Mistress Ashcombe. Had she known that was where her life would end, she would have fled this house, run as far away from Jeremy Lockwood as her legs would carry her.
It had all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. She had been arrested a mere two days ago, Jamie ripped from her arms as two constables tied her wrists and shoved her toward the wagon after reading the charge. Thank God Bess had been there to take the child. Alys had implored her to deliver a message to Jeremy, and Bess had agreed, promising to look after Jamie and get help.
Alys had thought she’d be taken to the magistrate in Chesterfield, but instead, she had been taken to a tavern in a village at the edge of the valley. She had grown cold with terror when she came face to face with Walter Lockwood. He sat at a table in the corner, several papers spread before him. There was no one else in the room except for the barkeep, who seemed determined to mind his own business. Only the two constables were present, standing on either side of her, should she try to bolt. Walter Lockwood wouldn’t remember her, but she remembered him from when he had come to Ashcombe Manor to visit his brother. His gaze flickered over her as he studied her, then he nodded as if something had been confirmed.
“Mistress Bailey,” he began. “I will refer to you as Mistress Bailey, since your marriage to Peter Warren never actually took place, despite your claims to the contrary. My name is Magistrate Lockwood, and your case has been passed on to me by Magistrate Rivers, who’s unavailable just now due to a spate of crimes he’s occupied with at the present. I hope you have no objection?”
He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You stand accused of witchcraft, an accusation brought against you by a person of high standing and unimpeachable character. She claims you have bewitched her husband, led him into an adulterous relationship, and bore him a child.”
Alys opened her mouth to reply, but he held up his hand to silence her. “She also claims that your familiar died several days after you left her employ, since you were no longer able to give it suck. Your new familiar will be examined thoroughly and dealt with accordingly.”
“But sir,” Alys cried, dismayed.
“Be silent, woman,” the magistrate growled. “Lord Lockwood arranged a marriage for you to get you away from Ashcombe Manor. He knew his soul was in peril. Yet you wouldn’t marry Peter Warren and relinquish your hold on him. You practiced the dark arts to bind Jeremiah Lockwood to you, to break his will.”
“I never,” Alys moaned, her desperation growing.
“Now, I can have you tested. Have you heard of the drowning test? No? If you drown, you’re innocent. If you live, you’re guilty. The result will be the same, I’m afraid. You will spend the next several weeks in gaol until the quarterly assizes, at which time you will be condemned to hang. That will be very difficult for your family, and, at any rate, the gaol is overcrowded and not a pleasant place to spend your final moments. So, here’s what I’m going to do for you. I’m not going to order the test or inflict any unnecessary suffering on you. Admit to your crimes and we’ll be done with it.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong, sir,” Alys wailed.
“Did you lie about being wed to Peter Warren?” he asked.
Alys nodded miserably.
“Is Jeremiah Lockwood the father of your child?”
Alys nodded again.
“So that supports three of Lady Marjorie’s claims.”
“I never bewitched him,” Alys cried.
“No? Then how do you explain his attachment to you?” Magistrate Lockwood asked.
“He loves me,” Alys whispered.
“Does he? Do you see him here? He knows of his wife’s accusations. In fact, he’s confirmed them in a statement obtained by Magistrate Rivers. There is also a signed statement by the late Mistress Ashcombe, who supports her daughter’s claims. Now, whether his dog Duncan was your familiar or not is irrelevant. Just as it’s irrelevant whether your cat sucks your blood. You yourself have just admitted your guilt. Alys Bailey, I sentence you to death by hanging. Day after tomorrow. The sentence will be carried out at Ashcombe Manor, where you will be held until that time. May the Lord have mercy on your soul.”
“Sir, please,” Alys cried. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I never practiced any magic on anyone. I don’t even know how.”
But the magistrate was no longer listening. He collected his papers and motioned for the two men to take her away. The trial, if that was what that had been, was over.
Alys’s knees buckled, but the constables dragged her along and shoved her back into the wagon. They were taking her to Ashcombe Manor. Jeremy would be there, Alys thought frantically. He would never let this happen. He loved her and Jamie. He would do everything in his power to save her from the noose. But his brother had said Jeremy had backed up his wife’s claims. Could that be true? Had Jeremy tired of her and decided to rid himself of her for good? Had Lady Marjorie threatened
