“You said it, mate,” the publican said, his lips curling into a slow smile. “Or when you’re deep in the earth, with nothing but tons of rock above you. There are lots of hidden caves and underground tunnels in the dales. I belong to a potholing club as well. Have you done any caving?”
“To be honest, I’m a bit claustrophobic,” Kyle said. “I had an anxiety attack once. My friends had to guide me out.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Happened to me on my first outing. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my heart was racing, I was sweating. I thought I’d die down there. But my dad talked me down, and eventually the panic began to ebb, and we were able to continue. I was so proud afterwards, especially when my dad allowed me to order a half-pint. I felt like one of the lads.”
“And you went down again,” Kyle said, visibly impressed.
“Oh, aye. ’Course I did. The very next weekend. I believe in facing your fears head-on.”
“I think I might have to try it again sometime, but on this trip, I’d like to do some climbing,” Kyle said. “Maybe you can recommend an easy climb, for beginners.”
“I’d be happy to,” the publican said, now smiling and nodding at Kyle in a friendly way. “Does you lady enjoy climbing as well?” he asked, looking at me as if he suddenly remembered I was there.
I let Kyle take that question. He seemed to know what he was doing.
“No, but she loves hearing the local stories. In fact, someone mentioned a ghost that’s been haunting Lockwood Hall for centuries. Know anything about that?”
I pricked my ears.
“Oh, you mean Alys Bailey?” the publican said, nodding sagely.
“Yes, I believe that was the name,” Kyle replied.
“That was a bad business,” the publican said.
“What happened to her?” I asked, hoping he’d be able to tell us something.
“I’m not familiar with the particulars. Not really my area of expertise. All I know is that she was sentenced to hang for witchcraft and her spirit still haunts the manor house, or so folk say.”
“But why does she haunt Lockwood Hall?” Kyle asked, taking a sip of his bitter.
The publican shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
“It’s because she spent her last night on Earth there,” a man sitting to my left said, edging a little closer to me. “They say she cursed the family before she died. Swore they’d never have a male heir.”
“No, she didn’t,” another man chimed in. He looked to be in his seventies, gray and stooped, but his gaze was lively, his light-blue eyes dancing with amusement. “She cursed the village, not the Lockwoods, Jack.”
“You’re mistaken, Hugh. It was the family she was after,” Jack said.
“Why would she curse the family?” I asked, wondering if anyone knew the real story. Probably not. Whatever had happened had taken place nearly four hundred years ago, and if there was no written account, it was just word of mouth, like a game of Chinese whispers.
“Because it was the lord of the manor that accused her,” Jack said, nodding knowledgeably.
“You got it all wrong, Jack,” Hugh said archly. “It was someone in the village, someone who blamed her for the death of their child.”
“Was Alys a healer, then?” I asked.
Oftentimes, wisewomen were accused of witchcraft if they fell afoul of the community. The people who’d beg them for love potions and remedies for their ailments were usually the first to accuse them if something happened to cast suspicion on their methods or if someone died as a result of taking the remedy, or despite it. People needed a scapegoat for their fear and grief and were quick to point the finger at someone who couldn’t defend themselves, since they could hardly question the will of God.
“Aye, she was the local healer,” Hugh said. “Wasn’t she?” he asked, turning to Jack, suddenly no longer sure.
“No, Hugh, she was the blacksmith’s lass.”
“Was the sentence carried out?” I asked, already knowing the answer. At least the poor woman hadn’t been burned. Of all the vicious, barbaric punishments mankind had inflicted on human beings, I thought burning was probably the worst. It was a horrible, drawn out, excruciating death that sometimes took hours to finally claim its victim. At least hanging was relatively quick, if done right. Friends and relations of the accused often surged forward as soon as the victim dropped, pulling on the person’s legs to hasten their death. However, if the neck broke during the drop, death was instantaneous, so the victim didn’t suffer.
“Oh, aye,” Hugh said.
Jack nodded in agreement.
“And that’s why the village was destroyed,” Hugh added. “Because of Alys’s curse.”
“Took an awfully long time to take effect,” Kyle pointed out, his mouth twitching with amusement.
“When dealing with the occult, time means nothing,” Hugh said. “She said the village would be wiped off the face of the earth, and it was.”
“And so was the family,” Jack said stubbornly. He seemed certain of his version of events.
“But Lisa Prentiss is a descendant of the Lockwoods, so the family has survived all this time,” I pointed out.
“Pfft,” Jack huffed. “Distant relation at best. The Lockwoods had nothing but trouble since that girl cursed their bloodline.”
“What sort of trouble?” Kyle asked, looking from Jack to Hugh.
“All sorts. But mostly, no Lockwood males seemed to live past thirty. Hung around long enough to produce the next generation, then popped their clogs,” Jack said.
“Of natural causes?” I asked. Perhaps some congenital disease that ran in that family accounted for the deaths of the males.
“Oh, no,” Jack said. “Nothing like that. A few met with fatal accidents, hunting and the like, one or two had heart attacks or cancer; I can’t recall which. And at least a half
