Jane stayed until the gruel was bubbling in the pot. Then she got up and went over to talk to the children, who were now extracting the final smears of honey from the jar. The two little boys were sturdy and lively and she asked if they were going to the monks’ school. Abigail looked across at them.
‘Yes, the Prior says they can start soon. I want them all to read and write. Neither Jack nor I can. Will you teach little Rose to read when she’s a bit older?’
‘Of course I will. It opens up a whole new world when you learn how to read.’
‘I’ve told them that. It’s the only way out of this dreary life we lead. Just think of all the people who live in this village. How many of them can read and write? Most people just scrape around for a living as best they can.’
Jane left the Butchers’ house and untied Melissa. So that was that. She was quite sure that none of the Butcher family would harm Agnes Myles. But who, in the village, she thought as she jumped up on Melissa, could read and write? The priest, of course, the churchwarden, the monks Geoffrey Lowe. Not many people, but, of course, someone else could have written that message. Someone from outside the village. Lots of people could read and write in Marchester.
She rode off. Already it was time to see to her father’s midday meal. Later, when he took his afternoon nap she’d go and see the churchwarden. Not that she could visualise Edgar Pierrepoint skulking out in the middle of the night to string up a cat.
* * *
Edgar Pierrepoint was also taking an afternoon nap when Jane knocked on his door. He lived in a large, timber-framed house next to the church and, as a freeholder, he enjoyed a comfortable life-style. After a few minutes, he opened the door, recognised Jane and ushered her in to his front room. His wife, Phyllis, who was overweight and found it difficult to get about these days, was upstairs asleep. As Jane went in, a large tabby cat stood up on the settee where he’d been curled up asleep, arched his back, yawned and jumped down on to the floor where he proceeded to rub himself round Jane’s legs, purring loudly.
‘He’s a beautiful cat,’ she said as Edgar indicated a chair by the fire.
‘Yes, he’s got some fine markings on him. We’re very fond of him, as you know. He’s a good ratter. Getting on a bit, like us.’
‘You’ve heard the news about what happened to poor Agnes Myles’s cat?’
‘Oh yes, I’m really angry about that. I’ve been down to see her and she’s very cut up. There are wicked people around, Mistress Warrener. Who’d want to harm a cat who never bothered anyone, and who keeps down the vermin? Agnes might not be a regular churchgoer but she’s a good Christian soul all the same. It’s wicked what people are saying about her.’
‘So you’ve heard the rumours too. Do you know who started them?’
‘No, I don’t. But I intend to find out. I’m going to start with the ale-house. A lot of rogues get together down there and there’s always trouble after they’ve had a few jars. I’ll get to the bottom of it even if it takes me the rest of the summer. I can’t abide persecution of innocent people; and I can’t abide cruelty to harmless animals. Don’t you fret yourself, Mistress Warrener, I’ll sort this out.’
* * *
Once again, she’d drawn a blank. Pierrepoint and his wife would no more kill a cat than fly to the moon. Maybe he’d find out something from the ale-house regulars.
* * *
It was after dark when Nicholas got back to Peverell Manor. Geoffrey Lowe was waiting up for him. When he helped him off with his boots and brought him a tray of food, he told him about what had happened to Agnes Myles’s cat.
‘Mistress Warrener came looking for you this morning. I expect it was about this. It’s a wicked thing to happen and I hope the devils who did it are found. Not much you can do tonight, sir,’ he said, as Nicholas reached out for his boots. ‘Master Warrener wouldn’t take kindly to you bothering his daughter at this hour. Best go and see her tomorrow.’
Wearily, Nicholas went up to his room. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Just after midnight, he was woken up by a loud banging on the door and Geoffrey came in.
‘Wake up, my Lord. There’s a fire down in the village. You can see it from the gatehouse. Seems to be coming from the direction of Agnes Myles’s house.’
Nicholas leapt out of bed and threw on some clothes. Then he went to the gatehouse and saw the flames which were lighting up the night sky over Agnes Myles’s cottage. Already his servants were running down towards the blaze. Fire was everybody’s dread, and everyone had a responsibility to try to put it out. Unfortunately the rain had stopped, but at least Agnes had her own well in her garden.
A groom brought round one of the other horses, and Nicholas mounted and galloped off down to the village.
Agnes’s garden was full of dark figures, some, mostly his own servants, were already filling buckets of water from the well. Someone was trying to get people to form a chain. Others did nothing. Nicholas jumped off his horse and shouted to them.
‘Come on. Everyone’s needed. Do you want to see her house go up in flames?’
It was the wooden shed which was burning furiously. Fortunately the wind had died down and the flames had not yet reached the house.
‘She’s an old witch,’ said someone from the back of the crowd. ‘She’ll be the next one to burn, and serves her right.’
‘Get hold of that man,’ shouted Nicholas to Geoffrey, who’d joined them. ‘And don’t let him go. Now where’s the old lady?’
‘She’s inside,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Mistress Warrener’s with her.’
‘Geoffrey, get this lot organised. Seize hold of anyone who won’t co-operate. And get someone over to the Sheriff. Tell him he’s needed urgently.’
He ran into the house, where Agnes Myles was sitting defiantly in her chair. Jane was on her knees in front of her. She looked up as Nicholas came in.
‘She won’t leave this house. She could have a bed with us. My father can’t stand cruelty. Try and persuade her, Nicholas.’
Nicholas took hold of Agnes’s hands. They were cold and she was shivering with shock.
‘I want you to come with me, Agnes. There are evil people outside who want to harm you. Now I know somewhere where you can be safe until we’ve caught the people who want to harm you. There’s a place in the Priory where she’ll be safe, Jane,’ he said. ‘I don’t want her staying with anyone in the village. It would be too dangerous both for her and the people she’s staying with. Come, let me lift you up, Agnes. You’ll be safe with me.’
Suddenly her body seemed to crumple and she fell forward. Before he could stop her she collapsed on the floor. The strain had been too much for her frail body, and she fainted with the horror of it all. He stooped down and picked her up in his arms and carried her outside, where already Geoffrey’s organised team was bringing the fire under control. Some people cheered when they saw him. Others hissed. There were cries of ‘Witch, witch, burn the witch,’ but Nicholas took no notice. He carried Agnes to his horse, laid her carefully on its back, and led her down to the Priory. Jane walked with him, leading Melissa.
The frightened gatekeeper let them in and went to fetch the Prior, who’d just finished Matins. He came out straight away.
‘What’s this, my Lord? Am I expected to provide lodgings for all the old women in the village?’
‘No, Prior. Agnes Myles needs a refuge. People are burning her property; they could start on her next. They are calling her a witch, and you know that’s ridiculous.’
‘Of course it is. Mistress Myles doesn’t know anything about witchcraft. I know she’s on our side, not the devil’s. Brother Michael thinks the world of her. Some ignorant mischief-maker is spreading these rumours. I know, let’s put her in the anchorite’s cell. There’s a bed in there and a chair, and we can lock the door.’
‘And give me the key,’ said Jane firmly. ‘I’ll be the only person who has access to her. I can bring her food every day, and see she has everything she wants.’