Page 29 of Witchbane

I drew the tip of a finger over the smudged sigil. ‘This is an “R’’,’ I lied. ‘It represents me.’ That much was true. ‘And this is my mother’s initial.’ It was in fact two lines coming from the top of the ‘S’ to represent that I was her child, with a ‘V’ between them turning the lines into an ‘M’ for Martha. ‘The arrow through it is our love for each other.’

He stared at it, then into my eyes for a few seconds before answering. ‘I’m sorry that you lost your mother so young.’

Had he believed me? Or was he lulling me into a false sense of security before taking me before his father? I had no time to wonder because he took my arm, more gently this time, and led me along the immaculate hallway. The scent of beeswax filled the air. Everything shone, from the wooden floorboards to the oak-panelled walls. His father expected high standards from his servants, that much was clear. My terror of the man increased with every step.

We reached a door, but instead of opening it, Theo took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it in front of my mouth. I spat lightly on it and watched in stunned silence as he hurriedly wiped away all trace of the sigil.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked, unable to help myself.

‘I think it’s best, don’t you?’ He gazed into my eyes. ‘I’m unsure whether my father will understand the wounded heart symbol.’

I began to answer but before I could do so Theo opened the door to my left and waited for me to walk into the room. This must be the Witchfinder’s office, I thought, my heartrate increasing rapidly and my breath becoming shallower. I wiped my damp palms against my woollen skirt, then stepped inside.

A moment later I stood in front of the man whose face I could never forget. Why hadn’t we cast the blurring spell sooner to save me from facing my mother’s killer? I had never wanted to meet him face to face, at least not until I had avenged my mother’s death. My vision blurred slightly. Determined not to give in to light-headedness, I cleared my throat and clenched my fists, bracing myself for what might happen next.

He rested his elbows on the fine desk and steepled his fingers as he studied me. He inclined his head. ‘Mmm, you’re the image of your mother, Mistress Underwood.’

I focused on keeping my breathing steady, determined not to show how unsettled I was at being in the same room as him.

‘You have changed much since I last saw you.’

I was surprised he remembered me and, supposing he meant that he had seen me at my mother’s execution, said, ‘I was a child then, sir, and if I may say, my impression of you has not altered one bit.’ Unable to help myself, I added, ‘Apart from your hair now being grey.’ I knew I was being rash goading him but didn’t care, despite my fear.

I heard Theo’s sharp intake of breath. I glanced at him and noticed his eyes widen in obvious shock at the way I addressed his father. I was taking my chances being flippant with the older Mr Le Cerf but didn’t care about offending him. How much worse could things be than they were already?

I looked back at the Witchfinder, whose expression hadn’t altered. He continued to gaze at me. I supposed his intention was to intimidate me. I had no intention of showing how successful he had been, deciding he didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

When he didn’t speak, Theo took a step forward. ‘Father, you wished to interview Mistress Underwood about the claim made against her.’

‘Claim?’ I asked, forgetting my resolve to remain stoic. Why hadn’t I taken the opportunity on the ride to ask Theo questions? Then I would have been better prepared for this moment. I gritted my teeth, furious at my lack of forethought, but there was little I could do about that now.

I had thought I was in front of this devil because he already knew I was a witch, but this reference to a claim made against me changed matters completely and gave me a little hope. I wondered whether I could disprove the accusation. I was shocked that someone had taken the time to charge me with sorcery. Who could possibly hate me enough to do something that vindictive? I didn’t mix with anyone outside my family and my friends on the estate. Anyway, I mused, everyone in Stanthorpe and Thistlebury, and probably further afield, knows of my mother’s tragic demise, and most people, even if they don’t like me, feel sorry for me. I had heard many times how others pitied my family and me for having suffered more than enough for one lifetime.

‘That is correct. You must have suspected why my assistant brought you here today?’

I nodded, desperately trying to think who might have accused me to this most evil of men.

He smirked at my confusion. ‘I can see your shock. I shall explain further. You have been accused by one of the townspeople of practising sorcery.’

I had worked that much out for myself. I gave the pinch-faced man a look of disdain, then remembered I needed to deny the accusation if I was to have any chance of escaping with my life.

‘But that’s nonsense,’ I lied. It was the only response to make. ‘May I ask who is behind this false accusation against me?’

He gave a pitying smile. He was mocking me. I felt anger increase in the pit of my stomach. I sensed this man had been waiting for a reason to persecute a second member of my family. Wasn’t one unnecessary death enough? Hadn’t the abject loss that death had caused been enough to satisfy his cruel nature? Clearly not.

My vision blurred once again. I struggled to keep my legs from buckling but wasn’t managing well. I focused on trying to control my breathing and keep it steady but my panic was getting the better of me. I was going to pass out and make a fool of myself.

Strong hands took hold of my elbows and led me a couple of steps backwards until I felt the cool edge of a wooden seat against the backs of my knees.

‘Sit, Mistress Underwood,’ Theo said, his voice gentle, his concern obvious.

I did as he asked, unable to do much else. Then, resting my elbows on the arms of the chair, I lowered my face into my right hand to gather myself.

‘You are unwell, mistress?’ the Witchfinder asked. I heard satisfaction in his gravelly voice.

I inhaled slowly, recalling what my grandmother told me to do when I was younger and had almost passed out after cutting my finger on the sharp point of a knife. I exhaled gently through my slightly parted lips and wished I had a sprig of lavender to calm me.

Not wishing to appear any weaker than I already had, I braced myself to stand up. I felt the pressure of Theo’s firm hands on my shoulders.