Daughters of the Witching Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

lamb."

    "Why Anthony Holden's?" Liza demanded when I roused her in the morning. "Last time he had no work for me. Chased me off his land, he did. Hates the sight of me."
    "Just this once," I said. "If he sends us packing, we'll never go there again, I promise."
    On that brisk morning I led the way. We skirted Blacko Hill, then walked along Pendle Water, passing through Roughlee with its manor house where Richard Nutter lived. Like his father before him, Nutter had remained true to the old faith. Of late, rumours had gone round of him concealing Jesuits, a new breed of priest come over from France as part of a secret English mission. Courting ruin, that was. Both Nutter and the priest, if discovered, would be done for high treason and dragged off to Lancaster where they would first be hanged, then cut down whilst still alive and disembowelled, left to die in slow torment before the spitting mob.
    The year before last Nutter had taken a new bride, young enough to be his granddaughter, so I'd heard. Kept themselves to themselves, the Nutters did, so I'd never clapped eyes on the lass. But I fair wondered what kind of girl would choose to bear such a yoke, not only to marry a sixty-year-old man, rich though he might be, but to risk her life sheltering Jesuits. I wouldn't trade places with her for all the money in the world.
    Liza and I pressed on by way of Thorneyholme into Goldshaw, past the New Church and the stone pit where I first met Tibb. Felt like an age before we finally reached Bull Hole Farm. As we trudged up to the farmhouse, a brown dog shot out of nowhere and bounded up to meet us. The hairs on my skin stood on end when that beast thrust his muzzle into my palm.
    "Are you not well?" my daughter asked me. "Told you it was too far to walk on no account."
    "Tell me, Liza, did you see this dog when you last came to Bull Hole?"
    "I recall seeing a black dog, not a brown one." She shrugged. "But farmers are like to keep more than one dog, as a rule."
    She dropped to her knees, took the dog's great head in her hands, and rubbed it behind the ears. Had a soft spot for God's creatures, did our Liza. Her bad temper vanished. For a moment I was worried she would spend the rest of the day fussing over that infernal beast.
    "Enough of that," I said. "We've come to find honest work."
    The brown dog scampered away, as if to lead us to the farmhouse door, but when we reached the house, there was no sign of the animal. A woman's head appeared in a window, then the door flew open. Sarah Holden was stood on the threshold, hands flapping in alarm.
    "Away from here, you squint-eyed devil! We've a sick child in the house and more than enough bad luck. Be off before I have my husband turn you out the gate."
    Hiding behind Mistress Holden's skirts, small children sneaked glances at my Liza, who decided to amuse her onlookers. Throwing back her head, she rolled her eyes in contrary directions till the children shrieked with laughter. Ignoring her antics, I strode up to the door and put my foot in before Mistress Holden could slam it shut.
    "Is that any way for a Christian to greet her neighbour?" I asked her.
    "You're no neighbour of mine," she said.
    No neighbour of hers, indeed! Did we not take communion at the same table, I was about to argue when, to my astonishment, a passage from Proverbs came to me, one of the Curate's favourites.
    Smooth-tongued as Tibb, I quoted the Bible verse: "He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack; but he that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse."
    When I said the word
curse,
she whitened, her lips pressing down, but I knew she could not dispute what was written in the Good Book. At a loss, she was, and what did I do but turn that to my advantage?
    "Have a heart, Sarah Holden. I'm old enough to be your own mother. Liza and I have travelled all this way because we've no bread left in our house. Not a single egg. My girl has a squint, it's true, but she won't bring any bad luck in your house, I swear.