The Heretics Read Online Free PDF Page B

milk?’
    Jane shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
    She heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up. A woman about her age was coming down, clutching the railing. Her head was bowed and Jane thought she might be crying. She stood up and went to her and asked if she could help.
    The woman looked up; she wasn’t crying, but nor did she look happy.
    ‘Jane Cooper, meet Janey,’ the apprentice said. He laughed, as though he had made some sort of jest.
    Janey glared at him. ‘Go and geld yourself with a blunt knife, Braddedge.’
    From upstairs, there was a call. ‘Boy! Come here!’
    Braddedge slunk off up the stairs.
    ‘Never mind him,’ said Janey. ‘He’s as daft as a dawcock. Been with Dr Forman these six months and won’t last another six.’ She looked at the bundle in Jane’s arms. ‘You here about the child?’
    ‘Yes . . . and other things.’
    ‘What ails the mite?’
    Jane shook her head and felt the prick of tears. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. The way things were going, she’d never have another baby.
    Janey put an arm around her. She wasn’t pretty and she had wary eyes, but Jane saw kindness there.
    ‘I’m frightened, that’s all. He won’t eat, nor drink more than a thimble-full. He’s wasting away. Just lies there, day by day. Boltfoot – that’s my husband – says all will be well, but I know that he don’t really think that. Dr Forman’s my only hope . . .’
    Janey peered into little John’s face. ‘He’s a fair little thing, isn’t he? Does he take after you or your man?’
    Jane laughed. ‘Me, God willing. His father looks like the stump of a tree. But, pray tell me, will Dr Forman help us?’
    ‘Most like. He’s a good man in his own way, but you be careful with him, Jane Cooper, because you’re still a pretty enough lass and if you let him, he’ll have his hand up your skirts and his prick out before he’s asked you your name.’
    Jane was shocked. But then she recalled the curious glint in Ellen Fowler’s eye and remembered that what ailed Ellen most was the lack of a man in her bed.
    ‘Mistress Cooper, he’ll see you now.’ The boy had reappeared on silent feet. He handed a package to Janey. ‘And this is your philtre. He says you know all about it.’
    Janey ignored the boy’s begging palm and smiled at Jane. ‘Just tell him to keep his dirty hands to himself and he’ll leave you alone. Good fortune with the babe. I’m sure all will be well.’
    Simon Forman sat at a table and wrote down the names of Jane, her husband and son, then began to ask her questions. How long had the child languished? Could she still produce milk of her own? When did she last have marital relations with her husband? Did either of them have the pox? Then he wrote down the date and hour of the babe’s birth and her own, as far as she knew it.
    Jane’s hands were shaking. Dr Forman was a thickset, hairy man with a wiry beard that went from yellow to red. She was alarmed to discover that they were in his bedchamber. The canopied four-poster had rumpled sheets as though it had recently been occupied. Her eyes flicked from the strange man to the bed and back again.
    And yet despite his alarming appearance, she gradually found herself at ease with him. Soon she was answering the most intimate questions about her monthly flowers and her bedtime activities, with and without Boltfoot, with complete honesty. These were not normally subjects she would discuss with her own mother or sisters, nor any other woman on earth – and certainly not with a man.
    ‘Now hand me the boy.’
    John was still whimpering. Jane put him in Simon Forman’s hairy arms. He was very gentle, stroking the hair back from the boy’s forehead with the tips of his fingers. John’s crying subsided a little and he opened his eyes wide, fixing them on the stranger’s face.
    ‘Don’t fret about the boy, Mistress Cooper. You have come here about another matter, have you not?’
    Jane’s face