Witch Hunt (Witch Finder 2) Read online

  ‘I can manage,’ she whispered back fiercely.

  ‘All right, all right. Keep your hair on. I was just asking,’ Luke said. ‘Now, are you ready? We’ll have to be quick. There’s nothing we can do about Brimstone’s hooves on the cobbles and if they hear those . . .’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Rosa said.

  Luke nodded and was just about to lead Brimstone outside when he stopped, his hand on the latch.

  ‘What?’ Rosa whispered. ‘Can you hear something?’

  ‘My knife. And the bottle.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I left them upstairs in the stable block. I should get them.’

  It was the witch-hunting kit John Leadingham had given him when he first set out. The thought of the implements made him feel sick now, the long knife with the wicked point, the iron gag. The garotte. The syringe. The bottle, wrapped in rags, that could slay a witch – or a man. They had been meant for Rosa, and that thought made him curl with self-hatred. But they would be useful, undeniably, if Sebastian or Alexis came after them . . .

  ‘No,’ Rosa said. ‘No, we get out of here now. You can buy another knife.’

  Luke made up his mind.

  ‘Wait here. Hold Brimstone.’

  ‘No!’ Rosa hissed after him, her voice a furious whisper. But she was too late. He was already out of the door and padding quietly up the stone steps to the room above the stables. The empty room – or so he hoped.

  His heart was thudding in his throat as he pushed gently at the door and slipped inside. The room was empty – but not unoccupied. There was a case by the windowsill and a pile of dirty linen on the floor. They’d lost no time in engaging a new groom.

  The loose board was still loose, and he prised it up, his fingers shaking as they dug into the splintered board and pulled it back. Inside the hollow he pulled away the bottle of whisky and erotic cards left by the previous occupant, and behind them was the bundle with the familiar sharp-sour smell leaking from the bottle. The smell made his head swim and his eyes water, even through the tightly stoppered cork and wrapping of rags.

  He yanked them out and looked around for something to put them in. The new stable-hand had a suitcase but that was far too unwieldy to carry on horseback. Instead he yanked a thin moth-eaten blanket off the bed and made a hurried pack roll. There were plenty of spare girths in the stable; he could rig something up.

  He was just about to leave when the sound of hooves turning into the mews caught his ear, and he leant against the window, trying to see sideways down the long dark mews, through the gathering dusk and the fog. A carriage had just turned into the right-hand side of the mews, with two horses hitched at the front. It was difficult to tell in the dimness, but he was almost certain the horses were Castor and Pollux.

  For a minute he stood frozen, the pack roll in one hand. Then, all thought of caution gone, he flung open the door and ran down the steps, his boots thumping on the stone.

  Rosa looked round, horrified, as he burst into the stable.

  ‘Hush! Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘They’re back,’ he gasped. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get out now. Two horses, coming up the mews from the right. If we get out now we can turn left and maybe miss them.’

  He saw her eyes, huge and black in the darkness, dilated with fear. Then she gave a single sharp nod and opened the stable door. Luke strapped his bundle to the back of the saddle with shaking, hasty fingers, then grabbed Brimstone’s reins and led him out into the courtyard, trying not to communicate his fear to the horse.

  ‘Up,’ he said to Rosa. ‘I’ll open the gate.’

  For a minute he thought she would argue, but then he held out his cupped hands and she vaulted up on to Brimstone’s high back with a single movement and picked up the reins, and he ran across the cobbles to pull open the gate to the yard. He could hear the hooves, terrifyingly close now, coming along the mews. Thank God the horses were tired and pulling slowly – but it would not be enough, he realized with a sudden lurch of horror. They were only a couple of doors away. At this rate they would meet in the mews, directly outside the house.

  He stopped with his hand on the gate.

  Rosa’s face was white in the darkness and he could see she’d realized how close they were too, and was filled with the same indecision. She closed her eyes, her hands tight on the reins, and for a moment he thought she was about to be sick. Her lips were moving in some kind of silent prayer. But it was not a prayer: both she and Brimstone suddenly disappeared from view. It was a spell.

  ‘Go!’ her voice hissed from an invisible mouth. ‘I can’t hold this for long, not for all three of us.’

  Three? He looked down at himself and saw – with the strangest sense of sickening disorientation – that he was no longer there. He could see the impression on the mossy stones where his boots stood – but no boots. No legs. No hand when he held it in front of his face.

  ‘Go!’ she whispered again, with quiet desperation.

  Luke gasped and then yanked open the gate, just wide enough to let them out. They slipped through – the sound of Brimstone’s hooves on the stones horrifyingly loud – but the carriage just a few houses away did not falter; perhaps they could not hear the sound above the rattle of the wheels and the horses huffing. Luke turned to look. It was definitely them. They were too close to be mistaken, and he would have known Castor anywhere.

  He yanked the gate shut behind them – no time to latch it – and scrabbled for the invisible Brimstone. For a moment he couldn’t find him – and then, just as he was about to panic, he felt Rosa’s hand grab his.

  ‘I’m here,’ she whispered. ‘Reach down, feel for the stirrup.’

  It was there, and somehow he managed to get his foot into it, grab for the reins and swing himself up. For a moment there was a confused scramble as he almost toppled across the saddle, and he felt Rosa’s hair in his face and a great flurry of skirts as he scrabbled for a hold. Then, somehow in the middle of the confusion, his hand met skin: smooth, soft, hot skin. Her knee? Her thigh? He heard Rosa’s gasp, jerked back and felt his face flood with blood – only the knowledge that they were invisible, and that she could not hold the spell much longer, kept him from letting go and stumbling to the floor.

  Then he was up behind Rosa, his arms around her waist, his thighs gripping Brimstone for dear life. He felt her arms move as she tugged on the reins, and they were off, clearing the gate just in time for the horses and carriage to take their place.

  ‘Whoa!’ a man’s voice called. Castor and Pollux clopped gratefully to a halt, and Luke heard the strange groom slither from his perch.

  They were almost at the end of the mews, almost away, when a shrill barking split the night air and a small brown shadow lolloped through the open gate and began to run, wheezing, up the mews behind them.

  ‘Bloody dog!’ Luke heard from the groom. ‘Who let you out, you little sod?’

  He felt Rosa stiffen at the sound of the barking, and she dragged on the reins to bring Brimstone to a halt.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ he hissed furiously.

  ‘It’s Belle!’ she gasped. Brimstone faltered and Luke felt him turn back under the pressure of Rosa’s hands. The dog had almost reached them; the groom was perhaps twenty yards away.

  ‘Keep going!’ Luke snapped.

  ‘It’s Belle!’ she snarled back, just as furious. ‘I can’t leave her, Luke! I’m all she’s got – Mama never liked her, Alexis hated her—’

  ‘For God’s sake, the groom’ll run into us!’

  He reached around her waist and grabbed for the invisible reins, feeling the leather in his hands, and yanking right to pull Brimstone back around.

  ‘Come on, boy! Come on, gee up!’

  Brimstone took a few faltering steps and Rosa began to struggle in the saddle. Luke couldn’t see what she was doing, but he guessed she was trying to swing one leg up and over Brimstone’s neck.

  ‘Rosa, stop it!’ He clenched his fingers on the reins
, trying to hold Brimstone, who was beginning to panic. ‘You’ll kill us both for a dog. We have to go!’

  ‘Luke, let go of me!’ Neither of them were bothering to whisper now, their voices ringing in the narrow mews, and the groom looked around in astonishment, trying to work out where this unseen struggle was taking place. Brimstone snorted with fear and Luke felt him try to rear. He threw his weight forward, crushing them both against the pommel as he tried to stop Brimstone from rearing up.

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ Rosa shouted, and she pulled at his arm, trying to wrest herself free, digging her nails into his hand as she tried to pull his fingers off the reins. Brimstone swerved to the left as she tugged and began to back, panicked by the struggle. With a huge wrench Luke brought the horse’s head back around and he gave him a kick, harder than he’d meant, that made Brimstone neigh with indignation and start forward. Then he was off, cantering down the mews in spite of the double weight on his back.

  ‘Belle!’ Rosa cried. Looking back, Luke saw the groom catch up with the little pug and pick her up, holding her to his shoulder. The man stood open-mouthed, staring after the sounds, and then they rounded the corner and disappeared into the enveloping fog.

  ‘He’s got her, Rosa,’ Luke panted above the noise of Brimstone’s hooves. ‘She’s all right. The groom’s got her.’

  Rosa began to weep, and as they turned into Osborne Crescent the spell wore off with a shocking suddenness. One moment Luke could see nothing but the fog and the muddy road, flying past as if of its own volition, the next he was blinded by Rosa’s tangled red curls, and he became aware that at some point he had let go of the reins with one hand and was holding her, his arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her against him. He let go abruptly and she slumped over Brimstone’s neck, sobbing as if her heart would break.

  ‘Rosa . . .’ He’d not felt so helpless since she’d lain dying in his arms at Southing from the wound he’d inflicted. Even then she hadn’t cried. ‘Rosa, we’d have been caught – and even if we weren’t, what could we do with a lapdog on the road? She’s meant for sitting on cushions and eating minced chicken, not life on the road. Did you want to see her hungry and footsore?’

  ‘I have nothing left.’ Rosa’s voice was cracked with sobs. ‘Papa. Cherry. Now Belle. She was the last. Oh, Belle . . .’ And she began to cry again, but now with a kind of resigned hopelessness.

  Luke slowed Brimstone to a walk and they made their slow way through the darkened streets, taking turnings at random but always bearing roughly north, for reasons he hardly knew, except that Sebastian was to the south, and William to the east and Osborne Crescent to the west.

  The roads were unexpectedly quiet but it had begun to drizzle, a fine light mist of rain that mingled with the fog and hung in Rosa’s hair, dewing her skin, mixing with her tears.

  He thought they would be stopped, perhaps. A bloodstained man and a crying woman on a thoroughbred horse. But they were not. Perhaps he should not have worried. After all, a woman weeping was not a strange sight on the streets of London.

  ‘Rosa,’ she heard as if through a fog. ‘Rosa, wake up.’

  She lifted her stiff neck. They were in the courtyard of an inn; she had no idea where, but they must have left the city, for the night air was clear and clean, and the moon was full. The air smelt of wood smoke and horse manure. Brimstone stood, tired and panting, his breath a cloud of white in the darkness. She was cold, her fingers frozen where they had clutched the pommel. Only her back was warm, where Luke’s body had pressed against it as they rode.

  Now he slid from the saddle, leaving her shivering.

  ‘Where are we?’ she whispered, and then coughed. Her throat was dry. She had never felt so thirsty or so hungry in all her life.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Luke said. ‘Somewhere north of Chipping Barnet, I think. But Brimstone’s spent. Two riders ain’t good for him. We need to put up for the night.’

  Rosa nodded, feeling a headache begin to pound against her skull. She sat shivering, holding Brimstone’s reins while Luke went around the corner of the inn, looking for the night door, but there was no danger of the horse making off. He was even more tired than she was.

  They stood, drooping together in the quiet yard, waiting for the sound of Luke’s boots. When it came Brimstone heard it first; she saw his ears twitch before she heard the sound herself. Then Luke came into the yard with another man.

  ‘I’ll tek the ’orse,’ he said briskly. ‘You tek your sister inside. She looks perished.’

  Luke held out his hand, but Rosa shook her head and managed to slide stiffly from Brimstone’s back without his help. Nevertheless, she stumbled as her foot touched the ground, and would have fallen if Luke hadn’t caught her arm.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. ‘I’ve told them you’re my sister, but your accent’ll give us away in a second.’

  She nodded, and followed him round the building to a low porch, and into a smoky parlour. Two men were still drinking beer in the corner and they looked up as she entered. Rosa ducked her head and pulled her shawl closer around her face, digging the ruby into its folds. She waited in the shadows of the doorway while Luke made his way across to the bar and spoke to the landlady.

  ‘Luggage?’ Rosa heard her say, and saw Luke shake his head.

  ‘. . . weren’t expecting to have to stay,’ she heard. ‘We got caught up in London.’

  ‘You’ll ’ave to share a bed wi’ yer sister,’ the woman said irritably. ‘We’ve only got the one free. But you can have the room to yourselves.’

  Share a bed? Rosa felt her face flush scarlet, and then silently chastised herself for being such a child. Of course they’d have to share a bed. They couldn’t afford to pay for two rooms.

  The woman came across, holding a key, and looked her up and down sharply.

  ‘Quiet little thing, ain’t you? Cat got yer tongue?’

  ‘She’s tired,’ Luke put in shortly. ‘So am I.’

  ‘All right, all right. Only making perlite conversation. Here’s the key to your room. Payment’s now.’

  Luke nodded and fished a couple of coins out of his pocket.

  ‘My sister’s hungry; we haven’t eaten all day. Is there anything she can have?’

  ‘Cook’s gone home,’ the woman said sourly. Luke pulled out another coin and she looked at it for a moment and then tossed her head. ‘But you can ’ave bread and cheese. Not down ’ere, we’re closing up. I’ll bring it up.’

  ‘Bread and cheese? That’s the best you can manage for a shilling?’

  ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘At least give us a glass of beer.’

  ‘All right. Bread, cheese and beer. And you’re lucky with that. The room’s the second floor, right-hand door as you come up the stairs. Don’t open the window, the catch is broke. And here, take this.’

  She shoved a lighted oil lamp into Luke’s hand and Rosa followed him up the rickety stairs to the attic.

  At the top of the second flight they paused for a moment, catching their breath, and then Luke pulled the key out of his pocket and set it in the door. But it was not locked – as he went to turn it, the door swung open of its own accord and they went inside, Luke ducking his head as he passed under the low door frame.

  He set the oil lamp on the mantelpiece, turned up the wick and they surveyed the room.

  ‘I know it’s not what you’re used to . . .’ Luke said uneasily. There was no space for anything except the bed, pushed hard against the wall, a single stool that doubled as a bedside table, and a narrow washstand wedged into the alcove by the fire.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Rosa said in a low voice. But the only thing she could think as she gazed around the cramped chamber was how small the bed was. Smaller than her bed at home. The thought of her and Luke sharing the narrow mattress . . . She felt blood flood her face again and turned away, hoping he couldn’t see her furious blush and misunderstand it for shame or ange
r. She walked to the window to press her face against the cold glass, trying to cool her burning cheeks and quell the ache in her head. He’s Luke, she told herself as she stared out into the night. He is your brother. For now.

  ‘Rosa . . .’ Luke came up behind her, and in the dark reflection of the window she saw his hand hover over her shoulder, not quite touching. ‘I—’

  ‘Bread and cheese.’ The voice came from the doorway. ‘And beer.’ Rosa turned to see the landlady bang the plate down on the stool by the bed, and the tankard after it, the beer slopping as she did.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosa said automatically and without thinking. Almost at the door, the landlady stopped and looked back, as if puzzled. Then she shook her head and left, banging the door shut behind her.

  Rosa felt herself go hot and then cold with horror as she realized what she’d done.

  ‘Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry – I forgot! Do you think . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It was just “thank you”,’ Luke said, but his face was uneasy. ‘She won’t remember tomorrow. But we should get away as early as we can. Before dawn, if possible.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking, and rubbed his face, his hands rasping against his unshaven cheeks.

  ‘Well, at least she didn’t stint on the bread.’

  It was true. The cheese was nothing but a cracked noggin, ‘fit for the mice’, Mrs Ramsbottom would have said. But the bread was piled high and was fresh, or reasonably so. Rosa took the piece that Luke held out to her, but suddenly she was not sure if she could eat it.

  Perhaps it was the landlady’s gaze, but she suddenly felt sick with the realization of what she was doing. You are alone with him, alone in a bedroom with a strange man . . . The thought made her almost dizzy with disbelief. It was against everything her mother had drilled into her – and Luke was not just a man, but a servant, a witch finder, an outwith: everything alien and forbidden.

  But when she bit into the bread, feeling the taste flood her mouth, she realized how hungry she was, and she took another bite, and another, all thoughts driven out of her head except for her hunger and the taste of the bread. The crust crunched between her teeth and she thought that nothing, not the finest smoked salmon or the creamiest foie gras, had ever tasted so good.