Weyward(25)

‘Yes, sir. I woke up, at dawn as usual, sir, to feed the chickens and put the pottage on. John had already got up, to milk the cows and then take them from the byre.’

‘And was John alone in doing this, or did he have assistance?’

‘He had help, sir. The Kirkby lad comes to help – came to help – John on Tuesdays and Thursdays.’

‘And this was a Thursday?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I was getting ready to get water from the well, to wash the clothes, sir. I had picked up the basin and I was looking out of the window. I wanted to see how thick the snow was, sir, to see if I needed my gloves.’

‘And what did you see, Mistress Milburn, when you were looking out of the window?’

‘I saw the cows, sir, coming out of the byre and into the field, and John and the Kirkby lad.’

‘And how did the cows seem to you?’ Did they seem – agitated? Aggressive, in any way?’

‘No, sir,’ she said.

I knew what was coming next. I felt giddy with dread, as if I might swoon. I was grateful that no one could see my shackled hands, how they shone with sweat. I wiped them on the skirt of my dress.

‘Please, go on, Mistress Milburn.’

‘Well, I had been looking at the window, but then I dropped my basin, sir. It made an almighty clang, loud enough that God himself could’ve heard, I thought. I bent down to pick it up. While I was crouched on the floor, there was sound from outside, like thunder. I thought maybe a storm was coming. Then I heard the Kirkby lad yelling.’

‘Yelling? What was he saying?’

‘Nothing that made much sense, at first. Just sounds, like. But then he started saying my husband’s name, over and over again.’

‘What did you do next?’

My heart drummed in my ears. The edges of my vision grew hazy. I wished for some water. I wished that none of this had ever happened. That I was safe in childhood, climbing trees with Grace. Pointing out the finches, the shining beetles; her laughing wonder in my ears.

‘I went outside, sir.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘The cows were all scattered in the field. Some of them had heaving flanks, wild eyes, as if they’d been running. The Kirkby lad was still yelling, bent over something on the ground. At first I couldn’t see John. But then I saw that he … my John … he was the thing on the ground.’

Grace’s voice grew thick with tears. She took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. The gallery murmured with sympathy. I felt their eyes on me; heard the hiss again. Witch. Whore.

‘And can you describe to the court your husband’s condition at this point, Mistress Milburn?’

‘He was – he was not recognisable as himself, sir.’ She paused and licked her lips, steadied herself.

‘In what manner?’

‘His arms and legs were all twisted, sir. And his face. It … weren’t there no more.’

A memory rose up, like vomit in my throat. That face, bruised and pulped as damson jam. The teeth gone. One eye split and oozing.

‘My John was dead, sir. He was gone.’

Her voice broke on the last word. She cried prettily, the head bowed in its white cap, the slight shoulders hunched with pain.

She had the courtroom rapt. In the gallery, men comforted their wives who wiped away tears in sympathy. To the jurors, she presented a perfect picture of grief. Even the judges looked softened.

The prosecutor – mindful of this, no doubt – went on gently.

‘Could you tell me what happened next, please, Mistress Milburn?’

‘It was then that I saw her, running towards me from the trees.’

‘Who?’ he asked.

‘Altha,’ she said softly.

‘Please, Mistress Milburn, would you point her out to the courtroom.’

She looked at me, raising one hand slowly. Even from where I was sitting, I saw the delicate fingers were shaking. She pointed at me.

The gallery erupted.

One of the judges called for order. Gradually, the shouts fell away.

The prosecutor continued.

‘Were you surprised to see Altha Weyward standing there?’ he asked.

‘It was all a blur, sir. I can’t remember what I felt when I saw her. I was – overcome.’

‘But it would have been an unusual occurrence, I assume, to see the accused standing on the edge of your field, not so long after daybreak?’

‘Not so unusual, sir. She is known for taking early walks.’

‘So you had seen her before, then? Taking walks of a morning, near your farm?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Regularly?’

‘I wouldn’t call it regular, sir.’ I saw Grace’s tongue dart out to moisten her lips. ‘But once or twice I’d seen her, yes.’

The prosecutor frowned.

‘Would you continue, please, Mistress Milburn. What happened after you saw the accused standing on the edge of the field?’

‘She rushed towards me, sir. She asked me what had happened. I can’t remember what I said all too well, sir. I was just so – shocked, you see. But I remember, she took off her cloak and threw it over his body, and then she bade the Kirkby lad to fetch the physician, Doctor Smythson. She took me inside to wait.’