“Haveyouever attended a witches’ sabbath?”
“No, Father,” said Marthe, her voice calm.
“What do you know of Chamberlen’s Secret?” The priest leaned so close to them that Élisabeth could smell the onions on his breath.
Marthe shrugged. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Yet, we already know that you are a liar. Perhaps you are lying again? How do we know that you have not hidden the Secret about your person? Perhaps deep in the recesses of your skirts?” Father de Sancy’s tone had turned severe.
“You can have a look in my pocket, Father. It’s got my rosary and nothing else. I have no secrets.”
Élisabeth wanted to reach out and pinch Marthe to remind her of her place but instead stood stock-still as the priest studied them. Without another word he moved on to the next bride. Élisabeth’s shoulders sagged with relief and her heart thumped so loudly she could not hear their exchange.
She had passed the inquisition. The lie had been believed. Élisabeth raised the letter that had delivered her from suspicion to her lips to kiss it.
Except it was no longer there.
Her hands were empty. Her certificate of good conduct had disappeared.
She looked to her feet, and then all around her. Nothing. The letter had vanished. Then she saw a rustle of movement and caught the eye of a woman jostling back into line a few places down from Marthe. As the light from the oil lamp grew closer to the woman, Élisabeth could see that she did not wear a mended chemise or rough woolen skirt like the Jossard sisters. She had on a rich-coloured dress with a falling collar and long-waisted bodice that sloped into a deep point. Élisabeth peered at the fabric. It was velvet. Velvet for wealth and a promise made to be broken. Velvet for an unbiddable bride. The dress opened at the front to reveal a stain on her petticoats. Maybe mud? Élisabeth was gazing at the frilled sleeves peeking out at the woman’s elbow when she froze.
In the woman’s hand was Élisabeth’s letter of good conduct, instantly recognizable by the inkblot at the top of the page.
She opened her mouth to protest, to alert the old priest to the theft, to clamour for the return of the life-saving letter but halted when she saw the woman’s face. It was as dark as the depths of a well, her eyes fixed in a pointed glare. Slowly, the woman raised her finger to her lips.
As if under a spell, Élisabeth fell silent.
Father de Sancy moved towards the woman with the velvet dress. She handed him Élisabeth’s certificate of good conduct and waited. The priest squinted at the letter for a second time in as many minutes.
“Recite the Apostles’ Creed.”
“As you wish,” the woman bowed her head and began to say the prayer out loud. Her vowels were crisp and her cadence smooth. Élisabeth ogled to get a better view of her.
“Have you a mole on any part of your body?” the priest continued.
“No.” There was a hint of defiance in her voice, but she kept her eyes lowered.
“That’s what all the witches say, but when we strip them naked, we can see with our own eyes the mark the Evil One has left upon them.”
Élisabeth followed the thief’s gaze and saw that her hands were balled into fists.
“Father de Sancy, will removing their clothing be necessary?” The chaperone fluttered at the fringes of the priest’s vision.
He waved her away. “Tell me. What purpose does Chamberlen’s Secret serve?”
The woman in velvet said nothing.
“Have you ever heard of Chamberlen’s Secret?” Marthe asked, elbowing Élisabeth in the ribs.
The priest swivelled around, searching for the interruption. “Hold your tongue! The Devil is about, and I must not be distracted.” He turned back to the woman in the velvet dress. “I repeat. For what evil purpose do witches employ Chamberlen’s Secret?”
Élisabeth thought the woman with the velvet dress would not answer, so long did she take to speak.
“I cannot fathom any evil purpose this secret might serve.”
The priest stood back and squinted, as if trying to read the woman’s face. After a moment he handed Élisabeth’s letter back to her and moved on down the line.
“What in Heaven’s name is Chamberlen’s Secret?” Marthe asked when the priest was far enough away not to hear. Élisabeth did not trust her voice to answer. She shook her head, willing her sister to be silent.
