Page 32 of The Snow Witch

‘Tell him nothing!’ A voice burst through the crowd. Nicholson looked around to see who had spoken. It was another woman, dark-haired, in her mid-twenties, perhaps? Two small children hung about her person and a baby squalled on her shoulder. ‘Leave it be, Mary,’ she said, addressing the whore. ‘Do not speak.’

Nicholson ignored her.

He spoke to the whore again – Mary. ‘Tell me, my lady. Mary, is it?’ He smiled at her and she thrust her breasts out again. Disgusting. ‘Is this person a charmer? An enchantrix, perhaps? Has this person proved this to you, over and over again?’

‘Many times,’ said Mary confidently. ‘She has caused illness and death in the village. The crops were spoiled last year, and I saw her walking through the fields before it happened. Once, I saw her change shape – into a fox. Hours later, the chickens were killed⁠—’

‘Mary!’ It was the woman with the brats again. ‘When did that happen?’

‘She walked up an alleyway,’ said Mary assertively. ‘And a fox ran out from whence she had come.’

‘That proves nothing. A fox may well have just been coming through the alleyway.’

‘Oh, you shall not defend her, Ellen!’ shrieked Mary. Nicholson shuddered at the screeching. ‘Just because she helped you out with the potion. The potion, I may say, sir,’ Mary transferred her attention to Nicholson, enjoying, it seemed, the attention the speech was garnering, ‘that killed Alice not two weeks ago.’

‘Mary,’ said the dark-haired girl – Ellen, it seemed. ‘Stop it. You do not know where this is leading to.’

‘You saw it, Ellen. You saw it as well as I did,’ said Mary. ‘She cannot get away with it. Murdering us in our beds, it’ll be us next. Anyone who speaks out against her is cursed.’

‘You do not know…’ Ellen looked terrified, but Nicholson was enjoying it. He had almost heard enough to accuse this woman, but he was intrigued as to what would be said next.

‘How about the time she made your son take a fever?’ snapped Mary. This was getting very interesting. ‘You told me he’d been misbehaving, throwing things at her house – she said, I am certain she said, that she would make him sorry. I was passing the house; I heard it with my own ears.’ She nodded, satisfied with her memory, it seemed.

‘No.’ Ellen shook her head. ‘That did not happen. She healed him when he had the fever and⁠—’

‘But how did he come to have the fever?’ Mary’s eyes were glinting, so invested was she in her tales. ‘She brought it on him, the poor bairn. He would not have had the fever had she not willed it upon him and said he would be sorry.’

‘But she healed him⁠—’

‘No. She just controlled it. Satan controlled it through her. She did his bidding. It was a warning, Ellen – a warning. Next time, the bairn will not be so lucky, mark my words!’

‘Silence!’ Now Nicholson had had enough. He wanted to get on with the job; he didn’t have time for catfights. ‘You are obliged to name the wench responsible for this evil. Who is she? Is she a suspected charmer? An enchantrix? A witch, perhaps? If she has harmed children of the village, that cannot be allowed.’

‘It is yon Meggie Noble,’ shouted Mary. ‘We all know it is Meggie Noble. And she has done all of that and more. Her ways are wild and unchristian. She roams thon moors, up at that Well. Sacred, she calls it. Yet it’s only sacred to those who worship Satan. Yes.’ The woman nodded decisively. ‘She is not called the Snow Witch in these parts for nothing.’

* * *

Ellen felt as if she was balancing on the edge of a cliff, and whichever way she moved, she could tumble into an abyss of shame or righteousness. If she defended Meggie too much, would she be accused with her? If she didn’t defend her enough, would Meggie be accused and tried as a witch? Mary’s accusations were not helping.

‘We do not know that she did harm people!’ Ellen said, looking frantically about her. She didn’t like that word at all – enchantrix. Her sister had told her it had something to do with witches. And that nickname Emory had given Meg when they were all children and they’d play together, climbing the ruins of the Roman Wall and running through the fields shouting at the sky. It was silly words, a bit of fun – but Mary was stating it as a fact. The Snow Witch.

If they arrested Meggie, she could tell them about Ellen and everyone would know what Meggie had done for her. Yet the truth was that Alice was in her grave because of Meg – what if Meg had chosen to kill her, Ellen, instead of Alice? She could kill on a whim, that much was certain. Had Alice wronged Meggie? Was it punishment for something?

And she, Ellen, had been no angel recently towards Meg Noble.

What of the day where she had gone knocking at Meg’s door, and thrown it open unannounced, desperate for her help? Meg had been kneeling on the floor, pushing what looked like a flagstone back into place, and looked up guiltily when Ellen had burst in.

‘Meg, I need your help. You have to make things right. But I can’t pay you yet.’

Meg had fixed her with those odd, grey eyes. ‘But you need me to help you, Ellen?’

Ellen had nodded. ‘I will pay as soon as I can, but this has to be done now. God won’t help me, so you have to. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t…’ She had shaken her head, swallowed down a sob. ‘Tam is dead, and I cannot… I cannot have another child! Charles – he… Oh God. Meg, please. Nobody knows the bairn is not Tam’s, and… please.’

She had spilled out the whole story to Meggie, who had sat back on her heels and listened wordlessly, then had got to her feet and gone to the dresser. But Ellen didn’t have space in her mind to think about all of that. Eventually, Meg had handed her a beaker of liquid. ‘I did know you would come to me,’ Meg had said. ‘I have exactly what you need. Take it.’ Then she had raised her strange, cool eyes to Ellen. ‘I want no money for this.’

Oh God!

They would talk about her. If Meggie chose to reveal Ellen’s secrets, she would always be known as the woman who had carried Milburn’s bastard child. Look at her, they would say. Her husband dead less than a twelve month. Ellen was ashamed of herself. Milburn had come to her door, before Tam had died, and Ellen had been weak. The second time, when she could not pass the child off as her husband’s, that was the time she had been forced to call on Meggie and beg for her help.