She dropped the branch and backed away. He was already rising, and reaching for his sword.
‘You miserable jade!’
Makepeace turned and ran.
She darted between the misty trees, the crash and rustle of Symond’s steps close behind her. Every moment she expected to feel his blade slice into her back.
The trees unexpectedly ended, and she was running through bracken and then grass. A huge murky oblong loomed into view ahead, and she realized that she was back on the front lawn of Whitehollow.
Three figures were walking hastily towards her across the lawn. As she neared them, she made out their black clothes, and realized that they were the trio who had tried to arrest the spy.
‘Catch her!’ Symond bellowed behind her. ‘She’s one of them! She’s one of the Fellmotte witches!’
The three men instantly spread out to block her passing. As she tried to dart around them, the tallest drew back his arm. She barely saw his fist fly forward, only felt the jarring shock as it hit her jaw. The world exploded into pain, then darkness.
CHAPTER 33
When Makepeace first edged back into consciousness, for a while she was only aware of the pain in her chin. It seemed as big as a sun, but a sun that pulsed red and orange. Becoming reacquainted with the rest of herself was not an enjoyable experience. Her head hurt, and she felt sick. Opening her eyes, she found that she was lying on a mattress in what looked like someone’s writing closet.
She staggered to her feet, and tried the door. It was locked. The window was barred, and she felt a swimming sense of déjà vu and panic. She was a prisoner again.
Is everyone all right? she asked silently, suddenly frightened for her troublesome companions.
I believe so, said the doctor with an air of tortured calm. So . . . after all the trouble it cost us to find Symond Fellmotte, you found it essential to hit him with a log?
The man needed a smacking, said Livewell with feeling. ’Tis just a shame we couldn’t hit him with the whole tree.
In spite of her situation and stinging jaw, Makepeace gave a small snort of mirth. With relief, she realized that she could feel the warm vastness of Bear as well.
Morgan? Are you still there? There was no response, but then again that was not surprising. Where are we? Makepeace asked instead.
I do not know, answered Livewell. I have seen nothing since that fellow struck us in the jaw.
I thought you could all still move my body and open my eyes while I was asleep? Makepeace gingerly sat up, and felt her bruised chin.
During ordinary sleep, yes, said Dr Quick. During true unconsciousness, however, it seems we cannot manoeuvre the body at all. A fascinating discovery, but rather inconvenient right now.
Makepeace clambered up on to the bed, and peered out through the tiny window as best she could. She could see trees, and the chimneys of Whitehollow beyond them. She guessed that she was being held in the gatehouse.
She started as the door opened, and a servingman entered.
‘You’re to come with me,’ he said.
He led her out of the closet into a bare, little chamber. The man in black who had punched Makepeace sat in a chair at a desk. Symond lounged by the wall, with his usual mask-like sangfroid.
The man in black appeared to be about thirty, and his dark hair was already receding. His eyes were keen, but he blinked too hard, and Makepeace imagined him reading for long hours by candlelight.
‘We already know everything important,’ he said, looking up from his papers. ‘All that is left is for you to admit the truth, fill in the gaps, and tell us who else is steeped in this corruption.’ He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. ‘There is still time for you to convince us that you were led astray by others. You are young and unlearned, easy prey for the Devil’s tricks.’
Makepeace flushed as she remembered the word that Symond had shouted.
Witch.
‘What Devil’s tricks?’ Perhaps Makepeace could still play the frightened little girl. ‘Why did you hit me? Who are you? Why am I here?’
‘Why did you come to Whitehollow?’ asked the interrogator, ignoring her questions.
‘I was seeking Lady Eleanor,’ she said defiantly.
‘I have an account here from Private William Horne.’ The interrogator shuffled his papers. ‘He says that he came upon you one day by surprise. You were capering almost naked on your hands and knees, snarling like a beast, and ripping a live fish with your teeth.’
‘I hitched my skirts to wash my feet in the stream, and was lucky enough to scoop a fish out of the water. I was on my hands and knees on the bank trying to stop it jumping back in!’ It was worse than expected. Her enemies had clearly been collecting accounts from the household.
‘He also says that you plucked a memory from his very head, and taunted him with it. You knew the feelings of his heart, the fancies in his brain, as you should not have done.’
‘I saw it in a vision!’
‘Not all visions are sent by the Almighty. Some are the delusions of a weak mind . . . and some are deceptions by the Evil One.’
Makepeace’s heart sank. It seemed there was only a narrow line between prophetess and witch.
‘I hear you also have an uncommon way with animals,’ the interrogator went on. ‘At Whitehollow there is a yellow cat called Wilterkin. They say it spits and scratches at everyone else, but within five minutes of meeting you, it was nuzzling your face as if whispering to you.’
‘I dropped a scrap for it,’ said Makepeace. ‘It’s a cat. You can buy any cat’s love for an inch of bacon rind!’ She could not believe that her great joy, the company of animals, was now considered evidence against her.
‘Did you let it suck on your ear?’ he asked, in the same calm, severe tone.
‘What?’
‘A witch will suckle the devils and familiars that are sent to her. Sometimes their teats are strangely placed. One woman was visited by a pale mouse with a man’s face, who drank milk from a nipple in her ear lobe.’
There it was at last: the word ‘witch’. Makepeace could feel her skin tingling.
‘No,’ she said, with all the scorn she could muster. ‘No cat has been drinking milk out of my ear. You have let someone feed you a platter of lies.’
‘Have we?’ he asked coldly. ‘We heard you ourselves. We heard the Devil inside you, bellowing in the woods.’
So they had heard Makepeace roaring Bear’s roar, down in the foggy woodland. They were already convinced that she was an unnatural being. The interrogator had just been letting out rope so that she could tell lies and hang herself.
His eyes were severe, and a little reddened from lack of sleep, but Makepeace saw a spark of something in them. He was not handsome, tall or bold — not the sort of man to draw notice on an ordinary day. But these were uncommon times, and people had to pay attention to him. He was doing God’s work.
Bear was drowsy and drained, but awake, and he could smell the man in black. The man smelt of good soap and other people’s pain. He smelt a little like Young Crowe.
‘We know that you tried to kill Lord Fellmotte,’ the man in black said. ‘He has told us all about you. Now it is your turn to tell us about the Fellmottes.’
Symond was still calmly watching from the sidelines. He had a cat’s way of smiling without smiling. But even cats had limits to their cruelty, unlike people. The sight of him filled Makepeace with fury.
‘The Fellmottes are devils,’ Makepeace said with feeling. ‘I ran away from them. I ran to Lord Fellmotte, because I hoped he would keep me safe. But he’s worse than any of them! I cried out because I was afraid of him!’