"Thou wicked old hag," cried Anne Beckley, angrily, as she stood in
Mother Goodhugh's cottage. "Here have I, against my better sense,
trusted to thee, and laid bare the secrets of my heart, and for what?"
Mother Goodhugh smiled maliciously. "To make thee rich with gold pieces
while thou hast done naught but mock at me and laugh."
"Nay, sweet Mistress," said the old woman, "I smiled not at thee. I
thought of what had passed."
"And what had passed?"
"Thou hast not known thine own heart, and one day it has been set on
Captain Culverin, and another day on the gay young knight of London."
Anne gave her foot an impatient stamp.
"What is that to thee?"
"Naught, sweet Mistress, with the beautiful eyes and lips. Ah, would I
were a man and young," said the wily old flatterer. "But it be much to
spells. The spirits will not be mocked at. Thou comest to me and
sayest, `Mix me powerful philtres that shall win Sir Mark's love', and,
when thou dost administer it according to the form I gave, thy thoughts
be all the while on Culverin Carr. How canst blame me if they do not
act!"
Anne stamped on the floor again.
"I don't care," she cried. "What did you promise me? Was it not that I
could win the love of either."
"Ay," said Mother Goodhugh; "and I worked hard; but Mistress Mace Cobbe
worked hard too, and had better luck."
"Don't mention her wretched name."
"But I must, sweet child. How her beautiful eyes fire up and sparkle!"
she said, as if to herself. "She be a white witch, and weaves powerful
spells with her father's wealth. For his money helps her to buy costly
things my pittance will not touch."
"I have given thee crowns and pounds," cried Anne.
"All spent on thee and thy philtres," returned Mother Goodhugh. "Then
Abel Churr has been taken away through the tricks of that white witch
Mace, who has forced Culverin Carr to slay him, that I might not battle
against her. Ah, fair Mistress Anne, she be a potent witch."
"Then she shall be burned," cried Anne Beckley, savagely. "I have but
to swear against her before my father, the justice, of her goings on,
and she would be seized and pinioned and tortured."
"And serve her duly," cried the old woman, with malicious glee.
"Even as I could have thee seized, Mother Goodhugh," cried Anne, "if I
so willed."
"Nay, but thou would'st not be so cruel to one who has served thee so
well."
"Served me so well?" cried Anne, fiercely. "What have you done?"
"Tried to win thee lovers," said Mother Goodhugh, whining.
"Ay, and Gilbert Carr treats me with scorn, and Sir Mark marries that
thing--that creature, Mace Cobbe."
"Nay," cried the old woman, "it be not so."
"But it is so," cried Anne, "and I am scorned by both. I heard Sir Mark
talking the wedding over with Master Peasegood, and it will be at the
Pool."
"Both scorned thee!" cried Mother Goodhugh, raising her hands; "and thou
so beautiful to the eye, and I'll warrant me so sweet to the touch. She
be a powerful witch indeed."
"Then I'll denounce her for one!" cried Anne, passionately; and the old
woman's face lit up with glee, but became serious directly after, as she
grew thoughtful.
"Nay, child, it would be in vain."
"But this marriage shall not be."
"Why not wed Captain Culverin?"
"Hideous old fool, I tell thee he scorns me!" cried the passionate
woman. "He loves that wretched creature. I'll denounce her, that I
will. I'd like to see her burn."
"She deserves it, too, child; but it would be in vain. Sir Mark and his
men and Culverin Carr and his men would defend her. She has witched
them to her side."
"But the wedding must not be."
"Nay, it shall not, then," cried the old woman.
Anne Beckley walked up and down the little room for a few minutes, and
then with an ugly look disfiguring her handsome, weak face, she stopped
short before the old woman.
"Dost know how they served the old woman over at Morbledon?" she said,
with a malicious smile.
"Yes, yes," cried Mother Goodhugh, hastily; "I heard."
"They tied her neck and heels, and threw her into the pond to see if she
would swim."
"Yes, yes; the idiots and fools."
"They nearly drowned her. Eh? Does that touch thee, Mother Goodhugh?"
said Mistress Anne, maliciously, as she saw the old woman fall
a-trembling.
"Yes, yes, yes. It was very cruel."
"And then she was committed to prison on my father's warrant, and
perchance she will be burned at the stake."
"Nay, nay, it be too horrible," said the old woman, whose face was now
blanched with terror.
"It is only what they'd do to thee, Mother Goodhugh, if I denounced thee
for witches' practices."
"Then I'd denounce thee, too!" cried the old woman, turning upon her
like the trampled worm.
"And, if you did, who would believe thee, thou wrinkled, ugly, spiteful
crone, who goest cursing through the village, and evil-eyeing all
around? Denounce me? Ha, ha, ha!" cried the girl, throwing back her
head as her eyes flashed, and she looked really handsome; "Do I look
like a witch?"
"No, no, no, dearie, you are lovely as woman can be," cried the old
crone.
"Then I'll get thee burned for deceiving me!" cried Anne.
"Nay, child, nay," cried the old woman, piteously; "thou would'st not be
so cruel."
"I can, and I will," cried the girl, stamping her foot. "I have been a
fool to listen to thee, and thou hast taken advantage of me to get my
money, and laughed at my weakness because I was sick with love; but I'm
not such a fool as to be unable to get revenge. Mother Goodhugh, I'd
come to see thee burnt."
"Nay, nay," cried the old woman, grovelling on the floor before her;
"don't talk so, dearie, it be too horrible."
"A great stake and a chain, and faggots piled round thee, and the fire
blazing, and Mother Goodhugh roasting. Ha, ha, ha! it would be a gay
revenge on an old witch."
"Nay, child, nay, but I be not a witch," cried the old woman, who seemed
palsied with dread.
"Then why did'st profess to me that thou wast?" cried Anne, striking her
again and again, the old woman only cowering down as she received the
blows, and piteously begging her tormentor not to denounce her. "Thou
deceived'st me scores of times, and I, fool that I was, listened, and
was befooled more and more. Now, hark ye, Mother Goodhugh, I have thee
tight. Thou canst not win their love for me, but thou can'st get me
revenge. Look here: stop that wedding."
"I will, child; I will, dearie."
"_You shall_!" cried Anne. "Mind this: I warn you. If that wedding
takes place, and Mace Cobbe becomes Dame Leslie--"
"Yes, yes, yes!" cried the old woman.
"I'll denounce thee as a witch, and laugh to scorn any accusations or
railings against me; and I'll come and spit at thee as thou burnest at
the stake."
"Oh!" half shrieked the old woman, tearing at her bosom as she heard the
other's words, and felt their power. Then, recovering herself, she
began to fawn upon her visitor.
"Have no fear, dearie. The wedding shall not be. I can stay it--I can
stay it. I have but to lift up my hand, and it is done."
"I believe thee not!" cried Anne, "but I warn thee. If that wedding
takes place, pray to all thy familiars to save thee, or flee from here,
for if not I'll have thee dragged to the stake and burned. Thou knowest
that I can," she said, as she turned to go.
"Yes, child--yes, dearie."
"Then remember!"
Anne went out of the cottage as she said the last words, and, as Mother
Goodhugh thought of the atrocities that had been committed against weak
old women who had professed some occult art, she shivered, and in
imagination saw the flames rising round her withered limbs.
"She could do it, she could do it," she cried piteously. "But I'll stop
it: I'll stop it. The house is cursed, and the wedding shall not be;
for I can stop it, and I will."
Left alone to her thoughts, Mother Goodhugh began to suffer from a fit
of terror, which completely gained the mastery over her, as she recalled
all that she knew about the terrible sentences passed upon reputed
witches. There was something fascinating in being able to gain the fear
of the common people, and to be looked up to as a kind of prophetess;
but she avowed now that the price paid was very dear. She had won many
triumphs, and been looked up to as a wise woman, but if she were
denounced as a witch, those who had feared and paid her for her
utterances would turn upon her, for she was ready to own how seldom her
prophetic promises had come true.
One in a hundred, however, was quite sufficient to keep up her
character; and when there were failures there were always some side
utterances that could be brought to bear to soften defeat or turn the
matter to her advantage. And so for years she had managed to keep up
the character of a wise woman, and amass no inconsiderable amount of the
rustic people's savings, for there was always something upon which she
could be consulted, and, in spite of her fears, she sat hugging herself
upon her success as she thought of this.
"What be I to do?" she muttered; "and how be I to go to Cobbers house?
If I go I shall be sent away. Why be not Abel Churr here to help me?"
In spite of her efforts to fight back her dread, the recollections of
the death scenes she had heard described made her tremble, and, when a
hasty step was heard outside, she rose with a cry of horror, and darted
towards the inner chamber, but paused on the threshold, as she heard a
woman's voice repeat her name.
"Mother Goodhugh, Mother Goodhugh!"
"Yes; who be it?" she said, and, tottering to the door, she opened the
latch with trembling hand to as it were admit a ray of light to her
breast, for the visitor brought hope.
It was Janet.
"Well, child," she said, "and why have you come?"
"Don't ask me yet, mother," whispered the girl, hurrying in, and helping
to close the door. "If Mas' Cobbe knew I be come here he would half
kill me."
"Of course, of course, child! It be very wrong to come and visit poor
Mother Goodhugh. Aren't you afraid I should curse you, child?"
"Oh no, mother!" cried the girl, who, now that she was inside, recovered
herself. "I want you to bless me."
"Ah, child, and how?"
"Oh, mother," giggled the girl, "you know. How do young women want to
be blest?"
"With a husband, eh, dearie?" said the old woman with a cunning leer, as
she scanned Janet's pretty, weak face, and thought about how her good
fortune had played into her hands by sending her a tool with which, if
she were skilful, she could work her ends.
"But thou should'st not make me say it out loud, mother," said Janet,
with another giggle; "but, when there be so much courting and
love-making up at home, how can a girl help thinking about such things?"
"Ay, truly, dear, how indeed! But why should not so bonnie a maiden win
a husband, I should like to know."
"What, as Mistress Mace?" said Janet, pouting.
"Nay, as Mistress Janet," said the old woman, chuckling. "Well, well,
and who is it to be, and what can I tell thee?"
"I want--I want to know--"
"Ay, ay, speak out, dearie."
"I want to know," faltered Janet, glancing at the door of the inner room
and then at that of the entrance, "I want to know--Oh, I daren't ask
it," she said, turning red and pale by turns.
"Thou would'st know the name of thy husband."
"Ay, how could you tell that?" cried the simple girl.
"Such things be as plain to me as if they were written in a book. Sit
down there," she cried, pointing to a stool in the middle of the room.
Janet hesitated, but the old woman took up her crutch-handled stick and
struck the floor imperiously, with the result that the girl took the
seat, and Mother Goodhugh drew a rough circle round her as she stood
behind the stool.
"I want to go back now; I must go back now," said the girl, with
trembling voice.
"Thou canst not go now until the spell is off," whispered Mother
Goodhugh, as she thrust her hand into a capacious pocket and took out a
ball of glass, lined inside with some white metal, which gave it the
appearance of a convex mirror.
"Shall I see anything very dreadful, and will it pook me?" faltered the
girl.
"I hope not, but I cannot promise," said Mother Goodhugh. "Sit quite
still, and if anything dreadful comes I will answer for it that thou be
not hurt much."
Janet's heart throbbed as she saw the old woman come before her and go
down upon her knees, her face convulsed, and lips moving rapidly; then,
holding the glass in both hands, her brow puckered as she gazed straight
into it.
"What be this I see?" she cried in a hoarse voice; "a dark, tall,
sun-browned man with pointed beard, half soldier, half sailor, who looks
upon thee with eyes full of scorn."
"Has he dark grey eyes, mother?" whispered Janet, in an awe-stricken
voice.
"Ay, child, and a dashing, roving look."
"It be Culverin Carr," muttered the girl, pressing her hand to her
throbbing heart.
"And now I see an old rough, grey man, big, and harsh, and stark, who
would wed thee, but I know him not, for he keeps his head away."
"Mas' Wat Kilby!" muttered Janet, with a sigh.
"And now I see another, who is at thy feet, child; a handsome man in
silk and velvet, who looks prayerfully in thy face, and asks thee to let
him love thee."
"Tell me more of him!" cried Janet, eagerly.
"I can see but little more, child, only that he has white hands with
rings upon them, and a sword is hanging to his belt. He looks a
handsome and a courtly youth, such as we have not in these parts here."
"'Tis Sir Mark," said Janet to herself.
"He looks love to thee, but a woman of thy size and shape steps in
between thee, and tears him away."
"What be she like?" cried Janet.
"I cannot see, child, for her head be turned away, but surely it be
thee, from the turn of the head. How be this? Thou tightest against
thyself."
"Nay, 'tis Mistress Mace Cobbe. Let me look."
"Thou art right; it be thy young mistress; and see, the gallant tries to
reach thee, and her hand be raised to strike, and--How strange!"
"What be it, mother?"
"The glass has grown dim, as if a black shadow had passed over it, and I
can see no more. Try thou, my child."
"Nay, nay, I dare not; it be too terrifying!" cried Janet, thrusting
back the crystal.
"'Tis better not," said the old woman. "It be dangerous at times.
There, child, I can tell thee no more to-day."
"But tell me, mother, what can I do? Pray give me your help."
"Help, child! How can I help thee?"
"It be all so true," whispered Janet. "He loves me, and she has come
between us, and I hate her. What shall I do?"
"Does she love him?"
"I think so. I don't know."
"What could I do to help her?" muttered Mother Goodhugh, as if communing
with herself, but loud enough for the silly girl to hear. "I could give
her a philtre that would turn her own love for this gallant to hate, and
so comfort her poor suffering heart. See, child," she said aloud, "I
will give thee a potion that thou shalt take a little at a time in every
meal; and, at the end of a week, thou shalt feel so strong a hatred of
this lover of thine that thou shalt feel perfect rest. Will that do?"
"No, no!" cried Janet; "I don't want to--Yes, yes!" she cried, as an
idea seemed to flash across her brain, and Mother Goodhugh's eyes
sparkled as she saw how well her plans would be carried out by the
foolish girl who, she felt sure, would administer the drops to Mace in
place of to herself; and, going into the inner room, she remained away
for some few minutes before returning to Janet, and, pressing a little
bottle in her hand--
"Take that, child, but let no soul know whence thou hadst it."
"Trust me for that, mother," cried Janet, joyously. "What shall I pay
you?"
"Pay me, child!" cried the old woman. "Nothing, dearie; I am no old
money-getting witch, but a simple, decent woman, who does these things
for love. There, dearie, give me a bonny kiss of those red lips, and go
thy way; Mother Goodhugh will help thee again if thou should'st come."
"But mother," said Janet, glancing back at the door.
"Yes, child, yes?"
"Will this act quickly and soon?"
"Yes, child; why?"
Janet reddened and hesitated, while the old woman's eyes seemed to
search her through and through.
"Speak to me at once, child. But just as thou wilt, I can read thy
thoughts, I know," and she laughed maliciously.
"Oh, mother!" cried Janet, bursting into tears.
"I think thou hast been very wicked, Janet."
"Nay, mother, I could not help it; I tried so hard to be good."
"My duty should be to tell Mas' Jeremiah Cobbe."
"Nay, nay, mother, he'd drive me hence, and Mas' Peasegood would make me
stand out before all the people in the church. Nay, good mother, give
me something, pray. Sir Mark's stout followers be rude wicked men. And
Mas' Wat Kilby, too," she sobbed.
"I've given thee that which will help thee--I can do no more," said
Mother Goodhugh, sternly.
"Now thou'rt angered with me, mother," pouted the girl. "I wish I had
not come and told thee, that I do."
"Tchah! she says, _fold me_," laughed the old woman, "when I knew as
well as all the world will soon know, Janet, an' thou do not use my
philtre."
Janet turned pale.
"Pray forgive me, mother, I'll use the drops."
"Ay, go and use them, and through them win a husband, child. Then all
will be well."
"Yes, yes, mother!" cried Janet, eagerly.
"There, I forgive thee; but get thee a husband quick. Kiss me, child.
Now go."
The girl eagerly pressed her ripe red mouth to the pale and withered
lips of the old woman, and then, after a glance outside to see that she
was not watched, she hurried back towards the Pool, while Mother
Goodhugh stood looking after her, and softly rubbed her hands.
"If aught should happen," she muttered, "the girl dare not speak, for I
gave her the stuff to take herself. It would be her doing, and the
wedding would not take place. But what would Mistress Anne Beckley
say?"
She stood thinking for a few minutes before she spoke again.
"Nothing. She dare say nothing. But I be a witch, be I, madam? Have a
care, then, for thyself. If one of two people is to die, why should it
be I? But we shall see, we shall see: there be time enough yet."
End of Volume II.
Volume 3, Chapter I.