Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt Read Free Book Online

an ailing child. When my Kit was only two, he fell ill with a terrible fever and I'd sworn that his death would be the end of me, only we both were lucky and he pulled through.
    My knees ached, my whole body was sore from the long walk to Bull Hole Farm and from the hours spent scrubbing out the scullery. I gazed out the chamber window, wondering what to do, when I saw the brown dog stood below, staring up at me. Sinking to the floor beside Mistress Holden, I took the child's clammy hand. Listless, the little boy stared up. Resigned to his fate, he was. Hadn't any hope left inside him of ever getting better.
    "Have you lungwort in the house?" I asked his mother.
    She shook her head.
    "I'll bring some tomorrow and brew him a tonic." Then I stroked the child's sallow face. "Best if you leave me alone with him for a spell."
    After his parents had let themselves out of the room, the first spark of life shone in the boy's eyes. He looked nervous.
    "Your parents asked me to bless you," I confided. "What do you say to that, Master Matthew?" I chafed his limp hand between my own. "Wouldn't it be a grand thing to rise out of this bed and go out and play with your brothers and sisters?"
    From outside the window came the sound of children's laughter.
    "Fancy being out there with them. A fine day, this. You could be sat in the grass with the sun on your face. See the flowers and your father's new calves."
    "You stink," the lad told me. "You're dirty."
    I laughed. "So your sickness hasn't struck you dumb then. If I'm dirty, my lot is better than yours. Least I do more than lie abed all day like a great lump."
    A spot of colour entered the child's cheeks and that made me go soft. Though my back hurt, I lifted Matty from his bed and carried him to the window.
    "I'm only a poor beggar woman, but I can wander wherever my fancy takes me. Once I was sat way up there, atop Pendle Hill." I pointed out the window where the hill rose to touch the sky. "I could see all the way to the sea. But you're a prisoner in this room. Have you never prayed to get better?"
    The boy watched his brothers and sisters, who squealed and chased each other whilst they should have been weeding the garden.
    "Tell me this, Matty," I said, making the child look me in the eye. "Do you want to get better or do you want to lie in this chamber till you waste away?"
    The boy's eyes were huge. "I want to get better," he said in a tiny voice.
    My skin nettled. My eyes misted. It was as though I could look into two worlds at once. The child's spirit was snared in some dark place indeed, fettered at the bottom of a cold, dry well. A powerful charm it would take to raise him up into the light. The years flowed backward till I was a young woman stood in our church in the days of Mary Tudor. Above the new-built roodscreen was the fresh-painted image of Judgement. Christ the King was sat upon his throne between the glittering gates of heaven and the yawning maw of hell. Beside heaven's gate Saint Peter was stood, holding the keys. At the very same time, I looked through the Holdens' window to see the brown dog lie down upon the grass.
    The blessing seized me. The words flowed from my tongue, whilst the inside of my head buzzed like a swarm of bees.
What hath he in his hand?
A golden wand.
What hath he in his other hand?
Heaven's door keys.
Stay shut, hell door.
Let the little child
Go to its Mother mild.
    I saw a picture, painted on the church wall, of Our Lady, clad in black, weeping at the foot of the cross, but even as she wept, she seemed swept up in a blinding vision.
What is yonder that casts a light so far-shining?
Mine own son that's nailed to the Tree.
He is nailed sore by the heart and hand.
    Lastly, I saw the Angel Gabriel, all in white, holding a lily.
Gabriel laid himself down to sleep
Upon the ground of holy weep.
Our good Lord came walking by.
Sleepest thou, wakest thou, Gabriel?
No, Lord, I am stayed with stick and stake,
That I can neither sleep nor wake.
Rise up,