Midsummer's Eve by Philippa Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

blame the witches,” said Jacco.
    “But she did it herself.”
    “That man started it. It wasn’t so risky for him. If that thing he is wearing had caught fire he could easily have thrown it off.”
    The barmaid was now standing up and I was relieved to see that she was not badly hurt. I felt I wanted to go. I could not understand why Rolf—who knew my father had forbidden it—should have leaped over the fire. I did not want him to see us here.
    “Better take her back to the Rest,” someone said. “Here … you, Jim. You take her. You and she is said to be sweethearts.”
    “I think we ought to go,” I said quietly to Jacco. “There won’t be much dancing and singing.”
    “Wait a bit.”
    I saw the man they had called Jim put the barmaid on his horse. They moved away. Jack Gort had rescued her in time and she was more shocked than anything.
    Someone started to sing but the others did not take it up. The mood had changed and I thought that would be the end of the revelries on that Midsummer’s Eve.
    Then I saw a crowd gathering round a boy who held something in his hands. It was wriggling and mewing piteously. A cat! I thought, and instinct told me to whom that cat belonged. It was Mother Ginny’s. I knew the boy slightly. I had seen him on the quay looking for a chance to earn a few pence doing odd jobs for the fishermen.
    He shouted: “Here’s a way to fight against them witches. They ain’t going to get the better of the likes of we.”
    He held up the cat by the scruff of its neck.
    “Mother Ginny’s Devil’s mate. Satan’s gift to the wicked old witch.”
    The cat moved and must have scratched him for with a yell of pain he threw the animal straight into the flames.
    I felt sick. I knew that Jacco was equally affected. We loved our animals, both of us; our dogs were our friends and the kitchen cat, which Mrs. Penlock declared was the best mouser in Cornwall, was a special favourite.
    Jacco had his hand on my rein, for I had started forward.
    “No,” he hissed. “You can’t.”
    Then I heard the scream of an animal in pain and there was silence.
    The boy was crying out, excusing himself: “Look what ’un done to me.” He held up his bleeding hand. “’Tis the only way to save ourselves. It ’as to be done … a living thing they allus say. Well, that’s it … the witch’s cat. That’ll be one of ’em out of the way.”
    The moment of horror had passed. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. They were forming a group round one figure. I saw the grey robe in the midst of them. He was talking to them but I could not hear what he was saying.
    Suddenly they all started to move. Some of them had carts, others horses. Jacco said to me: “Come on. We’re going. We’re going now … this minute.”
    As I followed him I kept hearing the cry of the cat and I just wanted to go back to the safety of my room. I could not stop thinking about Rolf there with them, Rolf … our friend … the one of whom I had made a hero … and he was there in the midst of them—a sort of leader.
    Jacco was not making for home.
    “Jacco,” I said. “What …? Where …?”
    “We’re going to the woods. That’s where they’re going.”
    “Why?”
    “That’s what we’ve got to find out. At least I’ve got to. You can go home.”
    “I’m coming too.”
    As we came into the woods I could hear voices in the distance. I wanted to go back, to creep into bed. I had a horrible fear that tonight was going to be like no other night I had ever known. I kept saying to myself: If my father were here this would never happen.
    But it was happening. And I had to see it.
    “Be careful,” said Jacco. “They mustn’t know we’re here. They’d send us home if they did.”
    We knew the woods well and we went a roundabout way, for both Jacco and I knew their destination. They were already at the clearing in the woods and their torches gave an unearthly light to the scene.
    The first thing I noticed was the grey