H C Turk, page 30
"But you are known by her friends: those instruments used to kill your own spouse, and thereby gain-fail to gain-Edward Denton."
"You confront me with these stories as though to achieve some advantage in your life," Rathel retorted. "I suggest, however, that you not display your wisdom to Edward Denton. Even now he considers you demonically tainted, and to the pyre of Magistrate Naylor you would go."
"Yes, mistress, with you as companion. How believable shall I be in alleging that you have me here to kill as in the past you so wickedly used witches? Might you tell Naylor that my identity be unknown to you? That display of insanity would gain you no home for the mad, but a prison for criminal fools. How readily shall you convince rational officials in light of my evil that Franklin died without your aid and effort? But I've no desire to inform tax man nor king of my identity merely to have you burned beside me. My silence I would retain if only you continue to humor your daughter."
"And what would this comedy cost me, Alba?"
"Dismissal, mistress. Have the witch Lucinda dismissed
from incarceration and from London."
"Is this a studied goal on your part, or one frivolous?" Rathel queried.
"A most studious goal I have been attempting to implement. Before Lucinda was encaptured, I had initiated her departure."
"Therefore, you killed the Bitford man for her passage."
"Satan ended this sinner through my unwilling, unknowing body. Perhaps the devil used you in a similar manner to kill your husband. At least I sought gain for a person other than myself. To purchase Lucinda's conveyance, I intended more thievery of your excess goods."
"Your generosity is moving, Alba, but will not likely convince a magistrate who shall only see the witch in you, not the sister. As for your business, I understand now the aunt of yours I was yesterday."
After a pause mandated by Rathel's nonsense, I replied, "You ascribe madness to me then speak insanely?"
"Upon learning of this Bitford's death, I also learned of his employ, and believed you on tfie verge of a foolish attempt to withdraw from London. At the agency of his hire, I inquired of a young lady with your face and fine speaking. Being told that you sought conveyance for a senile aunt, I took great offense, insisting to be that person and you a hateful niece attempting to rid me from your home. Thus, I canceled your papers with a generous gratuity to Mr. Wroth. More importantly, I concluded a business that if left unconsummated at the time of an employee's death might lead a thoughtful superior to have you sought. None shall seek me, since I used no true name, and my face was unseen. I suggest that when next you endeavor to kill a man with your sex, Alba, wear a veil to hide your distinctive face. But feel no need to thank me for saving your life again."
"I die the witch with a cunt virginal or murderous, so I need not thank you for your self-salvation. You would have me executed at once were it not for my continued success with Eric."
"Your further success, however, is required for your return to the wilds."
"How wise you are to not promise my continued living, only a conveyance to the wilderness."
"Both of these I will have for you if you wed the Denton lad."
"Easy is your business when the boy's true betrothal is written on his heart. I so consume his thinking that at night he climbs the wall for me-do you doubt it?"
"I do not, Alba, but take not this boy between your legs without a wedding, lest you ruin our chances for surviving his end."
"How could that be, mistress? I understand how you might secrete me out of London after Eric's death, but you remain, do you not? If available to justice, how shall you survive a murder that clearly you intended?"
"Because the death is one that clearly you intended, Alba. Besides myself, only witches are aware of the white one. I shall have even the king believe that you were the one seeking vengeance, vengeance against me for allowing your sisters on Man's Isle to die. You thus concealed yourself in the guise of a human girl until able to destroy me by killing your marriage, thereby ruining any mother's most beloved hour."
"Convinced I am, mistress, and in my guise as king's counsel, I adjudge you well connived by the witch though innocent of murder. But you shall require no such adjudication from the genuine law unless a new death transpires. And none shall unless Lucinda's be avoided. For me to continue with Eric as I am, you must have Lucinda released and removed from London."
"But here exists difficulty," Rathel returned. "Without your concern, I have no interest in this witch. My objectivity was revealed to the magistrate in my identifying Lucinda, then leaving her for the law. How am I to now tell Naylor that I care for the witch when earlier I did not? Should I mention Mr. Bitford's death?"
"Along with Franklin's, of course. Ply me not with your foolishness, sinner. If you have arranged for Eric to die by me and your husband through other witches, no doubt you've the ability to have one woman released, the reason by your own invention and convincing of the magistrate. But I suggest you not tarry, for I will tolerate no pretext that too late you were or 100 inconsistent toward Lucinda. So let the deaths fall where you will them, not where they must, for you are the center around whom your people perish. And remember as you journey, mistress, that I've developed my own resources for influencing London. Know ye, wench, that a sinner needs no prick to die by the will of witches."
There our speaking ended, the Rathel looking toward me firmly as though to read my will. And she walked away before I, walked away to have Elsie fetch her cloak and gloves, for again she need leave on business.
With the lady gone, Elsie found me near the foyer to ask of the Rathel's departure.
"Forgive me, child, but I'm hearing this harsh whispering between you and the mistress, and praise Jesus I'm hearing not enough to know what was said. But as I'm worrying of your arguing and the mistress being out again, can you be telling me how much I should fret?"
"The discussion, miss, was more negotiation than exchange of distress. As for Rathel's business, the mistress is to the magistrate's again with no difficulties expected, and none, I pray, forthcoming."
Expressing her relief, a fond demeanor with these servants, Elsie withdrew to the kitchen, one of their favorite sites. I soon smelled cooking, my first thought being that Elsie had opened the door to release a whiff of Delilah's burning meat. But no beef was that odor, and not from our kitchen. On Satan's pyre a witch was now frying.
I ran to the foyer, opening the door to be certain of my smelling, at first convinced I was as mad as the Rathel had mentioned, so distraught that my worst dreams now came awake. But I found no mistake and no nightmare, only a full breath of London's air now containing the black fibers of a burnt sister.
As though eating the dark flesh instead of smelling it, I retched and bent as though broken, my stomach's contents so exploding from me that I was thrown to the floor by the force of my contractions, not those of my stomach, but my heart, for my spirit was vomiting. I felt another loved one dying by torture, felt my morality destroyed from having allowed another sister to die by not being witch enough to save her.
Bloodless and filled with blood, I rose to move into the drawing room for an item of household protection, removing a metal heirloom to apply to that person most ruinous to the home, sitting within smell of the door, waiting for the Rathel to kill her.
Why she was so long in returning I did not know, but soon I came aware that Rathel had no initiative with Lucinda. Though she had identified the witch, this activity was old with her and familiar to me. She had no opportunity to save Lucinda as per my demand, for the sister was set to Hell's fire before Rathel could arrive. I had been correct when retching, understanding then that I was to blame: for being too active, too passive, too improper as a savior, a sister. I asked myself if Lucinda were less worthy of death than Percival; and, yes, the answer in God's name was yes. Regardless, I had killed them both. Having murdered enough for that era of my life, I replaced the lance and retired to my chamber, closing the window passage to night London because the incoming odor could be nightmarish.
I imagined Eric climbing the wall. At the window, I would kick his face, the boy Ming to his death, an accident to English law, the Rathel satisfied and I on my way to Man's Isle. Eric's death would be accepted in this land as normalcy, for was he not innocent and unworthy? I imagined Eric coming and dying, for was he not next in queue for my killing? First Percival from unknown, unavoidable evil, then Lucinda from incompetence and a lack of courage. Therefore, why not Eric next from clear intent? Was this progression not reasonable?
I imagined Eric but had no dreams of him, lying on my bed without sleep, my only thoughts of dinner gone bad, of a negligent cook having caused a harmless burning of a meal, nothing lost, nothing worse than this mistake. I attempted to justify the soot in my brain until a drunken wench came stumbling into my chamber.
Rathel had been imbibing liquor, a taste of hers I thought she had recendy tempered. Sinners drank as a social enterprise and to hide their cares with the dull foolhardiness that alcohol provides. But what was this sinner's state that she had to share it with me?
"You smelled the witch gone before I arrived," Rathel snarled, "and somehow-I know-you sent me to become a fool before Sir Jacob."
"Satan made you the fool, wench. I sent you to save my sister. I prayed to a God you have never loved to save my sister through you."
As though not having heard me, Rathel continued speaking, directing her composition-an opera-toward her audience.
"I told Naylor I should speak with this witch to learn more of the demonic activity in London. I then heard of her dying, but Naylor mentioned more on the subject of recent evil. The Bitford man dead. Then an older tale about a pale girl under water much too long, and how an average gent was drawn to touch her. After a story for his minister, this man was sent to the magistrate. Sir Jacob asserted that so much demonic now lay in London that people fear for their children. Sharing a drink with him to get the taste of the Thames out of me, I learned more. Learned that one family sharing a school with Lord and Lady Naylor had sent fheir bey to Europe this very day. And since the youth's name was Eric and you've been speaking with him at night as per your boasting, did you not encourage him to leave? Was this not your best initiative, moreso than pawning my possessions to abandon me for the wilds? Perhaps in your criminal journeys you've noticed that other pale girl about, she in Penstone Place nearly ravished before being driven off. Her appearance not unlike my god-damnable new daughter, I am told. Sir Jacob would have mentioned this earlier had I not been so insistent on being with my new family that I had no time to work with him. But this was understandable to the generous Naylor, that I preferred my lovely lass to those possessed with demons, as though anyone could be taken by a demon worse than you."
"Your mouth is perverse from liquor, unnatural creature," I retorted, but again the Rathel seemed not to hear.
"But many pale girls live in this city. When they're all discovered to be the same and all mine, she'll be enjailed before finishing with Denton-exactly as planned, is it not, witch?"
"Yes, you idiot blackguard," I laughed. "It all is true. As though God Himself, I've been, manipulating this city to irritate you. So foolish are ye, drunken wench, that you'd believe I would burn myself to thwart your plans."
"You've made a mistake in deceiving me, witch, in stabbing me from behind with your deception."
"Bleeding right, you ferocious whore, I've made a mistake in stabbing your back!" I shrieked, and leapt from the bed to run past Rathel and downstairs, having achieved a most objective intent, as though a formula to correct my living, and it would be the Rathel's death. Into the drawing room to gain the lance and slaughter heinous Rathel, Satan take her soul if he could find room for her infinite evil in his Hell. But energized with drunken anger, Rathel was with me like Lucinda's final smell. As I stepped onto a chair and reached for the lance, Rathel attacked me from behind, having taken another object in her life I purportedly had wielded against her.
"Here is the clock you would sell, when you meant to sell my hide, bloody witch!" she screamed, and struck my shoulder, the bones becoming so numb with pain that I could no longer reach.
"You've driven Eric off, but I will have you wait for him!" she cried, and struck my spine, the clock's corner biting into me so solidly that I shivered with an agony both unique and unbelievable.
"Your demon kind has ruined me before, but 111 have you make amends or have you quartered!" she screeched. "YouH be outside killing me piece by piece no more, but ill and inside until your betrothed returns!"
Stunning pain collapsed me. Then against my face fell the ceiling, which was only the timepiece; but this blow removed my ability to sense pain and to see, though I was startled by the force, wondering how any head could accept such a blow and yet live. I could not move, only hear, more babbling from the Rathel now obscured by screaming Elsie, who ran to her mistress as a final strike took my hearing and my mind.
Nineteen
A sinner was wetting me with her face. Was my mind so deteriorating that each dream became more bizarre than the last? No, it seemed my life was now so bizarre that all my nightmares came true, came in a vague succession like days, eras of witches burned with salt ^ater, a tiny boy lamed by the Rathel standing over him like an elephant, myself retching to death for having loved a sinner, for having touched him with my head as he crawled up my body toward my entrance. Now this damp dreaming came true, for the real Elsie was weeping above me, separated by a cache of bandages.
"Oh, praise God, child, you're returning to us at last!"
Her weeping shook me, a not unpleasant vibration, this sinner's proximity not discomforting since I could not smell, though I felt I should be smelling something most profound, more moving than this unimpressive weeping. But at the time, I had no comprehension of emotion, and tears were for another race.
"Are you hearing me, child, are you hearing, dear Alba?"
I looked to her, but attempting to see this fuzzy face was painful, so I ceased focusing.
"Alba, are you with us, now? Are you with us again, lass?"
"I'm out on an errand," I attempted to say, amused by the odd voice coming from beneath the bed, it seemed.
Then the sinner threw herself against that bed and partially against me, praising God and His offspring, lesus, for whatever return she presumed, my clearest thought being that Elsie had enough concern for us both, and might she enjoy it. After stroking the fabric cache covering my head and weeping additionally, Elsie moved away, returning in a dream moment or a sinners' minute with a wet rag to dab about my face as though I had use for further moisture, babbling all the while.
I was beginning to comprehend. As I became more aware, I became more uncomfortable, for throughout my person I felt an unspecifiable pain. Finally I had a clear reply to Elsie by stating simply, "It hurts. . . ."
Because my words were understood, more weeping came-God help me. "Sleep . . ." was all I said, though I wished to ask the woman to step away and allow space for my breathing, since the atmosphere seemed as dense as water; but, no, this was due to a swollen nose. Sleep, sleep, I told her, but closing my eyes was painful; so I left them in a slit as Elsie blubbered, kissed the fabric about me, and withdrew.
I next awakened to hear Elsie's prognosis. She said the physician had done his best, but was uncertain of my recovery, what with all the damage from my having fallen down the stairs, as the mistress told him. But you're not to be worrying, Alba, in that I know you're healing, know your lovely heart and God's great generosity will. . . And I slept again.
I was bright and dim as though an oil lamp, but never fully illuminated. A constant with my coming and going was pain, pain to take my thinking, such pain that each awakening brought a desire for more sleep, but after days or years or lifetimes, I oft felt too much thick agony for rest. Another constant with each awakening was Elsie, the woman as everpresent as furniture. But one day the sinner before me as I awoke was not the servant, but her mistress and mine.
No tears from this beast, as though she were a witch, but nearer to Satan than any type of human. She moved to my bed with an uninvolved look, and I knew my additional pain would be in hearing her speak.
"No witch can be harmed by a minor beating," she informed me. "Both of us well know this, Alba. Yet you have been so foolish as to walk about London causing yourself grief and potential death with every step. Be thankful I have rendered you safe here."
For long I had recalled the cause of my position on this bed as though a stain, but the story seemed operatic: seen, comprehended, but unmoving despite its noise. But with the Rathel's words, I felt only the truth, only her evil.
My voice was too strange a sound for any actor, but clear enough for revenge.
"When I walk," I whispered, "I kill you."
Though I clearly heard her ending words, I remained uncertain whose final speaking was more important.
"You are the murderess, Alba, as both we know. Best keep the fact to yourself."
In this manner my living proceeded. A sinning male occasionally entered to pull white apparel from my head and prod about my face. Then some poultice he would apply, the fabric replaced, some speaking by him or Rathel. When this male physician was near me, Elsie and her mistress were immediate, the latter to preclude the white witch's being handled by the doctor's possible lust. Elsie's purpose, it seemed, was to look between me and Rathel with facial expressions not easily described.
My body wastes were collected in bed by Elsie holding a type of skillet, the metal about my sensitive areas causing me to shudder. Meals consisted of vegetables selected by Elsie, a bit of chicken slipped in with the parsnips, always dropped from my lips with no toothmark, thereafter more odd expressions from Elsie, but these seen often before, perfectly describable.
Eventually I was walking enough to use my chamber pot. Being separated from that skillet was the best desire I could form, except for ending the pain. With my consciousness returned, the pain increased by having my senses to invade. Misery from my damage became so great as to awaken me as though someone were gouging my eyes. Nothing else, nothing else in the world could I perceive but that agony when it peaked. As though suffering tortuous theater, I stood away and watched my pain in disbelief that any force could be so relentless, so large, as though an elephant above me with frightening details and bulk enough to kill me if it fell with its entirety, this oppressive agony one of God's creatures so exotic as to steal my mind.
