Witch Finder by Unknown

girl. It’ll take a Brother. One of the Malleus. The test of the knife, the test of fire – they’re nothing to this. Because with this you have to defeat yourself, as well as the witch, d’you understand? They’ll use every weapon they can against you – they’ll weep, they’ll plead, just as they’ll fight and lame and maim. If you’re afraid—’
    ‘I’m not afraid,’ Luke broke in roughly. John put his hand on his shoulder.
    ‘I didn’t say you were, son. But if you are afraid, they’ll see that and they’ll turn your fear against you. And if you have a kind heart, they’ll turn that against you too. So you must have no heart, understood? You must have no fear. You must be nothing but the hammer.’

‘T here’s worse fates than marrying for money, Rose.’ Clemency put a sugared plum in her mouth and smiled, her plump cheeks dimpling, her lips sticky with syrup. ‘I should know. And better a rich wife than a poor spinster.’
    Rosa sighed. Clemency put it gently, but the truth beneath her words was hard. What other fate was there for a girl of her class and education? She had no way of earning a living, she knew nothing. And what was the alternative? Living out her days as Alexis’ unwanted spinster sister – despised by everyone and dependent on Alexis for everything from dress money right down to her food.
    ‘But . . .’ She bit her lip. She wanted to say: But it’s different for you. But was it? She looked at the portrait of Clemency’s father-in-law, Lionel Catesby, which hung between the two tall windows overlooking the park. The long golden beard, the red nose, the great belly like an aged Henry VIII. Philip was not his father – not yet. But he was halfway there and in a few years . . . Rosa looked at Clemency and tried to imagine Philip Catesby knocking on her door, climbing into her bed, kissing her with that great scratchy blond moustache and putting out a hand . . .
    Heat rose up in her face and she fumbled and dropped her teacup.
    ‘Oh, Clem!’ She jumped up, dismayed, as the tea flooded out across the Turkey rug, soaking into the silk. ‘I’m such a fool! Oh, where’s my wretched handkerchief?’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Sit down, Rose, and stop flapping.’ Clemency stretched out a hand to the bell and a moment later a maid came hurrying in.
    ‘My cousin has spilt her tea,’ Clemency said. ‘Would you clear it up and refill the pot, please, Liza?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Liza curtseyed and then knelt, her hand outstretched over the stain as she whispered the words of a spell. Rosa watched, relief fighting with envy as the tea stain misted into the air and disappeared, leaving the rug clean and untouched. If you married Sebastian, you could have a maid like Liza , her treacherous subconscious whispered. No more hiding and whispering and pretending to be what you’re not. If you married Sebastian  . . .
    ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Clemency asked lightly as Liza rose and left. There was a smile in her wide blue eyes. ‘You’re not worrying over that nasty old rug, are you? Philip’s mother gave it to us when we married and personally I’d be delighted if the horrid thing went up in flames. So hopelessly old-fashioned! But, as she never fails to say when she comes for tea, there’ll be forty years of wear in that rug. It’ll probably outlast my marriage.’
    ‘What!’ Rosa looked up at Clemency, really shocked. Clemency just laughed, showing her pretty pink dimples.
    ‘I didn’t mean that . I just meant, well. You’ve seen the way Philip drinks and eats and rides. His father didn’t make old bones, did he?’
    Her voice was careless and something about her mocking expression made Rosa’s heart twist and wring. Was this what awaited her? A marriage of convenience, where she could talk about her husband riding himself into an early grave with equanimity and barely even shudder?
    ‘Clem, don’t talk like that,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘What if