Charms of a Witch

By Marina Oliver

Lucy has been brought up with her cousins, and never knew her parents, or even who her father was. When she hears that her grandmother, living in a small village, is ill, she insists on going to care for her. At first all is well, but after the grandmother dies the villagers begin to treat Lucy with suspicion, claiming she is a witch. When Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General, arrives, Lucy is in great danger until there is unexpected relief from the reclusive Squire and his heir.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Oliver
• Release date: Jan 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465707857

Marina Oliver

Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates.I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day.I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President.As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm.I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area.Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

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CHARMS OF A WITCH

BY

MARINA OLIVER

Lucy has been brought up with her cousins, and never knew her parents, or even who her father was.

When she hears that her grandmother, living in a small village, is ill, she insists on going to care for her.

At first all is well, but after the grandmother dies the villagers begin to treat Lucy with suspicion, claiming she is a witch.

When Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General, arrives, Lucy is in great danger until there is unexpected relief from the reclusive Squire and his heir.

Charms of a Witch

By Marina Oliver

Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

Smashwords Edition

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Print edition first published 1977 by Robert Hale

See details of other books by Marina Oliver at

http:/www.marina-oliver.net

AUTHOR NOTE

In the 1640s people greatly feared suspected witches, and their fears were aggravated by the activities of people like Matthew Hopkins. He devised various 'tests', including the iniquitous floating test, where a trussed woman was thrown into a pond. If she sank, she was innocent, and probably dead. If she floated and was therefore guilty, she was still put to death.

CHARMS OF A WITCH

BY MARINA OLIVER

Chapter 1

It was pleasantly cool beneath the trees. The girls were out of the fierce glare of the sun, which filtered through the leaves above making dappled patterns on the grass and the water.

Lucy, small and dark, was crouched at the side of the stream plucking herbs which she laid carefully in her basket. She looked up at the tall dark girl standing on the bank beside her, and laughed.

'You had best not let your lady mother hear you say that, Sarah,' she said. 'Peter is her precious son, and the thought of his being thrown away on a penniless orphan like myself would send her demented.'

'You cannot deny he is very taken with you of late!' Sarah retorted.

'He is very kind,' Lucy nodded, 'I am fond of him but I have no warmer feelings, which is just as well or I would forfeit your mother's good opinion of me.'

Sarah laughed. 'I would not have you think I criticise Mama,' she said, 'but she is overmuch concerned with marrying Peter and me to great fortunes.'

'Oh, yes, and yours is about to appear, I understand. When is Mr Anstey coming to Essex?'

'In a few weeks.' Sarah shrugged, and moved away a few paces. 'It is ridiculous, for I have not yet seen the man, and Mama last saw him when he was a brat of five years old!'

'But 'tis not he you need consider,' Lucy teased. 'Surely it is his moneybags, or rather his expectations from old Sir Humphrey. Oh, look!' She stood and pointed across the stream. 'There is some vervain. 'Tis used in love potions. Here, Sarah, hold my basket. I will go across and get some, and when Mr Anstey appears, you can slip it into his wine.'

Sarah laughed. 'Do not be so foolish, Lucy. You cannot jump the stream. 'Tis too wide.'

'Then I must wade across. Will you hold my basket, please?'

But Sarah had moved away, and impatient to gather the herbs, Lucy set her basket down on the bank, took off her shoes and stockings, and holding her skirts carefully out of the water's reach, waded through the stream. She clambered up the somewhat steeper bank on the other side, and picked a bunch of the delicate lilac flowers then, flexing her toes with pleasure against the cool grass, she decided to search further on this side of the stream.

Making a basket of her apron, she wandered along, putting the herbs she gathered into it. As she wandered on, absorbed in her task, the voices of Sarah and the maids gradually disappeared. Even the burbling of the stream was no longer to be heard. The birds were silent, and the rustling noises of the animals were stilled as everything seemed to sleep in the hot sunshine.

Lucy was startled by hearing her name called. She looked round quickly and saw that she had wandered close to a path which wound through the trees. Standing on the path, looking at her intently, was an old woman with a brown, wrinkled face. She spoke again before Lucy could.

'You be Lucy Dean? There could be no mistake!'

Lucy nodded, smiling. 'That is indeed my name. But how could you know it? Methinks I have not seen you before?'

The old woman shook her head slowly. 'I have never seen you, but I could not be mistaken. You are the image of your mother. '

In her astonishment Lucy dropped the corners of her apron and stepped forward to the old woman, her precious herbs falling unheeded to the ground.

'My mother?' she breathed. 'How do you know my mother? Where? Who are you?'

'I am Emma Smith,' the woman answered, 'and for many years past I've lived in the cottage next to your grandmother's. I came to bring you a message. She is ill after a bad fall, and would see you.'

'Ill?'

Lucy closed her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against her temples. Then she looked at the woman.

'Forgive me. I was startled. My grandmother is ill, you say?'

'Aye. I was coming to see Mistress Francis, to ask if you would go and visit her.'

'Where – where must I go?' asked Lucy.

'Do you know the village of Brookley?'

Lucy shook her head. 'I have never been there.'

'Go past the old Abbey. 'Tis about two hours to the ford. After that take the left track at the fork, and a little further you come to the village.'

Lucy nodded. 'Which cottage is it?'

'Past the pond and the smithy, turn to the right, along the way to Chelmsford. 'Tis the last cottage out of the village. There is a twisted oak growing at the side of it. You cannot mistake.'

Lucy nodded. 'I thank you for bringing the message, Mistress Smith.'

The old woman smiled, showing a couple of pointed yellow teeth set wide apart in her otherwise bare gums. Bidding Lucy farewell, she turned away and set off along the path. Lucy dropped to the grass and sat pondering for several minutes.

*

What could this strange meeting portend? Lucy had lived with Sarah Francis and her parents for as long as she could remember. Her mother had never been mentioned, nor her father, and after receiving no information about them from her childish questioning of the family, she had ceased to mention them, though she had often wondered exactly what her connection to the Francis family was. Always she was referred to as a distant cousin of ours, but no one had enlightened her as to the exact relationship. She knew nothing of her parents, and had not until now the slightest inkling that she had a grandmother, in a nearby village too.

Lucy began to smile. Someone of her own, of her very own family at last. She rose from the grass, then paused. What if it were false? If the woman had invented the message, or if it were a hoax? Impatiently she shook her head. There was but one way to discover the truth. She would ride to Brookley.

She wandered slowly back to the stream, forgetting to pick any more herbs in the absorption of her thoughts. Brookley, she was thinking. It was strange she had never been to the village so near to her home, but on their rides they normally went in other directions, and though they frequently visited Chelmsford they did not take the road the old woman had indicated, there being a better track further to the west which boasted the added advantage of a bridge across the river.

Having recrossed the stream, Lucy collected her basket and went to join the others. She was quiet and withdrawn, having decided not to mention her odd encounter to Sarah until she knew more about the matter.

Sarah teased her on her quietness, and Lucy attempted to respond, though not very successfully, for she was searching her memory to discover hints about her past. There was little to help her. Her parents and her origins had never been mentioned, her questions had not been answered. Mistress Francis had treated her with justice and firmness, but Lucy had been aware from a very early age of the difference between herself and Mistress Francis' own children, Peter and Sarah. She had shared Sarah's governesses and been treated as part of the family, but the subtle distinctions were there. She never had as many new clothes as Sarah. She was rarely taken to visit friends, and Sarah, though carelessly kind towards Lucy, tended to ask her to perform tasks that would have been more suitable for a maid rather than an equal.

Lucy had accepted this as the lot of any impecunious relative given a home by the charity of better off members of a family, and she had not been resentful, but over the last two years, since her fourteenth birthday, she had noticed many small changes in the family's attitude to her.

Peter, Sarah's elder brother, no longer treated her as a half witted boy who might be allowed to join in his pursuits if she could make herself useful and not be a nuisance. He had taken to offering to carry things for her, and opening doors, and showed a distinct preference for her company, frequently suggesting she accompany him on rides. And when they were all in the parlour after supper he would sit beside her and pay her attentions.

Lucy could not help but be aware she was now a very pretty young woman, and Peter found her attractive. Gently she tried to discourage his attentions, for she knew Mistress Francis feared they might marry. This would by no means suit Peter's mother, who had very different ideas for his future.

On the following morning at breakfast time Mistress Francis turned to Sarah.

'The taffety for your new gown is here, and the dressmaker is coming.'

Sarah looked up and smiled in delight. 'Is this the rose coloured stuff?' she asked.

'Yes. I hope the woman will bring the velvet we ordered with her, and then she can start your new winter cloak too.'

Lucy caught Sarah's eye and smiled mischievously causing Sarah to blush in confusion. She was being arrayed in many new clothes lately, in the anticipation of a visit from Mr Gavin Anstey, a cavalry captain in Prince Rupert's army, and heir to Sir Humphrey Anstey, who was a cousin of Mistress Francis. The good lady had set her sights on Mr Anstey as a suitable husband for Sarah.

*

Lucy was relieved Sarah would thus be occupied, for it enabled her to escape and ride away without anyone questioning her. This she did as soon as possible and guided her mare along the track past the old Abbey which was now deserted, its windows broken and its walls crumbling with neglect since the monks had been driven away a century ago.

She rode on, wondering if at last she would discover something of her own history. The river was very shallow at the ford, and she followed Mistress Smith's directions, taking the fork on the left, and soon entering the village of Brookley. There looked to be about thirty or forty cottages scattered around the green. The pond Mistress Smith had mentioned was at the near side, just in front of the smithy which stood alone. The normal complement of geese and ducks were floating on it, and several children played nearby. At the far end was the little church, old and squat, surrounded by many ancient trees.

Lucy turned to the right and skirted the green, then took the road out of the village. The cottages were more scattered here, but she came to the end of them and recognised the ancient gnarled oak tree Mistress Smith had told her about. She halted her mare and sat looking at the cottage. It was a small but substantial building, with solid beams, and a newly thatched roof. The small patch of garden outside, however, was overgrown with weeds, and it was clear little attention had been given to it for some time. Lucy dismounted and tied the mare to the gatepost, where under the shade of the tree she could crop the lush grass growing