The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [66]
"I know you don't hold with witchcraft," the constable began, "but we've summat to say as may change your mind."
"You arrested your witch?" asked Matthew with impatience.
"Not that. The town's rid of that one for good."
Matthew stared at him in alarm. "What have you done?"
"Not what you fear. We didn't lay hands on the old woman. She slipped through our trap somehow."
"And we know how!" hissed Goodwife Cruff. Kit felt a wave of fear that left her sick and dizzy.
The deacon glanced at Goodwife Cruff uneasily. "I don't quite go along with them," he said. "But I got to admit the thing looks mighty queer. We've combed the whole town this morning, ever since dawn. There's not a trace of her. Don't see how she could have got far."
"We know right enough. They'll never find her!" broke in Goodwife Cruff. "No use trying to shush me, Adam Cruff. You tell them what we saw!"
Her husband cleared his throat. "I didn't rightly see it myself," he apologized. "But there's some as saw that big yeller cat of hers come arunnin' out of the house. Couple of fellers took a shot at it. But the ones as got a good look claims it had a great fat mouse in its mouth, and it never let go, even when the bullets came after it."
His wife drew a hissing breath. "That mouse was Hannah Tupper! 'Tis not the first time she's changed herself into a creature. They say when the moon is full—"
"Now hold on a minute, Matthew," cautioned the constable at Matthew's scornful gesture, "you can't gainsay it. There's things happen we better not look at too close. The woman's gone, and I say good riddance."
"She's gone straight back to Satan!" pronounced Goodwife Cruff, "but she's left another to do her work!"
Kit could have laughed out loud, but a look at Goodwife Cruff sobered her. The woman's eyes were fastened on her face with a cunning triumph.
"They found summat when they searched her place. Better take a look at this, Matthew." The constable drew something shining from his pocket. It was the little silver hornbook.
"What is it?" asked Matthew.
"Looks like a sort of hornbook."
"Who ever saw a hornbook like that?" demanded Goodman Cruff. "'Tis the devil's own writing."
"Has the Lord's Prayer on it," the constable reminded him. "Look at the letters on the handle, Matthew."
Matthew took the thing in his hands reluctantly and turned it over.
"Ask her where it came from," jibed Goodwife Cruff, unable to keep silent.
There was a harsh gasp from Rachel. Matthew lifted his eyes from the hornbook to his niece's white face. "Can this be yours, Katherine?" he asked.
Kit's lips were stiff. "Yes sir," she answered faintly.
"Did you know you had lost it? Was it stolen from you?"
"No sir. I knew it was there. I—I took it there myself."
"Why?"
Kit looked from one grim waiting face to another. Did they know about Prudence? If not, she must be very careful. "It—it was a sort of present," she said lamely.
"A present to the widow?"
"Not exactly—"
"You mean she had some sort of hold over you— some blackmail?"
"Oh no! Hannah was a friend of mine! I'm sorry, Uncle Matthew, I meant to tell you, truly I did, as soon as I could. I used to go to see her, on the way home from the meadow. Sometimes I took things to her—my own things, I mean." Poor Rachel, how that apple tart must be torturing her conscience!
"I don't understand this, Katherine. I forbade you—you understood it perfectly—to go to that woman's house."
"I know. But Hannah needed me, and I needed her. She wasn't a witch, Uncle Matthew. If you could only have known her—"
Matthew looked back at the constable. "I am chagrined," he said with dignity, "that I have not controlled my own household. But the girl is young and ignorant. I hold myself to blame for my laxness."