Page 64 of The Witch

“Are you badly hurt?” I ask, which is a silly question, because the man has been unconscious for hours. Of course he is badly hurt.

“I will live” is his reply, followed by coughing, then spitting, then another groan.

“I…I reckoned you might be dead.”

He grunts, and in the light of the torch, I can see he is struggling to rise. “I should have such luck.”

“Is anything broken?”

He is sitting up now. He touches a spot on his forehead, which is still damp with blood. “Nay,” he finally decides. “I do not believe so.”

It seems impossible. Strickland brought down the baton with such force so many times. It is nothing short of a miracle that he was not killed.

Was it his cohort with the devil that saved him?

“’Tis good fortune for me that he swings like a babe,” Jonas says.

I might be wearing an itchy woolen dress in a tiny squalid jail cell, but something about his words makes me laugh. I laugh hard, until my belly aches. And then Jonas is laughing too, even though the laughter makes him wince.

I am laughing so hard that there are tears in my eyes. But at some point, the laughter stops, and suddenly, there are only tears. Tears falling down my cheeks, because this night could be one of my last. I believed with all my heart that a trial would prove my innocence, but now I am not sure.

“I do not wish to die,” I gulp through my tears. “’Tis not fair!”

“Nay,” Jonas agrees in a quiet voice. “’Tis not fair at all.”

I cannot stop crying.

46

PRESENT DAY

JULIA

The EVP recorder has been running for the last two days.

It’s sitting on the mantel, just below the painting of Archie and Molly. Alistair Dixon said he wants to give it a week before he attempts to interpret the recordings, but it’s intensely distracting to see it there. Right now, I’m trying to read a book in the living room, and I keep looking at that recording device, wondering what it’s picking up.

There’s someone here. I can feel it.

What will be on that recording? Will Caroline speak to us? Or will it just be a lot of white noise?

I finally dog-ear my book and put it down on the sofa. I can’t concentrate, and anyway, it’s almost time for lunch. Ethel and Mick both had errands outside of the house today, so it’s just me and Gram. If I don’t get ahead of her hunger, she might attempt to cook something—I don’t want Henry to blame me for Pemberton burning down.

I wander into the kitchen, which is the last place I saw her about an hour ago. Except when I get there, she has left. The mug she was drinking from earlier is sitting on the kitchen table, the coffee within now cold.

“Gram?” I call out. “Letty?”

No answer.

I leave the kitchen and check the backyard, but she’s not there. I walk upstairs to the second floor. I head straight for my grandmother’s bedroom, hoping to find her napping like she sometimes does in the middle of the day. Except her bedroom is also empty.

The first seeds of anxiety mount in my stomach. I haven’t been watching Gram every second this morning, but I didn’t think I needed to. It’s becoming increasingly clear that before I came, Ethel used to leave her alone all the time. I have taken to unplugging the stove, and I’ve assumed with that taken care of, she isn’t in any danger.

I get a sick feeling when I remember what Henry said about his grandfather. About how he used to wander off. As much as I hate to admit it, Henry was right. Gram isn’t safe to be alone anymore, and if Ethel can’t be with her twenty-four hours a day, then she shouldn’t be here. Pemberton is no longer a safe place for her, and I need to talk to my father about selling the estate.

But first, I’ve got to find her.

I sprint through the second floor, opening every bedroom door and calling out her name. With each empty room I encounter, my stomach sinks deeper. Where did my grandmother go? I was in the living room the whole time, and I’m sure if she had gone out through the front door, I would’ve heard it. The door is heavy.