Free Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt Page B

sieve and shears had been one of Grand-Dad's charms, so Tibb had revealed to me, unveiling long-buried memories. Grand-Dad, in turn, had learned it from a very old man who had learned it from his grandmother. Ancient, this spell was, maybe even older than the old religion. Heathen magic it might have been, but how could I let honest folk suffer at the hands of the wicked if I'd the means to set it right?
    Liza and I were stood facing each other, middle fingers of our left hands upon the handles of the shears to press the blades against the rim of the sieve, which hung suspended. Driving rain hissed down the chimney into the hearthfire, filling the cottage with blue smoke. I heard yelping dogs and knew, with a shiver, that they were Tibb and Ball. My eyes closed, I recited the charm, calling on Saint Peter and Saint Paul, on Christ and Mary to free the innocent and reveal the guilty. Then I bade the Hewitts to name, one by one, the people they suspected of robbing them.
    "Alice Gray," Mouldheels offered, but the sieve did not stir. "Jane Bulcock."
    Pained me, it did, to hear her naming her own friends and neighbours like that. Did she trust them so little?
    "They're innocent," I told her.
    "Meg Pearson," she said.
    My lip curled at the thought of Meg, that hussy who had lured my Anne's husband away, sporting with him in the haystack those many years ago. If Meg were the thief, I wouldn't feel the least bit sorry to bring down justice on her. But the sieve hung steady.
    "Tom Redfearn," Jack Hewitt said.
    The sieve didn't budge, but a sweat spread over my upper lip. Young Tom Redfearn was besotted with Anne's younger daughter, fifteen-year-old Annie. They were not yet betrothed—she was too young and times were too hard—but I'd heard that she'd set her heart on him.
Please don't let it be him.
    "Mam," Liza whispered. "Look at the sieve."
    My knees knocked to see it tremble. Full expectant, my daughter stared at me. When I did not speak, she took charge.
    "Not Tom Redfearn," she said, smooth and business-like. "But someone close to him."
    "What about his sweetheart," Jack suggested. "Annie Whittle."
    When the sieve remained still, I offered a silent prayer of thanks.
    "No, she's only young," said Mouldheels. "More like her mother, that Chattox."
    As I struggled not to shudder, the sieve twisted, but did not fall.
    Mouldheels frowned. "No. It's the older daughter. Betty."
    The sieve writhed between the shears' blades before it tumbled down and struck the slate floor with an awful bang, leaving me so weak that I crumpled to my knees. Outside some thing scratched and scraped at the bolted door. Closing my eyes, I saw the brown dog's great paws. I saw the pain on Anne's face as she had confessed to me how worried she was about Betty, her first born whom she'd named after me. Now my spell had revealed her daughter's crime.
    "There you have it," Liza said. "Betty Whittle is your thief."
    "Came calling last week, did Betty Whittle." Mouldheel's voice was grim. "Asked if I'd any spinning for her. Didn't trust her within an inch of my spinning wheel, but of charity I offered her a cup of milk."
    I fought tears. Why had Mouldheels been so stingy? If she'd welcomed Betty with a generous heart, given her a proper meal and some old bread to take home to her family, it might not have come to this.
    "We'll have the Constable on her," said Mouldheels. "And the Magistrate."
    "No," I said, lumbering to my feet. Mouldheels had no clue what it was like to be truly poor, as Betty was, had no inkling what it was to gnaw on dandelion root to still hunger pangs.
    "What do you mean
no?
" Liza asked, vexed and not hiding it.
    Ignoring her, I turned to Mouldheels, taking her hand. "If she's stolen from you, it's not out of wickedness but dire need, I'll swear to that. Let me talk to her. I'll see to it that she returns what she's taken."
    "You're a soft one, our Bess." Mouldheels sounded none too pleased.
    "If we don't get our gear back within the week,