Free Familiar Spirits by Leonard Tourney Page B

hundred or more Christian souls looking on.”
    “One poor wretch fainted dead away,” added Mrs. Carew, and made a clucking noise of disapproval. “The grocer’s wife and her child were nearly trampled by the crowd.”
    The women had seated themselves at the long trestle table in the kitchen and were being served hot caudle to take the chill from their bones, but by the flush on their faces it was evident that their excitement had warmed them enough. When had such a sight been seen in the town?
    While her friends gave their reports, adding or correcting as they saw fit, each vying with the others for the most horrendous version of the scene, Joan listened, applying her hands to her stitchery, pausing only long enough to sip her drink. The spicy caudle was pleasant on her tongue, but she thought the women’s news very bad indeed. Of this strange supernatural occurrence she trusted Matthew would tell her upon his return, but she did not like the sound of riotous trampling of women and children, and she was concerned for her friend Margaret Waite. What a state the poor widow must be in with a husband to bury, a riot at her door, and a ghost in her attic!
    “Did any of you see my husband?” she thought to ask.
    “Marry, he was there in the flesh,” said Mrs. Carew, who had always been a little jealous that it was Joan’s husband and not her own who had been repeatedly elected by the freemen of the town to the important office of constable. “But he could do little good, given the size of the press and him but one man.”
    “Strangers have flocked to the town to see the wonder,” remarked Mrs. Monks with a satisfied expression on her face. “On High Street it is like market day for the throng. The alehouses and taverns will do a great business.”
    “Yes, but the honest merchants of the neighborhood must close up shop for fear of invasion of these riotous wonder-mongers,” said Mrs. Carew disapprovingly. “Let us pray the authorities can keep order and protect the decent and Godfearing from these enormities.”
    Joan winced under the implied criticism of her husband and looked up sharply at Mrs. Carew. “I’m sure the town will suffer no great damage from this,” she said coolly.
    The tone of Joan’s response caused a shift of topic and the women began to speak of Margaret Waite. They had all known her for years, but it was evident that none except Joan had liked her very much. She had been distant and haughty, even after her husband’s business failure. A woman with a successful husband was supposed to carry herself proudly, but one in other circumstances should at least affect humility. At any rate, that was the women’s opinion.
    During this time, Betty brought a plate of cates and marchpane and distributed the sweets among the women, who continued to talk while they ate. The conversation narrowed in focus—Margaret Waite’s relationship with Ursula Tusser.
    “I say Mrs. Waite was as thick as her serving girls with the witch,” affirmed the widow James, looking around the table for support for this proposition.
    Mrs. Carew agreed. “Were Margaret’s body to be scrutinized, I warrant we’d find the mark,” she said with scarcely concealed relish. “Why, I tell you she was one of the circle. Twice weekly they met. In the Waite barn, that horrible rat-ridden place. It ought to be torn down.”
    “Burned,” said the widow, munching.
    “Destroyed completely, even to the foundation,” added Mrs. Monks.
    Mrs. Carew made a disdainful face, and the image of the offending structure floated into Joan’s mind. Mrs. Carew said, “What more proof of complicity would a reasonable woman want than that? Pray, would a Christian family abide such practices under its own roof?”
    The question hung in the air, and since its answer seemed obvious none of the women responded. Joan held her peace. She had her own ideas, as her husband had discovered, but she was not prepared to