Witch! The Alison Balfour Story

discuss, your husband and I.”

  June nodded, her expression concerned. She looked at her husband. Thomas nodded and urged her on with a glance.

  “Sir,” said June politely, curtsying to John as she gathered up her skirts. She took Isabelle from her husband and removed herself from the room.

  John waited for her to leave entirely and shut the door behind her.

  “We have a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  Thomas watched as his master began to pace the floor, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Yes. You see, my brother is quite angry – understandably – that someone tried to poison him.”

  Thomas gave a sympathetic nod.

  “Now, there are rumours - ” he stopped and turned to look Thomas square in the eye, “that I had something to do with it, that I was somehow involved. Me!? Me!? The Earl’s own brother. How...pray, tell me, why ever would one make such an allegation?”

  He watched Thomas closely while he waited for his answer.

  Thomas shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well...Sir...I must confess I am as bewildered as you.”

  John smiled, a thin line that danced across his lips, his eyes alight like a viper’s before it strikes. “Well...they are but rumours after all,” he said, turning on one heel and resuming his pacing. “I would ask you to keep an ear out for me...and to speak well of me to the Earl if you are questioned...after all, have I not been a good master to you all these years? I give you this,” he indicated the apartment, “I give you a weekly pay packet...what more could you ask for?”

  Thomas nodded and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, you are very kind. My wife and I are very grateful.”

  John smiled, the serpentine smile appearing once more. “I am happy to hear my staff are pleased with me...” He paced to the other side of the room and when Thomas was not looking, slipped something into a dresser drawer that had been left slightly ajar. “Now then,” he said abruptly, clearing his throat and turning around to face his servant, “so long as I can have the utmost assurances from you that you will say nothing to anyone – and I include your wife in this – that might further fan the flames surrounding these ill conceived and offensive rumors...”

  Ever the faithful servant, Thomas nodded. “But of course, sir.”

  “Very well. That is all. I shall see you at supper. Be sure to arrive at my chambers at a quarter past six to help me dress. I want to be sure I look the part of loyal and faithful brother this evening.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  SCENE 5 – ABRAHAM AND WILLIAM AT MARKET

  We find ourselves at Kirkwall’s weekly Saturday market. The market takes place in the town square and is teeming with chickens, oxen, wagons, children running to and fro, vendors hawking their goods to passersby, and all the other sights and sounds of a 16th century European market.

  “Take that, would you William.”

  With an obedient nod, the boy reached for the sack of potatoes Abraham had just purchased from one of the produce vendors.

  “Thank you,” said William as the vendor transferred the heavy sack to his arms.

  The vendor, a deaf mute, said nothing, though he waved at them before turning to help the next customer.

  “Right...” said Abraham, thinking to himself as he stared across the expanse of the market. “Your mother needs flour...for that we shall go to Mrs. Flett, yes. But first,” he said with a glance at William who seemed to be struggling beneath the weight of the potatoes, “let us return to the wagon and deposit that sack so that you are not carrying it all around.”

  William, red faced and with the veins in the side of his head bulging, nodded as he wrestled with the heavy sack.

  “And then we’ll go and see Isaac about a possible job for you.”

  William, still struggling, offered up a smile and Abraham couldn’t help but chuckle. He liked the boy. He was obedient and respectful. True, the boy did not have the swarthy disposition of some of the farmer’s and fisher’s sons of Orkney - and he was yet soft, unhardened to the realities of life - but he demonstrated an intelligence and an eagerness he hoped Isaac could appreciate.

  “Come on then,” said Abraham, leading the way to their wagon.

  Once the sack of potatoes had been stowed in the wagon, the pair made for Kilda Flett’s stall, one of the busier stalls in the market. In addition to flour, the woman, with her two giant sons, Angus and Robert, sold an assortment of breads, pastries, and pasta noodles.

  “Abraham Taillifeir.”

  Kilda had always greeted the elderly man with a friendly smile.

  “Mrs. Flett. How are things this fine day?”

  “Good. Better than they’ve been for awhile.” The woman folded her arms across her chest, eyeing William every so often as she spoke. “Haven’t had weather like this in half a century, said me dad last night at supper. Been as warm as summer this week.”

  Abraham nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis warm alright. Almost wondering whether we’re going to get snow this winter,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Oh, we’ll get snow. You know that. We haven’t seen January yet.”

  “This is true.”

  Kilda glanced once more at William before returning her attention to Abraham. “Alison and the two bairns keeping well then?”

  By this, William, even at his young age, could tell she meant: “Are they treating you well, Abraham? They’re not taking advantage of you now, are they?”

  If Abraham detected this too, he didn’t let on.”Oh aye, they’re all well. Alison’s out with Anna doing some foraging for herbs and what not.”

  William watched as Kilda’s eyes narrowed (though it was only momentarily). “That’s nice.”

  Despite what William might have thought, Abraham was keenly aware that Kilda (like some others in their part of Orkney) disapproved of his marriage to Alison and thought Alison’s “medicine woman ways” were suspicious. But he didn’t hold it against her. Others, maybe. But not Kilda. Kilda was a no nonsense, “prayer fixes all” kind of woman. His own mother had been cut from such cloth. And, if he were to admit it, he himself. That was, until he’d met Alison. His various old age afflictions – gout, memory loss, pain in his fingers and hands – Alison had a draught or ointment or salve or tonic for all of it. And, while she wasn’t able to rid him of these things, the remedies she dutifully and diligently prepared for him had improved his moods and memory, and greatly reduced his physical aches and pains. That Alison was also able to perform this service for a number of people in Stenness – people of all ages and all walks of life – was a tribute to her ability.

  “Flour then today again, is it?”

  Abraham nodded. “Yes, please, Kilda.”

  “Not to worry Abraham. Always happy to help.” She took one last glance at William before turning her head and shouting: “Angus!”

  Angus, the eldest of her two sons, was “touched” and it showed as he ran to his mother, mouth open and arms dangling at his sides.

  “Get a bag of flour for Mr. Taillifeir,” she said loudly, pointing at Abraham. “Two stone,” she added, holding up a hand to show two fingers.

  Angus nodded and set upon the task, William watching all the while.

  “Right then,” said Kilda. She stopped when she noticed William watching her son. “It’s not polite to stare. Hasn’t your mother ever told you that, boy?”

  William wrenched his gaze from Angus. “Sorry, ma’am. I was only watching him work.”

  “Yeah well don’t,” said Kilda, throwing an irritated glance at Abraham, her expression softening as she did. “Abraham. It’s been a pleasure as always. I’ve got other customers to tend to. Angus will have that bag ready for you in a minute.”

  Abraham nodded and offered a small smile. “Thank you, Kilda.”

  The pair exchanged a parting nod and then Kilda moved to the other side of the stall to step in between her youngest son Robert and a customer who had begun to row over the price of a pudding. Angus meanwhile appeared with
a bag of flour and held it out to William, his expression like that of a faithful canine who has brought his master a bone.

  William smiled. His mother had always taught him to be kind to those who were different. “Thank you.”

  Angus smiled, nodded, and hurried back to his mother’s side.

  “It’s not far to Isaac’s stall,” said Abraham, not skipping a beat. “Carry that there and make it look like you’re capable of hard labour.”

  William nodded, struggling once more with the heavy sack in his arms.

  “Put it over your shoulder, son,”Abraham growled, “Christ you’re carrying that in the worst way possible.”

  With some difficulty, William transferred the sack to his right shoulder.

  “Good. Now let’s get a move on.”

  It didn’t take long for the pair to reach Isaac Rendall’s stall. The master carver had the highly coveted spot at the corner of Broad Street and Tankerness Lane though, while easy to find, was difficult to access at the best of times as there was usually a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of customers waiting to purchase their cured meats, victuals, venison patties, and roasting chickens.

  “Is it always like this?” asked William with some anxiety as he eyed the massive crowd.

  “Oh, aye. I’ve seen even more at times.”

  William wasn’t sure how he could manage. He was only ten after all. Working as an apprentice carver and preparing meat for this many people?

  “It’s nought to worry about,” said Abraham gruffly as they stepped forward into a small opening which brought them only somewhat closer to Isaac Rendall’s