Winter’s Children: Curl up with this gripping, page-turning mystery as the nights get darker. Leah Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ sad because we can’t hold a Christ’s Mass?’ she asked once, puzzled by the parson’s angry words. If only Father Michael were the priest, but Mama said she must never tell anyone about his visits.

      ‘A little, child, but we will keep the holy feast days. It is our duty, whatever that black crow says,’ Mama said. ‘How else are we to give our tenants something to warm their bellies with for a few days? It is what your father did, and I will carry on even though it gets harder each year to find the extras. I cannot bear to think his cause and all who loved it died for nothing,’ Mama sighed, but Nonie did not understand.

      She was glad that Christmas would be going ahead. ‘Can I help make frumenty, with the new wheat?’ she added.

      ‘In a while. Don’t pester now, Meg has enough to do. Yule is no yule without a dish of the finest wheat and cream brose.’ Mama turned over on the bed. ‘Be patient! I will rest and say my prayers for I don’t trust that black crow o’ Wintergill. His heart is hardened to our cause.’

      For the next few days there was treason in the kitchen, a bustle of forbidden activities as Meg stirred up the plum porridge and the wheat was soaked for the frumenty, the cream lying thick in its bowl on the slate shelve. Nonie was set to sweeping out the stale rushes in the parlour and dusting the pewter, for the silver plates were long gone, but the last of their glasses were rubbed to a sparkle. When her jobs were all done she was allowed to roll out shapes with pastry dough. Mama laid out their best gowns with the lace-ruffed collars and cuffs, and lengthened the hem of Nonie’s skirt, for she was growing fast.

      Then on Christmas Eve she was allowed to go out at last with the yard boys to collect holly and greens to decorate the parlour and the chapel. It was bad luck to gather greens before that day, and boys dragged in a fine log for the fire, one that had been saved secretly in the coppice to see them through the twelve festive days.

      Christmas morning dawned dry and clear, and Nonie sat at the window waiting for visitors to appear. They would break fast after the service. In the distance she could make out the shape of old Father Michael coming at first light with boots lined with sacks and wadding. Each year he grew smaller and smaller, bending like a little gnome. She hoped he had got something in his pocket.

      The little chapel was dark and chilly, but once the candles were lit and the secret cross and chalice came out of their hidy-hole, she knew Christmas had really come. Out of his pocket the priest brought some carved figures and made a little crib with straw for all to worship. The door was wide open, waiting for the faithful from the village: old men, widows, children of the dale who were huddling against the cold in old cloaks, plodding through the snowy fields from all directions.

      ‘Why are there so few this year?’ she whispered. There were but a dozen folk standing.

      ‘Fret not. The servants, prentices and scholars are forced to attend to their work and head counted to make sure they’re not out carolling or mumming,’ Mama replied, and Nonie felt sad that it must be a work day not a holy day, thinking about Uncle Nate out with his sheep and Aunt Hepzi at her wash tub.

      The service was well underway when suddenly there was a thunderous rap at the door and in stormed the constables with two men-at-arms, who pushed aside those standing at the back, making their way forward to the altar.

      Nonie noticed that Father Michael continued as if they were not present, reciting his office, but her heart nearly stopped when she recognised the intruders as ordinary neighbours. Mama was staring at the constables and Nonie held on tight to her hand.

      The men stood abashed for a moment, not sure how to proceed. Thomas Carr had the decency to remove his hat but Robert Stickley stood with his rod, his arms hovering over Father Michael as if to strike him, and she was very afraid.

      ‘For Mercy’s sake, let him finish the Communion!’ Mama shouted in such a deep voice, her eyes blazing. ‘How dare you interrupt God’s work?’ Nonie found herself pushed forward and kneeling to receive the blessing. Stickley made to stay them but Thomas Carr, to her relief, allowed them all to continue.

      One by one the few who remained kneeled before Father Michael with trembling knees; many had already fled from the door, back over the fields, fearing a fine. How can this be happening on Christ’s holy day? There was only one person behind this and even a child could guess who that was.

      They were bundled out of the chapel with Father Michael, back to the house where Parson Bentley was already sitting in Mama’s parlour on her very own tapestry chair, his head held up in triumph.

      ‘How dare you enter my house without a bidding?’ Mama shouted as Nonie hid behind the back of her cloak.

      ‘Your goose is cooked this time, mistress. I smell roasting flesh on the spit, and have seen with my own eyes the very dish of frumenty, full of the indulgence of your gluttony. No doubt if I search further I will find plum porridge pots and mulled ale. Why do you receive what is but a popish Mass in English from this priest? Why think you that you alone may act in this disobedience above what is lawful to others, pray answer me?’ The raven spread his black winged cloak and seemed to Nonie like the very devil himself.

      ‘I do as my conscience requires of me. This is Christ’s holy nativity. It must be honoured,’ Mama replied in a soft voice, but Nonie could feel her body shaking, drawing in deep breaths of chill air.

      ‘And I say you are deceived. You flaunt yourself at your peril, mistress. You pray for the King, no doubt? For Charles Stuart to return over the water?’

      ‘We pray for all Christian kings and rulers and governors at this tide.’ Mama looked so fierce.

      ‘Aye, for papists and traitors too,’ the parson replied, and his eyes flashed like flint sparks at both of them.

      ‘Are we not one under God’s eye?’ Mama was arguing, trying to stand firm against his threatening presence.

      ‘Do not blaspheme, woman! Who gives a woman leave to hold an opinion on such matters? You will accompany the constables from this place at once. You are charged with delinquency and will appear before the Justice to answer for your disobedience. I will not be overruled by a woman, whether she be of rank or no.’ He wiped his forehead. ‘I did warn your sister in Christ to check your tongue and arrogance but she hath not seen fit to follow my instructions. I will make an example of you before this congregation.’ The parson summoned his two lackeys and pointed to the door.

      ‘But what of my child? Who will bide with her while I am gone?’ Mama grabbed Nonie tight and she felt a stab of fear in her chest.

      ‘She goes with you. She attended the service. It is never too early for children to learn the wages of defiance. The priest must come too to explain his treasonous acts,’ said the parson savouring their discomfort. ‘You are a disgrace to your calling, old man.’ He shoved the priest out of the way.

      Father Michael touched Mama’s arm for support. ‘Let the little maid go to her aunt, I beg you, in the name of all that is holy.’ Then he turned to the constables. ‘Do as you are bid but there are those who’ll look favourably upon us, I pray. Send word to Wintergill. They will vouchsafe for our good conduct.’

      He pressed Nonie close to his cloak and whispered in her ear, ‘You must dress warmly for the journey and take provisions, for I fear more snow in these leaden skies.’ Then he turned back to the parson. ‘Let the child go, for pity’s sake.’

      Parson Bentley was in no mood for leniency. ‘You will all walk like prisoners. The Justice will decide СКАЧАТЬ