The Crimson Ribbon Read Free

skin.
    ‘Send her to Hell, like the witch,’ Samuel says, to a buzz of agreement. ‘She is a cursed bastard, a witch’s child. She will go the same way as the mother.’
    ‘Swim her!’ comes the cry, as I knew it would.
    I am pushed towards the river, the mob gathering, not yet sated.
    Isaac stands in their way. He comes close to me and eyes the welt that spreads across my jaw. He leans in, puts his cold fingers up to my cheek and turns my face away from his. Then he runs his hand down my neck and over my bodice, squeezing my breast beneath my stays.
    ‘A little whore . . . just like your mother,’ he says.
    Will’s grip slackens a little. No doubt he wants nothing to do with Isaac’s perverse lusts. I see my chance and stamp my foot down hard on Will’s boot. He yelps and I pull my hands free and claw at Isaac’s face, feeling the soft, wet give of his eyeball beneath my fingertips. He bellows and swipes at me but I twist and tear away from them both.
    I run, almost blind, stumbling but escaping the hands that reach for me.
    ‘Let her go!’ I hear Isaac shout behind me. ‘She will not get far.’
    He is right. I run to the only place I know, the only place where I might be safe. I run home, to the big house on the green – the Cromwell house.
    News travels fast in Ely. Servants will always make it their business to know the latest, especially when it concerns one of their own.
    It is Old Bess who finds me, as night falls, shivering on the mattress in the servants’ quarters that I have shared with my mother all the years I can remember. It smells of last summer’s straw and the rosemary she wore in her hair.
    Although I know what I have seen, I swear it cannot be true. Without my mother I am alone in this world. She was all to me – my protector, my comfort, my closest friend. I cannot fathom what life may be without her. I want to dream, and wake to find her next to me, sleep-warm smiles banishing my nightmares, telling me that all is well, that today is the same as every day before. Any other truth is too terrible to bear.
    But there is a pain, beginning at my heart, seeping through my limbs, thrumming in my head like poison. When I close my eyes, all I see is my mother’s face, bloody and lifeless. My body tells the truth, even if my mind cannot.
    Old Bess is the master’s mother. She is ancient, with white hair, parchment skin and the deep brown eyes of a much younger woman. It is she who rules the house in the master’s absence, not the simple dough-faced wife. Old Bess is the anchor that keeps the household docked in this world of stormy seas.
    She swoops in, like a great bat, rustling in black damask. ‘Is it true, child?’ she asks gently. She enfolds me in her arms.
    My body trembles as though I am taken with a fit. I spew up a strange, strangled whimpering. My eyes are dry; though I long for tears, they do not come. Instead I feel turned inside out. My innards seethe so much I begin to think I will die of it.
    ‘My poor girl.’ Old Bess rocks me, like a babe. ‘You are safe now.’
    But I am not safe, and she knows it as well as I.
    They come with weapons and torches. They take up their place on the green before the house. They call out to God and to his angels. They call out to the master. They want me surrendered that they may mete out justice as they see fit. They want me dead.
    ‘Stay here,’ Old Bess whispers. ‘And be silent.’
    She leaves me cowering on the mattress and goes into the main part of the house, where the mistress and her two youngest girls huddle before the fire. I want to obey her but I am too afraid to be left alone. There is only one door to the servants’ quarters and it has no lock. Fear sharpens my wits. I gather myself and tiptoe after her, sliding silently up the front staircase, choosing the boards that do not creak. I find myself a shadowy spot by the window that overlooks the green. From here, I see the men gathered below.
    Their number has dwindled