Little Book of Mysteries

Would Meg ever escape the suspicion and rumours that had been her mother’s downfall?

- Valerie Bowes

My mother was a healer, so I suppose it’s only to be expected that I should follow in her footsteps. Even though they hanged her for a witch.

I was 14 summers old when the Witchfinder’s men came to take her. She was barely 30 and still beautiful. Our neighbour’s husband desired her, which was all too understandable seeing what a sharp-tongued shrew Margery Betsom had become. We little realised how much the knowledge ate at Margery’s soul and what turn her spite would lead her to take.

In truth, I think Margery saw which way the wind was blowing long before my mother or I did. Abraham was her man and she was ever alert for signs of him straying. And he was by far too foolish to disguise the longing in his eyes when he beheld my mother.

It must be hard to be afraid that the one who holds your heart might not feel the same about you but, after she saw him carrying Mother’s basket when he met her at the market, Margery’s bitter black eyes noted every little attention he paid her.

At first, Mother was grateful for Abraham Betsom’s help after my father died of the sweating sickness. He chopped wood and nailed up a sagging fence. He built a new coop for the hens and helped her move a heavy cupboard into a more convenient place. It was only natural that she should offer him a pot of ale for his trouble. The day was hot, with the sun blazing from a cloudless sky and we all drank of it. But Margery claimed that Mother had hidden a love potion in the ale to bewitch Abraham from his marriage.

Margery’s bitter black eyes noted every little attention he paid her