Company of the Silver Hare , livre ebook

Hawkwood Books - Joy Pitt

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113 pages

English

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When a witch child heals young Emmet Smith of spots, a new friendship leads to astonishing discoveries about themselves, their family, their friends and the world they live in. This is a rich story of myth and magic in the Human Realm and the Realm of Faery. Inspired by the Pendle Witch Trials of 1612.

Informations

Publié par	Hawkwood Books
Date de parution	27 mars 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781908577924
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Table of Contents
Title Page
1. Spots and how to cure them
2. The Bee Mistress
3. St. John’s Eve
4. The Royal Wedding
5. What Aunt Salome Boswell Saw
6. An Unusual Family
7. The Initiation
8. A Night at the Graveyard
9. Liquid Life Force
10. The Feast of Lammas
11. Gateway to the Faery Realms
12. The Choosing
13. Time to Go Home
14. The Aura of True Love
15. A Shock For Roger Nowell
16. The Hooded Figure
17. A Strange Feast
18. a troubling discovery
19. A Disturbing Discovery
20. A surprising Visitor
21. Too Late
22. Message in a Bottle
23. A Hanging and an Explosion
24. The Parting of the Ways
25. Farewell to Mistress Demdike
The Pendle Witch Trials
About the author
The Company of The Silver Hare

The Company of The Silver Hare
by
Joy Pitt
The Company of The Silver Hare
Text copyright©2019 Joy Pitt
Cover design and artwork©2019 Joy Pitt
ISBN 978-1-908577-87-0
The Author has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction based on historical events. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to elves or fairies living or dead is purely coincidental.
First Published in Great Britain
1 3 5 4 2
Conditions of Sale
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without the permission of the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd. Croydon CR0 4YY

Hawkwood Books 2019

To the memory of my Grandad,
Edward Henry Pitt, 1898-1987.
The best storyteller I’ve ever known.
1. SPOTS AND HOW TO CURE THEM
Emmet lay on his tummy in the long grass at the top of Pendle Hill. He had a twig in his grubby hand and he was poking an ant’s nest with it, watching as they scurried helter-skelter in all directions. He had tears running down his face and, every now and then, one would plop onto the ground amongst the bewildered ants. In the distance he could hear the voices of the twins, Hetty and Letty. They were chanting loudly, “Emmet has a spot face, Emmet has a spot face, spotty Emmet, spotty Emmet!”
Emmet lifted his head slightly and peered down the hill at his tormentors, two skinny, scruffy yellow headed girls of seven years old, his younger sisters. They had hazel switches in their hands and were swishing at the long grass, searching for him.
He flattened himself down and lay quiet. With any luck they wouldn’t find him - this time. They were heading in the wrong direction. The chanting had stopped. He raised his head again. The twins had disturbed a cloud of butterflies which rose from the hillside. The girls forgot their brother, threw down their switches and began to chase the butterflies down the hill, whooping and leaping in delight.
Emmet stopped crying and sniffed hard. He didn’t sit up until he could no longer hear them. He blew his nose on his grimy sleeve. He did indeed have spots. He was twelve years old, and a big boy for his age, tall and slightly plump. Teenage spots had come early to Emmet, great red angry ones that formed yellow pustules and were sore. Emmet couldn’t leave them alone, and the twins, who loved to tease their brother, wouldn’t leave him alone.
He got up and wandered over to the stone cross next to the holy well and sat himself down, moodily, setting his chin on his knees. His mother had tried many cures to get rid of the spots. Leeches was one, and he shuddered at the memory. She was threatening to get the barber to let his blood, and Emmet was terrified at the thought. His father once had to have his blood let, and Emmet had felt sweaty and dizzy at the sight. He had gone outside and been sick in his mother’s herb patch. His mother had walloped him for that, and the twins had laughed. They didn’t mind blood and had found the bloodletting rather interesting.
“I can get rid of your spots,” said a quiet voice in his ear.
Emmet jumped and banged his head on the stone. He had thought he was alone on the hillside. Standing in front of him was a girl, about his own age but small and finely made. She had long, wild red hair and her eyes were emerald green. He was so surprised to see her there that his mouth hung open stupidly for a moment.
“Close your mouth,” she said saucily, “the flies will get in.”
With an effort, Emmet closed his mouth and pulled himself together.
“You’re Jennet,” he said. “You’re the…” he tailed off, but she seemed to read his thoughts.
“The witch’s child, that’s what you were going to say, weren’t you?”
Emmet looked at his feet. He felt uncomfortable. That was precisely what he had been about to say, but it seemed rude, and besides, next to the pretty, smooth faced Jennet he felt as though his spots were as red and shining as a sunset over Pendle Hill. Jennet sat down next to him.
“I can, you know,” she said affably. “It’s easy.”
Emmet said, “No bloodletting?”
“No bloodletting.”
“No leeches?”
“No leeches.”
“Are you going to cast a spell on me?” asked Emmet. His face puckered into a worried frown. “My mother will be furious.”
“Your mother won’t know,” said Jennet. “And she’ll be glad when your spots go away and she doesn’t have to pay the barber.”
This was so undoubtedly true that Emmet couldn’t argue with it.
“Well, alright,” he said, “but what will you do? And will it hurt?” he added.
Before Jennet could answer, the sound of the twins’ voices floated up to them on the warm summer breeze. They were running uphill towards them, joined by a small, plump girl of around five, the youngest sister of the family. She was much out of breath and protesting loudly as the twins dragged her between them, each hauling a chubby arm.
“Ow, let go, you’re hurting my arms. I can’t go so fast, I’m not big yet.”
The twins let go and the girl, not ready, fell flat on her face in the long grass and immediately set up a loud wail. Emmet stood up, strode the few paces towards the howling child and lifted her up.
“Come on, Lily, you’re all right. Look, no scrape, let me rub it for you.”
He set her on her feet and rubbed her knees, then took her small hand and led her up to the others.
The twins were staring curiously at Jennet.
“Are you..?” they asked together.
“Yes, I am,” said Jennet defiantly. “And I’m going to cure your brother’s spots for him.”
“These are my sisters,” said Emmet, shyly. “Hetty and Letty are the twins, and this one is Lily. I’m Emmet.”
Lily had been staring at Jennet with her thumb in her mouth. She took it out with a loud pop.
“You’re the witch’s child,” she said. “Witches are bad, everyone in the village says. Does that mean you’re bad too?”
Emmet was mortified at her outspokenness. Jennet’s green eyes crinkled, and Emmet couldn’t help thinking again how pretty she was.
“There’s good witches and there’s bad witches,” she said. “Same as there’s good people and bad people. Do you think it would be bad to take Emmet’s spots away?”
Lily shook her head, her thumb still firmly stuck in her mouth.
“I think it would be a good thing,” said Letty.
“Emmet’s spots make us feel sick.” This was Hetty.
“Spotty face, spotty face, Emmet’s got a spotty face.”
“Shut up,” Emmet hissed.
Lily took out her thumb again.
“What’s it like being a witch?” she asked. Jennet’s pretty face clouded.
“Lonely,” she said. “No one wants to play with me. It would be nice to have some friends.”
“Haven’t you got a brother?” asked Emmet. “I’ve seen you with a boy.”
Jennet looked down at her bare feet.
“That’s Jimmy,” she said, “but he isn’t like other people. He’s not quite right. Ma says he was moonstruck when he was born. He can’t talk much, and he can’t learn like other people. But he’s good,” she said, defensively. “He’s kind and we all love him.” She glanced down the hill. “Here he comes, now.”
A small figure was meandering up towards them. Although obviously older than the children, he was short and round with a waddling walk, and his eyes were pixie-like. Under his arm he carried a large brown hen.
“My Jennet,” he said happily, in a voice which wasn’t clear. He came up to his sister and gave her a one-armed hug, the other arm clutched tight around his hen. Jennet hugged him back and gave him a kiss. The twins stared. Jimmy certainly was odd looking, and as for Jennet kissing him, well, they never kissed their brother, most certainly not since he developed spots. The thought of kissing spotty Emmet made them giggle, and Jennet, misinterpreting the laughter, glared at them.
“Don’t laugh at him,” she said angrily, “you’ll hurt his feelings, and it’s mean.”
“We weren’t,” said Letty, hastily, “truly we weren’t.”
Jimmy sat himself down on the grass in one swift movement, an amazing feat of agility for one so clumsy looking, and sat with his legs folded under him, like an acrobat. He still clutched the hen which looked at the children beadily. Lily surprised everyone by going over to Jimmy and smiling. She plumped herself down next to him.
“I can cross my legs too,” she said. “Not as good as you though, that’s ‘cos I’m not big yet.”
She stretched out a small, grubby hand and stroked the hen.
“I like your chicky. What’s her name?”
“My Henny Penny,” Jimmy grinned back at her. He seemed to have quite a few teeth missing, and his tongue was large and thick. “Who your name?”
“I’m Lily,” said Lily, “and this is Hetty and this is Letty and this is Emmet.”
Jimmy put out his hand and gently touched one of Lily’s curls. “My Lily. I like you, Lily.”
The hen squawked loudly and struggled in Jimmy’s arms.
“Put her down, Jimmy,” said Jennet, gently. “Look, she wants to get down. Let her have a peck about.”
Jimmy put down the chicken which shook out its glossy brown feathers and began to peck at the ground. Th