Page 35 of Burying Venus

‘It’s the last one, my boy. I will see you when we get there,’ Robert said, heading off with Tristan. Lord Stanley walked with them as well, though he stumbled often and leaned heavily on Robert, murmuring about where they were going until he was finally pushed into the carriage.

Trying his best to avoid Thorne, Dermot carried on towards the back. He winced as the soles of his well-worn shoes smacked against the pavement. The town, usually alive with throngs of people, was almost entirely deserted. Even the pretty homes opposite the castle, all owned by would-be courtiers and prominent bankers, had their curtains closed.

Grasping the handle and hoisting himself in, he was overcome by relief as his eyes met Amy Ward’s.

‘Dear God,’ she said at once, ‘of course they have brought you too. Lord have mercy on us, I have been shaking with fright. I’ve not had much cause to leave the castle since coming here. Now we are to be whisked away like cattle! Dermot, how do you fare? You look unwell.’

He could scarcely see Amy in the bleakness of the carriage, which was riddled with dust and looked to have been taken out of storage. Hearing a shout from above, he startled, belatedly realising it was the coachman beating down on the poor horse. The parade was in motion now, and Dermot watched the grey houses as they passed by. He hoped those inside saw the congregation for what it was.

‘Do you know anything about the law? I am a maid and a woman, I can’t come to what will go on. Have they told you something of what is to happen?’ Amy said.

For her earlier kindness, Dermot turned to face her. ‘I suppose we will be shown to our seating first,’ he said, relishing the way she nodded and moved forward as if some great knowledge was to be gleaned from him.

‘I pray we are, as I could not find my own way. What if we were to accidentally go to the wrong place? But what else? Will they speak to us, the learned men? For what purpose have they brought us?’ Amy prattled.

‘I know nothing of law,’ Dermot said. Seeing the way Amy cooled and went back to her seat, he went on, ‘I think we will be called up to give our side of the tale. I was already made to relay some of it to Mr Thorne.’

‘The devil!’ Amy spluttered, hands going immediately to her lips. ‘Forgive me! It is just when I think of him hanging all those people, especially the elderly, I feel awfully sick.’

They were going through the fine streets of aspiring wealth, men who hadn’t the spirit to travel further abroad and women who’d been shipped away to marry. Most of them kept to their homes as to not mix with fishermen and the like, but the windows were such that anyone might peer inside. Dermot’s gaze caught on a blond young man, his head resting on folded arms, watching idly. At last, the boy seemed to notice and leapt up to draw the curtains with a flourish.

‘Do we stop? I am afraid!’ Amy said, just as the coachman called out and drew the horse back. The carriage jolted, their heads nearly knocking together.

Amy cried out as if she’d been run through, and Dermot discerned the courthouse just ahead.

‘When do we get out? Should we wait for the door to be opened or go ourselves?’ Amy said, still recovering from the shock.

Seeing Robert on the street, Dermot clutched the handle and wearily made his way out. The ocean lay just beyond, though it was obscured by a railing, no doubt meant to keep drunken businessmen from tumbling into the waves below.

The rest of the party having already congregated, Dermot came to stand under the shadow of the courthouse. Great white pillars surrounded them, allowing only one man through at a time and forcing the rest to queue. Thorne muttered something urgently to Weston about the stained glass window above.

‘You are well on time,’ said a man, coming at them from the left. His outfit was like that of a preacher, all black and buttoned up with a marvellous white collar at the top, sleeves hanging like a cloak and billowing in the wind. He bowed to Lord Stanley. ‘I am Mr Grazier, the usher. I shall of course seat you first, my lord. What a rare privilege this is.’

Seeing Aubrey behind Robert and Tristan, Dermot surged backwards, knocking into Amy and nearly causing her to tumble down. He had no idea what the party thought of his display and did not much care. It was Aubrey who ailed him, and he had to avert his eyes until each brother was inside the courthouse.

‘I had thought to be let in first,’ Thorne hissed.

‘They are lords,’ Weston said, pompous fool that he was.

‘No, I am the witchfinder. I have vanquished about a hundred witches, protected countless innocents, and am now made to wait outside a courtroom. Law is my chief expertise.’

‘My friend,’ Weston said. Dermot strained to hear their frantic whispering. ‘All that counts is education. You show yourself marvellously well but you are not trained. I beg of you, do not…’

‘Mr Thorne,’ Grazier called out. ‘Please, I will lead you to your seat. Your assistant may come as well.’

Thorne ran a hand through his hair and pulled his cloak so tight that his body could be discerned through the robes. He strode in after Grazier, leaving Weston to amble behind. But Dermot did not think it a torment to enjoy such a beguiling view.

‘Dermot, do you see the crowd?’ Amy said, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking him from his reverie. She pointed out more than thirty men and women, all lower-class and thus unable to secure a seat in the proceedings. ‘I cannot bear those who would bring their children. Were I a mother, I would do everything in my power to make sure they were not given to nightmares.’

‘Mr… you two witnesses, come forward, court is starting. Lord Robert tells me I am to look after you,’ Mr Grazier said, evidently degraded by the request.

White corridors greeted Dermot immediately, stinging his eyes so they might’ve been a web of crimson. Portraits were the only decoration, lines of men long since dead. The rug underneath their feet was the only thing he judged to be of value, likely weaved on another continent.

‘Excuse me,’ Grazier said sharply. ‘Ladies first, if you please.’

This said just as Dermot was about to enter the courtroom was a blow. The professionals inside heard, he was certain, and he flushed as he stepped aside so a mere maid was allowed ahead of him. Huffing as he watched her go, Dermot trailed after when Grazier commanded, saying nothing as he sat down. Immediately his eyes fell on the Stanley sigil, hoisted above them all in a show of idolatry. They had truly been conquered. The island would never belong to the people again.

He was sat between Amy and Thorne. Directly opposite them was the boy witch himself, shackled and trembling. The aunt had been gagged.