My name is Mathilda Potter, the daughter of Mr Roger Potter, the Curate of Kendal. I was hired four years ago at the age of 22 to be the schoolmistress of the village petty school here in Andras Hill, with classes given in the church. Although the village pays me, the Vicar, as Vicars do, then presumed to abscond with my time and treat me as his servant, both for his personal needs and those of the church and vicarage. That time I could have put to better use maintaining my kitchen garden.

I must point out that the village has no grammar school but, if parents are willing to pay me, I will endeavor to teach Latin to boys over the age of eight.

Yesterday the Vicar died from a fever and we buried him today. I managed to prevent myself from dancing on his grave after everyone had left. But I felt like it. “God works in mysterious ways.” Ha. There are so many ways you can interpret that line. No, I did not kill him.

With that preface out of the way, there is a task to be accomplished that will take both clarity of thought and pragmatism. It also requires some boldness, which, I admit, is not my strong point.

We’ve known for just over a year that the village has a supernatural neighbor. There is a circle of standing stones some three-hour walk into the hills from the village and the circle is inhabited. By what, I don’t know. The Vicar claims it is a demon. He was highly incensed last year when it refused to be exorcised.

He, the Vicar that is, was called back by the Bishop to Carlisle immediately afterwards because of accusations by the village council. (The Vicar was an idiot for getting involved in a fight between two girls over a boy and taking the witchcraft accusation of one of them seriously.) That was a year ago. He then returned a few weeks ago minus a leg (some mishap involving a riot at Carlisle) but with a fever and the finger bone of St. Thomas, a holy relic that belongs in the Cathedral. With that relic, the Vicar again attempted an exorcism of the stones and failed. This time the failure was witnessed by two hunters and the village innkeeper, so everyone knew by the next morning. That was 10 days ago.

And now he’s dead.

I was always taught that all spirits on earth are fallen angels. However, Marion, the innkeeper’s wife, assures me that her husband and the two hunters report the spirit did not act evil, offer temptations or demand worship. It just said it was a neighbor and refused to leave. I don’t understand. Of course, the men didn’t try to talk to it. That leaves the job of establishing neighbor relations to the women.

I must admit that part of me justifies meeting the whatever it is and establishing neighbor relations on the grounds of knowing your enemy. Another part of me has a frisson of excitement about forbidden knowledge.

I’ve never been to the Standing Stones and certainly don’t want to go alone. But Marion knows everyone. So, like a ten-year-old, I dared Marion to go with me to the Stones and actually talk to whatever it is. She was too nervous that the Vicar would accuse us of witchcraft and have us hung, but he’s dead now. So we’re going in two days. Marion convinced Cait, the Baker’s wife, and Hume Valcar (one of the hunters who had witnessed the attempted exorcism) and his wife Lucy to accompany us. So quite a little troop to march into the hills.

Next - Marion Blexham (July 25, 1643)

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