Chapter 18: Tea with Mistress Heathcoate

[Autumn, 1678]
Oxford, Oxfordshire

“WHAT ABOUT THE stones?” Sandrine asked.

With Amélie the two were having their evening tea after supper with Mistress Heathcoate in the kitchen while Master Heathcoate stretched his legs in front of the fire in the so-called parlour, which was really just an extension of the kitchen.

In the weeks following their arrival the two women and Mistress Heathcoate had become close. She was younger than her husband, but not by so much to cause notice or tongues to wag. A devout Christian, she was also a native of the Oxford area, and knowledgeable about the various odd rumors and traditions endemic to the area. Some of these stories pertained to a small unremarkable circle of standing stones not far from the outskirts of Oxford.

Her relationship with Amélie and Sandrine had grown slowly. It does her no unkindness, nor is it an unkindness to Sandrine, to acknowledge the diffidence that characterized her relationship with the black woman in the early weeks. After all, even if she was not the only dusky female in Oxford she was enough of a rarity to be the object of curiosity, not all of it benign. She as yet had no clear idea of the interest in her the small man had begun to display.

“The stones have certain qualities, it is said,” Mistress Heathcoate began. “I’m not talking about the famous ones, the ones everyone knows about up near Chipping Norton. Those stones have their stories and their celebrations, including those by godless pagans, but not like the stones near us. Our stones are not so well known. Here, she stopped and looked from one to the other. “You must not repeat what I am about to tell you, at all, do you understand? A number of Master Heathcoate’s customers are associated with the Church in one fashion or another, and it could cost him serious business were it to become known anyone in his household discussed this topic.”

The two women nodded.

“Very well. It is said these stones have certain powers at certain times of the year. I myself have never suffered them nor have I observed their effects, but I know several women who have observed or experienced events they believe cannot be explained any other way.”

She took a sip of her tea.

“At the equinoxes and at the solstices, and on other special days like Samhain, there are festivals, you know that, right?” Amélie and Sandrine nodded. “Well, it’s no exaggeration to say there is extraordinary consumption of alcohol and other spirits during these festivals. Or so I am told.”

Sandrine and Amélie roared with laughter, loud enough to attract the attention of Master Heathcoate. Mistress Heathcoate waved him off when she saw. “ ‘Tis only us, husband, take no notice.”

Sandrine leaned close to whisper, “So you have seen these festivals, Mistress Heathcoate? Sincerely?”

“Ssh, my dear. Not so loud.” Mistress Heathcoate leaned back in her chair for a moment. “Two years ago Master Heathcoate was called away at the time of the summer solstice. My friend entreated me most sincerely to accompany her that year, and I acceded to her request.”

She leaned forward.

“We did not participate, mind you. Not in that way.”

“In what way, Mistress?” asked Amélie.

“In the dancing. It is very vigorous.”

“And?” said Sandrine.

“It is wanton. Men and women dance naked, bare, under the moonlight if there is a moon, in the darkness except for the light of the torches if there is no moonlight.” Mistress Heathcoate shivered. “It is quite remarkable.” She twisted in her chair as though she had a sudden itch. “Quite remarkable.”

Sandrine and Amélie exchanged a glance. They understood Mistress Heathcoate perfectly.

“What happened, then, Mistress Heathcoate?” asked Amélie.

“I saw someone disappear,” she answered in a low voice.

“Disappear? How?”

“Just that. Disappear. The two women were there, and then they weren’t.”

Sandrine put her hand on Mistress Heathcoate’s arm. “Did they return, Mistress?”

Heathcoate took another deep breath. “They did not. Not then, not any day since then.”

“And has no one asked their whereabouts or searched for them?”

“Yes, of course. One was the wife of a local butcher. The second was mistress to a purveyor of dry goods. Nothing was ever discovered. They were not the first to disappear and they were not the last. In fact, just last year the same thing happened.”

“Where do they go, Mistress?” asked Amélie.

“That’s the thing. No one who disappeared that way has ever returned to tell us about it. At least no one I’ve ever heard of.”

“How do they disappear?” The look in Sandrine’s eyes when she spoke said she desperately wanted to know the answer.

“No one knows for sure,” answered Heathcoate. “It is dark, despite moonlight and torches, and smoke from the bonfire makes everything hazy. The stones themselves are set far enough back so as to be out of the direct firelight.” She laughed. “Of course, those who remain may not be thinking clearly by then. The best guess is that somehow the stones become porous, don’t ask me how solid stone could change in such a fashion, and as a result the stones permit entry to certain people and they simply fade into the stone.”