Ghosts (2019) Fic: Well Met By Moonlight
Jan. 1st, 2022 04:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scribblinlenoreTitle: Well Met By Moonlight
Fandom: Ghosts (BBC, 2019)
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 6549
Main characters: Alison, Mary
Summary: A group of Wiccans holds their summer solstice celebration at Button House. Alison refuses to ask the paying guests to renounce Satan, and Mary discovers that witches can be a force for good.
Notes: Big thank you to Annabel for Britpicking this for me!
The story can also be read at AO3:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/35768878
For the most part—a solid 89% of the time—Alison didn’t regret the fall on the head that brought nine ghosts into her life, even if it did make everything more complicated.
Then there were moments like this.
“We can’t afford to turn this down. You know we can’t.”
Alison nodded along, because Mike was perfectly correct. Completely reasonable. “I do know. It’s just—"
“A ghost thing,” he finished the sentence for her. “But this event is a money thing.”
“I do love a money thing,” she said wistfully.
“Not just any money thing,” Mike reminded her, “but one where people pay us to allow them to plant our garden for us.”
Damn Mike’s eyes. He knew her shoulder still wasn’t the same after all the pruning they’d done two weekends ago. She would never understand anyone who voluntarily took up gardening as a hobby.
“Right.” She got to her feet and drew in a long, resolute breath. “I’ll handle it.”
Mary was easy to track down at the Loose Women time of day. Alison found her perched on the edge of the sofa, straining forward as if afraid she might miss something. “A messy bun do be flattering on her,” she murmured at the screen.
“Mary—” Alison started.
A sharp shush came in answer. “The loose womens is talking.”
Alison fell quiet, lips pressed together, waiting for the loose women to be done.
Mary stared enrapt at the TV all through the end credits and into the promo for the evening’s episode of Emmerdale before finally turning to Alison. “What you be wanting then?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“’Tis never a good sign when you says that.”
For a moment, Alison indulged the thought of putting this off until later. But she was here and Mary was here, and no time like the present. “The thing is, we’re going to have some people coming to the house for an event.”
Mary’s face brightened. “Be it another wedding?”
Alison shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Woodworm men!” Mary shrank back, her voice pitching up a good octave.
“No—”
“Boiler men!” This came out a definite shriek.
“No, no—”
“Hedgehog men?”
Alison blinked. “That’s not a thing, actually.”
Not that this comforted Mary.
“What will become of us?” she moaned, twisting her hands. “These Devil mens will prey upon us for sure.”
“They’re not men at all,” Alison said quickly, before Mary could devolve into all-out hysteria. “It’s a group of very nice women who are nature-lovers,” she chose her words carefully, “and interested in herbs and things, and are coming to celebrate the solstice.”
“That doesn’t sound bad,” Mary said slowly, a tinge of suspicion in the words. “Be there anything else you needs to tell me?”
Alison shook her head, but then added, as breezily as she could, “Well, only that this group of nice women—it’s a club, really. A club called Wiccans.” She bit her lip, hoping for the best.
“Wic-cans,” Mary said, head tilted thoughtfully, pronouncing each syllable as if it were a separate word. “Wic-cans,” she said again, brow furrowing. Her eyes went suddenly wide, voice pitching up shrilly, “Wit-ches!” She leaped to her feet and ran from the room, screaming, “The witches are coming! The witches are coming!”
Alison expelled a long breath. “Yeah. That went well.”
The room in the tippy top of the attics be the best place to keep watch on the comings and goings up the lane to the house. There always be signs that witches do approach. Dark spots that blots out the sun. Forks of lightning that slices the sky and thunder that shakes the ground. Plagues of locusts and toads that rain down from the sky. There be a ponderous lot of toads where witches be concerned.
Protecting the house against witches be serious work, but ‘tis hard to concentrate with all the distractions I has.
“Mary, there’s no need for you to stay holed up in the attic by yourself,” Julian flaps his jaw, whether there be anybody who wishes to hear him or not. “These visitors coming to the house are Wiccans, not witches. Hippy-dippy, airy-fairy nonsense, perfectly harmless.”
“Harmless!” I scoffs.
That shows what he knows about it.
Julian huffs out a breath and throw ups his arms. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He goes stomping off, and I hopes to get some peace and quiet at last, so’s I can bless and protect the house. But not long after, Patrick comes seeking me.
“Mary,” says he, in the kind of soothing tones that do work wonders with a skittish sheep. “I know what you’re doing is important, but we’re getting ready to start What I Would Wear Today If I Could. Won’t you come down and join us?”
That tempts me, in all truth. In my head be this vision of a gown made of moonbeams with a cloak of rainbows to wear over top. But you can never be too watchful when the threat of witches be upon the house.
“Witches be gone, witches stay out, witches be gone, witches stay out,” chants I.
Patrick lets out a sigh. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
I chants for a good while before Kitty comes rushing up.
“Mary! You’ll never guess what I’m wearing today. It’s a lovely crimson blouse with gold buttons and puffed sleeves along with grey jeans and trainers.”
Keeping focus on witch-warding be important, but I leaves off the chanting long enough to ask, “Be that what Alison wears today?”
Kitty smiles like a true beam of sunshine. “How ever did you guess? I suppose that’s just the way with sisters. Like minds, dressing alike. Had you a notion what you would wear today?”
The moonbeam gown flashes in my eyes, but who can dwell on such trifles when there be witches approaching? “Witches be gone, witches stay out, witches be gone, witches stay out.”
Kitty’s face grows solemn. “Mary, you know that Alison would never do anything to endanger us or the house. I feel quite certain that these Wiccan ladies will be perfectly lovely company when they arrive.”
Witches be tricky things. I dare not let my guard down. So I doesn’t stop chanting.
“Well, if you really think this is necessary, then I’ll help you.”
Kitty joins in, and that be a comfort. A blessing be stronger with more voices.
Alison appears in the doorway, with that worried little pinch she gets between her eyes. “Guys, please.”
I doesn’t stop. Nor does Kitty.
Alison sighs. “The perfectly nice and harmless women who are just coming to enjoy the countryside will not be here for another two weeks, so there’s really no need—”
“Only two weeks!” I shrieks and raises my voice with all my strength.
Kitty be a good girl and do also put her might into the blessing.
Alison sighs again. “This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.”
Little do the livings know. The time is always short, and never more so than when witches be descending upon the house.
Alison wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from a group of Wiccans. Goths all in black with loads of eyeliner and piercings? Or maybe flowy gowns and shawls, a bit like Stevie Nicks? Whatever she’d pictured, it certainly wasn’t a collection of practical-looking librarian types, all wearing sensible sandals and pleasant smiles. Alison could not imagine people less deserving of Mary’s attempt at exorcism. Truly, she would have done better to focus her efforts on the Beg-Chetwyndes.
Not that Mary shared this opinion.
“Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out,” she chanted, doing her best to banish their paying guests.
Alison fought the urge to stick her fingers in her ears.
“Welcome to Button House,” Mike greeted the visitors, with a concerned side eye at Alison.
She plastered on a smile, trying her hardest to ignore Mary. “We have packets here for everyone with maps of the house and grounds, itineraries, and—um, other things.” She really hoped she didn’t sound like she was shouting.
From Mike’s expression, though, that was very much how she sounded.
“Why don’t I show you to your rooms?” he quickly offered, leading the group toward the stairs and away from his stammering wife.
One of the women stayed behind, as practical and sensible as the rest, but with an added air of authority. “I’m Meg. We spoke on the phone? I was hoping we could go over the schedule for the weekend.”
“Oh yes. Meg. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Alison offered her hand. “Welcome to Button House. I know my husband already said that, but there can never be too much welcome, can there?” She made herself take a breath and stop babbling. “Come on through to the kitchen. Fancy a cup of tea?”
The kitchen was refreshingly ghost free, and putting on the kettle gave Alison something steadying to focus on. She brought the mugs over to the table, handed Meg a copy of the detailed event timeline she and Mike had drawn up, and reminded herself that she was an efficient and capable businesswoman.
“Right. So. This evening, we’ll set up drinks and canapés in the library,” Alison said briskly. “After that, we’ve chartered a minibus to take you all to the pub for dinner. In the morning, breakfast is in the main common-room. You’ve got maps of the grounds in your packets for your nature walk. Then you’re back at the house for the meditation session upstairs and picnic lunch in the back garden. In the afternoon, you’re here in the kitchen for your session on brewing potions, and then outside again in the early evening to do the planting. Saturday, the solstice, we’ll have gardening shears and baskets so you can collect flowers, and there will be a room set aside upstairs so you can make your crowns. We’ve laid in the supplies for your feast, and we’ll turn over the kitchen so you can prepare it. Unless you’ve changed your mind about letting us help?”
Meg shook her head. “The preparation is part of the ritual, but we appreciate the offer.” She smiled, seeming more confident that her group was in safe hands now that Alison wasn’t blathering like someone with a 400-year-old ghost yelling in her ear.
Unfortunately, the respite was short lived.
Mary scuttled into the room. “Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out!” She flapped her arms, disconcertingly chicken-like as she circled around the table.
Alison bit her lip and tried to concentrate. “Uh—would you—maybe—”
“Like to see my room?” Meg prompted, when Alison couldn’t manage to complete the thought.
“Yes!” Alison scrambled to her feet. “It’s—” She swept out her arm toward the door.
Mary trailed along behind them. “Devil woman be gone. Lord protect this house. Banish the witches from these walls!”
The longest day of the year was going to last an eternity, Alison could see that quite plainly.
These witches is devious creatures, that be facts. They pretends to be ordinary womens, just eating and talking when in truth they be hideous crones going about the Devil’s business. ‘Tis the way with witches. They always tricks peoples into letting down their guards, so’s they can work their evil sorceries. Even ghosts do get taken in by them.
“Come on! A proper Elemental Scream takes a lot more vodka than that.” Julian watches over the shoulder of one of the hellish strumpets as she do concoct the Devil’s juice. “There you go. That’s the ticket. Ooh, a slug of dark rum. Woman after my own heart.”
“Girls together, having fun together,” Kitty sings as she skips from group to group, giggling and making talkies with the wicked harpies.
The Captain and Pat be so bewitched they listens to a gaggle of the foul fiends go on and on about goshawks and hawfinches and such like, as if seeing birds be some wondrous thing.
“Last year, we made the trip to Strathspey, to the pine woods there, and saw a capercaillie.” The sneaking hag pulls out her magic lantern, and there be a bird trapped in the box of light.
“You don’t say,” says the Captain, leaning in, all agog. “Amazing.”
Pat do crane his neck for a look, as well. “She’d earn her Naturalist badge for sure.”
At least, I do think to have Fanny on my side. She keeps watch over the food table, giving the she-beasts a sharp tongue lashing. “A lady wouldn’t use her fingers when there is a serving utensil right there. Or pile up her plate like she’s never seen food before. A lady certainly doesn’t talk with her mouth full and spew the company with crumbs.” She shakes her head, the same way she do at Alison. “Good heavens, have none of you heard of proper etiquette?”
But then she overhears one of the accursed wenches going on about the books and such.
“There’s a fine selection of zoology here.” The scheming minx squints at a book, looking over the tops of her glasses, no doubts laying a spell so that whoever touches the volume next doth turn into a toad. So many, many toads there be with witches. “And over here are classics in the original Greek.”
“It’s clearly the work of generations,” says another of the wily vixens at the very moment that Fanny puffs up with pride, “I’ll have you know this collection is the work of generations of Buttons.”
That do make Fanny pause. Witches be most artful with their trickery.
“A family library should never be neglected,” the witch and Fanny do say in unison.
“Quite right,” says Fanny, with a satisfied nod. “Very good.”
If’n they can win over Fanny, ‘tis witchcraft for sure.
Whatever Mike might say, Alison refused to believe that the house was cursed. They’d just had a few unfortunate incidents. So, it was heartening when the next day’s activities got off to a smooth start. They laid out breakfast for their guests and saw them off on their nature walk. No one fell through the floor, discovered a new plague pit, or had their plans upset by a freak June hailstorm. Things were looking up at last.
“We should probably get to work on lunch,” Alison said.
Mike nodded. “I’ll set up in the garden if you start on the food.”
“Deal.”
Alison had made her mum’s pasta salad loads of times, although usually just for her and Mike. She eyed the veritable mountain of vegetables that needed chopping with some dismay. Still, there was something rather peaceful about being awake at this hour, all by herself in the kitchen, the house uncharacteristically quiet and tranquil. She hummed under her breath as she set to work.
By the time Mike returned from the garden, she’d nearly finished. “Everything going okay in here?” He eyed the ceiling in that nervous way that meant he thought there might be ghosts lurking about.
“I may never be able to look at pasta salad again after this,” Alison said, as she added a bit more basil to the bowl. “But the kitchen is ghost free at the moment. Pat, Robin, and the Captain went on the nature walk with the Wiccans. I’m not sure where the rest of them are.”
“Right, so the marquee is set up in the garden with the tables for food.” He broke into song, “Daddy, got the tent all ready for lunch now, all ready for lunch now. Oh, also the coolers are filled with drinks. Do you want me to—”
Whatever Mike was about to suggest was drowned out by Mary’s panicked shriek as she rushed into the room. “Alison, Alison! The witches be working their evil wiles on everybody in the house. I did with my very own ears hear Fanny call them ‘most sensible young women.’ How can that be other than Satan’s handiwork?”
“Well, maybe Lady Button just appreciates—"
Mary didn’t pause, much less bother to listen. “And Kitty says that if she did not already have you for her best friend, then she would take up with that one with the yellow hair that is called Veronica.”
Alison had to nod at that. “To be honest, Veronica does seem really fun and nice. I wouldn’t mind being friends with her myself.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Uh, you seem like you’re in the middle of something, so I’m just going to—” He made a vague gesture toward the door and quickly escaped.
Mary continued on, taking full advantage of the fact that she didn’t need to stop for a breath. “Patrick and the Captain did praise the strumpets’ footwear and say as how they were shod like experienced hikers. 'Tis bewitchment for sure!”
“Or maybe, they simply gave the women a chance and discovered that they’re regular people, who happen to be quite nice and interesting. And maybe, you could try doing that, too?” Alison’s voice lilted up hopefully.
Of course, Mary was having none of it. “Not whilst they still consorts with the Devil!”
Alison let out a breath. “Look, Mary, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to ask the paying guests to renounce Satan. That’s not how you encourage repeat business.”
“We all be doomed for sure!” Mary wailed and ran from the room.
So much for my peaceful morning, Alison thought, with a sense of resignation.
The good news was that everyone else seemed to be having a fine time. The guests arrived back at the house full of enthusiasm for the sights they’d seen and looking forward to their meditation session. They weren’t the only ones in high spirits.
Robin bounded through the door. “The one who look like Coleen Nolan know about Moonah Stone!” he told Alison excitedly.
The Captain nodded. “Excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, as well. Truly first rate.”
“They could identify edible plants and berries,” Pat said, with a gleam of approval in his eye, “and knew all the methods for purifying contaminated water. They’d have made brilliant scouts, the lot of them.”
Julian emerged through the wall, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Back at last. And what have we here? New-age hottie alert.” He fell in step with one of the women, Cat, as she headed for the stairs. “Off for a bit of meditation, are we? I could go for some inner peace myself,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, managing to make spiritual enlightenment sound unspeakably filthy.
Kitty bustled along after a group who were all laughing and talking together. “Oh, yes, how lovely it is to spend time with one’s friends after one’s morning constitutional. What could be more charming?”
Thomas came traipsing along from the direction of the library, toting Humphrey’s head. “We thought we’d just go look in on the gentlewomen as they undertake their journey of self-reflection. An atmosphere of introspection can kindle the artistic flame.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and hastily added, “Although rest assured that nothing and no one could take your place as muse to my creative genius, dearest Alison.”
“Okay. Thank you, Thomas.”
He beamed, reassured and self-satisfied, and continued on upstairs.
The last stragglers among the nature walkers came through the door, with Meg bringing up the rear.
“Welcome back,” Alison said, smiling as the women passed by. “Hi Meg, I just wondered—”
“There be the high priestess of Beelzebub!” declared Mary, literally appearing out of nowhere to point an accusatory finger at Meg.
“I—uh, did you—” Alison stuttered, losing her train of thought entirely.
Meg waited, smiling politely, quite possibly wondering if Alison suffered from some medical condition that made it impossible for her to get out a simple thought.
“Be gone, witch!” Mary shrieked, right in Alison’s ear.
Alison squinted, concentrating as hard as she could. “How is it going? Do you have everything you need?” She let out a breath, pathetically relieved to have made it through two short sentences.
Meg nodded, a spark of warmth in her eyes. “Thank you. We’ve had a wonderful start to the day. This is quite a remarkable home you have. History around every corner.”
“Leave this place, ye minion of hell!” Mary caterwauled at top volume.
Not that Meg could hear her, of course. Alison rather envied that.
Meg glanced around thoughtfully. “In a place like this, the past feels as if it’s still alive. Don’t you think?”
Alison nodded and couldn’t seem to stop. “I—uh—yes. I do. Very, very much. You have no idea how much, actually.”
Meg gave her a long, puzzled look. “Well, I’d better—” She waved a hand in the direction of the staircase.
“Right. Of course.” Alison smiled like a good host. “Enjoy your session.”
I am an efficient and capable businesswoman,, Alison reminded herself. Even if I am the only one who knows it.
At least, the weather continued to hold, perfect for lunch outdoors. The food seemed to go over well, and the ghosts mostly minded their manners.
Veronica and a few of the other women spread one of the picnic blankets on a sunny patch of lawn, and Kitty joined them, skirts fanning out over the grass, laughing and talking away with her new friends. Lady Button circulated from group to group, soaking in praise of the house and grounds. Robin gamboled through the bushes, chasing after butterflies. Humphrey’s head had been left atop a section of the garden wall, strategically angled so he could watch the festivities.
The Captain busied himself inspecting the marquee and gave it a thumb’s up. “Quite sturdy. Yes, Michael is progressing nicely in his outdoor skills.”
Pat stationed himself by the food table, acting the part of unofficial host. “Oh, that’s some lovely pasta salad, that. That’s right, you’ll want a nice big helping of it, and don’t forget the fruit over there. What? Just one biscuit? Best take two while you’re at it.”
Thomas perched on a chair next to Meg, chin resting on tented hands as he stared dreamily at her. “Is it your life wisdom that gives you such luster? Or am I drawn to the inner light of your spiritual understanding? I cannot say. I only know how I feel.” He let out a long, heartfelt sigh.
The only problem, not surprisingly, was Julian. He had become quite taken with Cat, who was a lovely twenty-something with long dark hair and big, soulful eyes. Alison just managed to head him off before he could engage in some non-consensual bottom patting.
“Look but don’t touch,” she told him under her breath, “or there’s no laptop for a month.”
“Come on!” Julian complained. “It’s just a little bit of handsies. Where’s the harm? It’s a compliment!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Just don’t.”
Mary was nowhere to be seen, at least not until lunch was finished and the group had adjourned to the kitchen for their afternoon session of potion making. That brought Mary climbing out of the woodwork, quite literally, to rant in Alison’s face.
“They do brew libations to the Devil!”
“No, they’re not,” Alison said through tight lips, trying not look like she was talking to the air.
“Then what be they making in their witch’s cauldron?”
They were actually using the Le Creuset pot Alison had inherited from her mother to brew their potion, but she didn’t think this would particularly mollify Mary. “I, uh, sorry for interrupting,” Alison spoke up. “But it all looks so interesting. Out of curiosity, what are you making?”
She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. After all, it was her job to make sure they had everything they needed, not pepper them with questions. But the women seemed delighted to share, all speaking up at once.
“We’re starting with a healing spell,” said Cat.
At the same time, Veronica said, “It’s a willow bark decoction that’s been used as a pain reliever for centuries.”
“We brew it while focusing our intention on healing,” Meg added. “That’s how we infuse it with magic.”
“That sounds lovely,” Alison told them, with a smile.
Of course, Mary was not convinced. “Oh yes, just takes the word of Satan’s creatures. It’s not like they tells lies as easy as breathing.”
Alison hissed under her breath, “Give them a chance!”
“Not until the witches renounce Satan!” Mary insisted, obstinately.
“No!” Alison said, not nearly quietly enough.
The entire room fell silent, every pair of eyes suddenly trained on Alison.
“No—” she stammered. “Not—not to interrupt again, although that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?” She smiled weakly. “I was just thinking about the kinds of misconceptions that people must have and the mad questions I’m sure you get. I mean, I bet people ask things like, what’s your position on Satan? For instance. Although as I understand it, Wicca really has nothing to do with that.”
“Exactly right,” Meg nodded, without any hint of annoyance, which was a relief, frankly. “There’s no concept of Satan in Wicca. Nature is what’s sacred to us.”
Mary’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Then how be they able to blight the crops and raise boils upon the cattle if’n they consort not with the Devil?”
Alison said, “I bet there are some people who are surprised to find out you don’t, oh, I don’t know, blight crops or make livestock come out in boils?”
This gave the women a good laugh.
One of them joked, “We don’t even turn people into toads!”
“No toads?” Mary said in a thin voice, as if her entire worldview had been turned upside down.
“Most Wiccans believe in the rule of three,” Veronica explained. “The good energy you put into the world comes back to you times three, and so does the bad. Casting a spell to harm someone else would just be hurting yourself.”
“Thanks, Veronica,” Alison told her, with a significant glance in Mary’s direction. “That was really helpful. So, it’s actually all about being kind and doing good things.”
“No black magicks? No wicked deeds?” Mary was now completely baffled. “What kind of witches be these?”
“Wicca carries an element of service, you see,” Meg said, as if in answer to Mary’s question. “We have a responsibility to look after the environment, our fellow creatures, and even the spirits of those who have already passed. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to come to Button House, because, as I’m sure you know, there were people accused of witchcraft who perished on this site. We want to honor their spirits.”
“All those innocent souls,” someone else murmured sadly.
“What? Every one? They be all innocent?” Mary asked, and then in a smaller, shakier voice, “As I was.”
“Yes.” Alison held her gaze. Seeing Mary’s smudged face day in and day out, it became too easy to forget the reason behind it, to lose sight of the fact that Mary had once been a living, breathing woman who worked in the fields and tended her beloved vegetables and grieved for her husband, a completely harmless person who endured one of the most horrific deaths human beings could inflict on another. “Entirely blameless.”
“Quite right,” Meg said. “In fact, they were often rather useful members of their communities, midwives or healers. The wise women of their villages, really.”
“Wise womens?” Mary repeated.
“We think of ourselves as their descendants,” Veronica added.
“Like—daughters,” Mary murmured, with a sense of wonder, and that seemed to bring her to a decision. “Sometimes they be accused because they possesses the sight and speaks to those what has passed on.”
Alison couldn’t help staring. It seemed she and Mary had more in common than she ever could have guessed. Mary gave a little nod, as if to acknowledge the truth, and also to invite Alison to share it.
“You know, in some cases I’ve heard that a person put on trial might even have been able to, like, see ghosts and talk to them,” Alison volunteered to the group, the witnesses Mary had chosen to hear her story at long last.
“A rare gift like that would surely have put a woman in great peril,” Meg said, with a gentle, knowing smile.
Uh-oh. It seemed that Alison was giving away her own secrets, as well as Mary’s. Probably a good time to make an exit. “All this history is just so interesting, isn’t it? But I’d better let you get on.”
As she walked away from the kitchen, she could hear Mary dispensing praise and advice, “Oh, that be some lovely willow bark there. Make sure you puts your back into it when you grinds that rosemary so’s you gets its full power.”
Alison smiled to herself. Definitely progress.
‘Tis a day well spent when remedies be brewed and new plants be set in the soil. The wise womens knows to add rue for protection. ‘Tis most beneficial for the banishing of evil spirits. And they does a fine job with the plantings, too. Well, all but the one called Deborah. She be a Betty Black Thumbs for sure.
When everything be all finished and watered, the womens goes off to their rooms, and I heads up to the attic. ‘Tis a good spot for solitude and reflections.
I treads up the creaky stairs, and it be still as a church up here. I kneels in my old familiar spot by the windows where the last of the light streams in. Many a times have I been here to say my prayers, and I lifts up my voice now.
“Dear Lord, bless and keep all the wise womens, wherever they be. Let them not be slandered or accused, and spare them from the flame. Give them strength as they do strive with goodness and kindness to help all the peoples. May their labors be fruitful and ‘a force for undoing the ravages that capitalisms has wrought upon the Earth and all of its creatures,’ as Meg does put it. Whatever capitalisms be. May the wise womens be blessed now and for all the generations to come. Amen.”
Since they’d first thought to turn Button House into an event space, Alison had imagined filling the place with life, a buzz in the air of people enjoying themselves, a warm sense of satisfaction in sharing their family home. Of course, none of their other bookings had quite gone to plan. Today, though, seemed poised to break their unlucky streak. It was a summer day straight out of the cinema, sunny with a light breeze, the sky a brilliant, crystalline blue. There was a festive atmosphere, and the house smelled wonderfully, the yeasty tang of bread baking and the sweet perfume of roses and peonies picked for the flower crowns. Alison had peeked into the kitchen earlier, and everything seemed well in hand for the feast, with Mary bustling around the kitchen, offering a running commentary on all the preparations.
Outside, Alison heard a crunch of gravel, which had to be Mike returning to the house. He’d been working on the arrangements for the evening’s celebration.
She ducked out to meet him. “All ready?”
He nodded. “Everything cool here?”
“Yeah, it’s all good,” she told him, with genuine surprise. Things going smoothly wasn’t what they’d come to expect.
“Oh, there you are.” Veronica popped her head out the door. “Meg sent me to check that everything’s set for the bonfire.”
Just like that, Alison realized that she’d never warned Mary there was going to be a fire.
“Oh no!” It just slipped out before she could stop herself. “Uh, I forgot to take out the bins.” That was going to be her excuse for—well, everything always, to be honest.
Mike shot her a what now? look. “The bonfire is all ready to go,” he assured Cat. “The wood’s arranged just how you asked, and there’s fire safety equipment at the site, just in case. I can take you down now if you want to have a look?”
They headed off, and Alison eyed the house reluctantly. It was such a big breakthrough Mary had yesterday. Alison was loath to do anything that might set her back. Of course, that’s surely what would happen if Mary followed the women into the woods and blindly stumbled onto her greatest fear.
Alison let out a sigh. “Right. Best get it over with.”
Trying to catch Mary’s attention—and Mary’s alone—amidst the kitchen bustle was not a simple matter. Alison lurked in the doorway, giving Mary significant looks whenever she happened to catch her eye, trying to indicate with jerks of her head that she’d like to speak with her in another room. Mary, though, was quite focused on the boiling of the custard and missed all of it. Margo and Suzanne, on the other hand, saw everything and must have thought Alison was quite mad.
“Mary,” she called out at last, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and glance in her direction, including, finally, Mary herself. “Merry solstice! Just wanted to pop in to say that.” She fixed a long, significant look on Mary, who finally got the message and vanished through the wall. “Well, I’ll let you all get on.”
“Oh, Alison,” Meg said, “Before you go, there was something we wanted to ask you. It’s been a wonderful few days, and you’ve made us feel very welcome. So, we were wondering if you might like to join us for the celebration later this evening?”
Alison put a hand to her chest, quite moved. “Oh guys, thank you so much. I’d be honoured. I’ll see you later then.”
She found Mary waiting in the hall. “Don’t say as how you has something to tell me.”
“Well—” Alison made a rueful face. “Let’s just—” She waved her hand at the steps. Better to find a private place for the conversation than to have everyone in the house thinking she was talking to herself.
“What be the bad tidings then?” Mary demanded, as soon as they reached the attic.
“It’s not so much bad news,” Alison explained, “as something you should just be aware of. You heard Meg’s invitation to the celebration tonight?”
Mary nodded.
“Well—there’s a bonfire planned as part of it.”
“Fire?” Mary’s eyes went wide and terrified.
“I don’t know exactly what the ritual will be, but it’s—” Alison struggled to find some better way to say it’s not like the time you were tied to a stake. “It’s a chance, maybe, to make a new and happy memory.” She held Mary’s eye. “Because I’ve been rubbish at hiding the fact that I can see ghosts, and I’m pretty sure their invitation was as much for you as it was for me. You heard what they said about wanting to honor you.”
Mary stood frozen to the spot, not answering.
If Alison could have touched her, she would have reached out a hand in comfort. “At least consider it?”
She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but Mary remained as unmoving as a statue.
From up in the attics, I hears the wise womens talking and laughing as they sets off for the woods. At the window, I watches them, bobbing and gliding along the path, flowers in their hair, same as I did once wears at Midsummer. Alison casts a long look back at the house, and I know it be me she seeks.
‘Tis no easy thing with fear of the flames gripping me, but after a whiles, I sets out after them. The voices of the womens guides me through the trees to the flickerings of lights up ahead. When I catches the first reek of smoke, a most noxious stink it be, I lurches to a stop and thinks about running back to the house. But then I thinks how the stink of burnings will be with me there the same as here, and so I continues on.
When I breaks through to the clearing, the fire be not the first thing my eye falls upon. ‘Tis the womens themselves. They dips and twirls in a circle, and the firelight makes them look like they glows from the inside, and their shadows dances on the ground beside them. They chants a lovely prayer, over and over, and I feels it wash over me with the strength of many voices.
Alison do spy me, and she smiles like her heart be overbrimming, and nods her head, as if she be asking me to join in. ‘Tis a very long time since I has danced at Midsummer, but my feets remember how it goes, and I glides and whirls alongside the wise womens, and I blends my voice with theirs.
Around and around we goes, and there be such gladness in me that it takes up all the room, and there be none left for fear.
Alison had no real sense of time passing. She felt as if she could have danced forever, and it must have been very late when the celebration wound down at last. Yet, it also seemed as if no time had gone by at all. The walk back through the trees felt different than before, quieter and more reverent. Even with the brightness of the moon, Mary’s expression was hidden in shadows, but there was something different about her, Alison could feel it.
Something—peaceful.
“Before we go in,” Meg said, “there’s one more ritual we’d like to perform. A protection spell for the house. If that would be all right with you, Alison?”
“That would be lovely,” Alison said, and beside her, Mary nodded.
They processed all around the house. The women carried boughs of herbs, and there was more chanting. Alison joined in, and Mary added a blessing of her own. Eventually, they came full circle, back to the front drive, a bit out of breath. Everyone lingered, as if reluctant to let the evening end. In the sultry stillness of the night, with the moon shining down on them, Alison realized that she did actually feel quite safe and protected. If ghosts were real, then why not magic?
Eventually, the group started to drift inside, but Alison hung back for a word with Mary. “So, this was a really big step. How are you feeling about everything?”
Mary mulled that over. “To be honest, if I never sees fire again, t’would be fine with me. But also if’n I was choosing a best friend, t’would be Nancy, for sure. She tends the roots most gently when she does the plantings, and she be a beast with a mortar and pestle.”
Alison laughed, a light, giddy sound. “Nancy is great. And, hey, they all plan to come back in the autumn. As Meg put it, ‘the land here cries out for healing from the rapacious greed of generations past’.” Her smile dimmed just a bit. “Although perhaps we shouldn’t mention that to Lady Button.”
“Oh, aye,” Mary said, with sly humor. “Loose lips that gets Fanny all riled up be the Devil’s work, for sure.”
They shared a smile and stepped into the slant of light from the open door, into the welcoming house.
Fandom: Ghosts (BBC, 2019)
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 6549
Main characters: Alison, Mary
Summary: A group of Wiccans holds their summer solstice celebration at Button House. Alison refuses to ask the paying guests to renounce Satan, and Mary discovers that witches can be a force for good.
Notes: Big thank you to Annabel for Britpicking this for me!
The story can also be read at AO3:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/35768878
For the most part—a solid 89% of the time—Alison didn’t regret the fall on the head that brought nine ghosts into her life, even if it did make everything more complicated.
Then there were moments like this.
“We can’t afford to turn this down. You know we can’t.”
Alison nodded along, because Mike was perfectly correct. Completely reasonable. “I do know. It’s just—"
“A ghost thing,” he finished the sentence for her. “But this event is a money thing.”
“I do love a money thing,” she said wistfully.
“Not just any money thing,” Mike reminded her, “but one where people pay us to allow them to plant our garden for us.”
Damn Mike’s eyes. He knew her shoulder still wasn’t the same after all the pruning they’d done two weekends ago. She would never understand anyone who voluntarily took up gardening as a hobby.
“Right.” She got to her feet and drew in a long, resolute breath. “I’ll handle it.”
Mary was easy to track down at the Loose Women time of day. Alison found her perched on the edge of the sofa, straining forward as if afraid she might miss something. “A messy bun do be flattering on her,” she murmured at the screen.
“Mary—” Alison started.
A sharp shush came in answer. “The loose womens is talking.”
Alison fell quiet, lips pressed together, waiting for the loose women to be done.
Mary stared enrapt at the TV all through the end credits and into the promo for the evening’s episode of Emmerdale before finally turning to Alison. “What you be wanting then?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“’Tis never a good sign when you says that.”
For a moment, Alison indulged the thought of putting this off until later. But she was here and Mary was here, and no time like the present. “The thing is, we’re going to have some people coming to the house for an event.”
Mary’s face brightened. “Be it another wedding?”
Alison shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Woodworm men!” Mary shrank back, her voice pitching up a good octave.
“No—”
“Boiler men!” This came out a definite shriek.
“No, no—”
“Hedgehog men?”
Alison blinked. “That’s not a thing, actually.”
Not that this comforted Mary.
“What will become of us?” she moaned, twisting her hands. “These Devil mens will prey upon us for sure.”
“They’re not men at all,” Alison said quickly, before Mary could devolve into all-out hysteria. “It’s a group of very nice women who are nature-lovers,” she chose her words carefully, “and interested in herbs and things, and are coming to celebrate the solstice.”
“That doesn’t sound bad,” Mary said slowly, a tinge of suspicion in the words. “Be there anything else you needs to tell me?”
Alison shook her head, but then added, as breezily as she could, “Well, only that this group of nice women—it’s a club, really. A club called Wiccans.” She bit her lip, hoping for the best.
“Wic-cans,” Mary said, head tilted thoughtfully, pronouncing each syllable as if it were a separate word. “Wic-cans,” she said again, brow furrowing. Her eyes went suddenly wide, voice pitching up shrilly, “Wit-ches!” She leaped to her feet and ran from the room, screaming, “The witches are coming! The witches are coming!”
Alison expelled a long breath. “Yeah. That went well.”
The room in the tippy top of the attics be the best place to keep watch on the comings and goings up the lane to the house. There always be signs that witches do approach. Dark spots that blots out the sun. Forks of lightning that slices the sky and thunder that shakes the ground. Plagues of locusts and toads that rain down from the sky. There be a ponderous lot of toads where witches be concerned.
Protecting the house against witches be serious work, but ‘tis hard to concentrate with all the distractions I has.
“Mary, there’s no need for you to stay holed up in the attic by yourself,” Julian flaps his jaw, whether there be anybody who wishes to hear him or not. “These visitors coming to the house are Wiccans, not witches. Hippy-dippy, airy-fairy nonsense, perfectly harmless.”
“Harmless!” I scoffs.
That shows what he knows about it.
Julian huffs out a breath and throw ups his arms. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He goes stomping off, and I hopes to get some peace and quiet at last, so’s I can bless and protect the house. But not long after, Patrick comes seeking me.
“Mary,” says he, in the kind of soothing tones that do work wonders with a skittish sheep. “I know what you’re doing is important, but we’re getting ready to start What I Would Wear Today If I Could. Won’t you come down and join us?”
That tempts me, in all truth. In my head be this vision of a gown made of moonbeams with a cloak of rainbows to wear over top. But you can never be too watchful when the threat of witches be upon the house.
“Witches be gone, witches stay out, witches be gone, witches stay out,” chants I.
Patrick lets out a sigh. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
I chants for a good while before Kitty comes rushing up.
“Mary! You’ll never guess what I’m wearing today. It’s a lovely crimson blouse with gold buttons and puffed sleeves along with grey jeans and trainers.”
Keeping focus on witch-warding be important, but I leaves off the chanting long enough to ask, “Be that what Alison wears today?”
Kitty smiles like a true beam of sunshine. “How ever did you guess? I suppose that’s just the way with sisters. Like minds, dressing alike. Had you a notion what you would wear today?”
The moonbeam gown flashes in my eyes, but who can dwell on such trifles when there be witches approaching? “Witches be gone, witches stay out, witches be gone, witches stay out.”
Kitty’s face grows solemn. “Mary, you know that Alison would never do anything to endanger us or the house. I feel quite certain that these Wiccan ladies will be perfectly lovely company when they arrive.”
Witches be tricky things. I dare not let my guard down. So I doesn’t stop chanting.
“Well, if you really think this is necessary, then I’ll help you.”
Kitty joins in, and that be a comfort. A blessing be stronger with more voices.
Alison appears in the doorway, with that worried little pinch she gets between her eyes. “Guys, please.”
I doesn’t stop. Nor does Kitty.
Alison sighs. “The perfectly nice and harmless women who are just coming to enjoy the countryside will not be here for another two weeks, so there’s really no need—”
“Only two weeks!” I shrieks and raises my voice with all my strength.
Kitty be a good girl and do also put her might into the blessing.
Alison sighs again. “This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.”
Little do the livings know. The time is always short, and never more so than when witches be descending upon the house.
Alison wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from a group of Wiccans. Goths all in black with loads of eyeliner and piercings? Or maybe flowy gowns and shawls, a bit like Stevie Nicks? Whatever she’d pictured, it certainly wasn’t a collection of practical-looking librarian types, all wearing sensible sandals and pleasant smiles. Alison could not imagine people less deserving of Mary’s attempt at exorcism. Truly, she would have done better to focus her efforts on the Beg-Chetwyndes.
Not that Mary shared this opinion.
“Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out,” she chanted, doing her best to banish their paying guests.
Alison fought the urge to stick her fingers in her ears.
“Welcome to Button House,” Mike greeted the visitors, with a concerned side eye at Alison.
She plastered on a smile, trying her hardest to ignore Mary. “We have packets here for everyone with maps of the house and grounds, itineraries, and—um, other things.” She really hoped she didn’t sound like she was shouting.
From Mike’s expression, though, that was very much how she sounded.
“Why don’t I show you to your rooms?” he quickly offered, leading the group toward the stairs and away from his stammering wife.
One of the women stayed behind, as practical and sensible as the rest, but with an added air of authority. “I’m Meg. We spoke on the phone? I was hoping we could go over the schedule for the weekend.”
“Oh yes. Meg. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Alison offered her hand. “Welcome to Button House. I know my husband already said that, but there can never be too much welcome, can there?” She made herself take a breath and stop babbling. “Come on through to the kitchen. Fancy a cup of tea?”
The kitchen was refreshingly ghost free, and putting on the kettle gave Alison something steadying to focus on. She brought the mugs over to the table, handed Meg a copy of the detailed event timeline she and Mike had drawn up, and reminded herself that she was an efficient and capable businesswoman.
“Right. So. This evening, we’ll set up drinks and canapés in the library,” Alison said briskly. “After that, we’ve chartered a minibus to take you all to the pub for dinner. In the morning, breakfast is in the main common-room. You’ve got maps of the grounds in your packets for your nature walk. Then you’re back at the house for the meditation session upstairs and picnic lunch in the back garden. In the afternoon, you’re here in the kitchen for your session on brewing potions, and then outside again in the early evening to do the planting. Saturday, the solstice, we’ll have gardening shears and baskets so you can collect flowers, and there will be a room set aside upstairs so you can make your crowns. We’ve laid in the supplies for your feast, and we’ll turn over the kitchen so you can prepare it. Unless you’ve changed your mind about letting us help?”
Meg shook her head. “The preparation is part of the ritual, but we appreciate the offer.” She smiled, seeming more confident that her group was in safe hands now that Alison wasn’t blathering like someone with a 400-year-old ghost yelling in her ear.
Unfortunately, the respite was short lived.
Mary scuttled into the room. “Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out!” She flapped her arms, disconcertingly chicken-like as she circled around the table.
Alison bit her lip and tried to concentrate. “Uh—would you—maybe—”
“Like to see my room?” Meg prompted, when Alison couldn’t manage to complete the thought.
“Yes!” Alison scrambled to her feet. “It’s—” She swept out her arm toward the door.
Mary trailed along behind them. “Devil woman be gone. Lord protect this house. Banish the witches from these walls!”
The longest day of the year was going to last an eternity, Alison could see that quite plainly.
These witches is devious creatures, that be facts. They pretends to be ordinary womens, just eating and talking when in truth they be hideous crones going about the Devil’s business. ‘Tis the way with witches. They always tricks peoples into letting down their guards, so’s they can work their evil sorceries. Even ghosts do get taken in by them.
“Come on! A proper Elemental Scream takes a lot more vodka than that.” Julian watches over the shoulder of one of the hellish strumpets as she do concoct the Devil’s juice. “There you go. That’s the ticket. Ooh, a slug of dark rum. Woman after my own heart.”
“Girls together, having fun together,” Kitty sings as she skips from group to group, giggling and making talkies with the wicked harpies.
The Captain and Pat be so bewitched they listens to a gaggle of the foul fiends go on and on about goshawks and hawfinches and such like, as if seeing birds be some wondrous thing.
“Last year, we made the trip to Strathspey, to the pine woods there, and saw a capercaillie.” The sneaking hag pulls out her magic lantern, and there be a bird trapped in the box of light.
“You don’t say,” says the Captain, leaning in, all agog. “Amazing.”
Pat do crane his neck for a look, as well. “She’d earn her Naturalist badge for sure.”
At least, I do think to have Fanny on my side. She keeps watch over the food table, giving the she-beasts a sharp tongue lashing. “A lady wouldn’t use her fingers when there is a serving utensil right there. Or pile up her plate like she’s never seen food before. A lady certainly doesn’t talk with her mouth full and spew the company with crumbs.” She shakes her head, the same way she do at Alison. “Good heavens, have none of you heard of proper etiquette?”
But then she overhears one of the accursed wenches going on about the books and such.
“There’s a fine selection of zoology here.” The scheming minx squints at a book, looking over the tops of her glasses, no doubts laying a spell so that whoever touches the volume next doth turn into a toad. So many, many toads there be with witches. “And over here are classics in the original Greek.”
“It’s clearly the work of generations,” says another of the wily vixens at the very moment that Fanny puffs up with pride, “I’ll have you know this collection is the work of generations of Buttons.”
That do make Fanny pause. Witches be most artful with their trickery.
“A family library should never be neglected,” the witch and Fanny do say in unison.
“Quite right,” says Fanny, with a satisfied nod. “Very good.”
If’n they can win over Fanny, ‘tis witchcraft for sure.
Whatever Mike might say, Alison refused to believe that the house was cursed. They’d just had a few unfortunate incidents. So, it was heartening when the next day’s activities got off to a smooth start. They laid out breakfast for their guests and saw them off on their nature walk. No one fell through the floor, discovered a new plague pit, or had their plans upset by a freak June hailstorm. Things were looking up at last.
“We should probably get to work on lunch,” Alison said.
Mike nodded. “I’ll set up in the garden if you start on the food.”
“Deal.”
Alison had made her mum’s pasta salad loads of times, although usually just for her and Mike. She eyed the veritable mountain of vegetables that needed chopping with some dismay. Still, there was something rather peaceful about being awake at this hour, all by herself in the kitchen, the house uncharacteristically quiet and tranquil. She hummed under her breath as she set to work.
By the time Mike returned from the garden, she’d nearly finished. “Everything going okay in here?” He eyed the ceiling in that nervous way that meant he thought there might be ghosts lurking about.
“I may never be able to look at pasta salad again after this,” Alison said, as she added a bit more basil to the bowl. “But the kitchen is ghost free at the moment. Pat, Robin, and the Captain went on the nature walk with the Wiccans. I’m not sure where the rest of them are.”
“Right, so the marquee is set up in the garden with the tables for food.” He broke into song, “Daddy, got the tent all ready for lunch now, all ready for lunch now. Oh, also the coolers are filled with drinks. Do you want me to—”
Whatever Mike was about to suggest was drowned out by Mary’s panicked shriek as she rushed into the room. “Alison, Alison! The witches be working their evil wiles on everybody in the house. I did with my very own ears hear Fanny call them ‘most sensible young women.’ How can that be other than Satan’s handiwork?”
“Well, maybe Lady Button just appreciates—"
Mary didn’t pause, much less bother to listen. “And Kitty says that if she did not already have you for her best friend, then she would take up with that one with the yellow hair that is called Veronica.”
Alison had to nod at that. “To be honest, Veronica does seem really fun and nice. I wouldn’t mind being friends with her myself.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Uh, you seem like you’re in the middle of something, so I’m just going to—” He made a vague gesture toward the door and quickly escaped.
Mary continued on, taking full advantage of the fact that she didn’t need to stop for a breath. “Patrick and the Captain did praise the strumpets’ footwear and say as how they were shod like experienced hikers. 'Tis bewitchment for sure!”
“Or maybe, they simply gave the women a chance and discovered that they’re regular people, who happen to be quite nice and interesting. And maybe, you could try doing that, too?” Alison’s voice lilted up hopefully.
Of course, Mary was having none of it. “Not whilst they still consorts with the Devil!”
Alison let out a breath. “Look, Mary, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to ask the paying guests to renounce Satan. That’s not how you encourage repeat business.”
“We all be doomed for sure!” Mary wailed and ran from the room.
So much for my peaceful morning, Alison thought, with a sense of resignation.
The good news was that everyone else seemed to be having a fine time. The guests arrived back at the house full of enthusiasm for the sights they’d seen and looking forward to their meditation session. They weren’t the only ones in high spirits.
Robin bounded through the door. “The one who look like Coleen Nolan know about Moonah Stone!” he told Alison excitedly.
The Captain nodded. “Excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, as well. Truly first rate.”
“They could identify edible plants and berries,” Pat said, with a gleam of approval in his eye, “and knew all the methods for purifying contaminated water. They’d have made brilliant scouts, the lot of them.”
Julian emerged through the wall, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Back at last. And what have we here? New-age hottie alert.” He fell in step with one of the women, Cat, as she headed for the stairs. “Off for a bit of meditation, are we? I could go for some inner peace myself,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, managing to make spiritual enlightenment sound unspeakably filthy.
Kitty bustled along after a group who were all laughing and talking together. “Oh, yes, how lovely it is to spend time with one’s friends after one’s morning constitutional. What could be more charming?”
Thomas came traipsing along from the direction of the library, toting Humphrey’s head. “We thought we’d just go look in on the gentlewomen as they undertake their journey of self-reflection. An atmosphere of introspection can kindle the artistic flame.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and hastily added, “Although rest assured that nothing and no one could take your place as muse to my creative genius, dearest Alison.”
“Okay. Thank you, Thomas.”
He beamed, reassured and self-satisfied, and continued on upstairs.
The last stragglers among the nature walkers came through the door, with Meg bringing up the rear.
“Welcome back,” Alison said, smiling as the women passed by. “Hi Meg, I just wondered—”
“There be the high priestess of Beelzebub!” declared Mary, literally appearing out of nowhere to point an accusatory finger at Meg.
“I—uh, did you—” Alison stuttered, losing her train of thought entirely.
Meg waited, smiling politely, quite possibly wondering if Alison suffered from some medical condition that made it impossible for her to get out a simple thought.
“Be gone, witch!” Mary shrieked, right in Alison’s ear.
Alison squinted, concentrating as hard as she could. “How is it going? Do you have everything you need?” She let out a breath, pathetically relieved to have made it through two short sentences.
Meg nodded, a spark of warmth in her eyes. “Thank you. We’ve had a wonderful start to the day. This is quite a remarkable home you have. History around every corner.”
“Leave this place, ye minion of hell!” Mary caterwauled at top volume.
Not that Meg could hear her, of course. Alison rather envied that.
Meg glanced around thoughtfully. “In a place like this, the past feels as if it’s still alive. Don’t you think?”
Alison nodded and couldn’t seem to stop. “I—uh—yes. I do. Very, very much. You have no idea how much, actually.”
Meg gave her a long, puzzled look. “Well, I’d better—” She waved a hand in the direction of the staircase.
“Right. Of course.” Alison smiled like a good host. “Enjoy your session.”
I am an efficient and capable businesswoman,, Alison reminded herself. Even if I am the only one who knows it.
At least, the weather continued to hold, perfect for lunch outdoors. The food seemed to go over well, and the ghosts mostly minded their manners.
Veronica and a few of the other women spread one of the picnic blankets on a sunny patch of lawn, and Kitty joined them, skirts fanning out over the grass, laughing and talking away with her new friends. Lady Button circulated from group to group, soaking in praise of the house and grounds. Robin gamboled through the bushes, chasing after butterflies. Humphrey’s head had been left atop a section of the garden wall, strategically angled so he could watch the festivities.
The Captain busied himself inspecting the marquee and gave it a thumb’s up. “Quite sturdy. Yes, Michael is progressing nicely in his outdoor skills.”
Pat stationed himself by the food table, acting the part of unofficial host. “Oh, that’s some lovely pasta salad, that. That’s right, you’ll want a nice big helping of it, and don’t forget the fruit over there. What? Just one biscuit? Best take two while you’re at it.”
Thomas perched on a chair next to Meg, chin resting on tented hands as he stared dreamily at her. “Is it your life wisdom that gives you such luster? Or am I drawn to the inner light of your spiritual understanding? I cannot say. I only know how I feel.” He let out a long, heartfelt sigh.
The only problem, not surprisingly, was Julian. He had become quite taken with Cat, who was a lovely twenty-something with long dark hair and big, soulful eyes. Alison just managed to head him off before he could engage in some non-consensual bottom patting.
“Look but don’t touch,” she told him under her breath, “or there’s no laptop for a month.”
“Come on!” Julian complained. “It’s just a little bit of handsies. Where’s the harm? It’s a compliment!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Just don’t.”
Mary was nowhere to be seen, at least not until lunch was finished and the group had adjourned to the kitchen for their afternoon session of potion making. That brought Mary climbing out of the woodwork, quite literally, to rant in Alison’s face.
“They do brew libations to the Devil!”
“No, they’re not,” Alison said through tight lips, trying not look like she was talking to the air.
“Then what be they making in their witch’s cauldron?”
They were actually using the Le Creuset pot Alison had inherited from her mother to brew their potion, but she didn’t think this would particularly mollify Mary. “I, uh, sorry for interrupting,” Alison spoke up. “But it all looks so interesting. Out of curiosity, what are you making?”
She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. After all, it was her job to make sure they had everything they needed, not pepper them with questions. But the women seemed delighted to share, all speaking up at once.
“We’re starting with a healing spell,” said Cat.
At the same time, Veronica said, “It’s a willow bark decoction that’s been used as a pain reliever for centuries.”
“We brew it while focusing our intention on healing,” Meg added. “That’s how we infuse it with magic.”
“That sounds lovely,” Alison told them, with a smile.
Of course, Mary was not convinced. “Oh yes, just takes the word of Satan’s creatures. It’s not like they tells lies as easy as breathing.”
Alison hissed under her breath, “Give them a chance!”
“Not until the witches renounce Satan!” Mary insisted, obstinately.
“No!” Alison said, not nearly quietly enough.
The entire room fell silent, every pair of eyes suddenly trained on Alison.
“No—” she stammered. “Not—not to interrupt again, although that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?” She smiled weakly. “I was just thinking about the kinds of misconceptions that people must have and the mad questions I’m sure you get. I mean, I bet people ask things like, what’s your position on Satan? For instance. Although as I understand it, Wicca really has nothing to do with that.”
“Exactly right,” Meg nodded, without any hint of annoyance, which was a relief, frankly. “There’s no concept of Satan in Wicca. Nature is what’s sacred to us.”
Mary’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Then how be they able to blight the crops and raise boils upon the cattle if’n they consort not with the Devil?”
Alison said, “I bet there are some people who are surprised to find out you don’t, oh, I don’t know, blight crops or make livestock come out in boils?”
This gave the women a good laugh.
One of them joked, “We don’t even turn people into toads!”
“No toads?” Mary said in a thin voice, as if her entire worldview had been turned upside down.
“Most Wiccans believe in the rule of three,” Veronica explained. “The good energy you put into the world comes back to you times three, and so does the bad. Casting a spell to harm someone else would just be hurting yourself.”
“Thanks, Veronica,” Alison told her, with a significant glance in Mary’s direction. “That was really helpful. So, it’s actually all about being kind and doing good things.”
“No black magicks? No wicked deeds?” Mary was now completely baffled. “What kind of witches be these?”
“Wicca carries an element of service, you see,” Meg said, as if in answer to Mary’s question. “We have a responsibility to look after the environment, our fellow creatures, and even the spirits of those who have already passed. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to come to Button House, because, as I’m sure you know, there were people accused of witchcraft who perished on this site. We want to honor their spirits.”
“All those innocent souls,” someone else murmured sadly.
“What? Every one? They be all innocent?” Mary asked, and then in a smaller, shakier voice, “As I was.”
“Yes.” Alison held her gaze. Seeing Mary’s smudged face day in and day out, it became too easy to forget the reason behind it, to lose sight of the fact that Mary had once been a living, breathing woman who worked in the fields and tended her beloved vegetables and grieved for her husband, a completely harmless person who endured one of the most horrific deaths human beings could inflict on another. “Entirely blameless.”
“Quite right,” Meg said. “In fact, they were often rather useful members of their communities, midwives or healers. The wise women of their villages, really.”
“Wise womens?” Mary repeated.
“We think of ourselves as their descendants,” Veronica added.
“Like—daughters,” Mary murmured, with a sense of wonder, and that seemed to bring her to a decision. “Sometimes they be accused because they possesses the sight and speaks to those what has passed on.”
Alison couldn’t help staring. It seemed she and Mary had more in common than she ever could have guessed. Mary gave a little nod, as if to acknowledge the truth, and also to invite Alison to share it.
“You know, in some cases I’ve heard that a person put on trial might even have been able to, like, see ghosts and talk to them,” Alison volunteered to the group, the witnesses Mary had chosen to hear her story at long last.
“A rare gift like that would surely have put a woman in great peril,” Meg said, with a gentle, knowing smile.
Uh-oh. It seemed that Alison was giving away her own secrets, as well as Mary’s. Probably a good time to make an exit. “All this history is just so interesting, isn’t it? But I’d better let you get on.”
As she walked away from the kitchen, she could hear Mary dispensing praise and advice, “Oh, that be some lovely willow bark there. Make sure you puts your back into it when you grinds that rosemary so’s you gets its full power.”
Alison smiled to herself. Definitely progress.
‘Tis a day well spent when remedies be brewed and new plants be set in the soil. The wise womens knows to add rue for protection. ‘Tis most beneficial for the banishing of evil spirits. And they does a fine job with the plantings, too. Well, all but the one called Deborah. She be a Betty Black Thumbs for sure.
When everything be all finished and watered, the womens goes off to their rooms, and I heads up to the attic. ‘Tis a good spot for solitude and reflections.
I treads up the creaky stairs, and it be still as a church up here. I kneels in my old familiar spot by the windows where the last of the light streams in. Many a times have I been here to say my prayers, and I lifts up my voice now.
“Dear Lord, bless and keep all the wise womens, wherever they be. Let them not be slandered or accused, and spare them from the flame. Give them strength as they do strive with goodness and kindness to help all the peoples. May their labors be fruitful and ‘a force for undoing the ravages that capitalisms has wrought upon the Earth and all of its creatures,’ as Meg does put it. Whatever capitalisms be. May the wise womens be blessed now and for all the generations to come. Amen.”
Since they’d first thought to turn Button House into an event space, Alison had imagined filling the place with life, a buzz in the air of people enjoying themselves, a warm sense of satisfaction in sharing their family home. Of course, none of their other bookings had quite gone to plan. Today, though, seemed poised to break their unlucky streak. It was a summer day straight out of the cinema, sunny with a light breeze, the sky a brilliant, crystalline blue. There was a festive atmosphere, and the house smelled wonderfully, the yeasty tang of bread baking and the sweet perfume of roses and peonies picked for the flower crowns. Alison had peeked into the kitchen earlier, and everything seemed well in hand for the feast, with Mary bustling around the kitchen, offering a running commentary on all the preparations.
Outside, Alison heard a crunch of gravel, which had to be Mike returning to the house. He’d been working on the arrangements for the evening’s celebration.
She ducked out to meet him. “All ready?”
He nodded. “Everything cool here?”
“Yeah, it’s all good,” she told him, with genuine surprise. Things going smoothly wasn’t what they’d come to expect.
“Oh, there you are.” Veronica popped her head out the door. “Meg sent me to check that everything’s set for the bonfire.”
Just like that, Alison realized that she’d never warned Mary there was going to be a fire.
“Oh no!” It just slipped out before she could stop herself. “Uh, I forgot to take out the bins.” That was going to be her excuse for—well, everything always, to be honest.
Mike shot her a what now? look. “The bonfire is all ready to go,” he assured Cat. “The wood’s arranged just how you asked, and there’s fire safety equipment at the site, just in case. I can take you down now if you want to have a look?”
They headed off, and Alison eyed the house reluctantly. It was such a big breakthrough Mary had yesterday. Alison was loath to do anything that might set her back. Of course, that’s surely what would happen if Mary followed the women into the woods and blindly stumbled onto her greatest fear.
Alison let out a sigh. “Right. Best get it over with.”
Trying to catch Mary’s attention—and Mary’s alone—amidst the kitchen bustle was not a simple matter. Alison lurked in the doorway, giving Mary significant looks whenever she happened to catch her eye, trying to indicate with jerks of her head that she’d like to speak with her in another room. Mary, though, was quite focused on the boiling of the custard and missed all of it. Margo and Suzanne, on the other hand, saw everything and must have thought Alison was quite mad.
“Mary,” she called out at last, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and glance in her direction, including, finally, Mary herself. “Merry solstice! Just wanted to pop in to say that.” She fixed a long, significant look on Mary, who finally got the message and vanished through the wall. “Well, I’ll let you all get on.”
“Oh, Alison,” Meg said, “Before you go, there was something we wanted to ask you. It’s been a wonderful few days, and you’ve made us feel very welcome. So, we were wondering if you might like to join us for the celebration later this evening?”
Alison put a hand to her chest, quite moved. “Oh guys, thank you so much. I’d be honoured. I’ll see you later then.”
She found Mary waiting in the hall. “Don’t say as how you has something to tell me.”
“Well—” Alison made a rueful face. “Let’s just—” She waved her hand at the steps. Better to find a private place for the conversation than to have everyone in the house thinking she was talking to herself.
“What be the bad tidings then?” Mary demanded, as soon as they reached the attic.
“It’s not so much bad news,” Alison explained, “as something you should just be aware of. You heard Meg’s invitation to the celebration tonight?”
Mary nodded.
“Well—there’s a bonfire planned as part of it.”
“Fire?” Mary’s eyes went wide and terrified.
“I don’t know exactly what the ritual will be, but it’s—” Alison struggled to find some better way to say it’s not like the time you were tied to a stake. “It’s a chance, maybe, to make a new and happy memory.” She held Mary’s eye. “Because I’ve been rubbish at hiding the fact that I can see ghosts, and I’m pretty sure their invitation was as much for you as it was for me. You heard what they said about wanting to honor you.”
Mary stood frozen to the spot, not answering.
If Alison could have touched her, she would have reached out a hand in comfort. “At least consider it?”
She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but Mary remained as unmoving as a statue.
From up in the attics, I hears the wise womens talking and laughing as they sets off for the woods. At the window, I watches them, bobbing and gliding along the path, flowers in their hair, same as I did once wears at Midsummer. Alison casts a long look back at the house, and I know it be me she seeks.
‘Tis no easy thing with fear of the flames gripping me, but after a whiles, I sets out after them. The voices of the womens guides me through the trees to the flickerings of lights up ahead. When I catches the first reek of smoke, a most noxious stink it be, I lurches to a stop and thinks about running back to the house. But then I thinks how the stink of burnings will be with me there the same as here, and so I continues on.
When I breaks through to the clearing, the fire be not the first thing my eye falls upon. ‘Tis the womens themselves. They dips and twirls in a circle, and the firelight makes them look like they glows from the inside, and their shadows dances on the ground beside them. They chants a lovely prayer, over and over, and I feels it wash over me with the strength of many voices.
Alison do spy me, and she smiles like her heart be overbrimming, and nods her head, as if she be asking me to join in. ‘Tis a very long time since I has danced at Midsummer, but my feets remember how it goes, and I glides and whirls alongside the wise womens, and I blends my voice with theirs.
Around and around we goes, and there be such gladness in me that it takes up all the room, and there be none left for fear.
Alison had no real sense of time passing. She felt as if she could have danced forever, and it must have been very late when the celebration wound down at last. Yet, it also seemed as if no time had gone by at all. The walk back through the trees felt different than before, quieter and more reverent. Even with the brightness of the moon, Mary’s expression was hidden in shadows, but there was something different about her, Alison could feel it.
Something—peaceful.
“Before we go in,” Meg said, “there’s one more ritual we’d like to perform. A protection spell for the house. If that would be all right with you, Alison?”
“That would be lovely,” Alison said, and beside her, Mary nodded.
They processed all around the house. The women carried boughs of herbs, and there was more chanting. Alison joined in, and Mary added a blessing of her own. Eventually, they came full circle, back to the front drive, a bit out of breath. Everyone lingered, as if reluctant to let the evening end. In the sultry stillness of the night, with the moon shining down on them, Alison realized that she did actually feel quite safe and protected. If ghosts were real, then why not magic?
Eventually, the group started to drift inside, but Alison hung back for a word with Mary. “So, this was a really big step. How are you feeling about everything?”
Mary mulled that over. “To be honest, if I never sees fire again, t’would be fine with me. But also if’n I was choosing a best friend, t’would be Nancy, for sure. She tends the roots most gently when she does the plantings, and she be a beast with a mortar and pestle.”
Alison laughed, a light, giddy sound. “Nancy is great. And, hey, they all plan to come back in the autumn. As Meg put it, ‘the land here cries out for healing from the rapacious greed of generations past’.” Her smile dimmed just a bit. “Although perhaps we shouldn’t mention that to Lady Button.”
“Oh, aye,” Mary said, with sly humor. “Loose lips that gets Fanny all riled up be the Devil’s work, for sure.”
They shared a smile and stepped into the slant of light from the open door, into the welcoming house.