Queen of Hearts

Twenty-Four Hours

Florence's P.O.V

I awoke to Joan fidgeting in her cot. I slipped out from under the warm covers and cradled Joan close to my chest. My eyes were as bleary as the wakening sun, though they were not casting light to the dawn as the sun was. Yawning, I changed Joan's nappy and lay her down in my bed next to me, where Rob was last night. He must've gone to the farm early. In an hour or so I'd have to get up and leave Joan with Anita, the farmer's wife, while I earned my keep in the fields.

The church clock struck six. I started awake again and leapt out of bed. "Come on, Joan," I said to my daughter. "Time to get dressed."
She rarely behaved while I dressed her but this morning was one of those rarities where she sat still as a porcelain doll as I tied her boots and straightened her little socks. "Mama," she said in her sweet, childish manner. "Sing me the cow and the moon song?"
I did so, telling the story of the cat playing with a fiddle, the cow jumping over the moon, the little dog laughing and the dish running away with the spoon. Joan giggled and sang along with me. After the song, she asked, "Where's papa?"
"Gone to the farm," I explained as I got myself dressed. Someone rapped at the bedroom door.
I pulled a loose work shirt over my head. "Come in."
Anita bustled in, taking up the whole doorway in her flowery house dress. Her dusty brown hair was tied into a bun and her wide, loving eyes were filled with unusual worry.
"Florence, dear," she said, lowering her voice at the sight of Joan. "Is Rob here?"
"No," I said. "I assumed he'd gone to the fields early?"
Anita wrung her hands and looked reluctant to carry on the conversation.  "No. Gregory has been up there since four o'clock this morning and he hasn't been there. Chris was looking for him..."
My hands fell to my sides from my head where I was tying my hair into a plait.
"Maybe he went to town?" I said lightly.
"Maybe. Let's not worry; I'm sure he'll be back within the hour. Would you like me to take Joan now?"
"Please." I kissed my daughter's forehead goodbye. "See you later, darling."
"Bye mama," Joan squeaked. She grabbed Anita's large hand with her tiny one and skipped away.

My heart was shaking like my hands. Where on earth was Rob?!

Rob's P.O.V

I opened my sore eyes and was blinded by the darkness. I moved my fingers tenderly and felt dry leaves beneath them. Turning my head, I saw shadows of trees and people around me.

People??

I scrambled up on my feet.
"Where do you think you're going?" a young voice said threateningly.
"Home," I spat.
Countless pairs of cold hands restrained me by my shoulders, legs and neck. They were ghostly but solid. Dead, but very much alive.
"No you're not," another voice, an older woman, laughed.
The mystical ghostly shadows spun around me until the whole world spun with them. "What do you want?!" I screamed into the whirling mess.
"We want to leave our bodies," another woman's raspy voice answered.
"We want to lose our minds."
I was petrified. Only half-convinced that I was dreaming, I banged my head against the tree behind me, pinched myself, bit my lips until they bled but to no avail. The spirits clasped hands with each other and slowed to a stop, making a large ring around me.
"History keeps pulling us down..." this line was spoken by all the women, middle aged and elderly.
One of them broke free and stepped closer to me. "Your wife. She is a sorceress. She was supposed to have been cleansed at the stake seven years like the rest of us!"
I still didn't understand. Who were these ghosts and how did they know Florence??
As if she read my mind-which she probably did-the woman in front of me answered my questions.
"We are the lost causes, burned but not yet buried. We cannot watch a witch like us be let off free."
My lips parted slightly.
"So, Mr Robert Ackroyd," she continued. "A choice must be made by you, and you alone. Either you, soul tied to the escaped heretic, burn at the stake."
I swallowed, knowing what the next part was.
"Or Florence does."

Florence could nimbly escape the law. She could even escape death-I've seen it with my own eyes. But she cannot escape angry ghosts.

"You have twenty four hours to make up your mind. Or else we will make it up for you."

The spirits vanished without a trace into the deathly cold air.