The Demon's Bride by Beverley Jo

Author:Beverley, Jo
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2011-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

Spring came to Suffolk with its usual magic touch, and soon the green and fertile land was cheered by birdsong and the bleating of newborn lambs. Apart from remaining observant for any hint of wickedness in the congregation, Rachel and her father had put aside their enquiries about Walpurgis Night until closer to the event.

Rachel was now collecting local songs. These were interesting in themselves, but often related to customs, sometimes long-forgotten ones.

She sat one day with Widow Tufflow as the old lady span fine thread despite the fact that her sight was almost gone.

“Ester, ester, egg is bester,” chanted the woman in a cracked voice as the wheel hummed, “green is swester dimmy’s wife. Bester dancer, ester chancer, blood agrounder dimmy’s knife.”

Rachel had recorded it mindlessly, just making sure to get the sounds down, but now she looked in fascination at what she had written. “That’s an interesting song,” she said carefully. “Was it sung at any particular time, Mrs. Tufflow?”

“Children sing it,” said the old woman. “It’s just a bit of nonsense.”

“But what of this dimmy?” When the woman didn’t respond, Rachel resorted to a direct question. “Could that have anything to do with the Dym of Dymons Hill and Dym’s Bride?”

The milky eyes turned toward her. “Why, that it might, miss. Yes.”

“And Ester would be Easter. And on Easter Sunday, I understand, one household finds a blue egg on the doorstep. The youngest unmarried woman of that house will then be the Dym’s Bride that year, yes?”

“Aye, miss.” The woman nodded amiably.

Rachel looked over the words. “Do you have any idea what ‘green is swester’ might mean, Mrs. Tufflow?”

The wheel span steadily, bewitchingly on. “Well, the bride must wear green, miss.”

“Must she? I didn’t know that.”

“Aye, green and simple. No hoops or anything. Like in the old times.”

How old, Rachel wanted to ask. Druid times?

“And she dances and chants. That’s dancer and chancer,” Rachel mused almost to herself. “And put’s blood and earth on Dym’s knife! This is all about Walpurgis Night.”

“Doubt not it is,” said Mrs. Tufflow, unexcited. “I were a Dym’s Bride once, you know.”

And the woman sat there and calmly recounted the whole event in detail. Even as she scribbled it down, Rachel was aware with some apprehension that Widow Tufflow had always intended to tell her this.

The bar on the village’s knowledge had been broken.

But why?

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