It came as a surprise to Richard Austin-Cooper that he was descended from a witch. Research into his family tree led him to this spooky discovery.
My ancestor, Sir Roger Smith, of Edmondthorpe in Leicestershire, lived most of his life in Kelmarsh in Northamptonshire. His first wife Jane died a tragic death in 1599 and he married again, to Anne, the daughter of Thomas Goodman of London. Anne was the mother of Erasmus Smith, who was the uncle of Mary Dodson, who married my own direct ancestor Austin Cooper in about 1642. Hence my connection.
I discovered a musty old book among my family papers, in which I found the following story...
Sir Roger’s second wife, the Lady Anne, was a dark and handsome woman and, when the villagers first saw her ride by in her grand black coach with the arms of the family emblazoned on the side, they were afraid. When she turned and gave them a haughty stare with glittering black eyes like a bird of prey, they looked away and crossed themselves.
Every Christmas Sir Roger and Lady Anne Went with their children to London, and the servants had the Hall to themselves. They feasted and made merry, and chopped down a tree in the grounds for a bonfire, despite Cromwell’s order there should be no “sinful” merrymaking and that dancing was “the Devil’s pastime”.
When Lady Anne returned from London, she sent for John the butler and quizzed him on the “wicked behaviour” of the servants, holding him responsible in her absence. At first he denied everything, but when it became clear the Lady knew exactly what had occurred down to the very number of bottles of wine they had drunk and which tree had been chopped down, John confessed. How on earth could she know such detail he wondered? She had come straight to him after her journey home and there was no possible way she could have learned the details she knew... other than through witchcraft!
The spring that year was fine and Sir Roger spent much time riding in the woods on his estate. However, the Lady Anne stayed inside taking more interest in affairs in the pantry than the butler would have liked. One April morning, John was in the kitchen chopping meat for a pie the cook was making. A sudden movement caught his eye and looking up, he saw a cat crouched on top of a huge breadbin; a thin black cat with cold yellow eyes watching him with a horrid concentration.
The cat suddenly sprang at John’s face. Quickly raising the chopper he was holding,
