Chapter 1 – The milkmaids

It was an eighty-cow dairy and a group of milkmaids were milking the cows. It was six in the evening and their work was nearly done so they took the opportunity to have a little conversation.

“He’s bringing his bride home tomorrow, I hear.”

The voice seemed to come from the body of a cow called Cherry, but the speaker was a milkmaid, whose face was buried in its side.

“Has anyone seen her?” said a different woman.

The others said they hadn’t.

“She’s much younger than him, people say,” continued the first woman.

“How old do you reckon he is then?”

“About forty,” contributed an elderly milkmaid.

They were discussing the farmer who owned the cows in the dairy.

A voice reached them from another cow’s body. “Get on with your work! It’ll be dark soon. You’re paid to milk the cows, not chat!”

The women remained silent for a while after that and the only noise was the milk streaming into the buckets. But a little later, one of the milkmaids murmured to the woman next her, “This news about the farmer’s bride won’t be easy for her to take.” As she spoke, she pointed to a thin milkmaid, whose name was Rhoda Brook.

“Maybe, but he hasn’t spoken to Rhoda for years,” her companion murmured back.

Soon the milking was done and the women walked home across the fields. The thin milkmaid, Rhoda, walked in a different direction from the other women. She was joined by a boy of around twelve, who walked home with her towards a lonely house high on a hill.

As they walked, Rhoda informed the boy, “Your father’s bringing his young bride home tomorrow, my boy. I’ll send you to the market for a few things and you’ll be sure to meet them on the road.”

“Alright, mother,” said the boy. “Is Father married then?”

“Yes. Study the wife carefully, if you see her, and tell me what she looks like.”

“I will, mother.”

“I want to know, is her hair dark or light, is she tall or short, and is she a working woman, like me, or is she well off.”

It was dusk now. They walked slowly up the hill and entered their cottage. They were poor and the cottage was tiny and built of mud.

Rhoda knelt down to light a fire. The light shining on her face made her dark eyes, which had once been beautiful, seem beautiful again.

Chapter 2 – The young wife

The next evening, while the sun was still bright, a beautiful new gig, with a lemon-coloured body and red wheels, was travelling on the road towards Holmstoke. The driver was a farmer, a strong man with healthy features. Beside him sat a woman, much younger than him. Her face was fresh too but soft, like the light under a pile of rose petals.

Few people travelled this way so the road before them was empty, except for a tiny dot in the distance. As the man and his new wife got nearer, they made out a boy. He was plodding along, carrying a heavy bundle. He kept looking behind him.

The farmer seemed annoyed that the boy was in front of them but he didn’t tell him to get out of the way. As the gig went past him, the boy looked straight at the young wife.

“That boy was staring really hard at me!” she said.

“Yes, he was. You must expect to be stared at, at first, darling. You’re my new wife and the villagers are intrigued by you.”

“Does he live in the village?”

“He lives with his mother near the village,” said the farmer.

“I don’t think he was intrigued by me. I think he was staring because he was hoping we’d take his heavy bundle from him.”

“Oh no. These country lads can carry much heavier things than that. They’re incredibly strong.” Then he went on, smiling, “Soon, you’ll see our house.”

Meanwhile, the boy reached his cottage and put down the bundle. His mother was already at home after her day’s milking.

“Help me cut up these vegetables,” she said to her son. Then she added, “Did you see her?”

“Yes.”

“Does she look well off?”

“Oh yes!”

“Is she young?”

“She’s a woman but a very young one.”

“What colour’s her hair?”

“It’s lightish and her face is like a doll’s.”

“Her eyes aren’t dark like mine, then?”

“No, they’re blue and her mouth’s cherry red. And when she smiles, her teeth are bright white.”

“Is she tall?”

“I couldn’t see. She was sitting down.”

“You must go to Holmstoke Church tomorrow morning. Arrive early and observe her as she walks into the church. Then come home and tell me if she’s taller than me.”

“Alright, mother. But why don’t you go and see for yourself?”

“Me? No way! She was with Mr Lodge, of course, today. What did he say or do?”

“Nothing, as usual.”

“He took no notice of you?”

“No.”

The boy went to the church the next day. He watched the young wife enter the ancient church, his eyes fixed on her. Nobody noticed because they were all staring at her, too. She was shy and kept her eyes on the floor.

When he got back home, his mother said, “Well?”

“She’s not tall. She’s quite short, actually,” he replied.

“Ah,” said his mother, with satisfaction.

“But she’s very pretty. And Mr Lodge smiled proudly.”

“Alright, that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more,” his mother snapped. “Set the table for dinner.” Then she added, “You haven’t mentioned her hands.”

“I didn’t see them. She never took her gloves off.”

Every time the lad saw the young wife, his mother insisted on a detailed description of her. But Rhoda Brook never saw Mrs Lodge herself. And Rhoda never brought up the subject of the recent marriage at the dairy. The other milkmaids were well aware of the tall milkmaid’s history but they never mentioned it. Nevertheless, they sometimes talked about the young wife. And from her son’s vivid descriptions and the casual words of the other milkmaids, Rhoda was able to form a very clear image of Mrs Lodge in her mind, as realistic as a photograph.

Chapter 3 – A dream

One night, two or three weeks after the young wife’s arrival at the farm, when her son was in bed, Rhoda sat for a long time by the fire, thinking about Mrs Lodge. At last, she too went to bed.

That night, for the first time, the woman visited Rhoda in her dreams. Rhoda dreamt that the young wife was sitting on her chest! Her features were hideous and she looked shockingly old. Her body became very heavy and she stared at Rhoda with cruel blue eyes. Then the woman pushed her left hand into Rhoda’s face, showing off the wedding ring on her finger. In her sleep, Rhoda felt both frightened and jealous, and she tried to push the woman off her.

The woman got off her stomach for a little while but then she came back and seemed even heavier than before. She showed off her the wedding ring on her left hand again. Rhoda was struggling to breathe and she struggled to free herself. She seized the woman’s left arm very hard and shoved her to the floor.

“Goodness me!” Rhoda cried, as she sat up in bed. “That wasn’t a dream. She was here!”

She could still feel the young wife’s arm in her hand even now. She looked down at the floor, where the ghost had fallen, but there was nothing there.

Rhoda Brook didn’t get any more sleep that night and when she went milking the following dawn, the other milkmaids noticed how pale and tired she looked. As she milked the cow, she could still feel the woman’s arm.

When she went home for breakfast, her son said to her, “What was the noise last night, mother? Did you fall out of bed?”

She couldn’t explain. When they’d finished eating, she completed the housework, the boy assisting her.

Between eleven and twelve o’clock, Rhoda heard the garden gate shut. At the bottom of the garden, she saw the woman from her vision. Rhoda stared at her.

“Ah, she said she’d come,” cried the boy, seeing her too.

“When did she say that? How does she know us?”

“I spoke to her yesterday.”

“I told you,” snapped his mother, “never to speak to anybody in that house!”

“She spoke to me first and I answered her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. She said, ‘Are you the poor lad who had to carry that heavy bundle from the market?’ And she looked at my boots and said they wouldn’t keep my feet dry as they were so cracked. And then she said, ‘I’ll bring you some better boots.’ Don’t worry, mother. She gives away things to other people, too, not just us.”

Mrs Lodge was by this time close to the door. The impression from her dream was still strong and Rhoda would like to have hidden herself. But there was no back door to the cottage so she couldn’t.

The next moment, the young wife had knocked gently on the door. Mrs Lodge smiled at the boy as he opened it. 

The figure and actions were those of the ghost but her voice was so sweet, her features so charming and her smile so kind that Rhoda could hardly believe her eyes. She warmed to the woman instantly and was glad she hadn’t hidden.

Mrs Lodge handed the boots and some other useful things over to the boy.

Witnessing such kindness, Rhoda felt extremely guilty. She should be grateful to this innocent young thing, not despise her. When she left, a light seemed to have gone from the cottage.

Two weeks later, Mrs Lodge came again to see if the boots fitted, but this time, the boy was absent. “Are you alright? You don’t look very well,” she said to Rhoda, a concerned look on her face.

Rhoda said she was fine. And indeed, of the two, she was the stronger and fitter.

They talked for a while, and as the young bride was leaving, Rhoda enquired of her, “I hope you enjoy living in the country, Mrs Lodge.”

“Yes, I do. My health is generally very good and I like the country air.” But then her smile faded and added, “But now that you remind me, I do have a strange illness. I can’t make it out.”

She uncovered her left hand and arm and Rhoda was shocked at what she saw. It was the same arm that she’d grabbed in her dream. On the delicate pink skin, there were faint red marks. Rhoda stared at them – were they the marks from her own fingers, from when she’d grabbed the woman’s arm in her dream?

“I don’t know why I have these marks,” the young wife said. “One night, when I was asleep and dreaming that I was in some strange place, I felt a sudden strong pain in my arm and it woke me up. I must have hit it against something during the day, but I don’t remember doing that.” She added, laughing, “I tell my dear husband that it looks like he’d hit me there in a rage!’ Anyway, never mind – it’ll soon disappear, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure … What night did this happen?”

After thinking for a moment, Mrs Lodge said it had been two weeks earlier.

She had named the night and the hour of Rhoda’s encounter with the ghost, and she felt very guilty.

After her visitor had left, Rhoda thought, “Do I have an evil power, without realising it? Can I do harm to people with just my mind?”

She knew that some of the villagers called her a witch ever since she’d had her son out of wedlock. She’d never paid much attention to the, but could this be the explanation for that rumour? And had such things happened before?

Chapter 4 – An idea

The summer went on and Rhoda dreaded seeing Mrs Lodge again. even though she was really fond of her.

One day, Rhoda was out walking when she saw the young wife. “Is your arm better?” she enquired apprehensively.

“No, it isn’t. It’s worse! It’s really painful sometimes.”

“Perhaps you should see the doctor.”

“I have seen the doctor. My husband insisted on it. But he just said, ‘Wash it in hot water,’ and that treatment didn’t help at all.”

“Will you let me see it?” asked the milkmaid.

Gertrude Lodge pushed up her sleeve and showed Rhoda the arm. As soon as the milkmaid saw it, she was horrified. There was no wound but the arm looked withered. And she could clearly make out the four marks from her own fingers, more clearly than last time.

With a quiet laugh, Mrs Lodge said, “It looks almost like finger-marks. My husband says it looks like a witch grabbed me and withered my arm.’”

Rhoda shuddered. “Don’t listen to him. It’s not true.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it but… I… I think my husband loves me less now. Men focus so much on personal appearance.”

“Some do. Mr Lodge does, for sure.”

“Yes. And he was very proud of me at first.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“I hope you arm gets better,” said Rhoda with genuine concern.

The women said goodbye and walked home. Rhoda felt very guilty. In her secret heart, she wasn’t that disappointed that the young wife was slightly less pretty now. Long ago, Mr Lodge had been in love with Rhoda but now this woman had taken her place. Now that he had married her, any future with the farmer was impossible. However, Rhoda had no wish to cause the younger woman physical pain.

The next morning, Rhoda went to the Lodges’ house and spotted the young wife about to set off on a ride alone, probably to join her husband in a distant field.

Mrs Lodge rode over to Rhoda Brook. “Morning!” she said. “I’ve discovered a possible way of finding out the reason for my withered arm and curing it.” She went on, “Apparently, I should go and see a wise man on Egdon Heath so I’m heading there now. I can’t remember his name. He’s incredibly old so I hope he’s still alive. Someone told me you know where he lives?”

“Not Conjuror Trendle?” said her thin companion, turning pale.

“Trendle, yes. Is he still alive?”

“I think so,” said Rhoda, suddenly worried.

“Why do you call him a conjuror?”

“People say that he has strange powers.”

“Oh,” said Mrs Lodge. “I don’t want to see a person like that! I thought he was a normal doctor. I won’t see him then.”

Rhoda looked relieved. She dreaded the conjuror revealing her as the cause of the withered arm.

She began to walk away but Mrs Lodge called after her. “Hold on! I’ve changed my mind. My arm’s so bad. I don’t believe in magic or conjurors but maybe I should visit him just once. My husband mustn’t find out though! Is it far to where he lives?”

“Yes – five miles,” said Rhoda, her face serious.

“Please take me there.”

Rhoda was very uneasy that the truth might be revealed but, nevertheless, she didn’t want to stop Mrs Lodge finding a cure for her arm. In the end, Rhoda agreed to show the young woman the way to Conjuror Trendle’s.

Chapter 5 – Conjuror Trendle

Rhoda would have done anything to avoid accompanying Mrs Lodge but she had promised to go. They set off, Mrs Lodge cradling her withered left arm in her right hand.

It was a long walk and the women hardly spoke to each other. Thick clouds made the air dark, though it was only early afternoon. A fierce wind blew over the hills of the heath.

After thirty minutes, they reached the house. Conjuror Trendle was at home. He had a grey beard and a reddish face. He stared at Rhoda the moment he saw her. Mrs Lodge explained the reason for their visit and he examined her arm.

“Medicine can’t cure it,” he said immediately. “This is the work of an enemy.”

Rhoda stepped back, horrified.

“An enemy? What enemy?” she asked.

Trendle shook his head. “I don’t know. But if you like, I can show the person to you through my magic.”

He told Rhoda to wait outside, and he took Mrs Lodge into the house. He left the door ajar so Rhoda could see inside. Trendle fetched a glass, filling it with water. Then he fetched an egg and broke it on the edge of the glass so that only the white spilled into the glass. “Watch the contents carefully,” he told Gertrude. The egg white changed shape as it sank in the water.

“Can you see somebody’s face in the glass?” demanded Trendle of the young woman as she gazed into it.

She murmured a reply but Rhoda couldn’t catch it.

When Mrs Lodge came out, her face was extremely pale. Trendle shut the door behind her and they set off home together. Rhoda noticed that her companion had changed.

“What did you see?” she enquired.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She wouldn’t look Rhoda in the eye.

In the village that winter, everybody heard the whispers that Rhoda Brook had withered Mrs Lodge’s left arm with her witch’s powers. The milkmaid’s face grew sadder and thinner, and she didn’t discuss the topic with anyone. And in the spring, she and her boy disappeared from the neighbourhood of Holmstoke.

Chapter 6 – A second idea

Half a dozen years went by. Mr and Mrs Lodge’s marriage sank into unhappiness. The farmer was usually silent – the woman he’d married for her beauty now had a hideous, withered arm. On top of that, she hadn’t given him any children. He thought of Rhoda Brook and their son. “Maybe God is punishing me for having a child out of wedlock and not marrying Rhoda,” he thought.

Gertrude, who had once been cheerful had changed into an angry, superstitious woman, whose every moment was spent experimenting on her arm with every nonsense treatment she came across. She loved her husband and secretly hoped to win back his heart. Her cupboards were full of jars and bottles and packets but none of the “medicines” worked.

“You’ll poison yourself with those silly medicines, Gertrude,” said her husband. But seeing her sad face, he added more kindly, “Maybe we should adopt a child. Would that cheer you up? I once thought of adopting a boy, but he’s too old now. And he’s gone away I don’t know where.”

She guessed which boy he was referring to: Rhoda Brook’s story had of course become known to her over the years. But she’d had never raised the subject with husband.

In a last desperate attempt to find a cure, Gertrude decided to go and see Conjuror Trendle again, if he was still alive. She believed in his magic – after all, he had revealed to her the face of the only woman in the world who had a reason to despise her.

She nearly got lost on the heath but finally managed to find the conjuror’s house.

He was working outside. “I’ve come back,” she announced. “My arm’s still withered. Please cure it for me!”

“I can’t,” he replied. “I’m old and my powers have grown weaker.”

“Please help me.”

“There is something that you could try.”

“Tell me!” she cried.

“Your arm must touch the neck of man who’s been hanged.”

Gertrude shuddered at the image his words brought to mind.

“Before he’s cold, just after he’s been cut down,” continued the conjuror.

“How can that help me?”

“It will cure your blood, which will cure your arm. But it’s hard to do. You have to get inside the jail and wait when a man’s taken down from the gallows. Lots have done it. I’ve sent dozens with skin problems but the last I sent was twenty years ago.”

Chapter 7 – A ride

Gertrude pondered Conjuror Trendle’s words. Casterbridge, the nearest town, was the place where they hanged people. In those days, they hanged people for petty crimes – for stealing a piece of bread or a horse, for instance. But how could she get close to the body after it was hanged? She couldn’t tell her husband about the idea because superstitious ideas made him very angry.

She did nothing for several months, but she felt hideous and old (though she was only twenty-five), and she wanted to win back her husband’s love. “Magic withered my arm,” she thought, “so perhaps magic can cure it. I must try.”

She waited and waited for a hanging. At night, she prayed, “Oh God, hang some guilty or innocent person soon!”

One evening, that summer, her husband told her, “I’m going to town for a few days tomorrow. It’s just a short trip.”

After her husband left, she read in the paper that there would be a hanging in town the next day. So she made up her mind. She would go to Casterbridge.

The next morning, she secretly left her husband’s farm. Her horse plodded along slowly so the journey took some time, but eventually she saw Casterbridge in the distance. She noticed some workmen building something. “What is it?” she thought.

Then suddenly she understood and a shudder went through her body. “They’re constructing the gallows.”

It was dusk. She rode to the jail and found the hangman by the gallows. He was ancient. “What do you want?” he demanded angrily.

“To have a quick word with you,” Gertrude replied. “You’re hanging a man today, is that right?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, his old face suddenly sad. “He’s only eighteen and his crime was a just petty one. Poor guy.”

“I want to touch his neck as a cure.”

“Oh yes, I see. I’ve had lots of people come to me for exactly that reason in past years. Why do you need the cure? You don’t look ill.”

“My arm.” And she showed him her withered arm, cradled in her healthy one.

“Oh dear,” he said, examining it. “Yes, it should cure you. Come with me.”

“I mustn’t be seen!” she said, suddenly worried.

“We’ll keep it secret, don’t worry. Wait at this door.” He showed her the place, at the rear of the prison. “I’ll open it after I’ve hanged the man and you can come in and touch his neck.”

He went inside and she waited.

Chapter 8 – A meeting

Gertrude waited at the door, at the back of the prison. The town was busy – lots of people came to watch hangings in those days. Gertrude didn’t witness it herself but she heard people shouting things like, “Last dying speech and confession!”

Shortly afterwards, the door swung open and she went in, trembling and terrified. Two men carried the dead man into the room, but she couldn’t bear to look directly at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw the body of a young man. She felt so panicked that a grey mist seemed to float before her eyes. It was as though she had nearly died.

“Now!” said a voice close to her. It was the hangman.

With much effort, she stepped towards the corpse. She uncovered her left arm just as the hangman uncovered the man’s face. Then he took her hand and held it so that the arm lay across the dead man’s neck.

“Oh!” yelled Gertrude in shock. She could feel her blood changing – the cure was working. But at the same moment, there was another yell. Gertrude turned around and saw Rhoda Brook and Mr Lodge, her husband.

“Damn you! What are you doing here?” he asked his wife, angrily.

“What are you doing with our child?” Rhoda shouted at Gertrude. “This is the meaning of what the Devil showed me in the vision! I understand it now!”

She advanced towards Gertrude, grabbing her arm and shoving the younger woman hard against the wall. As soon as Rhoda released her, Gertrude fell to the floor at her husband’s feet. When he lifted her up, she was unconscious. 

Moments earlier, when Gertrude had seen her husband with Rhoda, she’d understood straight away that the dead man was their son. Mr Lodge was there because Rhoda had asked him to accompany her – this was the so-called ‘trip’ he’d gone on. The two miserable parents had watched as their child was hanged and then come to collect the body.

Gertrude remained unconscious so her husband called for the doctor. However, nothing could be done for her so Mr Lodge put her in the gig and set off for home. But she passed away before they reached the house. The shock killed her. 

Her husband was never seen in Casterbridge again. He felt such extreme guilt that he became moody and depressed. Eventually, he became a better man and appeared kinder and more thoughtful. He gave up his farm and moved far away, to Port-Bredy, and lived there on his own. He died two years later. He left the whole of his considerable property to a school for poor boys, except a small annual sum, which was put aside for Rhoda Brook, if she could be found to claim it.

For some time, she could not be found but eventually she reappeared in her old neighbourhood. She absolutely refused, however, to accept the money. She started work again at the dairy until her once dark hair went white and her body became bent. People who knew her tragic history stood and observed her as she sat milking, wondering what sad thoughts were beating inside that head, to the rhythm of the milk streams.