by Robin Trent
"Mistress, you shouldn't be out here," John whispered.
Elizabeth followed the trajectory of his gun with her eyes to the woodland beyond. There, in the back of the tree line, once again stood wolves. It wasn't just one or two this time, but a whole pack. Eyes were twinkling in the moonlight, and shadowy shapes were prowling back and forth. How could she have missed this? They must have been extremely stealthy to approach while she was staring straight at the forest.
"Begging your pardon, but if you could you please go back to the house mistress, I think that would be best." John never lowered his gun or took his eyes off his quarry as he spoke softly to Elizabeth.
"Of course, John. I didn't mean to alarm you. Thank you." Elizabeth picked up her slippers and quietly slipped back inside the door. As she tiptoed back down the hallway, she noticed the drawing-room was still occupied. She rightly guessed her mother was filling Nikolai's head with nonsense about her childhood. Excitement over and faced with more accusations and having to explain herself, Elizabeth went back to bed.
25
It was Sunday, and Pastor Poole stood in his best minister outfit, greeting the members of the parish as they entered the church. He shook hands, and he shared compliments, he said "Bless You" to almost everyone. It looked like it was going to be a good turnout. The parish was extensive, including not just the town but the surrounding countryside as well.
When Kristopher Poole first arrived, he was overwhelmed at the turnout for his first Sunday mass. Everyone had come to see the new minister, and the pastor had never addressed such a large congregation. But he made it through, even though there were a few stumbles. People kept coming, and every Sunday, he grew a little more confident.
This Sunday was no different but for one exception. The pastor had expended a great deal of energy to avoid a particular parish member, and today she mounted the steps, dressed in her Sunday best. His first inclination was to run. He had to remind himself to hold fast as she wasn't the only parish member coming through the front door, and he needed to behave like an actual minister. He shook hands and greeted people, all the while aware that Abigail Young was fast approaching.
She was not alone, however. This morning, she was accompanied by her poor beleaguered husband, Joseph. Joseph reached to shake the pastor's hand and emoted a great deal of sympathy for Pastor Poole without saying a word. Abigail, on the other hand, stood by her husband, gave the minister a brief nod of acknowledgment, and stepped inside the church. Poole breathed a sigh of relief after she had gone.
The doors closed behind the minister, and he walked up the aisle and mounted the podium. Shuffling his notes, he glanced out over the podium to a sea of smiling faces full of encouragement. "A couple of announcements,” he began. “We have had a new birth in the parish, John and Mary Bishop have had a healthy baby boy which they named Robert. They have made arrangements for his baptism, to be conducted in a month, here at the church. Also, in the announcements, Mrs. Harris wanted me to let everyone know that her cat, Buttons, had a litter of kittens, and if anyone would like a good farm cat to see her. That concludes the list of announcements." Pastor Poole stopped talking when he heard a loud clearing of the throat several pews back.
Abigail Young rose to her feet as her husband tugged on her skirt. She swatted his hand away and, in a loud voice, said, "Pastor, I wish to make an announcement."
Poole cringed inside while trying to maintain his composure. He knew this was not going to be good. "Yes, Mrs. Young?"
"I would like to address the sorely lacking moral standards of our community,” Abigail paused to swat at her husband again, who was frantically tugging now in an attempt to unsuccessfully silence his wife. He flinched as she slapped him. “our community, which I am sure that all those here would like to address also."
Pastor Poole blanched. "Mrs. Young, I do not think that this is the time or place…”
"And what would be the appropriate time or place? Certainly a church would be the place to address the issue of witchcraft.” Abigail nodded her head vigorously in agreement with herself.
Pastor Poole's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Mrs. Young." He sounded defeated.
"There are certain strangers among us who do not live like the rest of us do. They do not attend church. There are strange whisperings about what is taking place out at the Merkova house, and we need protection." Abigail pounded her fist on the pew in front of her for emphasis. "Why, Clement Bowman was delivering dry goods from the store the other day, and he said he heard shrieking and wailing and odd muttering coming from the house. Erna Cook has had strange dreams, and she passed out the other day after looking at one of the Merkova children. And, let us not forget that there are wolves everywhere! Where did they come from, hmmmm?"
Blushing, Erna Cook squirmed in her seat. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Members of the congregation began to murmur amongst themselves, some of them giving Erna strange looks. She wanted to fall through the floor.
"Quiet!" Pastor Poole had had enough. He had suspicions about what started all of this, and now he needed to put an end to it. "Abigail Young. Have you been eavesdropping on people's confidential conversations?" Somehow that sounded worse than he intended.
Abigail sputtered and blinked her eyes rapidly. "Why how dare you accuse me."
"You have it in that addle-pated head of yours that there is something wrong with Elizabeth Merkova. You have nothing to back up your claims but idle gossip and gossip is the Devil's work." Poole's voice rang loud and clear up to the rafters. What he didn't expect was the reaction of the congregation. It started small, a twitter here and a giggle there, and then pretty soon the entire church rang with laughter. Pastor Poole gave a start. He didn't expect this, and then he realized what it was. He just gave a dressing down to Abigail Young, the town bully, and the collective parish was breathing a sigh of relief. No one had appreciated Abigail Young's ridiculous campaign.
"Why are you all laughing?" Abigail whined. "This is serious!" That only seemed to make the people laugh harder. "Erna. Erna Cook, stand up and tell everyone what you saw." A hush swept over the congregation. "Erna, tell them what you told me. Tell them about your dream."
Erna stood up shaking. She looked out over the sea of faces and sweat popped out on her upper lip. She didn’t want to be the center of attention. “I have had bad dreams, I can’t explain them. But leave me out of this. I will not hurt another because you want me to.” In a swirl of skirts, Erna ran from the church as the congregation began to murmur.
“See? I told you so,” Abigail said triumphantly.
“Mrs. Young, if Erna needs spiritual counseling, I will be glad to assist her. But you must stop this obsession with Mrs. Merkova,” Pastor Poole said.
Abigail Young's husband was still tugging on her skirt, and she turned on him and blasted him on the head with her bag. He got up out of his pew to get away from her, and she followed. She came after him again, swinging, and he walked faster.
Pastor Poole was aghast at Abigail's treatment of her husband. "Mrs. Young, such a display. Stop that."
Abigail Young did not hear the pastor over the laughter that was ringing in the church. She followed her husband right out of the church, swinging her purse and missing him.
The doors shut behind them, and the congregation turned to Pastor Poole, settling down for what they now hoped would be the usual Sunday sermon. He was gripping the podium so hard his knuckles were white. His head was down, and he stared at the floor. All Poole could think was, this is my fault. He looked up across the church, composed himself, and decided he needed to finish this so it would no longer be an issue. "We need to be careful about the accusations we make. Your reaction today, while refreshing, is not always the result of such mean-spiritedness. Far too often, the innocent are mistreated as a result of false accusations, and we must remember that it is a sin to bear false witness. And not just a sin, but a breaking of one of the ten commandments of the Lord Our God. We must remember that faith and cha
rity begin at home. It begins in our own hearts. And we must never seek to openly harm another out of spite, pettiness, or jealously. I would ask that you all follow me now in prayer."
It was one of the pastor's best sermons he had ever delivered. He didn't expect things to go that way, but he took the situation and turned it around and removed the harmfulness that was being generated. He doubted that after today, Abigail Young would hold any kind of sway over the parish. While he felt exceptionally pleased that he was able to use a real-life example to teach his flock, the minister felt that there was still one more thing he needed to do.
Merritt leaned up against the wall of the church. He was impressed. The minister was not so corruptible and he held definite hold over his flock. In fact, what he said was really quite wonderful and naive. The game with Abigail Young had grown boring. He wondered if the minister might provide more of a challenge.
Nikolai sat in the bedroom he shared with his wife, the early morning sun streaming in through the windows. The stubble on his face, the slight trace of brandy on his breath, his shirt open at the neck and untucked from his pants, his hair mussed up as he continually ran his fingers through it, all gave evidence to the fact that Nikolai had a rough night. He loved his wife, there was no doubt about that. The crazy tales her mother told sounded like they were about another person, a stranger, someone he didn't know. He could not come to grips with the fact that she had tried to kill their child.
The amulet swung back and forth, catching the light and making refractions on the walls. He stared at the shining white glare that danced on the surface of the pendant as it swung into and out of the sunlight, mesmerizing him. Elizabeth looked peaceful as she slept. He had heard nothing but stories about his wife's madness since he had returned. How ironic that he came back to England to present his wife with a gift from the realm of faery, the very thing that seemed to be tormenting her? Was it coincidence? He could discern reality from fantasy, old lore of the past from the present day of modern thought and knowledge. But could his wife? He wasn't sure.
All his life, he, like most others, had heard faery stories and knew that they were just bits and pieces of lore. If his wife had an interest in lore and history, well, that would be something they could talk about, something they could share. He rather liked the idea. But if she actually believed there was a changeling in the crib, that was taking things too far.
Elizabeth stirred under the covers and rearranged herself on the bed, shifting her pillow under her knees. Nikolai watched his wife; she looked so normal. How could he explain this logically? His wife was strong and trustworthy, a valuable companion in life. How on earth could she do the things her mother claimed she did? To top it off, he had checked with the housekeeper and her husband. They corroborated most of Helen's story. He had read about people killing their offspring because they thought they were possessed or touched. He knew historically about the witch trials in Europe and the mass slaughter of innocents. People today knew better. Surely his wife was educated enough to know better.
Nikolai had a decision to make, but he wanted to make an informed decision. He wanted someone to tell him that Helen was all wrong. He needed to see the doctor. This was the mother of his children, his wife. He was not going to send her to an asylum without irrefutable proof that is what needed to happen.
Rhys sat up in his cell. Upon his arrival at court, Raelgar had thrown him in the dungeon. There was no worse punishment for a Sidhe than being confined to four walls. The stone cell and the stone bench he had been sleeping on made his body ache, and the amenities were nothing more than a bucket to relieve himself in and a thin wool blanket. Maeve must consider his offense most egregious.
He could hear approaching footsteps down the hall, and he steeled himself for what might come next. Raelgar approached Rhys' cell and smiled malevolently. "Glad to see you are finally where you belong. Unfortunately, the queen wants to see you now."
Rhys stood, wincing because his arm had never really received proper treatment. The cell door opened, and Raelgar rushed him, pushing him up against the wall, pinning him with one hand around Rhys' throat, the other squeezing his sore bicep. "Say one wrong word to the queen, show her one ounce of disrespect, and I will crush you." Raelgar snarled in his face, and Rhys smiled.
Inside Rhys was reminding himself that one day Raelgar wasn't going to be in this position, and Rhys would have his revenge. Right now, he wanted out of here as quickly as possible. He had his own agenda. But Rhys would not forget this.
Raelgar released him, and Rhys stood back from the wall. His arm was throbbing in pain, but he wasn't going to let Raelgar have the satisfaction of seeing him wince. He gritted his teeth and walked out of the cell with Raelgar in front and two guards behind.
Maeve was sitting on the dais in her throne room. She looked particularly fetching this morning gowned in scarlet, rust, and yellow. Her dress had a ruffle around the bodice that looked like leaves, and the leaves cascaded down her gown to the floor, giving the effect of a tree shedding its leaves in the fall. She wore a crown made of gold and silver leaves to match her dress, and her hair was still auburn, but now it was beginning to show lighter streaks of white.
Raelgar pushed and prodded Rhys into position before the throne, and instead of giving him a chance to kneel, Raelgar knocked his knees out from under him and forced him to the floor. Small beads of sweat popped out on Rhys' brow, but he kept his composure. Without saying a word, Raelgar took three steps back to leave Rhys alone, prostrate before the throne.
Maeve's voice rang out in the quiet, still air. "Rhys Bryhana, you have betrayed your queen. You were found conspiring with the enemy. What say you?"
Rhys bowed his head. "Your Majesty, I was talking with Titwell, but I was not conspiring against your person. I got him to help me in exchange for me helping him. That is all."
"That is all? Hmmm? Do you realize that by strengthening his wards, you have effectively shut me and anyone else I send out? You have thwarted my efforts with your imbecility."
"I did not think" was all Rhys could get out before he was cut off.
"No, you didn't think." Queen Maeve seethed. "You may not have meant any harm, but you certainly caused it. By all rights, I should let Raelgar trim your head from your body with his sword. When I ask someone to do something for me, I expect orders to be followed. You will not offer any more assistance to anyone on the Seelie side. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Rhys was almost in the clear. He kept his bow low to the ground.
"Now I have to figure out what to do to make up for your mistake.” The queen spoke more to herself than anyone.
Rhys rushed in where he probably should have kept his mouth shut. "Your Majesty, because I set the wards, I can enter them."
"Ah, that is true." A slow smile spread across Maeve's lips. "Here is a chance for you to prove your loyalty to me, Rhys. There is a woman with blond hair at the Merkova house. The mother, I believe. I want her killed. And since you can reach her, you will be my assassin."
Rhys blanched. He should have kept his big mouth shut.
Maeve noticed the look that passed over Rhys' face. "Oh come now, Rhys. You hate humans just as much as I do. What is one woman to the scheme of things?"
"Exactly. What is one woman? Why her?" Rhys spoke his thoughts out loud.
A look of irritation crossed over Maeve's face. She did not like to explain herself. "I have given you an order. Either you will carry it out, or I can put you back in the dungeon." She leaned forward and stared at Rhys with as much venom as she could muster. She wanted to make sure he knew she meant business.
Truth be told, she had been trying for months to get near that Merkova woman, but the man with the gun was always there, and Maeve valued her life too much. But Rhys, he could do it, and she wouldn't even have to sully her lily-white hands. However, she wasn't going to show that she really needed him to do this. She wanted him to think it was a test of loyalty.
Rhys
nodded his head in assent, then he stared at the floor. He did hate humans generally, but he didn't hate the Merkova woman. For some reason, he had mixed feelings about it.
"Go forth and do my bidding. Do not return here until you are finished," Maeve ordered imperiously. And then with a wave of her hand, she dismissed him like he was some afterthought.
Rhys took several steps backward and almost ran into Raelgar. He smiled his best feral smile at the captain and then turned and beat a hasty exit out of the throne room. Maeve said not to return until he had performed the deed. Well, he would get around to it, eventually.
Pastor Poole dismounted from his carriage and tentatively stepped up to the Merkova front door. He knocked and waited, biting his nails. Rebecca opened up the front door and curtsied to the pastor.
"I am here to see Mrs. Merkova," the minister announced.
"One moment please," Rebecca said as she shut the door.
The door opened again on a sour-faced Helen Barker. "Good day to you, Pastor Poole. How may I help you?"
Kristopher Poole had not wanted to speak with the formidable Mrs. Barker, but it looked like he had no choice. "I wanted to speak with Mrs. Merkova on a matter that concerns her." He hoped this would get him an audience with Elizabeth. Unfortunately, it did not work out that way.
"I can relay the message. My daughter is indisposed at the moment." Helen raised an eyebrow, dropped her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her as she waited expectantly.
"Ah, well. I came to apologize," Pastor Poole began.
"Oh? Concerning what?" Helen wasn't budging.
"I am afraid there's been a bit of toss-up in the parish. One of our parishioners, well, she's been saying things that she should not. I wanted to let Mrs. Merkova know that I have addressed the situation, and there will be no further discourse on the subject."
