She shook her head. “I expect to hear from young Polly Jamison’s family this evening. She looked fair to popping yesterday when I checked on her. I don’t have time to dawdle about.”
“Please,” he croaked.
She plopped down, mutiny on her face.
“You recall my saying I would court you,” he began.
“Court me?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “In the shop this afternoon, remember?”
“What? Yes, yes, but I did not take you seriously. You were singing at the time.”
“So what has that to do with it? The song was about you.”
“You meant it?”
“Of course I meant it, woman! I may jest from time to time, but about music, never.”
“Well, I...” She held his gaze, pink suffusing her neck and bosom.
At that moment, devil take it, there was a pounding at the door.
She shot up. “I told you it would not be long.”
Vicar Andrews entered with a wide smile for Maggie and a wary look reserved for Ian.
“Vicar Andrews, won’t you have some tea? Are you hungry?”
He swept off his hat, splattering water on the scones and shepherd’s pie. “Oh, so very sorry, pardon me,” he mumbled, taking a dingy handkerchief out of his pocket and swiping at the table.
He spotted Sarah. “Madame Ackerson! God be praised. He has indeed answered my prayers. Good e’en to you, Miss Ruthie, Samuel.”
“Yes.” Sarah clasped his hand. “I am grateful for your prayers, Vicar.”
The vicar kept glancing over at Maggie, with a look of...oh ho! Surely not. She idly stirred her tea. Odd, that.
“Vicar Andrews,” she called. “Come warm your belly with some tea and a bit of lamb and fresh scones.”
“Please excuse me.” He patted Sarah’s hand and ventured over to the table. “It is indeed with Mistress Maggie that I must speak.”
“What brings you out in this dreadful weather?” She set a plate heaped high before him.
He ignored the food. “Well, actually, it has cleared, and the stars are now out. It is tolerable.” He held the teacup in his hand and stared into its depths. He flushed, and ventured forth. “I am afraid, Miss Maggie, that I have received considerable complaints about your, er, conduct at the marketplace yesterday.”
He fixed Ian with a gimlet eye. “Your conduct in the marketplace was most scandalous. I could scarce prepare my sermon for tomorrow because of parishioners visiting me. They say when Sarah...came out, she brought Satan with her, and they say the devil has wormed his way into your heart, Miss Maggie.”
Maggie gasped. “That is nonsense, Vicar!”
Samuel rushed to stand by Sarah. She appeared to be asleep, thankfully. “You cannot believe such tales, can you, Vicar?”
“No.” Vicar shook his head emphatically. “I am nothing if not assured of your wife and Miss Maggie’s virtue.” His gaze lingered a bit too long at Maggie. “Even though it appears others have forgotten that of late.”
Maggie glared at this bit of ecclesiastical censure.
Vicar rubbed his hands in distress. “What can I tell my flock to assure them all is well? I am at a loss.”
Maggie sighed. “I will see you in church tomorrow, barring any unexpected birthing. It is not my fault sometimes God chooses to bring forth life during your services.”
Ian coughed down a laugh.
She fisted her hands at her sides. “Vicar, do you not realize we have only ever striven to do God’s work?”
He nodded. “Indeed, I do realize that, Mistress. What could be more righteous than to bring one of God’s little lambs into the world?”
“Vicar,” Maggie entreated, palms up, “I thank you for your understanding and your confidence in us.” Her hair had slipped out of its cap again, and she brushed it out of her face. “I ask you to please do whatever you can to still the rumors. For I assure you, I am truly sorry for my conduct and will do my utmost to discover the nature of Sarah’s travail.”
With assurances he would do what he could and with one more dirty look in Ian’s direction, the vicar set off. Maggie stared after him, feet planted on the floor, her fists opening and closing, mouth open and eyes black as a cauldron.
Samuel sidled away from her. “Maggie,” he warned. “Calm yourself.” He made haste for the rocking chair. Mayhap he had seen her in this state before?
While Ian may have never courted anyone before, he knew this was not a fine time to woo a fair maiden.
But I have myself been beside myself a time or two, ah—how intriguing a line—have myself, been beside myself——stop, man.
So perhaps he could be of help. He lightly touched Maggie’s shoulder.
“What?” She snapped.
“My lady, would not a walk be a fine idea?”
“Good idea,” Samuel grunted.
“Oftentimes a man will attempt to take the woman he is courting for a walk,” Ian said.
“Now, in the dark?”
“Vicar says there are stars out.”
“Vicar can go to...”
“Maggie!” Samuel barked. “Go.”
Ian laughed. She shot him daggers.
“Do not argue with me, Maggie.” Samuel’s voice was strangled. “Bundle up.”
She put on her cloak, and when he tried to hold her arm, she jerked away. His love song would have to wait.
The sleet had left the ground slippery. Fingers of frost crept up the folds of his cloak, but Maggie did not seem to notice the cold as yet. He had never seen her in a temper before. It was most entertaining and not a little frightening. She strode ahead, leaning into her bad leg. He should not call it that at all, for surely it is a very fine leg, straddled over his, in bed. He did not mind being behind her, not one bit, for she treated him to the sight of her sweet backside.
She muttered to herself, every so often barking out epitaphs like a mad dog. “I give my life over...for the sake of the women of this town...miscreants...I do nothing for myself, nothing! Up at all hours, no one, no one...son of a shit...ingratitude...how dare...”
Oh, so my Maggie is not always in control.
The ground was treacherous. If he did not come to her aid, she would surely fall.
“Maggie, let me help you.”
He ventured up to her and grasped her arm. She glared but did not pull away. She stood, gasping for breath. Her hair had fallen into her eyes again, and she swiped it away impatiently.
“What do you want from me?”
“Your love,” he said.
She took her cloak off and threw it at him. “Make yourself useful, then, and carry my cloak. I am overheated.”
“You will catch your death. It is freezing out.”
“I don’t get ill.”
****
She couldn’t have tolerated being in the cottage for another minute. To be chastised like a common doxy! For all she did to serve the people in this town! For the endless years of toiling, bringing babies safely into this world, since before she had even had her first monthly courses.
Her head seethed like a boiling pot. She must walk until it cooled, for she was beyond the desire to control herself. Her feet slipped on the icy cobbles, and she slowed her pace with effort.
The infernal troubadour trailed behind her like a hound dog. Then he was beside her, taking her arm. Why resist him? Why deny that his touch made her tremble? Made her body feel alive for the first time? What had being virtuous done for her, when the regard of the townspeople was so easily lost? When these good women could so easily distrust and forget what she had done for them. She felt like an instrument of the devil, full of poison and a heartbeat away from screaming like a harpy and clawing her way through town.
He held her upper arm firmly, and she felt his fingers through her cloak, cool, calm. A deep rumbling arose from his chest, and he began humming, then louder, to match the ferocity of the wind. That was the preamble, apparently, for suddenly he released her arm, leaped in f
ront of her and began to sing.
“My woman, when she’s angry, puts Medusa’s hair to shame.
She rouses all my senses and sets my soul to flame
When she unleashes fury, a virago gone insane
I’m only very thankful I am not the one to blame.”
Arms and legs akimbo, he sketched a courtly minuet, bowing, gesturing, pantomiming like a court jester.
Rage leaked out of her like holes in a faulty bucket. The moon had come out, and his hair had come loose. He looked mad, capering about, repeating the song and every so often eyeing her hopefully, like a jester seeking the queen’s approval.
“You are a fool,” Maggie gulped.
He bowed. “I am not just any fool, my queen. I am your fool.” He grinned, cross-eyed.
She laughed grudgingly, all other thoughts gone but the sight of the madman in front of her. “You are a fool,” she repeated.
“Well,” he admitted. “There have been a few occasions when I have been forced to act the fool for a fee.”
The clouds gulped the moon. Ian bent toward her; she grasped the solid strength of his shoulders and breathed in his warm scent, licorice root and lemon, and found his mouth. If she had already been labeled a wanton, what harm would it do to give in to her desire? His lips warm, so alive, his tongue tangled in hers. She slipped her hands inside his cloak to his back and pushed his lower body into hers, feeling the bulge of his desire against her belly, and she strained against him.
He kissed her face, her neck, slipping his hands under her bodice, stroking the tender skin of her stomach through her worn shift. His other hand cupped her bottom, pushed her against the thick length of his member. She ground against him, her center pulsing, searching to feel his hard heat against, inside her.
Without warning, he pushed her away.
“Miss Maggie.” A shocked voice at her elbow belonging to young Ben Miller, slapped her like a wave. She turned away to regain composure; she had not heard the boy’s approach.
Ian grabbed his arm. “What is it?”
“Miss Maggie,” the boy said again, tugging at her sleeve. “You are wanted at the Siren Inn. Madame Lena told me to fetch you. She said the foreign girl is bad.” He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. “It’s frightful cold out here, Miss Maggie. I went to the house to look for ye, and, and...er.”
“Ben, go to my home and fetch my bag. Hurry!”
He nodded and ran off.
They didn’t speak as they fought the wind to the Siren Inn. Dismay iced her gut upon grimly considering her predicament. She had been seen clinging to Ian like a wanton by the son of Mae Miller, the worst gossip in town. She was ruined.
What was Samuel thinking, encouraging them to walk out together tonight, when it was clear she cannot stop touching him? But there were more important matters at hand now, were there not? Sabine—what had happened to her?
They burst into the warmth of the Siren Inn. Lena had a good crowd tonight. Sailors and merchantmen alike lolled about the tables, singing and muttering epitaphs at a deafening volume. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie noticed three known members of the Hawkhurst Gang sat in a corner, heads together, guns on the table.
Ian narrowed his eyes. “Do you often frequent this place at night?”
“What do you think, jackass?” She snapped, as they fought their way through the swaying bodies. “It is not as if women deliver babies here often.”
They worked their way up the narrow staircase and down the hallway to the Sabine’s room. Ian’s presence buoyed her as she thought of the girl’s keeper.
She knocked on the door. “Sabine, it is Miss Maggie, come to check on you. May I enter?”
Lena opened the door. “Thank God you’re here, Maggie.”
The room was in great disarray, with clothes and articles flung upon the floor, the stench of dirty clouts, beef broth and dried blood assaulting her nostrils. Sabine lay sunken into the bed, her dark eyes stark against the covers, her face covered with bruises.
“This morning,” Lena said, “when I brought her porridge, Gerard Blanc took it at the door. When I asked him how she was, the idiot nearly bit my head off. It is Saturday, ja? I have been too busy to check on her, and I have not seen the bounder since. Oh I should have checked on her!” She backed out of the room. “I must return to the kitchen.”
Maggie felt the girl’s forehead. “Her skin is clammy.”
Ian stood at the other side of the bed. He lifted up her arm and held two fingers on the inside of her wrist. “Her pulse is erratic.”
“I must examine her. Will you stay, in case she speaks and you can translate?”
He nodded, eyes steady on her. “I would not leave you here alone, Maggie. She speaks Cantonese, of which I’m familiar.”
“How did you know that?”
“I came to see her earlier, at your request, remember? I will tell you later what I discovered. Now I will make a poultice for her face and make sure nothing is broken.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She smoothed the girl’s dark hair back from her forehead. “Sabine.”
Her eyes flickered open, a hint of recognition showed, then they flickered shut again.
“I am going to examine you now.”
Maggie lifted the covers. The linens beneath Sabine were soaked with blood. She needed her bag. For now she could only hold a cloth on the poor girl’s privities in an attempt to stanch the bleeding that had resulted from the beating.
The door swung open. “Miss Maggie, I have your...” Ben entered. “Oh—what have you done?” He threw the bag upon the floor and ran out.
No time to think about the ramifications of the boy witnessing this bloody mess. She and Ian worked together to do what could be done to stop the bleeding. In the course of a few hours, the bleeding slowed.
A cold sweat prickled her forehead. Why would anyone do this to Sabine?
Ian stood over the girl, his lips pressed together. “My God,” he said. “Someone must have seen me questioning her and meant to punish her for talking. I should have been more careful.”
“No.” She felt her bile rise. “How could you have known?”
Lena entered with the baby.
“Lena, can you continue to care for the child?”
She nodded.
They sat vigil with her for a while longer. She did not show great improvement, but on the other hand, she had not worsened.
She gave Sabine an extra dose of feverfew. As she and Ian left, the bell tolled four in the morning. She staggered under a weight of foreboding. There was great depravity afoot; a man who would bury a woman alive would not balk at beating a defenseless girl. She had accused Edward Carter of wrongdoing yesterday, and now Ian had been seen questioning Sabine. A young boy would go home and tell his scandal-loving mother that a girl lay in a pool of blood, and Maggie Wilson was at the bedside. Not to mention she had been seen in an indecent embrace with a man.
As if reading her thoughts, Ian said, “Maggie, my dear.” His hoarse tenor bit into the cold air. “Do not worry.”
“My reputation as a midwife and a respectable woman is in tatters,” she said. “And this poor girl may die because of a scoundrel I have no grounds yet to accuse. The townspeople will think I am responsible for Sabine’s death if she dies.”
His eyes gleamed in the dark. “But you are not responsible, and the truth usually has a way of coming out.”
“Would that I could be as optimistic as you are.”
He put his arm around her waist. She had not the strength to resist him. The warmth and comfort of his touch softened the ragged edge of her tortured thoughts. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she let him guide her home.
“I will tell you what I discovered from speaking to Sabine. She was sold by her father and taken to Hong Kong by a man who...trained...her, and when she was sufficiently trained, was then sold to Edward Carter. During the journey, it was discovered she was with child, and he brought her here until she delivered, bef
ore her time. She thinks he will take the baby and sell it into slavery.”
She stopped, chills coursing through her. “We must stop him. We must gather evidence against him. All we have is the word of a foreign girl against Carter.”
“I will not sleep tonight, but you can.” He soothed her forehead with his fingertips. “I will see what can be discovered about Edward Carter’s activities.”
He kissed her at the door, lips warm in the frigid air. “Sleep, Maggie. Nothing can be done about our troubles tonight.” He disappeared into the darkness.
Once inside the darkened cottage, she washed at the basin, the rapid breathing of the baby and Sarah’s steady breaths accompanied by Samuel’s snoring comforted her with their normalcy.
She built up the fire and covered the baby. When she turned toward Sarah to do the same, something moved on the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, and she forced it out. It was merely her sister’s hand, under the covers.
Then, in the light of the fire, the iridescent scales of the snake glowed. It wound up Sarah’s body to her shoulder, coiled. Yellow eyes glowed into Maggie’s. Her mouth would not open to scream, and her body hardened to a pillar of salt, arms leaden at her sides.
She could not draw her eyes away from the snake’s eyes, the center a thin sliver, like a shadowed moon. The forked tongue of the serpent flicked toward her, commanding compliance, and she fought the weight of it upon her body, dry, cold, tried to scream, but salt filled her mouth and she could not.
“It is time. You must fight,” it hissed. “You must fight for them.”
The serpent rubbed against Sarah’s cheek, forked tongue close to her mouth, as if it whispered secrets. Then it crept down her shoulders and slithered off the bed, disappearing into the darkness.
For a moment Maggie could not move, then ran her hands over Sarah’s body. What had the snake done to her?
She stirred. “Maggie? Is everything okay?”
It took all she had to answer in a normal voice. “Go back to sleep, Sister. Everything is fine.”
She had read the Bible; the snake was an instrument of the devil. Was this not proof that Satan had brought Sarah back from the dead? What did it mean when it said to fight for them? Fight for whom? It was the same thing the strange goddess had told her, though. Was she meant to fight for the women Edward Carter killed? Were there more victims like Sarah? How was she to find out?
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