Mercy of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  He played, head lowered, with an alarming frenzy. He did not hear her approach, but continued to sing, voice rising, increasing in speed, until he finished with a crash.

  “My darling.” His fingers rested on the edge of the instrument, and a bone deep tremor coursed through them. His hair had fallen into his eyes. She combed her fingers through it. Purple stains of fatigue pooled under his eyes. His pain welled within her as if it were her own.

  She sat with him in the predawn darkness. He resumed his playing and sang in a foreign tongue, a lullaby, she thought, for it did not take long to fall asleep.

  She awoke at sunrise, finding herself in bed. Had he carried her there? Downstairs, he stood by the fireplace, hair standing on end. He teemed with energy, as if he’d been sleeping alongside her for hours.

  “My beauty,” he crowed, voice both hoarse and hardy. “Let me take that to the cesspit for you. I have made some porridge this morning, with raisins. Do you like raisins?”

  He sailed out the back door and returned promptly to hand her a cup of tea and a buttered roll. Should she not be waiting on him? Uneasiness crept over her as she watched him bustle around the hearth, stirring the oatmeal and checking the water he heated for her ablutions. His moods ever-changed; just a few hours ago, he had been sunk in sorrow. This was her husband’s infirmity then. Was it not just a matter of will? Could he not control it if he tried?

  They sat at the table and discussed their plans for the day. She would go check on Sarah. Later this morning they would meet at the Siren Inn to question Sabine about Edward Carter.

  It was hard to think logically with him standing there, behind his chair. He could not remain seated. His eyes kept falling upon her open dressing gown, and he ran his tongue around his lips, eyes rising to meet hers, so green, so bright, like kelp drying on the shore.

  “It is early still,” he murmured. His silk robe gaped open to display his powerful chest, the brown hairs curling. His shoulders, wide and straight, tapered to his waist, like an arrow aimed true to his power and source of her joy.

  She recalled the moment he had cried out, as his life force flowed into her and she took it in, her whole being centered upon his shaft, and the moment when everything spun into the air, pleasure on the edge of pain flowing through her, as his essence flowed through her soul.

  Her breasts tingled with anticipation as his desire rose beneath the gown.

  He took her hand. “Let us greet the morning together, wife.” He led her upstairs.

  ****

  Later, when Maggie arrived at Sarah’s cottage, the door stood wide open. Samuel stood in the yard, calling for Sarah.

  “Samuel, what’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone. I went into the shop this morning, just for a moment,” Samuel said, panting.

  “Where are Ruthie and the babe?”

  The trestle bench was overturned, dishes broken on the floor.

  “Samuel, where is the baby?”

  “Ruthie took her to Joannie’s, to see if Sarah was there. Sarah was belligerent this morning. What is wrong with her?”

  “Samuel, I’ll find her. I’ll go down to the pier and look for her at the Shipwreck Hotel.” She grabbed Sarah’s cloak. “Was she even dressed?”

  He shook his head grimly. “I’ll go toward Siren Street. Maybe she is just visiting Lena.”

  Maggie headed along the Strand toward the pier, not daring to ask anyone if they had seen her for fear of calling attention to the fact her sister was out before her churching. She rounded the corner to Pier Street. A crowd of people gathered in front of Edward Carter’s shop.

  “What is she doing here?”

  “Satan has taken control of her, can’t you see that?”

  “It is true. See how she glows with his fire?”

  “Here she is in all her glory. Do you need further proof?” Edward Carter’s smooth voice carried over the crowd.

  Sarah’s voice boomed even louder. “The Goddess tells me you are the one, the defiler of women. For what you did to me and to other women, she says she will help me destroy you.”

  “I have defiled no one,” Carter said. “Surely you people can see who the evil one here is. Have I not healed your wounds? Am I not your physician? This woman must be put away.”

  Voices rose in fear, shock, and an edge of anger increased in volume as people poured out of the Shipwreck Hotel.

  “See her eyes, they glow.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “’Tis true!”

  The crowd parted. Edward Carter held his hands up in the air as Sarah, clothed only in her night rail, approached him and struck him with a clawed hand. The crowd roared. Sarah, face contorted, hissed at Carter.

  Maggie hurried toward her and felt Ian’s hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ll get her.” He shoved through the crowd. “Good sister. You must come with me.” He put an arm around her middle and dragged her out of the crowd. He dodged her blows as she reached for Carter.

  “Murderer,” Sarah cried. “Violator.”

  “There goes the woman brought back from the dead by the midwife.” Carter pointed, holding his scratched face with one hand.

  As Ian and Maggie made their way back to the cottage, a crowd followed them, taunting Sarah, who still hissed, but had given up struggling in Ian’s arms as he carried her.

  “Go away,” Ian yelled. “Can you not see that she’s ill?”

  But the crowd would not leave them. Even after they entered the cottage and bolted the door, human voices buzzed like wasps outside. Thankfully, Samuel and Ruthie were back already. Samuel sent Ruthie upstairs with the baby.

  He took Sarah from Ian. “Sarah. You must calm yourself.” He embraced her, and she pinched his arms, kicking her legs back.

  “Let go of me,” she screamed.

  “She has the strength of two men,” Samuel gasped. The sleeve of his shirt was torn, and blood ran down his arm.

  She tore from his grasp and ran to the door. She struggled to unbar the door. “He must be stopped.”

  “Sarah. Can you not hear the crowd? Listen.” Maggie grasped her arm.

  The crowd cried, “Witch, necromancer.”

  “Come away from the door, Sister.”

  She clawed at the wood. “She tells me I must stop him.”

  “You cannot, Sarah.”

  She turned, ice blue eyes flaming. “Nothing has been done,” she roared. “I implored you to seek justice. But you have done nothing.”

  “No, Sarah.” Maggie said. “That is not true. We have. But it takes time.”

  “Time enough for another woman to die? The goddess tells me I must sacrifice myself to bring him to justice.”

  “No.” Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Ian approach. Samuel carried a rope and as one, on each side of her, they wrapped the rope around her to restrain her. She bucked, howling. They carried her to a chair in the corner and tied her to it.

  “It is for your own good,” Ian said. “Samuel, hold her head. This will calm her.” He had a vial in his hand and poured the medicine in her mouth, holding her nose so she would swallow it. He backed away.

  For the next hour they watched as she screamed, rage burning her face a dusky red. She struggled against the restraint but could not loosen the binds. Slowly her features grew slack, her muscles relaxed, and her head sank to her chest. She fell into a deep sleep.

  They sat at the table, watching, waiting.

  “Lucky that you still had some of the calming herbs that I had mixed.” Ian’s cheeks trailed with scratches from Sarah.” I gave her a hefty dose.”

  “You are hurt,” Maggie said. “Let me dress those scratches.”

  “Don’t bother with it.” He snapped, closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I knew we must restrain her, but no one should be tied up like an animal.”

  “Listen to them.” Samuel cocked his head toward the door. “They want blood.”

  The whole town must be outside. Edward Carter’s voice rose abo
ve the din.

  “Clearly, good people, you have seen her doing Satan’s bidding today. Out in public half-naked, displaying her body. Look at my face—I have been struck by the devil’s own maidservant.”

  Another wave of shouting crashed against the cottage walls.

  Maggie recognized the voices of those she had served: the chandler’s wife had labored a day and a night. She had watched over the woman and saved her baby’s life by unwrapping the cord from his neck.

  Ian rose and paced the room, arms folded, fingers flexing and unflexing. “People get much pleasure out of seeing others lose control, watching them, taunting them. Making entertainment out of despair.”

  “This spirit, this Ixchel will not leave us until Edward Carter is convicted,” Maggie said. “We must convince the crowd that Carter is to blame for the deaths of these women and for Sarah.”

  “I will go to Hastings tomorrow,” Samuel said. “I will talk to the constable and inquire about Edward Carter or Phillip White. Maybe he hurt women there and was run out of town.”

  “There must be a way to convince Jonas to talk,” Ian said. “I will do that.”

  “After Joannie gets here,” Maggie said, “I must go see Ed the butcher’s daughter, and then I will tend to Sabine. Ian, will you meet me there later to speak to her?”

  He nodded.

  “How do we get out of here, alive?” Samuel asked.

  Ian put his hands on Maggie’s shoulders. “And when superstition overpowers reason, how does truth prevail?”

  Cold washed over Maggie; somewhere in the room a snake hid, curled at rest, ready to strike.

  There was a lull in the din outside for a time. Then she heard the voice of Vicar Andrews, stern and authoritative, and Ben Sutton, the town magistrate’s deep voice. The townspeople roared their objection.

  A moment later there was a knocking on the door. “Open up,” Vicar Andrews called.

  “We must speak,” the magistrate said. “There has been an agreement made.”

  Samuel held the door open enough to let them in, then shut and barred it quickly.

  Vicar wiped the sweat off his face and strode over to where Sarah sat. “I did not see your sister during her, er, display, but our good magistrate tells me it was frightening.”

  The magistrate cleared his throat. “They want you both tried as witches.” He looked at Maggie. Ian braced an arm around her.

  “But,” the vicar said, “we have not tried a witch in this town in many years, nor do I want to. We do not know where the constable is—he has disappeared, and in any case would probably be no help. The crowd will not be pacified with mere words.”

  “We have compromised.” Vicar looked down at the floor and then tried but failed to meet Samuel’s eyes. “They will agree to leave the family alone, and Maggie may stay.” He paused, clutching the sides of his jacket. “But your wife must go to Bedlam Hospital.”

  Ian jerked as if a knife had been plunged into his back.

  Samuel stood over Sarah. “You will have to kill me first.”

  “Look here,” the magistrate said. “We cannot stop them from killing her. We were able to allow Mistress—Pierce to stay because otherwise there would be no midwife in town. But Sarah must go away. To Bedlam.”

  Vicar sighed. “I am sorry. It was the best we could do. Just because we no longer allow them to burn witches, doesn’t mean they won’t, on their own.”

  “We can prove Edward Carter’s guilt,” Maggie said. “We just need some time. Can you not give us a day or two? And if we cannot lay the guilt on him, then I will go to Bedlam and let Sarah stay.”

  “No.” Sarah’s voice carried over to where they were whispering by the door. “I will go. The spirits will take care of me.”

  “She cannot be talking like that,” Vicar cried.

  Ian rubbed his wrists, and in a monotone said, “You do not know what you are saying, to make a woman go to that place. You are not human there. You are an animal, and they are your keepers.”

  “See here, man.” The magistrate strode over to Ian and put his finger in his face. “We have no choice in the matter. Something must be done. Your sister-in-law’s behavior is destroying this town. Listen to those people out there. We must appease them somehow.”

  “Out of respect for the service that you and your sister have done for this town, this was the only alternative. She would not be safe here, at any rate,” Vicar pleaded.

  “Please.” Maggie touched the magistrate’s sleeve. “Give us the rest of today and tomorrow to prove Edward Carter is guilty of burying her, and other women, alive, and of assaulting the foreign girl. Is it not evidence of guilt that he goes by another name, Phillip White? If we cannot prove his guilt by tomorrow night, then take me if you must.”

  “You must understand,” Ian said. “It is the trauma of being buried alive that has unhinged her. It is not her fault.”

  Clever of Ian. The townspeople didn’t know Ixchel possessed Sarah. They had seen nothing but her strange behavior. The magistrate drew Vicar Andrews over to the window for a consultation. They argued back and forth for a moment.

  Vicar turned. “You have until tomorrow, five o’clock, to do what you’ve requested. We will pacify the townspeople with that promise, but you must make sure that she is not seen.”

  Samuel’s face was ashen as he let them out.

  They listened through the door as the magistrate explained the situation and gave the crowd an ultimatum. “Anyone caught loitering here will be thrown into gaol. I will act as constable in Pete Stowe’s absence. Now go about your business and let us take care of the matter.”

  The voices rose in anger but eventually faded from the cottage.

  Maggie closed her eyes for a moment. Her heartbeat slowed with relief that they had gained more time. But not much.

  “Do you think we can untie her now?” Samuel faced Sarah and kissed her forehead.

  She shivered. “I’m very tired. Where is the baby?”

  It seemed she was herself again, but for how long?

  “She will sleep again, I think. It is a powerful mixture,” Ian said.

  “She must feed the babe first. Untie her.”

  Pray God they were doing the right thing. Ruthie brought the babe down, and Maggie attended Sarah to make certain she was strong enough to hold the babe while she nursed.

  “I must go now to see if Joannie can come to keep an eye on Sarah.” Ian embraced Maggie and held her at arm’s length. His hands shook, and his eyes had gone dark. “She must not be left alone. Then I will hunt Jonas down and see who else I can question about his activities that night. I will make him talk.” He bent to kiss her hard on the mouth. “I will stop at nothing to keep you from that place.”

  Before she could open her mouth to reply, he was gone.

  After a short while, Joannie arrived with her husband in tow. “He did not want me to travel alone, once Mr. Ian explained the circumstances. And he will escort you to the Siren.” She took off her cloak and walked around to view Sarah. “Poor girl. It is that monster’s fault she is in this state.”

  “Thank you, Joannie. You are a true and loyal friend. I will never forget what you’ve done for us.”

  “Aw, don’t fret about it. Mother came to watch the children, and I could use the break.” Joannie hugged her. “It will be okay, Miss Maggie.”

  But as Maggie grabbed her cloak by the fireplace, she saw the exchange of worried glances between Joannie and her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The owner’s old wife at the Shipwreck Hotel greeted Ian and dispensed his ale. Did she know how beautiful she was? How beautiful all women are, their softness, their glow, the round curves that sing of home? He took a swallow of summer wheat, honey, the drone of bees, warm breast, cool air.

  Was that Jonas slumped in the corner? Just as he expected. No glow around him, no, none at all.

  “Jonas, my good man! You are troubled?”

  His eyes were red—he’d had a fe
w. Mouth quivery, gulping. “She will not leave me be, the old woman, the snake woman, she is punishing me, oh I have sinned, have sinned.”

  “Tell me, old man.”

  “She says that I will suffer—the snake, wrapped around her head, tells me I will suffer for what I have done.”

  “What did you do, Jonas?”

  Ian struggled to focus on him, to not drink in the man’s despair.

  “I cannot tell you. He will kill me!” He covered his face with his hands.

  “Tell me, Jonas.”

  “That night, when you came upon me in the kirkyard, I dug her up, I shouldn’t have done! But have been doing since I’d known Carter. I dug her up to pull her teeth for us to sell, and to ready her for the wagon going to London. Carter sells the bodies for money, good money. Sometimes he delivers the babies and sells them.”

  Ian called for more ale and nudged it toward him. “Go on.”

  “That night, I lifted her out, like always, uncovered her face, like always, and opened her mouth. Pulled the first tooth. She moved! I could not think, could only scream. Miss Sarah, who had never done a bad thing to no one, always kind to me she was, I had buried her and she was alive.”

  He gulped his ale down. “And now the dreams, the old woman screams, how I will suffer, how I will suffer for my deeds. What must I do to be rid of her?” He began to cry in great gasps.

  “Jonas, you must help stop this, you must confess, so this does not happen to anyone else.”

  “He will kill me!”

  “We will keep you safe, Jonas.”

  He looked around and rose, knocking his ale over and shoving his way out the door.

  He hoped he had persuaded him. For if Edward Carter did not kill Jonas, his guilt would.

  More ale, perhaps some whisky as well, to help calm his nerves, warm the cold chill of guilt falling on him like snow, stop the guilt that Jonas had wrapped around him. Carter would hurt Maggie if he stayed.

  Despite the desperate circumstances, his skin sang with the brightness in the day, the piercing sadness of the curlew’s call, taste of rain upon his lips, sweet drink of mermaids. The people sitting at the table, the sacred lilt in their voices. Every word had heightened meaning, great purpose. Oh, he longed to drink, to wash the stink of Bedlam off, to wash the memories clean. And pretend he could stay with her.