Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  "Of course you can. I am your friend."

  Fiona plucked another daisy. "Giles has acted as though he liked me and found me attractive. I let him kiss me. Several times."

  Sally placed her hand upon Fiona's arm. "Your face is fiery. Don't feel embarrassed. That is the way of life when you are young. You can't always help yourself, and sometimes, being as pretty as you are… well, it can be a danger. Believe me, I know."

  Fiona looked up at the hard note which had crept into Sally's voice. "You certainly are pretty. Have you ever found it was a problem?"

  There was no one within hearing distance, and after a quick survey, Sally seemed to come to a decision. "Without conceit, I can say I was a pretty child. When I was ten, my parents died at sea and I was left alone. Everyone on board was very kind, one man in particular. He was fairly young, wealthy—important, it seemed to me. Everyone stood in awe of his demands. As for me, I was merely grateful for his attentions, which were always kind and gentle. When we landed in Boston, he asked if I would like to live with him and become his ward. I was overwhelmed and readily agreed. He heaped fine things on me, the likes of which I'd never known: toys, books, silken gowns, a dear old nurse to be my nanny, all of which helped to ease the sad loss of my parents. His home was beautiful, with a garden full of fruit and flowers."

  "Soon I went to a young ladies' school, and every day when I came home, he greeted me with sweetmeats and kisses."

  Suddenly, Sally's face flamed and her voice thickened. "For several years, he was like a favorite uncle. Then he grew bolder. He frightened me—" She swallowed hard and clenched her hands.

  "If it's too painful, pray, don't continue," Fiona begged her.

  Sally shook her head. "I promised I'd tell you my poor story and this is a good time. Friends should have no secrets from each other, and my tale shows how innocence can engulf a maid in shame and tragedy not of her making."

  Fiona dreaded what she was about to hear, certain that Sally had been the victim of a man's unbridled lust. However, her curiosity had been aroused and she didn't interrupt again.

  "Nanny tried to warn me," Sally continued in a low tone. "She said to me: 'You are too big to sit so long upon his lap. He is a mature man, has no wife, and is no relative to you. He is not your father, and he doesn't act like one.' Nanny said he couldn't fire her but would not tell me why."

  "Soon my life became a nightmare, but I didn't dare let him know how he affected me. I had seen his unbridled temper sometimes directed at a servant, and it filled me with terror. I tried to stay later at school, sneak into the house, and then find Nanny. We wept together, and sometimes I heard her shouting at him about me. But nothing stopped him."

  "I was fourteen when he declared he wished to marry me, but by then I feared and hated him with all my soul. If I tried to leave the room when he was there, he would fling me on a couch or chair and demand that I agree to wed him on my next birthday. All I could do was beg him for more time… and then… at last the time ran out."

  Fiona's hand flew to her mouth and her heart pounded. She dreaded what she was about to hear. However, before Sally could continue, the young men returned from their game, the girls broke up their circle, and everyone prepared to leave.

  "I can't tell you any more, not now," Sally whispered quickly. "The rest makes me so ashamed—"

  "Oh, don't be," Fiona exclaimed. "You were not to blame, How could you help yourself, alone and friendless?"

  Sally brushed her hand across her eyes. "You haven't heard it all. Someday, perhaps I'll tell you."

  With that, she disappeared to get her berries and Charles approached to escort Fiona home.

  Chapter 14

  When Charles left Fiona at Aunt Mercy's, his glance was almost pitying, his roguish eyes for once quite serious.

  "It was hard on you, Fiona, wasn't it? Seeing Giles and Grace together?"

  She started to protest, but Charles overrode her stumbling words. "I know how you must have felt. You tried hard, but your eyes on Giles betrayed you, just as his did on you. I wish I could say that he isn't serious about Grace, but—" He sighed and shrugged.

  "I know," Fiona murmured. "It's just the way things are. That long, dangerous sea voyage brought us together and I looked to him constantly for reassurance. Now there's this disturbing trouble here in Salem and I still… turn to him."

  "I'm sure Giles will come to your aid, if necessary. Perhaps I, too, could be a hero." He grinned, tossing aside his gravity like a garment in which he felt uncomfortable. "Who knows? You might come to admire me as much as you do Giles."

  "You could be right." Fiona forced a laugh. "I think you're a delightful fellow, and I really did enjoy the picnic. Thank you for escorting me, Charles." She gave him a quick kiss on his round young cheek.

  Charles beamed and returned her salutation with interest, grasping her pink-clad shoulders and pressing his lips fervently to hers. "Thank you, my little Irish treasure." With a jaunty wave, he picked up his load of fruit and headed down the road. "I'll see you soon."

  Charles had a wonderful talent for making people happy. Still smiling, Fiona entered the kitchen and placed her box of fragrant strawberries in a large wooden bowl. She ate a couple of berries while staring thoughtfully out the kitchen window.

  Her mind veered from Giles and Grace as she recalled the terrible story she had just heard from Sally. Who would have imagined such a sweet girl could have been mixed up in such a sordid tale? Had Sally been ravished? Did she have to marry the fiend, and then, when he died, find solace with Oliver? The poor little thing, so ready to be merry and friendly, had been alone in the world, at the mercy of the man who became her guardian. A man who had first lulled her with gifts and affection, then, as she'd matured, betrayed her trust the way only a hardened rake would do.

  If only she could have heard the end of Sally's story. There were so many unanswered questions. What hold did Nanny have over her master so that he couldn't dismiss her? Did she know of some previous misdeeds he had committed? He evidently had been afraid of her up to a certain point, but not enough to curb his vile appetite for Sally.

  Fiona vowed to see her as soon as possible and learn the ending. Whatever had occurred, she was now a happy, beloved wife, and probably Oliver would protect her with his life. Had Sally told him of her history? Maybe… maybe not. Such a shameful incident might be easier told to another female than to a man, even if he was your husband.

  Then another idea struck Fiona and she caught her breath. Sally had not said that her guardian was dead. Did he know where she was? He would have no legal control over her, since she was now twenty-one, but his aim might still be revenge. And then there was Nanny—what had become of her? How frustrating all these unanswered questions were!

  With a feeling of relief, Fiona heard her mother's voice as she came into the kitchen, a length of knitting in her hands. "How was the berrying, my dear? Was it a good time you had?" Although she smiled, her eyes looked anxious.

  "Oh, yes," Fiona answered heartily, but then she gave a rueful sigh. "That is… part of the time. Charles is sweet and fun to be with, and everyone else was very friendly."

  "The afflicted girls—were they there, too?"

  "No, thank goodness. I heard all of them were called out of town to investigate a witch hunt somewhere else."

  "And of course, they'll be finding guilty people," her mother remarked dryly. "Was there any talk about the trials?"

  "I didn't hear any, but some suspicious looks were cast at Sally, along with a whisper about her 'pet wolf.' "

  "Oh dear Lord, that child should be more careful. 'Tis fine to show kindness to a starving animal, but she may put her life in danger from the witch hunters. They do say as how Sally makes odd potions, powders to bring love, bravery, success… I'm thinking she should not dabble in such matters."

  Fiona nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder where she learned such strange things?" From Nanny? Or her guardian'?

  "Sally told me when we were he
rb gathering that often and often she met Tituba in those woods, both of them seeking special plants. She said Tituba told her that she knew voodoo, fortune telling, casting spells, and suchlike, learned in Barbados where she'd been born. She whispered 'twas a place of many witch doctors and practitioners of the Black Arts."

  "I wonder if that slave taught Sally some of her secret skills." Fiona frowned and looked away uneasily. "Sally told me a most disturbing tale today about her early life in Boston, but I fear I can't divulge it. Not yet."

  Ellen Prescott drew in her breath. "Whisht, lass, is it anything that could bring harm if you continued to befriend her?"

  "I don't see how. It's all in the past. Sally has evidently risen above the tragedy and made a happy marriage. Whether Oliver knows, she didn't say, but she told me once that Giles had helped her through a difficult time."

  "Did you see Giles today? Did he speak to you?"

  "Yes, he did. When we were alone for a few minutes, he seemed upset and insisted he couldn't help the way things had turned out and he didn't blame me for being angry." Fiona raised her chin. "I told him I wasn't angry and Charles was a lot of fun—which was true."

  " 'Tis glad I am of that, but I know 'twas hard on you, seeing Giles there with Grace. Did they seem… um…"

  "In love?" Fiona flushed and looked away. "Grace was hanging on him, giving me fierce looks. Giles seemed just the way he usually is around her: grave and courteous. He went off to play a game with the other men as soon as possible."

  Her mother started to speak, but glancing out the window, she exclaimed, "Oh, Grace is coming now with Mercy following behind her on the path. I don't see any sign of Giles."

  The next minute, Grace burst in the door and flopped into a chair. "Oh, what a wonderful day I had! Of course, Giles didn't pick the largest number of berries, but he kissed me anyway, long and sweet." She looked triumphantly at Fiona.

  "You probably kissed him first," Fiona sneered.

  "I did not," Grace shouted.

  Fiona shrugged. "Who cares? I'm sure I don't." She wondered if Grace was telling the truth. Grace seemed to have a hold over Giles and was doing everything in her power to bind him to her.

  Aunt Mercy trotted to the bowl of berries by the window. "What a nice bowl of strawberries. We'll have some for supper. Alas, my day was most unprofitable. No witch trials in session. The afflicted girls are trying to unearth Satan's creatures elsewhere. They have become so famous as witch hunters that other towns constantly beseech their services."

  "I wish they'd stay away permanently," Fiona exclaimed. "It was so nice meeting normal girls today at the berrying. I think those witch-hunting children are a bad influence on the whole town."

  "What an awful thing to say," Aunt Mercy gasped. "Why, those girls do more than anybody to discover strange things in our town." She cast a fearful glance into the shadows.

  "There are plenty of strange things going on right here," Grace snarled. "That black cat's still around. He hissed at me today when I kicked him out of the way."

  "No wonder he hissed. So would I," Fiona snapped.

  "I don't like the animal, but he does catch a lot of mice," Aunt Mercy said. "Otherwise, I would shoo him off the premises."

  Grace walked over to the berries and plopped one into her mouth. "Did you and Charles really pick all these?"

  "Certainly. Why? Do you think we stole some from another basket?"

  Grace shot her a venemous glance. "Charles might do a lot to get a kiss from you. He certainly gave you a long kiss when he won. It's a good thing the deacons weren't around. They might say you are bewitching the young men."

  "I don't know who is worse, Grace—you, or the Silly Seven. Can't you think of anything but witches?"

  Aunt Mercy looked shocked. "Niece, watch your words! Do you want to bring down censure on us all?"

  "I'm going to tell Giles how you ridicule our sainted girls," Grace flamed.

  "He probably thinks the same as I do. You really don't understand him at all—"

  Grace tossed her head, hands bunched on her hips. "You still want Giles, don't you, missy? Well, I've got him right where I want him. We're walking out tonight, and he said he has to ask me something. You know what that is, and so do I."

  Fiona felt the blood drain from her face and for the life of her, she couldn't say a word.

  Grace whirled around. "Aunt Ellen, can one of your salves fix the sores on my face? When you first came, Fiona said you knew what to do. Well, now's the time. I want something before the wedding."

  Wedding! Fiona clenched her hands upon the table's edge, feeling worse than she ever had in her whole life. Fortunately, just then a fight erupted between Grace and Mercy, filling the air with shouts and anger.

  "There'll be no potion making in my house," Aunt Mercy shouted. "Ellen, I forbid you to make any of your heathen gingseng preparations for my child!"

  "Nay, 'tis no gingseng," Fiona's mother tried explaining. "Some of these herbs grow in your own woods. I could try a brew—"

  "Absolutely not!"

  "Grace, dear, since we don't have your mother's permission, we better not be after trying—"

  Grace immediately threw a tantrum. In the process, she even hurled a copper pan across the room, denting it badly on the fireplace.

  "I want to look pretty," she roared. "Right now! For Giles."

  "All right, all right." Tight-lipped, Aunt Mercy finally gave in, but the look she sent her sister-in-law was filled with doubt and anger.

  "I'll show you everything I put in the salve," Ellen told her soothingly.

  "I must lie down. My head is pounding," Mercy moaned. "Grace, see if there are any eggs out in the barn. We could have a pancake supper with the berries."

  With victory in her grasp, Grace purred smugly, "Yes, Ma, leave it all to me." As she passed Fiona, she took the opportunity for one last jab. "Giles always had an eye for a pretty new face. One time it was Sally, but then it passed away. As it will with you."

  As soon as they were alone, Fiona turned to her mother, trying to subdue her tears. "Oh, was that all it meant to Giles? A pretty new face to flirt with?"

  "No, no, child, I'd swear that wasn't all. He is not a man to treat girls lightly, being serious, intelligent, and trustworthy. Have you no' seen that in him?"

  Fiona wiped her eyes. "Y-yes, I thought him to be all those things, but perhaps Grace knows him better."

  " 'Tis jealous, she is, and wants to hurt you."

  "Well, she's succeeded. Oh, I want to leave this place and try to forget Giles. How soon do you think we could go to Boston?"

  "I'm thinking we should wait for another letter from Samantha and be sure she's well enough for a visit. We cannot impose. 'Tis bad enough, accepting Mercy's reluctant hospitality. We won't do that again. Do you not agree?"

  "Y-yes, but when we go to Boston, we need only stay with Samantha until we find employment. That should not take long, since Boston is so big and prosperous. I could work hard as a housemaid, or maybe care for children."

  "Ah, 'tis a brave, dear girl you are, no doubt about it. So caring and sensible on the long sea voyage. Every day you fearlessly helped the sufferers and made not even a wee complaint about the tedious, rough journey. 'Twas so proud of you, I felt."

  "Thank you, Mother." Alas, mention of the voyage recalled to Fiona's mind the fine young doctor who had done so much more than she had, day after day, to help the ailing and the accidents. She had given her first love to Giles and finally his steady, gray-eyed gaze had kindled into a warm regard for her. But now the memory of his ardent kisses, the strength of eager arms and pulsing body straining against her own, was almost more than she could bear.

  Groaning inwardly, she knew she must not dwell on what could never be… a future with dear Giles. In a few days, perhaps a new life would open up for her. Until then she must try to fill her mind with other matters. And here was a distracting matter coming up the walk. Judge Blaize himself. Her astonished eyes widened as she behel
d the tall, black-garbed figure, who tossed a brief salutation to Grace, gaping by the henhouse. He then strode up to the door and knocked.

  Her mind awhirl, Fiona turned from the window as her mother flung open the door with a graceful curtsey. "Good day, Judge Blaize. Would you be wanting to see Mercy Prescott? She is upstairs—"

  He bowed low, sweeping off a black-plumed hat. "My errand concerns only you and your daughter."

  Fiona could only stare, her feelings not unmixed with apprehension. What did he want? Today he looked the epitome of dignity and courtesy, his voice a rich male timbre that caressed the ears.

  "I have come to invite you both to dine with me tomorrow night. You may recall that I mentioned this once before, after a Sabbath service. I would have arranged it sooner, but the trials have intruded on my private life. No matter; I'm here now. I like to welcome strangers to our village in this manner, and I must also admit my eagerness to converse with new minds in our midst, especially those recently arrived from distant shores. Now it would give me the utmost pleasure to have you in my home."

  Mrs. Prescott cast an inquiring glance toward Fiona, but sensing uncertainty, decided for them both. "Why, thank you, Your Honor. 'Twould be most delightful, I am sure. Fiona?"

  Panicked, Fiona realized she could not deny her mother. She curtsied and said, "I would be very happy to attend."

  He bowed. "My servant, Solbaid, will call for you at eight o'clock tomorrow. Ah, I hear him at the door. He has brought my slight offerings, which I trust you will enjoy."

  The grinning dwarf entered, clad like his master in black velvet. Bowing and bobbing his head, he approached the table, where the judge relieved him of two large objects. One was a bouquet of fragrant scarlet roses just emerging from the bud. The other, a satin-covered box, had the name of a Boston confectionery shop on its lid.

  Fiona and her mother both thanked him with surprise and pleasure as he waved his hand indifferently. "I grow the roses year-round in a heated garden room. The sweetmeats are ordered for me from Paris." He bowed once more. "Until we meet tomorrow, then." He followed his servant out the door, ignoring Grace who, mouth agape, flew into the kitchen.