Nor Grace?
Giles plucked her fingers from his arm and squeezed them. "Even though it would be for the best if you left, I would miss you—"
"Giles! I want to speak to you," Grace called, stumbling across the garden. "Wonderful news! Aunt Ellen is going to clear up my face with a lotion so I will be pretty for the Big Event."
Fiona sought to read Giles's expression as he turned away, saying loudly over his shoulder for Grace's benefit, "I just wanted to check on you. I'm glad that you are all right, Fiona."
"Why shouldn't she be all right?" Grace asked suspiciously. "She hardly works at all and still eats monstrous hearty."
"She had a headache," Giles said to Grace, who made some sneering remark as they walked away about people seeking attention. Then she started prattling happily about her face and Fiona decided that now all Grace had on her mind was the imminent prospect of becoming pretty and marrying Giles.
Suddenly, a most unusual feeling swept Fiona and she actually pitied Grace. Giles would never love her, even if they wed and had a family. He would be a kind husband, nothing more, and Grace would never understand him. Gradually, she would grow bitter, complaining constantly about neglect, realizing that he didn't love her. It would be a tragedy for everyone.
Chapter 19
It wasn't long before Grace returned alone to the brook and, arms akimbo, confronted Fiona. "All right, missy, tell me all about it right now, and don't leave out a thing."
"What—what do you mean?" Fiona stuttered, trying to collect her thoughts, which veered from Giles to Judge Blaize to her decision to leave town.
"I want to hear about your dinner last night with Judge Blaize, that's what." Grace plopped down heavily in front of Fiona and pointed disdainfully at the chicken. "You are so slow. Let me show you how to do that."
"All right, Grace. I imagine you're very fast at chicken plucking." The bird rapidly changed hands and Fiona began a long description of the judge's house, its contents, the dinner, and then the treasure room.
Grace stared into space with parted lips, not aware that she was doing all the rest of the plucking while Fiona rattled on, relieved to have the chilly chicken in other hands.
"And the judge—how did he act?" Grace wanted to know. "I've heard he likes girls overmuch. Were you ever alone with him?"
"Just for a little while. He was a most gracious host."
"No hints that he'd give you a pretty in exchange for— a kiss?" Grace ran her tongue across her lips.
Fiona had to swallow hard. Grace had come very close to the truth. "He was a perfect gentleman."
Grace eyed her narrowly. "Well, I've heard some stories about Judge Blaize which would shock your prissy ears. Girls charged with witchcraft were sometimes taken to his home. They emerged with tales to tell, true or not. Although some of them seemed too scared to speak. Take Nance Malloy, who lives down the road from here. She spent several hours in his home, and though I know her well, she never would tell me what happened. Laws, I sure do wonder about that night."
"Where does Nance live? Maybe I have seen her," Fiona said, an idea forming in her mind.
"Two houses past the turnoff in the woods. I owe her a cone of sugar for some strawberry preserves I made last week. Guess I had better repay her, in case I have to borrow something again," she sighed.
Fiona drew in a deep breath. Here might be a chance to see if anyone else had experienced strange phenomena around the judge. Could she find a way to make Nance talk to her?
She stood up, shaking out her apron, trying to sound casual. "Since you helped me with my chore, I could take the sugar to your neighbor. You really are cleaning that chicken much better than I did."
Grace tossed her head and plucked faster than ever. "Go, then. The sugar's in the pantry, wrapped in blue paper, which I want back so's I can soak the color out for dye. Can you get that right?" She swept Fiona with a scornful eye. "I really don't know why the judge invited you to his home. You're not nearly as pretty as Nance Malloy."
"I guess it was because I'm new in town and came from so far away. He was just curious."
Grace nodded, satisfied. "Sounds right. When I get my skin cleared up, he'll probably invite me, too."
"All the young men will eye you, Grace. Do you really want to tie yourself down to marriage yet? You could be having fun with lots of other men."
Grace gave a loud, coarse laugh. "You think Giles won't be fun? Wait until he sees me on our wedding night!"
Fiona turned away, unable to listen. "I had better hurry so I can get back and cook that chicken." She ran into the house and braced her hands upon the sink. Wedding night! How could she live through that time if Giles and Grace were really joined together? If only I could be that wife, Fiona thought.
If Giles and Grace were wed, it was bound to be disaster. They were opposites in every way, one sensitive and kind, the other crude and ruthless. One handsome and attractive, the other plain to the point of homeliness. When they made love, Giles would do his duty, while Grace would push greedily for more. Fiona groaned. Oh, what was the use of tormenting herself? Acceptance was her only recourse. Life must go on. Perhaps if she left town, it would be easier.
However, right now, she had an errand to perform which might possibly supply some answers to the puzzle of Judge Blaize. At least, it should be a diverting experience to meet another girl who had been close to His Honor. His Dishonor was more like it.
In a few minutes, Fiona was on her way, wide-brimmed hat on her head, basket on her arm. The house she sought was easily found, a shabby clapboard with chickens and a pig rooting in the bare earth before a stone stoop and sagging door.
Fiona rapped smartly and put on a smarmy grin when a young woman answered the door. "Nance Malloy? Grace asked me to bring you this sugar cone with many thanks for the loan. I'm her cousin, Fiona Prescott. Grace would like the paper back, if you would be so kind."
The black haired woman stared. She had a voluptuous figure and a drooling baby riding on one hip. There was a coarse prettiness in her face, but a dowdy carelessness about her slipping blouse and skirt of soiled and faded satin.
Her pale blue eyes swept Fiona up and down. "I heard you was in Salem. Care to join me in a mug o' mead?"
"Why, yes, thank you. I am rather warm and thirsty." Fiona stepped nimbly into the cluttered, messy kitchen and sat down on a chair Nance indicated by shoving off a pile of dirty clothes.
Nance endeavored to put her baby in its cradle, but it howled so loudly, she took it up and put it to her breast. "Shut up," she snarled, "and git on with your feedin'."
"My, what a sweet child," Fiona cooed.
"That's as may be." Nance's mouth turned down. "My man hightailed it outa town last month. Says he's never comin' back, neither."
Fiona stared at her. Nance, coarse and shiftless, seemed like an odd choice for Grace to befriend, but then she was the closest neighbor, and as with all Grace's actions, this probably was based on selfishness so she could borrow and impose. However, Fiona, too, needed something from the woman.
"How awful! Why would he leave such an adorable child and a lovely young wife?"
Nance preened and brushed back the wild mane of hair tumbling over her plump shoulders. "He didn't like my visitin' Judge Blaize, that's why. Say, I got my hands full here. Would you pour out our drinks?"
Fiona did as asked and handed a mug to Nance. What luck, she thought. She didn't even have to introduce the judge's name into the conversation. The opening had been provided.
She took a taste of the mead, which wasn't bad, and then asked casually, "Why was your husband upset about your visiting the judge?"
Nance looked uneasy. "Well, Blaize don't have the best reputation in the world. But Lord, when he sends an invite, you'd better go."
Fiona took another sip. "I have visited Judge Blaize's home myself."
Nance stared, surprise and wariness in her face. "Do tell! How many times you been there?"
"Oh, just once. He inv
ited me to dinner and then he showed me his treasure room."
"You saw that?" Nance exclaimed, her jaw sagging. "He musta liked you. What all—er—did he do?"
"He sat and watched me look around at all his things, then he offered me a jewel—"
"What!"
"He offered me an emerald chain if I would kiss him."
Nance guffawed. "You only had to kiss him? God, you got off easy."
Fiona smiled. "What did he ask from you? You have a lot more exciting charms that I have."
"Oh, well, men do say so." She gave a toss to her tangled locks of hair.
Fiona wasn't interested in other men. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I thought Judge Blaize seemed awfully strange at times. Didn't you think so?"
Nance didn't answer right away. She laid the drowsy, sated child back in its cradle, fastened up her dress, and sat down slowly. "What do you mean? Strange in what way?"
Fiona leaned across the table, lowering her voice. "He seemed to know the art of wizardry. Sometimes he could look young and handsome and would be charming and pleasant. Then, if I did something he didn't like, he would become old again, cold and ruthless, even cruel. Was he like that with you?"
Nance's bulging eyes blinked several times, then she whispered, "Aye. I saw him that way, too."
"Scary, wasn't it? Tell me about your visit," Fiona wheedled, "then I'll do the same."
"You will? All right. First, he was handsome and young and nice, then entirely different from the stern judge at the witch trials. Well, after I had a fine meal, he gave me a yellow stone on a gold chain. It looked like a diamond, mebbee. I was so thrilled I could hardly speak, and after some wine, I let him do anything he wanted—know what I mean?"
Fiona had no wish for details, so she merely nodded, looking wise.
"Then after awhile, he began to change. He got mean and wild, and when I fought him off 'cause he was hurtin' me real bad, suddenly he looked old and ugly, his true self. I managed to get away, but all I had on was my shawl, so when I got home, my husband, Willy, knew what I been doin' and got riled up. He took all the money we had and left. Said he never wanted to lay eyes on me again. Next day, I tried to sell the jewels, and know what?"
"They were fakes."
"Yes." Nance groaned and shut her eyes. "I hate all men. Sure, they come here, and I let 'em stay. How else can I live?"
Fiona's thoughts churned wildly. So it was true. The judge knew some form of enchantment. It hadn't been her imagination, after all. Here was grave danger. How could any normal person fight him? Giles was right. The only way was for her to leave Salem—at once.
Shaking inwardly, Fiona removed the paper from the sugar cone. "Grace wanted to make dye from this wrapping. Now I really must go, Nance. So nice to meet you—"
"Hey, wait, ya promised to tell me what happened with you and the judge."
"I'll return soon, but Grace told me to hurry back or she'll be angry. I'm supposed to cook a chicken for our supper."
"Grace always was a lazy girl. Thinks she's gonna marry that young doctor. Huh!"
Fiona hesitated at the door. "You think she won't?"
" 'Course not. How could that pimply-faced, bad-tempered lazy girl expect to marry him? The way he looks and acts!" She rolled her eyes. "Wish he'd come knockin' at my door, wantin' a little time with me."
"Yes, well, good day, Nance. Thank you for the mead. I'll come back soon."
As she hurried away, against all reason, she felt hope stirring from Nance's words. Was there still a chance? Giles hadn't claimed to be betrothed yet, but Grace made enough loud claims for both of them. Fiona sighed. Why allow herself the luxury of foolish unlikely dreams? The future held a clear, grim pathway which she must tread alone.
As soon as possible, she and her mother must slip away in secret. It might be dangerous to wait until they heard from Samantha. Fiona's footsteps slowed. Could there be a letter from Boston now reposing at the Town Hall, where all the mail was put to be claimed? With a quick decision, she placed her basket in Mercy's yard beside the fence and then hurried down the road to Salem Village.
A young man joined her, emerging from one of the houses bordering the outskirts. "Are you going to the witch trials?" he cried eagerly. "I hear there is a goodly bunch today awaiting sentence. Everyone's in a hurry to see them, I'll be bound." His face looked fearful, yet excited.
Fiona slowed her rapid pace and observed him with disgust. He looked pleasant and intelligent, but like all the rest, he evidently had witch hunt fever.
When she shook her head, he continued, "Hathorne is there today and he'll make those witches grovel and beg for mercy, yes indeed! Don't you want to see that?"
"How are you so certain they are witches?"
"Why, it only takes a finger to be pointed or a suspicious whisper to dig out a witch. They are all around us. Say—" He halted, staring, and put a hard hand upon her arm. "I haven't seen you around before. What's your business here?"
Fiona gave him a coy glance. "Why, I'm from Boston, sir, and a good friend of Nicholas Blaize. Save me a seat inside the meetinghouse, will you, dearie? I've changed my mind about attending, but first I have some business in Town Hall."
His face grew bold and leering. "Oh, you know him personally, eh? I'll see you inside, sweetheart, indeed I will."
Fiona ran off before he could see the loathing on her face. In the entrance to the hall, she easily found what she was looking for: a table with all the mail upon it, letters, packages, copies of the Boston News Gazette … at last, to her joy, she found a letter from Cousin Samantha. Since it was addressed to her mother, she thrust it into her pocket and then considered her next move.
She had no intention of attending the witch trials, but something the young man had said made her very fearful. "It only takes a finger to be pointed or a whisper." That had happened to her more than once… from Grace… Aunt Mercy… the afflicted girls… yes, it was imperative for them to get to Boston. If Samantha should not be ready for them, they could stay a few nights at some cheap inn. They had a little money and could easily find work.
Before they left, however, Fiona desperately wanted to retrieve her doubloon, since it was a gift from a famous man and a momento of a voyage when she had first met Giles. This might be a good opportunity while Judge Blaize was probably at the trials.
Without hesitation, she hurried from the deserted village and took the main road leading to the beach instead of going through the woods. She would have to figure out a plan of action when she reached the house.
At last, the lonely mansion on the bluff came into view, big, dark, and silent. No birds twittered in the trees, no dogs barked, no people were about. Even the sea on the beach below could not be heard.
Cautiously, Fiona advanced, eyes darting everywhere. Should she ring the doorbell? Or try to sneak in unobserved? The latter course seemed preferable, since she didn't think the dwarf would let her in. She tried the heavy, iron-bound door, and amazingly, it opened on oiled hinges. She slipped into the long, dark, empty hall and tiptoed its full length until she reached the treasure room.
The door stood ajar, and from within came a high-pitched humming. Peering through the opening, Fiona saw Solbaid flicking a feather duster over the articles in the room while he danced and sang. Suddenly, he stopped and whispered, "The Master!" and dropped the duster.
Fiona then heard the high whinny of a horse and voices coming from the front. She flattened herself against the wall, and when the dwarf emerged, looking straight ahead, she darted into the treasure room. This was exceedingly risky, and her heartbeat thundered, but she had to take the chance. The doubloon had been taken from her neck when Blaize had offered her the emeralds. Praises be! There it was, still on the table. She stuffed it in her pocket and took a quick glance around the room. There were no windows, and only a single candle flickered so that it was impossible to see clearly. Were the ornaments now real, or fake? She couldn't tell and dared not linger for a closer survey, though it se
emed to her they looked as they had when she'd first seen them, marvelous and rich.
But she had stayed too long. Footsteps were coming down the hall and then she heard a girl's high, nervous giggle. What to do? Where to go? Dear heaven, they were coming to the treasure room! There was naught to do but face them.
Nicholas Blaize, his arm around a young blond woman, saw Fiona immediately. He advanced slowly, his well-schooled features showing no surprise. "Good day, Fiona, I thought you would return to view my treasures. Meet my new friend, Rosie Dawson. She will be staying for several days. I recently rescued her from a horrible jail sentence and now I must help her to recover. I left the meetinghouse in other hands."
His black eyes swept over the woman, who responded with a trembling smile. "Imagine, Fiona, they were going to hang this sweet young thing for dancing in the moonlight with young men. Unclothed, alas."
"It—it was only with my betrothed, Your Honor, and we were not unclothed," Rosie whined, white-faced.
"I believe you. It was just your neighbors who claimed you showed witchlike behavior. Put it all behind you, my dear child. I am your protector now. Go wait in the front room and we will have a glass of wine. How about a kiss to thank me, hmm?"
"Oh, please, Your Honor—" she stuttered, drawing back.
"Later, then, my timid dove. I will change your reluctance all in good time. Now go." Rosie fled and the judge faced Fiona, who was edging toward the door in Rosie's wake.
"Not so fast," he hissed. "I wish a word with you. You did not treat me well at our last meeting." He touched his head and winced. "However, I like a lass with fire in her blood. It matches mine. There is nothing like a lusty fight before the thrill of conquering. Tell me why you are here. Did you decide to take my offer of a jewel or two in return for favors?" His bold eyes swept her and he moved a little closer. "The offer still stands, Fiona."
The gall of him! Fiona drew herself up angrily. "I came here to retrieve a souvenir." She held up the doubloon. "You recall that this was mine."
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