Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  He kissed her deeply, but she could tell his usual passion was suppressed. "Remember, when this is over we'll be wed and lead a long and happy life. Lie down now, and later we will dress and go to see Sir William. I am certain he will be very sympathetic—as well as helpful."

  A wave of longing to have him hold her swept Fiona. "Come in to me if—when—you feel like talking…"

  "As soon as I have washed some of the dust away," Giles promised.

  She lay on the bed for what felt like a few moments. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door and Tilly called, " 'Tis waxing late, miss. Only an hour before the ball begins." She pulled a zinc tub to the fire, filling it with cans of hot water and finally adding a vial of lilac water which perfumed all the air.

  Samantha certainly knew the gracious, pleasant way to enjoy her money, Fiona thought, as she soaped and washed her hair and body with Tilly's efficient aid. When all was dry, Tilly left the room to return with a pale green satin gown. The low, square neckline had a frill of fine blond lace to match another at the elbows and around the skirt. White satin roses draped one shoulder, and Tilly added another to the ringlets she arranged in Fiona's softly gleaming locks.

  "You look a vision, miss, and that's the truth," the maid exclaimed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now, here's a darker velvet cloak to wear and one of milady's masks to put on when you get there."

  "Thank you, Tilly. Do you know if Dr. Harmon is ready?"

  "I saw him leave the house as soon as he was dressed. I'll see if he's come back."

  A few minutes later, Giles entered and Fiona rejoiced to see the love and reassurance in his dear face. She was not alone in this fight to save her mother. This tall, handsome man in frilled silk shirt and brocaded vest had joined his life to hers in spite of all the danger it entailed.

  "How beautiful you look, my lady," Giles said. He took an impulsive step toward her, then stopped. "I must not muss your gown, no matter how I long to."

  The familiar rush of excitement swept Fiona, but she, too, knew this time was not for them. She merely curtsied. "You look mighty fine yourself, my lord."

  "Borrowed plumage." He smoothed the brocaded waistcoat from Samantha, then drew a small box from the pocket.

  "I slipped off to a jewelry store while you were getting ready and bought you a betrothal ring. I hope you like it." He grinned. "It's the first one I have ever bought."

  "And the first one I've received." She threw him a teasing glance, then opened the box to behold a golden band studded with three sapphires. "Oh, Giles, it's lovely." She lifted shining eyes while he placed it on her finger.

  "Someday I'll have it inscribed with my love," he said, "but you already know you have that." His fingers traced her face.

  "Thank you, dearest," Fiona breathed. "I love you so much. You are all my strength and comfort now."

  The kiss they exchanged was long and deep, but Fiona knew he must be thinking the same thing: she soon might need all the strength and comfort she could get.

  Chapter 28

  Before they left the house, Samantha met them in the hallway carrying a length of silver silk tissue. After she had admired Fiona's appearance, she gave her the shimmering material. "Wrap this around your head, dear, and tuck in all the curls. Nothing would give you away like those fiery locks."

  Fiona caught her breath. Why hadn't she thought of that?

  "What an excellent idea," Giles exclaimed. He took the cloth and wound it around Fiona's head, making certain every hair was hidden. Samantha then handed him an emerald glass brooch to fasten the folds of silver in the front.

  When Fiona put up her hands to pat the turban more securely, Samantha immediately saw the betrothal ring and bent to examine it with delight. "That's lovely." Her glance went from Giles to Fiona. "Promise me that the reception will be held here in my home."

  "Thank you, dear Samantha." Fiona gave her a warm kiss upon the cheek, but she could promise nothing at this point. The future loomed a dangerous, unknown territory still to be warily traversed. Right now, every thought and purpose must be directed toward persuading the governor to help her.

  Amos had the carriage out in front and they rolled off at once, making good time until they neared the governor's mansion. There every kind of luxurious conveyance clogged the streets, from sedan chairs borne by two sturdy porters apiece to gilded coaches drawn by matching horses with harnesses jingling and plumes bobbing. Haughty coach boys were mounted in the rear, waiting to help their masters to descend.

  Lights shone everywhere: carriage lanterns, street lamps, and finally from the Mansion itself, ablaze from top to bottom. A steady stream of guests moved through the open gates, and when Giles and Fiona joined the throng, they gazed in awe at velvet cloaks, thick fur trimming, and towering headdresses of white, flaxen, or ebony. Jewels flashed on hands and throats, ropes of pearls and gems twining through the wigs, vying with garlands of flowers, both fresh and artificial.

  Lowering her mask, Fiona presented her invitation at the door, instantly recognizing dignified Mr. White, the majordomo. She couldn't tell if he remembered her or not as he waved her through.

  Sir William and his lady stood in the hall to greet the guests and Fiona heard his booming laugh ring out before she reached him. With a beating heart, she sank into a curtsey in front of him, then raised her eyes. "Your Excellency, do you remember me? Fiona Prescott, from the Seawynd? My escort is Dr. Giles Harmon."

  "Miss Fiona! Giles! How wonderful to see you both. Your message indicated you were in some kind of trouble." For an instant, his gaze grew sober and he frowned, then it cleared. "I'd like you both to meet my wife, Lady Mary."

  His bold glance lingered admiringly on Fiona, and she felt thankful for the impressive satin ballgown that she wore. She curtsied to his wife, a bright-eyed woman in velvet, lace, and diamonds who looked older than Sir William, but whose face held strong intelligence and vitality.

  "We will both manage a private session with you." The lady nodded briskly. "Right, my lord?"

  "Oh, yes, indeed," he cried heartily. "Miss Fiona, I see you are wearing the doubloon I gave you. Mary, did I tell you—"

  "Later, love, the receiving line grows longer by the minute."

  Sir William clasped Giles's hand, nodded to Fiona, and then turned to greet the next guests.

  Maids were waiting to hang up cloaks and hats, and after disposing of her wrap, Fiona took Giles's arm, put up her black velvet mask on its slender wand, and stared carefully in every direction.

  "I don't think Blaize could get in here, do you?" she whispered. "He would need an invitation, and Mr. White is checking everyone most thoroughly."

  "You probably are right, but let us stay among the crowds and keep our eyes alert. I can see tables through that archway piled with many delectable viands, a whole goose, turkey, cold salmon, and towers of frosted cakes. Are you hungry?"

  "Not yet. I'm too excited. Let us watch the dancing in that opposite room."

  "Evidently no Puritans reign in his household," Giles murmured. "There is even a billiards table nearby, unless I am mistaken. I hear the clink of wooden balls and wagers being cried."

  Fiona shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Can you imagine the horror felt in Salem if they saw all this liveliness?"

  They stood together on the sidelines observing the couples whirling, pirouetting, and bowing to their partners while a spinet tinkled and a group of musicians sawed energetically on fiddles.

  "How elegant and gracefully they dance," Fiona said. "See how they point the toe just so and the lightness of their bearing. I only know the contradances where couples make two long lines or a square dance with eight people."

  "I have learned the minuet," Giles said, "but I am not a graceful dandy. I prefer the livelier gavotte or a quick-stepping bourée, where mistakes are not so noticeable." He chuckled. "Especially mine."

  Impressed, Fiona stared at him. Imagine Giles, the serious, dedicated doctor, knowing so much about the ballroom
dances. Probably she would keep on learning new things about him all their lives. If they had a life together. No. She quickly thrust that worry from her mind, concentrating on the moment and their mission here. She knew she would need every bit of good sense at her command.

  Suddenly, Giles bent his head down to her ear. "Here come Sir William and his lady. Perhaps the guests have all arrived."

  "And I don't believe Blaize is among them." Fiona inhaled deeply, then turned to watch the approach of the big, important man who tonight wore his azure velvet, gilt lace, and a wig of glossy black ringlets with proud assurance. Fiona curtsied to him and Lady Mary, feeling a little shy and unsure just how to introduce the reason for her message.

  No such lack of sureness touched the governor. He put a large finger underneath Fiona's chin and tilted up her face. "Come with me, lass. We will now have our talk. Lady Mary and Giles can dance till we return."

  Her ladyship put out a detaining hand and bent a keen eye on Fiona. "I also wish a few words with this young lady later on. I have a great concern about this Salem witch hunt and I will tell you why anon, my lord."

  The governor threw his wife a quizzical glance, but he asked no questions.

  "Now, however," she continued serenely, "Giles and I shall mingle with the guests."

  Fiona felt a quickening of hope. Perhaps here was another ally besides Sir William.

  Giles bowed to Lady Mary and crooked his arm to receive her slender bejeweled fingers, at the same time throwing Fiona a reassuring smile across his shoulder.

  Sir William led Fiona to a small room at some distance from the dancing crowd of merrymakers. Though small, it was quite elaborately furnished. A woven rug in red and black spread across the polished floor. Shelves of books and painted landscapes decorated all the walls, interspersed by two large windows whose garnet velvet was draped with golden cords and tassels. A fire burned briskly in a black marble grate and two armchairs faced each other across a little taboret. Spirits twinkled in a glass bottle as the governor filled a silver goblet for Fiona, then helped himself. "If you have wondered about the need for masks, it is because some activities here are not condoned by Puritans, many of whom are in attendance."

  "I understand," Fiona said, sipping cautiously. "What is this wine, Sir William? It leaves a strong trail on the tongue."

  " 'Tis called port, naturally, from Portugal. I can import anything I choose now to enrich my life. Although I must admit that Lady Mary has the best taste in this family. She was a wealthy woman when I married her, and she financed my first treasure hunt, you know—"

  Fiona wanted to present her own case, not be sidetracked by Sir William's reminiscences, and hastily she extracted the notes folded in her pocket. "Your Excellency, I know you want to rejoin your guests as soon as possible, but I wish you would read this. Giles and I wrote down everything that has befallen my mother and me in regard to witchcraft charges made on us." She shoved the papers across the table and her voice shook with emotion. "Sir William, my mother has been falsely jailed for witchcraft, and there is also a warrant out for me."

  His eyes grew round. "My God! I can scarcely credit what my ears are hearing." He picked up the notes and began to read, a frown settling on his heavy features.

  "This is monstrous," he growled when he had finished. "I had no idea the witch hunt had reached such grave proportions."

  Before he could continue, a knock sounded at the door and Mr. White appeared, bowing. "Begging your pardon, Sir William, but I must inform you that a man is at the gate asking to be admitted. He gives his name as Nicholas Blaize and says he is looking for a young red-haired woman now wanted by the law in Salem." His glance flickered briefly toward Fiona, but no change occurred in his inscrutable face.

  Fiona started up with a stiffled cry, fingers flying to her lips. "Oh, no! I pray you won't admit him!" She turned to Sir William and whispered frantically, "He is from the Salem court and would take me back to stand trial for witchcraft. My cousin has cried out on me because she fancies Giles for herself."

  "I see." Sir William's eyes turned to his majordomo. "Tell the man that no such girl is in this house. I take full responsibility for my guests."

  As Mr. White bowed and departed, Fiona gestured toward the door. "Can you trust in his discretion?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Thank you, Sir William." Fiona sank back down in her chair, trying to subdue her rapid breathing. "Judge Blaize wants me for another reason and I would never reach Salem unscathed in his company. He is a vile seducer of helpless females."

  Sir William's eyebrows drew together and he leaned back, his fingertips together. "Tell me more about this man."

  "Yes, I owe you an explanation. You probably have saved my life."

  Her eyes turned broodingly upon the leaping flames. "Nicholas Blaize came to Salem as a judge at the witch trials. He has wealth and power, and for some reason, he saw me and became infatuated. I repulsed his advances, which inflamed him even more."

  "Monstrous," Sir William roared. "The man's a villain and should be exposed."

  "That would be difficult. He wields a lot of power at the witch trials and is greatly feared." She decided not to tell him about the judge's other attempts at seduction, adding only that Blaize was a dedicated witch hunter but had told her that if she surrendered to him, both she and her mother would become exempt from any charges.

  Fiona looked him in the eye. "I will not be used like that by any man. I am going to marry Giles." She extended her hand with its betrothal ring.

  "Betrothed to Giles? Well, well, a fine match, I'll be bound. My best wishes to you both."

  "Thank you. Sir William, a way must be found to free my mother because she is as completely innocent as I am. Without your help, I may never have a future with Giles— or anybody else."

  "I believe you. These witch trials had begun to bother me. I heard about them before I went up North, but I had other matters on my mind."

  "They are a farce," Fiona cried. "The words of the so-called afflicted children are taken to be the gospel truth. Anyone they charge is immediately found guilty. And Nicholas Blaize is the judge who passes sentence. The jails are bulging with convicted witches and innocent people are led in chains to Gallows Hill. Oh, it is horrible—a travesty of justice."

  She sprang up, gripping her hands together. "Where is the proof, I ask you? The answer is: none that you can see. Spectral evidence is all and is enough cause for conviction. Can you imagine that? Why, anyone could claim that so-and-so is torturing them and show the courtroom self-inflicted marks. Immediately, the cry is 'witch, witch!' "

  "I must admit that accepting spectral evidence bothers me," Sir William growled. "I don't think it should be allowed."

  Fiona flung out her hands. "Oh, please, Your Excellency, can't you end this nightmare? At least stop future executions while you investigate the matter."

  He stood up slowly, adjusting the gilt lace at his cuffs and throat. "I shall certainly give it my attention, but I may not be able to dismiss the trials without authorization from the king."

  Fiona gripped his arm and cried fiercely, "That would take too long. You must do something now!"

  His manner grew a little distant and Fiona realized that he probably did not like to be given orders. Once again she had let her emotions bring on reckless speech. She dropped her head. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I know you are a busy and important man. It's just that any more delay could mean my mother's life… and mine."

  He softened then and patted her shoulder. "Don't cry, lass. You are too pretty for tears. Smile! That's better. I shall do my best to help you."

  "Oh, thank you!" Fiona grabbed his big, hard hand, weighted down with rings, and kissed it fervently.

  He looked surprised, then pleased. "Come, my dear, let us dine and dance. Perhaps you can forget your worries for a little while. I'm sure that it would do you good."

  Fiona smiled and preceded him out of the room, almost colliding with Lady Mary, who at once
said briskly, "I would like a little chat with you, Miss Fiona, before you leave."

  "She is not leaving yet, my love." Sir William laughed. "I haven't had a dance with her as yet."

  "My lord, I think Fiona has graver matters on her mind than dancing. Go entertain your guests whilst I tell her my own opinion of this witch hunt."

  "You are always right, my lady wife." Sir William bowed, his glance a little curious. "I wonder if there is something you are not telling me."

  Lady Mary didn't answer him, merely beckoning Fiona to accompany her. Inside the little study, they took seats beside the fire, but did not partake of any wine.

  Lady Mary leaned at once across the table. Her eyes flamed with emotion, although her voice remained discreetly lowered. "I am greatly in sympathy with your trouble. Sir William said you live in Salem, and I wager you have run into their witch hunt. I think the way they are being conducted is a disgrace to the whole colony. To rest a matter of life or death on the testimony of hysterical, attention-seeking children is intolerable."

  "Oh, my lady," Fiona choked, and had to swallow hard. "How glad I am to hear you say that! My mother and I are in the most desperate trouble—"

  Lady Mary leaned back in her armchair. "Tell me all about it, child."

  Fiona did so, even to the fact that Judge Blaize had pursued her to Boston for his own wicked purpose of seduction. She had the satisfaction of seeing Lady Mary's expressive face show amazement, then anger, and finally a steel-like determination.

  "There is a matter which I have not yet told my lord. He has just returned from the Indian uprising in the north and I wished to give him a day or two of peace. He works so hard." A loving light flared in the plain, intelligent face, and Fiona saw she cared deeply for her flamboyant husband.

  Lady Mary continued, her voice almost a whisper. "Last week a note was sent to me in secret, smuggled from the jail in Salem by a desperate woman protesting her complete innocence. A widow, she was the sole support of three small children and did housework and yardwork everywhere she could. However, one lecherous master tried to bend her to his evil desires, and when she refused, he called her "witch," telling the constable that she came to him in dreams trying to make him sign the Devil's Book. A paper of strange symbols was planted in her home, which when found was enough for her arrest. Just imagine the poor woman's anguish, her desperation, thinking she had nowhere to turn. Thank God, she turned to me. I went to Salem, talked to neighbors, found the man had a vile reputation, and then—" She leaned back, smiling triumphantly. "I signed a warrant for her release."