Speaks the Nightbird
Chapter Eighteen

EDWaRD WINSTON ENTERED FIRST through the door, followed by a thin brown-haired man of about thirty years who wore a dark green suit and tan stockings. Close behind him - up under his arm, it would be more accurate to say - was the child, of eleven or twelve years. She, too, was slender. Her light brown hair was pulled severely back from her forehead under the constriction of a stiff white bonnet. She wore a smoke-gray cassock from throat to ankles, and sturdy black shoes that had recently been buffed. Her right hand gripped the left of her father's, while in the crook of her own left arm she held a battered Bible. Her blue eyes, set rather far apart on her long, sallow face, were wide with fear.
"Magistrate, this is Violet adams and her father, Martin," Winston said as he led them in. The child balked at the entrance to the cell, but her father spoke quietly and firmly to her and she reluctantly came along.
"Hello," Woodward whispered to the little girl; the sound of his raw voice seemed to alarm her further, as she stepped back a pace and might have fled had not Martin adams put his arm around her. "I'm having trouble speaking," Woodward explained. "Therefore my clerk will speak for me."
"Tell her to quit a'lookin' at us!" adams said, his bony face damp with sweat. "She's castin' the evil eye!"
Matthew saw that Rachel was indeed staring at them. "Madam, in the interests of keeping everyone calm, would you refrain from looking at this father and childi"
She aimed her gaze at the floor. "ain't good 'nuff!" adams protested. "Cain't you put her somewheres elsei"
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's impossible."
"Make her turn 'round, then! Make her put her back to us!" at this Matthew looked to the magistrate for help, but all Woodward could do was give a dismissive shrug.
adams said, "We ain't stayin' here if she don't turn 'round! I didn't want to bring Violet to this place anyways!"
"Martin, please!" Winston held up a hand to quiet him. "It's very important that Violet tell the magistrate what she knows."
Violet suddenly jumped and her eyes looked about to burst from her skull. Rachel had risen to her feet. She pulled the bench away from the wall and then sat down upon it again, this time with her back toward them.
"There," Matthew said, much relieved. "Is that agreeablei"
adams chewed his lower lip. "For now," he decided. "But if she looks at us again, I'll take my child out of here."
"Very well, then." Matthew smoothed out the fresh sheet of paper before him. "Mr. Winston, you may remove yourself." Winston's departure made the father and daughter even more nervous; now both of them looked liable to bolt at any instant. "Violet, would you care to sit downi" Matthew motioned toward the stool, but the little girl quickly and emphatically shook her head. "We shall have to swear you to truth on the Bible."
"What's the need for thati" adams spoke up, in what was becoming an irritant to Matthew's ears. "Violet don't lie. She ain't never lied."
"It is a formality of the court, sir. You may use your own Good Book, if you please."
With sullen hesitation, the man agreed and Matthew administered the oath to his daughter, who made hardly a sound in her acceptance to tell only the truth in the sight of God. "all right,"
Matthew said after that hurdle had been cleared, "what is it that you have to offer in this casei"
"This thing she's 'bout to tell you happent near three week ago," came back that aural irritation. "It were of an afternoon. Violet was kept late to school, so when she was comin' home she was by herself."
"Schooli You mean she's a studenti" Matthew had never heard of such a thing.
"She was. I never wanted her to go, myself. Readin' is a fool's way to waste time."
Now the knave had well and truly endeared himself to Matthew. He examined the child's face. Violet was not a particularly handsome little girl, but neither was she homely; she was simply ordinary, not being remarkable in any way except perhaps the wide spacing of her eyes and a slight tic of her upper lip that was becoming a bit more pronounced as it became time for her to speak. Still, the child carried herself with grace and seemed of a sturdy nature; Matthew knew it had taken quite a lot of courage to enter this gaol.
"My name is Matthew," he began. "May I call you Violeti"
She looked to her father for aid. "That'll do," adams agreed.
"Violet, it's important that you answer my questions instead of your father. all righti"
"She will," adams said.
Matthew dipped his quill in the inkwell, not because it needed ink but because he required a moment to compose himself. Then he tried it again, first offering Violet a smile. "Your bonnet is pretty. Did your mother sew iti"
"What's that got to do with the witchi" adams asked. "She's here to tell her tale, not talk 'bout a bonnet!"
Matthew wished for a jolt of rum. He glanced at the magistrate, who had cupped his hand to his mouth to hide what was a half-smile, half-grimace. "Very well," Matthew said. "Violet, tell your tale."
The little girl's gaze slid over toward Rachel, registering that the accused still remained sitting with her face to the wall. Then Violet lowered her head, her father's hand on her shoulder, and said in a small, frightened voice, "I seen the Devil and his imp. Sittin' there. The Devil told me the witch was to be set loose. Said if the witch was kept in the gaol everybody in Fount Royal would pay for it." again her eyes darted to mark if Rachel had moved or responded, but the prisoner had not.
Matthew said quietly, "May I ask where this sighting occurredi"
Of course adams spoke up. "It were in the Hamilton house. Where the Hamiltons used to live 'fore they took up and went. On Industry Street, 'bout three houses shy of our'n."
"all right. I presume the Hamiltons had left before this sighting took placei"
"They was gone right after the witch murdered Dan'l. abby Hamilton knowed it was that woman's doin'. She told my Constance that a dark woman's got dark in her."
"Hm," Matthew said, for want of any better response. "Violet, how come you to be in that housei"
She didn't answer. Her father nudged her. "Go on and tell it, child. It's the right thing to do."
Violet began in what was almost an inaudible voice, her face angled toward the floor. "I . . . was walkin' home. From the schoolhouse. I was goin' by where the Hamiltons used to live . . . and ... I heared somebody." She paused once more and Matthew thought he would have to urge her on, but then she said, "Somebody was callin' me. Said . . . 'Violet, come here.' Low and quiet, it was. 'Violet, come here.' I looked . . . and the door was open."
"The door to the Hamilton house," Matthew said.
"Yes sir. I knowed it was empty. But I heared it again. 'Violet, come here.' It sounded like . . . my papa was callin' me. That's why I went in."
"Had you ever been inside that house beforei"
"No sir."
Matthew redipped his quill. "Please go on."
"I went in," Violet said. "There wasn't nary a noise. It was silent, like ... it was just me breathin', and that was the only sound. I near turned to run out. . . and then ... I heared 'Violet, look at me.' at first . . . 'cause it was so dark, I couldn't see nothin*. Then a candle was lit, and I seen 'em sittin' there in that room." Both Matthew and Woodward could see that her face, though turned downward, was agonized with the recollection. She trembled, and her father patted her shoulder for comfort. "I seen 'em," she repeated. "The Devil was sittin' in a chair . . . and the imp was on his knee. The imp . . . was holdin' the candle . . . and he was grinnin' at me." She made a soft, wounded gasp down in her throat and then was quiet.
"I know this is difficult," Matthew told her, as gently as he could, "but it has to be spoken. Please continue."
She said, "Yes sir," but offered nothing more for a space of time. Obviously the recounting of this incident was a terrible ordeal. Finally she took a long breath and let it go. "The Devil said, 'Tell them to free my Rachel.' He said, 'Let her out of the gaol, or Fount Royal is cursed.' after that ... he asked me if I could remember what he'd said. I nodded. Then the imp blowed out the candle, and it come dark again. I run home." She looked up at Matthew, her eyes shocked and wet. "Can I go nowi"
"Soon," he said. His heart had begun beating harder. "I'm going to have to ask you some questions, and I want you to think carefully before you answer to make sure that - "
"She'll answer 'em," adams interrupted. "She's a truthful child."
"Thank you, sir," Matthew said. "Violeti Can you tell me what the Devil looked likei"
"Yes sir. He . . . had on a black cloak . . . and a hood over his head, so I couldn't see no face. I remember ... on his cloak . . . was gold buttons. They was shinin' in the candlelight."
"Gold buttons." Matthew's mouth had gone dry; his tongue felt like a piece of iron. "May I ask ... if you know how many there werei"
"Yes sir," she said. "Six."
"What's this fool question fori" adams demanded. "Six buttons or sixty, what does it matteri"
Matthew ignored him. He stared intently into the child's eyes. "Violet, please think about this: can you tell me how the buttons were arranged on the cloaki Were they six straight up and down, or were they three side by sidei"
"Pah!" The man made a disgusted face. "She seen the Devil, and you're askin' 'bout his buttonsi"
"I can answer, Papa," Violet said. "They was six straight up and down. I seen 'em shinin'."
"Straight up and downi" Matthew pressed. "You're absolutely certain of iti"
"Yes sir, I am."
Matthew had been leaning forward over his paper; now he sat back in his chair, and ink dripped upon the previous lines he'd quilled.
"Childi" Woodward whispered. He managed a frail smile. "You're doing very well. Might I ask you to describe the impi"
again Violet looked to her father, and he said, "Go on, tell the magistrate."
"The imp . . . was sittin' on the Devil's knee. It had white hair, looked like spider webs. It wasn't wearing no clothes, and . . . its skin was all gray and wrinkled up, like a dried apple. 'Cept for its face." She hesitated, her expression tormented; in that instant Woodward thought she more resembled a life-burned woman than an innocent child. "Its face . . . was a little boy," she went on. "and . . . while the Devil was talkin' to me . . . the imp stuck out its tongue . . . and made it wiggle 'round and 'round." She shuddered at the memory of it, and a single tear streaked down her left cheek.
Matthew couldn't speak. He realized that Violet adams had just described perfectly one of the three grotesques that Jeremiah Buckner claimed he saw in the orchard, having unholy sexual relations with Rachel.
add to that the child's description of Satan as seen by Elias Garrick, right down to the black cloak and six gold buttons, and -  Dear God, Matthew thought. It couldn't be true! Could iti
"Violeti" He had to strain to keep his voice steady. "Have you heard anything of the other tales concerning the Devil and this imp that may have been told around towni What I mean to say is - "
"No sir, she ain't makin' up a lie!" adams clenched his teeth at the very suggestion of it. "I done told you, she's a truthful child! and yes, them tales are spoken here and yon, and most like Violet's heard 'em from other children, but by God you didn't see her pale as milk when she come home that day! You didn't hear her sobbin' and wailin', near scairt to death! No sir, it ain't a lie!"
Violet had downcast her face again. When her father had ceased his ranting, she lifted it to look fully at Matthew. "Siri" she said timorously. "It happened as I told it. I heared the voice and went in the house, and I seen the Devil and the imp. The Devil said them things to me, and then I run home quick as I could."
"You're positive - absolutely positive - that the figure in the black cloak said . . ." Matthew found the appropriate lines on the paper. '"Tell them to free my Rachel'i"
"Yes sir. I am."
"The candle. In which hand did the imp hold iti"
She frowned. "The right."
"Did the Devil have on shoes or bootsi"
"I don't know, sir. I didn't see."
"Upon which knee did the imp siti The left or righti"
again, Violet frowned as she called up the memory. "The . . . left, I think. Yes sir. The left knee."
"Did you see anyone else on the street before you went insidei"
"No sir. I don't recall."
"and afterwardi Was there anyone on the street when you came outi"
She shook her head. "I don't know, sir. I was cryin'. all I cared to do was get home."
"How come you to stay late at schooli"
"It was 'cause of my readin', sir. I need help at it, and Master Johnstone had me stay late to do some extra work."
"You were the only student asked to stay latei"
"That day, yes sir. But Master Johnstone has somebody stay late most every day."
"What made you notice those gold buttonsi" Matthew lifted his eyebrows. "How, with the Devil and the imp sitting there before you, did you have the presence of mind to count themi"
"I don't recall countin' 'em, exactly. They just caught my eye. I collect buttons, sir. I have a jar of 'em at home, and ever when I find one I put it up."
"When you left the schoolhouse, did you happen to speak to anyone on the - "
"Matthew." Though it had been only a whisper, Woodward had delivered it with stern authority. "That's enough." He glowered at his clerk, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed. "This child has spoken what she knows."
"Yes, sir, but - "
"Enough." There was no denying the magistrate's will; particularly not in this instance, since Matthew had for all intents and purposes run out of questions. all Matthew.could do was nod his head and stare blankly at what he'd scribed on the paper before him. He had come to the conclusion that, of the three witnesses who'd testified, this child's story sounded the most chillingly real. She knew what details she ought to know. What she couldn't recall was forgivable, due to the stress and quickness of the incident.
Tell them to free my Rachel, the Devil had said. That single statement, coupled with the poppets, was powerful enough to burn her even if there had been no other witnesses.
"I assume," Matthew said, his own voice somewhat diminished, "that the schoolmaster has heard this storyi"
"He has. I told him myself the very next mornin'," adams said.
"and he remembers asking Violet to stay late that afternooni"
"He does."
"Well, then." Matthew licked his dry lips and resisted turning his head to look at Rachel. He could think of nothing more to say but the same again: "Well, then."
"You are very courageous," Woodward offered the child. "Very courageous, to come in here and tell us this. My compliments and gratitude." Though in pain, he summoned up a smile albeit a tight one. "You may go home now."
"Yes sir, thank you sir." Violet bowed her head and gave the magistrate a clumsy but well-meant curtsey. Before she left the cell, though, she glanced uneasily at the prisoner, who still sat backwards upon the bench. "She won't hurt me, will shei"
"No," Woodward said. "God will protect you."
"Well. . . sir, there's somethin' else I have to tell."
Matthew roused himself from his dismayed stupor. "What is iti"
"The Devil and that imp . . . they wasn't alone in the house."
"You saw another creature, theni"
"No sir." She hesitated, hugging her Bible. "I heared a man's voice. Singin'."
"Singingi" Matthew frowned. "But you saw no other creaturei"
"No sir, I didn't. The singin' ... it was comin' from back of the house, seemed like. another room, back there in the dark. I heared it just 'fore the candle went out."
"It was a man's voice, you sayi" Matthew had put his quill aside. Now he picked it up again and began to record the testimony once more. "Loud or softi"
"Soft. I could just hardly hear it. But it was a man's voice, yes sir."
"Had you ever heard that voice beforei"
"I don't know, sir. I'm not sure if I had or hadn't."
Matthew rubbed his chin and inadvertently smeared black ink across it. "Could you make out anything of the songi"
"Well. . . sometimes I feel I'm near 'bout to know what song it is, that maybe I heared it before . . . but then it goes away. Sometimes it makes my head hurt thinkin' of it." She looked from Matthew to the magistrate and back again. "It's not the Devil cursin' me, is it, siri"
"No, I think not." He stared at the lines on the paper, his mind working. If there was a third demonic creature in that house, why didn't it show itself to the childi after all, the idea had been to scare an alarm into her, hadn't iti What was the point of a demon singing in the dark, if the song and the voice were not loud enough to be fearfuli "Violet, this may be difficult for you," he said, "but might you try to remember what the voice was singingi"
"What does it matteri" adams had held his peace long enough. "She done told you 'bout the Devil and the imp!"
"My own curiosity, Mr. adams," Matthew explained. "and it seems to me that the memory of this voice troubles your daughter, or she would not have brought it to light. Don't you agreei"
"Well..." The man made a sour face. "Mayhaps I do."
"Is there anything furtheri" Matthew asked the girl, and she shook her head. "all right, then. The court thanks you for your testimony." Violet and her father withdrew from the cell. Just before they left the gaol, the child looked back fearfully at Rachel, who was sitting slumped over with a hand pressed to her forehead.
When the two were gone, Woodward began to wrap the poppets back up in the white cloth. "I presume," he whispered, "that all other witnesses have fled town. Therefore . . ." He paused to try to clear his throat, which was a difficult and torturous task. "Therefore our trial is ended."
"Wait!" Rachel stood up. "What about my sayi Don't I get a chance to speaki"
Woodward regarded her coldly. "It is her right, sir," Matthew reminded him.
The magistrate continued wrapping the poppets. "Yes, yes," he said. "Of course it is. Go on, then.
"You've made your decision, have you noti" She came to the bars and gripped them.
"No. I shall first read over the transcript, when I am able."
"But that's only a formality, isn't iti What can I possibly say to convince you I am not guilty of these liesi"
"Bear in mind," Matthew said to her, "that the witnesses did swear on the Bible. I would be wary in calling them liars. However ..." He paused.
"However whati" Woodward rasped.
"I think there are some omissions of detail in the testimonies of Mr. Buckner and Mr. Garrick that ought to be taken into account. For instance - "
Woodward lifted a hand. "Spare me. I shall not discuss this today."
"But you do agree, don't you, siri"
"I am going to bed." With the bundle tucked under his arm, Woodward pushed the chair back and stood up. His bones ached and his head grew dizzy, and he stood grasping the desk's edge until the dizziness abated.
Instantly Matthew was on his feet too, alert to preventing the magistrate from falling. "Is someone coming to help youi"
"I trust there's a carriage waiting."
"Shall I go out and seei"
"No. Mind you, you're still a prisoner." Woodward felt so drained of strength he had to close his eyes for a few seconds, his head bowed.
"I demand my right to speak," Rachel insisted. "No matter if you have decided."
"Speak, then." Woodward feared his throat was closing up again, and his nostrils seemed all but sealed.
"It is a wicked conspiracy," she began, "to contend that I murdered anyone, or that I have made spells and poppets and committed such sins as I am accused of. Yes, I know the witnesses swore truth on the Bible. I can't understand why or how they could create such stories, but if you'll give me the Bible I'll swear truth on it too!"
To Matthew's surprise, Woodward picked up the Holy Book, walked unsteadily to the bars, and passed the volume through into her hands.
Rachel clasped it to her bosom. "I swear upon this Bible and every word in it that I have done no murders and I am not a witch!" Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of trepidation and triumph. "There! You seei Did I burst into flamei Did I scream because my hands were scorchedi If you put such value on Bible-sworn truth, then will you not also value my deniali"
"Madam," the magistrate whispered wearily, "do not further profane yourself. Your power to confuse is very strong, I grant you."
"I am holding the Bible! I have just sworn on it! Would you have me kiss iti"
"No. I would have you return it." He held out his hand. Matthew saw the bright fire of anger leap into Rachel's eyes, and for an instant he feared for the magistrate's safety. But then Rachel stepped back from the bars, opened the Holy Book, and began to methodically rip the parchment pages from it, her expression all but dead.
"Rachel!" Matthew cried out, before he could think better of it. "Don't!"
The torn pages of God's Writ drifted to the straw around her feet. She stared into the magistrate's eyes as she did her blasphemous damage, as if daring him to prevent her.
Woodward held her gaze, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "Now," he whispered, "I see you clearly."
She yanked out another page, let it fall, and then shoved the Bible between the bars. Woodward made no move to capture the mutilated Book, which dropped to the floor. "You see nothing," Rachel said, her voice trembling with emotion though her face was held under tight control. "Why did God not strike me dead just nowi"
"Because, madam, He has given me that task."
"If I were truly a witch, God would never have allowed such an act!"
"Only a vile sinner would have committed it," Woodward said, showing admirable composure. He leaned down and retrieved the volume, the back of which had been broken.
Matthew said, "She's distraught, sir! She doesn't know what she's doing!"
at that, Woodward turned toward his clerk and managed to say heatedly, "She knows! Dear God, Matthew! Has she blinded youi"
"No, sir. But I think this action should be excused on the grounds of extreme mental hardship."
Woodward's mouth fell agape, his gray face slack. He seemed to feel the entire world wheel around him as he realized that, indeed, this woman had beguiled the very fear of God out of his clerk.
The magistrate's shocked expression was not lost on Matthew. "Sir, she is under difficult circumstances. I hope you'll weigh that in your consideration of this incident."
There was only one response Woodward could make to this plea. "Get your papers. You're leaving."
Now it was Matthew's turn to be shocked. "But ... I have one more night on my sentence."
"I'll pardon you! Come along!"
Matthew saw that Rachel had moved back into the shadows of her cage. He was torn between the desire to rid himself of this dirty hovel and the realization that once he left the gaol he would most likely not see Rachel again until the morning of her death. There were still so many questions to be asked and answered! He couldn't let it go like this, or he feared he might be haunted for the rest of his days. "I'll stay here and finish my sentence," he said.
"Whati"
"I'll stay here," Matthew repeated calmly. "One more night will be of no consequence."
"You forget yourself!" Woodward felt near collapse. "I demand you obey!"
Even though this demand had been delivered in such a frail voice, it still carried enough power to offend Matthew's sense of independence. "I am your servant," he answered, "but I am not your slave. I elect to stay here and finish my sentence. I will take my lashes in the morning, and that will be the end of it."
"You've lost your reason!"
"No, sir, I have not. My being pardoned would only cause further problems."
Woodward started to argue the point, but neither his voice nor his spirit had the strength. He stood at the cell's threshold, holding the violated Bible and the bundled poppets. a glance at Rachel Howarth showed him that she'd retreated to the far wall of her cage, but he knew that as soon as he left she would begin to work her mind-corrupting spells on the boy again. This was like leaving a lamb to the teeth of a bitch wolf. He tried once more: "Matthew ... I beg you to come with me."
"There's no need. I can stand one more night."
"Yes, and fall for eternity," Woodward whispered. Woodward laid the Holy Book down atop the desk. Even so desecrated, the volume might serve as a shield if Matthew called upon it. That is, if Matthew's clouded vision would allow him to recognize its power. He damned himself for letting the boy be put in this place; he might have known the witch would leap at the opportunity to entrance Matthew's mind. It occurred to Woodward that the court records were in jeopardy as well. There was no telling what might befall them during this last night they'd be within the witch's reach. "I will take the papers," he said. "Box them, please."
This was not an unreasonable request, as Matthew assumed the magistrate would want to begin his reading. He immediately obeyed.
When it was done, Woodward put the box under one arm.
There was nothing more he could do for Matthew except offer a prayer. He cast a baleful glare upon Rachel Howarth. "Beware your acts, madam. You're not yet in the fire."
"Is there any doubt I shall bei" she asked.
He ignored the question, turning his eyes toward Matthew. "Your lashing ..." It seemed his throat was doubly swollen now, and speaking took a maximum of effort. "... will be at six o'clock. I shall be here . . . early as possible. Be alert to her tricks, Matthew." Matthew nodded but offered no opinion on the validity of the statement.
The magistrate walked out of the cell, leaving the door wide open. He steeled himself not to look back, as the sight of Matthew voluntarily caged and in mortal danger of witchcraft might tear his heart asunder.
Outside the gaol, in the dim gray light and with a mist hanging in the air, Woodward was relieved to see that indeed Goode had brought the carriage for him. He pulled himself up into one of the passenger seats and set the bundled poppets at his side. as soon as Woodward was settled, Goode flicked the reins and the horses started off.
Shortly after the magistrate had departed, Green came to the gaol to deliver the evening meal, which was corn soup. He locked Matthew's cell and said, "I trust you sleep well, boy. Tomorrow your hide belongs to me." Matthew didn't care for the way Green laughed; then the gaol-keeper removed the lantern, as was his nightly custom, and left the prisoners in darkness.
Matthew sat on his bench and tipped the foodbowl to his mouth. He heard a rat squeaking in the wall behind him, but their numbers had dwindled dramatically in the wake of the ratcatcher's visit and they seemed not nearly so bold as before.
Rachel's voice came from the dark. "Why did you stayi"
He swallowed the soup that was in his mouth. "I intend to serve out my sentence."
"I know that, but the magistrate offered you a pardon. Why didn't you take iti"
"Magistrate Woodward is ill and confused right now."
"That doesn't answer my question. You elected to stay. Whyi"
Matthew busied himself in eating. at last he said, "I have other questions to ask of you."
"Such asi"
"Such as where were you when your husband was murderedi and why is it that someone other than you found the bodyi"
"I remember Daniel getting out of bed that night," Rachel said. "Or perhaps it was early morning. I don't know. But he often rose in the dark and by candlelight figured in his ledger. There was nothing odd in his rising. I simply turned over, pulled the blanket up, and went back to sleep as I always did."
"Did you know that he'd gone outsidei"
"No, I didn't."
"Was that usual alsoi That he should go out in the cold at such an early houri"
"He might go out to feed the livestock, depending on how near it was to sunrise."
"You say your husband kept a ledgeri Containing whati"
"Daniel kept account of every shilling he had. also how much money was invested in the farm, and how much was spent on day-to-day matters such as candles, soap, and the like."
"Was money owed to him by anyone in town, or did he owe moneyi"
"No," Rachel said. "Daniel prided himself that he was his own master."
"admirable, but quite unusual in these times." Matthew took another swallow of soup. "How did your husband's body come to be foundi"
"Jess Maynard found it. Him, I mean. Lying in the field, with his throat . . . you know." She paused. "The Maynards lived on the other side of us. Jess had come out to feed his chickens at first light when he saw . . . the crows circling. He came over and that's when he found Daniel."
"Did you see the bodyi"
again, there was a hesitation. Then she said quietly. "I did."
"I understand it was the throat wound that killed him, but were there not other wounds on his bodyi Bidwell described them, I recall, as claw or teeth marks to the face and arms."
"Yes, there were those."
"Forgive my indelicacy," Matthew said, "but is that how you would describe themi as teeth or claw marksi"
"I . . . remember . . . how terrible was the wound to his throat. I did see what appeared to be claw marks on his face, but ... I didn't care at the moment to inspect them. The sight of my husband lying dead, his eyes and mouth open as they were ... I remember that I cried out and fell to my knees beside him. I don't recall much after that, except that Ellen Maynard took me to her house to rest."
"are the Maynards still living therei"
"No. They moved away after ..." She gave a sigh of resignation. "after the stories about me began to fly."
"and who began these storiesi Do you know of any one personi"
"I would be the last to know," Rachel said dryly.
"Yes," Matthew agreed. "Of course. People being as they are, I'm sure the stories were spread about and more and more embellished. But tell me this: the accusations against you did not begin until your husband was murdered, is that correcti You were not suspected in the murder of Reverend Grovei"
"No, I was not. after I was brought here, Bidwell came in to see me. He said he had witnesses to my practise of witchcraft and that he knew I - or my 'master,' as he put it - was responsible for the calamities that had struck Fount Royal. He asked me why I had decided to consort with Satan, and what was my purpose in destroying the town. at that point he asked if I had murdered the reverend. Of course I thought he'd lost his mind. He said I was to cease all associations with demons and confess myself to be a witch, and that he would arrange for me to be immediately banished. The alternative, he said, was death."
Matthew finished his soup and set the bowl aside. "Tell me," he said, "why you didn't agree to banishment. Your husband was dead, and you faced execution. Why didn't you leavei"
"Because," she answered, "I am not guilty. Daniel bought our farm from Bidwell and we had both worked hard at making it a success. Why should I give it up, admit to killing two men and being a witch, and be sent out into the wilds with nothingi I would have surely died out there. Here, at least, I felt that when a magistrate arrived to hear the case I might have a chance." She was silent for a while, and then she said, "I never thought it would take so long. The magistrate was supposed to be here over a month ago. By the day you and Woodward arrived, I had suffered Bidwell's slings and arrows many times over. I had almost lost all hope. In fact, you both looked so . . . well, unofficial. . . that I at first thought Bidwell had brought in two hirelings to goad a confession out of me."
"I understand," Matthew said. "But was there no effort to discover who had murdered the reverendi"
"There was, as I recall, but after Lenora Grove left, the interest faded over time, as there were no suspects and no apparent motive. But the reverend's murder was the first incident that caused people to start leaving Fount Royal. It was a grim Winter."
"I can imagine it was." Matthew listened to the increasing sound of rain on the roof. "a grim Spring, as well. I doubt if Fount Royal could survive another one as bad."
"Probably not. But I won't be here to know, will Ii"
Matthew didn't answer. What could he sayi Rachel's voice was vety tight when she spoke again. "In your opinion, how long do I have to livei"
She was asking to be told the truth. Matthew said, "The magistrate will read thoroughly over the records. He will deliberate, according to past witchcraft cases of which he has knowledge." Matthew folded his hands together in his lap. "He may give his decision as early as Wednesday. On Thursday he might ask for your confession, and on that day as well he might require me to write, date, and sign the order of sentencing. I expect . . .
the preparations would be made on Friday. He would not wish to carry out the sentence on either the day before the Sabbath or the Sabbath itself. Therefore - "
"Therefore I burn on Monday," Rachel finished for him.
"Yes," Matthew said. a long silence stretched. Though he wished to ease her sorrow, Matthew knew of no consolation he could offer that would not sound blatantly foolish.
"Well," she said at last, her voice carrying a mixture of courage and pain, and that was all.
Matthew lay down in his accustomed place in the straw and folded himself up for warmth. Rain drummed harder on the roof. He listened to its muffled roar and thought how simple life had seemed when he was a child and all he had to fear was the pile of pig dung. Life was so complicated now, so filled with strange twists and turns like a road that wandered across a wilderness no man could completely tame, much less understand.
He was deeply concerned for the magistrate's failing health. On the one hand, the sooner they got away from Fount Royal and returned to the city, the better; but on the other hand he was deeply concerned as well for the life of the woman in the next cell.
and it was not simply because he did think her beautiful to look upon. Paine had been correct, of course. Rachel was indeed - as he had crudely put it - a "handsome piece." Matthew could understand how Paine - how any man, really - could be drawn to her. Rachel's intelligence and inner fire were also appealing to Matthew, as he'd never met a woman of such nature before. Or, at least, he'd never met a woman before who had allowed those characteristics of intelligence and fire to be seen in public. It was profoundly troubling to believe that just possibly Rachel's beauty and independent nature were two reasons she'd been singled out by public opinion as a witch. It seemed to him, in his observations, that if one could not catch and conquer an object of desire, it often served the same to destroy it.
The question must be answered in his own mind: was she a witch or noti Before the testimony of Violet adams, he would have said the so-called eyewitness accounts were fabrications or fantasies, even though both men had sworn on the Bible. But the child's testimony had been tight and convincing. Frighten-ingly convincing, in fact. This was not a situation where the child had gone to bed and awakened thinking that a dream had been reality; this had happened when she was wide awake, and her grasp of details seemed about right considering the stress of the moment. The child's testimony - especially concerning the black cloak, the six gold buttons, and the white-haired dwarf, or "imp," as she'd called it - gave further believability to what both Buckner and Garrick had seen. What, then, to make of iti
and there were the poppets, of course. Yes, anyone might have made them and hidden them under the floorboards. But why would anyone have done soi and what to make of Cara Grunewald's "vision" telling the searchers where to looki
Had Rachel indulged in witchcraft, or noti Had she murdered or wished the murders of Reverend Grove and her husband, the actual killings having been committed by some demonic creature summoned from the bullypit of Helli
another thought came to him while he was on this awful track: if Rachel was a witch, might she or her terrible accomplices have worked a spell on the magistrate's health to prevent him from delivering sentencei
Matthew had to admit that, even though there were puzzling lapses of detail in the accounts of Buckner and Garrick, all the evidence taken together served to light the torch for Rachel's death. He knew the magistrate would read the court documents carefully and ponder them with a fair mind, but there was no question the decree would be guilty as charged. So: was she a witch, or noti
Even having read and digested the scholarly volumes that explained witchcraft as insanity, ignorance, or downright malicious accusations, he honestly couldn't say, which frightened him far more than any of the testimony he'd heard.
But she was so beautiful, he thought. So beautiful and so alone. If she was indeed a servant of Satan, how could the Devil himself let a woman so beautiful be destroyed by the hands of meni
Thunder spoke over Fount Royal. Rain began to drip from the gaol's roof at a dozen weak joints. Matthew lay in the dark, huddled up against the chill, his mind struggling with a question inside a mystery within an enigma.