Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  “No need to apologize. We are all tired.” ‘Twas he who should apologize, apologize to Elizabeth.

  Hurrying to Mary’s side, he handed her the parchment. “Go to the kitchen and mix this up.”

  She glanced at the paper, then back at him.

  “But--”

  “Go.” He pointed to the door.

  Would Elizabeth ever forgive him?

  A dull, empty ache gnawed at his soul.

  An hour later Mary returned carrying two black kettles of steaming tea. Quietly she placed the pots down on the table beside William’s bed. “Ye Lordship.”

  He placed his hands on the mattress to keep it somewhat steady as he removed himself from his son’s side.

  Mary hobbled over to him.

  She reached under her apron and pulled out a familiar looking book. “I found this I did.” She opened Elizabeth’s diary to where she had placed a marker then handed the open page to him.

  Confused, he stared wordlessly at her.

  “Me thinks ye had better read it. ‘Tis appears we’ve both judged the lass wrong.”

  His gaze fell to the writing before him. He didn’t recognize the hand but, remembering Elizabeth’s words that ‘twas her mother’s notes, he read the detailed thoughts.

  Finished reading, his heart racing, he snapped the book shut. “Where did you find this?”

  “‘Tis appears as though Master William hid a few of his toys and this book in a cupboard.”

  Excitement coursed through Philip’s veins, pumping his blood. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Aye.” She nodded then wiped her brow. Her face appeared flushed, her forehead damp.

  He placed his hand on her arm. “You are sick.”

  “Nay. Just tired and feelin’ a bit poorly about the Mistress.”

  Concerned by Mary’s ghostly pallor, he gestured she sit.

  “I couldn’t but help overhear ye accuse the Mistress of Duncan’s misfortune,” she said with a sigh.

  Philip shuffled his foot aimlessly. That he had accused Elizabeth and spoke those accusations to her had burned his soul with guilt and surfaced still, through all his worrying of the past hours.

  He had meant to talk to her about Skent’s report; had meant to hear her side of the story. But the hurtful feelings of her possible betrayal had clouded his mind. Anger had pushed him over the edge of any logical thoughts, of the truth, he’d felt deep in his heart, even before he’d read her mother’s words.

  “She couldn’t have done it,” she said softly.

  “I know.”

  “The lass were upset and meant only to get away from the hurtful words said by some of the help. They blamed all the bad happenin’s of late on the Mistress. Why that lass wouldn’t kill a bee ifn’ it bit her.”

  “Who? I demand to know, for they will no longer be in my employ.”

  “Nona, as you know, is already gone. Tessie also gave notice.” Mary fanned the air in a dismissive gesture. “Good ridden I’d say.”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his thoughts on his groom’s death. Duncan’s killer was still at large and he meant to find him.

  William stirred.

  Philip glanced toward the bed.

  Mary rose.

  “Nay.” He stopped her. “Rest. I will see to my son.”

  Hurrying over, he paused by the table beside the bed.

  A spicy sweet aroma wafted from the hot teas.

  “Give him the one on the right. ‘Tis the one to break his fever,” Mary suggested.

  He nodded on her words and dipped the large wooden spoon into the liquid.

  He reached over and gently aroused William.

  A bit bewildered, his son opened his eyes, blinked a few times, but quietly lay amidst his pillows.

  Their gaze’s met.

  Would his son have another one of his spells? A bit apprehensive, he brought the spoon to William’s lips.

  “Drink, my son, this will make you better.”

  Without any signs of throwing a fit, he drank.

  Relieved, Philip said a silent prayer of thanks.

  Mary groaned. “I might be a needin’ a spoonful of that other potion.”

  Philip jerked his head sideways.

  Mary held her stomach.

  Before she could rise, he moved off the bed, dipped the ladle into the tea, which Elizabeth said would rid the body of sickness and hurried to her side. He handed her the spoon.

  With a thankful nod, she drank.

  If only Elizabeth were here to see the trust they put in her.

  “I be a thinkin’… ye’ll need to take that diary to the courthouse, ‘twill help the Mistress’s case some, but --”

  “I know. As soon as William sleeps and I see that you are put to bed --”

  “Ye Lordship nay-”

  “Yes” He helped her from her chair. “I will go and search the barn for some piece of evidence.”

  “Duncan had a liken fer the ladies.” Mary mopped her cheeks and neck with her handkerchief. “Came on to Nona a few times. Heard tell Mistress Wellsworth’s maid had a liken fer him. And there was that other lass…”

  Philip made his way back to the table and dropped the ladle into the tea.

  Duncan a lady’s man?

  That still didn’t explain the blood on Elizabeth’s gown.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised none if’n he hadn’t forced himself on the Mistress,” Mary said, then coughed.

  Yes, perhaps a struggle. Edwin could have fallen, hit his head. The thought bounced across his mind.

  Nay.

  Philip rubbed his taut neck with the back of his hand.

  Elizabeth was no match against Duncan’s strength and he highly doubted she could ward him off, let alone knock his burly frame over. Something else had happened.

  “Besides, the Mistress weren’t interested in Duncan. Even if’n she won’t admit it, she’s in love with ye.”

  Mary’s words snapped him from his thoughts.

  He spun around and stared.

  “Love?”

  With me?

  “Nay.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Now be gone with ye.” She pointed to the door. “Go save the girl from the gallows.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With trepidation, Elizabeth listened to the words of the Undersheriff as he addressed the Court.

  “Oyez Oyez Oyez. Silence is commanded in this court while the justices in East Hampton County on seating upon paying of imprisonment.”

  She stared at the solemn face of the senior magistrate, the judge who would decide her fate. His alligator skin appeared dry, scrubbed red and blotchy. He reminded her of an old bloodhound with his long jaw and rheumy eyes.

  “All manor, or persons having anything to do at this court, draw near and give your attendance.” The sheriff’s rote voice echoed through the silence.

  Surrounded by benches filled by the six other magistrates, the senior magistrate was the center focal point. He sat straight and rigid in his high-backed chair.

  “And if anyone have plaint to enter, or suit to prosecute, let them come forth and they shall be heard. God save the commonwealth of Virginia.” The Undersheriff turned and faced the Judge.

  His cold and condemning gaze met hers.

  Elizabeth face paled.

  He saw her through the eyes of a man who thought all those who stood before him were immoral heathens, guilty, or not.

  “What charges are brought before me?” he asked, his voice as prim as his starchy demeanor.

  The Undersheriff raised a parchment before him. “The indictment reads as follows: Elizabeth Rose Morgan, daughter of Rose Marie Morgan, widowed and remarried to one Jonathan Tisdale is here by charged with the murder of one Edwin Duncan, head stable master of Philip James Ablington, of Ablington Manor.”

  The condemning voice of the sheriff hammered her brain. Murderer! The word screamed loudly in her ears. Her knees shook. She clasped the pulpit’s ledge tighter.<
br />
  “You may proceed.” The judge waved his hand in a desultory fashion.

  “The court recognizes John Blair, attorney for the defendant.”

  A low murmur rose up from the crowd.

  Elizabeth watched her attorney rise and approach the bench.

  He held his massive oarsman’s shoulders back with confidence, his lean, muscular body straight and tall.

  Well schooled, with a keen, inquisitive, analytical mind, he had paid her a visit in the gaol earlier that morn. He had assured her she shouldn’t worry; he believed in her innocence.

  His deep set, acorn-colored eyes beheld her. He smiled and his pronounced forehead seemed broader.

  Though he favored her with a reassuring gesture, it did little to quell the apprehension eating at her nerves.

  “Your honor… though ‘tis common practice for most citizens to defend themselves, I am here as counsel for the defendant and will be speaking on her behalf.” His voice clear and sharp, its rich tenor tone projected authority.

  She was glad Philip had suggested he speak for her; for though she felt like screaming, she was afraid her legs might crumble and her voice betray the fear coursing through her limbs.

  Again, a mummer rose from the crowd.

  The judge hammered his desk, till the crowd quieted. “‘Tis highly an unusual practice.”

  “As you will recall Patrick Henry has been defending numerous cases,” Blair’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he spoke, “a practice that is becoming more prevalent in our judicial system.”

  “She does not have the same rights as the men Henry has been defending.”

  “True, but Lord Ablington, who we all know to be an upstanding, generous, citizen in our community has insisted I represent her.”

  The judge nodded with understanding.

  “So then, as Mistress Morgan’s attorney, and with the court’s permission, I would like to begin.”

  “You may proceed.” The judge waved his hand.

  Blair briskly strode back to a table, picked up a pen and faced the crowd.

  “I am here to prove to this court and all those in attendance that this woman…” with a dramatic arc in the air, he pointed at her “… is innocent of the crime so unjustly accused.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze darted around the room for a familiar face and she saw many— only not the one she longed to see.

  ***

  Katherine entered the courthouse just as a witness was being brought to the stand.

  She had thought to come early so Elizabeth would see her first thing, but this grand entrance was far better.

  Her gaze met Elizabeth’s and she saw the surprise emanating from her eyes. She also saw fear.

  With a purposeful stride, she strolled down the center aisle. The sound of her footsteps bounced off the hardwood floor and whitewashed walls and mingled with the cackling crowd.

  “Order in the court,” the judge demanded. He pounded his gavel against his desk.

  Katherine stopped at the front row.

  A squat bull of a man stood and gave her his seat.

  She nodded her thanks, sat then flashed Elizabeth a sardonic grin.

  “What say ye?” The senior magistrate asked the lanky man who stood in the witness box. “I bid you tell the truth.”

  “Yer grace…” His close-set eyes shifted to Elizabeth, then back to the Judge. “I jest wants me money. She’s a thief, she--”

  “Your Excellency, this is irrelevant. She is not on trial for thievery.”

  Katherine stared at the tall, handsome man with the beautifully proportioned body. Devilishly handsome, his deep timbered voice sent a chill down her spine.

  Whoever he is, I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.

  She eyed his body.

  “Well, if she killed the poor bastard ye all should know she cheated me as well.” The witness wrung his floppy brown hat in his hands.

  “I will hear all those that wish to add to the defendant’s character, good or bad,” the judge replied.

  “Well, then your grace, if I may put some questions to the witness.”

  “Ye may proceed Mr. Blair.” The judge nodded.

  “As I am sure you have heard, I am speaking on behalf of the defendant, Mistress Morgan.”

  Katherine frowned. He takes her side? How unpleasant.

  The witness shook his head. “I heard ya.”

  “Good. Then…” Blair glanced down at his notes. “Samuel Harthworthy, I thought to put some questions to you.”

  “Fine by me. I jest wanna get this over with and get on with me business.”

  Katherine’s gaze swept the crowd and fell upon her co-conspirator. The fat man, who had introduced himself as Franklin Gazettee, sat in the fifth row.

  She’d paid one too many shillings to make sure he attended this trial; and she had better get her money’s worth by him.

  “You rent houses to those gentlemen who can afford your rates, is that not so?” Blair asked.

  “That be correct.”

  “And you would be here today, why?”

  Samuel pointed to Elizabeth. “The thieving harlot owes me money and I’ll be a wanting to collect what’s due fully mine.”

  “Mistress Morgan was your tenant?”

  “Her and that no good father of hers.” The landlord belched then scratched his groin.

  What a gentleman, Katherine thought. Just the type of person Tisdale and that witchy daughter of his would be associated with.

  Blair nodded in agreement. “I am inclined to understand you are due all moneys from back rent. But let me ask you this… Have you ever… or would you in written, or verbal agreement… ever discuss housing with a feme sole--” He paused. “You do know that a feme sole in legal terms means an unmarried woman, which of course Mistress Morgan is?

  “Women ain’t got no place talking men business.”

  “So Mistress Morgan has about as much rights as…” Blair pointed to the windows where a group of blacks looked in from the streets. “Let's say as our Negro slaves? ‘Tis that right Mr. Harthworthy?”

  “Women are only good for one thing.” He laughed.

  “If women have no rights Mistress Morgan cannot be responsible for debts accrued by the man of the household and she is certainly no thief.” The attorney turned to the judge. “I have no further questions.”

  “The witness may step down.”

  “But--”

  “Now,” ordered the magistrate.

  Samuel plopped his shabby hat on his head, stepped from the pulpit and found his seat.

  “The court calls Mistress Nona Shankins to the bench.”

  A giddiness bubbled within Katherine.

  Little Sallie’s friend; what a treat.

  She’d heard all about how Nona hated Elizabeth and feared her. Between her testament and the little surprise piece of evidence about to surface… Her heart raced with anticipation.

  The judge’s droning voice broke through her thoughts. “What would ye tell us, I bid the truth.”

  “Me name is Nona Shankins. Oi was a servant under Lord Ablington’s roof. Oi speak against the defendant.”

  “What say ye?”

  “Well oi’m not saying oi believe in witchery, but--”

  Elizabeth’s face contorted with horror. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I protest.” Blair jumped up from his seat. “This is absurd. Witchery?” he said sourly.

  “Denied. I wish to hear what Mistress Shankins has to say.”

  His face flushed, with indignation, Elizabeth’s attorney sat.

  A murmur rose up through the crowd

  “Silence,” the judge demanded. He nodded for Nona to continue.

  “Oi only knows that since she…” Nona raised her finger and pointed to Elizabeth, “came to the ‘ouse where oi was employed, evil came with ‘er. Why jest recently a fire started out of nowheres.”

  “Your grace…” Blair threw up his hands. “A fire? ‘Tis irrelevant.”r />
  “Mistress Shankins. Ye may proceed. But if ye any evidence, in regards to the death of Edwin Duncan, so state it.”

  Katherine drummed her fingers on her lap.

  ‘Twas a bit of luck Philip’s servant leaving on the very night of the grooms’ death. She never would have spoken against Elizabeth while under his employ. And lucky indeed Sallie and been visiting, and brought the information to her attention, which sent her servant scurrying to the authorities to tell of the horrid news.

  Nona’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “She came racing from the barn, she did that noit, like the devil was on her tail.”

  “I object.” Once again, Blair rose from his seat. “Just because Mistress Morgan was in a hurry doesn’t mean she killed anyone.”

  Katherine shifted in her seat.

  Too bad, I wasn’t in the room when they dragged Elizabeth out the door.

  “Oi found Mr. Duncan, oi did, lying as stiff as a broad ‘e were, with ‘is eyes rolled like ‘e were looking to the ‘eavens.” Nora paused. Her scorching stare pierced the distance between herself and Elizabeth. “‘Twas ‘er that killed ‘im alroit.” Nona’s voice rose shrill with horror.

  How wonderful. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  “Once again, I must object.”

  Katherine glanced at the attorney.

  The magistrate sighed. “Mistress Shankins please refrain from making accusations and just stick with the facts.”

  Nona turned to the judge. “Yes, ye grace. But she’s a strange one she is, ‘er with that black cat of ‘ers. Did ye knows she talks to ‘im like ‘e were gonna answer ‘er back? Calmed that wild beast of ‘is Lordship’s and everyone knows ‘orses are bewitched by the evil ones. And if’n you ever ‘eard the strange music she plays, you’d --”

  “I’ve heard it! Tis the work of the devil.” A woman’s high-pitched voice split the air. “Me sister lived next door to the accused.”

  All eyes turned to the buxom redhead who stood and stared at the pulpit. “‘Tis the devil’s song she plays.” Her heavy breasts strained against her chemise and the skin which hung under her arm flapped as she shook her fist with fury. “Took me babies ears, it did. Poor lad not heard a word since she’s played that horrid sound.”

  “I’ve got me a piece of evidence against her,” a male voice shouted.