Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  The judge’s gavel hit the desk with multiple thuds that echoed around the room. “Sit down all of ye, ye’ll have yer say. Mr. Blair have ye any questions for the witness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then proceed.”

  Damn. Katherine’s mouth crimped in annoyance. Be done with it. Hang the harlot.

  “Mistress Shankins. Did you see Mistress Morgan kill Edwin Duncan?”

  Nona’s face paled. “Nay, but--”

  “No more questions your honor.”

  “Step down,” the judge ordered. “Any other persons with suit to execute may come forth at this time.

  “I Franklin Gazettee have evidence for the court.”

  Katherine watched her surprise witness step up to the stand. She smiled, pleased.

  “What say ye?”

  “The truth, your grace. The truth in written hand by the defendants’ own father.”

  John Blair slammed his hand on the table before him. “I object. He is her guardian and of no relation,” he said sharply. “And I have no knowledge of such a parchment.”

  The judge flicked his fingers, beckoning both men forward.

  Katherine watched Blair and Franklin stepped up to the magistrate.

  A bubble of glee, like the fizz of champagne, intoxicated her spirit.

  Franklin handed him the note. The note she knew told of Elizabeth’s guilt. The parchment she’d acquired from Tisdale.

  The judge read the paper and handed it to Blair.

  The attorney’s gaze swept over Elizabeth then he turned and went back to his seat.

  Yes. Katherine’s confidence spiraled upward. It had been well worth a tumble beneath the sheets with Tisdale, to see that wretched look of panic shattering the little witch’s cool composure. Poor lass, her lips tremble.

  The judge handed the Undersheriff the parchment and ordered him to read it.

  “On this first day of June, I Jonathan Tisdale, guardian of Elizabeth Morgan, in all good conscience, must tell ye of her wrong doings. Unbeknownst to me until recently, my ward drugged my patients before they saw me.”

  Tension began to build around her. Man whispered to wife, wife to friend and the noisy chatter grew.

  “Silence.”

  The sheriff continued. “As a user of herbs, Elizabeth mixed up a tea, which she served that rendered them helpless, while she robbed them of their possessions. Under my care, my patients awoke and knew naught what had happened, for the drug, made them hallucinate. She planted the idea that they were without any possessions when they had arrived. This I say with much regrets. J. Tisdale.”

  “Tis a lie,” Elizabeth shrieked.

  Katherine’s gaze shot over to her. So she speaks. Do tell what does she have to say?

  “Mistress Morgan are ye ready to speak, or does ye attorney still speak on yer behalf?” the magistrate asked.

  Elizabeth stood rigid with anxiety. Her fingers gripped the pulpit. “I…”

  Katherine flipped open her fan and fanned her face. Poor dear, her voice shakes with fear.

  Blair rose from his seat. “I shall continue on her behalf.”

  “What say ye Mistress Morgan?” the judge asked.

  Elizabeth’s face clouded with what appeared to be uneasiness. “May I speak with my attorney?”

  The magistrate nodded and gestured vaguely toward him. “Mr Blair.”

  Katherine fidgeted in her seat.

  She wished she could hear the whispered words the two spoke.

  Blair retraced his steps and sat behind his desk. “We are ready to proceed, your grace.”

  “Ye may continue.”

  “Mr. Gazettee. How did you come by this parchment?” Blair asked.

  “I--he gave it to me, he did.”

  “Why? Why you? Are you and Mr. Tisdale acquaintances?”

  Franklin looked flustered. His gaze swept toward Katherine. She shot him a look that promised a dagger to the heart if he didn’t keep her part of the little scheme out of it.

  “Mr. Gazettee the court is waiting on your word. Are you and Mr. Tisdale acquaintances?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then I ask again. How did you come by the note?”

  Katherine held her breath. If he dares blurt out my name, I shall see him permanently removed from this earth.

  Franklin blinked nervously. He swallowed. Stress lines formed on his brow. “‘Twas delivered by a servant girl.”

  Katherine breathed a sigh of relief.

  The cad. He shakes so, ‘tis evident to all he lies. ‘Twill be the last time I’ll hire him.

  She brushed an imaginary thread from her bodice to distract from the anger building, then focused her attention back to the front of the courthouse.

  With an elaborate gesture, Blair’s hand sliced the air before him. “So you lied when you said earlier that he gave the note to you? Seems you and he are of the same cut cloth, liars and thieves both,” he said more to himself, then aloud.

  The judge cleared his throat. “That will be enough. Mr. Blair. I suggest ye refrain from personal opinions and stick to the business at hand.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Blair shuffled through some papers on his desk, then turned back to Franklin. “Since you and Mr. Tisdale are not acquaintances there is no proof that this parchment, you have brought before the court, was written by Tisdale’s hand. I myself could have written it and sent my servant to your door.” He faced the crowd and grinned. “I have no further questions for this witness.”

  Katherine clenched her hand in her lap. Now that Tisdale’s parchment was of no use, what could she say that would get the crowd stirred up? She leaned over to the woman next to her. “I’d like to know about the strange happening in the house, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that strange music. I heard it raises the dead. Makes me shiver with fear.” Katherine’s body quaked.

  “The devil in disguise, that’s what she be,” the woman whispered back.

  Katherine leaned closer. “And that hair, ’tis the color of the moon. Have you ever seen skin so deathly pale? She wears the color of the departed upon her cheeks with such natural grace ‘tis as if ‘twere meant to be her only color.”

  Katherine fanned her face with nervous energy. “Yes, she is an evil one.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “There’s evil under this roof,” she shouted in agreement. She threw up her hands. “Dear lord, I feel the spirits around me.”

  People began to talk amongst themselves, a conglomeration of muddle voices. Soft at first and indistinguishable, then built to a loud crescendo of enraged screams and wrathful shouts.

  “Me babe is deaf because of her music.” The redhead’s ruddy face flushed to a deeper crimson shade.

  “Silence!”

  “She killed him all right, just like she drugged those people!” a voice shouted with malice.

  “Look. She still wears Duncan’s blood upon her dress!”

  “Hang the devil’s worker.”

  “Silence, I say.” The judge pounded his desk. The gavel crashed the wood with a shattering thud.

  Katherine grinned.

  And as shadows of suspicion and fear crept its way across the souls of those around her, a warm glow of satisfaction wrapped its euphoric web around her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next morning dawned dark and dreary.

  Elizabeth stood by the cell’s small slotted window and listened to the rain pelt the roof.

  Outside the howling wind and heavy drizzle weighted down the branches of the apple trees and tossed leaves upon the ground.

  Feeling as limp and broken as those branches, that tried so hard to fight the angry storm over which they had no control, Elizabeth sighed and turned from the window.

  Tears misted her eyes. She shivered from the cold dampness that seemed to seep deep into her bones.

  She glanced to the straw mattress that served as her bed, then to the untouched wooden bowl of po
rridge. ‘Twas a far cry from the lavish home, she’d spent over three months in; a home she’d hoped would someday be hers, with a family she’d hoped she’d share it with.

  She plopped down on the filthy mattress

  What a fool she had been to think Philip loved her. She closed her eyes to shut out the pain, but all she could see was the horror and hate upon his face when he’d accused her of killing Duncan; of the mistrust in his eyes when she’d handed him the fever remedy.

  Her throat constricted. Tears fell down her cheeks, leaving a salty trail upon her lips.

  Staring up at the cold stone ceiling, thought batted her tired mind.

  She would leave him. No matter how much she loved him, she would leave.

  She would not be his mistress. Nay!

  She dried her eyes.

  He had done her a good service by not showing up at the courthouse.

  Oh, she knew he dared not leave William’s side, and she hoped the child fared well; but standing alone in that pulpit without a friendly face in the crowd, she realized she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She wanted a family, a home and a child of her own flesh and blood; a tie that would never abandon her. A child he could never offer.

  Muffled voices hovered outside her door. The sound of a metal bolt clanged in its latch and the heavy crude door creaked open.

  Philip stood in the hall.

  She blinked with surprise and struggled to her feet. “William?” Her heart pounded with fear.

  “Is well. The fever has broken.”

  A flush of relief washed over her. “Thank the good Lord.”

  “May I come in?”

  Wet, his brown three-tier collard overcoat lie plastered against his body. He removed his hat. Water dripped from the tan narrow brim and splashed to the ground like splattered tears.

  “‘Twould be uncharitable of me to refuse.” She gestured him inside. “But please forgive my quarters and my appearance.”

  He shot her a look of mute appeal and stepped through the portal. The door thud shut behind him.

  Dark shadows surrounded his eyes. His face appeared haggard, tired. His cheeks hollow.

  Her chest tightened.

  His gaze swept the cell. His hand curled around the brim of his hat in a tight fisted ball. “‘Tis dreadful. I will speak to his Excellency and--”

  “Nay. ‘Tis my own folly that has brought me to this place.”

  He crossed the room. His brow wrinkled in vexation. “What nonsense do you speak?” He flung his hat to the mattress.

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Perhaps ‘twas me who killed Duncan.”

  He clasped her upper arm and shook her. “Nay, I believe you; he was alive when you left him.”

  The concern in his eyes gave her hope.

  “‘Twas my mount which kicked him and made him fall. Perhaps--”

  “‘Twas not your fault.” He reached into coat pocket and pulled out a gold cross. “See here what I have found.” He grabbed her hand, pried open her fingers and dropped a chain in her palm.”Tell me to whom it belongs and we shall have our murderer.”

  “I have never --”

  “Use your gift Elizabeth.” He peered deeply into her eyes.

  She stared in disbelief.

  A wonderful feeling enveloped her, as though a ray of sunlight had broken through the dark clouds and lit her soul.

  “I believe in you,” he said softly. “And… I am sorry.” His chin sunk dejectedly into his chest.

  Her eyes misted. Quickly she wiped her face lest he see her cry. “I will do my best.”

  With lumbering steps, she walked to the window and stared outside.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the cross she held in hand.

  The cool wind brushed its fingers against her cheeks; nothing but darkness filled her mind. She opened her eyes and turned toward him.

  He hurried to her side.

  “Nothing. I am sorry.” She held out the chain. “There is nothing.”

  He waved his hand before him refusing the cross. “Nay. You must try harder.” The desperation in his tone weighed heavily upon her chest.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to concentrate. Concentrate though the man she loved stood before her, believing in her gift and in her innocence.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, feel the comfort only he could bestow upon her. She needed that comfort now; now when the world seemed at its darkest.

  She squeezed her lids tighter.

  Nothing.

  She shook her head.

  He touched her arm lightly. “Perhaps you try too hard. Let us talk of other things.”

  Pensive, their steps sluggish, they made their way over to a crude wooden bench and sat.

  Philip leaned back against the wall. “My servant waits outside in the hall with a change of dress. I am sorry I did not think to send one earlier. I was--”

  “I understand. My sincerest gratitude.”

  The displeasure in his eyes as he glanced around the dank cell, lifted. “‘Tis I who should thank you for saving my son’s life.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “‘Twas your tea that cured him, and I shall always be grateful.”

  She smiled and slipped her hand from him. “And the rest of the household?”

  “Mary had but a touch. She too fairs better now, though that other mixture of herbs had her fretting and fussing between reaching for a bowl and a wet cloth for her mouth.” He grinned. “Remind me not to get sick.”

  Oh, how she loved to see him smile. She would miss that smile which brought a light to his eyes and broke through that mask of indifference he so often hid behind.

  Before she could speak, he slid from the bench.

  “I… there is something I must say to you; something that has weighed heavily upon my mind.” He got down on his knees before her.

  Her heart soared with anticipation; blood, rushed in her ears.

  He covered her hands with his and stared deeply into her eyes. “Please, I beseech of you. Favor me with your forgiveness.”

  His non-proposal crashed her spirit, splintering any hope she in her heart. Her gaze darted away, then back. She squared her shoulders in an effort to hide the disappointment that bit at her soul. “You had every right to be angry. I lied to you about my guardian.”

  “Nay. I never should have spoken so harshly. I should have known you could never kill Duncan. I did know it. I was blinded by anger. I let lies told to me by others about your past cloud my judgment.” Tense, he gripped her hands tighter.

  The gold cross pressed deeply into the center of her palm.

  “By your Mr. Skent?”

  His brows shot up in surprise. “You know of him?”

  She slipped her hands free. “Yes. I heard you talking in your study.”

  “Then again, let me apologize.” He bowed his head, then lifted it. “Please understand, when first you came to my home, I did not know you and I had many doubts. Now I realize how foolish I have been.”

  He stood and stared down at her. “Please say you will put this all behind us. When you are free, let us return to my home and start anew.”

  Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to fight the tears that welled in her throat.

  How bittersweet those words that fell from his lips; words that brought joy and sadness to her heart.

  She squeezed the cross in her hand.

  A familiar tingle crept up her spine. She closed her eyes. In the darkness, she saw a face.

  “Find the woman with the wine-colored birthmark on her forehead and you will have your murderer.”

  ***

  “The court calls Mistress Sallie Rogets to the stand.”

  Elizabeth glanced from the Undersheriff to the young woman with the red mark on her face.

  She scanned the crowd and saw Philip seated three rows back. Anticipation lit his eyes. He smiled and Elizabeth felt a moment of hope. Seeing him there comforted her spirit. She gripped the railing a little less tight
ly.

  “What say ye Mistress Rogets?” John Blair asked, as he rose from his chair.

  “I…” Sallie’s gaze darted around the room. She wrung her hands nervously in her lap. Her eyes widened when they took in Philip’s presence. “I…

  He discretely raised his clenched hand, flicked open his fingers and her gold cross, dangled before him.

  “…have a confession,” Sallie muttered quickly.

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. The lock of hair, wrapped around her finger, slipped free from her grasp.

  A murmur rose from the crowd.

  “You confess to what?” Blair asked.

  Sallie’s facial muscles twitched. Her breathing quickened. “I killed Edwin Duncan.”

  Her shrill declaration of guilt evoked the crowd’s surprise and brought an explosion of chaos to the courthouse.

  “Silence.” The judge shouted above the indecipherable chatter. “Silence.” The gavel hit the desk with a responding crash.

  Relief lifted the heavy weight off Elizabeth’s chest.

  Philip smiled and she thanked him with her eyes and all of her heart.

  “Twas an accident.” Sallie cried out, her face pale with distress.

  “Tell all, Mistress Rogets,” the judge ordered in a booming deep voice.

  “I came upon him in the barn talking to Mistress Morgan. He was angry when she… she turned down his advances. One of the horses bit his hand. That’s how the blood came to be on her dress.” Sallie’s voice quivered. “After Mistress Morgan’s horse reared up and Duncan fell, I ran to see if he were dead, but he was still breathing. He… he got up, we argued about him liken the Mistress.”

  Sallie broke down and cried. “He hit me…” She sniveled and wiped her cheeks, then continued. “He grabbed my throat.” Her gaze lifted from the judge.

  Elizabeth noticed she once again glanced in Philip’s direction, and she knew they both realized how the chain had come to be in the barn.

  “Mr. Duncan died from a blow to the head. How did that occur?” John’s brows arched in question.

  “I were afraid, and --”

  Impatient, Blair interrupted. “How did you kill him, Mistress Rogets?”

  “With a shovel!”

  A gush of appalled discussion escalated among the crowd.