When it was over, her father withdrew. He went to his desk, took out his favorite pipe, and lit a plug of tobacco. For a time, he did nothing but puff clouds of thick, stinky smoke into the air and look pensively across the room.
Once he had smoked a fair plug, he said, “When Brendon and I first began, we had but ten men in our employ. Most of them had never held a saw before. They were the leavings from the larger cities, men who needed work and would take most any sort of contract, even one from two scoundrels young enough to be their sons. Some were quite sufficient, but there was this one old loiter-sack who kept cutting the wood unevenly. It was some trouble to determine who it was, as any pit saw requires two men. We had the men switch partners, and the guilt of the one in question became clear. Brendon told the fellow he had one more chance to do the job proper or suffer the consequences. Of course the man failed. We dismissed him on the spot, but when he insulted my dear partner for the offense, Brendon took a split hammer and beat the poor chap half to death.” His eyes glistened with the memory.
“My partner was a smart man, but he was never a nice man,” he continued. “There were times when he was quite rough. Usually with those he considered his lessers. I suppose his son has inherited a measure of the same.”
“Father, he is not some spoiled rake who brawls at The Fisherman’s Fancy. He is…a beast of a man! He was going to kill that girl and her baby.”
He tapped his pipe into a nearby bowl. “I want you to listen to me. You are to go back this afternoon and repair the damage you have wrought. Tell Madam Huxley you have made a mistake.”
Isabella looked at her father with disbelief. “I will do no such thing.”
“You must marry Thomas.” He took her about the shoulders. His glare was a fearsome thing to behold. “I said it before. You do not understand the law, Elly! You are not permitted to hold property. No woman is under the current doctrine.”
“Madam Huxley—”
“It is in her son’s name. Do you not understand? I am survived by no one of this family, save you. When I am gone, this place and everything in it will be auctioned as the council sees fit. If you were in good standing, perhaps they would allow you to stay here until you were to find a husband, but to anger the Huxleys… Do you not see the consequence? Without me, they control this town.”
“You would have me marry one such as him?” Isabella said hotly.
He took one of her hands in his own. “My dearest love. I would have you protect yourself. I would have you protect all those in our house. It may be hard to imagine, but by Thomas’s side, you may yet steer him to a righteous course.”
“A man such as he cannot be control—”
“You will control him, Elly. You will do what is best for you, and what is best for our house.”
Isabella stepped away, seeing the hurt in her father’s eyes and feeling no obligation to sooth it. “I am not at all certain those two things are the same.”
She turned and left the room, marching straight through the hall and down the steps. He called after, but she would not be stopped. She would not marry Thomas, and she would not be told what she must do in her own home.
She had no notion of where she was going. Her legs carried her all the way across the grounds, out the gate, and to the small pasture where they loosed the horses in the afternoons. Beth and Lily were there, as were several geldings from the stable, all of them chewing lazily in the afternoon damp.
Then, quite unexpectedly, she came upon Jacob. There was a water trough round the bend, and he was washing himself using an old bucket. In spite of the cold, he was naked to the waist, rubbing his knee where the wood met the stump. His shirt and coat hung upon the nearby fence post.
“Oh,” she said.
He glanced up. “My lady.”
The circumstance should have embarrassed her, but given how the morning had turned out, she found herself not the least bit flustered. “All done with the repairs, I see.”
There was a grunt of a response.
“My father means well. He wouldn’t have put you up there if he wasn’t sure you were up to the task.”
Another grunt. “Is that an apology?”
Isabella laughed. “I…no.” Then, “What do you mean?”
Jacob dumped the bucket of water, fetched his shirt from off of the fence, and slipped it over his head. He grabbed the bucket and then began walking purposefully back toward the gate.
“I suppose you’re angry with me, too. I cannot seem to please anyone today, can I?” Isabella had broken down in front of her father. She promised herself she would not break down in front of this boy.
Jacob stopped.
“First, I tell Madam Huxley her son is an unctuous beast, then I tell Father I refuse to marry him, and he tells me I must. My entire life is upside down, and now my own servant boy won’t even speak to me.”
Jacob turned, regarding her with an expression that was part disbelief and part censure. The same look she had been getting all day.
“What?” she said. “Speak it, if it be of your mind.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had never spoken plainly with her, not in all the years she had known him. It would not be proper, but in that moment, she cared little for what was proper.
“Tell me.”
“My lady, I—”
She crossed the trail and planted a kiss on his mouth before she realized she was going to do it. His lips were rough and moist, and tasted faintly of the apples from the nearby orchard.
He leaned toward her a long moment. Then with no warning, he stepped away. “You cannot do this, Elly.” It was the first time he had ever used her name.
“I can do whatever I like.”
He smiled at her, but there was no happiness in it. “That is the problem, my lady. You may think as such, but the world does not change simply because you will it to be so.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said haughtily.
“You do without care of consequence. What do you think will happen if you do not marry Thomas?”
“I would think you would be glad on such a thing.”
“In another life, perhaps. One where I still had my leg, and I could earn an honest day’s wage without selling my soul to your father.” He smiled again, and this time it was positively miserable. “No matter what the Lady may say, he is not well. When he dies, my servitude shall be pledged to the Huxleys. And you, if you do not end up a beggar, shall be married to someone much poorer and crueler than Thomas. Whatever futures we may have had were etched in stone long ago. That is the consequence you fail to see.”
“But the Lady said—”
“Lies, Elly. Lies meant to take in a young girl in exchange for payment.”
“I paid no coin,” Isabella said, but her mind flashed back upon the moment in the cellar, the moment where the Lady had made her final demands. Let us speak of my payment, child, and then you shall be upon your way. Isabella had told Jacob everything about her encounter, save that.
“You paid something.”
“I got what I wanted.” No matter how handsome Jacob was, he could be difficult sometimes. “And what is it that you want, Mister Reeds?”
He grimaced. It was a most unhandsome expression. “I want a nice, quiet piece of a land. My own stable. My own horses. If I can live out my days in peace, away from this place, I’ll be happy enough.”
Isabella almost choked. It was the silliest, saddest thing she had ever heard. “Well, if you shall not help secure my future, then you should at least offer me distraction. Fetch the carriage.”
Jacob shook his head. “Mister Sands has more work for me yet. I do not think your father would approve either. Do you?”
She almost caught herself with her mouth hanging open. The sheer nerve of the boy. “Then I should like to go riding.”
“In that?” Jacob indicated her dress. For the morning’s errand, Isabella was clad in her best finer
y: a cream-colored bodice with laced sleeves and a voluminous skirt. Admittedly, not the attire for an afternoon ride.
“I do not wish to argue. Fetch me a saddle.”
“I know not what you—”
“Now, Jacob. Leave me your knife.”
The boy handed over his workman’s blade with a grunt, then began walking toward the stable. As soon as he was gone, Isabella took the knife and cut the skirts from her waist. The rich fabric fell away in strips, leaving her with nothing but a ragged petticoat to cover her legs, and even it did not cover them completely.
When Jacob reappeared at the mouth of the gate, he was carrying a thick red saddle made for a man. He was trying very hard not to stare.
Isabella took the saddle from him and turned at once, climbing over the fence and heading toward Lily, who was the most well-mannered of the mounts.
“Where are you going?” he called.
She waved a hand at him without looking back. “I told you, servant boy. I do what I like.”
Chapter 11
She rode hard and fast, spurring Lily onward as if her troubles were a pursuing bandit she might leave behind. For a time, it worked. Then the path muddied as she entered the forest shade, and she was forced to slow. There came a fork ahead, and she stopped completely, at a sudden and somehow awful moment of indecision. The two branches looked much the same as the two paths in her own life.
Upon one, she saw herself returning to Marianne, groveling for forgiveness and picking up the mantle of the wedding. She saw herself surrounded by great wealth and power, respected by all the members of the town, at wont for nothing when it came to luxury and fashion. She saw herself growing pregnant. Three, and four, and five children with fine, long faces, and thick, dark hair, and the glint of madness in their eyes. Perhaps there would be other children, as well. Half-white, half-negro babes who appeared mysteriously from the stable of pretty slaves the Huxleys kept upon their grounds. She would ignore them, just as she would ignore Thomas’s antics, his abuse, his odd mannerisms and torturous games. She would ignore the blood that ran thick beneath the Huxley house. And one day, if Thomas decided she was no longer his equal, but a plaything to be poked and pricked like all the others, she would ignore that, too, because she had been allowed such a sweet and meritorious life.
Then there was the other path.
A much darker path it was, with no visible end. Perhaps it would be short and brutal. Her father would succumb to his illness, and she would be turned upon the street. Or perhaps he would last a while, and she would grow into an old spinster, with no man to take her. Or perhaps, just perhaps, she would find someone new to marry, someone who would love her, and cherish her, and take her from this awful town.
Whatever futures we may have had were etched in stone long ago.
She didn’t believe that, and no matter what Jacob said, she didn’t think he believed it either. Could he be the one, the man who would love and protect her for all days? He watched her from afar. Served her. Did whatever she asked, no matter the consequence to himself.
Of course, the thought was laughable. He was just a servant, with no more ability to care for her than a dog grabbing at scraps beneath the table.
Yet, the choice remained. Stand by her father on her own two feet, or return to Marianne on her knees.
“So what is it to be, Elly?” she asked the empty road.
The wind picked up in response, a restless gust that crackled through the trees and whispered the promise of another storm. It did not frighten her. She had the love of her father, and she had the love of a young man. No matter how short-lived or silly they might be, they each gave her strength in their own way. Aside from that, she had the Lady’s medicine. The weight of the vial hung heavy against her bosom where she had stowed it, promising at least a longer, if not brighter future.
There was no choice after all. Isabella had made it the moment she went riding into the forest the night before, with nothing but hope in front, and a young servant boy behind her.
She turned Lily about face and began riding back to the house.
Chapter 12
There was a commotion beyond the gate. The patter of running footsteps. The sounds of men shouting and cursing.
Isabella’s first thought was that there had been an accident on the roof, but as Lily cantered in through the gate, she saw that couldn’t be right. The servants were rushing into the house. She tied Lily to the fence and started after them. She got halfway across the grounds when Delia appeared from the front door, her kind face choked with misery.
Isabella swallowed a lump in her throat. “Is it Jacob?” she asked, not wanting to hear the answer and knowing she must.
“No,” Delia said. “It’s Mister Ashford. I’m sorry, darling. He passed on. Just collapsed right there in the kitchen.”
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“It’s your father, dear. Oh my.”
The words were coherent, but their meaning made no sense. Isabella had just seen her father at midday, and he was the very definition of health.
Delia threw her arms round the girl. She might have been expecting tears, but Isabella was too confused to cry. She had used the medicine, had seen her father drink the tea she proffered the night before.
She might have continued to stand there were it not for another shout from inside the house. The hard, gravelly voice of Sebastian Sands. “Leave him be, you old fool. They’ll be wanting a look at him.”
Isabella pulled from Delia’s grasp and stumbled in through the hall. The entire staff was crowded about the kitchen doorway. They were staring at something. When she pushed her way through, the object of their scrutiny became all too clear.
John Ashford lay on his back in the corner. His eyes were open, his face twisted in a grimace. There was vomit on the floor around him. A thin strand of it still hung from the corner of his lips. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing a bloated, swollen neck.
Delia stepped in behind. “He was a sick man.”
“No sickness about it,” Sands barked. “This is witchcraft, it is.”
Isabella fell to her knees, paralyzed by a single thought: the Lady of the Hill had lied.
“Make way, there. Make way in front.”
Tiberius Sloop and two members of the town watch pushed their way through the crowd, followed by Jacob. The boy’s shirt was soaked with sweat, and he was limping badly upon his wooden leg. Isabella realized he must have run all the way to town and back to get help.
“Oh dear.” Sloop covered his mouth with a gloved hand. “Poor John. I see Father Time has caught up to you, old friend.”
“What are you on about?” Sands demanded. “We got a murder on our hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at him. Does that look natural to you?”
“I don’t know,” Sloop admitted. “Where is Doctor Moberrey?”
“We don’t need him. The man was poisoned.”
Sloop’s cheeks bloomed red, his grief turning to anger. “For heaven’s sake, man. What makes you say that?”
“I saw something last night.” Sands’s pitiless dark eyes turned to Isabella. “She put something in his drink. I saw the vial on her. Been consorting with witches, she has. Got all manner of fowl brews and potions.”
Isabella let out a short bark of laughter. She wanted to ask the man if he was insane. Then she saw every servant in the kitchen had turned to her, their eyes wide with mistrust.
“Look at her on her knees, there,” Sands said. “Praying to some unholy beast, most like. Dress all torn up. Been in the woods again, she has.”
“You bastard,” Jacob yelled. The boy had felt the sting of the man’s whip on more than one occasion, but there was clearly no fear in him now. “Perhaps it was you who poisoned her father.”
“Easy to say from one such as you, isn’t it? You’ve been under her spell for months.”
; “This is a serious accusation, Master Sands,” Sloop said. “You understand the penalty for lying to the council?”
The man looked indignant. “‘Course I do.”
“Are you mad? There are no such thing as witches,” Jacob yelled.
“Then why have you been taking her to the wood?” Sands said. “And what’s that potion she’s been using?”
Sloop cut both of them off with the wave of his hand. “Enough. We shall settle this at once. You there, go and search Lady Ashford’s quarters for any sign of treachery,” he said, turning to one of the watchmen. Then, to Isabella, “As for you, dear. I’m dreadfully sorry, but if you will consent to a quick search, we can put this business behind us.”
It took Isabella a moment to find her voice. “No. No, of course not. This is my house! This man works for me!”
“We will settle all of this,” Sloop said, amicably enough. “Let us just please have a look.”
A pair of hands gripped her from behind and pulled her to her feet. The other watchman, a burly fellow near her father’s age, was holding her fast.
“Get your hands off her,” Jacob said.
Sloop pretended as though he hadn’t heard. “My apologies, lady, but this is just a precaution to put the man’s mind at ease.” He ran his hands over her abdomen, his knobbly fingers lingering in all the wrong places. He was smiling when a hand stopped at the side of her breast. “What is that?”
Isabella’s mouth opened, but she could not find the words. A cold and inescapable dread had seized her.
Sloop looked at the watchman. “Retrieve that.”
The man reached into her top, probing her crevices until he found the vial. He held it up for all to see. The crowd gasped.
“The Devil’s work!” someone cried.
“Told you, she’s a witch,” Sands yelled.
What happened next happened very fast.
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