"People do that?" she replied in awe as he turned her back to the boarding plank.
Nick's laughter rang out and did much to relieve the tension of the crew. "I'll show you tonight," he promised with a wink. Then they were standing on the pier of Salem Harbor.
"The village is about a two-hour ride inland," she said. "But I'm afraid I don't know where the livery is." Her eyes scanned the ordered chaos that surrounded them as they walked.
Chris stepped close to Nick's side. "I don't like this," he said. His words were for Nick alone as he gestured toward the docks. An unusual silence permeated the air. No shouts came from impatient captains anxious to be at sea, though many hands moved about loading cargo. No merchant called, enticing the buyer to sample his wares, yet many were about. Only the rats seemed impervious to the strained atmosphere, and their scurry and squeal could be heard as they fought over each scrap carelessly tossed to the ground.
Nick's eyes took in the unnatural scene and he was glad to have Chris firmly planted on Sarah's other side. Instinctively his hand tightened on hers.
"Captain Beaumont?"
Startled to hear his name called in the murky silence, Nick paused, stepping slightly ahead of Sarah. Chris moved to his side, effectively blocking Sarah from view as they watched a tall, well-dressed seaman cross over to them.
"Forgive me for interrupting your passage, but are you not Nicholas Beaumont?"
Nick nodded slowly, and then it dawned. "Sebastian . . .?" He hesitated. "Sebastian Hawthorne?"
"Yes, you old seadog," the man pumped his hand vigorously.
Nick stepped aside and urged a confused Sarah forward. "My sweet, this is Sebastian Hawthorne. He was one of the best captains who ever worked for Beaumont Shipping. Sebastian, may I present my wife, Sarah Beaumont, and our friend, Christopher Carlson."
Sarah smiled as the men shook hands. "Captain Hawthorne, you no longer work for Beaumont Shipping?"
Hawthorne tipped his hat and smiled. "No, madam. Thanks to your husband's clever mind for business, I was able to make my fortune. I have two ships of my own now that sail out of Salisbury."
"And is it business or pleasure that brings you to Salem, sir?" Chris asked.
They watched in amazement as the captain's face turned pale. "I have one last matter of business to settle and then I shall leave Salem forever." His voice was as cold as stone. "A madness has gripped this town, Nicholas. Look closely to those you hold dear."
Chris glanced about and realized that many on the docks had stopped their business and were now standing, watching them.
"The children from the village of Salem were here just this morning searching for more witches," Hawthorne said softly. "Goings-on the likes you've never seen before. And when the absurd spectacle was over, another fifteen were arrested."
"Oh, no," Sarah cried, pressing her hand to her lips.
"But what of the magistrates?" Nick demanded. "Do they just stand by and allow such madness to happen?"
Hawthorne slowly nodded his head. "Even now, adults from the village are sniffing through the streets searching for any of the children they might have missed." He looked over his shoulder and immediately grew uneasy from the attention they were getting. "I have rooms at the ordinary but three streets over," he said quietly. "Let us retire there where we can speak more freely."
Nick gave a slight nod of agreement. He, too, had sensed the growing undercurrent of tension. They had taken only a few steps when they were approached by a very nervous harbormaster
"State your name and your business," he demanded sharply.
"Nicholas Beaumont of Beaumont Shipping in the Virginia Colony," Nick replied easily. "My wife," he nodded toward Sarah, "and my business associate, Christopher Carlson."
The man relaxed slightly, for the name of Beaumont Shipping was well known along the waterfront. "And you, sir?"
"Captain Sebastian Hawthorne. I work for Mr. Beaumont."
Sarah's head snapped up with surprise, but she remained silent. Why had the man lied, she wondered? Did he not want the harbormaster to know of his own good fortune, or had his words to her been the lie?
She looked up at her husband. His eyes were dark and blank, but neither he nor Chris offered words to contradict the captain's story.
The harbormaster waved them on their way and Sarah felt the tension relax slightly in Nick's body as they followed Captain Hawthorne from the docks. Her own excitement grew as they traveled down streets that carried names she remembered. It mattered not that nothing else was familiar; she was almost home now, and that fact alone made her step grow light.
The ordinary was in view when a shrill scream pierced the air causing Sarah to clutch Nick's arm with a start. Turning, she found her sister-in-law Elizabeth Wittfield, descending from a horse-drawn cart.
Sarah's heart swelled with joy. She had thought it would be another day at best before she would see her home, her family. But the fates had delivered Elizabeth to her here and now. Before Nick could even realize what was happening, Sarah had darted across the street to greet her sister.
"Elizabeth," Sarah cried with excitement. "I'm home!"
Elizabeth screamed again, a bone-chilling scream that compelled everyone within earshot to come running.
An arms' length away from embracing, Sarah stopped short. Elizabeth was cowering away from her, pressed back against the cart and shaking in fear.
"Elizabeth," she said gently. " 'Tis I, Sarah. Didn't you get the message I sent?"
Elizabeth shook her head wildly. Her eyes scanned the crowd, coming to settle on the magistrates who had rushed to her aid. "She's a witch," she screamed, pointing her long, thin finger at Sarah.
The crowd about the two women drew closer, effectively blocking Nick. Fear ate at him as he struggled to get to Sarah. But Captain Hawthorne grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Wait," the man hissed. "The magistrates are there. Be still or we shall all be arrested."
Nick struggled to remain calm, while his heart demanded he rush in and save her. "What will they do?"
"Watch," Hawthorne whispered. "Watch, but say nothing."
"Elizabeth . . ." Sarah's voice began to tremble. "Don't you remember me? 'Tis Sarah."
"I know you well, you whore of Satan!" Elizabeth screamed. "You're a spawn of the devil, and a murderer besides."
Sarah shook her head in confusion. "Elizabeth, I never killed anyone. I was kidnapped from my bed. I was thrown into a ship and sold into bondage."
"Murderer," Elizabeth shrieked. "Sold into bondage, you say, when you wear a dress like that?"
Sarah looked down at her plain black velvet gown and knew she had erred greatly. She had completely forgotten how quick her Puritan neighbors were to condemn the unusual. "Elizabeth, 'tis the way they dress in Virginia."
"Virginia or hell, what be the difference?" Elizabeth's voice gained conviction. "You practice sorcery and killed your own brother."
Sarah felt her knees grow weak. "Samuel is dead?" she stammered as her heart pounded loudly in her ears. "It can't be."
"This is enough," Nick spat. "She doesn't need to listen to this. Chris, get back to the ship and tell them to be ready to weigh anchor."
"No," Hawthorne demanded, causing Chris to halt midstride. "I've seen it before and you'll lose her forever if you follow that plan. Trust me, I know what I am about."
Nick gritted his teeth. Every nerve in his body was taut with anger. But he stilled his motion and prayed Hawthorne was right.
Elizabeth's tortured laugh ended on a sob. "You killed him as sure as I am standing here. You took the shape of a sleek black cat, and when Samuel went to tie you in a sack, you bit him. Your body might have landed in the river, but not before you sank your poison into him."
"Elizabeth, I loved Samuel. I would never do anything to hurt him."
"He was tortured by your evil presence," Elizabeth hissed. "His skin burned with fever and his mind saw you at every turn. Yours was the name he cursed, Sarah Townsend," she scream
ed hysterically. "Yours was the name he finally called from his deathbed."
"But he was my brother. I loved him," Sarah cried softly, unable to contain her tears.
"Love," Elizabeth spat. "You know not the meaning of the word. We took you into our hearts and home and you repaid us be giving my babies to the devil and killing your own brother. I condemn you, Sarah Townsend. You are a witch from the blackest part of hell and I'll have no part of you. You should be hung."
"That's right, I saw it too."
Stunned by the news of her stepbrother's death and the vicious words that had been heaped on her, Sarah turned mutely toward her second accuser.
Ann Tate, their widowed neighbor, slipped closer to the shaking Elizabeth. "I heard Samuel Wittfield condemn her with his dying breath. And I was there when she turned into a cat for the first time so many months ago. While her brother and this good woman prayed for her safe return, she's been flitting about the countryside doing the devil's business."
"No," Sarah insisted, shaking her head as tears coursed down her pale cheeks. "I was kidnapped and taken to Virginia." Desperately her eyes searched the crowd for Nick.
" 'Tis of no consequence," Ann spat. "With my own eyes I watched you change into a cat, and with my own ears I heard your name on your dying brother's lips. Thomas Hawkins, did you not just tell me this morning that your cow's been acting queer?"
The man took a tentative step closer. "That it has."
"And you Jacob Potter," Ann called. "Did you not say that just yesterday the gate to your yard broke when you pushed it open?"
"Aye, that it did" came the reply.
"Then who do you think has been doing this evil mischief?" Ann challenged feeling the hysteria building, feeling the power of control. "You are a witch, Sarah Townsend, unfit to breathe the same air as good, God-fearing people."
"Hang the witch," the shout began. "Take her to the gallows now."
The magistrates quickly stepped forward, and two grabbed Sarah's arms. "There'll be no haste in this matter. She'll have a trial like all the rest."
"Hang her" came the chant. "Burn the devil's mistress."
Nick turned to the captain. "I don't care what you say, this madness has gone too far. I'm getting Sarah out of there right now." He never saw the meaty fist that connected with his jaw, and as his legs gave way and he crumpled to the ground, a blinding light filled his head until the darkness came to consume him.
Sebastian Hawthorne hoisted Nick easily over his shoulder and turned to Chris, who stood with his mouth still agape. "He would have rushed in and only succeeded in being arrested. I'll take him aboard my ship the Fleetwood. You follow them," he gestured to the magistrates that now tugged at Sarah's arms, "Follow from a distance and don't speak to anyone. When you know which jail they put her in, join us as quickly as you can."
Chris could do no more than nod, for the captain had already turned and was striding down the street with Nick's limp body dangling from his shoulder while the crowd, with Sarah at its center, moved in the opposite direction.
Sarah's eyes frantically searched the growing sea of people. Her heart pounded with fear more terrifying than she could have ever imagined. "Nick!" she screamed desperately as they pulled her roughly down the street. "Nick!" But in the multitude before her, the face of her husband was nowhere to be found.
Nick woke to mind-shattering pain and the memory of Sarah in danger. Valiantly he tried to sit, but the ground beneath him swayed with a sickening motion.
"Easy, friend, easy." A hand braced behind his back gave him support, and Nick grimaced with pain as his body shifted upright. He was not on the ground after all, but on the deck of a ship, he realized as his eyes began to focus. His head throbbed, his jaw ached, and when he saw Sebastian Hawthorne kneeling beside him, her remembered all.
"You bastard." Nick pulled away and tried to find his feet. "You let those bloody fanatics take my wife." He stood too quickly and, as his head spun, he lost his balance and crashed to the deck again.
"They have my wife, too," Hawthorne said quietly. "I plan to get her out and sail on the morning tide, but I need your help. If we work together, they can both be saved; if not, then we gamble with the lives of those we hold most dear. I'll be in my cabin if you'd care to talk." He tossed down a leather flask that Nick managed to catch. " 'Tis brandy" was all he said before turning away.
Nick pulled himself against the rail and this time when he managed to stand, he did so slowly and his head stayed attached. The fiery bite of the brandy seared his throat, burned a path clear to his stomach, and did much to ease the painful throbbing in his head. He took one tentative step and then another. Fierce determination seeped into his being and he straightened his body further. Sarah was in jeopardy and she needed him, but first he needed answers. An air of danger surrounded him as he slowly made his was to Hawthorne's cabin.
Hawthorne looked up when Nick flung the door open. "Come in," he invited. "I apologize for striking you so hard. My mate was a bit overzealous with the nine pin."
"And were such theatrics necessary?" Nick snapped angrily, touching the lump that had already formed on the back of his head and then gingerly rubbing his aching jaw.
Hawthorne nodded toward a chair and then made a grand show of lighting his clay pipe. A faint cloud of blue-gray smoke haloed his head and his eyes scrunched against the sting. "More than necessary," he said quietly. "Your life depended on it. As I told Carlson, if you had rushed forth and tried to take your wife by force, the magistrates would have arrested you, too."
"Surely I could have reasoned with them."
"No damn it." Hawthorne jerked to his feet and began to pace. "You couldn't have. What must I do to make you understand that there is no reasoning with these people? They see witches at every turn. Don't you see? They are not struggling to find the truth. Damn it, man, they don't even want to hear the truth."
Nick took the offered chair and pulled it closer to the small table. His anger had turned to fear for Sarah's safety and he knew he'd not rest until he had her back again. "You said they took your wife, too?'
He watched Hawthorne's face contort with pain. " 'Tis been over a month since they took my Jenny." The man slumped back in his chair and drank deeply from his mug. "When I saw you this morning, I knew you were my last hope."
Nick leaned forward. "Tell me everything, that I might understand better."
Hawthorne looked into his mug and saw the bright, laughing eyes of his wife and his own eyes filled with tears. "At first I thought it a grievous mistake. My Jenny was not witch, and we'd been at sea for nigh on two months." Unashamed, he let the tears well in his eyes. "We had landed only that morning. Jenny pleaded with me to take her off the ship for a while, and she's always such a sweet little thing, I couldn't refuse her. We were standing near the blacksmiths admiring a crate of oranges when a cart full of children careens around the corner. I think their pony has run off with them so I rush to stop the cart. A crowd follows and within minutes one of the children has pointed to my Jenny and screamed she was a witch. Jenny was snatched away and taken to jail."
Nick felt a cold dread coil deep within his middle. "Could you do nothing?"
Hawthorne stood and began to pace again. "I went to the harbormaster, but he sent me to the locals. I found where they had taken her and asked to see the charges leveled against her. My God, they filled three pages. I explained as calmly as I could that there must be some error. We had just arrived that morning. For a while I thought the magistrates on my side. If there was a misunderstanding, they wished to get to the bottom it. The produced a girl, Abigail Williams, the minister's niece. When they asked her how it was possible that my Jenny could be guilty of the crimes listed against her when she'd been with me at sea, the girl faltered not one second. She turned her eyes on me and said clear as day that my Jenny's specter did the damage and was I trying to cover for the works of the devil. I waited for the magistrates to set her down and then tell me that Jenny was free." Hawthor
ne rubbed the tears from his eyes. "But it never happened. They believed the child. They believed that my kind, sweet Jenny traveled about the countryside, as a spirit of all things, doing the devil's mischief and I wasn't aware of it. It didn't take long to see that whatever the child said those in authority took as gospel, and any who disputed them were standing in the way of justice. So I came back to my ship alone."
"Each day I go to the trials hoping to find some flaw, some error that can be called forth to free my love. But the days go by and I find nothing."
Nick placed his hand on Hawthorne's shoulder and squeezed hard. "Have you seen her at all? Does she fare well?"
Hawthorne sniffed and tried to regain his composure. "They've let me visit her twice, for just a few minutes each time. It breaks my heart to see her in the squalor they call a jail, and they've cast her in irons. They've cast all the supposed witches in irons." He turned to Nick with desperation shining in his eyes. "You have to help me. I'll go mad if they do anything more to her. And I don't know how to get her out."
"Where is Christopher?'
Captain Hawthorne drew himself erect and wiped his last tear from his face. "I sent him to follow your wife. I've seen it happen enough times – the crowd will follow her to one of three jails. Tomorrow or the next day, she'll be brought before the magistrates and accused of her crimes. They'll ask for her plea." Hawthorne laughed hoarsely. "If she claims to be guilty and offers to repent, they'll set her free."
"What?" Nick gasped.
Hawthorne nodded. "But if she professes her innocence, she'll be cast in irons and taken back to jail to await her trial." The man shuttered. "Too many have already lost their lives at Gallows Hill. I'll not let my Jenny be one of them."
Nick rubbed his hand across his aching forehead. "But if we could get word to her to plead guilty, then all would be saved."
Hawthorne smiled sadly. "You're not of the Puritan faith, are you?" he asked. Nick shook his head and the man continued. "I had the same thought," he said slowly. "But when I begged Jenny, she would hear none of it. 'I am innocent and I'll not say elsewise. I'll not admit to seeking the devil's company, Sebastian.' she said. 'I'm a good Christian woman and I'll not denounce God to save my mortal life, so speak no more of it.' " Hawthorne shuddered visibly. "So now you know the problem, tell me Nicholas Beaumont, how are we going to find a solution?"
Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) Page 29