Fiona sighed tremulously. "You are both so kind. I don't know what I would have done without your help."
Chapter 22
Alone in the secret room, Fiona was only vaguely aware of her surroundings: the narrow cot with its mat and pillow, the plain chair, the small table. There was no window, only a small chink in the roof admitting air.
Mrs. Harmon told Fiona she had some pressing chores but would return later, adding a few words of hope and comfort.
Thanking her, Fiona rested on the cot but couldn't sleep as her mind whirled, considering and rejecting many avenues. Finally, she decided that although she couldn't visit the jail, there still might be something she could do. She rose and listened at the door. All was quiet. The Harmons evidently were occupied elsewhere. No one could stop her from leaving.
Slipping out the front door, she sped across the fields to Aunt Mercy's house. There she came to a hesitant stop beneath a tree in the backyard. She must see Grace alone. Aunt Mercy probably was in the village, but Giles had said he'd seen Grace run up to her room.
As if in answer to a summons, Grace suddenly appeared at her open bedroom window. Above a white bandage draped around her face, her black eyes stared.
"What are you doing here?" she croaked stridently. "There's a warrant out for your arrest—and it's about time, too."
Fiona moved closer to the house, gazing up imploringly. "Grace, I must speak to you—"
"No, witch!" Grace squawked, starting to back off. "Go away."
"Please, Grace, wait—I'm begging you. If you continue with these terrible accusations, you may regret it all your life."
"I won't listen to a witch—"
"Just hear me out. How can that hurt? I'm risking my life by coming here. I know the constable is looking for me."
"Yes, and soon you'll be locked up with your mother. What do I care? You're a witch, and I've always thought so."
"You can't really believe that. I swear I'm not a witch, and neither is my mother. Oh, Grace, how could you cry out on your kin?" Fiona struggled to suppress a sob. "Wasn't my mother always kind and sweet to you? She just wanted to help by fixing your face. You begged her—"
"Ha! Just look what she did to me." Grace tore off the bandage, and Fiona tried not to flinch.
"Your face is badly blistered, but the swelling is already going down."
"The apothecary said I had been poisoned by a mysterious substance and he'd never seen a face so bad," Grace yelled, pounding on the windowsill. "And Aunt El—that witch—did it!"
"But not on purpose. Some ingredient spoiled on our long sea voyage. You must know that such things happen. It isn't anybody's fault. Haven't medical treatments here ever had bad results? People dying in spite of every care? Mother certainly was not trying to harm you. She didn't have to make that salve, but you begged so hard, she finally gave in. Isn't that the truth?"
Grace didn't answer, and Fiona's voice quickened with the most urgent emotion she could summon. "Do you really want to see your poor aunt die, hanged by the neck on Gallows Hill? Her death would be on your conscience to remember all your life." Fiona had to pause and wipe the tears now running down her cheeks.
"Well," Grace blustered, "well, if she's a witch, she ought to die."
"You know in your heart she is not a witch. She's just your aunt and a good, kind person who doesn't deserve such an awful fate." Fiona then made a grave mistake. "As for me—"
At that, Grace roared, "You! You have done all kinds of things—the drying cow, the spilled grain, befriending Rebecca Nurse and her grandchild, bewitching Giles so that he was led away from me."
That was really the important part and both of them knew it. For a moment, their eyes locked in combat, then Fiona drew a shaken breath and spoke, using all her self-control for emphasis. "Grace, if you will speak at the hearing and say you made a mistake, that you were upset because your face had become inflamed, but when you had a chance to think it over, you realized you didn't mean the accusation… if you will retract your words—I promise never to look at Giles again or have anything to do with him. My mother and I will go away at once and you will never see us again."
Grace grew still. "You… promise that?"
"I swear it," Fiona cried fervently, gripping her hands together.
"Well, I don't know… I've seen you kiss Giles. You have turned his head and heart from me."
"Giles does not love me. He's been friendly to my mother and me since we had that long sea voyage together. If your testimony should cause our deaths, he may resent what you have done and become angry. On the other hand, if you declare you were mistaken, he probably will applaud your compassion."
"I'll have to think it over," Grace muttered, and with that unsatisfactory answer, she turned and left the window.
For a moment, Fiona stared blindly at the house. Never to see Giles again! What agony that would be. How could she live with just the memory of his deep, grave voice, the dark, wayward locks of hair he was always pushing from his brow, the steady, gray-eyed gaze that had sometimes quickened with desire when he'd looked at her so that he seemed unable to stop his hands and lips from touching hers. She felt there would never be a man in her life as wonderful as Giles: sensitive, strong, intelligent, and passionate—all rolled into one devastating male.
For a moment she shut her eyes, fighting for control. Giles had said she must be strong now, and he was right. She would do anything to save her mother, even if it meant the end of all her dreams. And of course, that's all they were, just dreams.
As for Giles, perhaps he wouldn't care that much if she disappeared from his life. He had his doctoring, his parents, and Charles, and eventually he Would have a family of his own. He and Grace would become parents and might rub along together as well as many another married couple. Marriage wasn't always a blissful union and a sympathy of minds as Fiona felt she and Giles might have had… if he'd been free.
Fiona sighed and turned away, wondering if her arguments had pierced any of Grace's stubbornness. She would have to contact her again as soon as possible. She walked slowly across the yard, gazing down at the weeds and dusty earth of the neglected garden. No sounds came from the house, but a flight of robins suddenly started up from some bushes and Fiona saw Giles run in from the road.
He brought up short in front of her, his voice tight with anger. "My God, Fiona, are you crazy, coming here? Why on earth did you leave my house? Don't you know it's your only sanctuary? That you're in terrible danger if someone sees you?"
Her nerves raw, Fiona snapped at him, "I had to try to do something, Giles Harmon. You're not my jailer, and I'm not in jail—not yet."
Giles spoke through gritted teeth. "I wish I were your jailer. Then I would see that you stayed put." He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
Fiona struggled in his grasp. "Leave me alone!"
"No, I won't. I can't." With a sudden jerk, he pulled her close into his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a long, desperate kiss.
Instantly a flame leaped through Fiona, blotting out every other sense. With a sob, she flung her arms around Giles's neck and feverishly returned his kiss.
He gasped for air and gripped her shoulders. "Fiona, don't you know how terrible I would feel if any harm should come to you? I don't know how I could continue living."
Before Fiona could do more than moan his name, a roar issued from the window. They sprang apart and Fiona gave a startled cry as she glanced at the house. Grace was leaning out the window, glaring at them. Had she seen them kissing?
Grace verified this by screaming madly, "Witch! You're a liar, like all witches. I'll never believe another word you say again, and I'm going to see you put in jail, where you belong!"
After one swift glance, Giles cried hoarsely, "Come on!" and caught hold of Fiona's hand. Without another word, they sped across the fields to his house and dashed inside.
Mrs. Harmon confronted them in the hallway. "Oh, my goodness, Fiona, where did you go? We were so worri
ed."
Fiona sagged against the wall, panting. She covered her eyes with her arm, saying faintly, "I'm sorry. I went to beg Grace to help my mother—to see she'd been mistaken."
"And will she?"
"No, Grace won't help either of us."
"I'm not surprised," Giles growled. "Grace never would listen to reason if she didn't want to."
"Fiona, you must stay here in hiding until we decide what's best to do," Mrs. Harmon begged. "Please let Giles take you to the secret room."
"Yes, come on, Fiona." Giles stretched out his hand to her, but Fiona moved away.
She spoke steadily to Mrs. Harmon. "Grace saw Giles and me kiss each other, then run off together. Do you suppose she guesses where I am?"
"Even if she does, no one outside the family knows about the secret room," Mrs. Harmon stated firmly.
"No matter if they searched the entire house," Giles said, "they wouldn't find you. The only way you will be caught is if you leave the house again."
"But my mother—isn't there some way I could sneak by a jail window and call to her? Couldn't I go with you tonight? She must be worried sick."
Giles shook his head. "Visits must be approved by Judge Blaize, and then only if the visitor is there to beg the accused to admit guilt, confess sins, and ask for mercy. In that way, a so-called 'witch' might be released, but all her personal property and real estate would be forfeited."
"She would also stand convicted for all eternity and thus endanger her immortal soul," Mrs. Harmon said gravely. "So you see, few of those accused want to say that they are witches."
Fiona shook her head and said brokenly, "My mother never would confess to a crime she didn't commit."
Giles gently took Fiona's arm. "Since I am a doctor, I will be allowed to see your mother, and I will tell her you are safe in our care."
"We'll send some comforts to her," Mrs. Harmon added, "a blanket, hot food…"
"You're most kind. Thank you both. I'll go to the secret room for now. Perhaps some other plan will come to me."
"I beg of you to tell me first, before you act," Giles said with a frowning, worried look.
He led her to the dim, cold parlor, where he pressed a button and opened the panel by the fireplace. Fiona trudged behind him up the narrow staircase. The little room at the top was almost dark, but the lamp was still alight. Fiona sank down wearily on the cot, and suddenly all ability to think or reason was beyond her.
Giles leaned against the wall, surveying her from beneath his long black lashes. "Fiona, this action of Grace's completely destroys the bargain she and I made."
With an effort, Fiona asked heavily, "It does? What bargain?"
"Grace said that unless I took her to the berrying party and stayed away from you in the future, she would denounce both you and your mother as witches. That's why I had to change my plans." With a quick stride, Giles pulled her up into his arms. "Grace knew how much I cared for you and tried to make you think I'd marry her. There never was the slightest chance of that. I've loved you ever since those days on ship when I went nearly mad with desire, but I knew you were so young and innocent, I had to wait—"
Fiona trembled in his clasp. Another time and she would eagerly have sought his lovemaking, but her mother's image haunted her and she put her hands against his chest, tears in her eyes.
"Forgive me, dearest. This is not the time for us. You are worried and exhausted. Rest now, and I'll come back later." He placed a tender kiss upon her brow.
When he had gone, Fiona fell back on the cot, a terrible anguish flooding her. Giles's warm kiss and declaration had been a brief respite, but now she couldn't comfort herself with that. All she knew was that she had failed with Grace, and now her jealousy would be worse than ever. With the bargain between them broken, Grace would show no mercy.
Fiona pressed her hands against her eyes. "Oh, Mother, Mother, what are they doing to you? Are you in a cold, miserable cell, terrified, alone, worrying about me? Is it like the awful dream I had? If only I could see you!" Tears gushed down her face, their salty taste running into her mouth as she sobbed and sobbed. Finally, completely drained, she found relief in sleep.
A knocking at the door awakened her. She jerked up, gazing in bewilderment around the shadowed room, not knowing where she was. What was this place? The Salem jail? Her eyes moved to the narrow cot and the other bare, plain furnishings. She smelled the resinous pine needles in the mattress.
The knocking came again—and she remembered.
Giles called her name and entered carrying a tray which he put down on the little table, drawing it closer to the cot where she sat, trying to throw off the agony that engulfed her.
"It's not much," he said, "beef vegetable soup, corn-bread, and a jug of apple cider."
"Thank you, Giles, but I'm not hungry."
He sat down on the chair and crossed his arms, tilting back against the wall. "I'm going to stay right here until you clean that bowl and plate, young lady. You need to eat to help your nerves and mind and strength. Doctor's orders."
The aroma of meat and vegetables in rich broth drifted from the bowl, and unintentionally, she dipped in the iron spoon and brought it to her lips. "It's good," she murmured after a moment.
When she finally pushed aside the empty bowl and plate, Giles leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and linking his long fingers. "Feeling better? Good. Now, let us discuss the situation."
"I know it's bad," Fiona groaned. "Grace is against us, and so are the townspeople who saw her fiery face and know my mother caused it, no matter that it was an accident. Aunt Mercy is against us, too, since she didn't trust those 'Chinee drugs,' as she calls them. Then there are all those other things that Grace will say we caused through witchcraft."
"I fear your friendship with Rebecca Nurse will also go against you," Giles said, with obvious reluctance. "And the possessed girls were already suspicious and antagonistic when you met them that day in the lane and they saw you holding Rebecca Nurse's grandchild. I don't want to sound pessimistic, but we have to get a clear picture of the situation and consider every aspect. We don't want any surprises."
Fiona's lips trembled as she looked at Giles. The evidence against her sounded overwhelming—and there was more. "Another person hates me now. The worst enemy I have."
His eyes widened. "God, I'd almost forgotten him. Judge Blaize!"
Fiona nodded grimly. "I believe he is very powerful at the trials, vindictive and sadistic, enjoying his effect on all those looking futilely to him for mercy. Mercy! He doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"We have to find a way to thwart the courts," Giles said slowly. "I've been giving this a lot of thought. Sometimes cases are dismissed due to a legal error. I saw it happen once in England when I was summoned to give evidence about a doctor in the hospital. It seemed he had not been properly advised about the accusation."
Fiona's eyes flew wide open. "Could that be possible here? Or something like it?"
"I don't know, but there are so many cases to be tried, and the jury has been assembled in such a slap-dash manner, maybe in the speedy sentencing, a loophole might be found."
"Oh, Giles, how can we find such a loophole?" Torn between hope and dispair, Fiona reached her hands across the table.
Giles clasped them tightly, but he shook his head. "Alas, I am not a lawyer. We need someone in authority to discuss this with. Someone without prejudice."
"Can you think of anyone?"
"Not offhand. I'll have to wrack my brains." Quickly he pressed a kiss upon her wrist, then rose, his gray eyes dark with concern as they rested on her face. "We'll do something. I promise to try in every way I can. Tonight I should be allowed to see your mother and find out when her hearing is scheduled. I shall tell her that you are safe and being taken care of."
"Shall I send a note?" Fiona quavered.
He shook his head. "It might be confiscated. There is a way of writing messages in lemon juice that is invisible until placed before
a flame, so they have grown suspicious of all papers."
"Give her my love, then, and—and say that I am praying for her and feel sure that we shall get her out." Fiona swallowed hard and continued huskily, "I'm very grateful to you, Giles, and to your family. Will you let me know how Mother is, even if it's very late?"
He nodded, his strong face full of love and pity. Quickly, he went out the door.
Chapter 23
Fiona didn't see Giles any more that night, for she fell asleep and didn't wake until dawn. A cold gray light seeped through the ceiling chinks, and by it she spied a folded sheet of paper near the door. She read it quickly, noting that it was from Giles:
My dear,
I saw your mother, and she is holding well with the bravery and strength I noticed constantly on our long voyage. The jails are crowded, but the jailors are not inhuman, and unless an inmate has to be in court, they remove all shackles.
Fiona caught her breath and felt horror suffuse her at the word "shackles." It was almost beyond imagining that her gentle, kindly mother was being put in chains at any time. Swallowing her tears, she continued reading:
I brought a blanket and pillow for your mother and a jar of hot soup which she consumed eagerly, although she protested that they were adequately fed. Amid all the noise of people talking, I was able to get my lips against your mother's ear on the pretext of checking her for injuries. I whispered that you were safe in our house and none of us was giving way to despair or panic. I told her that we were planning a scheme to save her and she promised to keep up her spirits. She sends you her love and begs you to stay hidden. That was the end of our conversation.
Your mother's examination is set for tomorrow morning with just John Hathorne questioning her. I will try to attend, but if I am delayed, I will pay another visit to the jails. So, my dear, please do not leave the house. I am going to let you sleep this morning, as I know you need it.
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