Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  She knew she must try not to worry. One thing at a time. "Go forward and do," Giles would tell her. It was good advice, and she sat up straighter, glancing casually around the boat.

  It seemed for a moment as though her heartbeat had stopped, then it started up an agitated pounding. Her vision blurred and all sounds grew muted. Was she seeing visions?

  No. Just before the ferry left its mooring, a lean, dark figure rode his horse on board.

  Nicholas Blaize had followed her.

  He slid down from his horse and became screened by the crowd. He hadn't seen her yet, but it would not be long. His hate-filled visage scanned every person and his long arms shoved past those he had seen. Slowly he came closer, although his way was hampered and some people complained about being pushed aside so rudely, but still they let him through.

  As Fiona pressed against the rail, her eyes darted around for a means of escape. They soon would dock, and then he would be upon her. She saw no other way—she must go over the side and swim for shore. The water lapped against the ferry, dark and oily. She cast a glance toward the Boston docks, the fishing boats gliding homeward with their catch. Could she make it? She knew how to swim; her sailor father had seen to that.

  No one sat near or looked at her, but Blaize had come much closer. He was engaged in an altercation with a burly passenger; however, when he turned around, Blaize would find her. This was her chance while everyone stared and called comments to the arguing pair. Dropping her shawl on the seat, Fiona drew a deep breath and slipped between the rails.

  The water hit her with an icy shock; then it closed above her head. She struggled furiously, hampered by her long skirts and leather shoes. At last her head cleared the surface and she gasped air and coughed. The ferry had gone past her and no one seemed to have observed her plunge. A pang of fear swept her when she saw that the shore was farther off than she'd thought. She also felt the current, strong and swift, going out to sea.

  For a while, she fought the water with every ounce of strength and willpower she possessed, until she was so weak she could hardly lift her arms or even breathe.

  She still had not reached shore when once again the water closed above her head and the icy dark engulfed her.

  Fiona felt land beneath her, dry sand, and a rough warm arm supporting her. A voice spoke in her ear as she opened heavy-lidded eyes.

  "Eh, lass, be ye all right?"

  Fiona stared up at the night sky filled with stars, then strained to see the dim forms hovering on the dark beach. There was murmuring among them… and also a strong smell of fish. Fiona coughed.

  "A strange catch we make today, eh, mates?" a voice rumbled from the shadows.

  Fiona struggled to sit upright and the man holding her repeated, "Easy, lass. How do y'feel?"

  "I—I think I'm all right. What happened to me?"

  "The little fish has a voice." There were several laughs and a shuffling movement on the sand as a lamp was raised to shine its light on her.

  "We saw ye floundering in the water," said the bearded man kneeling at her side. "Fainted ye had and close to drowning when we hauled y'out."

  Fiona coughed again and was patted on the back.

  "Has she spewed up all the river that she swallowed?"

  "Oh, that, yes, I think so."

  A youth stepped closer, garbed like the rest in stocking cap, hip boots, and long, oiled jacket. "What is your name, miss? Do you live in Boston?"

  Although shivering and wet, Fiona felt her brain begin to work, and she answered briefly. "My name is—is Mary Ware, and I fell off the ferry on my way to visit Boston."

  That was enough for them to know just now. She glanced fearfully around the almost deserted shore and wharf but saw no sign of Judge Blaize. Her dive into the river must have gone unnoticed. However, it had nearly proved fatal. She didn't know what else she could have done. In another minute, Judge Blaize's vengeful gaze would have fallen on her. If only she knew what had transpired between him and Giles!

  "Can ye stand, miss?" her rescuer asked. "My name's Tim Rooney, and I'll be glad to take ye to my missus. We lives right close."

  Fiona hesitated. "I hate to bother you."

  "Is there anyone who will be searching for you?" the young boy asked.

  "No one," Fiona managed to reply firmly, and sent up a prayer that it be true.

  " 'Tis dry clothes and warmth ye need first before any questions." Tim drew Fiona to her feet, then shrugged out of his oilskins and draped the yellow coat around her shivering form.

  "Very well. Thank you all s-so much. I owe you my life."

  There was a chorus of deprecating remarks and then farewells as Fiona and her rescuer trudged across the beach. She held the man's burly arm and proceeded as fast as she could manage to a row of small, neat homes facing a quiet stretch of beach and river.

  As Tim approached his house, he bawled, "Betsy, love, see what I have caught today besides fish." Laughing, he thrust back the door and swept Fiona across the threshold.

  The warm, lamplit room was plainly furnished but very crowded, with a trestle table taking up nearly all the space. Three children and a freckle-faced young woman sitting there all gaped at Fiona, spoons suspended above wooden bowls, supper ignored as they marveled at the bedraggled stranger in their midst.

  "Meet Miss Mary Ware, a poor lass who fell off the ferry. She's wet and cold and hungry, too, I'd wager." Tim waved a meaty hand. "These be my youn'uns, Fanny, Jim, and little Bobby, and my wife, Betsy, who will fix ye up, eh, wife?"

  "Of course, Tim." The young woman scrambled to her feet. Like Tim, she had enough sense not to ask questions of the obviously miserable Fiona. "Come into the bedroom, miss. I'll fetch hot water and a clean gown."

  "I don't wish to bother—" Fiona's chattering words were ignored as Betsy led her firmly from the room. In the cluttered chamber, Fiona exchanged her sodden clothes for a rough homespun garment. Her shoes had been lost in the river, and all her money, but Nancy gave her heavy stockings and took the rest of the wet apparel to be dried.

  When Fiona returned to the kitchen, Betsy directed her to a place at the table, shooing the noisy brood outdoors. A hearty fish chowder was served, together with warm brown bread, a wedge of cheese, and a plate of shining apples. Cider in the wooden mugs was hot and spicy, and Fiona found that she felt famished.

  When the meal was over, they asked Fiona where she'd come from and she replied vaguely that she had recently arrived from Ireland and was staying on a small farm across the river. Tim and Betsy said they had been born and bred on American soil so they were both interested in the land across the sea and the long ocean voyage. However, when they observed Fiona's increasing weariness, they curtailed their questions.

  "Tim will take you to your destination as soon as you wish," Betsy said, with a kind smile. "His horse can carry both of you, right, Tim?"

  His whiskered face beamed and nodded. "Indeed, yes. Unless you'd like to rest here longer, lass? Perhaps a nap? Or spend the night? We could fix a pallet by the fire."

  "Oh, no, thank you. You've both done so much already. I never can repay it. I would like to be on my way before it grows too late."

  Betsy told her to keep the homespun gown and return it another time. Her wet apparel was put into a bundle, and with more heartfelt thanks and good wishes exchanged, Fiona was lifted up to ride pillion behind Tim.

  "I have a feelin' ye aren't telling us the whole of it," he rumbled, "but 'tis no matter."

  That was all he said, and Fiona didn't answer. She was near exhaustion now, barely able to raise her head from resting on Tim's broad back. She gave him directions to her cousin's home and was almost asleep as the horse trotted through the lamplit streets now deserted except for the town crier bawling out his news: "Nine o'clock and all's well!"

  After a while, Tim turned his head and shook her arm. "Eh, lass, be this the place? 'Tis mighty grand, I'm thinkin'."

  "This is the right place," Fiona roused to answer. "I just hope my
cousin is home."

  "I'll wait here to make sure." Holding Fiona's arm in a strong grip, he accompanied her to the door.

  This time, it was not the maid who answered, but a slender gray-haired lady who peered out at them.

  "Are you Mrs. Samantha Flaherty?" Fiona quavered.

  The lady nodded, her eyes widening as they swept over Fiona's disheveled appearance. "I am she, but who— are you?"

  "Fiona Prescott, your cousin." And with those gasping words, Fiona collapsed in a heap upon the steps.

  Chapter 26

  "Well, Cousin Fiona, 'tis a most disturbing tale." Her thin, gold-ringed hands twisting in her lap, Samantha Flaherty surveyed Fiona with worried eyes. Though older than Fiona's mother, she had a brisk manner and alertness that, like her bright blue eyes, seemed ageless. Her stylish gown was also blue, and a fine lace fichu at her neck matched the elegant cap upon her neat gray hair.

  Fiona swallowed the last of her hot chocolate and buttered toast, then pushed aside the tray and leaned back against the goosedown pillows in the big fourposter bed. Although she'd protested at this unwonted luxury, the truth was that her strength had been exhausted by the previous day's exertions and it was pleasant for a while to be pampered and made to feel renewed in body and spirit.

  When she'd recovered from her fainting spell the night before, Fiona had found herself in bed, watched over by Samantha and a hovering maid. "Sleep," her cousin admonished. "We can talk tomorrow." Fiona complied without an argument.

  The next morning, while she breakfasted, Cousin Samantha sat beside her and listened as Fiona related all that had happened to her mother since they'd arrived in Salem. She didn't add the fact that she herself was wanted by the magistrates. Samantha might feel uneasy harboring a "fugitive." Nor did Fiona tell the part Judge Blaize had played. She kept to the facts pertaining to her mother, adding only that her friend Giles Harmon had attempted to drive Fiona to Boston until his wagon had broken down.

  "After that, I went on foot," Fiona continued, "but then I had that unfortunate accident on the ferry."

  "The fisherman who brought you here said you'd nearly drowned." Samantha groaned. "I wonder how you happened to fall overboard. Weak and dizzy from your flight, I warrant. My dear, what you have endured! If only I'd been here when you and Ellen first arrived. Perhaps I could have persuaded you both to stay with me until the terrible times in Salem had been resolved. I can hardly bear to think of Ellen in jail, falsely accused of witchcraft. "She put a lace-edged handkerchief against her shaking lips and shook her head.

  "I don't see how you've stood the worry and fear, a sweet young girl like you, alone, friendless… Mercy and Grace acting so deplorably… your father and uncle gone…"

  At the mention of the recent deaths, Fiona had to fight the wave of grief that swept over her, but then she managed to say bravely, "Well, I have had Giles Harmon for a good friend ever since we met on shipboard, and now perhaps the governor will honor his promise made to me at sea that I should seek his aid if ever there was anything he could do to help."

  "Then you certainly must try to see him. Do you wish me to accompany you?"

  "No, thank you. I am sure I can arrange an audience, but I must go at once. There is no time to be lost."

  "Are you recovered enough, child, after your terrible experience in the river? And all the other things—"

  "I feel fine. I never stirred all night and am completely rested, but now I am most anxious to be on my way."

  "I understand, Fiona. After you have seen the governor, I want you to stay with me until this matter has been settled. And when Ellen is free, this can be a home for both of you. She and I were very close as children, and you are so much like her. I've been lonesome since my husband, Joel, died. He owned several trading vessels which I sold upon his death, so I am well provided for and can easily take care of you and Ellen."

  "You are so good, Cousin. Thank you," Fiona murmured. She didn't add that nothing would keep her from returning to Salem so that she could be near her mother and continue the fight to free her.

  Samantha rose and kissed Fiona's cheek. "I am sure Sir William will help you. Otherwise, I would try to seek advice from someone else, but the governor will carry much more weight. I have been told that he is a very energetic man. How fortunate that you know him! I shall let you dress now. I will send Tilly in with one of my gowns, also hat, shoes, and a wrap. We are something of a size."

  She turned back at the door and added, "I certainly regret that Tilly was with me in New Haven when you first came here. That temporary servant I employed should have let you stay. Well, what's done is done. When you are ready, Amos, my coachman, will drive you to the governor's mansion. My prayers go with you, dear."

  Fiona thanked her from an overflowing heart When the door closed, she slipped out of bed and poured water from a pitcher into a china basin, applying the warmth to face and arms. She wished she could have washed her hair, but since that was impossible, she brushed it thoroughly, then donned her undergarments, noting gratefully that they had been cleaned and ironed while she'd slept: camisole, drawers, petticoat, and crocheted stockings.

  A knock sounded at the door and Tilly entered with a kindly smile, her arms filled with a soft pale lilac gown, a short matching woolen mantle, and low-heeled leather shoes. Everything fit well enough and soon Fiona was dressed and ready.

  When Tilly left to summon the coachman, Fiona glanced anxiously in the square wall mirror, wondering suddenly if Governor Phips would remember her. He must be a very busy man and their acquaintance had been brief. Fortunately, the coin around her neck had not become dislodged in the water. Perhaps she would show it to Sir William in order to further jog his memory.

  She moved away, her thoughts turning to Giles with a nagging fear. He should have been here by now, unless he'd run into trouble with Judge Blaize. But would there have been time for them to have an encounter? The judge had followed almost on her heels when she'd got onto the ferry. Was he now in Boston, searching for her like a venemous black snake? Fiona shuddered.

  She felt glad she hadn't given her right name to the fishermen. Tim knew where she'd gone, and the location of Samantha's dwelling, but he seemed canny enough not to divulge her whereabouts to any stranger. And during the day, the fishermen might all be out at sea.

  She drew a ragged breath. One thing at a time. Right now, Governor Phips was her main concern. She sent up a quick prayer for guidance and for her mother's safety, just as Tilly knocked and said the carriage was waiting out in front. Swinging on the soft wool cape, Fiona raised her chin and followed briskly. Samantha stood at the front door and waved goodbye as Fiona headed for the gilt-trimmed coach waiting at the bottom of the garden. An elderly driver clothed in livery of hunters green saluted her with a finger to his cap and a gap-toothed grin.

  Soon they were rattling over the cobbled streets. The town already bustled with activity. Shop owners busily removed wooden barricades from their shop windows. Boys in smocks flung buckets of water in the streets so they could sweep the cobbles clean. Vendors cried their wares: "Hot taters for a penny."

  "Pins and needles. Finest brass."

  "Fresh violets. Won't you buy a bunch?" Church bells chimed almost constantly, tall spires rising above other rooftops. It seemed like a proud, prosperous city, so different from the untended, weed-grown Salem swallowed up in its bigotry and hate.

  However, Boston probably also had a fear of witches and the Salem witch hunt must be well known here. She recalled the terror shown by Thomas, the carter, as well as Samantha's temporary maid. Did Sir William share those views? She had no way of knowing. All she had to go on were his kind words on shipboard: "If I can ever aid you, call on me." Well, now she was going to do just that.

  It wasn't long before the carriage stopped and Amos got down from his box to open the door. "Here we are, miss."

  As Fiona alighted, her eye fell on the street signs at the crossroad: "Green Lane" and "Salem Street." Salem! Was tha
t an omen? Would trouble still follow here?

  No, she told herself fiercely, not unless she faltered in her purpose.

  "That large brick house beyond the fence is the governor's mansion," Amos told her, waving toward a row of clipped yews where a young sentry in bright scarlet paced solemnly up and down, a polished sword gleaming at his side.

  Drawing a deep breath, Fiona stepped up to him and said, "I would like to see Sir William Phips. My name is Fiona Prescott, and he knows me. If you will please tell him—"

  The sentry swept Fiona with an appreciative eye but then shook his head. "I'm sorry, miss. I would be right glad to accommodate you, but the governor isn't at home."

  This was something Fiona had failed to consider, and for a moment she felt daunted. "Oh, dear. When will he return?"

  "I couldn't say exactly. He has gone across the River Charles to a meeting at Harvard College, but tonight there will be a fancy ball here and I know for certain he'll be back then."

  "Could I go up to the house and speak to someone in charge? I would like to leave a message for Sir William. It's very important." Fiona gazed up imploringly, her hands clasped at her throat. "It concerns my mother. You must have a mother, sir. Would you want her wrongfully incarcerated by her enemies?"

  "Indeed not," he gasped. "What happened, miss?"

  "I cannot tell you any more just yet. All I ask is that you let me speak to somebody in charge up there." She waved a vague hand toward the mansion, then gave a sob and turned aside to wipe her eyes on the edge of her cloak.

  "Here now, miss, don't cry! You're so young and pretty… I'll let you go up to the door and speak to Master White." He gave a glance around and whispered, "But make it quick!"

  "Oh, thank you. I, will never forget your kindness."

  The wrought-iron gate with its gilded scrolls swung back and Fiona sped up the tree-lined walk, sparing nary a glance for the myriad flowerbeds and beautifully landscaped grounds.