~
Locked in a small room with no windows, Francie sat in the lone chair and shivered. Given there was no hearth in the dark and damp chamber, she wrapped a blanket about her shoulders and awaited her fate.
The telltale rasp of the key in the lock brought her alert, and she glanced at the door, just as the commander of the night watch, Mr. Stuart, carried in a tray with a covered dish. Behind him stood Cager, holding a rucksack.
“You have a visitor, Miss Osborne.” Mr. Stuart set the meal on a side table. “Mr. Tyne brought you a small bundle of your belongings, which your father thought might make you more comfortable, until Judge Story decides what to do with you.”
Unable to bathe, brush her hair, or change her dress, she bowed her head in shame, as never had Cager seen her so low. Focusing on her dirty slippers and torn hosiery, ruined when the men of the watch dragged her from her home, bound her wrists and ankles, and none-too-gently threw her into the back of a wagon, she resolved to discourage Cager, because she could not risk endangering him.
“Are you not going to welcome me?” Cager squatted at her feet and peered into her eyes. “Are you all right? Are they treating you well?”
“As can be expected, under the circumstances.” Embarrassed, she drew the cover over her ragged sleeve and sniffed. “How is my father? They will not let me see him.”
“He is understandably upset, but Madalene and Jean Marc are with him.” He tipped her chin. “We are more concerned about you.”
“I am fine.” Of course, she suspected he knew otherwise, as her empty belly gurgled, and she thought of the little one growing inside her. “And I should eat, so if you will excuse me, I appreciate you bringing my things.”
“Do you really believe that will work with me?” She should have known he would not cooperate. “Francie, look at me.” When she did as he bade, he cast a heart-wrenching expression of sympathy. “I am so sorry I did not insist on taking you home with me, and I cannot fathom why I did not simply pick you up and carry you to my rig.”
“We cannot change the past, and I may have said some things I regret.” Still, she could not let him take up her cause, because that might imperil him, and that she could not abide. “But you should not have come here, as you can ill afford to associate with me. Indeed, I would appreciate it if you forgot about me. Let me go.”
“No.” As he knelt, he took her hand in his. “Marry me, Francie. Be my wife, and let me spend the rest of my days loving you.”
At last, he said the one word guaranteed to sway her in his favor.
It was then she noticed something familiar, tied about his wrist, and she toyed with the strip of pale pink silk. “This ribbon, where did you get it?”
“From the willow tree, in the garden, sweetheart.” Cager smiled. “Where you left it.”
“You thief.” By taking her offering to The Great Mother, he turned the spell on himself. Indeed, she had no way to know whether or not his professed devotion was true or a reflection of her power. In short, was it love or magick? “It was my property, to do with as I chose.”
“So you abandoned it, and I claimed it.” The damn fool man had the audacity to shrug. “What does it matter?”
“You do not understand the significance.” Yet she could not ignore the obvious implications, and she wanted to cry. “Please, leave. Just pretend we never met, as you did not find it too difficult to cast off in May, after we spent the night together.”
He stood and drew her with him. “Francie, I told you, I am an idiot—”
“In that we agree.” When he tried to kiss her, she turned aside.
“Ah, there is my fiery woman.” He winked. “Insult me again, sweetheart, as I missed it.”
“No.” Despite her resistance, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to her forehead, and she sighed as she rested her head to his chest. “Cager, I am frightened. What is going to happen to me?”
“I am going to find a way out of this mess, and you are going to marry me.” He rubbed her back and shoulders. “And when next I sail, you will go with me, because I will never part with you again.”
“Mr. Tyne, your time is up.” Mr. Stuart frowned. “And Rev. Seraphim wishes to assess Miss Osborne.”
“Absolutely not.” Cager pushed her behind him. “Until Judge Story holds the hearing, I will not allow you, or anyone else, to abuse Miss Osborne, in any fashion. Tell Rev. Seraphim to mind his own business, or he could find himself in a world of hurt, because I am not a patient man.”
“Cager, wait.” Francie tugged his arm. In a low voice, she whispered, “Save yourself, and take care of my father. Do not involve yourself in this fight, as history proves cases like mine do not end well.”
“Francie, I will not surrender you, to the night watch or anyone else, over the ravings of a nosy neighbor.” As Cager paused in the doorway, he grabbed the lapels of Mr. Stuart’s coat and shoved the leader of the night watch against the wall. “I hold you personally responsible for her welfare. Should anything happen to her, first I will come for your family, and then I will come for you. Do we understand each other?”
“Aye, sir.” Mr. Stuart nodded. “I will tell Rev. Seraphim that Miss Osborne is indisposed.”
Alone, so alone in her makeshift jail, Francie lifted the lid on the dish and discovered a piece of boiled chicken and some green peas, yet she could not bring herself to eat just yet. Instead, she opened the rucksack and located the tiny box that held the ring Cager gifted her.
Nestled on a bed of snow-white cotton, the poesy bauble beckoned, but she resisted its lure, because she had to be sure his love was genuine and not a product of her spell. Closing her eyes, she centered herself and summoned her abilities. Holding high the box, she cast a charm.
The poesy ring doth devotion signify,
On a sparkling emerald the faithful can rely.
All others the bauble spurns,
If murky the stone turns.
As the heart is true, and gold is pure,
Let a green stone endure, and your love is sure.
Satisfied her magick could provide the answer she required, she studied the ring and tried but failed to put it on her finger, perhaps because she did not want to know the answer to her quandary, at least, not yet. So she replaced the lid on the box and returned it to the rucksack. Some illusions provided comfort in times of sorrow, and she would cling to hers a little longer.
THE BUCCANEER
CHAPTER TEN
In the private chamber behind Judge Story’s courtroom, Cager gathered with Madalene, Jean Marc, Mrs. Boswell, Rev. Seraphim, and Wesley Osborne. Having spent the better part of the previous night trying to figure out a way to rescue Francie, but failing miserably, given the practice of witchcraft was a serious charge with a grave history in America, he could not seize upon a viable explanation for her behavior. So he resolved to kidnap her and sail for the Caribbean.
“Where is my housekeeper?” Madalene folded her arms. “What have you done with Francie?”
“She is being transported to this location, as we speak.” The judge cleaned his spectacles and studied the report. “According to Mrs. Boswell, a concerned citizen living in the same building as the accused, Miss Osborne performed some manner of sorcery, and I would prefer we investigate the facts within these confines, before the story is leaked to the general public, and a riot ensues, which would make it difficult, if not impossible, to conduct a fair and rational hearing into the matter.”
“And then what will you do?” Madalene emitted a sob of woe. “Burn her at the stake?”
“Mrs. Cavalier, those days have long since passed, and we would remand her into the care of Rev. Seraphim for therapy and rehabilitation, until such time as we are satisfied that Miss Osborne no longer poses a threat to the population.” The judge compressed his lips. “But we cannot permit her to simply run amok, given the magnitude of the accusations against her.”
“Therapy and rehabilitation?” A chill of unease traipse
d Cager’s spine, as he envisioned all manner of brutal torments. “And just what does that entail?”
“If you will, Mr. Tyne, I am considered an expert in such things.” Rev. Seraphim stared down his nose. “And I have some experience in reforming those who engage in the dark arts. Indeed, it is the devil’s work, but I can heal Miss Osborne.”
“How?” Cager bared his teeth. “By hurting her?” Then he glanced at the judge. “Sir, I tell you Miss Osborne is innocent of the claims leveled against her. She is a good and decent woman. Indeed, I can personally vouch for her.”
“As can I.” Madalene stepped to the fore. “Francie has lived in my home for more than twenty years, and never has she committed any of the acts for which she is condemned, and I will not surrender her without a fight.”
“My wife is correct.” As Jean Marc drew Madalene to his side, he squared his shoulders. “Although my acquaintance with Miss Osborne has been brief, she has been an exceptional housekeeper, and if you intend to try her for practicing witchcraft, we will hire more than adequate representation to defend her.”
“I understand.” The judge glanced at Mr. Osborne. “Sir, were you aware of any peculiar behavior exhibited by Miss Osborne? Had you any clue that she might have dabbled in unconventional habits, and how did she come by such nefarious knowledge?”
“No.” Mr. Osborne shook his head. “My daughter is an obedient child, and she would never harm anyone. Like my friends, I rebuke Mrs. Boswell’s claims against my Francie.”
Just then, the door flung open, and Mr. Stuart, the leader of the watch, led Francie into the room. Disheveled in appearance, with her head bowed, she looked utterly defeated, and when she lifted her chin, Cager spied a bruise on her cheek. In that moment, his heart sank and rage rode hard in its wake.
“Why is Francie marked?” He clenched his jaw and just stopped himself from pummeling the watch commander.
“She was injured during the initial arrest, when she resisted,” Mr. Stuart replied.
“You shackled her, like a common criminal.” Madalene rushed to aid Francie, as she stumbled on the heavy chains about her ankles. “I demand you release her, at once, else I will not be held responsible for my actions, because she is innocent until proven guilty, and you have no cause.” She shook her fist. “Would you convict her without a trial? Would you hold her accountable when you have not a shred of evidence?”
“On the contrary.” Judge Story arched a brow. “We have the testimony of—”
“—An old woman with an overactive imagination who thinks she saw something odd, at night.” And then Cager flinched, as a bold and brash idea dawned on him, which borrowed from a friend once unjustly accused of committing a murder. As the scheme took hold, he could have laughed at the pedestrian proposition, because it solved another problem for which he had no solution, until that very moment. And the best part was his answer would probably ruffle Francie’s feathers, and that would be the icing on his wedding cake. “But I assert she did witness something rather shocking, although not as she would suppose, yet I am hesitant to declare the facts, out of deference for the ladies.”
“I do not follow, Mr. Tyne.” The judge canted his head. “If you have information pertaining to the case, then you should state it, here and now, for the record.”
“Well, it is rather embarrassing, and quite scandalous, I am afraid.” To add to the performance, Cager shuffled his feet, opened his mouth and closed it, and assumed an air of contrition. Then he tugged Francie to shelter at his side. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Osborne, as I never meant to dishonor your daughter, but what Mrs. Boswell inadvertently witnessed was a tryst, between Francie and I, which became very heated—”
“Cager—no.” Elbowing him, Francie flushed beetroot red, and it was all he could do not to laugh.
“It began when she accepted my marriage proposal.” Cager shrugged, as Francie emitted a soft sob and swayed. That ought to garner a slew of insults, and then he would kiss her silly, later. “We ventured into your garden, to celebrate.” Of course, her father knew better. “But I just returned from a voyage to Port Royal, and we were apart these two months, so we could not contain ourselves. My sincere apologies, Mr. Osborne.”
Madalene gasped, Mrs. Boswell clutched her throat, Francie’s eyes flared, Rev. Seraphim sputtered, and Jean Marc and the leader of the watch chuckled.
“Why did you not apprise us of these facts, from the first?” the judge asked.
“Because, in this day and age, a stain on a woman’s reputation is far worse than a mistaken accusation of witchery,” Cager explained. “And I never anticipated that Mrs. Boswell’s lunacy would progress to this degree.”
“Well, I never.” The gossipmonger sniffed. “You could be claiming that to excuse her evil doings.” To Judge Story, Mrs. Boswell said, “Make him prove it.”
“I can offer evidence.” Wesley indicated the bag carried by the watch commander. “The ring gifted by my prospective son-in-law is packed with Francie’s belongings.”
“And you are again mistaken, Mrs. Boswell. I did not propose to Miss Osborne out of some misplaced sense of obligation or to satisfy your twisted curiosity.” Cager took Francie’s hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “I did so because I love Miss Osborne.”
In that instant, Francie squeezed his fingers.
“But Miss Osborne chanted something,” Mrs. Boswell asserted, as Mr. Stuart located the emerald ring and held it high.
“Oh, Francie was singing.” Cager rocked on his heels. “But it was not what you might call a conventional tune, as hers was the melody of passion.”
Another chorus of mirth circulated the judge’s chamber, but Francie stared daggers at him, and how he adored her for it.
“She invoked your name, sir.” Mrs. Boswell pointed at him. “I heard it, clear as a bell, more than once.”
“Aye, that she did, and I am sorry we disturbed you, Mrs. Boswell.” He nodded in agreement. “But Francie often calls out to me when I make love to her.”
Jean Marc burst into laughter, and the leader of the watch removed the cuffs from Francie’s wrists.
“Given the hour, I was not wearing my glasses.” With an expression of doubt, Mrs. Boswell tapped her cheek. “I suppose I could be mistaken.” Then, to Cager’s surprise, the gossip held her belly and giggled. “But I would have donned my spectacles for a glimpse of that.”
“Well, it would seem this whole affair is naught more than a tragic misunderstanding.” Judge Story crumpled the report. “Mr. Stuart, please, take off the leg irons, as Miss Osborne is free to go.”
“Wait.” All of a sudden, Rev. Seraphim drew an ornate, brass aspergillum from his coat pocket and spattered Francie with what Cager presumed was holy water. “Well, that proves Miss Osborne is not a witch, as she should have burned, immediately.”
“Have you no shame, sir?” Madalene pulled Francie into a protective embrace and daubed her cheeks with a handkerchief. “And you dare accuse her of practicing sorcery.”
“Oh, Wesley, I am so sorry for the trouble I caused. Can you ever forgive me?” Then the busybody hiccupped. “And when is the wedding, as I should like to send a token of my esteem?”
Quiet fell on the room, and Cager tensed, as he had not anticipated that query. If Francie did not offer a suitable response, then her liberation could be short-lived. Broken and defeated, she cast a pitiful half-smile, peered at each person present, and then stared directly at him, and he braced.
“October.”
~
Safe and sound in a second floor guest room at the mansion in Beacon Hill, which Madalene insisted Francie occupy, she sat at the vanity and brushed her hair. A soothing soak in a hot bath did much to ease the tension investing her shoulders, but she still knew not what to make of Cager’s proposal, and she needed to clarify a few things before she gave her formal consent.
“Francie, are you unwell?” Madalene carried a small container into the chamber. “I knocked, but I became
concerned when you did not respond. I brought some salve for your injuries.”
“I did not hear you.” Francie yawned but started, as Madalene knelt on the floor. “Mrs. Cavalier, what are you doing?”
“It is Madalene, or have you forgot, dear friend?” With care, she rubbed the ointment into Francie’s raw flesh about her ankles. “I have known you all my life, and you have served me for just as long. Also, I am your sister, as you have been to me. Do you not think it time I waited on you, when you need me?”
“But it is not proper, as you are the mistress of the house.” Still, Francie resisted not, as the inflamed skin about her wrists calmed beneath Madalene’s attention. “Why do you welcome me back into your home, when you know the truth about me?”
“Surely, you jest.” As tears streamed Francie’s cheeks, because she could not contain the emotions wreaking havoc within her, Madalene paused and sat on her heels. “When I was but five, you fashioned a necklace for me, out of dried flowers, and whispered a blessing, which I remember and can repeat, to this day. When I was eleven, you sat by my bedside, as I suffered a horrid fever, and chanted an invocation of protection, over and over, that I might survive. When I was six and ten, you held me after my grandfather died, and you sang a gentle plea for comfort and succor. Francie, given all we have shared, did you honestly think your abilities escaped my notice?”
Stripped bare of her secret, a burden she had carried for years, and yet sustained by acceptance she had never known, Francie slumped forward and wept without shame, and it felt so good. Yielding the fear and humiliation of the past, she welcomed the much prayed for affirmation, and she cried until she had no more tears to shed. For her part, Madalene simply brushed Francie’s hair.
“I suppose I should not be surprised, as you were always inquisitive.” Standing, she stretched her arms and inhaled a deep breath. “But I am tired.”
The Buccaneer (Pirates of the Coast) Page 8