‘Thank you.’
‘I also hear you are doing very well for yourself.’
‘I’m doing okay,’ Olivia shrugged.
‘Don’t be so modest, I have read all your books. They are very good and I hear you are coming to be regarded as somewhat of an expert in the field of New England History and the history of Witchcraft itself.’
‘You read my books?’ for some reason that really pleased Olivia.
‘I certainly have, in fact we stock several of them in the museum gift shop.’
‘Wow,’ Olivia answered.
‘So, what brings you to the museum today?’
‘Research actually,’ Olivia replied. ‘Maybe you can help me. I’m trying to find any information about someone called Theodore Beckett. He would have lived in, or close to, Salem around 1695, He may have had a brother named Logan and there is some reference to a girl named Temperance, although I don’t know the exact connection. I think this Theodore may have been a Witchfinder and he has some tie to my family.’
‘That is not a lot to go on,’ Ms Gersten mused. ‘I certainly do not recall ever having come across the name and I have studied the Salem witch trials. Come with me.’
Ms Gersten beckoned Olivia towards a door marked private and she followed curiously. The door opened into a large room which held a study area and several rows of book stacks, holding not just books but manuscripts and file boxes.
‘What is this room?’
‘My personal project for the last twenty years,’ Ms Gersten smiled proudly. ‘It’s a reference room that has as many books and manuscripts and supporting research as I could get my hands on, to do with Salem and Mercy. It’s not just that, it’s so much more. I have also amassed a huge collection of books on witchcraft, magic and the occult. There’s more in the upstairs storage rooms.’
‘Holy cow,’ Olivia’s mouth fell open.
‘Close your mouth girl and follow me,’ she commanded briskly, as she hobbled down one of the aisles. Tapping a box smartly with her cane she looked to Olivia. ‘Start with this one.’
Olivia pulled the box file down and moved to the large rectangular study table, which was surrounded by several chairs and held three or four lamps. Dropping the box down on the table she lifted off the lid and began to carefully remove the files, glancing at the labels.
‘Are these copies of court records?’ She breathed reverently.
‘They certainly are, from Salem. The Curator of the Peabody and I are on good terms.’ She nodded as she took a seat at the table and sorted through the files until she found the one she wanted. ‘Ah, here we go, court records for 1692 Salem Massachusetts. These deal specifically with those appointed by the court as official Witchfinders.’
They sat companionably in silence as they poured through court records, until Olivia finally looked up at the old lady opposite her.
‘Ms Gersten may I ask you a personal question?’
‘You may ask,’ she looked up, peering over the rim of her spectacles. ‘I may not answer.’
‘How did you end up in Mercy? I mean, why did you leave Germany?’
Ms Gersten studied Olivia for a moment before removing her glasses from her nose, folding them up and letting them drop on the thin gold chain they were attached to. She neatly undid the button on the cuff of her silk blouse and pulled up the sleeve to reveal the wrinkled skin of her forearm. There sat a brand, a small line of numbers tattooed untidily.
Olivia glanced up into the old lady’s eyes and swallowed with uncomfortable understanding.
‘You are a holocaust survivor.’
It was more a statement than a question.
‘Who better to understand the persecution of the innocents, than someone who has experienced it first hand?’
She sat back, her eyes distant.
‘I was fifteen when my family and I were taken from our home in Berlin and sent to Auschwitz. When I was on the train, a stranger turned to me and asked me how old I was. I told him I was fifteen and he said to me, when you get off the train tell them you are eighteen. I did not understand at the time.’
She could tell by Olivia’s expression she did not either.
‘At eighteen I was a worker,’ she clarified. ‘As a fifteen year old girl I was no use to them. Telling them I was older saved me from the gas chambers. It was a reprieve not granted to my mother and younger brother Schaja, who was only five years old. I can still see them now after all this time, being herded through the rain to the showers.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Olivia said softly as her heart broke.
‘My father and I were both spared and sent to work, he did not survive six months. A heart attack they said, but I believe he could not live without my mother and never got over the death of my brother. So I was alone. I survived Auschwitz and when we were finally liberated, I left Europe and travelled to America, as far away from the horror of the death camps as I could get, but nothing worked.
I carried my pain with me like a death shroud, until one day, quite by accident, I ended up in Mercy. It was the spring of 1957 and the moment I stepped on Mercy soil I felt at peace for the first time. I could finally breathe. There is magic here, a power that hums just beneath the surface. It is a very special place, I truly believe that it saved me and so I devoted my life to finding out as much as I could about the place I had chosen to call home.’
‘You never married?’ Olivia asked.
‘You are a curious one aren’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, that was a very personal question.’
‘No it is fine.’ Ms Gersten placed her glasses back on her nose and continued to read. ‘I never wanted to marry and have children, as I could not bear to go through the pain of losing anyone again.’
Olivia watched as the old lady turned her attention back to the papers in front of her, effectively closing the conversation, for which Olivia was glad. After all, what could she possibly say that would not sound trite or inadequate.
They continued in silence for a few more minutes until the old lady startled Olivia out of her reverie with a satisfied exclamation.
‘Here we go,’ Ms Gersten spoke in a pleased tone and passed the relevant list to Olivia.
Her eyes scanned down the paper until she got about midway down and then she read out loud.
‘Appointed by the court of Oyer and Terminer to be held in the office of Witchfinder Logan Beckett age 33 Theodore Beckett age 28.’
Olivia sat back and breathed heavily.
‘So he was a Witchfinder then?’
‘So it would seem,’ Ms Gersten took back the page and scanned down it. ‘Perhaps we should keep looking, we seem to have stumbled across something of a mystery, as they do not appear in any of the mainstream historical reference books.’
‘I have access to the records of the births and deaths in Salem, going back to the early 1600’s, but they are on the computer and I’m afraid I’m not that good with the darn thing. I usually leave it to my younger members of staff.’
‘That’s okay,’ Olivia brightened. ‘I certainly know my way around a computer, if you don’t mind me looking.’
Ms Gersten looked at her watch.
‘Goodness is that the time?’ She raised her brows in surprise. ‘The computer is over there in the corner, the login details are on a notepad next to it, as it was being used earlier. I’m afraid I have to go and see to my staff, but if you are happy to go ahead on your own I will check in on you in a little while.’
‘I’m more than fine,’ Olivia smiled. ‘I certainly know my way around a research project.’
‘I’m sure you do, would you like a coffee? I could have one of my student helpers bring you in one?’
‘That would be great,’ Olivia said gratefully.
‘How do you take it?’
‘Sweet and light,’ she replied absently, her mind already on her task as she made her way over to the computer.
She logged
in as the old lady hobbled out of the room, leaning heavily on her cane, and she began the arduous task of tracking down the elusive Beckett family.
By the time Ms Gersten came back to check on her it was several hours later.
‘I’m sorry Olivia but it is getting late and I need to lock up and get home.’
Olivia glanced down at her watch and her eyes widened in surprise to see it was gone eight o’clock.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she stretched to ease the crick in her neck, ‘I didn’t realize how late it was.’
‘It is no problem,’ she waved off her apology. ‘I hope you found something useful?’
‘It's a start,’ Olivia covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. ‘Theodore Beckett was born September 16th 1664 in Salem Village, to Matthias and Emmaline Beckett. Logan, Theodore’s brother, was five years older than him and born in 1659. It seems Temperance was their younger sister, much younger. Theodore was twelve years old when she was born and from the dates I believe his mother may have died giving birth to her. Temperance died when she was nine, but I can’t find out how and Theodore it seems, was killed in 1695 when he was trapped in a burning barn. Apparently he was killed in the fire but his remains were never recovered.’
‘Well,’ she smiled, ‘you certainly do know your way around research.’
‘It’s what I do,’ Olivia shut down the computer and picked up her notes. ‘Thank you for helping me with this Ms Gersten.’
‘Renata,’ she corrected her. ‘I believe you’re old enough now to call me Renata, and it’s my pleasure.’
‘Renata,’ Olivia smiled as she collected her things. ‘I’ll let you know what else I find.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
By the time Olivia stepped out into the crisp night air she was almost staggering in exhaustion. All of a sudden everything just caught up with her and she realized with a start that not only had she barely eaten anything that day, but that she hadn’t slept in nearly thirty six hours. Yawning so badly she felt her jaw click, she bypassed all the happily giggling children out with their half full candy baskets, barely sparing them a glance.
Once she reached her car she could have quite happily crawled into the back seat and gone to sleep. Winding the windows down to let the cold air in and cranking up the music, she pulled out of the parking spot and headed home, praying she wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel and kill herself, or worse someone else.
5.
Salem Village, 1695.
Theo looked up from the flickering lamplight at the rattling of the latch and closed his journal abruptly. After a few seconds he let out a relieved breath and relaxed the tension in his shoulders. It was just the wind tugging restlessly at the barn door. For the moment he remained, as he preferred, alone. Dipping his hand into the deep pocket of the cloth jerkin he wore, he pulled out his most prized possession, a stick of lead wrapped in string.
He’d traded his bible for it, with a passing traveller. He closed his eyes momentarily, his fist tightening around the innocuous object. His father would turn in his grave if he knew. Shaking his head at the thought, he settled himself on a low bale of hay, tucking the lamp more securely atop another bale so it wouldn’t topple and catch light.
Slipping a leaf of paper free he pressed the lead to the sheet and began to sketch in quick confident strokes. The face which took shape was one that had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember. He did not know who she was, but he could draw every line and curve of her face with his eyes closed. Her hair was a deep, dark, pleasing brown which fell in loose curls, spilling over her slim shoulders and down her back. Her eyes burned gold, their depths seemed to go on forever and her rose colored lips were soft and full, curved into a small half smile.
It was the first time he had put her likeness to paper. It felt strange to see her there, staring back at him through layers of black and white and he found himself wishing he was able to put color to the paper. Tracing his fingers along the edges of her face he could hear her voice in his mind, as clear as a bell and as fragile as a whisper.
‘Infernum exists Theo and we have to find it before they do, or all the gateways will fall.’
He did not understand the meaning of her strange words, but he had heard them in his mind so many times he had them committed to memory. He felt as if he knew her, he felt her urgency, her desperation. He felt her love. If only he could find her.
A small frustrated sigh escaped his lips. It was impossible. Even if he knew where to start looking he would never escape Salem. He would never escape his family, his life had become his prison. Maybe he deserved it, maybe it was his punishment for the terrible things he had done. Shaking his head in resignation, he tucked the picture into the pages of his journal.
His head snapped up as the door rattled louder this time and then swung open. Theo stood abruptly as a familiar man entered, dragging two dirty, ragged looking children with him.
‘Stephen,’ Theo greeted him coolly, his expression darkening.
‘Theodore,’ he returned, his tone just as flat and unfriendly.
‘What are you doing here, and who are these children?’
Stephen’s eyes narrowed as they viewed each other with mutual suspicion and distaste.
‘They are accused.’
‘Accused?’ Theo frowned, ‘but they are so young?’
Stephen shrugged nonchalantly.
‘It is not my place to question.’
‘Why bring them here? Why are they not in the jail?’
‘Your brother told me to bring them here.’
‘My brother?’ Theo repeated in confusion. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Again, it is not my place to question,’ Stephen answered smugly, ‘but I hear Nathaniel himself intends to question them.’
‘Nathaniel?’ Theo’s tone went flat as did his eyes, darkening until they appeared almost black.
Nathaniel Boothe was not a man to be trusted. There was something about him that made Theo’s blood run cold. He was always there in the background, quiet and self-effacing. A true man of God according to his brother, but Theo could not shake the feeling that there was something much darker and more dangerous about the man.
‘Aye,’ Stephen stated, as he pulled the girls along by the rope binding their wrists. He shoved them roughly into one of stalls and turned back to Theo. ‘Your brother will be along shortly; he says you’re to keep an eye on them.’
‘Fine,’ Theo replied coldly as Stephen turned and left.
He glanced down at the two young girls huddled in the straw and frowned. They were so young, barely more than eight or nine years old. He turned his back on them and moved back to the bale where he’d been sitting. Picking up his quill he began to write in his journal, trying to ignore the two wary gazes that followed his every move.
An hour passed and still no sign of his brother Logan. He shifted uncomfortably as the two girls continued to watch him in silence. His stomach felt as if it was lined with stones and a great heaviness settled in his chest. He couldn’t shake the uneasiness he felt. Something about this whole situation was wrong. Why would the children be brought here to his family’s farm, miles from the jail in Salem town where all the other accused were held, and why would Nathaniel wish to question them? If they were accused of witchcraft like the others, surely they should be brought before the court and questioned.
Theo found himself turning to study the two girls, and now that he paid attention they seemed to be almost identical. They must have been twins, although one seemed slightly smaller and more delicate. They both had matted dark brown hair which fell to their waists. Their smocks were dirty and their feet bare. They must have been freezing he realized, as the smaller one shivered and her sister wrapped her arms around her, as far as was possible with her tiny wrists bound.
Theo climbed to his feet and reached for one of the saddle blankets. It smelled of horse, but at least it would keep them warm. Walking ove
r to them he watched the taller child draw back warily, grasping her sister tighter. The smaller child just watched him curiously.
‘Here, take it,’ he offered, holding the blanket out to them, his tone soft as if coaxing a skittish animal.
A small dirty hand reached out, slowly wrapping stiff fingers around the coarse material. Nodding in approval Theo got to his feet and moved away, returning a moment later with a small pitcher of water, a tin cup and small item wrapped in muslin.
He poured the water and handed it to the taller girl. Still watching him warily she took a small sip, her suspicious eyes locked on his, as if she were testing the water to see if it was some sort of trick. Satisfied, she passed the cup to her sister and let her drink deeply. He unwrapped the small bundle and pulled out a small chunk of thick bread and cheese, which he broke in half and gave to each of the girls.
‘What’s your name?’ the smallest girl asked as she grasped the food tightly in her small fist.
‘Theo’ his mouth curved into a smile, ‘Theodore Beckett.’
‘Hess,’ the other one hissed, ‘don’t talk to him. He’s one of them.’
‘It’s alright Bridey,’ she touched her sister’s hand gently, as something silent passed between them.
‘Do you know why you were brought here?’ Theo asked.
The smaller one shook her head.
‘Men came to our home,’ she told him. ‘They hurt our mother.’
Bridey’s mouth tightened into a thin line as she watched her sister.
‘Where is your mother now?’
‘Dead,’ Bridey replied coldly.
‘Was your mother accused of witchcraft?’
‘No,’ Hess shook her head again. ‘The man with black eyes, Mr Boothe, he was asking her questions. There was something he wanted and he thought she had it.’
‘What did he want?’ Theo asked, his brow furrowing into a thoughtful frown.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered in a small voice, ‘but he called it Infernum.’
The Guardians Complete Series 1 Box Set: Contains Mercy, The Ferryman, Crossroads, Witchfinder, Infernum Page 8