“An absolute wonder. Here’s a slip of a girl who doesn’t swoon at the sight of me, from a family who all insist on learning about the universe for themselves. She comes to the city to study mathematics, even when she must pretend to be stupid to obtain the opportunity. And study she does, so diligently she refuses all suitors, but she snatches a child from my very arms. And she’s concerned about my workload. Whatever am I to make of these Crafters?” And with that, Death disappeared.
The next thing I knew, I awoke in a strange bed, covered from toe to nose in stinking bandages. In the next room, one of the faculty wives was prattling on about spirits and ghosts. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I heard “Salem,” and “witches,” and I was very frightened.
After listening carefully for a few more minutes, I heard enough to realize she was talking about the story Sean had told after they pulled him from the snow bank. Sean had claimed that a snow ghost had come for him during the fire, had snatched him away from the black ghost, and blown him out the window and into the snow. Another woman objected that Sean must have seen me, all aflame in my white dressing gown, and thought that I was a ghost. A third said that of course there were no such things as ghosts, that it was just a little boy’s tale.
Since it seemed that I was not a suspect, I kept my eyes closed and drifted back to sleep. The next time I woke up, it was dark. My first thought was that it was all over, that I had died. Then I moved, and realized Death would not cause so much pain. I started to cry, and a candle bounced into the room. It was followed by Betsy. She stroked my head and calmed me down. She told me that the children were both all right, and that the Professor was arranging for a place to stay. She also said that there was a gentleman to see me, who was claiming to be a friend of my family. Curious to see who might make such a claim, I asked her to help me sit up, then to let him in.
“Good day, my lady. I am Mr. Abdul, a poor apothecary who has corresponded with your father for the last ten years,” he introduced himself. “Your father had asked that I look in on you from time to time. Because I was not aware of your posting, I did not realize until today where you were. I am so sorry that the fire occurred. I hope that you will be well.”
“Sir, the doctor thinks that she will live,” Betsy told him.
“Water,” I croaked, my throat sore and dry. Betsy was reaching for the water glass when Mr. Abdul stopped her.
“I have something here that is better for her than water. I was taught how to make it in London, and I have seen its effect on several patients there. Please. If you would allow me.”
“Yes, sir,” Betsy replied, stepping out of his way. Mr. Abdul, a short bull of a man, reached into his satchel and extracted a vial.
“Here, try this.”
He held the vial to my lips. At first I thought it was water. Then the taste penetrated. It was awful. I wanted to vomit.
“It has a strong flavor, but you will become accustomed to it as you take more of the medicine.”
For a second, I thought that it was poison, and started to scream. He put a finger to my lips and whispered, “Samona said to tell you that it was all right.”
I lay back quietly on the bed. If Mother had told him that it was all right, and he knew her given name, then it must really be all right.
“Betsy, can you find me some food?” It was the last thing on my mind, but it would get her out of the room for a few minutes.
“Yes, Margarethe. Will you be all right with this gentleman, or should I send one of the daughters of this nice family up to sit with you?” Betsy asked, hopeful that I would want a chaperone.
“I think it will be all right, Betsy. After all he is an apothecary.” It hurt to talk that much, but it worked. She curtseyed and exited the room.
“Sir, who are you, and how do you know my mother?”
“I was a friend of your father’s in Europe. When he emigrated, we continued to write letters. He has supplied me with many ingredients for the elixirs in my shop, and I have sent him a few rare items that he required to continue his research. He asked me to look in on you when I moved to Cambridge. Since you and your Professor MacLean are so reclusive, I did not have a previous excuse to call upon you without causing gossip. When I heard about the fire, I came as soon as I finished compounding this elixir. Your charming mother, Samona, visited me last night and asked me to help you. She fetched Willow, who has volunteered to stay in Cambridge until you are well. I have her in my satchel. I told her that I would let her out when the two of you were in the same room. She wants very much to see you,” he said quietly. At this point I knew he was either a true friend of my father or one of the coven. But if he had Willow and was willing to release her in the same room, I knew he could only be a friend.
“When can I see Willow, sir?” I asked.
“How about now?” he said, producing another bottle from his case and pulling the cork. “Now, Willow, here is your mistress. But you may only stay out a minute.”
The shining light that was Willow poured from the bottle and into my lap. I was so happy to see her, I could have wept. I think I did, but there were no tears. I was that dry.
“Margi, are you all right?” Willow asked immediately.
“Yes, Willow, I’m going to be fine. It’s so good to see you. But you have to go soon, or Betsy will be frightened.”
“Yes, Margi, I just wanted to see you.” She started back into the bottle. “Bye, Margi. I will talk to you again in a week or so.” Her shining presence now filled the bottle and not the room.
“Thank you for bringing Willow, sir,” I said dreamily.
“You are very welcome, miss. Sleep now, and take more of the elixir when you next wake up.” Mr. Abdul’s hypnotic voice was quietly commanding. I do not remember him leaving.
When I next woke up, I reached for the bottle of potion and pulled the glass stopper out. I dribbled a little bit on my tongue and laid my head back on the pillow. There was a dull ache all over my body. There was a bell on the table, too. As I tried to put the bottle back on the table, my arm caught the bell and knocked it to the floor. Betsy appeared a few moments later with a tray of food. After the potion from the bottle, I was sure I could not stand to eat. But Betsy persuaded me to try a little, and I found my stomach subsiding. I was surprised to find I was actually quite hungry.
As I ate, Betsy told me the news. More than two weeks had passed since the fire. The bedroom wing of the house had been completely destroyed, but most of the downstairs and the library had been saved by a heavy snow storm. Professor MacLean was in the process of assessing the damage. He had wanted to discharge me, since I couldn’t take care of the children, as badly burned as I was. Kate had cried for two days without ceasing, until her father relented. Sean was back in school now, but everyone was watching him closely, since it appeared that he had set the fire.
I was puzzled. I had slept for the better part of two weeks?
Yes, and after my brief interview with Mr. Abdul, I had slept like the dead for a full five days. Betsy warned me that she would have to change my bandages that afternoon, and that it would hurt. So I promised her not to hate her for tending to my wounds. She left me alone to rest until she could prepare the tray for the lint and linens.
Later in the day, one of the medical-faculty members and Betsy returned to redo the bandages. I was pulled into a sitting position and thought that I was going to scream, the pain was so awful. Betsy, under the watchful eye of the doctor, proceeded to remove the bandages from my hands and arms. The doctor let out a startled yelp when he saw my skin. I thought that perhaps I had gangrene, and would lose a finger or hand. I started to cry, becoming hysterical. Without my hands, I couldn’t work. Then the doctor’s words came through. “How could she have healed so quickly?”
Heal? Quickly? Losing two weeks seemed an awfully long time to me. Then I remembered the potion. I also realized that I was
growing sleepy again. Well, maybe Father had known something all along when he talked about the healing magic.
I really missed the chance to read during the next few weeks while I finished healing, but the faculty wives often met for tea in the house where I was staying. They provided a good deal of education on topics that would never be taught in the College. I learned about how to persuade a husband that my ideas were really his, also which students were paying extra to stay in classes that they could not otherwise have attended, and who was walking out with whom and other gossipy topics of the town. I came to be accepted by most of the faculty wives. This made my life somewhat easier if dull, as it gave me women friends to discuss things with. I even persuaded two of the wives to approach the Professor about the idea of my learning to read during my convalescence. Unsurprisingly he did not like the idea, so they abandoned it. Little did the Professor know that I could read and write English, French, and Latin. I had even begun to puzzle out Greek before the fire.
Two weeks after the College had reconvened, I returned to my job with Dr. MacLean. My notes had been hidden in the chimney of the old house. I was sure they were lost, until Sean tapped at my door one evening.
“These are yours, Ma’ am. I know that you can read, better even than I can. And, unless you give me all the candies and cakes I want, I’m going to tell my father.”
“That trick will only work once, Sean,” was my immediate response. “And once you use it, I won’t be here to walk you to school, or sew your shirts, or to make the cakes you like. If you are to tell your father that I can read, you should make sure it’s over something more important than sweets.” He puzzled this over for a few moments.
“I won’t tell. I’d rather have you than anyone but my mother.” He hesitated before continuing, “But, you will make those good little cakes with the raisins? Please? We didn’t get any at Christmas, because you were ill.”
“Sometime soon,” I laughingly promised. “Now, give me my papers, and off to bed with you. And don’t forget to wash your feet.”
When classes resumed, the Professor called each student to the house individually and asked them about the missing books. So far, all had denied taking the books or seeing anyone else take them. I dreaded the day when James Singer was to appear and be questioned. Little did I know, that both of the Singers were to visit on the first occasion that I left the house after the fire, to attend an evening prayer meeting. When I returned that night, the Professor was waiting for me at the door. I knew immediately that I had a serious problem.
“You deceitful bitch,” he roared. “I have been harboring a snake in the very bosom of my family. You lying, thieving, clumsy cow. I found one of the missing books, and notes from your reading, hidden among your things. You have deceived me all along. You steal my books, you teach my daughter to read against my orders, you make me a laughingstock in front of my students. You will pay for this, Margarethe. As God is my witness, you will pay for your ingratitude.”
“Ingratitude?” I exclaimed. “When have I ever had anything to be grateful to you for? Since the first hour I arrived, I’ve had nothing from you but abuse and ill-treatment. You call me ‘stupid’ every time you speak to me, but I was smart enough to learn everything you had to teach and more.”
This was too much for Professor MacLean. “Be silent!” he bellowed.
I surprised both of us by obeying.
“You have until Friday to leave my house and this city, or I will report this theft to the magistrate and have you whipped and thrown in gaol. I should be able to arrange for a new housekeeper by that time. Until then, you are not to speak to the children. You have infected them quite enough with your rebelliousness. You will remain in your room whenever you are not required in the kitchen.”
I finally realized what had to have happened. In the next two days, with Sean’s help, I was able to confirm it. James Singer had been stealing the books and the tuition money in order to pay some tavern debts. To protect himself from discovery, James had broken in, hidden one of the missing books in my drawer, added my notebook, and departed. He went around to the front door and joined his brother Robert, whom he had forced to be his lookout. They were announced, and James proceeded to tell the Professor that I was selling the books. He knew which book merchant had the Professor’s books. He would be happy to retrieve them if Professor MacLean would provide a list of titles. The Professor had then confronted Sean, Betsy, and Kate one at a time, and drawn out the whole story of my being able to read. Betsy was dismissed, and fled immediately in the face of the Professor’s rage. I had been permitted to stay on for several days only so the Professor could eat.
The next day, it was Robert Singer who returned with the books and a bill from the merchant. I offered him a cup of tea, carefully adding to it a measure of the truth potion that Sean had fetched from Mr. Abdul that very afternoon. When the required ten minutes had passed, I dragged him into the parlor and confronted him in front of the Professor. I asked him all the questions that would lead to my acquittal. Little did I realize that I was still doomed.
“Squire Singer, did not your brother and his friends ‘steal all of the books?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. James and two of his friends took the books.” He replied woodenly.
“Why did they take the books?” I asked.
“They wanted the money the books would bring in town.”
“Did you help them?”
“I stood lookout when my brother put the book in your room. I did not want to do it, but he insisted. He said he would make it even worse for you if I didn’t. I love you and I could not let that happen.”
“You—you love me?” I stammered.
“Yes, I love you, I have since I first laid eyes on you,” he replied.
I was stunned, and didn’t know what to say.
“How long have you known she could read?” the Professor asked.
“Since the second time I saw her in church and noticed her turning her Bible right side up, when Sean knocked it from the pew.”
“Why did you not tell me? You know of my orders.”
“Sir, I could not let the lady be thrown out.”
“Did James short the Professor his tuition?” I asked hastily, recovering from Robert’s proclamation of love.
“Yes, he was greedy. He wanted more than Father would send him for a stipend,” Robert replied.
“Why did he need the money?” I asked.
“So he could impress his friends.”
“Thank you, Robert, that is enough,” the Professor interrupted. “Margarethe, you are dismissed. You have lied to me since the beginning. You are deceitful. Leave my presence immediately!”
“Why did you let James hide that book?” I asked, not finished with this yet.
“I wanted him, and our family name, clear of any taint.”
“What about me? You claim to love me. Why did you let him do this to me?” I asked, my eyes tearing over.
“I thought the Professor would turn you out, that then I could get you to marry me.”
“I will never marry you, now or ever! How could you!”
“I love you.”
“MEN! I will never understand men.” I stormed from the room, I did not bother with the proper by-your-leave, or even curtsey. I was livid.
I fled the house and ended the flight at Mr. Abdul’s.
He let me in, and both he and Willow listened without comment as I related the whole terrible tale. When he prepared a cup of tea for me, I watched carefully so I knew it was just tea. We talked that whole night through. In the small hours of the morning, we developed a plan. I would become Mr. Abdul’s housekeeper, at least until spring, when the roads were fit to travel home. I could continue my studies by borrowing books from my new friends and their husbands. I could also learn more of the Craft, and of medicine, from Mr. Abdul. And until spring, I co
uld keep seeing both Kate and Sean from time to time on the green.
I moved the next day. Mr. Abdul hired a wagon and driver to help me. All my possessions were out of the Professor’s house before he was fully awake. I still remember his yelp when he took his first sip of coffee that morning.
I settled in at the apothecary’s house, and life almost returned to normal. But after only a week, my nemesis confronted me in the market. Mr. Singer begged, nay demanded, the pleasure of my company at the dance that Friday. I refused in the strongest possible terms and fled, leaving my market basket behind. That was a mistake. He had one of the other housekeepers point out the house where I was staying. For the next two weeks it was like being in prison. Here was Mr. Singer camped on the doorstep. Mr. Abdul ran him off two or three times a day. Finally, the poor, patient apothecary demanded that I confront the man. I did so in the parlor of Mr. Abdul’s home while that gentleman remained as chaperone at the back of the room.
“Mr. Singer. How could you imagine that lying about a woman to her employer, telling her secrets, and allowing your brother to steal from her are ways to endear yourself to anyone with an ounce of intelligence or self-respect?”
“Mistress Crafter, please forgive me. I am most humbly sorry.”
“You don’t seem to realize how deeply your attentions insult me. You may have been attracted to me, but it was because you thought I was naive and uneducated. You were attracted to the person I was pretending to be in order to further my studies. You seemed surprised that I don’t care two pence for your large plantation and your fine tobacco. Why, it’s tobacco that caused the fire that almost killed Sean and myself.”
“Please, dear lady, I promise to spend my entire life attempting to expiate my sin. Accept my most humble apology, I beg you.”
“You pester me in the market, making a spectacle of us both. You camp at my doorstep, inconveniencing my friend and employer. What can I do to convince you to go away and leave me in peace?”
The Crafters Book One Page 14