Bewitching Familiar Page 11

  She nodded that she understood and was rewarded by being released. She turned around to confront a big boy, almost a man, who was more than a little worried.

  “What are ye doing in this godforsaken place? Your name has been linked with the witches. ’Tis only a matter of time before you will be accused, and yet you are here, begging for their attention.” He brushed his hands over his long, fair hair in frustration.

  “Easy, Walter.” She knew him. He was a big, kind boy who went out of his way to help others. She couldn’t remember a specific event, but she knew this. This was Lucinda’s son, Walter Edgarton.

  “’Tis your life that hangs in the balance. And if ye could see the poor lost souls down below us.” He almost wrung his hands.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve come to do. See the prisoners.” Abigail had found her entrance to the jail. “I have some food up on the hill. I know they’re hungry, and I was trying to find a way to get it in to them.”

  “No!” Walter was horrified. “No, Mistress Abigail. They will hang us both if they find out. To feed those accused of witchcraft if they have no money to pay for the food is punishable by being named a witch.”

  Abigail put her hand on his arm, steadying him. He was literally stiff as a board with fright. “Okay, Walter. Okay.” She felt the tension in his arm lessen. “How many are there in jail?”

  “Every day there’s more and more. At least fifty now. The magistrate cannot hear the charges fast enough.”

  “Do you have a key to this door?”

  His eyes widened.

  “Walter, I won’t involve you. If anything happens, I’ll take the rap. I’ll say I bewitched you and lifted the key. But nothing’s going to happen, so I’ll return the key in an hour. I’ll leave it here. I promise I won’t get you in trouble.”

  He inched back from her. “Ye talk so strange.”

  Abigail shut her mouth. She’d forgotten the fact that she was three hundred years ahead in slang. “’Tis something new I’m studying.” She did her best to fumble through the awkward phrasing.

  “I cannot give ye the key.” He shook his head for emphasis. “They would hang me and my family, too.”

  “Leave it here,” she said. She had to trust his kind heart. She had to. “I’m going up to…yon grassy knoll to fetch my basket of goodies.” She felt like an idiot. “Leave the key, and I’ll replace it. You have to do it, Walter. Those people are starving to death.” Before he could argue with her, she hurried back up the hill to the place she’d hidden the basket of food.

  The basket was tucked in a copse of beech trees. Panting slightly from her uncomfortable clothes and the climb up the hill, Abigail ducked into the trees and made straight for the basket. She’d hidden it behind a rock, which required her to lean down a slight incline. So intent on her task was she that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind her.

  She grabbed the handle of the basket and stood up. Brushing her dress back down, she hefted the heavy wicker and turned around. She gave a slight shriek and stumbled backward.

  Samuel’s hand grabbed her wrist and caught her before she fell. “Too busy to meet with me?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Too busy doing what?”

  “How did you…” She didn’t finish when she saw Familiar sitting not ten feet away, a self-satisfied kitty expression lighting his eyes. “You traitor!”

  “Food for the prisoners.” Samuel took one look at the basket and knew its contents. “You’d risk your life to feed the hungry.” Samuel was angry and he reached out as if to take the basket from her.

  Abigail shifted it to her left hand. “Stay away from me.”

  Samuel stopped, his hand in midair. She wasn’t angry at his interference, she was afraid of him. He saw it in her beautiful mismatched eyes. “What’s going on here?”

  “Stay away from me.” Her voice lowered but took on a deadly intent. She’d intended to be calm, to stay clear of him in the future. Never to reveal the fact that she knew his secret—until she could make the charge stick. But her sense of betrayal, the pain of it, was too much to keep bottled up inside.

  “Abigail…”

  “I saw you last night, coming out of the woods. I know what you do in there. Deny it if you will, but I saw you with my own eyes!”

  Samuel stared at her face. “So you saw?”

  Abigail’s heart plummeted. She’d expected him to deny it, at least. To make some explanation. To try to make her believe it wasn’t true.

  “I saw.” She spoke more boldly than she felt.

  “And who else did you see?”

  Real fear began to gnaw at her. He was so cool, so collected. She had evidence that would get him hung indeed. Yet he acted as if he were discussing a football score.

  “I’ll tell the magistrate when I’m ready to.”

  Samuel reached suddenly and took the basket of food. “He won’t bother to listen if you’re already in jail accused of aiding those charged with witchcraft.”

  Abigail snatched the basket back. “That’s my worry. You’re not involved in any of my decisions any longer. Now leave me alone, or you’ll regret it.” She felt as if something inside her was being torn so badly it would never heal. But it had to be this way. She’d made the mistake of caring about someone she didn’t know, and this was the price for such carelessness.

  Samuel stepped back, allowing her to walk past him.

  “If you saw me, then surely you saw someone else?”

  She didn’t want to stop, but she did. There was something in his voice. “What are you saying?”

  “Think, Abigail. I saw no one there that I could identify.”

  She swung around to look at him. “Speak plainly.”

  “They wore masks. I never saw their faces, though I hid in the woods for a long time and waited. You could not have seen my face since I was hidden in the woods away from the light. I was merely wondering how you’d managed to see me in a place I was not.”

  The relief was sweet enough to counter the bitter shame of her accusation. “You were hiding, watching them?”

  “I can’t believe you thought I was part of that…cult.”

  “Oh, Samuel…” She took three steps toward him, then stopped. He wouldn’t want her to touch him. Not now. Not after she’d accused him of something so terrible. “I saw you going back to the Graysons’ with the cloak. You were coming from that direction. I assumed you were part of it.”

  “You honestly believed I would be part of such a thing?” He compressed his lips in a bitter line. “It seems we don’t know each other nearly as well as I thought we did.”

  “Be fair. What would you think? Everything here is crazy. I’m from 1995. There are psychos out walking the streets. People lie about everything.”

  His smile was sad. “Not me. I don’t lie.”

  Abigail felt a twist at her heart, which was almost as painful as her sense of betrayal had been the night before. Except now she was the cause of it. She’d tried and convicted Samuel in her heart, without even asking him the truth.

  “I’m sorry.” She put the basket down and waited. “I jumped to a conclusion that was wrong. Instead of seeking more evidence, I assumed. But I couldn’t come out and ask you, Samuel. I couldn’t. To ask would have put me in danger if it were true.”

  He nodded, the hurt in his eyes lessening somewhat. “I can see that. It did look guilty.”

  Abigail ventured a step closer, hoping Samuel would close the remaining distance. “How did you discover the fires?”

  Samuel gave a small grin. “I heard Silas leaving the house. I was curious as to why he was leaving just after we’d eaten and all. I assumed he was going to spy on someone else, and I thought I could follow him, figure out who the next victim of the accusations will be. So I did follow him, but he was too far ahead of me in the woods for me to actually keep up.”

  Abigail felt her excitement halt. “You lost him?”

  “I did.” Samuel shook his head. “I was tailing him by listening to him. The
n there were others around me.” He went to Abigail, lifting her hand and holding it between both of his own. “I had to duck under a fallen log, and just in the nick of time. Two of them stepped right over me.”

  “Did you see?”

  He shook his head. “Too dark. And then I couldn’t be certain whether Silas had joined the others or if he’d gone on somewhere by himself.”

  “But you think he was there?”

  “I think so. But that doesn’t make it true.”

  Abigail’s smile was contrite. “I see your point.” The touch of his hands felt so good, wonderfully good. Especially since she’d thought he’d never touch her again. But there were hungry people in cells without food. And Walter had left the key for an hour. She pulled her hand back. “I have to go.”

  “No.” He recaptured it, holding tightly. “No.”

  “I am, Samuel. I must. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She took her free hand and touched his face. “Nothing you would want to do.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  She shook her head. “No. We’ve already discussed the fact that if I’m accused, I won’t drag you down with me. You’ll be my only hope to freedom.”

  “Abigail, this is crazy.”

  “I said I wasn’t a witch. I didn’t say I wasn’t crazy.”

  “If they catch you doing this…”

  “I have to make certain they won’t catch me.”

  Chapter Nine

  The key weighed at least eight ounces, and the lock was ancient. Abigail had seen such things only in movies, but she managed to open the door. Before she could stop him, Familiar made a dash inside and darted down a dark, stone hallway. She sighed, giving up on trying to keep the little rat fink safe. As soon as she’d left with the basket of food, Familiar had hotfooted it straight to get Samuel. Even as she thought it, she smiled. He was one heck of a cat.

  She let her mind dwell on Familiar and his antics as she followed the corridor, one hand on the wall to keep her balance in the dark. If she let her mind stray to her surroundings, or the danger she was in, she’d be imagining all sorts of Frankenstein terrors.

  Ahead of her came the rustle of something alive.

  She lifted the basket higher, took a breath and forced herself on. If it was a rat, Familiar would take care of it.

  A low moan drifted down the hallway to her. It was a sound as old as human suffering, and as filled with anguish and hopelessness. Abigail steeled herself for what was to come. Samuel had told her the conditions were dreadful. But she’d never been face-to-face with people who’d been tortured. Could she bear it?

  The rustling came again, like dry bones in the wind. She wanted to speak out, to let the prisoners know that she had come to help, but Walter hadn’t told her if the place was guarded by someone other than himself. She couldn’t risk giving herself away because she was spooked. But where in the world had Familiar gone?

  She kept her right hand on the harsh stones of the wall. When suddenly she reached into emptiness, she stumbled and almost fell. It was as if her hand had pushed through a hole in the stone. Gasping, she struggled to regain her balance. She was almost steady when something clamped onto her hand.

  It was dry bones, cold from the grave, clutching on to her. Abigail tried to pull free, but the hands held her, pulling her frantically closer to the wall. She stumbled again, lost her balance, and fell into the stones. As she twisted her body, her face was pressed against cold bars, and the smell of captivity rose up in a stench.

  “Help me,” the voice whispered from the other side of the bars.

  Abigail thought she’d faint from fear, but she didn’t. “I’ve come to help,” she said. “I have food, but you have to let me go.”

  Her hand was instantly released, and Abigail reached into the basket and brought out cheese and bread.

  “Thank you, thank you.” The hands grasped it eagerly.

  The cell was completely dark and Abigail stood outside it, heart pounding madly. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Goodwife Jenkins. I’ve been in here three weeks without more than a crust of bread. They would starve me into confessing, but I won’t. They will never make me swear to such dreadful lies. I’m wrongly accused.”

  “Eat slowly,” Abigail cautioned. She could hear the poor woman tearing into the bread and swallowing. “I have more.”

  “No more. This will sustain me. There are some who have been held here longer than me. They, too, have not been charged.” The voice grew edgy with panic. “We will all die here before we are even tried.”

  “How many?” Abigail asked.

  “I don’t know. More each day. There are three and four crowded together in the larger cells. The space I have is so small, I have room only to stand. My bones beg to lie down. I can’t even kneel to say my prayers.”

  Abigail swallowed back the despair she felt. “Is there a light down here?”

  “For those who can afford candles.” The woman’s laugh was bitter. “They think they’re better off than we are, but they’ll keep them here longer, running up the cost of candles and food and the few niceties of life. Once their money is gone, they’ll hang just like the rest of us.”

  “Perhaps you won’t hang.” Abigail wanted to be able to give her some reassurances, but she had nothing solid to give.

  “If you’re caught here, with us condemned, you’ll hang beside us.” The woman came up to the bars, reaching out and catching Abigail’s shoulder. “Who are you, Mistress?”

  “’Tis better I remain a stranger to you.”

  The bitterness increased in the laughter. “Better and safer.” The woman withdrew her arm. “Take care, my unknown angel. Watch for the guard. He returns in half an hour.”

  “How can you tell time?” Abigail asked. The area was pitch black.

  “There is routine even in this hellhole. He’ll be back at half past eight, and he carries a lantern.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail said.

  “Thank you. And God bless you.”

  Abigail walked on. In the few cells where there was lighting, the conditions were so appalling that she did not want to look. It took her less than ten minutes to distribute the food she’d brought, and there was not nearly enough to go around.

  “I’ll be back,” she promised the prisoners. “And know that we are working to set you free.”

  Instead of derision and laughter, she was met with silence.

  “How can you help us?” a woman asked. “There is no defense against these charges. We’re doomed.”

  “I don’t know,” Abigail said. “But I got here, with food for you. No one thought I could do that. I’ll think of something.”

  “Hurry out of here, Mistress. And God bless ye,” one of the older women called to her.

  Abigail’s basket was empty, and there was no sense tempting fate. She could do nothing to help the accused. The locks were ancient, but it was beyond her skills to open them. It would take a stick of dynamite to unlock the iron hinges.

  “I won’t abandon you,” she called over her shoulder as she and Familiar hurried back the way they’d come, climbing the stairs to the incredible relief of a warm summer night.

  As she sucked in the sweet air, she felt more than a little guilty. Conditions were deplorable; the plight of many of the people there was beyond desperate. Where was Amnesty International or the ACLU when you really needed them? Where was George Washington, or Thomas Paine, or Ben Franklin, those fathers of liberty?

  “We’re even a good seventy-five years ahead of the father of our country,” she mumbled to Familiar as she locked the door and slid the key back beneath the ivy where Walter had left it for her.

  Darkness had fallen completely as Abigail tucked Familiar into her basket and started toward home. Sally would be raising sand with a full udder and a hungry stomach.

  Samuel materialized out of the night, a tall, dark shadow on the road. She recognized him so he didn’t frighten her.

  “Y
ou’re still alive,” he said with a mixture of relief and disbelief.

  “So far. I think we should spring those people out of that hellhole.”

  “With what? I haven’t exactly seen an arms arsenal around here anywhere. A few automatic weapons and some tear gas and we might stand a chance against muzzle loaders and rocks.”

  “Don’t be so sarcastic.” But she couldn’t help but smile at the mental image his words created.

  “I’ve been thinking about our ritualists.” He paused as they continued hurrying toward her home.

  “Well, spill it,” she said.

  Samuel stopped in the center of the road. “Did you hear something?” he asked.

  “You’re trying to dodge my question.” Abigail had heard nothing. And Familiar, with his head popped out of the basket and his keen kitty ears twitching forward and back, had not heard anything, either.

  “I swear, I thought I heard an owl or something. Probably Indians.”

  “Samuel…” Abigail tried to think of a good threat. He’d come up with a plan and suddenly decided not to share it with her. Probably because it was dangerous. “What were you thinking?”

  He looked down the road, then down at his shoes, and finally at Familiar, who blinked twice. “I was thinking that since Old Brimstone had made such a dramatic appearance in front of Silas Grayson’s house, wouldn’t it be interesting if he actually showed up for a chat with those who think they worship him.”

  Abigail’s grin was as wide as her face. “Brilliant!” She hefted the basket to her hip and reached up with her free hand to encircle his neck. “You are brilliant,” she said, kissing him. “Brilliant and very, very sexy.”

  Familiar’s harsh hiss broke them apart, and just in time. Another tall man came walking out of the darkness toward them.

  “Good grief,” Abigail said under her breath as she recognized Silas himself. “It’s old Sulfur Britches.”

  Samuel wanted to laugh, but he knew better. He took the basket from Abigail and held it himself as they both started walking toward Silas.

  “Truesdale,” Silas Grayson addressed Samuel, pointedly ignoring Abigail. “What are ye doing out in the night with the likes of her?”