message delivered to the crowd between each scene, building to a finale that will hopefully enricheth us all?'
A stunned quiet reigned. Brightman broke it, with thunder. 'This is outrageous! I don't know from where you hear your faulty information, but we're planning no play on the night of the witch's burning! Our plans are to exhibit morality scenes several nights afterward!'
'And from where do you get this information, preacher?' Winston challenged.
'From a fine woman of thy town. Madam Lucretia Vaughan came to speak with me earlier this evening. She wisheth to afford the crowd with her breads and pies, a sample of which she was most delighted to give.' Matthew had to wonder if that was the only sample the woman had given the lecherous rogue.
'In fact, ' Jerusalem went on, 'Madam Vaughan hath created a special bread to be offered at the burning. She calleth it 'Witch Riddance Loaf. ''
'For God's justice!' Matthew said, unable to hold his silence an instant longer. 'Get this fool out of here!'
'Spoken as a true demon in training!' Jerusalem retorted, with a sneering grin. 'If thy magistrate knew anything of God's justice, he would have a second stake prepared for thee!'
'His magistrate... does know God's justice, sir, ' came a weak but determined voice from the parlor's doorway.
Every man turned toward the sound.
And there—miraculously!—stood Isaac Temple Woodward, returned from the land of the near-dead.
'Magistrate!' Matthew exclaimed. 'You shouldn't be out of bed!' He rushed to his side to offer him support, but Woodward held out a hand to ward him off while he gripped the wall with his other.
'I am sufficiently able... to be out, up, and about. Please... allow me room in which to draw a breath.'
Not only had Woodward climbed out of bed and negotiated the staircase, he had also dressed in a pair of tan breeches and a fresh white shirt. His thin calves were bare, however, and he wore no shoes. His face was yet very pallid, which made the dark purple hollows beneath his eyes darker still; his scalp was also milk-pale, the age-spots upon his head a deep red in contrast. Gray grizzle covered his cheeks and chin.
'Please! Sit down, sit down!' Bidwell recovered from his shock and motioned to the chair nearest Woodward.
'Yes... I think I shall. The stairs have winded me.' Woodward, with Matthew's aid, eased to the chair and sank down onto it. Matthew felt no trace of fever from the magistrate, but there was still emanating from him the sweetish-sour odor of the sickbed.
'Well, this is quite amazing!' Johnstone said. 'The doctor's potion must have gotten him up!'
'I believe... you are correct, sir. A dose of that elixir... thrice a day... would surely awaken Lazarus.'
'Thank God for it!' Matthew pressed his hand to Woodward's shoulder. 'I would never have let you get out of bed, if I'd known you were able, but... this is wonderful!'
The magistrate put his hand on Matthew's. 'My throat still pains me. My chest as well. But... any improvement is welcome.' He squinted, trying to make out the faces of two men he didn't know. 'I'm sorry. Have we met?' '
Bidwell made the introductions. Neither Brightman nor Smythe stepped forward to shake hands; in fact, Matthew noted, they stayed well on the other side of the room.
'Some wine, Magistrate?' Bidwell pushed a glass into Woodward's hand, whether he wanted it or not. 'We are so very glad you've come out the other side of your ordeal!'
'No one more glad than I, ' Woodward rasped. He sipped the wine, but couldn't taste a hint of it. Then his gaze went to the preacher, sharpening as it travelled. 'In reply to your comment concerning God's justice, sir... I must say that I believe God to be the most lenient judge... in all of creation... and merciful beyond all imaginings. Because if He were not... you would have found yourself called to His courtroom on a lightning bolt by now.'
Jerusalem braced himself to make some cutting reply, but he seemed to think better of it. He bowed his head. 'I humbly apologize for any remark that might have caused thee distress, sir. It is not mine wish to offend the law.'
'Why not?' Woodward asked, taking another tasteless drink. 'You've offended... everyone else hereabouts, it seems.'
'Uh... pardon, please, ' Brightman spoke up, a little nervously. 'David and I ought to be going. I mean no offense either, Magistrate. We both wish to hear about your experience with the witch, but... as you might well understand... the ability of a thespian to project lies in the throat. If we should... um... find difficulty, in that area, then—'
'Oh, I didn't think!' Woodward said. 'Please forgive me. Of course... you don't wish to risk any health complications!'
'Exactly, sir. David, shall we go? Mr. Bidwell, thank you for a wonderful dinner and a gracious evening.' Brightman was obviously in a hurry to leave, fearing that any throat affliction might doom his play-acting. Matthew was eager to know more about Linch or Lancaster or whatever his name was, but now was not the time. He decided that first thing in the morning he would seek out Smythe for the rest of the story.
'I shall join thee!' Jerusalem announced to the two men, and both of them looked further stricken. 'It seems we have much to talk over and plan, does it not? Now... concerning these morality scenes. How long are they to be? I ask because I wish to keep a certain... shall we say... rhythm to the pace of my message!'
'Ahhhh, how magnificent it is... to be free from that bed!' Woodward said, as Bidwell showed his guests and the pest out. 'How goes it, Mr. Winston?'
'Fine, sir. I can't tell you how gratified I am to see you doing so much better.'
'Thank you. Dr. Shields should be here soon... for my third dose of the day. The stuff has... burned my tongue to a cinder, but thank God I can breathe.'
'I have to say, you seemed at a dangerous point.' Johnstone finished his wine and set the glass aside. 'Far past a dangerous point, to be more truthful. I'm sure you had no way of knowing this, but there are some—many —who feel Madam Howarth cursed you for handing down the decree.'
Bidwell entered again, and had heard the last of what Johnstone had said. 'Alan, I don't think it's proper to mention such a diing!'
'No, no, it's all right.' Woodward waved a reassuring hand. 'I would be surprised if... people did not say such a thing. If I was cursed, it was not by the witch... but by the bad weather and my own... weak blood. But I'm going to be fine now. In a few days... I shall be as fit as I ever was.'
'Hear, hear!' Winston said, and raised his glass.
'And fit to travel, too, ' Woodward added. He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes, which were still bloodshot and bleary. 'This is an... incident I wish to put far behind me. What say you, Matthew?'
'The same, sir.'
Johnstone cleared his throat. 'I should be going myself, now. Robert, thank you for the evening. We shall... um... have to discuss the future of the schoolhouse at a later date.'
'That brings something to mind!' Woodward said. 'Alan... you should find this of interest. In my delirium... I had a dream of Oxford.'
'Really, sir?' Johnstone wore a faint smile. 'I should say many former students suffer deliriums of Oxford.'
'Oh, I was there! Right there, on the sward! I was... a young man. I had places to go... and much to accomplish.'
'You heard the tolling of Great Tom, I presume?'
'Certainly I did! One who hears that bell... never forgets it!' Woodward looked up at Matthew and gave him a weak smile that nevertheless had the power to rend the clerk's heart. 'I shall take you to Oxford one day. I shall show you... the halls... the great rooms of learning... the wonderful smell of the place. Do you recall that, Alan?'
'The most singular aroma of my experience was that of the bitter ale at the Chequers Inn, sir. That and the dry aroma of an empty pocket, I fear.'
'Yes, that too.' Woodward smiled dreamily. 'I smelled the grass. The chalk. The oaks... that stand along the Cherwell. I was there... I swear it. I was there as much as... any flesh and blood can be. I even found myself at the door of my social fraternity. The old door... of the Carleton Society. And there... right there before me... was the ram's head bellpull... and the brass plaque with its motto, lus omni est ius omnibus. Oh, how I recall that door...
