'Are the tools unsuitable?' Woodward asked as Matthew practised writing a few lines of Latin, French, and English on the rough-skinned paper.
'I'd best accept what I've got.' He was leaving blotches of ink on the paper, and so he further lightened his pressure. 'This will do, once I've tamed it.'
Within a few moments Nicholas Paine entered the gaol with the first witness. Jeremiah Buckner walked slowly and unsteadily even with the use of a cane. His beard, far more white than gray, trailed down his chest, and what remained of his snowy hair hung about his frail shoulders. He wore loose-fitting brown breeches and a faded red-checked shirt. Both Woodward and Matthew stood as a show of respect for the aged as Paine helped the old man across the threshold. Buckner's watery brown eyes marked the presence of Rachel Howarth, and he seemed to draw back a bit but allowed Paine to aid him in sitting on the stool.
'I'm all right,' he said; it was more of a gasp than speech.
'Yes sir,' Paine said. 'Magistrate Woodward will protect you from harm. I'll be waiting just outside to take you home when you are done here.'
'I'm all right.' The old man nodded, but his eyes kept returning to the figure in the next cage.
'Where do you want me, Magistrate?' Green inquired, with more than a little sarcasm in his voice.
'You may also wait outside. I'll ask you to return if it's necessary.'
The two men left, and Buckner positioned his cane so as to give himself balance on the stool. He swallowed nervously, his knotty fingers working together, his face gaunt and blotched with the dark spots of advanced age.
'Are we ready to begin?' Woodward asked of Matthew, and the clerk dipped his quill and nodded. The firsr thing was for Woodward to stand and offer the Bible to Buckner, instructing him to place his right hand upon it and swear before God that he would tell the truth. Buckner did, and Woodward put the Good Book aside and settled himself back in his chair.
'Your full name and age, please, for the record.'
'Jeremiah Buckner. I shall be sixty-and-eight year come August.'
'Thank you. Mr. Buckner, how long have you been a citizen of Fount Royal?'
'Ever since it begun. Five year, I reckon.'
'You're a farmer, is that correct?'
'Was. My son brung Patience and me here to live with 'em. He did some farmin'. Wasn't no good at it, though. Two year ago, he an' Lizabeth lit out, took the boys. Gonna come back an' fetch us, once they's settled.'
'Yes, sir, thank you,' Woodward said. 'So you and your wife occupy a farm? On which street?'
'Industry.'
'And what is your source of income?'
Buckner wet his lips with his tongue. 'Patience an' me get by on the lovin' kindness of our fellows, sir. Our farm ain't worth nothin'. Just got a roof o'er our heads, that's all. But when Ezra comes to get us, everythin'll be paid back. I'll swear that on the Lord's Book, too. He writ me a letter, come by the post rider from Charles Town. Said he was lookin' for some good land up Virginia way.'
'I see. Now I presume you have an accusation to make concerning Madam Howarth?'
'Well ...' Buckner glanced quickly through the bars into the next cell.
'Sir?' Woodward said sternly. 'Look at me, please, not at anyone else. If you have an accusation to make, now is the proper time.'
Matthew waited in the silence that fell, his quill poised. On the paper was written every utterance up to the moment, penned in the code of shortened words, abbreviations, and alphabetic memory-devices of his own creation.
Buckner stared at the floor. A blue vein at his temple throbbed. With an obvious effort he opened his mouth and spoke. 'She . . . the witch . . . she come to me. In the night. She come to me . . . naked, she was. Wearin' a . . . serpent 'round her neck. A black serpent, with yella eyes. Like hers. She come to me, stood right at the foot of my bed, and Patience sleepin' a'side me.'
'You're referring to Rachel Howarth?'
'She's the one.'
'You have that down?' Woodward asked his clerk, but he needn't have because he knew Matthew's ability. Matthew just nodded grimly and dipped his quill once more.
'May I speak?' Rachel asked sharply.
'No, you may not!' The answer was delivered with an even-sharper point. 'I told you, I'll have no disruptions in my court!'
'I would just like to say that I—'
'Madam!' Woodward shouted, and his raw throat paid the price for it. 'One more word and the gag shall be delivered!'
Matthew had been scribing all this down as well. Now he stared at her, his quill's nib resting at the end of a letter, and he said quietly, 'It would be wise not to speak further. Believe me.'
Her mouth had already begun to open to test the magistrate's will. Now, however, she paused in her intent. Woodward waited, his fists clenched in his lap and his teeth gritted behind his lips. Slowly Rachel Howarth closed her mouth and then seated herself on the bench.
Woodward returned his full attention to Buckner. 'When did this event occur? Was it before or after the murder of Daniel Howarth?'
'After. I believe Daniel had been laid down a week or two, so I reckon it was early February.'
'All right. Tell me then, as clearly as you recall, exactly what happened.'
'Yes sir.' Buckner spent a moment putting it together in his mind, his head lowered. 'Well ... I don't recollect so good as I used to, but that kinda thing you don't forget. Me and Patience went to bed just like usual that night. She put out the lamp. Then ... I don't know how long it was ... I heard my name spoke. I opened my eyes. Everythin' was dark, and silent. I waited, a'lis-tenin'. Just silent, like there was nothin' else in the whole world makin' a sound but my breathin'. Then ... I heard my name spoke again, and I looked at the foot of the bed and seen her.'
'By what light, if there was none?' Woodward asked.
'Well, I've put my mind to that but I can't answer it. The winda's were shuttered, 'cause it was might cold outside, so there wasn't no moonlight. But she was there, all right. I seen her, clear as I see you.'
'You're positive it was Rachel Howarth?'
'I am.'
Woodward nodded, staring at his hands spread out on the desktop before him. 'And what else transpired?'
'I was scairt half out of my wits,' Buckner said. 'Any man would've been. I started to wake up Patience, but then that woman—the witch—said I wasn't to. She said if I woke up Patience I would be sorry for it.'
'But your wife wasn't roused by Madam Howarth's voice?'
'No sir. I've puzzled on that, too, but I can't make no sense out of it. Patience slept deep as usual. Only thing I figure is that the witch put a conjure on her.'
Matthew heard the woman give a muffled grunt of frustration; he was tempted to lift his head to glance at her, but the quill demanded his absolute concentration.
'All right. Then what occurred?'
'The witch . . . said I was to keep her visit a secret. Said if I spoke it to anyone, they would be killed on the spot. Said I was to meet her two nights hence, in the orchard behind my house. Just said be there betwixt midnight and two, she would find me.'
'Madam Howarth was nude, you say?'
'Yes sir, she wore not a stitch.'
'But she had a serpent around her neck?'
'Yes sir. Black, it was. With yella eyes.'
'Had you latched your doors and windows before retiring to bed?'
Buckner nodded. 'We had. Never used to, but . . . with somebody a'killin' Reverend Grove and then Daniel like that . . . Patience felt easier with the latches throwed after dark.'
