“That’s it,” Juniper says softly, sitting back.
“That was easy,” I say sarcastically as Kayla runs over to Cara, who is sobbing profusely on the floor with chunks of her hair scattered around her.
“Is she gone?” Erik demands.
“This is the first time I haven’t felt her presence in years,” Juniper’s voice is overwhelmed with emotion as she reaches over and squeezes our hands. “We are free. She’s gone.”
Chapter 13
Mary
1703
I had dispatched my scoundrel of a husband, but where I’d expected a well of relief I was now filled with dread and guilt. I knew that Malvina had chosen to help me despite the outcome for herself, but it didn’t lessen my culpability. How had I assumed so arrogantly that whispers of poisoning wouldn’t reach here, especially with Magistrate Madison clearly gunning for a healer woman like Malvina. Now she sits, awaiting death.
That evening I had told Iris of her father’s death, but she had seen things of her father that no child should be privy to and so her grief was reserved solely for Malvina. Malvina had served as a grandmother of sorts, who had raised her almost in equal measure with myself.
The next morning I combed my hair and donned my least haggard dress and kissed Iris before making the ride into town. Though it wasn’t much more than a small village, it was disorienting and intimidating to me now, so many years removed from my time in the bustling streets of Boston in my childhood. Now I had become accustomed to a solitary and humble life, with just the cabin and woods to meet my eyes daily.
As before, all eyes drank me in with either malicious or lascivious regard, and I cast my glance downwards as a result, seeking to make myself small and unnoticeable.
As I dared to raise my eyes, I was overwhelmed with where I would find Malvina and it took all my efforts to continue down the dirt road, stepping around the horse manure dotting it. The smell overcame me and I held my breath as I shifted my gaze from house to house desperate for any sort of sign of a jail. I almost cried out in relief when my downcast eyes beheld a familiar shadow in front of me. Tall and comforting, George waited to lock gazes with me.
“Mary, I heard of the fate of your husband,” he spoke under his breath, and his eyes darted around at all the interested parties watching them. “My condolences.”
“Thank you, George,” I managed to say, before lowering my voice to a rasp. “I mean to see my servant and friend Malvina.”
“I do not believe that would be wise, Mary,” he warned, his face steeped in a concern that took my breath away. I fought the urge to throw myself into his arms to seek the solace I knew only he could provide. “You must not give the magistrate anymore cause to doubt you. He is an austere, formidable devil of a man.”
“I must speak with her, George,” I looked up at him imploringly and watched him soften at the distress written upon my countenance. “Please assist me in locating her.”
“The jail is located in the cellar of the magistrate’s house,” he answered with a sigh, using his hand to motion to a home across the way.
I looked at it with awe and trepidation, the majesty of such a grandiose abode in between humble cottages on the dusty avenue illustrated the poorness of the hamlet. I nodded at George and stumbled forward, making my way towards the arched door, like a gaping maw intent on swallowing me whole.
As I neared, I felt the ebbings of a premonition niggling in my mind, calling and tempting me like a siren. The house and I had a connection that had yet to happen, I could feel it, and it lured me to view our fate together in my mind’s eye. I shook my head, willing away the enticement, knowing the very thought was a slap in Malvina’s face who understood the dangerous nature of prophecy.
George had left my side as I reticently rapped upon the heavy wooden door, foreboding as the beating of my fists barely registered a sound. I straightened my back and breathed deeply as the door swung open to reveal a servant, eyes cold and efficient as he stared me up and down.
“What is the nature of your business here?” he asked, expression disdainful. “You’ve come here dressed as poor, backwater trash.”
“I am here to see my servant Malvina,” my voice shook traitorously as I ignored his comment. “She’s contained here as a prisoner.”
“That chaff such as yourself has a servant is wonder,” he sniffed. “You will wait here, like a dog.”
I stared at him, willing determination into my eyes, eager to prove that his words were but gnats in my ears. He nodded and disappeared, slamming the door behind him and I forced my body to remain inert at the startling crash.
When the door opened again he said nothing, but nodded me in, and I shuffled forth into the foyer, taken with the ornately carved stairs laid out before me.
Before I could gather myself the magistrate stole into the room, purpose rife in every stride as he approached me.
“So, Widow Worthe, you’ve come to offer comfort to the one who harnessed the devil to lay waste to your husband,” he remarked, his face devoid of emotion save a dash of stern disapproval.
“I come to face the woman accused of my husband’s death,” I corrected, my voice shaking as his expression remained shrewdly observational. “Please afford me that opportunity.”
“As you please, Widow Worthe,” he bid, stepping aside and motioning to another servant to what I presume to be the door to the cellar.
Wordlessly the jailor beckoned me forth and as soon as we passed the threshold all the hearth powered warmth of the main house disappeared into a void of bitterly frigid, dank air.
The walls were stone and slick with a
