Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (50 page)

Farley grinned. "I can see that I've never underestimated ye, gypsy," he said, bowing to the other man. "If I was wearin' a hat, I'd take it off to ye, Romney Lee."

"What is that?" Romney asked, noticing for the first time the object Lily was holding in her hands.

"The witch," Lily said, holding up the only puppet that had survived the fire. The one blue eye and one brown eye painted on the ugly face glared up at her malevolently, and even though it was just a harmless puppet, Lily shivered. "Strange, but of all our puppets, this is the one I liked the least."

"Well, at least that is one we won't have to worry about," Romney Lee said, gesturing for them to follow him. As they walked away, he glanced back at the charred remains of the booth. He frowned slightly, for he too had his suspicions about the fire.

Simon Whitelaw rode up the narrow lane to Highcross Court. He couldn't quite stop his grin from widening boyishly as he anticipated walking into the great hall. It wasn't afternoon yet, so he'd be in time for lunch, he thought as his stomach rumbled hungrily.

There were several horses, as well as a cart harnessed to a tired, old mare, in the courtyard. He didn't recognize any as belonging to the Highcross stables. Wondering who was visiting, Simon Whitelaw dismounted, glancing around for the groom, but no one came to assist him. The visitors had not come any great distance, for the horses were sweating only slightly and hadn't lathered up at all.

Curious, Simon Whitelaw hurried up the steps and knocked soundly on the great doors of Highcross. Schooling his expression into one of polite inquiry, he stared at the door that had yet to open and allow him access into the great hall. He tried again. But still no answer. Frowning, he was about to turn away when one of the doors swung wide and he found himself staring into the face of a stranger.

"Yes?" the stern-visaged footman inquired haughtily, his expression seeming to indicate that he doubted that the dusty-booted young gentleman standing on the doorstep had any business at Highcross.

"I am Simon Whitelaw."

The man continued to stare at Simon expressionlessly. "Indeed?"

"Yes! I've come to visit my sister, Dulcie, and Lily and Tristram Christian. Please inform your mistress of my presence," he told the man without any further attempt at gentlemanly behavior, for he'd not missed the strange look that had crossed the man's face when he'd mentioned Lily Christian's name. "Well?"

The footman opened the door wider to allow Simon to enter. "If you will wait here, sir?" he said, gesturing vaguely toward the oak settle against the wall.

Simon opened his mouth to protest, but the man had disappeared too quickly up the stairs. Simon tossed his hat onto the bench, but he'd be damned if he'd sit there like a good little boy. He stared about him, thinking the hall awfully quiet. He hadn't even heard Raphael's barking when he'd ridden into the courtyard. The dog had never stopped barking the last time he'd been here.

Simon walked over to the stairs. He'd thought he had heard approaching footsteps, but all was quiet at the top of the stairs. With an impatient sigh, he sat down on one of the steps, his long legs stretched out to the floor. Hearing steps again, he popped up, frightening the young maid rounding the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," the maid apologized, abruptly stopping her singing. "Scared me half to death, ye did. Didn't
know there was anyone in here,"
she said nervously.

"Who are you?" Simon demanded. He'd never seen the girl before. "What happened to Tillie?"

"Oh, sir! Why, she be gone, nigh on four, no five months now, same as t'others."

"What others? Who has gone?" he asked, making the girl more nervous than ever by the question.

"Why, ah, why the young mistress and t'others. The little ones and the Odells. Tillie, too. She went with them when they run away. I weren't here then, not when the accident happened, but I've heard tell 'twas horrible. Why, the cook, she still has nightmares-
-
oh, no! Wait, sir! Ye can't be goin' up there!"

With his long strides, Simon Whitelaw wasted no time in reaching the top of the stairs. He quickly made his way along the corridor toward the great chamber, where he assumed the master of Highcross would be entertaining his visitors. Whether Hartwell Barclay was receiving or not, Simon Whitelaw was determined to have some explanations.

The door to the great chamber was slightly ajar when Simon approached it, and pausing just outside, he stood for a moment and listened to the conversation coming form within, and incredulous expression beginning to form on his face.

"I still think prudence dictates that charges should be brought against the Lily Christian. I have had some dealings in the past with witch trials, and I tell you now that the evidence points very strongly toward her being in league with the devil. A few hours under my questioning and I would have her confession to having practiced witchcraft while under this roof. Naturally, I would expect your cooperation in this matter, Master Martindale. As constable, you would, of course, figure greatly in the proceedings. Your name would become quite well known throughout the shire, indeed, throughout all of England. And, Doctor Wolton, as the family physician, your testimony will be most influential in indicting the witch."

Simon Whitelaw stepped closer and inched the door a shade wider. The footman was standing just inside, waiting for the opportunity to speak. He was partly blocking Simon's line of sight, but glancing around him Simon saw a rather plump, pompous-looking individual, dressed in somber clothing. He was gesturing wildly with his arms as he addressed two women, who were seated before him as if sitting in the front pew of a church. Two gentlemen, nodding their continual agreement, stood near the window.

"I can indeed testify to the strange incantations Lily Christian spoke while feverish just a year ago," the doctor promised.

"And, of course, I have investigated many strange occurrences since Lily Christian and her brother and sister arrived at Highcross," the constable was quick to confirm.

"Oh, Reverend Buxby, 'tis absolutely sinful what she has done," the whey-faced young woman sighed, staring in fascination at the parson. "I am indeed fearful of such bewitchments as you have described. I am certain 'twas she who caused me to fall and break my leg. And, of course, poor Hartwell
.
.
."
"Now, now, Mary Ann, calm
yourself
lest you faint from a lack of breath," Mistress Fordham cautioned her daughter, afraid she was going to start
hiccupping
any second.

"Oh, indeed, Mistress Mary Ann, I am positive she has bewitched this village. I will present such evidence against her that she will burn in the fires of hell!"

"Oh," Mary Ann whispered, catching her breath.

"Does she not have familiars? What of the horse she speaks with and that none but she could ride? What of those wild creatures from the New World where savages worship the devil and all manner of false idols? The unspeakable acts they perpetrate in the dark caverns of the underworld. Lewd dances and human sacrifice!"

"Ooohh."
"Mary! Mary! Calm yourself, now," Mistress Fordham warned her daughter, slapping her on each cheek to bring back the color.

"And how can you explain the ease of her escape?" the Reverend Buxby demanded, his face turning mottled with frustrated rage at having lost his intended victim. "Upon that dreadful night, she jumped upon the back of her familiar and raced into the sky, with lightning and thunder marking her path through the gates of hell. To some far distant place she was spirited. Not a sign of them could we find. Not a word heard concerning them. Not a sighting by any mortal being! Vanished into thin air. We have evidence, right here in this house, of her devilish lusts. To mislead us, she sent her instruments of Satan to
mock
us in our own house of worship. Upon sacred ground they came! Were we all not there to serve witness to their desecration of our holy place?

"Does she not float on water? Is there not proof of her sorcerer's ways in the heathen charms from the New World she wears with such wickedness? Have we all not heard the incantations she
chants
to her prince of darkness?" the reverend demanded, then, with hands folded complacently before him, he gazed at the doctor. "You have examined this Lily Christian. Perchance you remember seeing the devil's mark upon her person? It would indeed be irrefutable proof of her guilt."

"Well
.
.
." the doctor paused, a thoughtful look in his eye. "I might be able to recall such a mark. Naturally, I would have to examine her again."

"Indeed, doctor. Witches are clever at hiding so damning a mark where the devil has touched them. But Lily Christian will not be able to deny her sins after I've applied the proper sort of persuasion.
Not many can stand for long having their heads tightly bound or their bodies stuck with pins, unless, of course they are guilty; then they feel no pain.
Before I am finished, I would see her and that brother and sister of hers burn!"

"How dare you!" Simon Whitelaw cried out, storming into the room and startling the occupants so by his sudden appearance that Mary Ann
Fordham
screamed and began to weep hysterically, actually
believing
it was the devil himself. And even the Reverend Buxby had a moment's horror, thinking he had gone too far in his exhortations this time.

"Really, sir!" the affronted footman began, picking himself up from the floor where the rude young gentleman's shoulder had sent him sprawling. "I must protest!"

Simon Whitelaw ignored the fellow and faced the other occupants of the room, who still remained speechless. His expression was one of outrage as he stared at them. But his gaze centered on one man as he said, "You, sir, have much to answer for! I would have an explanation from you, Hartwell Barclay!"

Hartwell Barclay, sitting in a plush velvet armchair close to the hearth, his leg stretched out before him and supported on a small, upholstered footstool, opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find anything to say.

Simon Whitelaw turned his wrathful indignation on the Reverend Buxby and the two gentlemen. And when he spoke, his cold, imperious voice sounded like a distant echo of Basil Whitelaw's when presenting a case to those he intended to deliver a scathing rebuttal to. "Before you begin this witch hunt of yours, I would caution you to remember exactly whom you are dealing with. The innocent child you would burn at the stake happens to be my sister, and the daughter of Sir Basil Whitelaw, once the trusted
adviser
to Elizabeth Tudor and longtime friend of William Cecil, Lord Burghley. My stepfather, Sir William Davies, is a highly placed member of court. My aunt, who happens to be exceedingly fond of Dulcie, is Lady Artemis Penmorley, wife of one of the wealthiest, most influential gentlemen in England. My uncle, Valentine Whitelaw, is one of Elizabeth's favorites and not without influence of his own. A privateer, whose exploits you may well have heard about, he
has
never had trouble dealing with the enemies of his queen," Simon Whitelaw boasted, conjuring up the image of a
bloodthirsty
pirate in the minds of the Fordham ladies.

"The
witch
you speak of has been received at court by Elizabeth. There is even talk that she is considering making Lily Christian one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her majesty would be most displeased to hear such false, slanderous rumors as you are spreading. And Sir Christopher Hatton, Thomas Sandrick-who was aboard the
Madrigal
when Lily Christian was rescued and is devoted to her-and Philip Sidney are all ardent admirers and would be eloquent, convincing voices raised in her defense. I am certain you know the Sidney name, since Philip Sidney's home, Penshurst, is here in this shire. He is a most respected member of court. I believe he intends to visit Highcross in the near future to see how the young woman who so charmed him is faring," Simon added for good measure.

"So before you pursue beyond this room this witch hunt of yours, remember the powerful friends of Lily Christian you will have to challenge as well," Simon Whitelaw said, his voice quavering with his rage and fear, but he need not have worried, for his case had been most effectively presented.

Hartwell Barclay finally found his voice. Spreading his hands in supplication, his expression one of confounded innocence, he said, "Please, please, you misunderstand. As
I
have been trying to explain to the good reverend and the constable, who have my best interests at heart, there was no attempted murder. Good gracious no. The cook, an excitable woman, simply misunderstood when she entered Lily's chamber and found me unconscious in that tub."

When Hartwell
Barclay
saw Simon Whitelaw's expression, he quickly continued. "Oh, yes, indeed, I can see that you are wondering what I was doing in the dear girl's bedchamber, well, 'tis a long story," he said with a sickly grin.

"Ah, but I have plenty of time, Master Barclay," Simon said softly, causing Hartwell Barclay to reassess his opinion of this young man.

"Yes, well, the girl is prone to nightmares, and I merely had come to see if all was well. Let me remind you, young man, that I am her guardian. Upon entering the chamber, which, unfortunately, was being occupied at the time by young Dulcie and that
—
that
-
-dog, as well as those other creatures, and the maid, although what she was doing in Lily's bed I still do not understand," he said with a ruminative rub of his chin, "I found myself involved in quite a ruckus. The silly creature thought I was trying to attack her. Bless me, what a fright she gave me when she started shriek
ing. Sounded like a banshee. T
hen that dog attacks me. Ought to be shot. Well, fleeing for my life, I stumbled into the tub, breaking my ankle when I twisted it and knocking myself unconscious. I still do not know where lily was during all of the commotion, but I understand she was in the room when the cook came running in, and the woman assumed some foul play.