Witch Hunt (18 page)

Sheila was the woman with the big belly.

“This is Cassie Hawthorne, the master’s new wife.”

“Missus Hawthorne,” the servants said in a chorus.

Cassie didn’t know how she was expected to respond, so she just said what was on her mind. “I see you’re about to drop, Sheila.”

“Aye, missus, it should be born within the month.” She paused and brushed a wandering strand of red hair back in place. “Is it the same accent I’m hearing from you, missus?”

“Aye.”

Sheila’s freckled face lit up with a broad, toothy smile. “I’m happy for you, missus.”

“I’m touched.” Cassie’s sarcasm had the desired effect of making Sheila’s teeth disappear.

“You’re dismissed,” Irene said quickly, and the servants filed out.

“You didn’t need to be rude to Sheila,” Tyler said.

“Nae? And was it my imagination, or is that your baby she’s carryin’, Tyler Hawthorne?” Cassie didn’t care that the rest of the family was listening.

“It’s mine. What, do you think I wasn’t a man before I met you?”

“So, what is it you’re plannin’ to do with the girl and her bastard now that it’s me you’re married to?”

“I don’t plan on lying with her anymore, if that’s what concerns you. And the child, well, we’ll care for it in an honorable way.”

Cassie patted her own slightly rounded belly, which contained the child she and Tyler had conceived their first time together. “And what about our wee one? Whose baby will have first claim as your heir, mine or that little whore’s?”

Tyler slapped Cassie’s face. His anger was dark, but controlled. “Don’t ever call Sheila a whore again. She pleasured me well for a long time, as a man needs to be pleasured. We’re not of Puritan stock in this family. We aren’t ashamed of our needs. You, if anyone, should understand that. The Hawthornes are an honorable family, and we’ll not ignore the fact of that child. But you needn’t worry about your baby’s claim on me — it’ll take precedence. Now, I think you should take tea in your room. It’ll give you some time to think about things. Arabel, show her the way.”

Her face burning from humiliation and the slap of Tyler’s hand, Cassie meekly followed Arabel.

“I could use a jigger of whiskey right now,” Cassie said when they were out of earshot of the others.

Arabel gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Cassie, but in America ladies don’t drink liquor.”

“Right now, bein’ a lady in America seems to be as appealing as sleepin’ in a pile of horseshit.”

Cassie ignored Arabel’s shocked, ladylike little gasp.

“Well, his chances for a political career have been shot to hell,” Cassie overheard a man named Chamberlain say to a man named Morehead. She was on her way to refill her crystal cup at the punchbowl — the ladies’ punchbowl — when she heard the hushed tone of their conversation. She hid behind a large, freestanding oval mirror and listened.

“She’s truly ravishing, but a paddy without manners or breeding …” Morehead didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Chamberlain shook his head. “It seems his need to dip his wick overpowered his reason on this one. To support a man like that would be foolhardy anyway.”

“I can’t see anyone agreeing to finance his campaign under these circumstances.”

“It’s a shame.”

Cassie left her hiding place, casually walked up to the two men, and smiled. “Mr. Chamberlain. Mr. Morehead.”

Morehead nodded. “Ah, Mrs. Hawthorne, you certainly have a good head for names.”

“I wouldn’t be forgettin’ the names of such worthy gentlemen as yourselves.” Inwardly she was working her magic.

“It’s a nice reception,” Chamberlain said.

“Aye, the Hawthornes know how to put on a party.”

“How do you like America so far?” Morehead asked.

“‘Tis a grand country.” Cassie’s spell invoked heat, and the air surrounding them grew warm.

Chamberlain wiped a film of sweat off his brow. “We’ve known the Hawthornes for many years. They’re good people.”

Cassie smiled a slow, languid smile. “That’s true enough.”

“Our trading company has shipped exclusively with Van Carel and Hawthorne since we established ourselves.” Morehead’s voice was strained.

Cassie’s furtive glance assured her that both men had achieved gigantic erections. “Tyler certainly knows the value of prize goods,” she said pointedly, then excused herself.

She had worked the same spell once before and knew their erections wouldn’t subside until the time of the next new moon, which wouldn’t arrive for a week. “Let’s see if your need to dip your wicks doesn’t queer your reason, gentlemen,” she whispered.

She hadn’t known that Tyler was anticipating a career in politics. Cassie had already learned in her two short weeks in America that there was power in politics, and it was a type of power she found exciting. Perhaps, instead of being a hindrance to Tyler’s ambitions, she could use her magic to help him.

A small group of women was huddled around the punchbowl.

“Well, my sister dragged me to a meeting of the spiritualist group that Madame Michelle heads,” a woman by the name of Lilian Austin was saying. “You know, I’d heard all about her when I was in Paris last year. Well, she moved to New York this past spring and opened a branch of her Society for Psychic Studies here. Let me tell you, it was the most entertaining evening I’d spent in a while. She went into a trance and called up the spirit of Paulette DeBow’s dead uncle, George. I thought I’d die myself when we heard that whistling — you know that little song he was always whistling. Then someone broke the circle — we were all holding hands — and we lost him. But I’m seriously thinking of going to another séance next month. When Richard goes on those endless business trips, I simply have to find something to occupy myself, you know. And —” She noticed Cassie’s presence. “Oh, lovely reception, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Folks call me Cassie, Mrs. Austin.”

“Cassie,” Lilian returned, not extending a similar invitation.

“I heard you talkin’ about callin’ up spirits. Is it ghosts you’re meanin’?” Cassie asked.

Lilian nodded. “Yes, the spiritualist movement is quite popular in America right now.”

“Well, if it’s a ghost caller you’re wantin’, I could oblige you,” Cassie said.

Lilian exchanged looks of surprise and skepticism with her friends. “Oh, so you’re a medium?”

“‘Tis not exactly sure that I am about what you’re callin’ it, but, aye, I’ve got the gift. All the women in my clan had it. There’s a tale that the ma of my great-great-grandma was a changelin’ — the fairies took her and left one of their own, you see — and the Callaghans have had the gift ever since.”

Lilian giggled. “What a simply delightful story, Cassie dear. We’ll have to get together sometime for coffee and discuss it further.”

“That would be grand.”

Tyler appeared at Cassie’s side. “The Van Carels have finally arrived. I’d like you to come meet them.”

“Your wife is very … sweet,” Lilian said to Tyler.

“Sweet isn’t exactly how I’d describe her. Gorgeous, outrageous, exciting perhaps. But sweet, never.”

Lilian cleared her throat. “Yes, perhaps your description is more to the point.” She smiled at Cassie. “Honestly, dear, let’s have that coffee and talk again.”

“I’ll be waitin’ for your invite, Mrs. Austin.”

Tyler took Cassie by her elbow and led her across the room to where the Van Carels were gathered.

“This is my business partner, Marten Van Carel.”

A debonair gentleman kissed Cassie’s hand. “You are a vision, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Of what?” Cassie asked, not understanding why everyone around them began to laugh.

“A wit, too. How lucky you are, Tyler,” Marten said. He put his arm around the woman at his side. “This is my wife, Nicole, and,” he gestured to the three young women beside her, “our daughters, Juliana, Carina, and Francina.”

Cassie nodded in greeting.

“Nicole and I have mixed feelings about your marriage,” Marten continued. “We had hoped to marry one of our daughters to Tyler, but, on the other hand, he is like a son to us, so that might have been a little incestuous, don’t you think?”

Cassie didn’t really understand the question, but she understood that the three Van Carel girls were beauties, and she decided that she didn’t like them, or Marten either. “I think, Mr. Van Carel, that since I’ve come to America I’ve been hearin’ a lot about the way proper folk should act, and I’m thinkin’ that you tellin’ me what you’re tellin’ me ain’t quite proper.” Cassie began to lightly scratch her cheek, while mentally chanting a spell.

Marten scrunched the muscles in his forehead until it was a mass of wrinkles. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Mrs. Hawthorne. Tyler never did court any of my girls, so please don’t feel as if they were in any way serious competition for his affections.”

Cassie’s fingers moved down to her chin, and then she casually ran them across her brow. “Nae, Mr. Van Carel, ‘tis not a trio of pimply faced girls I’m thinkin’ to be competition.”

Nicole looked at her daughters in confusion, and her piercing scream brought the rest of the room to silence. As the girls looked to one another and explored their own faces with curious fingertips, the screaming intensified.

“Oh, God,” Juliana said. “Is it the pox?”

Cassie leaned toward her thoughtfully. “Nae, looks like a bunch of pussy old pimples to me, lass.”

Francina moaned and tried to cover her face with her shawl. “Take me home.”

Carina’s sobs shook the room.

“Jesus, Tyler, I think we’d best get the girls home,” Marten said.

Tyler nodded. “Perhaps it was something they ate.”

“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.” Marten shook Tyler’s hand. “Well, my boy, she’s beautiful, as well as being outspoken. I’m sure she’ll keep you hopping.” He gave Cassie a wary look. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne.” With that, he ushered his frantic women out of the room.

Tyler put his arm around Cassie and drew her roughly to him. “None of that nonsense again, do you hear?”

“I didn’t like him.”

“Well, he didn’t like you, either.”

“Good, ‘tis even we are.” She pulled free of his grasp, then went to check on the progress Chamberlain and Morehead were making in their attempts at civil conversation.

Cassie lay in bed naked. “So, is it politics you’re wantin’ to do?”

Tyler stripped himself of clothes. “At one point I was considering running for mayor in the next election. Now I don’t think it’s something to pursue.”

“Because you married me?”

Tyler stopped and looked at her for a long moment. “It wouldn’t be feasible now.”

“Because you married me?”

Tyler sighed. “You’re wonderful, and I love you, but you’re not the material political wives are made of.”

“Why? The common folk would warm to me.”

“That’s true. But it’s the uncommon folk who invest in political campaigns, and they won’t now.”

“You’re rich. Invest in yourself.”

Tyler threw off the last of his clothing and slid into bed beside her. “My money’s already invested in Van Carel and Hawthorne. It’s tied up. I’m not liquid.”