Down many a crooked street and round many a corner, the crowd of students bore her, until at last they reached the Governor’s place, “a faire brick house” on the corner of Salem and Charter streets.
Above the doorway were the King’s arms richly carved and gilded. Some stone steps led down the sloping lawn to the street, which was shut out by a quaint wooden fence.
Here, at the lanterned gateway, the student who carried Abigail set her down upon the ground.
“Come, Mistress Abigail,” said Master Ronald, holding the gate open for her to pass in.
Once safely inside Abigail did not forget her manners, but turned about, spread out her petticoat, and courtesied to all the merry young gentlemen, who, leaning over the gate, smiled and doffed their caps.
Then retying the strings of her bonnet primly under her chin, and giving her skirts a flirt, she walked with Master Ronald to the door.
Master Ronald raised the knocker and rapped thrice vigorously.
The door was opened by an old Moor,—so was the negro called by the good folk of those days. When he beheld the student he smiled and bowed; then with deprecating gesture fell to shaking his head solemnly.
“Don’t concern yourself this time, Pompey,” said the student, grimly. “I have other business than whining for pardon. Lack-a-mercy-me! I feel as if I should never have heart for any more quips or pranks. Is his Excellency in? Tell him that Ronald Wentworth, a Fellow of Harvard, awaits his pleasure.”
The negro ushered them into the hall-room and placed a stool for Abigail. The little maid perched herself stiffly upon it and gazed around her, greatly awed by the magnificence, while Master Ronald, with his hands behind him clasping his cap, paced restlessly up and down the room, his countenance so colourless and lined with anxiety that it was like the face of an old man. The hall into which they had been shown served not only as a passageway but as a living-room. From one side the staircase, with its quaintly carved balustrade, rose by a flight of broad steps to the second story. In the centre of this hall-room was a long table laid with a rich cloth on which was placed a decanter of wine. Stools with cushions of embroidered green velvet were placed for those who sat at the Governor’s board. Abigail’s sharp eyes noted a spinning-wheel in front of the fireplace, which was set round with blue Dutch tiles. But she was most delighted by a glimpse she caught of the cupboard which contained the Governor’s silver plate.
The rear door of the hall was swung open and she could see a pretty gentlewoman working in the garden. Her cheeks vied in richness of colour with the crimson coif she wore beneath her straight-brimmed, steeple hat, as she gathered a nosegay, the basket on her arm being filled to overflowing.
At last, Master Ronald, pausing, leant his elbow on the carved newel-post of the staircase and sighed heavily.
“Did you say Deliverance was treated with decency and kindness in jail?” he asked. “Let them but harm a hair of her pretty head and they shall have ample proof of the love I bear my little sister.”
As he spoke, the door opposite opened and a gentleman came out, closing it behind him. He was a tall and solemn-visaged man, richly attired in velvet, with a sword at his side. There was that air of distinction in his bearing which made Abigail instantly surmise that she was in the presence of Sir William Phipps, the new Governor, who had arrived last month from England. He addressed her companion, taking no notice of her.
“Well, well, Master Wentworth, and that be your name,” he said, “let me warn you to expect no leniency from me nor intercession on your behalf with your masters at Cambridge. I have scarce been in this miserable country two months, yet have had naught dinged in my ears but the mischievous pranks of you students of Harvard. ’Tis first the magistrates coming to complain of your roisterings and rude and idle jestings, and I no sooner have rid myself of them than you students come next, following on their very heels with more excuses than you could count, and puling and whining for mercy. But sit down, young sir, sit down,” he ended, taking a seat as he spoke. He crossed his legs, put the tips of his fingers together, and leant back comfortably in his massively carved oak chair. Chairs were then found only in the houses of the very well-to-do. So it was with some pride that Sir William waved the student to the one other chair in the hall.
But Master Ronald, too nervous to remain quiet, refused impatiently. “I have come with——”
“There is too much of this book-learning, nowadays,” interrupted Sir William, following his own train of thought. “The more experience I have of yon Cambridge students, the more convinced I be, that three fourths should be taken out of college and apprenticed to a worthy trade. Let such extreme learning be left to scholars, lest ordinary men, being too much learned, should set themselves above their ministers in wisdom. As for myself—”
“Ay,” interrupted Master Ronald, desperately, “but the matter on which I come to-day—”
“As for myself,” continued Sir William, glancing severely at the student, “I started out in life apprenticed to an honest trade. From ship’s carpenter, I have risen to fortune and position. But I will confess I grow that troubled with the management of this province, what with the Indian and French wars on the one hand, and this witchery business on the other, that I do often wish I might go back to my broad-axe again, where one can be an honest man with less perplexity.”
“Sir,” spoke the student, sharply, “I crave your pardon, but I have no time for talk to-day. ’Tis a matter—”
“Very well,” retorted Sir William, annoyed, “we will hear of this very important matter, but let me warn you beforehand to expect no indulgence. So you can go on with your plaint, if you count time so poorly as to waste it on a cause already lost, for ’tis to-day I shall begin to make an example of some of you.”
“I come on no private business of my own,” retorted Master Ronald with spirit, “but in company with this little maid.” He indicated Abigail by a wave of his hand.
She slipped down from her stool thereat and courtesied.
The Governor took no notice of her politeness beyond a severe stare. “Well,” he inquired, “and for what did you come?”
“If you please, your Excellency,” faltered Abigail, “Deliverance, my dear friend—”
At this, Master Ronald, who stood on the further side of the Governor’s chair, coughed. She glanced up and saw he had put his finger to his lips to enjoin silence. Frightened, she stopped short.
During the pause, the Governor drew out a gold snuff-box and took a pinch of snuff. Then he flicked the powder, which had drifted on his velvet coat, off daintily with his kerchief. “Well,” said he, “have you lost your tongue?”
“My dear friend, Deliverance,” repeated Abigail.
“In other words,” broke in Master Ronald, his tone sharp with anxiety, “she desires to ask your Excellency if you know the whereabouts of any person answering this description.” And briefly he described the stranger whom Deliverance had met in the forest.
At these words the Governor’s expression mellowed slightly and he smiled. “Then you have no favour to ask of me,” he said. “I think I know the person of whom you speak.” He rose. “I will find out if you may see him.”
As he crossed the hall, he glanced out of the entrance-door which had been left half-closed.
Abigail’s eyes, following the direction of his, beheld the students perched in a row on the front fence.
His Excellency turned, bestowing a grim look on Master Ronald.
“What scarecrows are those on my fence?” he asked. “I doubt not I could make better use of them in my corn-fields.” And with an audible sniff he opened the door on his right and entered the room beyond.
“The Lord in his infinite justice is on our side,” spoke Master Ronald, solemnly, as the door closed behind the Governor. “Praise be unto Him from whom cometh all mercy.” He took a couple of long steps which brought him to Abigail’s side. “Say no word of witchery to his Excellency,” he whispered sternly, “lest you spoil all by a false move. Mind what I say, for he is carried away by fanaticism, and in his zeal to clear the land of witches makes no provision to spare the innocent. Hush!” He drew quickly away as steps were heard in the next room. He clasped his hands behind him and commenced pacing the floor, humming in apparent unconcern:—
Abigail fairly quaked in her shoes.
Another moment, and the door through which the Governor had passed was opened by the old Moor. He beckoned them to enter.
They found themselves in a spacious apartment, the state bed-chamber of the house.
Standing well out in the centre of the room was a great four-poster bed, with a crimson canopy. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a man lying dressed on the bed, propped up by pillows.
The Governor sat beside him. He nodded to the two young people.
“Is not this the gentleman you seek?” he asked, with a wave of his hand toward the occupant of the bed.
They had recognized him, however, at once. There was the flowing wig of chestnut hue, the comely countenance, the rich dress, the curled moustache Deliverance had so admired. One of his legs, bound in wool and linen, rested on a pillow. On a table at the further side of the bed were placed some quills, an ink-horn, and paper; also a jug of wine and silver mugs.
“By my troth,” cried this fine person, jovially, “I expected none such pretty visitor. Come here and kiss me, little maiden, and I swear you shall have your wish, whatsoe’er it be. And it be not the round moon or the throne of England,” he added chuckling.
Abigail courtesied at a safe distance from the bed.
Meanwhile, Master Ronald had his eye on Governor Phipps. He feared to mention their errand in the presence of his Excellency, knowing that they might expect neither reason nor tolerance from him. So he drew himself up to his full height and said with confidence, not unbecoming in so learned a Fellow of Harvard:—
“Your Excellency, this is a very private and personal business.” Having said this he bowed so low that his dark hair fell over his face. Thus he remained with his head deferentially bent during the moment of amazed silence which elapsed before his Excellency replied.
“I have no desire to hear,” he retorted, his small eyes snapping with wrath, “but I would say unto you, young sir, that ’tis exceeding low-bred for you to be setting a lesson in manners to your elders and betters; exceeding unfortunate and ill-bred, say I, though you be a Fellow of Harvard, where, I warrant, more young prigs flourish than in all England.” With which fling his Excellency rose and left the room, followed by his servant.
“I ’gin to be fair concerned as to what this mighty business will prove to be,” said the merry invalid; “my curiosity consumes me as a flame. But sit you down, little mistress, and you, young sir. You must not deem me lacking in gallantry that I rise not. Here have I lain two weeks with the gout. Was e’er such luck? But, why fret and fume, say I, why fret and fume and broil with anxiety like an eel in a frying-pan? Yet was e’er such luck as to have your thumb on your man and not be able to take him?”
“Sir,” spoke Master Ronald from the stool on which he had seated himself, “we come on a matter of life and death. My sister, Deliverance Wentworth, the child you met in the forest outside Salem Town, some three weeks ago, is to be hanged on the morrow for witchery, unless by the grace of God you have power to interfere.”
At these words the invalid’s florid face paled, and he sank back on his pillows with a gasp of mingled horror and astonishment.
“The Lord have mercy on this evil world!” he said, wagging his head portentously. “Alack, alack! the times grow worse. What manner of men are these lean, sour Puritans that they would e’en put their babes to death for witchery? As pretty and simple a maid was she as any I e’er set eyes on, not excepting my sweetest daughter over the seas.”
“Ay,” said the student, raising his white face from his hands, “as sweet a maid as God e’er breathed life into. But I say this,” he cried, raising his voice shrilly, in his excitement, “that if they harm her they shall suffer for it.”
“Not a hair shall they hurt, and God grant me grace to live to get there,” cried the invalid. “Is my word to be accounted of naught,” and he tapped his breast, “mine? Oh, ho! let any dare to deny or disregard it, and he shall rue it.”
“Sir,” said Abigail, approaching him timidly, “Deliverance Wentworth sends ye this.”
He took the package and untied the tow string which bound it. There were two papers, one the sealed parchment Abigail had found in the still-room and the other the letter Deliverance had written.
When the Cavalier saw the parchment, he gave an inarticulate sound and clutched it to his breast, kissed it and waved it wildly.
“By my troth!” he cried, “the little maid whom they would hang, hath saved England.”
In his excitement he rose, but no sooner had he put his foot on the floor, than he groaned and fell back on the bed. His face became so scarlet that Master Ronald started up, thinking a leech should be sent for to bleed him, but the sufferer waved him back, and lay down uttering praise and thanksgiving, save when he paused for groans so terrible, that Abigail jumped at every one. When he had exhausted himself and grown quiet, she, feeling it safe to approach him, summoned up courage to hand him Deliverance’s letter, which had fallen from the bed to the floor.
“Ye forgot her letter,” she said reproachfully.
As the Cavalier read, he swore mighty oaths under his breath, and before he finished, the tears were falling on the little letter.
“Hon’d Sir: yu will indede be surprised to lern of my peetiful condishun fore I be languishing away in prison & round my ankel be an iron wring held by ye chain & itt be a grate afflictshun to ye flesh. Alle this has come uponn me since I met with yu in ye forest & olde Bartholomew Stiles wich some say be a Fule—but I would nott say of my own Accord—took yu fore Satan wich was a sadd mistake fore me. Alsoe Goodwife Higgins mistook a yellow witch-bird & said ye same was me. I blame her nott fore I had rised betimes & gonne to ye brooke & tried onn ye golde beads & this yu will perceive I could nott tell her lest I should betray ye secret & I did give ye message to Sir Jonathan Jamieson & he saide I was a witch & alsoe Ebenezer Gibbs saide I stuck pinnes in him when I but rapped his pate fore larfing in school & intising others to Evil acts such as Twisting ye Hair of Stability Williams & fore alle this ye godly magistrates have sentenced me to be hanged wich Hon’d Sir yu will agree be a sadd afflictshun to ye flesh.
As regards ye service fore ye King Abigail wich be my deare friend will give yu a pckge. but no more lest this fall into ye wrong handes when yu read this I trust yu will in Gods name come fast to Salem & take me out of prison fore I am in sore Distress & can find nothing comforting in ye Scripture, against being hanged & I beginn to feare God has not pardoned my sinnes.
Sir Jonathan Jamieson torments me most grievous & I saye unto yu Privately he be a Hypocrite & itt be Woe unto him Whited sepulchre I ken nott what he will do when he findes ye Parchment be gonne but no more lest I betray ye secret & if I should be hanged afore yu come I do heartily repent my sinnes wich I cannot set down in wrighting fore I have no more Ink. I beg with tears yu will come in time. Hon’d Sir I bewayl my ylls & peetiful condishun
Deliverance Wentworth.
note—I hereinn putt down my will that Abigail shall have my golde beads amen
note—alsoe in Ipswich bides a hunchback whose mother be hanged fore a witch & he be named lyttel Hate-Evil Hobbs & should I be hanged I trust Hon’d Sir yu will shew him kindness fore me & now no more amen.”
“Please God!” spoke the Cavalier, reverently, “Deliverance Wentworth hath done a mighty service for her King, and she shall not go unrewarded, for I am one who speaks with authority.”
At these words the student looked up with a flash of hope in his eyes, and Abigail drew nearer the bed.
“Arrange the pillows under my head, little mistress,” said the Cavalier, “and you, young sir, draw up the table and fill the mugs. ’Tis bad, I wot, for my leg, still a little good red wine for the stomach’s sake is not to be done away with.
“And now,” quoth he, solemnly, lifting high his mug, “we will drink to the health of Deliverance Wentworth, who hath done a mighty service for her King. She shall not go unrewarded, for I speak with authority. For,” swelling his chest importantly, “you behold in me Christopher Mallett, Lord of Dunscomb County and Physician to his Majesty, the King.”