Part 29 (2/2)

”Two weeks, I believe. Not any longer.”

”I presume her house wasn't guarded or watched in any way?”

”No. Why should it have been?”

”No reason. But two weeks was time enough for someone else to form the poppets and hide them under the floor, don't you think?”

Paine surprised Matthew by giving a short, sharp laugh. ”You're jesting, of course!”

”Two weeks,” Matthew repeated. ”An empty, unguarded house. The poppets are made of common materials. Anyone might have placed them there.”

”Have you lost your senses, clerk? No one put them there but the witch herself! You're forgetting that Madam Grunewald had a divine vision that directed us where to look!”

”I know nothing of divine visions. I only know two weeks pa.s.sed and the house was open to all who might want to enter.”

”No one wanted to enter,” Paine argued. ”The only reason I and the others who were with me entered is that we had a task to perform. When it was done, we didn't linger there!” wanted to enter,” Paine argued. ”The only reason I and the others who were with me entered is that we had a task to perform. When it was done, we didn't linger there!”

”Who discovered the loosened board? You or someone else?”

”I did, and if you like I'll vow on the Bible that I hadn't set foot in that house since the morning the witch was taken out of it!”

Matthew glanced at the magistrate. Woodward, who was looking dourly at him, shook his head. Matthew felt he'd come to the end of this particular road. He believed Paine. Why should the man have made the poppets and placed them there? Perhaps it had had been a divine vision sent from G.o.d to Cara Grunewald; but then again, if he followed that track, he must come to the conclusion that Rachel was indeed performing witchcraft. He sighed heavily and said, ”It's not necessary that you swear on the Bible, sir. Thank you for your candor in this matter. I believe you may go, if the magistrate desires it.” been a divine vision sent from G.o.d to Cara Grunewald; but then again, if he followed that track, he must come to the conclusion that Rachel was indeed performing witchcraft. He sighed heavily and said, ”It's not necessary that you swear on the Bible, sir. Thank you for your candor in this matter. I believe you may go, if the magistrate desires it.”

”Go,” Woodward said.

Paine hesitated. ”Are you thinking,” he said to Matthew, ”that someone other than the prisoner might have murdered Reverend Grove and Daniel Howarth? If so, you'd best take care the witch is not casting a spell on your mind this very minute! She did those crimes, and she did the other sins she's been accused of too. Her ultimate purpose was the destruction of this town, which she nearly did-and still might do, if she's not soon ashes! Why should it be anyone else's purpose?”

To this question, Matthew had no answer. ”Good afternoon, sir,” Paine said, addressing the magistrate, and then he turned away and stalked out of the gaol.

Woodward watched through hooded eyes as the militia captain left. The magistrate had recalled something else Dr. s.h.i.+elds had said concerning the subject of Paine's deceased wife: It It was a long time ago, and I'm sure Paine wouldn't care to speak about it. In fact, I know he would not. was a long time ago, and I'm sure Paine wouldn't care to speak about it. In fact, I know he would not. Had it been such a terrible experience that Paine had decided to deny to the people of Fount Royal that he ever had a wife? And if so, why had he confided it to Dr. s.h.i.+elds? It was a small thing, to be sure... but still, a point of interest. Had it been such a terrible experience that Paine had decided to deny to the people of Fount Royal that he ever had a wife? And if so, why had he confided it to Dr. s.h.i.+elds? It was a small thing, to be sure... but still, a point of interest.

On Matthew's mind was the imminent arrival of the final witness, the child Violet Adams. He cleaned his quill and prepared a fresh sheet of paper. Rachel returned to her bench and sat down, her head lowered. Woodward closely inspected one of the black-ribboned poppets, after which he closed his eyes and took the opportunity to rest.

In a short while the gaol's door was opened, and Violet Adams had arrived.

Eighteen Edward Winston entered first through the door, followed by a thin brown-haired man of about thirty years who wore a dark green suit and tan stockings. Close behind him-up under his arm, it would be more accurate to say-was the child, of eleven or twelve years. She, too, was slender. Her light brown hair was pulled severely back from her forehead under the constriction of a stiff white bonnet. She wore a smoke-gray ca.s.sock from throat to ankles, and st.u.r.dy black shoes that had recently been buffed. Her right hand gripped the left of her father's, while in the crook of her own left arm she held a battered Bible. Her blue eyes, set rather far apart on her long, sallow face, were wide with fear.

”Magistrate, this is Violet Adams and her father, Martin,” Winston said as he led them in. The child balked at the entrance to the cell, but her father spoke quietly and firmly to her and she reluctantly came along.

”h.e.l.lo,” Woodward whispered to the little girl; the sound of his raw voice seemed to alarm her further, as she stepped back a pace and might have fled had not Martin Adams put his arm around her. ”I'm having trouble speaking,” Woodward explained. ”Therefore my clerk will speak for me.”

”Tell her to quit a'lookin' at us!” Adams said, his bony face damp with sweat. ”She's castin' the evil eye!”

Matthew saw that Rachel was indeed staring at them. ”Madam, in the interests of keeping everyone calm, would you refrain from looking at this father and child?”

She aimed her gaze at the floor. ”Ain't good 'nuff!” Adams protested. ”Cain't you put her somewheres else?”

”I'm sorry, sir, but that's impossible.”

”Make her turn 'round, then! Make her put her back to us!” At this Matthew looked to the magistrate for help, but all Woodward could do was give a dismissive shrug.

Adams said, ”We ain't stayin' here if she don't turn 'round! I didn't want to bring Violet to this place anyways!”

”Martin, please!” Winston held up a hand to quiet him. ”It's very important that Violet tell the magistrate what she knows.”

Violet suddenly jumped and her eyes looked about to burst from her skull. Rachel had risen to her feet. She pulled the bench away from the wall and then sat down upon it again, this time with her back toward them.

”There,” Matthew said, much relieved. ”Is that agreeable?”

Adams chewed his lower lip. ”For now,” he decided. ”But if she looks at us again, I'll take my child out of here.”

”Very well, then.” Matthew smoothed out the fresh sheet of paper before him. ”Mr. Winston, you may remove yourself.” Winston's departure made the father and daughter even more nervous; now both of them looked liable to bolt at any instant. ”Violet, would you care to sit down?” Matthew motioned toward the stool, but the little girl quickly and emphatically shook her head. ”We shall have to swear you to truth on the Bible.”

”What's the need for that?” Adams spoke up, in what was becoming an irritant to Matthew's ears. ”Violet don't lie. She ain't never lied.”

”It is a formality of the court, sir. You may use your own Good Book, if you please.”

With sullen hesitation, the man agreed and Matthew administered the oath to his daughter, who made hardly a sound in her acceptance to tell only the truth in the sight of G.o.d. ”All right,”

Matthew said after that hurdle had been cleared, ”what is it that you have to offer in this case?”

”This thing she's 'bout to tell you happent near three week ago,” came back that aural irritation. ”It were of an afternoon. Violet was kept late to school, so when she was comin' home she was by herself.”

”School? You mean she's a student?” student?” Matthew had never heard of such a thing. Matthew had never heard of such a thing.

”She was. I never wanted her to go, myself. Readin' is a fool's way to waste time.”

Now the knave had well and truly endeared himself to Matthew. He examined the child's face. Violet was not a particularly handsome little girl, but neither was she homely; she was simply ordinary, not being remarkable in any way except perhaps the wide s.p.a.cing of her eyes and a slight tic of her upper lip that was becoming a bit more p.r.o.nounced as it became time for her to speak. Still, the child carried herself with grace and seemed of a st.u.r.dy nature; Matthew knew it had taken quite a lot of courage to enter this gaol.

”My name is Matthew,” he began. ”May I call you Violet?”

She looked to her father for aid. ”That'll do,” Adams agreed.

”Violet, it's important that you you answer my questions instead of your father. All right?” answer my questions instead of your father. All right?”

”She will,” Adams said.

Matthew dipped his quill in the inkwell, not because it needed ink but because he required a moment to compose himself. Then he tried it again, first offering Violet a smile. ”Your bonnet is pretty. Did your mother sew it?”

”What's that got to do with the witch?” Adams asked. ”She's here to tell her tale, not talk 'bout a bonnet!”

Matthew wished for a jolt of rum. He glanced at the magistrate, who had cupped his hand to his mouth to hide what was a half-smile, half-grimace. ”Very well,” Matthew said. ”Violet, tell your tale.”

The little girl's gaze slid over toward Rachel, registering that the accused still remained sitting with her face to the wall. Then Violet lowered her head, her father's hand on her shoulder, and said in a small, frightened voice, ”I seen the Devil and his imp. Sittin' there. The Devil told me the witch was to be set loose. Said if the witch was kept in the gaol everybody in Fount Royal would pay for it.” Again her eyes darted to mark if Rachel had moved or responded, but the prisoner had not.

Matthew said quietly, ”May I ask where this sighting occurred?”

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