With half-closed eyes Abigail summoned back the wet twilight, the impression of trees crowding in on those decaying gray buildings. "A hundred feet?" It was hard to put aside her horrified anger at herself, that she and Thaxter had undoubtedly spent the night only a few dozen feet from where Rebecca-almost certainly-was being kept. "They"ll have gardens, between the houses and the woods, but those will be cleared off now."
"Aye, but their fences"ll still be up." The young man led the way from the house, looked down the road toward open ground, blue eyes narrowed. In Boston, Patrick Muldoon"s air of countrified good nature had made him seem naive, primitive, and rather harmless despite his imposing size and crimson uniform. Faced with the prospect of an escape through woods in overcast darkness-she knew precisely how far her lantern would cast light and she knew it would be next to useless-Abigail felt suddenly grateful that she was with an Irish farmhand used to the ways of bogs and fields, rather than the cleverest of Boston law clerks. "Moon"s on the wane, too, and them clouds don"t look like breakin". We"ll barely be able to see, goin" in. Comin" out, we"ve got to strike a fence and know which way to follow it, if we"re to make it back here with both feet. Thank Christ the road"s good and rutted."
"And that it"s December and cold as a well digger"s elbow," murmured Abigail. "They"ll all be indoors."
As if to mock her words, the crack of a gunshot sounded somewhere in the brown and silver woods, a hunter seeking to make the most of what game there was before the last of the squirrels retired for their winter naps. "Almost all," she temporized primly, and Muldoon grinned.
"Better watch out for them behind us, then, if they take it into their heads we"re the divil"s henchmen. All over the barrack, they say colonials grow up with guns in their hands, an" don"t have to be taught to shoot "em, like we do that the landlords have up for poachin" if we so much as throw a rock. Lead on, m"am."
For nearly a mile they skirted the edge of the open fields that lay to the eastern side of the village. The rain had been much less here, inland from the sea, but the going was slow, wet leaves and broken branches treacherous underfoot. The thicker undergrowth along the edge of the woods screened them from sight of the village itself, but within the woods the ground was clearer, the world bathed in a cold shadowless light. Now and then Abigail and her escort would work their way through the knots of hazel and bindweed, to the ditch that demarcated the fields. Beyond the ditch, low stone walls kept wild pigs, deer, and-probably more effectively-saplings and creepers at bay.
"Looks a right mess to get a plow through," whispered Muldoon, gazing across the brown field with its pocked, uneven ground. "What do they grow hereabouts?"
"Maize-Indian corn-mostly, and beans and pumpkins between the rows. The Indians used to not plow at all, just make hills for each plant, and bury a dead fish in each hill, to put heart into the plant. We grow corn on our farm-south of Boston, in Braintree-as well as wheat and rye, but "tis a hard crop on the soil. If you"re to grow corn you need three times the land you"re going to plant, plus meadows for hay."
"And it all belongs to somebody else anyway, you say?"
"A great deal of it. It isn"t that unusual, for boundaries to get mixed up, especially if the land goes through the hands of a speculator. When Bargest originally sought out land for his congregation he bought what was cheapest without looking into t.i.tle too closely." Abednego Sellars himself had been absent when Abigail had called at the chandlery on her way out of Boston-evidently a good many of the Sons of Liberty were out investigating the rumor that the Beaver Beaver was going to be surrept.i.tiously unloaded at sea. But Penelope Sellars had provided a wealth of detail about her detested in-laws" legal troubles, with considerable spiteful satisfaction, including the information that indeed, the case was scheduled to be settled at the next General Court. Legal details aside, Abigail couldn"t imagine anyone thinking that the decision would go against a good friend of the Crown who dined regularly with the Governor. was going to be surrept.i.tiously unloaded at sea. But Penelope Sellars had provided a wealth of detail about her detested in-laws" legal troubles, with considerable spiteful satisfaction, including the information that indeed, the case was scheduled to be settled at the next General Court. Legal details aside, Abigail couldn"t imagine anyone thinking that the decision would go against a good friend of the Crown who dined regularly with the Governor.
"And I will give unto thee the land wherein thou art a stranger, for an everlasting possession," the little woman had told her; That"s what their Hand of the Lord wrote on his court deposition, when they asked him for proof of where he"d got t.i.tle to have his folks farming those acres. And, "This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thy seed . . ." just as if HE were Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all rolled into one. AND he had his congregation run off the bailiffs, that Pentyre had sent out-just as if the man wasn"t in a position to have this Hand of the Lord taken up for debt and bigamy, too That"s what their Hand of the Lord wrote on his court deposition, when they asked him for proof of where he"d got t.i.tle to have his folks farming those acres. And, "This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thy seed . . ." just as if HE were Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all rolled into one. AND he had his congregation run off the bailiffs, that Pentyre had sent out-just as if the man wasn"t in a position to have this Hand of the Lord taken up for debt and bigamy, too . . . . . .
What had Thaxter said of Richard Pentyre? G.o.d help you if you cross him . . . G.o.d help you if you cross him . . .
And G.o.d help you, thought Abigail uneasily, if you cross the Hand of the Lord if you cross the Hand of the Lord.
And Perdita Pentyre, who would have inherited the lands were her husband to die, had been merely a detail to be cleared from the path of the righteous.
The woods grew thinner around them, sumac and sapling pine replacing the immemorial heaviness of hickory and oak. The ground became more even underfoot, and the broken remains of a wall slanted away before them. Following the woods" edge, Abigail saw the houses of the village much closer, and the remains of what had been a palisade in the days when Indian attack was a real possibility. Above the gray overcast, the sun had pa.s.sed noon.
"Well, that place looks a fair mansion, anyway-"
"The Reverend Bargest"s, at a guess," Abigail murmured. It was the handsomest and best-kept in the village. Troublingly, men and women stood about in front of it with an air of people waiting for news. Now and then someone would emerge from one of the other houses, cross to the waiting knots. Even at this distance, Abigail could see the tension of question and reply.
"Would he be ill, then?"
"What, he?" Despite her uneasiness, Abigail couldn"t keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Surely he can cure himself of anything with a touch? Perhaps his most recent Bride has gone into labor." But the sight filled her with dismay. She had counted on three solid hours of the Chosen One"s evening sermon, to allow her to get in, release Rebecca, and make good an escape before total darkness set in. The possibility that the Reverend would be ill and unable to preach had never crossed her mind.
"Well, let"s get in a smitch closer, and sit and watch a spell. "Mostly you don"t need to ask questions," me mother always says, "if you"ll just hold your peace and keep your eyes open." "
"She sounds like a wise woman, your mother."
"Ach." He shook his head. "When I"d tell her so, she"d roll up her eyes at the rafters an" say, "I"m scarcely that, boy-o; I married your Da", didn"t I?" Yet she always did give me the best advice." He fell silent, as they moved closer yet to the buildings. There were perhaps forty houses, not counting cowsheds and outbuildings, straggling along a single rutted lane which perished in the yard of the last dwelling in the town. Another lane crossed it, joining the Reverend"s house (as Abigail surmised it) with the House of Repentance. Nearly half of these dwellings cl.u.s.tered within the ruined quadrangle of the old palisade, and three appeared to have been part of its curtain wall.
As she watched the inhabitants of the village moved about their circ.u.mscribed winter ch.o.r.es-cutting kindling or hauling in sledges of wood from the surrounding wilderness; feeding chickens in their coops or tending boiling pots where by the stink of it soap was being rendered. Most, Abigail knew, would be laboring at indoor winter tasks: spinning, weaving, carding, sharpening tools, and mending harness. Orion grew up here. Orion grew up here.
She could almost see him, toddling adoringly at his mother"s heels down that muddy street. Beautiful, like her, with her raven hair and green eyes. And she"d thought nothing of dragging him along with her to live under the domination of her monomaniacal lover. And he, who had only his love to use, to draw her back to him, had been trapped in the sticky webs of neediness and domination.
I"ve tried to act for the best, but I can"t be two people!
Would things have been different, if he had been brought up in anything approaching normal circ.u.mstances?
Or with madness, did it make a difference?
Yet while her mind ran on all this, Abigail"s gaze moved over the squalid little settlement, picked out details. Who went into which doors, who came out, how long they remained. Which houses had the look of habitation-cows, chickens, dogs, gardens harvested recently, smoke in the chimneys, outhouses that smelled of use-and which did not. She and Muldoon shifted their position several times in the course of the afternoon, watching patiently as hunters, not even knowing quite what they looked for.
"You say he kept her stupefied with laudanum before he took her across the bay-"
"He had plenty in his house. I don"t see how else he would have kept her quiet."
"Oh, aye. Our landlord"s mother had the habit of it, and G.o.d knows she didn"t know Easter from Christmas for months on end. But you had to watch her. Lord Semphill, he"d keep her locked in her room, but you couldn"t leave a candle with her, and they had to bar the windows, for she"d sometimes try to break "em. Would they still have her under it now, d"ye think, ten days later?"
"I have reason to think she was struck over the head," Abigail murmured back. She shifted her cloak, where it had become entangled with the small horn lantern at her belt, and its little satchel of candles. "I don"t know how badly. Nor can I guess what the Reverend Bargest told whatever family is in charge of caring for her. They must be well and truly under his sway, for if she"s capable of speech, what she tells them will be disquieting to say the least. And they"ll see-they must must see-how harmless she is . . . In the end, he knows he"s going to have to kill her." see-how harmless she is . . . In the end, he knows he"s going to have to kill her."
"Oh, aye," said the young man again, as if it needed no saying. "Just as soon as he knows Mr. Pentyre"s been took care of, belike. They won"t have done for the poor lady already, d"ye think?"
Abigail shook her head, not shifting her gaze from the village down the hill. She"d already thought of that. "If he did did bring her here, it would be because she saw him. She knew him. Whatever Bargest told him about why Perdita Pentyre must die, Orion had clearly made up his mind not to harm Rebecca. The Hand of the Lord must have had a nasty shock," she added grimly, "when his chosen weapon came back to him with a witness, saying, bring her here, it would be because she saw him. She knew him. Whatever Bargest told him about why Perdita Pentyre must die, Orion had clearly made up his mind not to harm Rebecca. The Hand of the Lord must have had a nasty shock," she added grimly, "when his chosen weapon came back to him with a witness, saying, You keep her safe, or I won"t kill Pentyre You keep her safe, or I won"t kill Pentyre."
"It"s mad. Your boy must have known the old man couldn"t let her live."
"He knew for two years that she was another man"s wife," said Abigail. "Yet he hoped that things would somehow turn out right in the end. But-" She broke off, and said, "d.a.m.nation!"
"What?" Muldoon grinned. "An" don"t think it ain"t a treat, to find a good Puritan lady will swear now and then-"
"No," whispered Abigail indignantly. "That woman there, coming out of that house . . . It"s d.a.m.nation Awaits the Trembling Sinner. The servant to the Hazlitts."
"d.a.m.nation indeed." He raised an eyebrow curiously at Abigail, as the tall young woman made her way along the muddy street. Abigail nodded a.s.sent, and cautiously they moved through the brown tangles of dead fern and leafless hackberry, where the edge of the woods paralleled the way. Beyond the broken stumps of the palisade, and the last cowsheds and woodpiles of the village proper, lay half a dozen houses, farther and farther apart; one of these, two stories tall, had the look of an old defensive blockhouse. Its upper floor projected over its lower, and its walls were stoutly constructed of squared logs. The sheds around it stood empty, and what had been its garden was a knotted thicket of dead weeds, ringed by straggly fence-posts whose rails had long since been taken away for other purposes.
Before this house d.a.m.nation halted, and stood staring up at its upper windows. Across the road and with a field between them, Abigail couldn"t see the woman"s face. But she did see her walk back and forth before the house, and partway around both sides, looking.
Muldoon touched Abigail"s arm, pointed. By the door, Abigail saw, were three little piles of cut wood, as if someone had been a.s.signed to bring an armload to the place, and had simply dumped their burden and gone away.
Abigail said, "That"s it."
Thirty-one
A oman came out of the house nearest the one that had attracted d.a.m.nation"s attention-which lay nearly fifty feet away-ap.r.o.ned and wrapped in a heavy shawl. Though the servant woman"s brown dress was the plainest serge obtainable in town, still it looked modish and new against the villager"s crude homespun. The village woman caught d.a.m.nation"s arm, explained something to her, with gestures and shakings of her head. As she led d.a.m.nation away, back toward the main village crossroad, the servant looked back over her shoulder at the empty house.
"A closer inspection, Sergeant?"
To avoid crossing the road under the eyes of possible watchers in the two nearest houses, Abigail and her escort had to work their way for nearly thirty minutes along the edge of the woods, past the last house in the village (which was occupied, Abigail noted-What half-believing heart had settled thus far from his neighbors?) and so back to the rear of that closed-up former blockhouse. Even so, nearly a hundred feet of open ground lay between the woods and the rear of the house. Its original defensive purpose was clearest on that side, for there were no windows at all on the ground floor, and only rifle-slits above, facing the fields.
It was so wholly and indisputably a prison that Abigail shivered, and wondered, Is his Word so paramount to them, that they"ll follow him even in that? Incarcerating someone only because he says they should? Is his Word so paramount to them, that they"ll follow him even in that? Incarcerating someone only because he says they should?
Fifteen centuries of religious histories in her father"s books, and John"s, snickered up their sleeves at her: You think that"s odd You think that"s odd? The Salem witches shook their heads at her naivete.
She"s a born liar and a conniver, the wicked Mrs. Jewkes in Pamela Pamela had said to the other servants, had said to the other servants, don"t believe a word that she says don"t believe a word that she says. Or had the Hand of the Lord chosen Mrs. Tillet"s justification? I know more about this than you do . . . I know more about this than you do . . .
Dark as it had been when she and Thaxter had come out of the evening service, she doubted she"d even been able to see this house.
Yet still, unreasonably, she felt, I should have known I should have known . . . . . .
The more closely she observed the house, the more certain she was.
Only once in the course of the short, fading afternoon did anyone go near the place. The same woman who had drawn d.a.m.nation away returned some hours later, a basket on her arm. Going in, she reemerged almost at once-without the basket-and fetched in a few sticks of the firewood. A few moments later, Abigail saw the white puffs of new smoke rise from the chimney. Good Heavens, it must be like an icehouse in there-! Good Heavens, it must be like an icehouse in there-!
She came out again to bring in a pail of water, and to empty a chamber pot, which she rinsed briefly with another splash of water drawn from the well, but didn"t wash. This she carried back inside, then reemerged, picked up her empty basket, and hastened away down the darkening street toward the groups gathered outside the house of the Chosen of the Lord.
By that time, the wintry daylight was almost gone. At times Abigail barely noticed that she was shivering, so violent was her rage, shock, horror; at other times she felt a kind of bone-deep exhaustion coming over her and thought, I"m going to get sick if I"m not careful I"m going to get sick if I"m not careful. But there was nothing to be done about that. She and Muldoon worked their way along the edge of the woods, observing every house in the town, but they all appeared to be normal- "Or as normal as this place can be, under the command of a hypocritical madman!" whispered Abigail, when they returned to their post among a thicket of young hazel, opposite the old blockhouse.
"Who may be dying," breathed back Muldoon. Men came in from the woods-some with wood, others carrying braces of dead squirrels or groundhogs-and the anxious groups keeping watch around that handsome house coalesced into a crowd. Though at that distance it was difficult to be sure, Abigail thought the watchers kept turning, looking in the direction of the blockhouse. Several pointed.
"You don"t think she had the smallpox, and has give it to him?"
"If she had, the Tillets would have it as well," Abigail whispered back. "As would Mr. Hazlitt, and I myself."
"Did she bite him, d"you think, and it"s mortifyin"?"
"Serve him right if it were." But her chuckle swiftly died. "They would kill her."
"T"cha!"
"If she were responsible for his death, or his illness? For robbing them of his counsel? Of course they would." As she spoke the words a cold suspicion took her heart, as to what was actually going on in the village.
John-Where was John? Or-though she could not imagine that John wouldn"t come to aid her himself, and be d.a.m.ned to the Provost Marshal"s thirty-pound bond-where were those he would, he Or-though she could not imagine that John wouldn"t come to aid her himself, and be d.a.m.ned to the Provost Marshal"s thirty-pound bond-where were those he would, he must must, send? She had listened all day for them, consumed with dread lest they ride straight into Gilead and let themselves be talked into leaving, having given the game away . . .
"Don"t worry after "em, Mrs. Adams," whispered Muldoon. "We can get the poor lady out of there right enough. All we need"s a bit of time to get ourselves ready."
As the gray light thickened, they worked their way back to one of the broken fence-lines that crossed the light second growth of what had been fields, the sergeant marking the way by cutting saplings half through with his knife, and bending them down so that they formed a sort of chain as far as the fence. "Even if the moon"s covered, keep a hand on these," he breathed. "It"ll lead ye"s to the fence. The fence"ll lead us to the ditch and wall round the great fields, and we can follow those to the road. "Twill be slow going, but once at the road we can keep one foot in a rut, and thirty of my strides"ll take us to that shanty where the horses are tied."
"I have a lantern-" It had been dragging at her belt all the afternoon.
"Agh, m"am, it won"t shine a foot before us, but"ll show us up for a mile. And, I never did go out poachin" with a winker but that I managed to drop it and the candle fell out of it."
"How"ll we find our way from the house to the first sapling?"
"We"ll do like that old Greek feller." Muldoon tapped the side of his nose with an expression of wisdom. "The one that treated that poor girl so scaly: I misremember his name. But we"ll have to step pretty lively, I"m thinkin". Night"s fallin" fast."
It was, in fact, about the hour that Abigail and Thaxter had entered the village before, when she and Muldoon came opposite its main crossroad again. Lights had been kindled in the House of Repentance, but-as Abigail had feared-few were going inside. Instead they lingered around its doors in the twilight, or gathered, thicker and thicker, before the big and handsome house, whose windows also began to glow. She recognized d.a.m.nation among them, by her height and by the relatively stronger color of her dress. She was one of the ones gesturing, talking, pa.s.sionately it seemed, and pointing back toward the blockhouse.
"Mr. Hazlitt must have sent her away Wednesday evening, just before the town gates were shut," Abigail whispered, now shivering in earnest as she stood beside the sergeant"s comforting bulk. "I can"t see how she could have come into town much before this morning, even with a few hours" start on us. I don"t know where she would obtain a horse. What"s going on now?"
The house door opened. Six men emerged, carrying a sort of bier between them, as if for a dead man. But the Reverend Atonement Bargest, the Hand of the Lord, was far from dead. On the bier he writhed, arms threshing, head rolling, and even across the distance Abigail could hear him moan and cry out, though his words were lost to her.
"What the divil-?"
"The divil indeed," murmured Abigail. "He"s being tormented by witches-invisible, of course-even as those girls were in Salem Village, all those years ago." She glanced up at Muldoon. "Or your Aunt Bridget. Something tells me we"re here just in time."
Men, women, a few children and adolescents came hurrying from the houses to join the little procession that crowded around the bier and followed it to the church. A few bore lanterns. Most carried pine-knot torches, the light yellow and wild on their faces, like an uneasy whirlpool of flame. Muldoon signed to Abigail, and the two made their way farther up the edge of the woods, finally breaking cover at a small house that stood a little distance from the old palisade, one of the few in the village which they had observed included no dog. Muldoon led the way across the fallow garden, circled on the side away from the street, and yanked the latchstring to let them in. The downstairs keeping room was a chasm of almost total dark, save for the glow of the banked fire, at which Abigail lighted her lantern"s candle. She"d already guessed what Muldoon sought.
"Good for her, she"s spun a fair bundle of it." He dug through the willow basket beside the spinning wheel, pulled out hanks of thick yarn, for stockings or scarves rather than the finer thread that would feed the great loom that crouched in the far corner. So the old Greek he had in mind was Theseus, following the thread-clue to the labyrinth"s heart . . . So the old Greek he had in mind was Theseus, following the thread-clue to the labyrinth"s heart . . . as she had followed first one clue, and then another, to lead her here. "Is there a shed for laundry?" as she had followed first one clue, and then another, to lead her here. "Is there a shed for laundry?"
Abigail shook her head. "She"ll have her clothes-rope strung upstairs in the attic, this time of year. Will we need rope?" She glanced toward the window, her heart beginning to pound with the sense of panic, of time running out, that had driven her from Boston the moment she had seen Bargest"s handwriting on the threat to Pentyre. Orion killed his mother because he knew he would not be returning to care for her . . . because he was going to make his attack on Pentyre last night. Orion killed his mother because he knew he would not be returning to care for her . . . because he was going to make his attack on Pentyre last night. She shuddered at the thought: She shuddered at the thought: Had he meant only to cut her throat? Was it that blood that triggered his madness, as it triggered his outrages on Perdita Pentyre"s body? Had he meant only to cut her throat? Was it that blood that triggered his madness, as it triggered his outrages on Perdita Pentyre"s body?
Was that the message he"d sent here with d.a.m.nation? To tell the Hand of the Lord that his Will would be done?
Then Bargest would know that his tool-his human weapon-would either not be returning here at all-that he would be killed-or that he would would return, and demand Rebecca"s release. return, and demand Rebecca"s release. Either way, Rebecca would be no longer of use. Either way, Rebecca would be no longer of use.
The attic was crammed with supplies-sacks of corn, barrels of apples, smoke-black hams hanging from the rafters to keep them away from mice-but no clothesline. By the attenuated glimmer of the single gable window, and the weak flicker of Abigail"s candle, they eventually located a stout coil of it downstairs in the porch, after what felt like half an hour of hunting. By that time the ground outside was a mere blur of iron gray, the sky barely to be distinguished above the coal-black line of the trees. "Can you find the thicket?" Abigail slipped the lantern-slide shut on her candle, and Muldoon nodded. "Then go now, and rig a line to the blockhouse," she whispered. "I don"t know what I"ll find there, or how long it"ll take."
"Stand at the corner of the house toward the wood, then," whispered the sergeant, "with the lantern-slide open toward me, or I"ll never find the place comin" back."
Abigail obeyed. As she stood waiting, she could hear the drift of sound from the House of Repentance, a single voice, crying out in terror, shrieking in horror at the spirit of the witch that a.s.sailed him. Now and then, like the gust of wind in the trees, the congregation gasped or screamed in response.
Like the Sons of Liberty, she reflected, when Sam would shout at them, Do you want to see your homes overrun, your goods plundered, your children at the point of British bayonets Do you want to see your homes overrun, your goods plundered, your children at the point of British bayonets . . . ? . . . ?
No-! Like the hammer of the sea . . . or the slow tolling of Boston"s bells . . . Like the hammer of the sea . . . or the slow tolling of Boston"s bells . . .
For a time she could make out the black shape of the sergeant, his heavy military cloak belling out behind him, moving over the paler ground. Then she blinked, and could see him no more. She herself could scarcely find the blockhouse, though she oriented herself carefully toward the dark bulk of it against the final limmerance of sky. She followed its wall around, opened the lantern-slide, pointed it out toward the wood.
Herself a Daughter of Eve-the ninth and worst, she recalled: the woman who goes about the town poking her long nose into things that weren"t her affair-Abigail would have given much, to tiptoe down the empty village street and put her head through the door of the House of Repentance. She recalled how an uncle of hers described the girls at the Salem trials, screaming in agony and pointing at the old woman whom the jury had just voted as innocent: It was she, she, who was doing this to them! Did they not see her glowing spirit, squatting on their chests, strangling and pinching and grinning? The jury had reversed their verdict, and old Mrs. Nurse had been hanged.
Sergeant Muldoon"s footfalls crunched in the dark, but Abigail saw nothing of him until he appeared suddenly, a yard from her, in the lantern"s feeble light. The sky was black overcast, thin wind running like scared rats over the fallow fields. The sergeant tied the end of his yarn-clue to a sliver of kindling, which he rammed between the logs at the corner of the house. "Let"s not lose that," he said.
Abigail shut the lantern-slide. The dark was absolute. They followed the log wall of the blockhouse back around to their right, and Abigail almost broke her shin on the pile of firewood by the door. Opening the slide, they could just see the latchstring.
The remains of a fire glowed in the hearth of what had been a keeping room downstairs, long as two ordinary rooms and smelling of dirt and mold. Searching for the stairway, Abigail had the dim impression of a big table, a litter of broken baskets entangled with the knots and slag-ends of wool. Broken shuttles, and a whittled wood "wheel-finger," told her that at some point this room had contained spinning wheels and probably a couple of looms, where the women of the village had pursued the wholesale task of cloth-making. Neither looms nor wheels remained. Along the back wall lay the stairs, a sort of heavy ladder that it would have taken all of Abigail"s strength to raise to its place alone. The room was as cold as a tomb.
The ladder, put in its place, hooked onto pegs in the wall just beneath a bolted trapdoor in the ceiling. This opened into darkness only warmer by the most minute degree, a darkness that smelled of dirty blankets, mice, decades of mold, and of chamber pots long uncleaned.
Abigail said, "Rebecca?"
There was no reply.
The dark lantern showed only edges, spots, and then only when Abigail had cautiously advanced to be nearly on top of what she saw. The room was a large one, lined-Abigail saw as she moved toward the wall-with two tiers of roughly constructed bunks. Some of these retained mattresses of ticking stuffed with what had once been straw. On others, only heaps of mousy-smelling husks remained. Wild skittering at the other end of the long room, and the lantern-beam glittered on a half-hundred little mousy eyes. Abigail walked toward the place, the light held out before her, knowing what she"d find close to that many mice.
And she did. A bowl of porridge and a hunk of bread, comprehensively chewed by the vermin. A red pottery pitcher of water. The rinsed-out chamber pot, and the trailing end of a very dirty striped blanket.
She held the lantern higher and closer.
Rebecca. Asleep. Asleep.
Thirty-two