Chapter XV

Lord Christopher Mallett


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:—

“Full fathoms five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell”—

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.”