Chapter 38

Henry stared into nothing, rubbing his jaw repeatedly. He was sitting alone in the parlour while the women were in the conservatory admiring new plants. He forgot he had ordered several exotic plants a while ago because the conservatory looked pitiful with its lack of flora.

They were delivered this morning, catching everyone’s attention. He was glad for a moment alone in a room other than his study. Staring at those four walls for months was driving him mad, yet it was all self-inflicted.

Despite speaking to Lady Ruth the previous day, Henry still hadn’t talked to Rebecca. He was looking for the right time, but that might never happen because there was no such thing as the perfect time.

“Your Grace,” his butler called, standing by the doorway.

“Yes?”

“The rector and vicar are here to see you,” the butler informed him.

Henry frowned. “The rector and vicar? Why on earth do they wish to see me?”

“I do not know, sir,” the butler replied.

The rector did not make personal house calls unless there was something beneficial, but Henry couldn’t come up with a reason. He had come with his nephew, Mr Bartlett, which just made the situation stranger. Henry was confident the vicar had realized he wasn’t welcome in Dorchester Place because he had stopped visiting with Lady Ruth.

“Fine, send them in,” he told his butler.

A rather rotund rector and Mr Bartlett stepped into the room moments later, bowing respectfully.

“It is good to see you again, Your Grace,” the rector said.

“And you, Mr Winterman,” Henry replied. “Mr Bartlett.”

“It has been a while, Your Grace,” the vicar said, offering his usual oily smile. “You have been rather busy for some time. You haven’t been able to spare me any time at all.”

Accusation laced the man’s words. Henry didn’t care. The vicar’s opinion of him was the least of his worries, not when he had yet to speak to the woman he probably loved. Henry wasn’t sure what love felt like because he had never experienced it, but he knew he had never experienced needing someone so much before.

Rebecca was his reason for getting out of bed in the morning and why he had so much to smile about. He felt almost possessive and obsessive, both foreign feelings for a man who had been temperate all his life.

“I’m sure you understand how busy one can get,” Henry replied, gesturing at the seats. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I’ll get straight to the point, Your Grace,” Mr Winterman began. “We have come to speak to you about Miss Barnes.”

“Miss Barnes?” he repeated, surprised. “Why have you come to speak to me about her?”

He suddenly narrowed his eyes as he turned his attention to Mr Bartlett. The man had shown much interest in her, to the point that Henry had wanted to chase him out of the house.

“A few people have come to us, Your Grace,” the vicar replied.

Henry lifted an eyebrow. “Concerning?”

“They are claiming Miss Barnes has used witchcraft against them,” Mr Winterman said. “And on you.”

Henry had to have heard wrong. “I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Barnes bewitches men,” said Mr Bartlett. “She makes them fall in love with them.”

Henry threw his head back and laughed, believing the men were joking. They couldn’t be serious because it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. However, when he looked at the men and found them frowning, he realized they were serious. He immediately sobered, anger replacing his mirth.

“Who are these men accusing Miss Barnes of such a horrendous crime?” he asked.

“Their identities are being protected,” Mr Winterman replied. “We cannot disclose their names.”

Henry rolled his eyes with a snort. “Hmm, how very odd,” he said. “I do not know these men, and I’m quite confident they do not know Miss Barnes, or they would have never accused her of witchcraft. I gather they do not even have the evidence necessary to accuse her.”

The men were silent, their gazes averted. This was all he needed to know that these accusations were fabricated.

“Gentlemen, you and I both know these are false accusations created by jealous men,” Henry said. “I cannot tolerate people who entertain such lies. I suggest you leave my home before I forget I’m a gentleman.”

“Are you telling me that you’re going to take the side of a witch instead of from a man of God?” Mr Winterman asked. “You’ve obviously been bewitched, Your Grace. Can you not see that?”

“Man of God?” he repeated. “What man of God? Do you mean Mr Bartlett? The very same man who goes through women like a woman changing her shoes? That man of God?”

Mr Bartlett jumped to his feet, pointing his finger at him. “How dare you!”

Henry scoffed. “I’ve heard the rumours, Mr Bartlett,” he said. “I’ve also seen first-hand how you look at women. They’re objects to you.” He shook his head. “Besides, you didn’t get this position because you’re a good man but because your uncle is the rector. You live a life of sin, yet you wish to accuse an innocent woman of a crime she never committed. Why not point the finger at yourself? Why not address your sins?”

The vicar paled, but his uncle’s cheeks puffed up as he rose. “I see we will not get through to you,” he said.

“Not if you’re going to keep lying,” Henry retorted.

He was taking things too far, but he didn’t care. Hearing them accuse Rebecca of something that used to get people killed was unforgivable. Henry was a peaceful man, but he was ready to fight to protect her.

The angered men left in a huff, but Henry could tell this wasn’t the end of the matter.

***

This was not good at all. Rebecca wasn’t supposed to overhear the conversation in the other room, but it had happened accidentally. She had come from the conservatory and wanted to get her embroidery from the room, so she stopped to listen when she heard her name. Never did she think she would hear two men of God accusing her of witchcraft.

It was one thing for jealous physicians to say things out of anger but another for men who should know better to accuse her of something so serious. She was touched that Henry had defended her so fiercely, but judging by what she had heard, the men were adamant that she should be punished for a crime she hadn’t committed.

“What will I do?” she whispered, biting her nails.

She hadn’t done that in years, not since people tried to accuse her grandmother of witchcraft. Fortunately, the villagers came to her rescue against the man who had accused her, and he was driven out. A year after that, a woman in another county was accused of witchcraft, but she wasn’t so lucky. She was tortured until someone stepped in and helped her.

The people in the woman’s village had turned into bloodthirsty animals, looking to accuse her of every terrible thing that happened in their lives. These people never had any evidence, but that didn’t stop them from torturing her. If enough people believed the witchcraft rumour against Rebecca, they could do her much harm before the authorities could get involved.

Momentarily numb with shock, she just stood in the centre of the room. Mr Bartlett and his uncle led an entire flock of people, giving them the power to turn many minds against her. It seemed she would have to leave the village much sooner than expected. While she didn’t want to get ahead of herself, she had to weigh the consequences of a possible witch hunt.

Waiting until the men had left, she slipped out of the room and went straight to the nursery. Tommy was asleep, having dozed off while they were still in the conservatory. Nanny Bates had taken him to the nursery so Rebecca could continue to have tea with the countess and her aunt.

However, she needed comfort, so she picked him up and sat in the rocking chair with him. He never complained and continued to sleep peacefully on her shoulder, giving her the warmth she needed. Rocking back and forth, she got into a rhythm and stared at the opposite wall.

“Miss Barnes?”

Rebecca blinked, looking away from the wall to find the countess staring at her. She hadn’t heard Lady Oakham enter the room.

“Yes, My Lady?” she said.

Lady Oakham frowned. “Is something wrong? You look troubled.”

Rebecca thought about lying, but she found herself telling the truth instead. “Mr Winterman and Mr Bartlett have accused me of witchcraft,” she said, speaking as though the matter didn’t involve her. She was still evidently numb. “Apparently, I’ve been bewitching men, His Grace included.”

“That is just ridiculous!” Lady Oakham exclaimed. “Are they still here? I need to have a talk with those foolish men.”

“They have already left,” Rebecca informed her.

The countess scowled. “That doesn’t change the fact that I intend to talk to them,” she said. “How dare they accuse you of such a thing? Do they think that because they’re the rector and vicar of our parish, they have the right to accuse innocent people? Well, we also know powerful people! I’m sure my brother will squash these rumours before they have a chance to do any damage.”

Rebecca wanted to believe her, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to warn her otherwise.