The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

The villagers decided the two girl children were young enough to be redeemed, if they were taught the wrongness and evil of their mother’s ways. So it was that Maisie had been placed on a pillar at the kirk gates alongside her twin. With the church at their backs and the persecution of their mother before their eyes, they were supposed to learn what was wrong and what was right. Both girls learned what was wrong, because they balked at what the villagers said was right.

Maisie had struggled to stand upright on the stone pillar, but had kept her silence as she had been ordered to do by the people gathered there. Her brother had already been dragged away, lashing out and cursing the villagers. Jessie had whimpered and flailed, and Maisie wanted to go to her sister and help her, but could not.

Instead, the two of them were made to watch, made to suffer every wound and insult as their mother suffered. When she tried to turn her face away and close her eyes, Maisie was prodded by the man stationed nearby, his task to force her to observe.

Maisie had all but fainted from the horror unfolding before her when a man in coachman’s livery pushed through the crowd and lifted her down from the pillar. The villagers did not stop him.

Maisie could not even attempt to break free, for she was in shock, petrified by what she had witnessed. The coachman had a scowl on his face and a whip in his hand, and she’d believed she was about to meet the same fate as her mother. However, the man held her tightly to him, with both arms around her, as he made his way back through the crowd. He did not speak, and Maisie had been so afraid, she could scarcely understand what was going on around her.

He took her to a coach, and a grand coach it was. When the door opened, she was taken from the coachman’s arms by another man. He stood her on her feet in the interior and examined her before indicating the coachman should close the door.

The din of the crowd grew muffled once the door shut. Maisie trembled violently, her legs buckling under her.

The man put his hands beneath her elbows, easily holding her slight form in place. Then he forced her to look at him directly by putting a finger under her chin.

Maisie’s first glimpse of Cyrus Lafayette was not reassuring, for he was an imposing man with dark hair and intense green eyes.

“Your name is Margaret?”

She nodded.

Interest flickered in his eyes. He seemed to approve of what he saw. Instinct warned her that he knew what she was. Maisie could see it in his eyes and she shied back. But he smiled, and his eyes glittered, as if he was pleased.

“Poor child,” a woman’s voice behind her said, and Maisie found herself drawn backward into a comforting

embrace. Shivering with fear and shock, she barely felt the woman’s touch and could not fight it. Lifted onto the woman’s lap, she was rocked to and fro. “We have saved you, child. You will come and live with us, and no harm will befall you.”

The coach had set off, and Maisie remembered hearing the coachman ordering people out of his path, shouting and bellowing and urging his team to a faster pace. Was it true? Was she really safe? She turned to look at the woman who held her.

Beth Lafayette smiled. With pale blond hair and a gentle smile, she seemed kindly.

Eventually, Maisie reacted, speaking for the first time in several hours. “My brother and sister, Lennox and Jessie, are they coming with us?”

“They will find guardians, too, never fear,” said the austere man, who sat opposite. “But your life is with us now.”

“I have always wanted a beautiful girl child like you to call my own,” the woman told her, and tears shone in her eyes. “Even though you are not of my blood, I would be greatly pleased if you would call me Mama Beth.”

Feeling the woman’s emotion and gratitude, Maisie closed her eyes, attempting to blot out the images she had seen, and gradually taking the comfort Beth Lafayette offered.

And at first it was good and it was safe.

But Cyrus had not collected her simply to fulfill his wife’s wish for a daughter.

Cyrus Lafayette had plans of his own for Maisie Taskill.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cyrus Lafayette meshed his fingers together as he paced up and down the polished wood floor of the drawing room. He had to keep his hands that way in order not to throttle the young coachman who cowered before him. The urge to snap the servant’s neck was far too tempting.

The coachman shifted uneasily. “Please, sire. With your permission I will go back and ask again, see what I might find out.”

“No.” Cyrus paused and examined the man again, looking deep into his eyes. Was there something he was hiding, something else that he knew about Margaret that he was not sharing? Cyrus saw only fear, dim wit and incompetence.

The fear that shone in the coachman’s eyes branded him a fool, in Cyrus’s opinion. If the man had any sense of self-preservation he would speak more confidently, offer to lead Cyrus to the scene of Margaret’s disappearance, instead of looking as if he was about to turn on his heel and run.

Pain needled Cyrus’s eyes, the result of his barely withheld rage. He had to keep a rigid hold on it. He couldn’t afford to let it overcome him, not now. “Tell me again what you witnessed, from the beginning. Salient details only. Do not embellish.”

The coachman swallowed and then cleared his throat. “I was waiting to escort Miss Margaret to the theater, as instructed. At the appointed time I went inside, announced that the carriage was ready and inquired her whereabouts from the housekeeper. Miss Margaret was said to have dressed for the theater, but was nowhere to be found. When I stepped outside I believe I caught sight of her climbing into a carriage at the corner of the street. I wondered if she had forgotten I was there to take her to the opera. I thought that perhaps she’d hired a passing carriage instead, when she didn’t see me. I quickly followed. My concern grew when I realized the direction the carriage had taken was away from the theater.”