“Methinks ’twere wisdom that I should go in person, accompanied by soldiers,” spoke the Governor, “lest there be an uprising among the people at the reprieval of one convicted for witchery.”
“Little mistress,” said the Cavalier to Abigail, “be pretty-mannered and run and get me the decanter of wine from the living-room that we may again drink the health of the little maid in prison.”
Abigail obediently went out into the hall. There she saw the pretty gentlewoman whom she had noticed in the garden, standing by the table, drawing off her gauntlet gloves. Behind her stood a little black Moor dressed in the livery of the Governor’s household, and holding a basket filled with eggs and vegetables fresh from the market.
Lady Phipps turned as she heard steps behind her, and revealed a sprightly face with a fresh red colour, and fine eyes, black as sloes. “Lackaday, my pretty child!” she cried, “and prithee who might you be?”
Abigail dropped a courtesy. “I be Abigail Brewster, of Salem Town,” answered she.
“I hope I see you well,” said the gentlewoman.
Abigail dropped another courtesy. “And it will pleasure you, madam,” said she, “yon fine and portly gentleman, whom I come for to see, wishes more wine to drink therein the health of Deliverance Wentworth.”
Lady Phipps shook her head. “I fear in drinking others’ health he drinks away his own. I will attend to you in a moment, as soon as I have sent my little Moor to the kitchen with the marketing.”
While Abigail waited there was a vigorous pounding in the adjoining room. At this, Lady Phipps smiled. “Our good guest be as hot tempered as hasty pudding be warm. Tell him, sweet child, that he must bide in patience a moment longer.”
Abigail opened the door just wide enough to put her head inside. She saw Lord Christopher, purple in the face, frowning and tapping on the floor with his walking-stick. He smiled when he saw Abigail.