My uncle was in the kitchen. I caught him putting brandy in his tea.

‘I can’t tell Betty, can I?’ said my uncle.

‘About which matter?’

‘Bridget Bishop was hanged today.’

I shook my head. No, Betty could not be told. He had his hand on my shoulder as he spoke.

‘I will tell her later.’

I nodded. I needed to collect my thoughts; I wanted to be alone. Walking out into the garden, at the back of the parish, I looked up to a black velvet sky, scarred with a few stars. The air was sultry. It had been fun but only for a short time. It was exciting to listen to Tituba’s tales. I wanted to learn of her magic to secure the love of Robert. If it hadn’t been for Ann’s interference, nothing would have gone wrong. Now Bridget Bishop had been hanged. Bridget wasn’t an evil woman. She loved dressing up and could she be blamed for that? Was it a sin to love a red bodice and laces? Yes, she was friendly with both men and women. She had to be as a tavern keeper, the tavern just outside Salem Town. She gave freedom to the young and allowed their late hours playing shovel board.

Looking at cabbages, illuminated by the moonlight into strange shapes, I thought of one of my uncle’s sermons. Did we have to wait till Heaven before we were protected and could enjoy some happiness? Bridget was a woman not unlike me; it could have been me and not her. I had done worse than her. My body shivered, my heart pounded, my head was muddled. That thought that it could be me would not leave me. I held myself tight. She liked to dress in bright colours and have fine things about her house. Was there any sin in that?

But in 1688, she had been accused of stealing brass from the Salem mill and later fined for the theft. I had heard tales that she was disrespectful to her husband calling him an old rogue and an old devil. The court had ordered her to stand back to back to her husband, in the market place, both gagged with paper fastened to each of their foreheads with their offences written clearly. She had dug her own grave. Unlike me, she had few supporters in the village or in the town. My uncle and I may have not had warm regards for each other but he did stand beside me for support. People were already suspicious of her well before the search for witches began.

I sat on a seat John Indian had made, looking out over the garden, the spinach leaves shining silver. I saw some fresh weeds trying to choke the spinach stems. How like life. Our freedoms, our behaviour were choked. Bridget had defied the expectations of people. If she hadn’t had a husband, her inn would have been seized by the sheriff. How had all this happened? We girls had felt so important and needed by the community. We accused men and women. Did I ever really believe that any of them would hang? Or was I fooling myself? Now it had happened. My friendship with Betty was strained. My uncle did not trust me. I got up and moved to the silver spinach. I realised my hand was crushing a spinach leaf. I let my hand go and looked at it, stained with deep green. Was my heart stained? But I knew I was right in thinking that Tituba would be set free.

The following week, I went back in to our bedroom where Betty faced me.

‘Why, why, have they hanged Bridget first? She was not he first who was examined, nor the first to be arrested and sent to prison?’

So her father had told her eventually.

‘I don’t know; perhaps it’s done by the alphabet, I don’t know.’

‘You don’t really think so, do you? It couldn’t be. What about Abigail Hobbs?’

‘Yes, but what about the last name, silly?’

Betty nodded and shook her head.

I waited, knowing where Betty would go next.

‘They will do the same with Tituba, will they not?’

‘Well, her name begins with T, so it will be a long way off.’

I could hear the sobbing in Betty’s voice and see the anguish in her face. I put my arm around her petite shoulders.

‘Tituba will not be hanged. Being a slave will save her.’

‘Are you sure, Abigail?’

‘Yes, I know I am right as I am so often.’

But she was sometimes right too. But I wasn’t going to ever tell her that.

I wanted Robert. I wanted Robert to take me out of my low spirits and to make me laugh. If only I was there in Boston with him now away from all this strife in our village. I thought of his grand and comfortable house. I thought of the beautiful dress he had bought for me. I wanted it on my body now, to feel its silkiness down my hips. I yearned for Robert’s attention to me, his eyes on me, to sip his French wine and make small chatter. I’d love to see him at my feet with his head in my lap and me running my fingers in his dark curly hair.

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘I’m offering a prayer up.’ I looked up at Betty, a bit confused. I had been somewhere else.

‘My own private thoughts, Betty.’ I couldn’t be too harsh with her because I had decided I would make another trip to Boston to be with Robert and I needed her cooperation.

‘Betty, I’m going away again.’

She looked at me with great consternation and reluctantly spoke.

‘You put a great strain on me.’

I took that to mean she would cooperate with me. On that basis, I sent a letter to Robert advising him which day and time I could meet him in Salem Town, so I could join him in his coach to Boston. I made it for two weeks away. By the time he got the letter and I had packed, time would have lapsed. I felt I was lapsing at times.

I was excited, but more than that, relieved, relieved to escape. The day I was to leave, I went to the stable and took my usual horse, Chestnut, and the side-saddle to which I attached a small bag of my necessities. It had taken me a long time to get used to the side-saddle but I was very adept at it now. I took my bonnet off so the wind could run through my hair. I enjoyed the ride to the town. I deliberately came a little late so that Robert could see me on my horse with my side-saddle.

‘You are blooming.’

I brushed my hair back, as I took a rope to tie up my horse, or the horse I chose to call my own. John Indian would pick it up later. We tarried by the harbour a while before getting into the coach. I took my brush and tied my hair back with a ribbon.

The coach ride to Boston, despite the bumps, soothed me as before. I was between two worlds, so different from each other. It was a long trip over three hours but it went quickly. Robert talked about his business, the new fashions and politics that I didn’t really understand or want to. I just nodded my head and kept smiling as he droned on. My excitement grew as I saw Boston nearing and smelt the salt of the sea. I saw the big wharves, the ships, some of them in full sail lining the harbour; the row of town houses, the market place from where came raucous shouts of vendors. How different to the silence in the meeting house. It was all so big and sprawling.

At last we were in front of his handsome town house. His driver left to put the coach away. I always enjoyed going through his grand door and the whish sound it made opening.

‘You will want to rest a little and wash after the journey.’

Nodding, I went upstairs where Robert’s man had put a fresh towel and soap out for me. I washed and flopped on the bed, a bed I loved. After resting, I put my hair up not knowing whether to put my new dress on or not. The hanging came back to me. I was afraid for myself for the first time. Would I end up hanging? Things were out of control now and that worried me. I slowly descended the stairs.

‘I have a nice sweet wine for you.’ He poured me a glass.

We sat down to lunch of salad, fresh bread and cold chicken.

‘Are you enjoying your lunch? You look as if your mind is somewhere else; you look positively upset.’

‘Robert, I am upset.’

‘Whatever is the matter? You were happy in the coach.’

‘It is of no matter.’

‘Yes, it is. You are no fun today. What has happened? Is it something in your village?’

‘Yes.’

‘What exactly?’

‘There has been a hanging.’

‘Who was hanged, a witch?’

‘Bridget Bishop was.’

‘Did you go?’

‘No, my uncle would not allow it.’

‘Then put it out of your mind. You are now in Boston.’

I noticed that Robert did not seem to be a bit put out. He wasn’t going to put his arm around me to console my fears. He didn’t care about anything unless it affected him directly. In that we were very similar.

Instead, Robert winked at me. ‘I have a present for you.’ He took out a brown paper parcel from his bag and handed it to me.

I opened the parcel quickly and saw strange writing.

Robert laughed at my bewilderment. ‘Abigail, they are French language books. I think you would enjoy learning another language.’

‘Who will teach me?’

‘I will give you a lesson after lunch. But you will have to work by yourself with the books.’

His man cleared the table. The books were laid out. His lesson was fun. I didn’t know he was such a good teacher. His mouth made funny shapes and he wanted me to do the same. I loved the sound of French.

‘You can’t pronounce French words with the same accent as English. Their accent is entirely different. I can see that I will have to teach you French sounds before I teach you French words.’

I tried to make the sounds he made but I couldn’t and just burst out laughing. It made me forget about Salem. I loved him for making me forget.

I grew to love the sound of French too.

‘I think that’s enough. Take a rest and we’ll go for tea and cake after.’

At the teashop, his manner changed. He seemed to be thinking of something else now.

‘We will go back late afternoon. I am very busy at the moment with my business. I am waiting for a shipment and I must go down to the wharf tomorrow and there’s counting of bales and payments and storage. You don’t want to worry about that.’

‘I would simply love to be there.’

‘No, you would not.’

‘So, I can’t wear my new dress?’

‘I’m sure you will have other occasions to wear it.’

‘Are you leaving Boston because of something I have said or done?’

‘No, it is nothing about you. It is about my business, which is very important to me. As much as I enjoy your company, you are not the total of my world.’

‘What about love?’

Robert was silent.

The cake stuck in my throat.

Feeling slighted by Robert, I did not enjoy my walk back to his house.

‘There’s no need to sulk. Have a drink of water before we go.’

As I got back into the coach I asked Robert, ‘Will you not be tired going both ways in one day?’

‘I will stay in the town tonight and leave very early in the morning.’ His carriage always stopped away from my village but I enjoyed walking.

‘Au revoir,’ said Robert with a grin.

I waved to him.

As I came to the parish I went in the back way through the garden. I saw Betty and linked arms with her. She looked at me astonished. We entered the parish and went to our room.

Betty couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘What happened?’

‘I learnt French.’

Betty’s mouth opened.