Every time I met the mistress in the plantation house I told her how I loved her house and how I would love to meet her children. I asked how old they were and what they looked like. Eventually, I met them.

‘Good morning, Miss Abigail.’

‘Good morning, my dear children.’

They were lovely children, polite and well-mannered, and they seemed pleased to meet a new person. The mistress asked me if I could look after her children for two hours in the afternoon. That was precisely what I wanted her to ask me.

‘Yes Mistress, and I will not only look after them, but I can also teach your children sums and spelling.’

‘I would like my husband to meet you. But first I must get you fresh clothes. You must look more decent.’

‘How long will that take?’

The Mistress laughed and replied, ‘As soon as I ask one of my slaves to look at you and give her the material.’

Well, it wasn’t the same as being fitted for my white dress in Boston by a tailor. The new clothes came the next day. I brushed my hair and put a ribbon round it to hold it back. I chose the purple ribbon I had bought in Salem Town.

When I finally met the master of the house, I was a little wary. He was a stern man. I felt his green eyes delve into my very soul.

I heard him talking later about me.

‘She will be fine with children, if they like her, but I wouldn’t trust the baby to her.’

Wouldn’t he?

As it was the two children grew to love me because I told them tales and helped them with their spelling and reading. The mistress had me look after them every afternoon. I still worked in the kitchen where I was determined not to stay forever, but I heard more news of the ball there and learnt that it was to be held soon. Excitement perfumed the air. I could see it in my mistress. She started to put her trust in me and brought me to her bedroom to show me her dress.

‘Oh, it’s so beautiful; you will look magnificent wearing it. I love the lace sleeves; how elegant. I only wish I could go to the ball.’

‘I wish you could too but you don’t have a dress.’

‘But Mistress, I do. Let me show you.’

She entered my small room and watched me take out the dress from the drawer where I had it wrapped in paper. I proudly took it out.

‘Abigail. That is a lovely dress. Where did you get it?’

I had to think quickly.

‘Mistress, I made friends with a girl in Salem Town where we used to have tea together. Her father moved to Boston. A ball took place there and my friend wanted me to visit her and really wanted me to go to the ball with her. So her father agreed to pay for the dress to be made as long as I paid him back. I made cakes for Ingersoll’s Inn to make money to send him and I am sending money I make here to him.’

‘Well, I think you should go to the ball. I will ask my husband’s permission and let you know.’

‘Mistress, thank you. I really want to go to the ball.’

I couldn’t stop dreaming about going to the ball. I burnt a pie and had to make another one. But with the children I took great care. I wanted to work in the house not just the kitchen. I was meant for better things. A week passed and I had heard nothing. Then I nearly bumped into my mistress.

‘Mistress, I am sorry.’

‘Never mind, Abigail. I have good news for you. You are coming to the ball. My eldest son will accompany you.’

‘Mistress, you have made me so happy. I will make a special cake for you for afternoon tea.’

‘Thank you Abigail.’

The news made me want to dance.

I didn’t tell them in the kitchen. It was not their business. It was hard to hide my excitement, which made me tremble, but I had faced many hard things. I couldn’t sleep at night thinking of wearing that dress again, swirling around in dance. Thank heaven Robert had taught me some steps but I needed more. I had to tell Mistress that.

The next day I shared my problem with her that I was not the best dancer.

‘Well, I will have to bring the dance master here. The lessons will have to come out of your pay but I think you will be a quick learner.’

I wrote to Betty telling her that I was going to a ball and I was going to take dance lessons. There was no reply. I looked forward to my dance lessons. My dance teacher was an older Frenchman and he enjoyed speaking to me in French. He had a very neat beard. We were good company for each other. One day he asked me to dance in my dress. I ironed it carefully and hung it on a rail. When my dance lesson came I put it on and went to the ballroom where he taught me dance steps. When he saw me he whistled.

‘Mademoiselle, une belle.’

‘Merci, Monsieur.’

He stopped coming when I had learnt all the dances. I was sorry to see him go but I was glad that I could keep all my pay.

The day arrived. I cooked in the kitchen in the morning till noon and ate with the other servants. Then I took a rest before I went to the children. After that, I took a bath and then rested more. My heart was beating, as I had to be ready at seven in the evening. I did my hair, pinning it up. I put on my stockings, then the dress, then the shoes. I looked at my hair again and re-arranged it. Once more I wished that I had a necklace at my throat so that I could look more imposing. I heard a knock on my door and there was Stephan, looking at me with admiration. He took my arm and we walked down the stairs and into the ballroom. I saw the eyes of many men upon me but I ignored them. Stephan had the first dance with me after which another man took over from him. I loved the swirl of my skirt and the soft music. I danced with four different men before I asked to retire. One of the men I thought I had seen in the Master’s garden. His grip was strong yet gentle. Stephan brought me a glass of wine that I sipped slowly. I hid behind my fan which my dancing teacher had given me as a parting gift.

Before long it was time to go to the dining room where the table groaned with the amount of food on it, some of which I had cooked. I smiled at Stephan. It was so good to sit down at the Master’s table and dine with so many fine people. They all knew that I looked after the Master’s children. They thought I came from Salem Town and I did not enlighten them to the truth. They enquired whether I had been to Boston and I was happy to tell them that I had. After the fruit salad and coffee, men and women drifted back to the ballroom for more dances. I was filled with happiness as a buttercup is filled with dew.

It was time to retire. Stephan was a fresh-faced fifteen year old but he would become a fine gentleman.

‘Abigail before you retire, I would like to take you to the veranda for the air. It is cooler now.’

‘Thank you, Stephan.’

We walked out to fresh air where the sun had lost its sting. It was pleasant and the smell of magnolias filled my whole being. When I re-entered my room, I didn’t go to bed. I looked out the window to recapture any stray magic.

In the kitchen, the following morning, Cook gave me a knowing look but said nothing. When we ate together with the servants, it all came out.

‘Abigail, you went to the ball and you never told us.’

‘I couldn’t. If I had told you and it hadn’t taken place, I would have looked like a goose and you wouldn’t believe anything else I have to say.’

‘We heard of your beautiful dress.’

Could one ever keep a secret?

I decided to hug them all and we laughed.

Whenever I was outside gathering flowers for the house, I noticed an overseer always looking at me. I used every opportunity I had to leave the house. I missed my horse riding. I remembered the Rappahannock River when the coach first brought me here. But I had seen nothing of the countryside since. I needed the wind in my hair. But it was hot. The house was cool. I gazed at the overseer who appeared strong and suntanned, which made him look healthy. His face was straight and honest, his smile warm. When I was picking flowers in the morning before I began cooking, he came up to me and introduced himself. It was the same man I had remembered from the dance.

‘Good morning, Miss Abigail. It is fresh in the morning, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘My name is Walter.’

He left.

I could feel his eyes on me whenever I left the house but he never spoke to me again. He was a man of few words, so different to Robert who delved in small talk with ease. Walter was probably much deeper than Robert. I wouldn’t find him preening before a mirror. He was a fine-looking man and looked straight and true. I dreamt of him a couple of times. He spoke to me no more than three times in the garden. Usually he just waved from a distance. He had beautiful teeth. Two months after he had first spoken to me, my mistress sent word that she wanted to see me. I had no Idea why. She was in the library, a place I had never been before although I had asked for papers to read. There, I had read that the new governor, Sir William Phips had pardoned all witches. Looking at papers and receiving letters from Betty, I was aware of what was going on in Massachusetts. My mind went back to Salem. I came back to the present.

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘Abigail, please sit down for I need to discuss something with you.’

She paused.

‘Walter, our main overseer, has requested a meeting with you. He is an honourable man and his intentions are pure. Abigail, he has asked both the master and me for your hand in marriage.’

I gripped the sides of the chair so I didn’t fall off it.

‘I want you to give this a lot of thought.’

‘Yes, Mistress, you are wise.’

‘Let me know when you want to meet Walter.’

‘I will, Mistress.’

I wrote to Betty again. I told her that I had read in papers here that the Virginians thought that the witch hunt in Salem had been the result of ordinary malice and that I had also read that Governor Phips had pardoned all witches. I told her about the hurricane that had hit the eastern Shore and had changed many river courses here, letting her know that it was talked about for weeks. I didn’t tell her about Walter.

Three weeks later, a letter arrived from Betty apologising for not writing sooner. It was three pages long.

Dear Abigail,

I am so sorry it has taken this long to write to you. Your letters told me that you had arrived safely and were doing very well.

Here in Salem Village there had been much activity. Several well-stationed men have taken umbrage to the circumstances in Salem. They have questioned spectral evidence and the value of accusing girls. It has been said by Mr Pike a magistrate from Salisbury, ‘it was safer to leave a guilty person alive rather than to put an innocent person to death’. Pastors have pleaded for the lives of their faithful parishioners. Winter approaches and the prisons will be damp. Sadly, my father was silent and said nothing about saving the lives of those in his meeting house. This gives me great pain.

The very clever Mr Brattle has said that it has been a disgrace that judges have based their verdicts on common gossip and the stories of affected girls. He wrote a circular letter to this effect and Governor Phips read it when he returned in late October and has been much moved by it. The girls have accused Lady Phips of being a witch. Governor Phips understood then that there was something really wrong with the way the trials were administered. How could girls have all this power? Petitions were sent by citizens asking for the release of wives and children to be released to them on bond. All the trials have been put aside for the future Nearly 150 ‘witches’ are in prison. There is overcrowding. Some may die of cold or disease as rats scurry about.

Governor Phips has shown kindness in releasing all the young children on a 500-pound bond paid by neighbours who had to mortgage their homes to do so. The fathers of some children were soldiers away in the eastern parts. But the tide against spectral evidence is slow to form. There are many judges who still believe in it. Abigail, the fields have been neglected; now there is drought. Want walks the land. Many are very hungry. John Indian does no work about the house because all his time is spent hunting for food for us to eat. He also tends the vegetable garden. I asked my father if we could serve vegetable and rabbit soup to the people. He agreed. I arrange this twice a week. My heart bleeds at the sight of the people and the land which has not been worked. But I see hope for the future.

Yours, love

Betty

Reading the letter three times over, I felt a trifle put out. I ate to my heart’s content while Betty went hungry. But what could I do? I must send food to Betty but would it stay fresh? I must send food. But it meant stealing. I couldn’t risk it. I would ask Cook if I could send a cake, a fruit pie and a game pie to my cousin Betty for a present and to show the bounties of Virginia. I offered to pay.

I wrote on a letter only the words. ‘I am so sorry’. Cook agreed that I could send the goods free and her husband would give the parcel to the coachman — as long as I did extra work. It meant I had to put the address of Salem Village on it. I told Cook that my uncle had gone to the village to give help to the people there.

‘God bless him.’

If only you knew.

Another letter soon came from Betty with thanks for my generosity. She had given all the food I sent to the village people. I was angry that Betty had not eaten the pies I had sent to her.

When I next saw my mistress, I told her that I was ready to meet Walter. She later told me Walter would meet me in the early afternoon, on the morrow, in the library. I was filled with trepidation. I knew secrets could not be kept. How much should I tell Walter? Better it came from me instead of others. I hadn’t slept the whole night but had fought with the sheets till I was tied up in them and couldn’t escape. It was not a nice feeling and I was gripped with anguish. Once up, the mirror showed me strained. I splashed cold water on my face and rubbed it hard so that my cheeks would go red. I combed my hair and put the mauve ribbon on.

Could I tell Walter of my past? Would he still want me? But if I didn’t tell him, my secret would come out some time. Could anyone keep a secret for life? I couldn’t trust it. I had decided to tell him the truth or part of it. I knew he would keep my trust and not tell my master and mistress so that I would not lose my job. I braced myself as I walked to the library. I smiled at Walter as I entered.

‘You look so worried. Please sit down. I have come to ask for your hand in marriage. You do not have to give me an answer straightaway. If you reject me, I will be most disappointed but I will accept it. Do not be afraid.’

‘Thank you for your offer and I would love to accept it. I would love to be your wife. But, Walter, you do not know me.’

‘I know sufficient of you.’

‘No, you do not. Are you sure no one will hear us here?’

‘Well, where else can we talk? I cannot bring you to my own house. It would not be decorum.’

I realised the man Walter was so unlike Robert.

So, I told him my tale.

‘When I was little my mother died having my stillborn brother. My father remarried three years later and my stepmother used me as a servant. My father had an accident and my stepmother sold his house and let me go to other families. She kept her son with her, for a while — he was my half-brother — and then she gave him away to a family who were desperate for a son. My stepmother remarried.’

Walter looked mournful.

‘I went from house to house until I arrived at my uncle’s parish in Salem Village. I became friends with his dear daughter, Betty.’

Walter listened.

‘The pastor was good to me and so was Betty. I met Tituba, the black slave, who was a second mother to Betty. She told Betty tales and I wanted to hear them too. She told of magic and it excited me. Ann, a girl in the village, heard Tituba telling tales and she told all the girls in the village. They crowded into Tituba’s tiny cottage and begged her to go to the woods. Betty and I went too. We built a fire and danced around it.’

Walter listened intently.

‘Later, Betty and I went into fits and Dr Griggs said it was witchcraft. The fits spread to other girls. It was believed that witches cast spells on us. The captains asked us who was bewitching us but we stayed silent for weeks. The captains persisted. So Ann named Tituba and other girls added their voices because they didn’t want to stay in the meeting house another day. We still suffered apparitions. In other villages they asked for us to come and name the witches who were oppressing them.’

Walter leant back in his chair, his head in his hands.

‘You cannot begin to imagine how terrible it was. The worst was that children, young children were tortured.’ I thought of my half-brother. Tears flooded my eyes. My breath came in gulps. ‘Little girls were accused of being witches while little boys were tortured for information they did not have.’ I tried to look at Walter, but my eyes were so filled with tears, his face was bleary. I saw his arm move and a white handkerchief coming towards my face. I blew my nose in it.

‘Many arrests followed and then the court cases and the imprisonments and finally the hangings. Thank God not all were hanged and Tituba was saved. This is the woman you want to marry, one who was caught up in this suffering to others? But not the children. Never the children.’

‘I thank you for your trust. You have been very brave to tell me all this. I admire you for doing so. But I must think things over. Please give me some time. I must tell you, my heart is still warm for you.’