The Savage Inheritance

A Partial Truth

"It's irrelevant whether you believe in it or not, Miss Savage. For God's sake, this land we live on is cursed itself," Bawden snapped irritably. "Heaven help us, you are as taxing as your mother."

"Perhaps," Ramsey spoke. He rose from the desk, the candlelight bringing out the strands of dark red in his black hair. "If you showed the young lady rather than explained."

Ramsey moved from his desk. Mercy peered towards his desk to see what he was working on and noticed a set of Napier's bones for calculation, a sheet of numbers and a book opened with recorded amounts. Again, she wondered what it was that Bawden did for a living. It seemed to her, however, that Enoch Ramsey did most of the business dealings.

He slid a volume from one of the shelves and brought it over to a circular table. Bawden motioned her over to them with an impatient wave.

"Thank you, Enoch," Bawden barked, flipping it open. "See here, Miss Savage."

It was a hastily scrawled drawing. A row of ancient trees towered in two rows with a series of standing stones and crumbling walls along a peninsula in a marshland. The dark silhouette of a man stood in the corner. The memory of her vision on the old carriage road came to mind and Mercy shivered. 

"What is this place?"

"This was drawn by your father the night he came here after he found this place," Bawden explained. "He brought it to me when your mother disappeared."

Mercy wrinkled her brow. "My- my mother vanished? But she died-"

"Yes, she did."

"But what does this have to do with anything?"

"See those trees? They each bear a name. And this one that has been felled," Bawden swept a finger over a log by the dark figure, "the name that it bore was a man who died soon after your father came upon this place."

Mercy peered up at Bawden's greedy expression, his eyes wide with avarice. Biting her lip, she met eyes with Ramsey. A shade of concern flickered in his dark eyes. Mercy clung to it.

"But what does this mean?" She asked Ramsey.

Bawden flipped the page to a list of names. "These are the men who were cursed on each tree."

One column held the names; Deacon Peabody, Isaiah Thompson, Hosea Jarrett. The one next to it held their station of work; usurer, smuggler, piracy, slave trader. It was a plethora of dirty, but profitable work. Mercy knew that better than most. Her father had been a money lender, if a respected one.

"What are these numbers?" She drew a finger down the last column. "These dates?"

"When they died."

The last name was her father's. The ink was new next to his name.

"I added your father's name last night," Bawden explained matter-of-factly. "We had our suspicions, but Enoch here confirmed it last night. He ventured to King Philip's fort and found your father's tree."

Mercy's heart was racing. "My father's-"

"Tell her, Enoch." Bawden slammed the book shut with a huff. "She clearly still doesn't comprehend."

Ramsey straightened his shoulders, ignoring his impatient employer. He did not look her in the eye this time. "Your father's name was on one of these trees. We believe they are put there as a curse. I found that it had been chopped down, it was a fresh cut."

Mercy gave a shaky laugh. "I believe you are both mad."

"You wouldn't be the first," Bawden said without a hint of insult. "But I believe you have sensed it as well. None of these men had children. None except for your father. You are an interesting case. I have come to the belief that you have inheirited more than your father's gold and his books. You are cursed, Miss Mercy Savage."

"But- by who- by what-" She took a shaky step backwards. "What was that dark figure in that drawing?"

"I believe these books are evidence that your father was trying to learn how to break the curse over himself and perhaps even you," Ramsey attempted in comfort, ignoring her question, as he took the book back to it's shelf.

"I had no idea this was what my father was doing in his study all those years. He kept me so sheltered."

Bawden pulled a book out of a nearby stack and flipping through it. "I have been reading all I could on the matter this morning, but I've yet to find any answers. Whatever curse you are under, Ramsey seems to believe it causes you to forget important events. It was only luck that he walked you to your room yesterday and was able to witness the phenomenon first hand otherwise we'd never have known."

"What do you recall of your childhood?" Ramsey asked.

Mercy sank into a nearby chair, rubbing her face. "I... there is not much I recall before we moved to Boston. I barely remember my mother."

In the ensuing silence, she knew that the men were giving each other a knowing look. It was madness, of course. Her natural logic spoke against all of it. But there was a piece of her that she could not deny. The night that her house burned to the ground, the voices in her father's library and the ensuing darkness. Hadn't she sensed that in the recent weeks? Perhaps? Or perhaps it was only a dream.

Bawden clucked his tongue and handed her a cup of chocolate. It had gone cold. "There is no knowing what Edward unleashed on you, my dear."

"But my father would never have done anything to hurt me," Mercy protested half-heartedly.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps... it must have been an accident, whatever it was," Bawden said vaguely. He blinked up at her with his lizard eyes and readjusted his spectacles. "Though we might be able to gather more clues if we cast a spell of our own over you. One to help you remember."

Mercy shifted in her seat uncomfortably and set down the china cup and saucer. "What do you mean by a spell? Will it hurt?"

"No, of course not. But it will help, I believe. It is not the mumbo jumbo of kitchen wives, but a science. That is my belief."

Mercy lifted her chin and glanced at Ramsey. He gave a grave nod. She sighed. "Then do what you must, Mister Bawden."