Whiskers in the Dark

by Rita Mae Brown

  29

  April 26, 2018

  Thursday

  Warmth still proved elusive since the temperature, at 50ºF, would drop even more when the sun set in about an hour, at a little after 7:30 P.M. Harry, Susan, and Arlene drove in two vehicles up to Aldie. The basset trials would begin tomorrow and the ladies wanted to help the attendees get settled the night before, rise early to do whatever the organizers wished. The weather, not comfortable, wasn’t bitterly cold, but spectators and participants would need layers. Also, a light rain was forecast for tomorrow. Harry decided not to focus on it. She’d wake up and deal with whatever fell from the sky.

  The problem wasn’t what fell from the sky but what had sneaked into the car. The two cats burrowed under the comforter, as did Tucker. Pirate, larger, remained in the farmhouse where he would be with Fair. But the others were sneaky and neither Harry nor Susan knew they carried stowaways until they reached the outskirts of Culpeper. Given that the two talked nonstop even if Tucker snored or Pewter coughed, they might have missed it. Also, Susan’s Audi station wagon was big.

  Once they discovered their passengers, the two decided to keep going. Turning back would cost them about an hour each way, so the plan was to secure the very bad children in the cabin. Once at the cabin, the two cats and the dog were literally bundled inside, the door rapidly shut behind them. Given the chill, Harry set to building a fire while Susan unpacked, hanging up their raincoats—as well as short, flannel-lined front-zip jackets for use if it didn’t rain—on the pegs by the door. Each had brought silk underwear, three sweaters apiece, four pair of silk socks, and four pair of thin wool socks to wear over the silk. Both hated for their feet to get cold, which happened often. One would think Harry, a true country girl, would have figured out the secret to warm feet, but even with Thinsulate-lined hiking boots, her feet grew cold. Gloves were easier, plus she could stick her hands in her pockets. The temperature for tomorrow, the first day, was predicted to nudge up to 53ºF. If it didn’t rain, that would be refreshing, especially if one was running.

  “There.” Harry stepped back as the flames touched the logs.

  “Given that these cabins, the first three built in 1917, have no insulation, the fire is a godsend. As it is, even in this small space it takes about an hour to really warm up.” Susan found the history of the Institute and its buildings fascinating.

  “Our ancestors were tough. Even the rich were tough.” Harry had brought water in plastic gallon jugs.

  She poured water, which she’d brought for tea, into a large water bowl for the animals.

  A knock on the door sent Harry to open it a crack to keep her pets in. She opened it farther and Arlene slipped in.

  “Didn’t read your text until I parked.” She stared at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. “You’re going to really need to keep them in.”

  “I know. If it gets impossible, I guess I’ll borrow Susan’s car and drive them back home.”

  “Thought I’d check around. We have about an hour of sunlight.”

  “Good idea.” Susan reached for her short coat.

  Harry did likewise and they stepped outside, Harry carefully closing the door behind her.

  First they walked over to the kennels. Almost everyone drove in early to get their hounds settled.

  Ron Ausman and his wife, Lei Ruckle, waved to them.

  “Are you ready?” Susan called out.

  “You bet,” Lei called back.

  They waved, heading back toward the Institute, when Arlene saw Clare.

  “Clare,” Arlene said, then turned to Harry and Susan. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Jason always hunted the hounds for the contests. I brought two couples of beagles, which I’ll hunt tomorrow. I think he would want Chesapeake Beagles to participate. He loved this fundraiser.” Clare, although grieving, was determined to show off Jason’s pack.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Arlene agreed.

  Harry encouraged her. “Just seeing other beagles work, that’s exciting. And tomorrow we can all watch the bassets.”

  “I love their voices.” Susan flipped up the collar of her jacket. “Getting close to sunset.”

  “Well, it is a little damp. I guess there’s a front coming in.” Clare smiled, then turned to Arlene. “Let’s go to where Jason was found.”

  “Twenty-minute walk, thirty if you poke,” Harry offered as they started down the path, first climbing the low rise, then walking along.

  The buds seemed larger and they were. Some daffodil shoots poked up their heads, late, but it had been a hard winter and a very late spring.

  They chatted about hunting, about looking forward to meeting veterans tomorrow.

  Reaching the flat stretch where the tractor had been parked, Susan stopped. “We’re close. The rains since then have washed the tracks, but we’re pretty close.”

  Harry walked off the road, over a mound, then dipped down again. “Here.”

  As she sounded sure, the others joined her. Harry, with her fine-tuned sense of direction, was almost on the spot.

  Clare peered down, saying nothing.

  Arlene, consoling, said, “It was quick.”

  “I hope so,” Clare, heartfelt, uttered, then turned to get back up on the farm road, the wide path. “I just wanted to see it, you know. Give me energy for the hunt. I’m doing it for him.”

  As they all walked back, the sun set. The twilight lingered, as it does near the change of the seasons, on either side of the equinoxes.

  Clare spoke again. “I can’t imagine why someone would kill him. I regret every time when we’d have an infrequent fight and I’d say, ‘I could kill you.’ ”

  Harry fell in beside her. “Every wife says that. A husband can pluck your last nerve.”

  They walked quietly, then Clare, obviously somewhat overcome, said, “The damned police. Crazy questions. Did he have a mistress! They sure asked a lot of questions about money, which I also resented. I told them we didn’t steal anything, we invested our own money, and we built a very successful car dealership that survived through hard times as well as flush.”

  Arlene, more familiar with Jason’s history than Harry or Susan, changed the subject. “Did you bring any whippers-in?”

  Clare’s face registered more discomfort. “No. I mean, Jason had registered for the Hounds for Heroes and I decided at the last minute to come over. I called our whippers-in but everyone was committed. So what? I was coming.”

  “We can whip-in to you. Plus a brace is easy,” Harry volunteered.

  Arlene smiled. “There, you have two whippers-in if you wish. I am the director and will be on the wagon, but Harry and Susan can run.”

  “Thank you,” Clare replied with feeling. She looked up. “Low clouds.”

  “I think the bassets will be hunting in the rain, but then again, unless it’s a downpour, it will intensify scent.”

  “They have spectacular noses,” Clare mentioned.

  “They do. My grandfather always said bloodhounds first, bassets second, and beagles third. Foxhounds fourth. Of course, when he and his friends would get together, this order would change according to who was hunting what. Those old guys loved their hounds,” Harry said.

  “We all do.” Arlene grinned as they reached the row of cabins, bidding one another good night.

  Harry opened the door enough to peek. She felt a bit of cold air at her ankles as Ruffy trotted in. The three animals slept by the fire. Susan hurried inside as Harry shut the door, which awakened her animals. They hung up their coats. Harry tossed more logs on. The cabin felt wonderful.

  Ruffy sat next to Tucker. “I’d hoped you’d be here.”

  “We’re not supposed to be here. We sneaked into the car.” Tucker stretched.

  “We’re in the doghouse.” Pewter laughed.

  “Wel
l, I’ll go in and out and keep you posted,” Ruffy promised.

  “Nothing on finding the killer, I guess.” Tucker figured Ruffy was in the middle of things.

  “No. The killer is here, though.”

  “What?” The tiger cat was surprised.

  “Do you want us to help you catch him?” Tucker felt certain she could be of service.

  “No. I want to make sure the killer doesn’t get caught.”

  30

  October 22, 1787

  Monday

  Virginia creeper winding up a pin oak outside Ewing’s library window pulsated deep flaming red. Fall arrived in fine raiment. However, Ewing slapped his desk with his right hand while Catherine pulled out the accounting books, opening them on her side of the desk.

  “It galls me.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “We are reorganizing as a nation; you read the Constitution as well as I have, and yet there is nothing in there about postal service. How can we be an organized nation without good service? I am tired of paying these high prices for mail. The Romans could do it. Why can’t we?”

  “I don’t know, Father.”

  “And furthermore, I reread the papers sent me from Philadelphia. What is to prevent Congress from instituting a state religion down the road? The French still have no toleration for Protestants. And that is in writing, the intolerance, I mean. And I guarantee you one other thing.” He picked up the handwritten copy of the Constitution sent to him by Roger Davis. “Nothing in here about postage costs for members of Congress. I tell you they will get all this for free and we will pay for it. I know it.”

  “Father.” Her voice was soothing and cool. “If our new representatives enumerate their privileges, they may not be representatives for long. Better to keep their powers general”—she pointed to the papers—“than to list them.”

  He stopped smacking the desk. “Quite so.”

  She closed the account book to begin sorting the mail. Ewing, still irritated, had paid little attention to the mail other than the cost, paid by the recipient, which also irritated him. If someone wanted to cost you money, all they had to do was send heavy mail, heavy items.

  “Father, here.” She stood up and walked behind the desk, handing him a quite fat letter, the handwriting serviceable but not beautiful.

  He slit the letter open with a long, narrow, silver letter opener.

  “Well.” He read the first heavy letter.

  “Well what?”

  “From Gabriel LeSeur. He writes that one-quarter of what he owes me for the tobacco has been sent to England. I can draw on it there as it is in my account in London.” He pulled out the second paper. “A rather detailed account of sales. Now why would he send me that?” Ewing handed the accounting to Catherine.

  She read the odd letter, citing half a hog’s head to DeJarnette Tobacco Shop on the right bank of the river, near the former Philip Augustus’s wall. “This is odd and the paper feels a bit odd.” She held it up to the light. “Father, hand me your letter opener.”

  He did so and she carefully slit the paper lengthwise, exposing a parchment, tissue-paper thin.

  Seeing this, Ewing now stood up to walk over to his daughter. “What is this?”

  “It is for you.” She carefully handed him the delicate paper.

  He gave it back. “Your French is better than mine.”

  Catherine slowly read the letter then read it aloud. The lines were small, jammed together, the handwriting cramped.

  “My Dear Monsieur Ewing, I trust you are in good health. We have done business for close to two decades. It pains me to inform you I do not know if I will be able to pay for the rest of the tobacco. I also ask your forgiveness for I write plainly, not being a man as educated as yourself. Things are uncertain here. The Crown will not pay its bills. The Crown has no money, truthfully. This has given rise to unscrupulous people who order goods without a desire to pay. If one presses, they run to an advocate. My only comfort is I doubt the lawyers will be paid either, although in my darker moments I believe the lawyers are forcing the banks, the church, and the Crown into the abyss. Calonne has fled to England, accused of hiding the state of the nation’s finances from the King. We now endure Brienne hovering over the Treasury like a vulture. The Queen has gotten her way. My Dear Ewing, there is no money. My wife declares she has never seen events at such a pass, but I tell her we French excel at argument. The ship will right itself. She begs me to leave Paris. She is a good woman but given to women’s foolish fears. Again, forgive me.”

  “It’s worse than Baron Necker has written.” Ewing exhaled.

  “Written by a man outside of government, Monsieur LeSeur clarifies the difficulties in a manner easier to understand. At least for me.”

  He grunted. “For me as well.” He ran his hand across his forehead for a moment. “He will not be the only merchant to fail us, but I believe he is the only one who will give us warning.”

  “He is an honest man. Perhaps he should listen to his wife.” Catherine reread the letter. “What will happen if the Crown does not solve this problem? What will happen when men like LeSeur cannot pay their bills inside of France? And what happens if the bakers must pay more for flour and then the people must pay more for bread? Look what happened to us when the Articles of Confederation failed. The states were at one another’s throats. Granted, we don’t have a king or a hereditary nobility, but people must be able to make a living.”

  He listened to his oldest daughter, then spoke. “You have an old head on young shoulders.”

  “You flatter me, Father. My head is filled with the history drummed into it by those costly teachers you and Mother provided. Whether it was ancient Athens, Rome, or now Paris, whoever is in power must tend to the people.”

  “Do you think the states will ratify the Constitution? Since I paid for those history lessons, what do you think?” He teased her a bit.

  “After endless talk, yes.” She smiled at him. “It’s better than what we had before. Who knows, Father, it might work.”

  His gaze again fell upon the accounting. “I don’t know how to address this loss or the ones sure to follow.”

  “We can cut and plane more timber. People will build. Times are better. Of course, this will not address all of our losses, but it will be a start.”

  “Perhaps.” He sighed, then changed the subject. “I heard another slave ran away at Big Rawly and Maureen’s lady’s maid was severely punished.”

  Catherine thought to herself Roger must have told him. News flies. She reminded herself to be constantly vigilant about Marcia. Ewing believed the story about Marcia’s illegitimate birth. He did not know Ailee was buried on Cloverfields. Better this secret be buried with her.

  “Yes,” Catherine simply replied.

  “I can understand Maureen’s anger. I’m angry at Ralston. But she is unusually harsh.” He breathed in. “Her Caribbean upbringing, I’m certain of it.”

  “The thing is, I don’t think her beating anyone does any good. It just makes everyone else watchful, ready to run if the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Do you think any more of our people will run?”

  “Ralston, well, I think he was a special case. He broke bad. He was always jealous of Jeddie, but the thieving, the exaggerated interest in women. The only thing I can think of is he broke bad.”

  “Maybe he should have married young.” Ewing found this reasonable.

  “Getting married and staying married are two different things.” She shrugged.

  * * *

  —

  Marriage didn’t enter Ralston’s mind. Nor did it enter William’s, despite his lie that Sulli was his wife.

  Mr. Finney hired them. Ard kept William and Sulli in the cabin, shifting Ralston to a bunkhouse with the other single men.

  Ralston was glad to be
away from the two of them. He groomed the horses, fed them, was watched by Ard, who was not yet ready to let him or William mount up.

  Walking a gelding back into the stable, Ralston heard wheels on the drive. He put the fellow in his stall, walked outside, coolish, to behold a large cart painted a bright yellow now pulling up at the stable entrance.

  Two men sat up top. One was Moses and, before Ralston could hide, Moses spied him.

  “Ralston.”

  Ralston turned. “Yes, sir.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Finney has hired me.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I ran away.”

  Moses then asked, “Have you seen my father?”

  “Before the leaves fell but the color was changing. He looked well.”

  Moses grinned. “Good. Good.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ralston asked the question back to Moses.

  “Sam and I, we work together, are delivering a cart Mr. Finney bought from Mr. Studebaker. I work for Captain Graves but he lets me work with Mr. Studebaker if he doesn’t have anything for me. Man builds a solid cart and his axles rarely break.”

  “Does he paint them all yellow?”

  Moses laughed. “No. That was Mr. Finney’s special request. Makes it harder to steal, I would think.”

  Ard was walking toward them, Sam with him.

  “I better get back to work.” Ralston thought for a moment. “Did you know Sheba ran off with a fortune in pearls?”

  “No.” Moses’s eyes widened. “She had a low cunning.”

  “I only saw her once or twice, but people would talk about her. Said she knew all the Mistress’s secrets.” Ralston left to fetch another gelding.

  Ralston didn’t know that Moses and Ailee had hidden at Cloverfields. Because of working with the horses, he had seen Moses at Big Rawly working with his father, DoRe. But without knowing what, Ralston suspected something was under wraps when Father Gabe and Bettina kept disappearing at night, Bettina carrying baskets of food.