‘John, we’re on shaky ground now. This needs to be our last private conversation until the trial is done. So, as parting words, I want to be clear that a pre-trial viewing is not optional. Grace Mill needs to see a child …’
John Henry waited for him to finish his sentence.
‘Don’t make me spell this out. A child, a child.’ The deceit was unconscionable. And there was a chance Wolf’s lawyers might cotton on. But how much worse it would be if the child did recognise Grace Mill and the Davenports lost a son once more.
‘A child. Yes, a child,’ John Henry said. ‘But where does one get –?’
‘John, please.’ The judge rang the bell for his butler. ‘Give my regards to Mary.’
John Henry decided to stage the viewing after Christmas. If he had to do it – and it seemed he did – he’d not allow it to ruin the Christmas celebrations his wife had put so much effort into. Mary had worked with unwavering determination, instructing the servants on every detail of food preparation and decoration placement, encouraging the boys to help with hanging baubles and tinsel on the tree and endlessly rearranging the furniture in the living room even though the tree stood in the same spot it had every other year.
‘Everything must be perfect,’ Mary had told him. John Henry knew why. The family was both remade and broken: Mr Gould had sent a terse letter saying he would be enjoying Christmas abroad this year, in Vienna. With whom he did not say. Mary had received this news like a slap, holding the letter out to John Henry as though it might wound her again were he not to take it. He’d held her, wiped the tears from her cheeks and assured her they didn’t need her father’s presence to enjoy Christmas. In fact, his absence would lighten the mood. Mary had adopted that thinking with enthusiasm, and both Davenports knew the boys wouldn’t miss their grandfather.
However, Christmas Day had an edge of anxiety to it, as the boy had no clue about the usual traditions. For the past two years the Davenports had suffered the awfulness of Sonny’s absence, and Mary had deliberated over whether to hang Sonny’s stocking, ‘in case he is returned’, and had even bought him gifts. But now that he was here, she had to explain away the disconcerting fact that the Sonny of past and present were out of sync. ‘Two years,’ Mary and John Henry intoned to George, Paul and their staff by way of rationalising the boy’s unusual questions and preferences. Where once he’d loved pecan pie, now he did not. Where once he’d begged to play blind man’s bluff, now he was unsure what the activity involved. The grandeur of the tree seemed to dazzle him, the carollers intrigued. At Christmas Mass, he’d sat between George and Paul in wide-eyed astonishment.
It was a relief for the Davenports to celebrate New Year’s Eve at the Starry Lake Resort without their boys. An extravagant gathering with the theme of Arabian Nights saw men wearing bejewelled turbans and women in feathers and veils. There were stuffed leopards lunging from behind palm trees and giraffes bookending the long marble bar, and a tiled fountain in the middle of the ballroom. They danced under chandeliers swathed in coloured silk, raised their champagne glasses high and sang in the new year with gusto. For one night, the powerful and well-informed members of Opelousas society shelved their worries about the war in Europe. No one mentioned the Davenports’ troubles. The year 1916 would surely herald the peace and prosperity for which they all longed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Go on, then.’ Mrs Penny stood next to Farmer Penny at the front door of the Davenport house, Grace behind her. ‘What are you waiting for?’ Her words were confident, but Mrs Penny’s voice trembled. She pulled the folds of her skirt into line, picked fluff off Farmer Penny’s sleeve then urged him again. ‘Knock.’
Farmer Penny recognised his wife’s tone for what it was. He, too, was fighting to appear at ease; he was not accustomed to raising his fist to such an impressive door, one that would open to reveal a grand entrance, high-ceilinged rooms, foreign rugs, servants. He glanced down at his boots, polished on top but carrying dirt beneath, probably a clod in the hollow formed by the oft-nailed heel. At the farm, Mrs Penny made him leave his boots at the door. He banged his feet to loosen as much dirt as he could.
‘Stop jigging about and knock. Knock before they see us standing here like we’ve never used a door before.’
Grace touched Farmer Penny’s coat by way of encouragement, and when he saw her worried face he gathered his courage then hammered on the door.
Mason led the three into the library then left them to stand alone with a minimum of explanation.
‘I didn’t know we’d be the first,’ Mrs Penny said. ‘That fireplace isn’t doing much, is it? I’d have thought they’d have a bigger one.’
‘Maybe that’s why their fellow didn’t take our coats,’ Farmer Penny added.
‘I suppose they figure this won’t take long.’
Mrs Penny could see from the dents in the carpet and the oddness of the furniture arrangement that chairs and sofas had been moved. No one would ordinarily put their seats in two lines at right angles facing nothing interesting. She pictured the armchairs back where they belonged, added a few side tables, mentally relocated the vases of flowers – too few – to better positions.
‘Should we sit?’ Farmer Penny asked.
‘No, we should not. If they wanted us to sit their butler would’ve said so.’ Mrs Penny looked at Grace. ‘I don’t imagine they’ll apologise – wealthy people don’t eat humble pie. They’ll make it right, though.’
‘No doubt,’ Farmer Penny agreed. ‘They’d be very educated, I expect.’
Grace studied the room. It was vast, serious and still, with shelves of leather-bound books, windows as high as a barn, and potted tree-sized palms. Grace felt small and empty-handed, having parted from Lily for the first time since she’d been born. Mrs Penny had assured her Anna Beth was competent, and the two did seem relaxed when Grace last saw them, Anna Beth snuggling Lily on her lap, reading from the Astrological Bulletin. Still, Grace wasn’t sure what to do with her body when it was so entirely her own.
After a while, though, the Pennys and Grace relaxed enough to walk to the window and admire the expansive garden.
‘Odd to see so much grass without an animal on it,’ Farmer Penny mused.
Grace murmured agreement, but her thoughts were on Ned. Had he been in this room? How mystified he must be at the Davenports’ delusion. The woman’s decision to take Ned showed she was unstable, no matter how indulgently Farmer Penny described her.
‘A rare chance to be inside such an impressive house.’ Mrs Penny examined the drapes. ‘And this will be over soon, Grace. Never fear.’
They turned away from the view at the sound of the door opening. Mason stood to one side and five men in dark suits filed past him into the room.
The first thing Grace noticed was the sheriff’s absence. Although he hadn’t been helpful, he’d had a kind and trustworthy manner. She would’ve felt more at ease with him there.
One man was clearly in charge, indicating where the other men should sit and issuing a directive to Mason, then acknowledging Grace and the Pennys with a nod. The judge had told John Henry the girl would most likely be brought in by the farmers.
Grace noticed Mrs Penny stop herself from dropping into a curtsy. She understood the impulse. The man was so imposing, and the room so magisterial. It was hard not to feel like servants.
Addressing Grace, John Henry said, ‘My wife and I were sad to learn that you, too, lost your son. We hope your child is found soon.’
‘Sir, once I see the boy –’
‘We’ll get to that, Miss Mill.’ He motioned towards the second, unoccupied, line of chairs.
‘Very us-and-them, aren’t we now?’ Mrs Penny whispered to her husband.
A black crow sat on the windowsill outside, watching them. Mrs Penny made a mental note to ask Anna Beth if that might signify something.
‘Miss Mill.’ A man older than John Henry, more portly and with less hair, stood in front of her, bending at the waist a
s if to examine a flower. ‘I’m Judge Roy. Those gentlemen are Mr Wolf’s lawyers, Mr Gabino and associate, and Mr Davenport’s, Mr Ellis. You are not to speak to them unless they ask you direct questions. Which they are entitled to do. Do you understand why you’re here?’ He paused. ‘Good.’ He turned to direct his next words to everyone. ‘What happens in this room will be admissible evidence, so I recommend you conduct yourselves with civility. It’s my understanding that neither the Davenports nor Miss Mill have had any contact with Mr Wolf.’
Everyone murmured assent.
‘Good. Mr Wolf is claiming the child in this house is Miss Mill’s son, Ned. This’ – he waved his hand in Grace’s direction – ‘is Miss Mill. Mr Davenport, of course, believes the child to be his son. I think I need to point out the boy has been living here peaceably and happily – May I say happily? Yes. For more than two months.’ He glanced around the room. ‘I think we’d agree it’s not an unpleasant house to spend time in.’
Although John Henry’s lawyer laughed at this, Grace bristled. She’d watched Ned walk away with Gideon Wolf. They’d been found together. Mrs Penny said Gideon had told all of Opelousas the child was not Sonny Davenport. It was ludicrously, frustratingly plain that Ned was in this house because of the false claim of a madwoman and her husband. She wished they’d stop talking and bring him in. This could be resolved in an instant.
But the judge continued to speak. ‘Furthermore, I’m assured the lawyers have not entered into any pre-trial arrangements, and have not extended to any parties inducement to mislead us. I trust I’ve been told the full truth.’
This Grace could not ignore. ‘Are you suggesting, sir, someone has paid me to lie? I’d never! I only want to be with Ned again, and to be away from here.’ She flicked her eyes to John Henry. ‘That your wife would lay claim to my boy, she must be a sad –’
‘Grace,’ Mrs Penny said.
‘Do not,’ John Henry spoke loudly enough that all other talk in the room stopped. ‘Do not speak of my wife, Miss Mill. Ever.’ His cheeks flamed with rage. ‘I’ll fetch the boy.’
Esmeralda was dusting in the entrance hall when Mr Davenport threw open the library doors and marched towards the back of the house. He didn’t seem to notice Esmeralda on his way to – where, the kitchen? It would be strange for him to go there. Maybe Mason hadn’t heard his bell.
A moment later, Mr Davenport returned with a young boy in tow, the child scampering to keep up. Esmeralda hid behind a large vase filled with elephantine leaves and watched Mr Davenport drag the boy into the room. All of which was unusual enough that she wanted to know more. But right when she decided to put her ear to the keyhole, Mason appeared and sat in the chair right outside the library. It was as though he was keeping guard, she thought, but why would he do that? She went upstairs, quickly so Mason wouldn’t have any chance to stop her, to talk to Pru.
The nursery door was shut, but Esmeralda opened it enough to see that the three boys were in there, strange in itself for a late morning without rain. Though Mrs Davenport was away in the countryside with Mrs Heaton, she would’ve told Pru to take the boys outdoors. But there they were, absorbed enough in their game of jacks that they didn’t notice Esmeralda. Nanny Pru saw her, though, and made a quick windmill of her hands, wordlessly telling her to go away.
Out in the hallway, Esmeralda leaned against the wall, bewildered.
In the library, Grace was also bewildered. John Henry had entered the room with a child she didn’t know. A toothpick boy with bony legs and bottle-cap knees, wheat-coloured hair, large fearful eyes.
They’d barely stepped into the room when Grace spoke. ‘This isn’t Ned.’
‘That’s correct. This isn’t Ned. This is Sonny,’ John Henry said. ‘Thank you for clarifying that so directly.’
‘Why are you showing me this boy?’ Her breath quickened. ‘Bring me my son.’
John Henry led the boy to the centre of the room. ‘Have you met this woman before?’
The boy shook his head. Two days ago he’d been taken out of the orphanage and put on a train going south to who-the-heck-knew-where, and now this. But the man had promised he’d be put up with a kind family who lived by the river if he did as he was told.
‘Shaky as a foal,’ Farmer Penny whispered.
‘Say your name,’ John Henry instructed.
‘Sonny Davenport.’
Grace scowled. ‘No.’
‘No to what, Miss Mill?’
‘Ned can’t – Of course this isn’t Ned. Where is Ned?’ Grace asked the boy. ‘Did you travel here with Gideon Wolf?’
‘You may answer her,’ John Henry said.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Then you met Ned, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know any Neds.’
‘But you must.’
‘Miss Mill, please,’ the judge said. ‘You’re frightening the child.’ He addressed the three lawyers seated next to him. ‘Gentlemen, we’ve demonstrated this boy doesn’t recognise Miss Mill, nor does she recognise him. I can’t think what questions you might have that haven’t been answered already, but you may ask them now if you wish.’
‘Who are you?’ Grace asked the boy.
‘Miss Mill, the boy has already told you his name,’ John Henry said.
‘But this makes no sense. If you were with Gideon then you were with Ned. You must know him.’ Grace knelt in front of the boy. ‘Where is he?’
The boy shrank behind John Henry.
‘Make her stand up,’ the judge said to Mrs Penny. ‘I insist. This is –’
‘Don’t you see?’ Grace’s voice was fast and high. ‘This can’t possibly be the boy you found with Gideon if he doesn’t know Ned. Is Ned somewhere else in this house?’ She jumped up.
‘Oh no.’ John Henry grabbed her wrist.
At this, Gomer Ellis spoke. ‘John, I’d advise you let go of Miss Mill.’ But Grace had shaken John Henry off before he finished his sentence.
Gabino and his assistant, who’d huddled in conversation, stood too. ‘With your permission, your Honour, we’d like to leave to consult with our client.’
‘I imagine you would,’ the judge said.
‘Oh, yes, you! Can you get me to Gideon?’ Grace stepped towards Gabino. ‘We could go now.’
The judge spoke up. ‘I cannot allow that, Miss Mill. And I think we need to stop this before it deteriorates any further.’
‘Your Honour?’ Gabino asked.
‘Yes, yes, go.’ The judge waved him away, turned to Grace. ‘Miss Mill, you wanted to see the boy in Mr Davenport’s charge, and you have. No one wishes to see you further upset. I’m uncertain whether either counsel will bring you to the stand but should they do so, you are compelled to tell the truth of what happened here today.’
Esmeralda crept down the stairs, stopping to check if Mason was still outside the library. He’d gone, and she tried to think of a reason to knock on the door. It wouldn’t seem too untoward for her to – but her thought was cut short by a woman’s shout, then a cry rising in volume like an oncoming train. Esmeralda dashed to the far side of the stairwell, out of sight. The library door opened and, though it was impossible to hear everything that was being said, she caught snatches of conversation between a foreign man and his companion: ‘devise a new strategy’, ‘small-town sheriff with no record of who spoke through those bars’, ‘what incentive for her, unless she learned about his brother’, ‘telephone California immediately’, ‘who’s playing who’. Then an older couple comforting a younger woman: ‘makes no sense’, ‘how much the sheriff knows’, ‘Gideon Wolf’.
After a moment’s silence, Esmeralda stuck her head out to see if the room had emptied. She watched a lanky man walk towards the front door and outside with John Henry: ‘as well as we could hope’, ‘put to rest’, ‘no doubt’. John Henry closed the front behind him, and the house fell silent.
In isolation, none of these snippets made sense. But Esmeralda figured that if she could piece them togethe
r she’d know what had gone on in the library.
That night in the kitchen, after Cook had gone to bed, as Esmeralda finished her game of solitaire and Mason lifted another bottle of wine from a newly delivered crate and ticked it off his inventory list, she asked him what the gathering in the library had been about, as though it was a passing thought.
‘Why aren’t you preparing Mrs Davenport’s room for her return tomorrow?’
‘It’s done.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Do I get an answer to my question?’
‘No, because men discussing business is none of your concern.’
‘It wasn’t only men in there. Who was the child?’
Mason neatened his cuffs. ‘I don’t recall a child.’
Esmeralda made a ‘ha’ of disbelief and abandoned her pretence of disinterest. ‘Yes, you do. And I’m guessing he means something to the lady who was crying.’
‘For your own sake, I’d suggest you forget whatever you heard or saw.’ Mason’s tone became stern. ‘This is nothing for us to get involved with, not now, not ever.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Later that evening, Esmeralda went to Nanny Pru’s room, sat gingerly on the squeaky wire-slung bed and asked why she’d kept the boys behind closed doors that afternoon. Mason would have no say in what Esmeralda did or didn’t learn.
‘Why’d you wake me for that?’ Pru rubbed her eyes. ‘I was told to keep the boys out of the way while Mr Davenport had important visitors, not to let them bother anyone. And that’s what I did, exactly what I did.’
‘Did any other boy join you?’ she whispered.
‘What other boy? Am I going to have to mind another boy? Merde. Three’s already too many.’
Once she’d returned to her room, Esmeralda stayed awake trying to make sense of what she’d seen. She’d recognised Judge Roy. So it was something legal, which meant the woman was, in all likelihood, the out-of-town mother who claimed her son was also lost. She’d be Grace Mill, the woman Mr Wolf had talked about when Esmeralda and Cook had listened to his spiel through the cell window on their way home from the market. The others – lawyers?
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