Her heart leaped to her throat, stealing her ability to speak. She was a stubborn fool, ignoring the foreboding that had suffocated her since the altercation with the Daughters of Dorcas.
“Not yet, but the boxes are in my room.” She hiked up her skirt and started running up the stairs. “Please, help me, or I’ll never manage to store everything before they barge through the door.”
“Of course,” he said, close on her heels. “Call for Albert!”
Hope pounded on the first door at the top of the stairs then pushed it open. “Adeline, my apologies,” she said, coming to the bedside of the sleeping woman. Her tenant was napping, recovering from a long night with a guest. “I desperately need your help. The police are coming. We must hide all traces of voodoo. Go find Albert and send him to my sitting room. Then warn the others. Make haste.”
Adeline hopped off the bed, her eyes wide. “Oh, Virgin Mary, hear our prayers. Go, go. I’ll find Albert.”
Goose bumps pebbled Hope’s arms as she ran down the corridor to her sitting room and flung the door wide. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring Isaac was still following. “The boxes are in the corner. You focus on the reading table, and I’ll put away the altar. Please, take care.”
He squeezed her forearm. “I’ll do my best not to destroy anything.”
Grabbing the top box, Hope rushed to the corner where the altar to Loco stood. She’d spent years adding pieces in her patron saint’s honor: white and yellow candles, decorative bottles of vermouth and rum, blond rooster etchings, herbs and spices he adored. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she quickly transferred the altar offerings to the box, careful to add silk cloth between the layers so as not to damage anything. All of it must go.
Albert stormed into the room. “How can I help?”
She motioned to the statue of Loco. “I can’t fit the statue or butterfly into a box. Wrap both of them in a cloth and store them in the attic. Then come back for this box.”
The butler set to his task, and Hope joined Isaac at the reading table. All of her tarot cards were stored neatly in a box, together with her chalice of bones and various candles. But Isaac had paused to flip through the pages of her notebook.
“Good God, Hope. Is this all true? I hope so, because if the police arrive before we haul all of this out of here, we’re going to need to tap into this.”
With a grunt, she snatched the book out of his hand. “All true, but I don’t share my secrets with anyone.” She stored the book under a loose floorboard and glared at Isaac. “I had better find my book waiting for me there when this is all over.”
He held his hands up in the air. “I was only curious. Lord knows I don’t require such information for blackmail. Everyone can be bought, and I’ve more gold than King Midas.”
She smiled at that. He made a fair point.
“Don’t forget the gris-gris bags beside the table,” she said, returning to the altar as Albert ran out of the room with his arms loaded. “And I have a drawer full of herbs, stones, and other trinkets. On the bookshelf, you’ll find several volumes we ought to pack, just in case.”
Within minutes, the shrine to Loco was completely dismantled and stored in the box. Perspiration beaded on her neck. She scanned the room, trying to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Isaac was pulling books off the shelf when Albert reappeared.
“Take that box,” she said, pointing with a sense of urgency. “Isaac, follow him with your container. I’ll check in with the other tenants.”
They filed out of the room and were met with several ladies rushing down the corridor, their hands full of baskets overflowing with condoms. Contraceptives. Oh goodness, she’d forgotten about those. Thankfully, Adeline had a smart head on her shoulders and thought to warn the women to clear out anything illegal.
The doorbell rang, and an incessant pounding could be heard from the foyer.
“Tarnation!”
“Too soon!”
“Help me!” came the shouts of the women. But the police officers wouldn’t haul her to jail for a few contraceptives, especially if the girls batted their eyelashes and made small talk.
“I’ll keep them downstairs as long as I can,” Hope said to everyone within hearing distance. “Please, don’t panic. Try to behave normal.”
Another pounding at the front door sounded, followed closely by the ding-dong of the bell. Hope smoothed her hands over her skirt and walked calmly down the stairs. She unlocked the door, peering outside.
A veritable army of officers stood on her porch, and she stepped back a pace. “Goodness, Chief Gilmor. What is the meaning of this? You’ve brought your entire staff.”
The chief took off his hat, holding it against his chest. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Leblonc, but I’ve got a warrant to search Le Havre.” He stared at his feet and took a deep breath. “Seems there was an incident, and a complaint was filed. I’ll be taking you into custody for questioning at the police station.”
Hope’s stomach dropped to her knees. The lightning bolt. “But it was nothing.”
The door swung wider, and Isaac’s towering form filled the doorway. “Chief Gilmor, is this really necessary?”
The chief nodded. “I’m afraid so. Just following the orders of the court. Judge Ludeling signed the warrant and personally ordered me to bring her in. Someone with high connections is making a bit of noise. We’ll be in and out as quick as can be. Can’t say how long the questioning will take. The prosecuting attorney will meet us at the station.”
“Might I have a word with you alone in the parlor?” Isaac asked.
“Of course,” the chief said, entering. He handed the warrant to Hope. “But I must insist the officers be allowed inside to begin the search. They’ll stay on the first level until I give them further instructions.”
Hope nodded her assent. “Please take care in moving about the rooms. There are many valuables.”
The police officers dispersed, and Isaac followed the chief into the parlor. The men remained within eyesight but spoke in low tones. After a minute, Isaac’s lips screwed into a bitter knot, then he barraged the chief with an angry tirade.
What on earth were they arguing over?
Chief Gilmor didn’t flinch, to his credit, but he pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head, obviously not in agreement with whatever request Isaac was making.
Enough of the secrecy! This was her home and her future in jeopardy. She walked in their direction just as Chief Gilmor stormed out of the parlor, shouting for two of his officers.
“Lieutenant Ward, you will accompany me, Mrs. Leblonc, and Mr. Moore to the second level,” the chief said in a clipped tone, “while Officer Rogers overseas the first level. No one goes upstairs without my express approval. Is that understood, Rogers?”
The officer stood guard at the bottom of the stairwell. “Yes, sir!”
With shaky legs, Hope ascended the stairs, holding the railing for support. Isaac trudged beside her, his countenance grim. Was her landlord thinking the same thing as she? Chief Gilmor had failed to mention the attic, but what if he discovered the hidden stairwell? When they reached the second level, the chief ordered the tenants downstairs to the parlor.
The women scurried by, one by one, offering Hope a pat on the arm or weak smiles as they passed. Once the last door was open, the chief and his lieutenant methodically made their way through each bedroom while Hope and Isaac observed from the doorway. The officers were quick but thorough.
When they entered her sitting room, the chief scanned the entire room and motioned to the bare table that had once been a shrine to Loco. “Why do you have an empty table in the corner of the room?”
“I’ve ordered a statue of the Virgin Mary and plan to put it there,” Hope said, straight-faced. “Is it a crime to practice Catholicism? You see me in church every Sunday, do you not?”
“I’m only trying to do my job, Mrs. Leblonc.” The chief walked to the fireplace to inspect the knickknacks on the mantle.
“My wife has a shrine to the Virgin Mary as well. No harm in that.”
“Chief,” said the lieutenant, crouching in front of the bookshelf. “I think I’ve got something here. The Sixteen Principles of Homeopathic Medicines.” He handed the book to the chief.
Hope lifted an eyebrow. “Is there a law against reading?”
“Are you a licensed pharmacist?” the lieutenant countered with a fierce grimace.
His question was like a slap to the face, harsh and stinging. It didn’t matter how she responded. He was looking for any sort of evidence to hammer the nail in her coffin. His mission was to find anything to lock her up, and she didn’t have any blackmail ammunition against a lower-level officer.
“Reading about medicine and administering medicine are not the same.”
The lieutenant stepped closer and sneered down his nose. “Those aren’t flowers in your courtyard. You have an herb garden with over a hundred unusual plants. The only place I’ve ever seen anything of the sort is at D.C. McGill’s.”
The hairs at her nape bristled, and she clenched her fists. Did he think her a simpleton? He was out for her blood, but she would not offer up her wrists so he could slash them. “Le Havre boasts an accomplished chef, trained in France by the masters. I’m certain Mr. Dubois can explain the varied uses of the herbs in preparing our meals.”
“Don’t think—”
“That’s enough,” Chief Gilmor said, his tone brooking no argument. “Lieutenant, please ask Officer Meyers to make a sketch of the courtyard. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes with Mrs. Leblonc to transport her to the station.”
The officer nodded briskly and stomped out of the room.
“I want him fired,” Isaac hissed as soon as the officer was out of hearing range. “Before the evening is out!”
Chief Gilmor blew out an exasperated breath. “Please be reasonable, Isaac. He’s only doing his job. Judge Ludeling put the fear of God in him, in both of us, truth be told. Better we leave with something in hand rather than nothing. And, as Hope surmised, the evidence is circumstantial at best.”
“Am I to understand you plan to charge me with the illegal practice of medicine?” Hope’s vision wavered, and she swayed on her feet. Would she be tried in court and found guilty, thrown in jail?
The chief closed the door to the sitting room. “The trial is set for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Mr. McGill will take the stand, having sold rare herbs to you in the past, for which Mrs. Winston is witness. And several of your tenants will be called to give testimony of the care you administer when they’re sick. You’re to be held in the jail overnight to ensure you don’t influence your tenants or use your other . . . skills.” He wiped his hand over his upper lip. “You didn’t hear this from me.”
Her knees wobbled, and she rested her hand on Isaac’s arm for support. Spend an entire night in a jail cell? She felt light-headed of a sudden. Her gaze fell to the floorboard that held her notebook and all the secrets of the most influential men in town.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Isaac warned, his steely gaze piercing hers. He turned to the chief. “Can I accompany her to the station?”
Chief Gilmor shook his head. “Can’t let you, but you can send a lawyer.”
The midday meal roiled in her belly, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach. She hadn’t been prepared for this ingenious attack, but she should’ve known Lucetta Moore didn’t issue empty threats.
Isaac held her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “Have no fear, Hope.” He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her head. Tipping her chin up, he wiped away the tear running down her cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’m so sorry. Believe me, I’ll get you out of this mess, and then there will be hell to pay. Lucetta has gone too far this time.”
Determination burned bright in Isaac’s eyes, and Hope sank into his embrace for the first time in three years, since she’d read her mother’s diary and learned of Jenny Cobbs’s heinous death. The news had torn Hope and Isaac’s relationship apart. But the thought of facing this inquisition alone . . . Visions of her mother’s trial flooded her mind. The guilty verdict. Visiting her in the jail. Her glassy, lifeless eyes. Hope didn’t want to die.
Hatchet, where are you?
He would protect her, break her out of jail, and sail away if need be. Victor Blackburn would know where to find him. She rushed to her desk and scribbled a missive, begging for him to contact Hatchet and inform him of the trial.
“Please deliver this,” she said, handing the sealed note to Isaac. Then she faced the chief with her chin high. “I’m ready to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Slinging his forearm over his eyes, Hatchet groaned and rolled over in bed. He peeled his eyelids open and squinted through the bright sunlight. His gaze fell on the bedside table, and he bolted upright. The canvas pouch Hope had given him! Blast his addled brain, but he’d forgotten all about it when he’d changed pants after dinner. The maid must’ve found the bag in his trousers and set it aside. Well, no harm done.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching before he walked to the basin to wash his face. Damn, but he was exhausted.
After returning to the big house, he had fallen into bed, unable to share the tale with anyone. He needed to process what he’d heard first. How would he face Isaac without broadcasting his disgust?
Was his father a cold-hearted monster still, or had he repented?
Hatchet drew on fawn-colored trousers and a white cotton shirt. He leaned against the wall, staring out the window, which offered a view of the ramshackle slave hut on the corner of two pathways, one leading to the big house, another leading to the kitchen house.
Bloody hell, he’d failed to notice the night before that the abandoned cottage sat on a crossroads. He could envision Marie Euchariste surrounded by angry slaves, beating on their drums, chanting and dancing as the high priestess called to Kalfu, begging his favor while offering gifts.
The sun was too high in the sky. He’d slept far longer than his normal routine. Pushing off the wall, he snatched the pouch of hydrangea bark off the bedside table and rushed into the hallway. Maribeth’s bedroom door was open, but she wasn’t inside. Nor could Victor and Mercy be found in their guest room. He jogged down the stairs and poked his head inside the dining room.
“You’ve decided to join the living,” his mother said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Are you feeling better this afternoon?”
He grabbed a plate from the sideboard and perused the offerings of the midday meal. “My headache is gone.” But his heart was sick.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Have you seen the others?” Hatchet asked, sitting beside her. “No one was abovestairs.”
“Your sister is taking your guests on a guided tour of the plantation, and Maribeth wanted to watch the foal being born.” His mother shuddered and set her napkin on the table. “That little girl has a stomach of iron. But she is sweet and curious. Very helpful as well. Mary sings her praises daily, I assure you. Quite unethical, three men raising a young woman, but you’ve done well.”
“Except for the occasional joke,” Hatchet said, his lips twitching.
“There is that,” his mother chided with a stern look. “I wish I could stay and chat with you, but I must head into town. I’ll be staying the night at Magnolia House and won’t return until late tomorrow evening. Your father was gone with the rooster’s crow. Something about urgent business.”
“But we didn’t have an opportunity to speak about my ideas for managing the plantation.”
She patted his cheek. “You’ve avoided the conversation for a decade; I’m sure it can wait another twenty-four hours. The Daughters of Dorcas need me.”
He ought not to complain. With both parents out of the house, he and Maribeth could communicate with the ghost without fear of discovery. If all went well, he would also invite Hope to the plantation for the ritual.
“Very
well, Mother,” he said, kissing her offered cheek. “We’ll speak more this weekend. Enjoy the meeting with your lady friends.”
The walk to the stables offered an opportunity to clear his mind. He breathed in a lungful of air ripe with the flowery scent of magnolia, which smelled like Le Havre. His shoulders relaxed as squeals of laughter tumbled out of the stable when he strolled in.
“Isn’t she precious?” Maribeth said, glancing up.
His gaze turned to the spindle-legged foal covered in mucus and blood, and he cringed. Precious was the furthest word from his mind. A shudder coursed through him while he kept a tenuous hold on his meal. He couldn’t watch as the mare licked her baby clean.
“Perhaps you’ve set your sights on being a veterinarian rather than a sailor?”
The girl stood and smiled. “I’m a sailor through and through. But this was wonderful. Look how happy the mama horse is with her baby.”
“Every mama is happy when she has a baby,” Hatchet said, ruffling her hair. “Someday, many years from now, you will be happy to have a baby.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Hatchet held out his hand. “Shall we walk back to the big house together? We need to talk.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened to Jenny?” She did not budge but stared at him with a stubborn tilt of her chin.
Maribeth had been exposed to many things in her short lifetime, and although she was tougher than most young ladies, he could not, in good conscience, share the details with her. But he could offer bits and pieces of the story.
“In general terms, yes.”
They walked at a leisurely pace, and she waited patiently for him to speak.
“Have you heard tales of the American Civil War?” Hatchet asked, stooping to grab a stick off the path.
“Bilge told me stories,” she said, nodding. “The Southerners wanted slavery, but the Northerners didn’t.”
“That’s right.” He broke off the tip of the stick and tossed it. “Men sometimes do bad things during war, especially when you bring a group of men together.”
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