Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  He waited until he saw her retrieve the plate and head for the kitchen before closing the door.

  Now he could turn his thoughts to the matter of ending his engagement. And borrowing a key.

  Though he would have preferred the shorter trip by river to Hill Crest, Josiah felt he really must ride over and at least offer to return the horse. With his own gone, he hoped to borrow the animal for a time, but if Carter insisted he return it—well, he would be embarrassed to have to send for the animal.

  Branches snagged at his hair and coat periodically during the ride. Had he been wearing a periwig, it would have probably taken a permanent home in one of the trees. His stockings, though, fared better than they had during his earlier walk up the steep path from Carter’s dock.

  After dismounting and leaving the horse in a vacant stall in the stables, Josiah smoothed his hair back as best he could and tried to tuck in one piece that had come loose near his face. He brushed the loose leaves from his coat then stamped his feet and shook himself a few times to dislodge any more that might remain unseen. He had no wish for a green tail this time. If he did see the sisters, he wanted to give them no reason to giggle.

  He knocked, and blinked in surprise when John Carter himself answered the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Throckmorton. Or I believe it is afternoon now?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.” Josiah wondered if he would even be invited inside; his host seemed frozen in the doorway.

  “Please, come in.” Carter slowly moved aside and urged him through the door. The house seemed unusually quiet. What was missing? There was no sound of conversation or movement from the family parlor, and no laughter from the back of the house. After a moment, the noise level did increase; Josiah heard the sound of pots crashing, then a scream and someone crying.

  Crying. Of course—the girls would be crying for Charles.

  “Would you care for some refreshment, Mr. Throckmorton?”

  Josiah smiled gratefully. “If it would not be too much trouble.” The long ride had left a dry, dusty taste in his mouth.

  John Carter picked up his bell, looked at it sadly for a moment then rang as usual. In the back of the house, a door squeaked open.

  “But it’s not fair! You make me do everything!”

  “It’s your turn, you—”

  Another squeak indicated the door had shut, preventing Josiah from eavesdropping further on the argument. A moment later, Miss Carter stepped through the doorway into the main room where he and his host sat.

  “You rang, Father?” She wiped her hands on her apron and blushed as she looked from her father to Josiah. Her gaze quickly turned back to Carter.

  “Yes, my dear. Would you be so kind as to bring us two mugs of warm punch?”

  “Yes, of course.” She kept her eyes focused on her father’s face then turned abruptly and headed to the back of the house.

  After some moments, Josiah realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it without a word. Carter answering his own door. His daughter waiting on guests. Where were the servants?

  He looked out the window, as if he expected to find them congregating on the lawn. The stable had been empty, too, he remembered. He gazed about the room—everything appeared essentially unchanged, and he could hear only an occasional clanging noise from the kitchen.

  Carter tapped the arm of his chair absently, and, after some time, finally broke the silence. “Mr. Throckmorton, I think I know what brings you to Hill Crest.”

  “You do? Oh, yes, that. Well, actually, I have come to beg a small favor of you first.”

  “A favor?” Carter’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “In what way may I be of service?”

  All at once, Josiah felt alarmingly foolish. “I need to borrow—”

  “Put that down. You’ve ruined everything!”

  “I have not! You were the one—”

  The kitchen door squeaked to a close again.

  Josiah cleared his throat, taking perhaps rather longer than was necessary, as he watched for Miss Carter to appear. “I, um seem to have run into a bit of difficulty at home and was wondering whether I might borrow…”

  She walked into the room slowly, almost majestically, carrying two steaming cups.

  “That is, I need to borrow a key—”

  “A key, Mr. Throckmorton?” Carter sat forward in his chair, his eyebrows evidencing disbelief once more.

  “Or perhaps two or three. It should not be difficult to find a match.”

  “You came to borrow a key?”

  “Yes. Oh, and a horse.”

  Miss Carter placed the mugs gently on a side table and curtsied first before her father, then Josiah. Then she turned gracefully and swept back toward the dining room at the back of the house.

  Josiah nearly sighed aloud. If only he could get his servants to behave so…regally. He had never noticed the grace in Miss Carter’s carriage before.

  “You came to see me about a key and a horse, is that it?”

  “Well, of course…” He looked toward the back of the room where his betrothed had just disappeared. “…there is one additional matter.”

  John Carter sat back and paused for moment. “Under the circumstances, Mr. Throckmorton, I believe you should be released from your engagement to my daughter.”

  Josiah felt his breath catch in his throat. He had not expected Carter to be so blunt. There had been a lot of unusual circumstances, certainly, and he had the feeling he didn’t know the half of them. Moreover, he himself had fully intended to end the betrothal. And yet, it sounded very callous, somehow, to simply break the engagement like this.

  “Perhaps, sir,” he began as he leaned back, attempting a nonchalance he did not feel, “we might simply consider the engagement postponed. Indefinitely.”

  “As you wish.” Carter tapped on the arm of his chair again several times before he continued, looking outside in the direction of the stables. “The horse belonged to Charles.” He stopped tapping and simply stared out the window for some moments. “I will be selling him soon, before I leave for Joppa Town.”

  “Joppa?” The county seat, and many miles distant. Carter would only travel to Joppa if he had pressing legal business. Josiah thought of the missing servants. Had Carter run into trouble with debts? A sudden idea struck him. “How fortuitous. I happen to be planning a trip to Joppa myself. Perhaps we might travel together?”

  “I believe that may be arranged.”

  “Good. And I’ll need a horse for the journey, so if you would be willing to sell—”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I had been planning to leave tomorrow or the day after. Can you be ready that soon?”

  Absolutely not. “Er, yes, I should be. Let us say, the day after tomorrow?”

  Carter glanced at the forgotten mugs of punch on the table. “I suppose we might offer up a toast.” He walked over to get the mugs and handed one to Josiah. “To a safe trip and the successful completion of our business.”

  Whatever that may be, Josiah said to himself as he honored the toast in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Has he gone?” Caroline waved her sister to the window while she stood as far back from it as possible.

  “Yes, Caroline. You may come out of hiding,” Edwina grumbled in reply. “Now, help us grind this corn. Why are you so afraid of Mr. Throckmorton all of a sudden?”

  “I am not afraid of him. I just don’t want him to see me this dirty.” Caroline looked down at her spattered gown and apron.

  “He’s seen you a lot worse, I’d imagine.”

  “And so has every man on that pirate ship,” Georgiana added darkly.

  “It was not a pirate ship! We fought against pirates. The men on that ship are all…” Caroline thought of Captain Talbot issuing commands on deck. “…all heroes.”

  “Ha!” Georgiana sniffed. “Heroes don’t go around kidnapping men—or ladies dressed like men—from taverns!”

  Caroline started to speak but
could think of no good answer. In her mind, she had long ago excused the captain’s behavior, but her reasons for doing so did not really bear repeating.

  So, rather than answering, Caroline merely gave her sister a sour look and went to the mortar full of dried corn. Raising the pestle, she smashed it into the hard kernels, expecting to shatter the corn into meal with one angry blow. Instead, she banged her hand painfully on the side of the mortar. Several kernels of corn shot out into the air. She pounded a few more times—not as hard—and then peered into the bowl. There was perhaps a light dusting of cornmeal around the edge. How much would they need to make bread? Was there any way to prepare the corn without grinding it first? However had their cook managed this every day? Had she had one of the men grind corn for her?

  “We shall learn how to make wheaten bread. It must be easier,” Caroline announced.

  “Yes, but Mother says we need a hot fire in the bread oven, and that takes ever so many hours,” Johanna wailed. “I don’t understand why Bridget can’t make bread for us anymore. Why did she have to leave?”

  “Because, you ninny, we’re poor now.” Tears welled up in Georgiana’s eyes.

  “Does Mother know how to bake bread?” Edwina had been looking out the window but turned back with sudden energy. “Maybe she can help us.”

  “Mother has a headache—” Johanna began.

  “I do not believe she has made bread,” Caroline interrupted, “but before Father added on to the house, they used to take meals in the kitchen on occasion. She saw the cooking done, so she must have noticed a few details. I think she should help us.”

  “You leave her alone. She’s sick. You made her sick.” Johanna slammed a turnip and knife down on the table and disappeared up the back stairs.

  “Get back here and help!” Caroline started to follow, but Edwina stopped her.

  “Let her go.” Edwina shrugged. “She’s just a child. She doesn’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand, either. If we could afford a cook, and a housekeeper and maids for all those years, why can’t we afford at least one servant now?” Georgiana flopped onto a bench with great drama. “Nothing has changed. We still grow tobacco as we always have.”

  “We do,” Caroline snapped back, “but it’s not bringing in enough money!”

  “What? Why?” Georgiana sniffed.

  “I think,” Caroline said as she sat down next to her sister and tried to speak with more kindness, “that perhaps in all those years of having a cook and a housekeeper and maids, we spent more money than we should have, more money than we had.”

  “How could we? We spend less than our Aunt Bennett. We must. She has one more house servant, and her gowns are much finer than ours.”

  “Yes, but Aunt Bennett has money from her husband’s family. Our family has none.”

  “I still don’t understand. Where did all the money go?”

  “We never had it. We borrowed money from men in England to buy our clothes and our servants, and we sent them tobacco to pay them back, but we never sent enough. Or they didn’t earn enough when they sold it—I’m not sure I understand the matter entirely. But Father did say we are terribly indebted to these London men and—” Caroline stopped herself before scaring her sisters with talk of prison. “He will have to go to the court in Joppa Town soon in an effort to…sort things out.”

  “Joppa Town?” Edwina came over and sat near her sisters. “I’ve never heard of that. Where is it?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. Father says it’s a new town near the mouth of the Gunpowder River.”

  “That sounds rather distant.” Edwina sniffed and made a face. “Is something burning?”

  “Oh! The roast!” Caroline dashed over to the fireplace. A large hunk of pork had fallen from its spit into the very heart of the flames. “Ooh, help me, help me get it out!”

  Georgiana looked around helplessly for something to poke into the fire. Edwina grabbed a long-handled skillet and started jabbing into the flames. “I’ve got it—ouch!” She dropped the skillet into the fire on top of the roast and stepped back, sucking on the side of her hand.

  “I think I’ve an idea!” Caroline grabbed the fire bellows. “Georgiana, give me your apron.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with yours?”

  “It’s wet.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ll burn myself. Trust me, I’ve learned that lesson well enough. Now, give me your apron. You certainly aren’t using it.”

  “Oh, very well. Here.” Georgiana relinquished her apron with a wild throw, nearly sending it into the fire. Caroline caught it awkwardly then rolled it up around her left hand. With that hand, she plucked the handle of the skillet from the flames and held it steady; then with the other hand, she used the pointed end of the bellows to push the burning meat into the skillet. Carefully, she dragged the whole mess out onto the hearth.

  “Eew, Caroline,” Georgiana wrinkled her nose. “Did you have to stick the bellows into the meat? It’s all greasy and black.”

  “Well, so is the meat. No one will notice.” Caroline snatched a toasting fork from its hanger, bent down and started prodding at the charred roast. “If there’s anything left worth eating, that is. What’s so funny?”

  “You are!” Edwina giggled and turned to Georgiana. “She was too embarrassed to let Mr. Throckmorton see her in a work apron. And now look at her—all dirty and crouched over the hearth like an old witch!”

  Caroline looked down and saw that her apron and gown were spotted with soot, ashes and grease. Her arms were nearly black in places—and her face? She could only guess.

  As she touched her forehead she felt little bits of her hair crumble away. She had singed it. It should have felt awful, but somehow it was really very funny. “I think I shall have to see myself before I clean up. Will you fetch me a glass, Edwina? Perhaps you can bring down your pastels and sketch my portrait!”

  “Ha! Well, here, you’ll need this for your portrait.” Georgiana handed her the bellows as though it were a sword. “All hail Lady Caroline, Defender of the Roast!”

  “I believe you should bow in my presence, madam.”

  By this time, all three sisters were laughing so hard they collapsed on the floor in front of the fire. Each glance at the remains of the roast sent them into renewed peals of mirth.

  How had this happened again? Josiah sighed as he slid off his new horse. How had he managed to get drawn into the Carter family’s troubles, requiring a costly and lengthy excursion from home? This time, he could not blame Charles, unless he were secretly directing matters from beyond the grave. Josiah shivered, despite the warm sun.

  He had no idea what had made him volunteer to accompany John Carter to Joppa. Having no taste for the legal practice he had given up in London and no legal business of his own, he would have been content to remain as far from Joppa as possible. And, in fact, his plantation was about as far from the county seat as it could be without being in another county.

  What had made him do it?

  Pity, he supposed. Carter had looked so old all of a sudden. And it was hard to see the family trying to operate without their accustomed help. The sight of Miss Carter answering her father’s bell like one of the servants had totally unnerved him.

  Yet, why was it so upsetting? In other households daughters waited on their parents and guests, and helped in the kitchen and gardens, too. Why was it so disconcerting to see Miss Carter in that role?

  A small scream greeted him as he entered his house. Priscilla stood with her hand on the knob of the opposite door, writhing in pain as Betty held her other arm twisted tightly behind her back.

  “You’ll not leave, I say, until you tell him,” Betty snarled. “Go on, girl, confess!”

  Josiah winced. He did not want to hear another recitation of Priscilla’s indiscretions. “Please, Betty, Priscilla, I’m sure we can discuss this another—”

  “But, sir, you must hear,” Betty insisted. “It concerns you.”


  He sighed; he would have to hear this out. “Well, yes, then, go ahead. Priscilla?”

  The girl emitted an aura of pure misery. “There’s two letters come for you, sir. I’ve placed them on your desk.”

  “Ah, very good. Is that all?”

  Betty gripped the girl’s arm a little tighter. “Tell him when they came.”

  Priscilla looked down. “Two days ago, sir.”

  “What?”

  “A messenger brought them from the landing the day before yesterday, and the girl here set them aside and did not take the time to tell anyone.” Betty set Priscilla free with a vicious shove. “I only found out because the messenger came back today for his fee. She’d forgotten that as well.”

  “Fetch the letters, Priscilla,” Josiah said quietly. He felt sorry for the girl, having to work with the overbearing Betty, but neglecting her duties was a serious offense.

  She scurried out and back into the room in a matter of moments and handed him two thick folds of paper, the top one sealed with an elaborate mark. A letter from his sister.

  He glanced at the two servants. He could not sit down to read in their presence, yet he did not wish to leave the warmth of the fire in his main room to read in the damp, unheated “library.”

  He nodded curtly. “Thank you both. You may go.” When he saw Betty was about to protest, he added, “I will mete out punishment later. At the moment, I have business to attend to.”

  He sat down at the side of the table nearest the fire, leaning close to read his sister’s feathery scrawl. When he finished, Josiah let the letter drop to the table and grabbed his head with both hands.

  Early spring. His sister and her husband would be here by early spring—and likely sooner. The letter announced they would sail with a small winter convoy headed for Virginia.