The Mistress of Tall Acre

by Laura Frantz

Hiding his bad hand behind his back, he went to her, swallowing the tender words he wanted to say for fear he’d scare her, his voice too big and unfamiliar for the dark room. He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and stroked her brow, her loosened hair catching like silk thread against his callused palm. She quieted then began thrashing like a wounded creature, making him want to back out of the room and close the door and let her be.

  Taking her in your arms might help . . . Hold her close and chase the shadows away.

  She cried harder, her distress carving a deeper hole inside him, every sob more heartrending than the last. Not yet six years old, yet so weighted with misery and grief it weighted him too. He was to blame, came the familiar taunting voice.

  “Lily Cate, ’tis your father.”

  “Papa?” Her voice warbled with the unfamiliar word. She reached out a small, searching hand.

  He scooped her up, enfolding her trembling body in his hard arms, tucking her bent head beneath his bristled jaw. She tried to push away from him, but it was a sleepy, feeble protest soon spent. Holding firm, he did not let her go till all the fight had drained out of her. Till she was like she’d been as a newborn, when he’d held her briefly on that long ago summer’s day before their whole world turned on end.

  He’d forgotten to close the door. Forgotten to close the bed curtains. Forgotten what it was like to have a warm body beside him. Since Anne, there had been no one else. It seemed only right that it be their daughter.

  He owed Sophie Menzies an apology.

  The butterfly flitting about the harvested garden brought a touch of color and whimsy to the fading November landscape. Bound in orange and amber, its arched wings were so sheer that cold sunlight filtered through. Circling Sophie’s head, the creature alighted on a squat pumpkin needing to be made into pie or carved into thick rings and dried.

  The basket at her feet bore the last of the turnips and carrots, a few potatoes and onions tossed in. She’d long since harvested the lavender, loving the fresh, pungent scent on her hands as she sewed it into their linens. Only the sage and thyme remained to season soups and stews, and some frost-tipped greens.

  Leaning back, she rested against a cistern and looked toward Tall Acre. At five thousand acres it spread wide and proud, making Three Chimneys’ mere thousand almost forgettable.

  Lily Cate was never far from her thoughts. Had it truly been a fortnight since their simple party? She’d lost sleep herself, praying the general would get some rest, find peace in the embrace of his little daughter.

  Forgive her.

  If she’d angered him, she hadn’t meant to. She’d only spoken out of her own need and longing, a sincere desire to see them settled. She wanted Lily Cate’s smile to be the smile of a carefree child, unbound as a spring breeze, not pent-up and fraught with adult cares. Hers was, sadly, an old soul.

  “Miss Sophie?”

  Glynnis stood at the garden gate, a bemused expression on her face. The sun was slanting down so brightly Sophie couldn’t see what she held in her outstretched hands. A flash of blue distracted her as the guard passed by, doffing his tricorn as he disappeared round the side of the house.

  Sophie hastened down the stone path, linen skirts swirling, and took the offering in anticipation. Without another word Glynnis hurried back to the kitchen and her preserve-making, leaving Sophie alone with the package tied with twine. A gift? Or had Henry . . . ? She tore open the telltale bluish-purple paper, blinking dumbly at the plump sugar cone and charmingly crafted sugar hammer.

  Lord, You know what we have need of. Sweet, indeed.

  Dropping down on a near bench, she tasted a small chunk, savoring its richness on her tongue. From Tall Acre? How had the general known? Was he that in tune with their lack? The certainty nearly made her squirm. But for the moment it hardly mattered. A folded paper lay at the bottom of the bag. She slid her finger beneath the scarlet seal and drank in the bold signature, her heart stilling.

  Miss Menzies,

  A fortnight of sound sleep.

  With deepest gratitude,

  Seamus Ogilvy

  Eyes wide, she reread it—devoured it—till she’d memorized every letter, finally slipping it inside her shift so that it lay warm against her skin. She longed to know more. Longed to see Lily Cate at rest in his arms. Even the thought of it made her own lonesome nights more bearable.

  ’Twas the first note she’d ever received from a man. And though it was only a courtesy from him, she held tight to her own small piece of enchantment.

  He’d sent Sophie Menzies the gift of sugar as a sort of apology. Would she think he was trying to bribe her in returning a favor? Now at dusk the day after, he found himself on Three Chimneys’ doorstep, his tethered stallion snorting behind him. There was no sign of the housekeeper. Old as she was, had she died? ’Twas Miss Menzies herself who greeted him.

  “Come in, General, please.” With a wave of her hand, she led him into a disheveled study down the hall. A dim memory resurfaced. He’d been here previously, arguing politics with Lord Menzies before the war. Sophie’s father, he recalled, had nearly taken him by the throat.

  Now, like then, he came straight to the point. “I have business in Williamsburg and Richmond and must be away a week or better.” Seamus tried to hide the discomfort of asking, but Sophie Menzies was smiling at him in the sunlight of Three Chimneys’ study window, making his request somewhat easier. As if his daughter wasn’t a nuisance. As if their fervent exchange of before had never happened.

  “So you’d like for me to keep Lily Cate here.”

  “I’m a bit short-staffed at Tall Acre.” He wouldn’t say Lily Cate had nearly begged him to ask her. “I considered taking her with me, but traveling with a child—”

  “Of course, ’tis better she remain behind.” She clasped her hands together as if especially pleased. “When will you bring her?”

  “Day after tomorrow.” He regretted the apology in his tone. “I should return as planned, barring bad weather.” Could she see his relief? Though he and Lily Cate were sleeping soundly with only a few tears now and then, other problems were pressing in. He wouldn’t mention his growing fear that Anne’s Williamsburg relations might snatch her in his absence. Or that Lily Cate’s sudden fascination with the river in back of the house made him uneasy. Here at Three Chimneys she would be well watched even more than at Tall Acre, especially with the guard he’d posted.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m also in search of a governess for her. If you happen to know of anyone suitable . . .”

  She crossed her arms in contemplation, drawing attention to her ill-fitting dress. The well-rounded girl she’d been flashed to mind. But then she likely remembered a man with a whole hand. “I attended Mrs. Hallam’s school for girls in Williamsburg. I can write to her and inquire. I suppose you want the usual feminine fare—deportment, music, dancing, and French conversation.”

  Looking down at his cocked hat, he studied its feathered cockade. “Mostly I just want my daughter to read. To grow lost in books.”

  “That I understand completely.” Her voice held a smile. “I’ll make sure I read to her while she’s here. As you can see, our library is not lacking at least. I devoured nearly every book these eight years past, some of them twice. I recommend Tristram Shandy and Pamela.”

  Amused, he raised his gaze. “Then you’ve not read The Vicar of Wakefield.” The mention brought Anne to mind, so akin to the vicar’s daughter with her blinding beauty. But ’twas Sophia, the sister, who made him think of Miss Menzies herself. What had the author said?

  Sophia’s features were not so striking at first . . . they were soft, modest, and alluring. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other by efforts successfully repeated . . . Olivia wished for many lovers, Sophia to secure one.

  Forcing the memory away, he took in the crates scattered about the masculine room. “You look . . . busy.”

  “I’m cleaning out the study before Curtis returns.” She picked up a feather
duster and ran it lightly over a thick dictionary. “This will be his now as my father isn’t coming back.”

  “It could be yours, as mistress of Three Chimneys.” Her dismayed gaze turned his way. “I only meant you seem quite capable, Miss Menzies.”

  “I may be good with little girls, but I know little about managing an estate, General.”

  “You could learn.”

  “Oh? You weren’t very encouraging about my silk production plans, as I recall.” She resumed dusting with a vengeance, making him mentally kick himself for the thoughtless remark. “At this point I simply want my brother back. Nothing more.”

  He took a last look at a small marble bust of George II lying on the floor beside a dusty stack of old ledgers. Everything British looked to be on its way out. She even had a small Patriot flag flying from a pewter tankard atop the massive desk. There was little doubt where her loyalties lay.

  “As it stands, Three Chimneys could never be mine by law,” she said quietly. “’Tis a man’s domain. My brother’s. My future husband’s.”

  His gaze swiveled back to her. “Are you . . . betrothed?”

  The forthright question seemed to shake her. He watched her color climb to crimson before she murmured, “Hardly that.”

  He took a step back, thinking it a fine time to exit. “Day after tomorrow,” he said, remembering Lily Cate.

  “Thank you,” she replied as if he’d done her some special favor. Looking up from her dusting, she added thoughtfully, “Thank you for entrusting her to me. ’Tis far sweeter than the sugar you sent.”

  “Small recompense, Miss Menzies.” With that, he put on his hat and turned away.

  Lily Cate arrived as planned, hugging Sophie so tightly it seemed she’d never let go. Kneeling on the morning room carpet, Sophie shut her eyes, savoring the moment. Had she ever embraced her father in this way? With boundless joy and affection? Would she in time?

  Lily Cate shook free of her cape and left it in a little puddle on the rug, her expectant expression dimming a bit. “Papa has gone away . . .” She leaned nearer as if it was a secret, her breath smelling of peppermint. “To get a bride.”

  Sophie drew back, lips parting, almost missing the fact she’d called him Papa. “A bride?”

  Lily Cate nodded, her bonnet bobbing atop her head. Sophie began untying her chin ribbons, breathless with surprise. “Well, I wish him the best.”

  “Florie told me.”

  Sophie set the bonnet aside. “Florie . . . your housemaid?”

  Lily Cate whispered yes, fingering the lace of Sophie’s fichu. “Florie knows everything. She dusts Papa’s study and reads his letters.”

  A cold, sick sinking spread to her breast where the general’s note still rested. “So Tall Acre is to have a new mistress then.” Lily Cate was looking at her, a hundred questions in her eyes. As if she needed comfort. Reassurance about this stepmother-to-be.

  Sophie dredged up more words as all the implications rushed in. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be good and kind . . .” And beautiful. Accomplished. Wealthy. She took a breath, her newfound happiness dwindling. Couldn’t she feel even a glimmer of gladness? Tall Acre needed a mistress, the general a wife, Lily Cate a mother.

  Glynnis appeared just then, a wide, satisfied smile creasing her face. “The general’s sent over two hams from Tall Acre’s smokehouse and a sack of Portuguese salt.”

  Sophie nearly sighed. Glynnis best not get used to special treatment once a new mistress was installed at Tall Acre. Great changes were afoot, the least being their brimming larder. Had Glynnis heard any news? Likely not. Her glee was too great.

  Taking Lily Cate’s face between her hands, Sophie spoke past a numbing ache. “I’m glad you are calling him Papa.”

  “I don’t say it with him, only with you.”

  Oh? The realization was bittersweet. She’d never called her own father anything but sir. Perhaps Lily Cate would warm to Papa in time. “What shall we do first? Go for a walk, read a book? We can even make a picture as I have my old paints.”

  “All of it, please.”

  Sophie managed a smile, gladdened by the scent of tea cakes wafting from the kitchen. “I’ll set everything up in the garden while you have a sweet with Glynnis.”

  Once Lily Cate and Glynnis padded down the hall, Sophie stepped nearer the hearth. Though the first fire of late fall glowed golden in the grate—thanks be to Henry who’d gathered some sticks—it hardly took the chill off the room. She shut her eyes, still reeling from the news. What was the general like in love? Tender? Attentive? Gallant? Or was he marrying this woman out of necessity?

  She withdrew his note from her bodice and fed it to the flames, pained that a bit of paper and ink meant so much to her. ’Twas folly at her age to be even slightly enamored of a note, a man, a wee girl not hers. A bride for Tall Acre had done the trick.

  Now to convince her feelings to fall in line.

  6

  Seamus had disliked Richard Fitzhugh from the first day he’d met him. He hated him now. Standing in the formal parlor of the Fitzhughs’ grand Williamsburg townhouse, they faced each other, Anne’s sister between them. Charlotte, with her corn-silk hair and hazel eyes, looked enough like Anne to be her twin, and the resemblance grated. But Charlotte was even more conniving and was likely the reason he was in this predicament to begin with.

  Fitzhugh was not fond of children, and they were childless, something Charlotte found untenable but Seamus found fitting. He knew it was more Charlotte’s need of Lily Cate that had him cornered here. They’d always treated his daughter oddly, kind and cruel by turns, or so he’d heard, saying things no child should hear and Seamus feared couldn’t be undone. He’d never trusted them. He didn’t trust them now.

  His gaze wandered to the gaudily papered walls, a heavy gold and verdigris, so unlike his own serene blues and greens at Tall Acre. Everything felt oppressive, almost nauseating. Or mayhap it was only the ill feeling threading the room.

  Charlotte barely glanced at him, intent on the ribbon embellishment of her sleeve. “General, I hope your trip from Tall Acre was uneventful.”

  Spare me the platitudes, he almost said. This was hardly a social call. “I received your summons. Now what is it that you want from me?”

  Fitzhugh took control, stony-faced and powdered like the judge he was. “Let us get down to business straightaway. Regrettably, our legal counsel isn’t present but will be if the matter isn’t resolved to our satisfaction.”

  “I doubt it will be,” Seamus replied, not meaning to be inflammatory, just truthful.

  Charlotte was regarding him in apprehension now as if he might take out a weapon and threaten them. But he wasn’t in uniform nor was he carrying so much as a simple pistol.

  The judge cleared his throat. “You’re well aware we want Anne’s daughter returned immediately.”

  “I’m well aware you have no right to demand her return given I’m her father.”

  “General, need I remind you that you came here a month ago and took the poor child by force—”

  Seamus went cold. “Only because you refused to let me see her. Explain that to your legal counsel.”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Charlotte’s face turned beseeching, though it barely masked the hardness beneath. “We’re mostly concerned that Lily Cate is without a mother. You’re well aware I’m the closest female relation the child has.”

  “You forget my sister. In Philadelphia.”

  “Ah, Cosima, yes. But Philadelphia is a world away. We were the ones who took Lily Cate in while Anne was dying and you were on the field. We are the most familiar. I can only imagine how terrified the child must be living with you, a virtual stranger, in a strange house with a strange staff.”

  “You yourselves were once strange to her.” Seamus pointed out the obvious, but she simply stared at him blankly before Fitzhugh intervened.

  “None of that matters.” He clutched a paper in a ringed hand, shaking it as if it held some significan
ce. “Here we have the guardianship document that Anne signed—”

  “Anne?” The heated word shot across the room like musket fire. “Anne had no right.” Ire gained the upper hand, making his reply tight and breathless. “Anne is dead while I, Lily Cate’s father, am very much alive and making a home for her as best I can.”

  “Alive—and alone.” Fitzhugh let the paper drop. “You cannot provide the care Anne’s daughter needs, but we can. I’m confident the courts will agree. My legal counsel is preparing paperwork to that effect as we speak. ’Tis only a matter of time before the child is in our care again.”

  Charlotte took out a fan and flicked it open with a twist of her wrist. “You might have brought her with you, General, to visit us for an afternoon while you go about your Williamsburg business.”

  “I considered it, but given your disagreeable stance, I thought it wiser to keep her at home.”

  Disgust marred Fitzhugh’s face. “Home is hardly the term for it. You live in a remote location devoid of civilized pursuits. Anne detested country life and thought it better Lily Cate be raised in a genteel town like Williamsburg.”

  Though Seamus tried to stay stalwart, the words slashed deep. He knew Anne had preferred life in town, but hearing it from the judge so bitterly was something he’d not soon forget. His heart, so torn throughout the war years by myriad things beyond his control, fractured anew. He wanted to sit down peaceably and discuss what was best for Lily Cate, arrange for her to spend time in Williamsburg or open Tall Acre to the Fitzhughs as guests. But there was no peace, no reconciliation, to be had in this parlor.

  Charlotte snapped her fan shut. “Most men would be glad to relinquish the burden of a daughter’s care to relatives.”

  “I am not ‘most men.’”

  “Indeed.” Charlotte was almost pouting. “Our primary concern at this impasse is that you have no wife, no mother for Anne’s daughter. If this was a boy, we wouldn’t be so concerned. But a girl needs a woman’s influence—”

  “I’m about to secure a governess,” Seamus interrupted, returning his hat to his head and putting an end to her weary refrain. “Every concern you have is unfounded. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”