Not one servant bustled through the exposed corridor. The house was silent, with neither the murmur of voices nor the clatter of activity.
His boot scraped the bricks, and he turned around. No one toiled in the garden nor drew water at the well. He knocked again, his knuckles stinging from the sharp blows.
A coltish young maid shuffled from a side hall, saw them at the door, and approached. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her face haggard. “Yes sir?”
“I wish to speak to Merry Lattimore.”
“Yes sir. Come in and wait if you please.” She sounded infinitely weary.
Removing their hats, Graham and Connor followed her into the hall.
Heavy silence blanketed the house and muffled every other sense as well. Though it was approaching lunchtime he could smell nothing from the kitchen. And the curtains were drawn tightly shut in most every room, leaving the house in gloomy shadow. He and Connor exchanged a wary glance, but neither could bring themselves to shatter the odd quiet. What might they find lying beneath?
Merry descended a narrow back stairwell on silent, slipper-shod feet. The black smudges beneath her eyes and pallor of her features confirmed his worst suspicions.
“Miss Lattimore.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair. Thank you for bringing my things.” She held her hand out for the bag.
What could have happened? He lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. “Is everything well?”
“Mr. Benning died this morning.”
“Do you have a moment?”
“I must get back to the children. I dislike leaving them. They are understandably upset.”
“Of course.” Graham handed the valise over, feeling at loose ends. “Perhaps I might call on you later, to make sure you are well?”
She nodded listlessly. “As you wish.” Once more her tone held almost no inflection. Was she struggling with grief … or fear?
The appearance of a constable in the drawing room nearly paralyzed Merry with the certainty that she would be dragged to gaol. Heart galloping, she pulled the children close.
She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to still the surge of anxiety. She would not crumble into helplessness. The children needed her and so did Mrs. Benning. Their world had overturned like a phaeton in a strong wind. They needed someone to comfort, not drain them of their few remaining resources.
“So sorry for your loss. A great gentleman.” Tricorn in hand, the constable delivered condolences to the room at general.
“Thank you, Mr. Harold.” Abigail motioned for the man to be seated. He did so after a moment’s hesitation and a brief swipe at the back of his pants with one hand.
“Such a shocking loss. So sudden.”
Abigail’s delicate nostrils flared as if she were fighting back more tears. She managed to retain control, though the struggle turned her voice high and tight. “Yes it was.” She tried to turn to business. “I am not certain yet when we will best be able to accommodate the inventory.”
“Oh yes, ma’am, we will stay out of the way of the family. I thought I would ask Mr. Geddy to help, since I know little about shipping and whatnot.”
“That seems prudent.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Could you direct me to Dr. de Sequeyra? He asked to speak to me.”
“I offered him the use of a guestroom so that he could wash and rest before riding home. Jerusha will show you the way.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The constable dropped his hat and bent to pick it up with a quick, awkward motion. He backed from the room, head bobbing like a turkey’s as he bade his farewell.
The sober, diminished conversation of a house in mourning resumed as the man left.
“I am glad we could be here with you at such a terrible time.” Catherine Fraser reached a hand to pat Abigail’s arm. “I cannot imagine how it would be to go through all this alone. I hope you will allow us to do all we can to help.” Her darkly elegant gown and quiet voice were perfectly modulated to mourning.
“I am grateful to have good friends around at such a time.” Abigail sounded weary beyond human endurance. Red-rimmed eyes set in a chalky white face seemed to burn through the conventions and reduce the others in the room to fumbling.
Mrs. Fraser rallied and tried again. “Mr. Fraser will manage the funeral of course. You oughtn’t to worry with such matters. And of course, I can do whatever needs to be done to keep the household running smoothly.”
Abigail stood, swaying slightly. “Would you excuse me please? I feel … unwell.”
Merry stood and hurried to brace her. She looked over her shoulder. “Children, find Hattie, please, while I help your mama to her room.”
Wide-eyed they nodded, fear patent in their swollen eyes.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Everyone in the room turned to find the constable in the door again. If possible he looked even more ill at ease, shifting from foot to foot, hands revolving his hat.
“Yes?” Abigail leaned more heavily into Merry as if the weight of trepidation were too much to bear.
“May I speak with you … privately?”
“Let us go into my closet.” She took a step and reached back for Merry’s hand, her grip as cold as a November fog. “Come with me, dear.”
Safely ensconced in the small room where she handled household affairs, Mrs. Benning collapsed in a chair, and Merry stood beside her with a hand on her seat back assuring her of her presence and support.
“It’s this way, ma’am. Dr. de Sequeyra found Mr. Benning’s death a bit strange.”
Mrs. Benning shook her head. “Strange?”
“He suspects poison.”
Her features blanched even further. “What?”
The constable held up a hand. “Most likely it was an accident. This sort of thing happens. Something gets picked with the dinner herbs.”
Abigail shook her head back and forth. “No. No. I’m … There must be some mistake.”
“The doctor believes the illness was caused by lily of the valley. According to him it doesn’t take long to take effect. I just need to interview the staff to see who picked it and how it got into your supper.”
Merry frowned. “It was not in the supper or others would have been ill as well.” The words sprang of their own accord from her lips. She winced and drew back a step as if she could distance herself from her own outspokenness.
The constable looked at her reproachfully, and even Abigail glanced up at her with lowered brows.
The constable sniffed and returned his attention to Abigail. “It might have been in any number of things. Dr. de Sequeyra says that even water from a vase that had held lilies would be enough to poison a man.”
Abigail shook her head. “I don’t recall picking any lilies recently.”
The constable pushed his lips out in an exaggerated pucker. His head bobbed again in comedic fashion, though Merry felt no desire to laugh. “I’ll need to speak to your cook and see what else Mr. Benning might have eaten, and who prepared it, and so on.”
Tight little lines radiated around Abigail’s mouth. “Do what you must.” She rose. “I must see to my childr …”
Her hand reached for the chair but missed, and she swayed toward the fireplace.
Merry grabbed hold of her and guided her back down into the seat. “Pray wait here, ma’am. I’ll fetch the doctor.”
She shooed the constable before her and hurried in search of Dr. de Sequeyra. He prescribed immediate bed rest, and Mrs. Benning was bundled upstairs. Jerusha and Merry helped her out of the restrictive day dress she wore and into her nightdress. The doctor once again checked her pulse then administered a sleeping draught.
With Jerusha installed in silent vigil, Merry hurried in search of the children. She found them sitting mournfully in bed, their solemn little faces drained of their usual vitality. She checked them each for signs of returned fever. They seemed cool enough, despite their listlessness. When none of their toys captured their interest, she settled in
to read to them.
They burrowed close, seeking the comfort of contact. Their innocent bewilderment broke her heart. They sensed the household’s sorrow, but could not truly grasp the cause. They had never before been faced with such a loss. Her eyes stung with exhaustion and the dreadful dryness that remains when tears have been shed. Emma sighed. Nestling her head against Merry’s arm, the rigidity in her little frame eased into the limpness of sleep. Merry stroked the girl’s hair. She leaned her head back against the wall and allowed her eyes to drift closed.
The fire in the grate of her family’s drawing room in London drew her close, and she stretched her hands toward it. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Father would have been interred by now. Her tears hissed as they hit the hot bricks of the hearth.
The incessant snick of her mother’s lace tatting needles grated against her nerves. Her self-satisfied conversation grated even more. “At least now you can marry Lord Carroll. He’s been very gracious in not demanding your answer because of your father’s illness.”
Her jaw clenched against a rush of indignant words. “I have given him a response. More than once.”
“Nonsense. You’ll see differently now that your father is gone.”
“I shall not.” The whispered words were nearly swallowed in the crackle of flames. Where, oh where, was Graham? Not a word, not a note from him in months. She had believed, hoped, that Graham loved her and would offer for her. But then he had disappeared at almost the same time Father had become so ill. Now Father was dead, and still he made no appearance. She would never have believed he would abandon her at the hour of her greatest need.
“You shall, or you shall not have a dowry.”
Merry whirled. “No, Mother! I will not marry that man. He is loathsome.”
Her mother looked up from her lacework. She narrowed her eyes, a calculating gleam lending her a venal appearance. “You’ll marry him, or you’ll not stay under my roof another night.”
She was running. Fleeing. Cold wind hurtled past her, whipping her hair into tangles that blinded her. She stumbled. Fell.
Falling.
Merry jerked awake. A chilly breeze raised gooseflesh on her arms. Night had crept up on her. She rubbed at her eyes and then her temples where a dull throb pulsed. If only she could stretch out and sleep for a week.
Instead she slid carefully from between the still-sleeping children. Tenderly she tucked them under their coverlets. Blinking back tears, she retrieved Emma’s doll from the floor where it had fallen and settled it in the crook of the girl’s arm.
In the kitchen, Cookie tended some sort of stew as it hung over the fireplace.
“Are you all right?”
Cookie spun around as if she had been branded. “Lands, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I just wondered how you are faring.”
Tearstains ravaged the older woman’s face. “I never thought I’d see the day, and that’s the truth. I can’t hardly believe it.”
Merry sat at the table. “He seemed so … invincible.”
Cook’s eyebrows drew together in a bemused frown. “I’m not talkin’ ’bout the master. Everyone has to die sometime.”
“Then wha—”
“They took Jerusha away. Said as how she murdered ’im.”
Chapter 6
For the second night in a row, Merry slipped away from the house as the shadows sank into midnight. She’d learned her lesson and wore a cape with a hood that disguised her features. Better to have anonymity than the freshness of a breeze on her face.
Once again she fingered the scrap of paper on which she had scrawled the address. She could not afford to mistake her location.
Shadows shifted before her, deepening as she drew near. The rustle of desiccated leaves sounded as if a woman in bombazine was hard on her heels. Despite herself, Merry glanced over her shoulder.
She picked up her pace, scurrying through the heart of Williamsburg as if she were an escaped convict.
Perhaps she was.
From the bowels of the night she heard a scrape and scrambled for cover behind a rain barrel. She licked her lips as she crouched in the dark. A night watchman appeared around the corner swinging his lantern.
“One o’clock and all is well. Fair night out. No clouds to tell.”
Merry leaned her forehead against the rough oak barrel. Her eyes slid closed and she sighed. Only the ache in her legs got her moving again. She swayed slightly as she rose, placing a hand on the barrel to steady herself. The faster she completed her errand, the faster she could get to bed.
She found the house and pulled her hood farther down to hide her features. Breathing deeply she rapped hard on the door. No sound stirred within. She tried again, pounding for a long moment.
At last a woman dressed in a wrapper and nightcap answered. She appeared frightened. “What is it?” She asked in a hiss.
“I must speak to Mr. Sinclair. It is urgent.”
The woman glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Come back in the morning.”
Merry had the presence of mind to shove her foot in the door. “Fetch him now.”
“Get out before I call the watch.”
“He has already passed. I apologize for the disruption, but if you wish to return to your slumber you would do well to call for Mr. Sinclair.”
The woman stepped closer, outrage in her eyes. “Listen here—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bartlesby, but I am awake.”
The goodwife turned to the voice at the head of the stairs. “Do you know this … young person?”
“I do, and I am certain she would not disturb the household unless the matter was of great import.” Looking somber, Graham appeared in the narrow slice of interior Merry could see. Worry lines framed his eyes.
“I assure you, it is,” Merry said, removing her now bruised foot from the door.
The landlady harrumphed and departed for her bed.
Graham edged the door open. The concern in his eyes made Merry’s heart stutter from its usual rhythm.
“If you have sought me out, it must be a matter of dire concern.”
“I don’t know where else to turn.” It was true. If this did not work … Merry’s fingers pleated the edge of her apron as she awaited his verdict.
“Come in.”
He led the way into a small drawing room and motioned for her to be seated. “I am sorry I have no refreshments to offer.”
Merry shook her head. She continued to fold her apron between fidgety fingers. It would be best to be out with it. “The authorities believe Mr. Benning was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Graham sat forward in his seat.
“At first they seemed to believe it was an accident, but later they took Jerusha into custody.”
“Who is Jerusha?”
“A slave woman. My friend.”
He waited.
“She had no reason to kill him.”
“Then why do they believe she did?”
Unexpected tears stung Merry’s eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. If she told him of their plans and he wrapped himself in his justice’s robe, she could lose her freedom once again. All it would take was his word against hers just as with Lucas Paget. Could she face that fate?
She rubbed her burning eyes with trembling hands. If only she weren’t so tired. Mayhap she had made a mistake coming here.
“Miss Lattimore.” His gentle voice coaxed her to look at him. “Whatever you say I shall keep in confidence. But you must tell me what the trouble is so that I may help.” His hand covered hers, warm and powerful.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. Sincerity shone in his eyes, and something else, some deeper regard. A hint of the young man who had helped her bind a broken bird’s wing so many years ago.
She swallowed and forced a tremulous smile. She had not been mistaken. “I know Jerusha did not kill Mr. Benning. They will say that she did it because he intended to sell her son away to a man from another colony. But
we—I had a plan. I intended to help them escape. So you see, if she had another means of averting her worst fear, she would have no cause to take his life.”
“You intended to abet a runaway slave?” Horror lanced his voice, reducing it to a sibilant hiss. “The slaves of Virginia are no less people than anyone else, and yet they are reduced to mere chattel.” Merry shook her head vehemently. “I have been so reduced, and I can tell you that humanity is lost more often when power over another is gained than the reverse.”
He placed a finger under her chin and nudged it up until he met his gaze again. “I do not question your morals in this matter, only your sense. Do you realize how dangerous—”
Merry’s spine straightened as if infused with iron. She jerked her chin from his gentle grip. “It was all planned and would have meant only a minimal amount of danger for me.”
“You could be hanged. Must you tempt fate again?”
She scooted to the edge of her chair. “I tempt fate? The circumstances that led to my downfall were hardly of my manufacture.”
“I did not imply it was your fault, simply that you should be careful.”
“You act as if I have no acquaintance with the ways of the world, when it was through your ‘kind’ offices that I was locked in with every manner of wastrel and criminal. I may have been naive upon entering Newgate, but I was not so when I emerged from that school of vice.”
Graham paled, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “I have done all in my power to remedy my mistake.” The words were as sharply severed as if they had met with the guillotine.
Merry gritted her teeth. She had endured much greater insult than he had offered and hardly blinked an eye. She breathed deeply.
“I told you of our plans so you would understand that Jerusha had no cause to murder her master. She had found other means of solving her dilemma.”
“And what do you wish me to do with this information?”
Was he determined to make this as difficult as possible? I have come to ask you to represent Jerusha in the courts.”
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