“Dr. de Sequeyra agreed that fresh air and exercise would be beneficial.” Merry would not see Abigail driven indoors before she was good and ready.
Head bowed over her work, Abigail’s gaze slid toward Merry, and she gave her a wink.
Isaiah approached. “ ’Scuse me, miss, you have a visitor.”
Mrs. Fraser brushed a stray blade of grass from her skirt. “Inform them I will be there in a moment.”
“Not you, missus. The guest is for Miss Lattimore.”
“Well.” Catherine reclined in her seat and took another pinch of snuff from an enameled box.
Abigail settled back on her haunches. “I wonder if it is Mr. Sinclair? I think he is quite taken with you, Merry.”
Merry shook her head. “That is unlikely.”
“Catherine, I could use a respite. Why don’t we have tea and biscuits in the shade over there?”
Merry hurried inside, brushing dirt from the knees of her gown. Graham Sinclair had seen her looking far worse, but an odd reluctance rose within her to allow it to happen again.
She pounded up the stairs to her spacious guest room and with Hattie’s help slipped into a clean day dress. Within a few moments she was respectably attired and progressing sedately down the front stairs.
Sarah whirled at her entrance. “You have landed in clover, haven’t you?”
A flicker of disappointment skittered through Merry at Graham’s absence. But then she smiled. “For the time being.” Sarah’s presence meant she must have learned something of import.
“Well, come here and let me tell you what I’ve uncovered.”
They settled on a settee and Sarah bent close. “Last night the first mate of the Nyriad came a-visiting.”
Eyes wide, Merry waited.
“It seems he was aboard a different ship, the Phoenix, a year or so ago. They were just a few miles from port when Mr. Fraser comes out to meet the boat in his cutter. He tells them there is plague in the town, and they should put in at a little island along the coast until the all clear is given. He goes ahead and pays the sailors their wages and gives them their liberty while the ship lies to the lee of the island. Three days later a bit of a squall came up. There were only two or three men aboard the ship, and when the weather cleared, the Phoenix had disappeared. Mr. Fraser and the captain, one Asa McKelvy, claimed to have seen her sink.”
Merry latched onto the odd phrasing. “Claimed?”
“Yes, it seems no trace of her was ever found, except a few barrels of salt pork from the hold and part of the masthead.”
“Were any hands lost?”
“No. The men who stayed to guard her all swore she sank, but my first mate said that none of them ever worked a deck again, but set themselves up in trade.”
Merry’s brow furrowed. “He believes the ship did not actually sink then?”
“It is his idea that the ship’s goods were unloaded, and then she was taken out just ahead of the storm and scuttled.”
Merry tapped her lip. “It seems far-fetched.”
Sarah’s face fell like a child denied a treat.
“But it is something, when before I had nothing at all. I wonder what Mr. Fraser would do if I asked him about it?”
“Oh Merry, don’t.” Sarah put an urgent hand on her arm. “I have asked about him in the town. He has a reputation as a harsh taskmaster. Rigid as a pike and twice as sharp. It could be dangerous to cross him. Especially if you think him capable of murder.”
“Something needs to be done.”
“Leave well enough alone. He would swat you like a fly if you get in his way.” Terror widened Sarah’s eyes.
Merry cocked her head. “You are truly frightened of him, aren’t you?”
“Indeed I am, and you would be, too, if you knew what was good for you.”
With a swish of skirts, Merry stood. “Come with me. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
Graham’s eyes blinked open involuntarily at the click of the door, and immediately clamped shut again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sinclair. You have visitors.” The houseboy sounded far too energetic.
Suppressing a groan, Graham risked opening a single eye. “Who is it?”
“Sorry, sir. Mrs. Bartlesby admitted the ladies and sent me to fetch you. I didn’t hear their names.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon, sir.”
Graham inhaled a fortifying breath. “All right. I shall be down shortly.” With a great deal of effort he relinquished his hold on his pillow and sat up. In the next bed, Connor rolled over to face the wall.
A yawn wrenched Graham’s jaws apart, and he stood. He reached for his breeches and administered a sharp kick to Connor’s bed. Connor continued to feign sleep, but Graham knew better.
“I sense that I shall need your assistance with this interview.”
Connor stiffened then flopped over. “You are a cruel, cruel man.”
“Stop your grousing and get dressed. There are ladies waiting.”
They emerged a few moments later. Graham’s cravat was pitifully mauled and his shaving had been haphazard, but at least he could claim the virtue of speed.
He thrust through the parlor door and sketched a brief bow. Merry Lattimore sat on the settee. Her color was high, and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Golden light flared in her dark eyes when she looked at him, and all of a sudden his stock felt too tight. He ran a finger under it to loosen its stranglehold.
“Pardon me, ladies. I was not expecting such charming guests.” He crossed to Merry, made his honors, and took her hand.
Merry smiled politely and withdrew her hand. “Sarah, may I introduce Mr. Graham Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair, Miss Proctor is a dear friend of mine and has some information that may well be key to the answer we seek.”
Graham turned to the other woman. She was a pretty piece, but compared to Merry a bit flashy. Her hair was piled atop her head and powdered as fashion dictated. Her gown was also rigidly à la mode. But unless he missed his guess, she had not been born a gentlewoman.
Nevertheless, he bowed over her hand. “Miss Proctor. I am most interested to hear what you have to impart.”
Connor clomped into the room. It was Graham’s turn to perform introductions.
For a moment it seemed Connor blushed as he bowed over Miss Proctor’s hand. No. Graham doubted his stalwart companion had ever blushed in his thirty-odd years on the earth. It didn’t bear thinking of.
Merry looked as fidgety as a child forced to sit through a Sunday sermon. She might burst if they did not get to the matter at hand.
Miss Proctor soon confirmed his guess as to her background as she recounted the tale she had heard from the first mate. It all fit quite nicely with what Connor had uncovered. Merry had been uncommonly savvy to enlist the aid of her pretty friend. Come to think on it, she’d been far more successful in her attempts at investigation than he would ever have credited.
Graham sat back, forming a pyramid of his fingers. He nodded for Connor to describe what he had learned.
At the end of Connor’s recitation, Merry jumped to her feet and began pacing the room, forcing him and Connor to stand as well. “This is it. He has committed murder to cover his fraud.”
Graham shook his head. “We must have proof. To accuse a man without evidence opens us to charges of libel and will do nothing for Jerusha.”
“They have no more than this sort of innuendo by which to hold Jerusha. Surely everything we have learned leads to him?”
“Even granting that he is guilty of fraud, there is not necessarily a connection to this murder. We have no proof that Mr. Benning was aware of his machinations. For all that, he may have been a party to the fraud.”
The pulse in Merry’s neck stood out in stark relief, and her mouth was ringed with a white line. “What must we do?” Her words held the same tightly controlled quality that laced a man’s voice in the instant before he issued a challenge.
“We must establish not only w
hy he might have done it, but that he had the means and the opportunity to commit the crime. And then we must find proof that he did so. I am afraid that without proof, there is very little chance of seeing Jerusha freed.”
Merry marched home. Truly, Graham Sinclair was the most insufferable man on earth. Why was it they needed no real proof to convict someone, but they must have rock-solid evidence to free them? And he wouldn’t even try. Well Merry would find proof, and if she had to, she would shove it down the magistrate’s throat.
She thrust open the door to the Benning mansion herself rather than wait on a slave to perform the office for her. She had marched home without pause. Panting, she pounded up to her room and sank into a chair. She dropped her head in her hands.
Unbidden tears stung her eyes. How was she to prove Jerusha innocent? She hadn’t even been able to accomplish that feat for herself. If only Father were still alive, none of this would ever have happened. She would be safely home in England, blessedly oblivious to all the ugliness the world could hold.
She closed her eyes tight, trying to check the tears. If she gave way just once she might never stop crying again. She gasped for breath. Her throat burned with the need to scream invectives and hurl blame. She slid to her knees; her forehead brushed the floor. Harsh keening broke from her lips.
Why?
Why?
Why had God done this?
Where had she failed?
The temptation to pray tugged at her.
She had dreamed of vindication. Thought that the restoration of her reputation would restore everything else in her life to its proper place, but it wasn’t to be. Her spirit had a hollow space within that she could not fill, and it seemed to be growing larger.
She needed to forgive Graham. He had done everything in his power to correct his mistake. But what if he left again? If she released the last of her resentment, what would she use to guard her heart?
She tried to stifle her sobs. She did not want to be heard. To be found. To have to explain her despair.
Lord, where are You?
At last the great racking spasms passed, and she lay upon the floor, spent.
A cool breeze drifted through the window and caressed her flushed, damp cheeks.
Jerusha would have been accused of murder even if Merry had never arrived on these shores. Mayhap Merry could find purpose in that. True, she had been unable to save herself, but didn’t that give her more reason to see that someone else did not suffer a similar fate?
Jerusha needed her. It was time to get to work. She sat up and dampened a handkerchief with water from the guglet on her dresser. She washed her face and rubbed lavender oil into her temples to becalm the headache her sobs had created.
Her face was still red and puffy, but the house was in mourning. It should scarcely be called into question. As she looked at herself in the glass she nearly fell to weeping again. A chasm was growing within her, pulling at her. Her very person seemed held together by nothing more substantial than the lacings of her stays. Her hands clenched around the wooden lip of the dressing table.
She could fall apart after she saw Jerusha freed. But first, justice.
“Master Benning.” Graham raised his arm to hail the young man. It had taken long enough to pick the lad out from his identically robed comrades.
Raleigh turned, and a smile ghosted across his features. He took leave of his companions and turned aside to where Graham stood.
“Mr. Sinclair, I had not looked for the pleasure of your company today.”
“Would you have a few moments to speak?”
“Certainly, I do not have to attend Mr. Wythe for another hour.”
“It pertains to your father’s murder.”
Raleigh nodded. “I thought it might.”
Graham led the way from the campus to a nearby tavern. “Perhaps you’d care for a bite. It’s near the lunch hour.”
Raleigh accepted, and they were soon seated at a table.
“Can you tell me anything of your father’s last night? I understand you met with him quite late.”
The boy reddened and stared into the contents of his mug. When he at last looked up tears brimmed in his eyes. “My father and I had a falling out. We were both upset when I left.”
“May I ask what caused the rift?” Graham kept his voice low. No use allowing the boy’s business to become public.
“He wanted to send me to school in England. He felt that my friends are advocating measures against the crown that come perilously close to treason.”
“You did not agree.”
“How can it be treason simply to desire a voice in the Parliament that governs and taxes us? Are we lesser English-men simply because we are removed by an ocean from our fellows? His Majesty and Lord North have nothing to fear if they but treat us fairly.” Raleigh was becoming more voluble. His eyes glinted with fervor, and for the first time Graham began to understand what motivated the radicals.
“What happened next?”
“I left. He asked me to. He wouldn’t listen to sense, and I was too angry.”
“Did you see anyone about when you left?”
“Not a soul.”
“Did he eat or drink anything while you were together?”
Raleigh pursed his lips in thought. “Not that I recall.”
“Did he mention feeling ill?”
Raleigh shook his head. “He seemed his usual self.”
Graham sought for some straw of useful information. “Perhaps he mentioned problems he was having with someone else?”
Raleigh snorted indelicately. “He was too focused on the problems he was having with me.”
Graham nodded in commiseration. “I had the opposite problem. My father refused to allow me to enter the Middle Temple and train for a barrister. He and my mother wanted to send me into the church.”
For the first time Raleigh put down his mug and met Graham’s eye. “Why the law?”
Graham considered. “I suppose that I felt about the law much as you do.”
“Me?”
“Of course, you were just speaking of governments and liberty. Laws can restrict freedom or grant it. Can empower the common man and check a king. Can be wielded for good or evil. It only requires men of passion and honor to pursue justice.”
Raleigh leaned forward. “I never considered it in such a fashion.”
The clock on the mantel pinged the hour, and the boy started.
“I had no idea it was so late. Please excuse me. I must hurry.” He stood and trotted away only to return an instant later, half-breathless. “I’ve just remembered. As I was leaving, Father muttered something about having to have another unpleasant conversation with Mr. Fraser. Does that help?”
Graham’s eyebrows rose. “It might. It just might at that.”
Chapter 10
Merry tracked down Mr. Porter to his small office. Mr. Benning’s clerk scrambled to his feet at her entrance, offering her the seat he had occupied while his underlings disappeared so quickly they might never have been there at all.
“You all right, miss?”
Merry closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them again, allowing the tears to resurface. “I’m greatly distressed about Jerusha.”
Mr. Porter turned away, rummaging with a teapot and clay mug. “I’ve got some tea.”
“I don’t think she is guilty.”
His hands paused in their deft movement. He half turned his head toward her. “I can’t say as I agree with you. Though it’s sure sad.” His words were low and rough as if they cost him something to say. “Truth be told, it don’t matter a great deal what either of us thinks.”
“Perhaps not, but what really happened matters a great deal. As does catching the real killer. I need you to tell me all you can of Mr. Fraser.”
He shook his head. “That won’t help.”
“You cannot know that.” She raised her gaze to him in earnest supplication. “Please.”
“Naw, miss. I think you’d
best just leave this sort of thing to the officials. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
Merry’s patience had nearly run its course. If she could, she would have snatched the knowledge from his head by force. Instead she forced a sweet simper. “I hope you understand that I am here at the direct request of Mrs. Benning. She is most unsettled in her mind about all that has happened and will be evaluating all of the employees most carefully, now that the responsibility for the estate has fallen on her shoulders.”
He sank back into his seat across from her, looking as resentful as if he had been bested in a prizefight. “What do you want to know?”
“Had there been a break between Mr. Fraser and Mr. Benning?”
“How did you know ’bout that?”
The answer was there, just beyond her grasp. “What happened?”
“I don’t know for sure. Mr. Benning was troubled ’bout something and wrote to ask Mr. Fraser to come right away. They don’t usually come till later in the year when the House of Burgesses meets.”
“Then the matter was urgent.”
“Must’ve been. Mr. Benning took whatever it was hard. He even started taking a draught to help him sleep at night. That’s what poisoned him, you know. That draught Jerusha took him.”
“That is what the sheriff believes.” She could not allow herself to be diverted into an argument. “Would you say this all happened suddenly? It wasn’t frustration that had been building?”
“Sudden as a kick in the pants, I’d say. Mr. Benning was fine; then he read his post and was in a tearing hurry. He tore up his study looking for some report or other about a ship. Took me near a week to get everything filed away again.”
“What ship? Do you remember the name?”
His lips pursed, and he looked into the middle distance. “I don’t rightly recall. It was Furnace or Feen …”
Merry’s eyes widened. “Phoenix.”
“If you already know the story, why are you bedeviling me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Porter, I don’t know the story. It was just that that particular ship has come up before. Did Mr. Benning find what he was looking for?”
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