Heart's Heritage

by Cecil, Ramona K. ; Richardson, Lisa Karon;

  “It was right where it was supposed to be. He was just too upset. I pulled it out straightaway when he called me in to help.”

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “A letter of appraisal on the Phoenix needing repairs.”

  That wasn’t what she had expected. It certainly didn’t seem to be the sort of document worthy of such a frenzied search. She must be missing something.

  “What sort of repairs?”

  “From what I can recollect, ’bout near everything. There were the usual small things, but they said she needed a new copper bottom. She was hulled once in an action and never did get patched up good. Caused lots of problems. Worse yet, her knees were all but useless, and they’d have had to replace them.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  “It’s nearly cheaper to build a whole new ship than do repairs like that.”

  A glimmer of an idea poked through Merry’s confusion. “But she was insured?”

  “Oh yes. All the ships and goods are insured. Mr. Benning was no fool.”

  “Insurance wouldn’t pay for routine repairs though. Only if the ship were lost?”

  “That’s right.”

  Merry sat back. It explained a great deal. If Fraser received the same report, he may have just grabbed at the chance to make as much profit as he could. By offloading the cargo, he was paid for it several times, once by the private insurance he obtained, once by the joint policy, and once by whomever he had eventually sold it to. And he did not have to pay for any costly repairs for the Phoenix. It must have seemed the perfect opportunity.

  But then somehow Mr. Benning had figured it all out and summoned him to Williamsburg. Fraser must have known his time was limited.

  “Do you have the letter of assessment?”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Benning took it somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you recognize it if you saw it again?”

  “Probably.”

  “Do you know if Mr. Benning confronted Mr. Fraser?”

  “I doubt it. There wasn’t much time for one thing. Mr. Benning was a gentleman. He wouldn’t have said anything in front of the ladies.”

  “Did they meet privately that night?”

  “I think Mr. Benning meant to meet Mr. Fraser in the morning. He’d have plenty of time to sort out business.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look here, Miss Lattimore. I don’t see what this has to do with anything. Mr. Fraser is wealthy in his own right. Even if he and Mr. Benning parted ways, he wouldn’t be ruined. He could find someone else to partner up with if he wanted.”

  Merry looked into the clerk’s deep-set little eyes. “You are probably right. I have been thinking too hard.”

  Mr. Porter blew a gust of air out. “I guess it’s been a nasty shock for you ladies.”

  “Yes, well thank you, Mr. Porter. I can see that I have taken up too much of your time. I do apologize.” Merry stood and offered a guileless smile.

  Merry found Abigail in the parlor listening to Emma practice on the pianoforte. John sat on the floor at her feet playing with his tin soldiers. The moment he spied Merry, he tugged her down to join him.

  “You be the French.”

  John led a whinnying, snorting cavalry charge designed to decimate her forces.

  “I’m Colonel Washington,” he crowed.

  Great swathes of her soldiers fell, and even the artillery could not prevail against such dashing horsemanship.

  Emma’s piece ended and Merry clapped enthusiastically. Flushed with success, the little girl began a new selection. John, his tongue protruding slightly between his teeth, concentrated on forming new battle lines.

  Merry turned to Abigail. “Where is Mrs. Fraser this afternoon?”

  “I’m afraid she has a headache. She is resting.”

  “It’s good to see the children so full of vitality.”

  “God has been so gracious to bless me with them. I was so afraid while they were ill. And then Reginald …” The tip of Abigail’s nose turned red as did her eyes. She plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Excuse me.”

  Merry placed a hand on her arm in silent commiseration. She had no words that could heal Abigail’s grief. Not when she could not even stem the tide of her own sorrow.

  She lowered her voice. “Have you or one of the servants come across any papers that Mr. Benning might have hidden somewhere? Particularly anything to do with a ship named the Phoenix?”

  Abigail cocked her head to one side. “No. I don’t think so. Surely the man to ask would be Mr. Porter?”

  “I’ve spoken to him, and these papers are no longer in the office.”

  “Do you think it has aught to do with his murder?”

  “It could. I do not know, and I would not ruin your good opinion of a man without just cause. Are you certain that nothing odd has turned up?”

  “When you phrase it that way, something very odd turned up indeed.” From the table beside her Abigail plucked a key wrapped tightly in a bit of paper. She held it out to Merry, who unwound the paper to discover that it was a receipt from Lorring’s Tavern for the amount of twenty shillings. A note in the upper left hand read,

  Nth Rm, Sep Prv Ent.

  “Isaiah brought it to me yesterday. He found it in the pocket of Reginald’s best waistcoat. I cannot make heads nor tails of it. Lorring’s is far from the best tavern in town, nor is it convenient.”

  Merry’s mind worked as busily as a gristmill as it ground through possibilities. Could Lorring have agreed to hold the papers for Mr. Benning? But then he might as easily have requested a friend do the honor for free and with surer certainty of discretion.

  “Mr. Benning did not frequent Lorring’s then?”

  “Almost never.”

  The receipt by itself could merely have been for an evening’s entertainment, except that it did not itemize the fare or drinks, as would have been mandated by town regulations. And then of course, why the key?

  Merry looked at the slip more closely. Nth Rm, Sep Prv Ent.

  Could it be that Rm stood for room? Tavern owners had to provide lodging at set rates for travelers. Perhaps Mr. Benning had stayed there? But that made no sense either. The cost was beyond exorbitant, and he had been on his plantation or at home; he had not stayed at some tavern, nor would he have in such a small town, where gossip would have been rife.

  Merry gnawed at her lower lip and allowed her troops to be soundly thrashed again by Colonel Washington.

  Tavern keepers also rented out meeting rooms. What if Mr. Benning had obtained one of those for the long term—a place to keep the documents he wanted to secure? Somewhere away from his own household, where he knew Mr. Fraser would be staying. Somewhere with no clear relation to him. Somewhere safe.

  What if the receipt referred to the North Room of Lorring’s Tavern? Was it possible that the room had a separate, private entrance? An entrance granted by the key growing warm in her clenched fingers?

  Graham settled his hat and left the clerk of court’s office. He’d made good headway. The man was certainly knowledgeable in any event. And not just about the law.

  He picked up his pace. Connor would be waiting at Chowning’s. He needed a bit of something to eat. A nice veal pie and a suet pudding. His mouth watered. He could practically smell it, though it was unlikely he’d find any. These colonials seemed to eat naught but pork.

  His feet flew out from under him as rough hands hauled him into the shadow of a narrow alley. An arm clenched tight around his neck. A harsh whisper rasped against his ear. “Let the Negress swing, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Graham stomped on the man’s instep, eliciting a howl. A sharp backward thrust of his elbow made the attacker gasp. Grabbing the arm around his neck, Graham twisted in a long, fluid motion, freeing himself and spinning the other man until Graham stood behind him and had the attacker pressed face-first against the wall.

&nbs
p; A blow to Graham’s lower back made him grunt in pain. Another pair of hands took him by the arms and hauled him backward.

  The first man recovered and spun to deliver a sharp kick.

  Graham threw his head back, striking the man who held him in the face. The grip on his arms loosened, and Graham wrenched free, but a blow to his stomach expelled the air from his lungs in a whoosh.

  He staggered and would have fallen except that a steadying hand righted him. The attackers fled.

  He glanced up to find Connor at his shoulder.

  “Let’s go after them.”

  Connor shook his head. “They’ll have already disappeared. If this was London, I could track them anywhere in the city, but I haven’t found my depth here yet.”

  Graham eased himself onto a packing crate, rubbing his stomach. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but what brings you this way? I thought we were to meet at Chowning’s.”

  Connor grinned. “Seems I’ve come across some information that might be helpful.”

  “You’re acquainted with the sorts of documents Mr. Benning’s business required, aren’t you, Isaiah?”

  “Yes miss.”

  “Would you recognize one?”

  “I can read, miss. And I know Mr. Benning’s hand as well as anyone.”

  “Then I need your help after supper. I believe Mr. Benning hid some documents away from where Mr. Fraser could easily get at them. We must retrieve those papers. If anyone asks, I will say I am performing a commission for his widow in fetching some papers she needs in regards to his estate.”

  Isaiah nodded.

  “Has Mr. Fraser been in Mr. Benning’s office?”

  “Every day, miss. And he don’t want no help. Locks himself in in the morning and don’t come out for meals half the time.”

  “Mr. Benning was a wise man to move those documents away from his home. If Mr. Fraser should emerge from his seclusion, you must keep him occupied if you can. Find some pretext to distract him from the trial tomorrow. I don’t want him thinking to look elsewhere for the report on the Phoenix.”

  “Yes miss. I can do that sure enough.”

  “Good.” Merry sighed. “Then I am going to see Jerusha before dinner. I’d like to give her reason to hope.”

  Chapter 11

  Merry barely kept from sneering at the turnkey. She handed over a shilling and forced one foot in front of the other until she was ushered into the miniscule space that passed for an exercise yard. The sound of the key grating in the rusted lock sent a bolt of panic so strong up her spine that she jerked.

  Dread gagged her as the gaol house odors seeped into her pores. She raised a scented handkerchief to her nose, trying to block the stench.

  If only she could blot out the memories. Her hands shook so that she nearly dropped the handkerchief. She had not bargained for this welling terror, this absolute certainty that she would never be allowed to leave.

  She tried to swallow but could not.

  Jerusha appeared, and Merry focused on her face. She seemed to be at the end of a long tunnel. Everything spun and shifted, making Merry dizzy, but if she could focus on Jerusha’s face, she could stay upright.

  “Miss Merry. I’m right glad to see you.”

  With a supreme effort of will, Merry unlocked her jaw. “Are they treating you well?”

  Jerusha shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

  Merry took her arm and pulled her nearer the wall, as far as she could get from the gaoler. Turning away from him, she lowered her voice.

  “I believe Mr. Fraser is the murderer. I hope to have proof tonight, and then Mr. Sinclair will be able to present it at the trial tomorrow and have you acquitted.”

  “Don’t you go and get in any trouble on my account. I’ll be getting out of this prison, one way or the other.”

  Merry blinked. She leaned even nearer. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

  “You think you might be able to catch the real murderer and get them to let me go.”

  “How can you be so … calm?”

  Jerusha patted her arm. “Time in a cell goes slow. Gives a body plenty of space to think on things. I figure it like this. God holds my life. These folks only think they do. Joseph went through slavery and prison, but it made him a better man. If I hadn’t been brought to this country, I never would have learned about Jesus, and I wouldn’t have my son.”

  Merry shook her head. How could Jerusha cling to a God who allowed the innocent to be condemned? If He loved justice so much, why didn’t He do something to prevent injustice?

  A lump wedged solidly in Merry’s throat again. It must be the circumstances stirring up painful memories. Just being in this gaol made her want to scratch through the walls with her fingernails.

  “Well, I am here to see that you are not convicted for something you did not do.”

  “And who put you here, child?” A gentle smile played at Jerusha’s lips, but her eyes were probing.

  Merry’s face felt suddenly cool as the blood drained away. The significance of Jerusha’s words resonated within her like a church bell.

  “You blame Him for it. I thank Him,” Jerusha said.

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Even the good Lord was accused of something He didn’t do, and they murdered Him for it. Should I expect to have an easier time of it? Nope. He never offered me an easy life, just a redeemed one.”

  Merry sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. She had never been so prone to sentiment. Jerusha drew her into a warm embrace, patting her back and stroking her hair.

  The sobs Merry had suppressed all afternoon were suddenly clawing at her again, along with that sensation of being split in two. But now she knew she must make a choice if she were to be free, whole. She clung to Jerusha as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “There, there, child. It’s not so bad as all that. He’s protected you, hasn’t He? Kept you from real hurt. You can see it now when you look back.”

  The turnkey entered the tiny courtyard. “Here now, none of that. None of that.”

  Merry pulled back and mopped at her face with her handkerchief. “I came to comfort you, but seem to have done a poor job of it.”

  A fresh round of tears interrupted her, but these were gentler, the residue of a heavy storm. When she had regained her composure she continued. “I have to forgive, don’t I?”

  Jerusha nodded. “If you want to be free.” She lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal the manacles around her ankles and the bruised, swollen flesh. “These chains hang on to my body, but they can’t touch my spirit. So I’d say yep, you gotta forgive, but also trust. Rest in His purpose. God showed Joseph the reason for his suffering years later.”

  Merry looked down at her wadded handkerchief. For the first time in a great while a light kindled in her soul. The warmth radiated outward, inching away the coldness of prison that had settled around her heart like a dense fog.

  “I think I felt as if God owed me something for my years of living as a dutiful Christian. Never have I taken a moment to consider what He might be trying to teach me.” She smiled then and offered a tearful little laugh. “It may have aught to do with humility.”

  “How is my Daniel?” The question sprang from Jerusha as if she could no longer restrain it.

  Heavens. Merry had been so focused on her own heartache she hadn’t given a thought to Jerusha’s. She took hold of her friend’s hand. “He is doing well. Understandably concerned for you. I swear to you, that whatever happens I will do my best to see him freed.”

  Graham crushed a scuttling roach beneath the heel of his boot. “Are you certain this is where she said to come?”

  Connor nodded. “She gave me the name. Said most of the clerks end up here when money runs low.”

  “I suppose we’ll not get away without ordering a couple of pints.” Graham settled into a grimy booth, pulling his coattails onto his lap.

  Connor’s sly grin said clearly that he thought Graham too nice by half.
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  “Just go order for us, will you?”

  Connor made his way to the bar, leaving Graham to sit alone in the squalor and take note of the surroundings. In the afternoon sun, the gin house, den of iniquity though it was, looked more jaded and anemic than evil. But there was no doubt as to the moral character of the occupants. Vice flowed as freely as the alcohol.

  Connor returned and plunked down two tankards.

  Graham was ready. “I noticed that you could scarce take your eyes off Miss Sarah Proctor this morning. Could it be that the untouchable Connor Cray has been brought low by a convict doxy?”

  Connor colored the dull red of terra-cotta. “Watch yourself, boy’o. Miss Proctor has a good heart. Why else would she agree to help a beak like you?”

  So his shot had struck home. Graham had suspected something was amiss when Connor had returned to their shared apartments actually whistling. Now his infatuation had been confirmed.

  Connor took a slug from his cup. “At least Miss Proctor don’t hold me responsible for her transportation.”

  Graham winced as an image of Merry rose unbidden. Even if she wasn’t still outright furious with him, she remained aloof.

  Time for a change of subject. “Is the fellow expected?”

  “They couldn’t say for certain. He comes in most nights, but not always.”

  “Then we shall have to hope for the best.” Graham picked up the grubby tankard before him, eyed the contents, and set it aside.

  They passed the next hour and a half in desultory chatter as the crowd in the tavern grew.

  At last, the man in question wandered in with a few of his cronies. His short, whip-thin frame and deep-set eyes marked him out as the right fellow, as surely as did his ink-stained fingers among this lot of sailors and journeymen.

  Graham jerked his chin toward the man, and Connor approached him with alacrity. For such a big fellow he could move with the swiftness of a wolf when he wished.

  Hand resting lightly on the back of the man’s neck, Connor steered him away from his comrades.

  Graham slid his untouched tankard in front of the man. “Have a seat, Mr. Porter.”