by Jo Goodman
"It was the merest dalliance," she said, ignoring him. "I shouldn't want you to think my affections were engaged. My affections rarely were. I saved those for you."
"I regret I wasn't worthy of them."
She shrugged. "You can leave, Noah. I only ask that you support whatever story I give out."
"As long as Jessa and Gideon are not hurt by it, you may say what you will to salvage your pride. I would not deny you that."
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a sob. "Generous to a fault."
"Good night, Hilary."
Hilary didn't move until she heard Noah leave the house, then she slid out of her chair and slumped to the floor. Burying her face in her hands, she cried brokenly, choking as tears clogged her throat. "This won't go unpunished, Noah McClellan," she whispered, her voice harsh. "You'll find I'm as worthy an adversary as any you've ever faced."
Chapter 14
June, 1787
Lady Barbara Penberthy stared out the drawing room window, a vacant, distant look in her eyes. She did not see the gardeners trimming the boxwoods or the sheep grazing in the far field. The clear, cloudless beauty of the day was lost on her. Unconsciously her fingers twisted and knotted the lace handkerchief in her hands. When she spoke her voice barely broke a whisper. "I'll see her in hell for this."
"Damned if those ain't my words exactly," Ross Booker said, slapping his knee. "Imagine her bein' the one wot took the baby. It don't set right with me, spendin' all those months in Newgate for a little thievin' and her jest dancin' out of the country, fancy free and all."
Barbara slowly turned from the window. Not sparing a glance for the rough, ill-mannered man who had muddied her carpets and stained her seat covers, Barbara's cool emerald eyes sought her husband. "See that he's paid for his information, won't you?"
Edward Penberthy rose from his chair, nodded briefly to his wife, and motioned to their visitor to follow him. When he returned, Barbara was sitting down, her head resting against the scrolled, curving back of the chair, her eyes closed. She held a glass of red wine in her hands though it appeared she had not taken more than a few sips from it Edward went to the sideboard and filled a crystal tumbler with whiskey. "Well," he demanded sharply. "Do you believe him?"
She took exception to his tone but did not remark on it. "Yes," she said. "I believe him, don't you?"
Edward merely shrugged. "This isn't the first story we've heard about Miss Winter since you decided to offer the reward. God, how I wish you had let the matter rest! By my count you've interviewed no less than two dozen people who say they know Miss Winter's whereabouts."
"True," she said, raising her head languidly. The tumbler in Edward's hands caught her attention as sunlight glinted off its edges. A prism of color flashed on the wall behind him. "Although this is the first story with the ring of truth. I believe Mr. Booker was very well acquainted with Jessica. He described her in vivid, though crude, terms."
"Most of the people we spoke with previously related similar descriptions," said Edward. "That information was given out to the papers at the beginning of the year."
Barbara's upper lip curled derisively. "Do you really think that foul man reads?" she asked. She held up her hand to stop him from pointing out that the same could be said of many of the others they had interviewed. "More to the point Mr. Booker was released from Newgate the same day we saw Jessica in London. He says he sailed on the Clarion within hours after being released. Those things are easily checked, Edward, but I believe it would be prudent to use our time in other ways. You and I both knew it was very likely that Miss Winter was leaving the country that afternoon, and that is not something we shared with anyone. Mr. Booker could only know it because he saw her on board himself. The timing in his story is exact. Furthermore, he was able to describe the man accompanying Miss Winter. No one else was able to do that." Barbara's smile was faint but somehow managed to convey superiority. "Admit it, Edward. Mr. Booker is speaking the truth."
Edward sat down opposite his wife and plucked at a piece of lint on his blue satin breeches. "I admit that the timing would seem to support his story," he said after a moment's pause. "However, he knows the woman he spoke of only as Jessa McClellan. And apparently she is the wife of the owner of the Clarion."
"I have heard Jessica is called Jessa by her friends. Come, Edward, you are flailing at the wind. Can you not grasp what has happened? She has somehow managed to inveigle this Noah McClellan into marrying her, or perhaps lured him into pretending marriage. The details are unimportant What is, is that she has a child. A boy, Edward."
"That should be proof that Booker's story is the merest coincidence of timing and detail. McClellan's wife is named Jessica, a common enough name. He calls her Jessa, simply a pet endearment. That she resembles Miss Winter is only wishful thinking on your part. They have a son. What of it? Many people do. This child's name is Gideon, not Adam. Adam Penberthy is buried in the family vault. You don't really think otherwise, do you?"
"I certainly do," she said, sipping her wine. "I have no idea how she managed it, but I will stake my life on the fact Adam Penberthy is very much alive. I only wish I had known it when we saw her in London. I would have allowed you to give chase." She placed her glass to the side and held her husband's probing stare without flinching. "You are forgetting that we saw the man she was with that day. He was exactly as Mr. Booker described this Mr. McClellan. Do you think that is a coincidence as well? I'm afraid it's you who is entertaining some wishful thinking. If you persist in these doubts I will make further inquiries, though I believe it will only delay us in acting on the facts."
"What inquiries could you possibly make?"
Barbara's hand turned upward in a graceful gesture. "Mr. Booker heard many things while on board the Clarion that can easily be checked. He knew, for instance, that Mr. McClellan had some sort of family business at Linfield and Stanhope and that his marriage was a recent one. Someone at one of those estates will give us more information. I'm certain we will discover that Mr. McClellan's bride was none other than Miss Winter. Do you really think it is necessary to involve so many people?" Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Perhaps even the authorities?"
Involvement with the authorities was the last thing Edward wanted. There were too many explanations to make, none of which boded well for his claim on the Penberthy estate. He drank deeply from his tumbler. "What is it you want to do, Barbara?" he asked tiredly.
"I should think you know the answer as well as I. Our position is not secure as long as Adam is alive. He can make a claim at any time."
"He's a child. It will be years before he can claim the estate, and it's doubtful he will be believed then. As far as everyone is concerned, Adam is dead. Indeed, you thought so until Booker mentioned the child."
"Miss Winter may make a claim on his behalf."
"Do you really think that's likely? Who will believe her? It's our word against hers. Isn't it better to leave affairs as they stand?"
"I think not, Edward. I can't go through the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. It was all very well when I thought Adam was dead, but now that I know differently I see things in a different light. It has always struck me odd that Miss Winter should abduct Adam days after we had our discussion concerning his... welfare. I've ofttimes wondered what you might have said to her that prompted her flight."
"I assure you, I said nothing," he lied easily. "It is more likely that she was listening at the door while we spoke."
Barbara didn't believe that for a moment but she let it pass. "I suppose it doesn't matter how she found out," she said. "But it seems clear to me that she knew Adam's life was threatened. No other explanation for her flight makes sense. And because she knows something she shouldn't, she is a constant danger to us. Seeing her in London made me realize we had been incautious in abandoning the search for her. Do you think I would have offered the reward for information about her otherwise? Knowing that Adam is alive only compounds the reasons we must
do something about her. I tell you, Edward, the estate is not secure while she and Adam live."
"Bluntly stated," he said dryly. "What do you propose to do? If Booker has his facts in order, Miss Winter and Adam are an ocean away."
"True enough." She picked up her glass again and sipped thoughtfully. "But Mr. Booker knows their destination. I certainly don't suggest that we do anything so reckless as travel there ourselves. I propose that we allow Mr. Booker to take the matter in hand. I believe he will leap at the opportunity to revenge himself on your dear Miss Winter. She played him a nasty trick, didn't she? Leading him on, then crying rape. You are somewhat familiar with her penchant for that game, are you not?" She laughed shortly, humorlessly. "Aah, that still rankles. I can see it in your face. How fortunate you were that she did not scar you permanently. I suspect Mr. Booker was not so lucky."
"That man is a cretin."
"Of course he is, darling. How it must goad you to know that Miss Winter found him fascinating enough to give him a second glance." She stood up, making a pretense of smoothing her dark hair, though not a strand was out of place. "Well, m'lord? Do I have your permission to proceed?"
"I don't like this, Barbara."
"I know you don't," she said soothingly. She touched his shoulder as she walked past him. "It is a credit to your conscience that you entertain doubts. I don't require an answer today. Mr. Booker told us where he is lodging. It shouldn't be difficult to locate him. Reflect at length on what I've told you, Edward. I am confident that you will come to realize our choices are really very limited."
When Barbara was gone from the room Edward finished his whiskey and poured another. He was very much afraid his wife was correct. Jessica was biding her time, willing to wait years if need be in order to make Adam's claim on the estate. That would be her way. Edward believed he knew her well enough to make that judgment of her character. She had gone to enormous lengths to make them believe that Adam was dead. He had been less certain than Barbara that the infant found in the woods was Adam, but in time he had come to accept it. Now he realized that Jessica had made a fool of him. She couldn't possibly believe that he would protect her forever, could she? Not when she had allowed herself to be seen in London.
It seemed immaterial to Edward whether or not he gave approval to Barbara's scheme. It was highly doubtful that he could stop her from dealing with Ross Booker on her own. His wife was nothing if not resourceful. The dilemma for Edward was of a different nature, one that Barbara only suspected. He had to decide if he should warn Jessica. He had done so once. Should he do so again?
The question only formed in his mind a moment before the answer echoed resoundingly in his head. No. He could not warn her in person, and to commit anything to paper was to give Jessa proof she did not now possess. A letter would incriminate him, and Edward was not so foolish as to take that course of action.
Tossing back his whiskey, Edward threw the tumbler into the cold hearth, shattering it. Having made his decision, he left the drawing room in search of his wife.
* * *
June fell away into July, July into August. The summer days were unrelievedly hot, the nights muggy. Though the weather took on a sameness that left many Philadelphians irritable and weary, Jessa did not count herself among them. Her life had never seemed so full, rich or comfortable.
In June, Gideon found his land legs—as Cam and Noah were inspired to call them. The infant traveled helter-skelter about the house after that, never crawling when he could walk, never walking when he could run. He barreled forward on the balls of his feet, usually stopping because he ran into something. The top and bottom of the stairs were barricaded with furniture until Henry fashioned gates for each end.
Gideon had his first birthday in July and made a pig of himself with the lemon ices Noah brought home to celebrate the occasion. There were gifts for him from the landing in addition to those shyly given by Cam, Henry, Sally, and Mrs. Harper. Overwhelmed by these kindnesses, Jessa held back her happy tears until the beautifully carved rocking horse was delivered, only minutes after Noah's arrival. Then she flung herself onto Noah's lap and told him he was the most generous man on the face of the earth. Noah pointed out the horse was for Gideon, not her, and she responded to his dry humor by pinching him lightly on the thigh. That night he gave her a gold wedding band. They did not sleep for making love.
Gideon developed four more pearl-white teeth, stopped chewing on furniture, and learned how to say no and mean it. He understood his name, dropped blocks in a box, and gleefully dumped them out again. He loved noise, loved making it even more.
While Gideon's accomplishments, large and small, marked many of Jessa's days, there were other moments she remembered with equal clarity, moments filled solely with the things Noah had done. There was the Sunday he took her out in the country and they picnicked by the banks of the Schuylkill, an afternoon reminiscent of the one they had spent at the landing. This time there was no passing schooner to interrupt their pleasure.
Some days he would come home ineffably tired, weary of the endless disagreement among the delegates at the State House. The plans for revising the Articles had long since been abandoned in favor of drafting an entirely new document. The challenge was enormous because nothing quite like it existed anywhere in the world.
There were occasions when Noah would grumble that he should take his leave as most of the New York delegation had done. When he was especially disgusted he wished aloud that Virginia had been as wise as Rhode Island and never sent a delegation at all. He complained because, in spite of the heat, Ben Franklin wouldn't let them open the windows in the assembly room. A combination, Noah said, of their need for secrecy and the horseflies, though he was inclined to think the horseflies were the deciding factor. Rarely was Noah's dissatisfaction wasted on some petty issue, however. The discord among the delegates was a constant source of discouragement. Compromise seemed the order of the day, and he despaired of ever creating a constitution the states would ratify. Once he had gotten as far as taking out his valises in order to pack. Jessa saw them and hurriedly sent Cam to find James Madison and bring him to the house. Mr. Madison, small of stature and large in purpose and principle, convinced Noah to stay.
Noah was not grateful for Jessa's interference. Quite the opposite. He brooded for two days before he had the grace to accept that she had acted in his best interests. The arguments at home were more intense than anything occurring on the assembly floor. The compromise, when reached, was infinitely more satisfying.
Jessa, feeling secure in Noah's love, accepted there would always be disagreements, even rows. Never once was she tempted to run. The unhappy moments were far surpassed by the happier ones as they both made adjustments to married life.
She engraved memories for a lifetime that summer. There were carriage rides after sunset, evening strolls along the thoroughfares. They attended plays and entertained delegates in their home. There were quiet conversations in the front parlor as they discussed their future plans. Frequently they shared laughter over some silly antic of Gideon's. Jessa wrote often to Charity and Robert, sharing with them the happiness she had found with their son.
"Would you look at this, Jessa?" Noah complained, showing her his neckcloth.
Jessa moved toward the edge of the bed and squinted at the small, greenish stain on the white material as he waved it in front of her. "What is it?" she asked, propping a pillow behind her back and leaning against the headboard. Languidly she fanned her neck and face with the Chinese fan Noah had purchased for her. "Would you open the window please?"
"It's peas," he mumbled, groaning as he struggled with the heat-swollen window frame. "That's what it is."
"Yes, dear. I think you're right."
Noah batted at a fly that buzzed past his head as soon as he opened the window. "I know you're laughing at me," he said. "I take strong exception to that."
"Of course you do," she said serenely. "No man likes to be laughed at."
"Hah!"
he snorted, jerking off his neckcloth. "No man likes to entertain a half-dozen guests with pea stains on his person. You should have said something to me."
"I would have, if I had noticed."
"Franklin noticed."
"Did he? I hadn't realized. What an odd man he is to point it out to you. But then he is so old that he can say the most outrageous things without anyone taking exception. Surely you explained that you and Gideon had a small battle of wills earlier at dinner." Her laughter broke to the surface. "Did you tell him who the winner was?"
"He divined that from the state of my neckcloth," Noah said, hard pressed not to grin. "I refuse to give our son a spoon again until he sports his first whisker. Gideon can eat with his fingers until then. He is simply not to be trusted." Noah slipped off his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, then dropped into the rocker and kicked off his shoes. "What do you think of that?"
"I think in a week or so you'll be trying to teach him how to use the spoon again. And when he succeeds you'll take the lion's share of the credit for raising such an intelligent, well-mannered little boy."
Noah chuckled. "You know me too well." He rolled down his stockings and dropped them over the arm of the chair. Sighing, he stretched and wiggled his toes.
Jessa smiled at him. "You look utterly exhausted," she said. "Come to bed."
"In a moment. I can't garner the energy to move from this chair. Actually, I'm a bit surprised to find you still awake. When you retired earlier I thought you meant to go to sleep."
The fan stirred Jessa's hair. Short, fine strands tickled her face. "I meant to. I couldn't. I hope your guests did not think ill of me for leaving them so early."
Noah shook his head. "They were disappointed, Ben in particular. He admires your, er, charms greatly."
"He's a rogue."
"A discerning one." He frowned slightly. "Did we overtire you, Jessa? James seemed to think we had."