At times she feared her grief might overwhelm her, but each day she rose from her pallet in the loft, washed her face and hands, and continued on with the life that she’d inadvertently chosen.
On the third day after she confronted Berta, Monsieur Petit came into the inn. Out of politeness, Celeste asked how Berta was doing.
“Very well. She seems to be recovering.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I asked her what her long-term plans were, but she doesn’t seem to have any.”
“She’ll have to find a position in the village. She’ll need to work to pay her keep, like the rest of us.”
“And where will she live?”
“I’m not sure…” As Celeste cleared his plate, she thanked him for keeping her sister. “It’s been such a relief for both of us.”
He sighed. “We’re happy to have helped, believe me. I just don’t want her getting used to being waited on.”
“Of course. She should be able to secure a position soon.” Perhaps one of the village families with children needed a governess. Berta had never been particularly good with little ones, but she was smart and well educated. Surely someone could use her services. Celeste couldn’t imagine Berta working as a maid. She feared her sister would fall ill again under such a heavy load.
Perhaps Spenser would be in a position to marry Berta soon. She would be able to keep house for him, and maybe by the time any children came along, Berta would have grown strong enough and mature enough to be a good mother.
After thanking Monsieur Petit again, Celeste continued on with her work. She couldn’t abandon her sister despite her betrayal. Berta was all she had now, though Celeste dreaded seeing her more than anything.
As the days grew cooler, Sary grew quieter. Several times she seemed lost in thought, staring into the fire when she should have been cooking. But a gentle reminder from Celeste, lest Mr. Edwards notice, seemed to bring her back. At least now Celeste had an inkling of what troubled her.
Celeste found a rhythm in doing her duties, and each day she seemed to gain more strength in carrying trays of food and dirty dishes, scrubbing pots, and helping Sary. Yesterday Joe and Benjamin had started picking the apples. The storm had knocked many to the ground, leaving them bruised. Sary and Celeste had spent the day making apple butter. Most of the others would be pressed into cider, except for enough to make apple tansy that evening for dessert. Celeste could practically taste the nutmeg and cream. It was a dish she’d had often back home in the fall when farmers peddled their apples in London.
The second week of October, eight days since she’d last seen Berta, Celeste readied herself to go and visit her again. It was late afternoon, and she was about to leave when Spenser stepped into the inn and motioned for her.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as she approached, afraid she’d waited too long to go see Berta and that her sister had taken a turn for the worse.
“Monsieur Petit sent me. Constable Wharton is at their home.”
“Oh, dear.” Celeste’s heart raced, and she wished she had gone to see Berta sooner. “What does he want?”
“His servant back.”
“I’ll go get the contract.” Celeste hurried toward the back door. “I’ll meet you there.”
After she retrieved the document, she kept it under her cloak as she hurried along. Another day of rain had turned the street into a muddy mess. Benjamin said by winter the mud would be a foot deep. Celeste was beginning to believe him. She held her skirts as high as she could, but there was nothing she could do about her boots.
When she reached the Petits’, the front door was open, and Monsieur filled the frame, as if waiting for her.
She cleaned her boots as best she could and hurried into the house. Constable Wharton was on the settee, and Spenser stood beside Berta in front of the fireplace. Her coloring was good, and standing didn’t seem to be an effort. Madame Petit was nowhere to be seen.
The constable stood as Celeste entered the room. He wore his wig this time, but it was a little lopsided, as if it had been whipped around by the wind. Monsieur cleared his throat and motioned toward the constable as he addressed Celeste. “Miss Talbot, this good man wants to ask you some questions.”
“I can explain everything.” She extended the contract.
Constable Wharton stepped forward, took the document from her, and then scanned it. “Where did you get this?”
“Madame Wharton. She made the transaction.”
“And who stamped it?” he asked.
“She did,” Celeste answered. “And Mr. Rawling signed it.”
Constable Wharton glanced toward Spenser. “So you are now, allegedly, the owner of Miss Berta Talbot’s contract.”
“Yes, sir.” Spenser spoke with confidence. “But I’ll sign the contract over to Berta as soon as she is well.”
“My wife had no right to do this. It’s not legally binding.”
Celeste hung her head. She knew that. She just hadn’t thought he would come all this way to make the claim. Constable Wharton opened his hand. In it was the ring. “However, as an enforcer of the law, I’m most concerned about the payment. Is this what was used?”
Celeste couldn’t look at Berta as she answered, “Yes.”
“And where did you get it?”
“It was my mother’s.” Celeste eyes fell to the floor, not wanting to see her sister’s reaction, but she couldn’t miss Berta’s gasp.
“Your mother’s? I find that hard to believe,” the constable said. “I think it’s more likely that you stole it. Perhaps on the Royal Mary on the way over?”
Celeste shook her head. However, she had stolen it. Berta found her voice. “You took our great-grandmother’s ring?” she asked in French. “From Maman?” Celeste could only nod and whisper, “I did.” This time she met her sister’s gaze.
Berta’s face turned ashen, but in a calm voice she said, “She didn’t steal it. It was our mother’s, and her grandmother’s before that. Maman had always promised it to Celeste.” Berta frowned. “I didn’t know until now that Celeste had used it to buy my freedom. That’s not what it was meant for.”
Constable Wharton turned toward Berta. “Perhaps both of the Talbot sisters need to be questioned about the ring. Perhaps you worked together to steal it.”
“No! Berta didn’t even know I had it.”
He turned his attention back to Celeste. “Are you saying your mother gave it to you or that you took it?”
“She always told me it would be mine,” Celeste said. “But she didn’t know I took it when I did.”
“I see.” He made a fist around the ring and then crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels. He shook his head. “Perhaps you took it from someone besides your mother. Why would a girl with a ring of that value end up as an indentured servant?”
“I came to this country without my parents’ knowledge or blessing. I believed my contract would be purchased by my betrothed when I arrived in Virginia. I’d hoped to keep the ring in my possession. I only brought it with me to be prudent, in case something went wrong.”
“There were a lot of thefts reported on the Royal Mary’s last passage, including jewelry. Perhaps that’s where you obtained the ring.”
Celeste shook her head, wondering if she should mention that she herself had been a victim of theft during that passage. She decided not to bring it up, sure it would only serve to confuse matters. “I’m not a thief.”
“I can confirm that Celeste had possession of the ring,” Spenser said.
“Can you?” Constable Wharton shifted his gaze to Spenser. “Did you board the ship with her?”
“No, sir!” Spenser spoke with force. “But I can vouch for her integrity. She wouldn’t have stolen the ring.”
“She says she took it from her mother. Isn’t that stealing? She admitted to that herself.”
“She didn’t steal the ring,” Spenser said.
Constable Wharton snorted. “It looks as if we may have three thieves. Perhaps there’s
more jewelry hidden away.”
“Of course there’s not,” Celeste said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He held his palm out again. “I had this appraised by a man staying in Norfolk at the Bayside Tavern. He’s done extensive work in Europe and is thinking about buying land here. His credentials are solid. He said it’s worth much more than your sister’s contract. I can’t fathom you would practically give it away to my wife if it was a family heirloom.”
“My sister was dying in your care.” Celeste’s voice shook as she spoke. “I had no choice if I wanted to save her life.”
Berta gave out another gasp.
“A relative of the Vines family was one of the first-class passengers who had jewelry stolen. I’m headed out to their plantation in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll search all of your rooms.” Constable Wharton nodded toward Berta. “Starting with you.”
“Shouldn’t you consult with the constable here first?” Spenser asked. “This is under his jurisdiction.”
“How about if I consult with the governor himself? I’m well acquainted with him.”
“He’s out of town.” Mr. Edwards had mentioned the fact to Celeste that morning. Otherwise she would have been tempted to seek his help directly. “He won’t be back for a few days.”
“With that information,” Spenser told them, “I’ll go fetch the Williamsburg constable then.” He started toward the door.
“There’s no need—” Constable Wharton began.
Monsieur Petit shook his head. “No. I agree with Mr. Rawling. Go ahead, son. Tell Jones to go to the inn.”
Constable Wharton started to protest but then shrugged. “Fine. As long as he doesn’t get in my way.”
Spenser didn’t look at Celeste as he hurried by.
Constable Wharton looked to Monsieur Petit. “I’ll start here, with the younger Miss Talbot’s room. Please direct me.” Berta and Celeste stood across from each other. “Thank you for defending me,” Celeste whispered.
Berta frowned. “You shouldn’t have taken Maman’s ring.”
“She always intended for me to have it.”
“Yes, when you married George. She wouldn’t have wanted you to take it to America with you, chasing after a British soldier.”
Celeste didn’t respond. She knew what her sister said was true. Her shame had been exposed.
Berta’s voice wavered as she spoke. “And you shouldn’t have traded it for me.”
Surprised, Celeste locked eyes with her sister. “You’re right about my taking the ring—but not about my trading it. You would have died.”
Berta’s eyes teared up. “Did you bring any other jewelry with you? Take anything else from Maman?”
Celeste shook her head. “All I have is a brooch Jonathan gave me.”
Her sister’s expression darkened, but before she could say anything, Madame Petit stepped into the room and to Berta’s side. “What is going on?”
As Berta explained, Constable Wharton came back into the room. “I’ll follow you down to the inn,” he said to Celeste. “Your sister isn’t hiding anything, but I suspect you are.”
“Tell him about the brooch,” Berta said.
Celeste looked him directly in the eye. “I have a porcelain brooch that was given to me by a young man. It’s not worth enough to hardly mention. It’s under my sleeping pallet, but that’s all the jewelry I have.”
The constable harrumphed. “Who is this young man?”
Celeste’s face grew warm. “Lieutenant Gray.”
“Jonathan Gray?”
She nodded.
“Isn’t he betrothed to Mr. Vines’s daughter?”
Celeste shrugged, choosing not to answer the question.
The constable laughed. “Why in the world would you name him as the giver?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“We’ll see,” the man responded. “Now lead the way to your room.”
“I live above the kitchen at the Publick House Inn. Mr. Edwards is my—master.” She tripped over the word. It was still hard for her to say.
“I’m acquainted with Mr. Edwards. I stay at the inn when I’m here for the General Court.”
Celeste knew the Court was only held twice a year. If Constable Wharton decided to arrest her, would she be jailed until the next session? At least it was just over a week away. Still, her heart raced in fear. If only she could place her whole confidence in God now.
She turned toward her sister to tell her goodbye.
Berta’s eyes warmed. “I’m praying for the whole truth to be revealed—and believed.” Clearly Spenser had been influencing her.
“Thank you,” Celeste said, wishing she could pray along with her sister. But her soul was a desert, dry and lifeless. Berta—a known liar—had more faith than she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Celeste
Celeste led the way down the street, holding her skirts high and trying to navigate through the mud. The wind blew hard through the trees, and rain started to fall. She lifted her hood over her head and trudged on, Constable Wharton right behind her.
When she reached the inn, she scraped her boots on the front porch, entered the foyer, and left the constable on the porch.
Mr. Edwards stood at the counter going over paperwork by the light of a candle, quill in hand. Aline stepped past Celeste, said a quick hello, and headed upstairs with a basket of clean linens. Mr. Edwards glanced up. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you in the kitchen?”
“There’s a man on the porch who wants to speak with you.”
Mr. Edwards raised his white bushy eyebrows. “What about?”
“Me.”
His eyes narrowed, and with concern in his voice he asked, “What’s happened now?”
“Nothing. It’s all a misunderstanding. He thinks I stole a ring—but it had been in my family for years.” She quickly explained what happened.
Mr. Edwards put down his quill.
“He wants to search my room for other jewelry. I told him about a brooch I have, that Jonathan gave me. Of course, he thinks it’s stolen too—”
“Hello, Edwards.”
Celeste turned her head. Constable Wharton stood behind her, his hat in his hands and his wig wet against his forehead.
“Goodness.” Mr. Edwards stepped from around the counter and drew on his innkeeper personality, one Celeste had seen both mediate arguments and soothe distraught patrons. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Wharton.”
“Constable.”
“Yes, that’s right. Constable Wharton.” Mr. Edwards extended his hand and the two men shook. “How have you been? We haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Not since the last General Court.”
“You’re here early, then, aren’t you? It’s more than a week until the Court convenes.”
“I’m here on other business.” Wharton scowled at Celeste.
Mr. Edwards kept his voice even. “What can I do for you?”
“Miss Talbot already told you. I need to search her sleeping quarters.”
“She mentioned that. I’m just surprised, is all.”
Wharton cocked his head.
“I haven’t had a single problem with her.”
“Not like your last maid?”
Mr. Edwards leaned against the counter. “What have you heard about that?”
Constable Wharton frowned. “That she got herself into some trouble.”
Mr. Edwards’s eyes saddened. “Perhaps we could talk about her later.”
When Wharton didn’t respond, he said, “Come along. Miss Talbot rooms with the cook, above the kitchen. We’ll go around outside. I don’t want my patrons wondering what’s going on.” The innkeeper grabbed his hat and led the way. “Just remember that I cooperated with you, and I can’t afford to lose my help right now. We’re short staffed as it is…And the General Court is coming up soon.” As he passed Celeste, he gave her a sympathetic look and then started prattling away again. “She’s an honest girl, I
can assure you. Like I said, I haven’t had one problem with her.”
Celeste appreciated his words but doubted they would do any good. She followed behind him out the front door. The rain blew sideways now, stinging her bare hands and face.
As they reached the kitchen door, Spenser arrived with Constable Jones. Clearly, he’d been apprised of what was going on because he said, “This is my jurisdiction.”
Constable Wharton bristled. “Not so fast. If a crime was committed, it would fall under my jurisdiction.”
Mr. Edwards opened the door, saying, “Just search the room.”
As they traipsed through, Sary’s eyes grew large.
“Tell her not to worry,” Mr. Edwards instructed Celeste.
She spoke to Sary in French as quickly as she could, telling her what had happened and that everything would soon be back to normal.
Sary nodded, her eyes darting from man to man.
Celeste wondered how they would all fit in the small loft, but only she and the two constables ended up going up the ladder. Mr. Edwards and Spenser both remained in the kitchen. Once she reached the top of the ladder, she walked straight to her pallet and removed the brooch from beneath it. It was all she had from Jonathan, the only thing that was left of his promise. She handed it to Constable Wharton.
He eyed it and frowned. “I’ll take this with me too.” He slipped it into his pouch. “And show it at the Vines’s plantation.”
“You’ll need to record it as evidence,” Constable Jones said. “So it can be returned to Miss Talbot when the case is closed.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Wharton flipped the pallet. Then he shook out the single blanket. Next he flipped Sary’s bed. From there he went to the washstand and searched beneath the pitcher and basin, and then along the underside of the crate. His hands empty, he stepped to the clothes hanging from the pegs and searched them.
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