by Julia Tagan
“There you are,” said Morris as soon as he spotted Catherine. “So glad you could join us. I understand you greeted Mr. Thomas last night when he arrived late. I’ve already apologized to him for not being up to welcome him in person.”
“And I’ve already apologized for arriving at such an unseemly hour,” said Mr. Thomas. “It was kind of Mrs. Delcour to attend to me.”
Catherine stared at him. So he hadn’t said anything about the events of the past evening. Morris didn’t know.
“Say good morning,” said Morris gruffly.
Catherine performed a miniscule curtsy, and Benjamin gave her a barely perceptible bow in return. “Good morning.”
“I hope you slept well?” he asked.
Catherine couldn’t tell from the look on his face what was going on. Perhaps he was teasing her, and waiting for the right moment to tell her husband about her exploits in the night.
They set off. Catherine held back behind the two men as Morris babbled on about his seventy-five acres, grandly sweeping his arms to point out views of both the Palisades to the west and the East River opposite. Pools of sweat dripped down Catherine’s back and between her breasts, though whether it was from the heat or anxiety, she wasn’t sure.
The farmland did look grand. The fields were thick with barley and the branches of the peach and quince trees were heavy with fruit. When they first moved in, the orchards were unpruned and unkempt, and it had been Catherine’s idea to save them. This year promised to be an excellent crop.
As they turned north toward the wheat fields, Catherine heard Morris ask Mr. Thomas about Haiti. Curious, she spurred her horse forward.
“It was a terrible time at the end there,” said Morris, “but I’m sure you must have fond memories of being a young boy in Haiti, no?”
Mr. Thomas turned toward Morris, and for a split second, Catherine could have sworn she saw a murderous look cross his face. But it quickly disappeared.
“I enjoyed living in the tropics,” answered Mr. Thomas. “It was quite a paradise.”
“Ah yes. I have to say those were some of the best years of my life. It’s a shame the slaves seemed to think they were deserving of freedom. The rebellion put an end to a way of living that I don’t think we’ll ever find again.”
Mr. Thomas didn’t respond, and Catherine was unable to see the expression on his face, but the muscles around his jaw tightened.
“It’s amazing we both made it out alive, though,” continued Morris. “I narrowly escaped on the last ship out of Cape Haitian, only after killing the slaves who’d killed Dolly. I’m often painted as a hero, but you know as well as I do there were no heroes that night. The rest of your family was at Cape Haitian at the time of the attack?”
“My father and mother, yes,” replied Mr. Thomas. “There was so little warning. They were slaughtered in their beds.”
Catherine gave an involuntary gasp and both men turned around.
“I apologize if I upset you, Mrs. Delcour.”
“I quite forgot you were behind us,” said Morris. “You’ve been awfully quiet today.” He turned to Mr. Thomas. “She’s not normally this subdued, I assure you. Now where were we? Ah, yes, after the rebellion, you went right out to sea?”
“I did. And so I never had a proper education, although I am good with my hands.”
“Perhaps we’ll put you to work around here while I’m gone. The barns on the east boundary are still in need of repairs. Why don’t you take a look? Take Freddie, our boy, out with you if you like.”
“I’d be happy to do so,” said Mr. Thomas.
Morris threw Catherine a sly glance. “It’s always good to have family around, my dear. People you can trust. Right, Mr. Thomas?”
“That’s true.”
The man was a mystery. Why he’d popped into their lives at this moment was quite strange. However, if he had no education and no money, showing up on the doorstep of a rich in-law wasn’t all that surprising. What was odd was he didn’t seem at all cowed by Morris, or bother to pander to him. And his way of speaking and carrying himself was far different from the sailors Catherine had seen near the docks, swearing and shouting and spitting.
After a couple of interminable hours, the trio returned to the house and Catherine dismounted.
“Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?” asked Morris.
“Immensely.” She gave her husband a hard look. “Am I dismissed?”
“You are, but be ready for supper. It’s my last meal before I leave, and I expect you to be a pleasant hostess to our guest and me. Good manners, as I’ve taught you, are not optional.”
Catherine wanted to scream. Morris insisted on teasing her, making her squirm. And Mr. Thomas was obviously waiting for the right time to spill the secret of her nocturnal flight. The two of them made her ill. She turned and left without saying another word.
* * * *
Benjamin had grown bored as Delcour droned on and on during their ride, but he’d patiently listened as the man ticked off the list of crops the farm would yield this year and went into great detail regarding the restoration of the main house. Delcour’s wife was difficult, it was obvious, and the tension between the two made his skin crawl. He hoped it would be easier once Delcour had left for Trenton and he only had to deal with his wife.
After she retreated into the house, Delcour patted Benjamin on the back. “I’m glad to have you here, my boy. Once I’m back from Trenton and the business with Mrs. Delcour is finished up, perhaps we can talk about getting you into the business.”
“What do you mean ‘finished up’?”
Delcour laughed. “Don’t worry, my man, I’m not going to drown her in the Hudson like an unwanted puppy. She’ll be put on one of my ships to the Caribbean, and she can find her way from there.”
Benjamin tried to keep his face from reflecting his horror, but he clearly failed.
“Look, I know it must seem heartless, what I’m doing, but you have to understand. That woman has made me a laughingstock. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but once she’s been gone a couple of years, I’ll be able to regain lost ground here in America.”
“Socially, you mean,” said Benjamin.
“Exactly. Catherine was a wonder in France, the little pet. The French love a pretty face. But here in New York it’s a different system. Her connections are, shall we say, tenuous at best. In the end, it’s bad for business, I’m afraid.”
Benjamin didn’t reply, but inside he seethed. Just as his sister had not been worth saving, Delcour was tossing aside his second wife with equal ease.
“You understand no one could measure up to Dolly, don’t you?” asked Delcour.
“Of course.”
“And now this business with that fool lawyer Bonneville and Catherine, I can’t have that. I’m sure you understand. I should never have married again. Your sister was such a delight.”
It was all Benjamin could do to refrain from bashing Delcour’s head in. Instead, he murmured something about taking a look at the barn.
“Of course, of course. Go and get Freddie, and take whatever tools you need.”
Benjamin found the boy, Freddie, sitting in the shade of the stable smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He was only eleven or twelve, and had pale blonde hair and a smattering of freckles. He smiled at Benjamin and flicked his cigarette on the ground.
“We’re going to do some work today,” said Benjamin. “But first pick up your cigarette. It’s too dry to leave it burning on the ground.”
Freddie dutifully complied and the two set off. The barn’s roof was missing many tiles, and for a couple of hours Freddie and Benjamin replaced them and secured the loose ones. The heat was unbearable, and Benjamin’s gaze was repeatedly drawn to the choppy waves on the river.
A flash of color and sudden movement caught his eye. It was Mrs. Delcour, making her way along a narrow path near the river. She glanced around, furtively, before cutting left into the woods. Benjamin saw the gleam of her auburn
hair once more through the thick leaves before she disappeared from view.
“Keep on working,” he instructed Freddie. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Benjamin climbed down the ladder and wiped his forehead. He set off in the same direction, through a meadow that needed to be mowed. Halfway there, he turned back and saw Freddie, lying on the barn roof, a puff of smoke rising from above his head. Not the most industrious boy.
The pathway dropped steeply down to the river via a trail of switchbacks. He heard water lapping against the shore as he made his way down. For all he knew, she had planned for her lover to come by skiff and pick her up at an appointed spot. From here it would be a quick journey to the tip of the island, and the tide was flowing in the right direction.
A splashing sound caught his attention, and he stepped off the trail and crouched under the shade of a pine. He was about twenty feet from the shoreline, and had a clear view of the river if he got down low enough.
Below him, a couple of boulders jutted out of the water, forming a small eddy away from the current. Mrs. Delcour’s naked form rose out of the calm, and the sheer ivory of her skin made him blink several times. She stared in his general direction, but the vegetation shielded him from sight. It was improper to see her like this, but if he moved even an inch she’d know he was there.
She was standing, waist deep, in the cool water. He watched, transfixed, as she took a deep breath and disappeared underwater, her hair floating up like russet-colored seaweed. Then she came back up, the water streaming off her shoulders. Her small, hard nipples were perfectly set in her large breasts. Staring at her figure, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the peaches that hung so heavily from the branches of the trees on the estate. Her breasts were soft, yet firm, waiting to be touched and tasted. He had never seen a woman so beautiful.
A cackle of blackbirds disrupted his thoughts. He didn’t move, but averted his eyes. A memory came flooding back from years ago, when as a young boy he’d been exploring Delcour’s plantation house and heard strange noises coming from one of the sitting rooms. He’d opened the door and seen Delcour lying on top of a woman Benjamin recognized as one of Dolly’s friends. They were both partially undressed and breathing heavily, and neither had noticed him. Benjamin had shut the door and run to his sister’s bedchamber, only to find her crying at her dressing table. That evening, Dolly had made Benjamin promise, when it came time to marry, he would be faithful to his wife, and never lie with someone else’s.
Dolly had been so distraught, and although Benjamin wasn’t quite sure what he’d seen at the time, he had given her his solemn promise. Yet, here he was lusting after another man’s wife. Of course, it would serve Delcour right for this creature to be plucked out from under him, but to do so would be a disservice to the memory of his sister. Benjamin waited, his gaze averted, until Mrs. Delcour dressed and crested the hill. Then he made his way back to the barn, the naked image of her still burning in his mind.
4
By the time Catherine returned home, she was sweating once again, and rested in the cool of her bedroom before dinner. It had been heavenly, bathing in the river. It reminded Catherine of being a young girl, before her mother died and her father ran away, when they’d all go to the beach in Bridgeport, Connecticut, with its gentle waves and the hazy view of the Long Island Sound in the distance. Her mother would take off her stockings and roll up her dress and guide Catherine into the sea, coaxing her with a playful, soft voice, while her dad sat in the sand, laughing. Catherine had never been afraid of water, perhaps because her mother had loved it so.
Catherine pushed the memories from her mind. She had more important things to consider, including figuring out how to elude Benjamin Thomas over the coming week. The man was an odd one. He was magnetic, with a voice and a build she was sure most women swooned over. She wondered when he would tell Morris what she’d done last night.
From the sound of men’s voices and the clinking of glasses, Morris and Mr. Thomas were downstairs enjoying an aperitif in the drawing room. Catherine tiptoed down the hallway. At the entrance to the guest room she paused and then went inside, closing the door behind her.
Mr. Thomas’s bedclothes were carefully folded on top of a chair. He appeared to have few possessions, other than a leather rucksack. Catherine undid the buckle and peered inside. It contained a notepad and two pieces of paper, one of which was the contract he’d shown her last night. She fingered the other for a minute, horrified at the thought of reading someone’s private correspondence. Yet any knowledge of her captor might prove useful. She unfolded the letter and was surprised to find it written in French.
The handwriting was shaky and the return address was in Burgundy. From what she could decipher, the writer was a man named Pierre Renard, and he spoke warmly of Mr. Thomas and thanked him for all of his help the past several years. The second page had gotten damp and was smudged, and she was unable to follow the rest of the narrative.
She put the letter back in the rucksack and opened up the drawing pad. Inside were penciled landscapes of vineyards and village scenes along with several portraits, including one of Freddie. The drawing captured the innocence of Freddie’s youthful face, yet the cigarette dangling from his mouth made it clear how desperately he wished to be a man.
Turning to the last page of the drawing pad, she gasped. A nude woman stood in a pool of water, hair streaming around her shoulders. The water line was barely above her hips, and her naked image was reflected in the stillness around her. Mr. Thomas had seen her.
Her cheeks flooded with embarrassment as the shock settled at her core. Mr. Thomas had been here only one day and he’d already seen her at her most vulnerable. She should march down to the drawing room with his artwork under her arm and present the evidence to Morris. It might get Mr. Thomas kicked out of their lives at once, and she would be free.
But only for a short time. It was also possible Morris would laugh, or dismiss Mr. Thomas and then insist she accompany him to Trenton. Catherine took another look at the image. She had to admit, it wasn’t lurid. The pencil lines were steady and sure, and the artist had spent more time on her eyes and face, offering the suggestion of her curves with quick, light strokes. The overall effect was gently provocative.
She put the drawing pad back. If Mr. Thomas had lived in France for a time, why hadn’t he mentioned it to Morris, who was born and raised there? Mr. Thomas talked vaguely about traveling the world, but he’d left out quite an important fact. And his interest in art suggested a more cultured side than the rough sailor he pretended to be.
Looking at the drawing made her feel strange. When she’d met Morris, he’d repeatedly spoken of her beauty and made it clear he wanted to possess her. But this drawing captured her essence in a way that was not graphic or leering. The expression on her face matched what she’d experienced swimming: the sense she was safe from the cares of the world.
Once Catherine recovered her composure, she ventured out and was surprised to find only Mr. Thomas in the drawing room. He stood near the window, a wineglass in his hand. Outside, the sun was setting, and the sky was a bright pink near the horizon, with brilliant streaks of orange.
She poured a glass of Madeira from the decanter. Her hand shook ever so slightly and her breathing was shallow.
“Good evening, Mrs. Delcour.”
“Mr. Thomas.”
“Your husband is downstairs, choosing a bottle of wine for dinner.”
“Thank you. I trust you’ve made yourself quite at home here,” she said.
“I’m delighted to be here.”
“I’m sure you are.” She squared her shoulders. “Enjoying our liqueurs, dining at our table and even sketching the help.”
He went slightly pale. But he didn’t even blink, just returned her stare. “Freddie has got an unusual face.”
“So he does. And it’s not only the servants you appear interested in.”
Mr. Thomas stared out at the sky. He seemed upset. “I
saw you walking toward the river, and I thought you were running away again.”
“And you followed me?”
“Yes, and then I was trapped. It was not my intention to see you that way.”
“With no clothes on?” She couldn’t help herself. It was nice to see the man squirm. “Completely undressed?” He still didn’t answer her.
“What do you think my husband would say once he learned you’d been spying on me, Mr. Thomas? Of course, that’s what he’s paying you to do, but I doubt he expected you to take it to this extreme.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “He’d react the same way to the news you stole his horse and carriage last night.”
“It appears we both have secrets. For example, you’ve lived in France, have you not?”
He gave her a wry smile, “You went through my private correspondence as well?”
“I think it’s only fair. You invaded my privacy, so I did the same to yours.”
“That seems reasonable enough.”
He seemed to be enjoying their sparring, which annoyed her. “Why haven’t you told Mr. Delcour about your visit to his mother country?”
“It hasn’t arisen as of yet. You should feel free to tell him yourself, if you like.”
His manner was so boyish, so straightforward. And she wished his voice didn’t rumble through her body so.
“Perhaps I will. Tell me the truth about where you went after escaping from Haiti.”