“Where are your parents, Sally?” Tabitha asked.
“Father’s at sea and Momma is at church with the servants.” Sally didn’t hesitate in her answer. In fact, she sounded like she was reciting.
“So why were you locked in your room?” Tabitha sidled over to the bed and perched on the edge. She took out Dominick’s key and began to play with it. “It’s awfully hot in here.”
“I want to go shopping, but Momma says I have to stay here until I stop—until my milk dries up.”
“Understandable. If you can’t take the baby with you, you could make a mess of your gown.” Tabitha dropped the key. “Oops.”
She sank to her hands and knees. Under the guise of retrieving the key, she looked under the bed. Nothing, not even dust motes.
“So how recently did the baby die that your milk is still coming up?” Tabitha rose and walked to the chest to sit. “You don’t seem sad about the loss of your child.”
“I’m not.” Sally stuck out her lower lip. “He’s a nuisance. That’s what Momma says.”
“And what do you say? How do you feel about the baby?” Tabitha examined the chest. It was so full of quilts, the lid wouldn’t close properly. If the baby lay in there, he was indeed departed from the world—and recently. He couldn’t possibly breathe.
Two enormous tears pearled on Sally’s lashes. “I love him. He doesn’t look a bit like his . . . like him, and he doesn’t—” She clamped her hand over her mouth.
Tabitha narrowed her eyes. Sally sat on a chair twice her size. Despite the warm day, a blanket was draped halfway across her lap.
Of course.
“I’m pleased to hear you love him.” Tabitha sprang, whipped back the blanket, and exposed a tiny form nestled on the chair beside Sally, his eyes closed, his face scrunched up, his lips working at a cloth teat. “He looks quite alive to me, Sally.”
“I’m so glad. I’m always afraid.” Sally began to sob into her hands. “Momma says I have to keep him quiet when people come to call. But the only way I can is to soak a cloth in sugar water with a drop or two of brandy on it.”
“Oh my.” Tabitha scooped up the infant. He weighed no more than a pumpkin, but his limbs were rounded and smooth, signs he was eating well enough. Still, Tabitha removed the sugar teat and examined every inch of him. And she sniffed. Perhaps the brandy was the familiar scent she’d caught. But it wasn’t. The cloth needed to be changed, and the baby should have begun to cry in a stranger’s arms. No harm should have been done with only a drop or two of spirits.
“No more brandy.” Tabitha glanced around. “Where are clean cloths? He needs a fresh one.”
“In that chest under the quilt.” Sally rose and retrieved a square of fine muslin. “I’ll take him. The mess doesn’t bother me at all. He smells so sweet even like that.” Tears continued to fall down the girl’s cheeks. “I don’t want to give him up, but Momma says I must because his daddy won’t marry me.”
“Yes, the daddy.” Tabitha carried the child across the room to where Sally had spread the cloth on the floor. “Has he come by to tell you he won’t marry you?”
“I-haven’t-seen-him.” The words emerged in a breathless rush, all running together.
Tabitha frowned. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’ll take Charles now.” Sally held up her arms.
Tabitha gazed at the sleeping infant—the perfection of round cheeks, peach fuzz on his head, miniscule ears. She touched the bottom of a tiny foot, and the toes curled. She knew Sally watched her, waited with arms extended, to take her child, but Tabitha couldn’t let go. Her arms wouldn’t open, her hands wouldn’t release the precious bundle of life.
“He’ll ruin your gown, miss,” Sally prompted.
“Of course.” Tears misting her eyes, Tabitha forced herself to give Sally’s son back to her. “When did you see Harlan Wilkins last, Sally?”
“I said I haven’t.” Sally kept her head bent over the baby.
Charles opened his eyes and blew a spit bubble.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Sally’s voice held awe. “He hardly ever cries, but he knows me more than anyone.”
“I can see that.” Tabitha looked away, her heart a mass of pain in her chest. “I want you to look at me, Sally, and tell me you haven’t seen your baby’s father.”
“I haven’t.” The girl took a long, shuddering breath. “And it’s not Harlan Wilkins. I lied about that.”
“You lied in extremis of labor?” Tabitha swung toward her, staring. “Then who is the father if it’s not Harlan Wilkins?”
“It’s”—Sally leaned forward and kissed Charles’s cheek—“Thomas Kendall.”
“Mayor Kendall?” Tabitha felt like the floorboards had been yanked out from under her. “No, it can’t be. He—”
Was in Norfolk. He made a number of journeys to Norfolk. His plantation was nearby, but that simply afforded him opportunity and access . . . Yet why wouldn’t Kendall marry Sally? He was a widower, and she came from a good family. Surely she was more dangerous to a politician unwed than as his wife.
“No, not Kendall,” Tabitha said. “It’s Wilkins, and he’s frightened you into lying.”
“No, no,” Sally cried.
Charles began to wail.
“I—he—” Sally cuddled the baby close to her chest. “No, he hasn’t been here.”
“Which he?” Tabitha knelt to be at eye level with the younger woman. “Wilkins or Kendall? Kendall or Wilkins?”
“Wilkin—I mean, Ken—” Sally paled. “You tricked me.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I . . . didn’t.” Sally turned her head to wipe her wet face on her shoulder. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Not when you said Wilkins, did you?”
“No. That is—he’ll take my baby away if he finds out.”
“No, he won’t.” Tabitha stroked loosened hair back from Sally’s brow. “He doesn’t want that much trouble. But he won’t find out. I promise you that. I never tell on my patients unless they require me to testify for them in court.”
Was that why Wilkins was frightening Sally into lying? And slipping poisonous snakes into Tabitha’s basket? Just to protect his reputation? But of course, if he wanted to be the next mayor of Seabourne and maybe Norfolk if he amassed enough of a fortune—
She reined in that line of thinking. Not now. Not yet.
“Sally, listen to me,” she said in a gentle but authoritative voice. When the girl looked at her, Tabitha continued. “You must stop putting Charles under blankets in this heat, and no more brandy.”
“But Momma—”
“Tell Mrs. Belote I said so. And if she tries to make you, you come to me. It’s twenty miles away, but there are always wagons traveling to the sea. Someone will give you a lift. Do you understand? You will harm your baby, maybe even kill him, if you continue this treatment.”
“I don’t want him to die,” Sally wailed. Charles wailed along with her.
Tabitha hugged them both, held them for a full minute. “I believe you, child. And don’t let Harlan Wilkins frighten you. If he tries again, get a message to me. I’ll manage him.” Slowly she rose and pulled the key from her pocket. “This is what you should be hiding. You need fresh air and sunshine.”
With another long look at the baby’s sweet face, she rose, then turned her back on the pair and left the room. She kept the door open behind her. She wanted Sally to be able to stay at home and receive the loving-kindness of her family. At the same time, she wouldn’t be the least ruffled if she added Sally to her household. Sally and Charles.
Thinking of the joy of having a baby around, she rounded the house and climbed into her wagon. She nearly directed Japheth to take her home. Then she recalled her plan to investigate whether or not Mayor Kendall had been in Norfolk over the past few days, as he claimed, and directed her driver into town. If she obtained her information quickly, she would be able to go home, with the days so long this time of year. Part of th
e journey would be in the dark, but she was used to traveling at night.
Not much remained of Norfolk after the fire of five years earlier, not to mention the destruction caused by the British during the revolution. It was still the largest city within a day’s travel, and the anchorage in Hampton Roads brought numerous merchant vessels to drop anchor and unload nearby. For Kendall to go there to enact legal business was likely.
To go there to enact illegal business was just as possible.
Armed with news of Raleigh’s and Donald Parks’s disappearance two days before, Tabitha began inquiries about Kendall at the wharves, where sailors looked at her askance, and at warehouses, where she wasn’t treated much better. At the first two inns upon which she called, the landlords sneered at her. The second one went as far as to say that his establishment allowed no solicitation.
“I am not soliciting.” Cheeks hot, stomach roiling, Tabitha stalked out and proceeded to the third inn.
“Why do you want to know?” the landlord asked.
To Tabitha, this sounded as good as an admission of Kendall’s presence, so she was forthcoming with her identity. “I’m Tabitha Eckles, the local midwife in Seabourne.” She smiled. “That has nothing to do with Mayor Kendall, though. I was simply here visiting a patient and knew he was supposed to be in Norfolk, so thought I’d look him up.”
“Indeed.” The landlord narrowed his eyes. “Would he expect you to call on him?”
“Mayor Kendall and I are on friendly terms, sir.” Tabitha bowed her head as she recalled the previous inn experience. “Not inappropriately friendly. We have mutual concerns about the safety and well-being of the inhabitants of our village, and there’s sad news—”
“He knows.” The landlord covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. “That is to say, word has gotten here already.”
“Of course.” Tabitha smiled. “So has Mayor Kendall been here since Thursday? I mean, you’ve seen him?”
“For every meal, ma’am. I expect him for his dinner soon. Would you care to wait?”
Tension uncoiling inside her, Tabitha hesitated as though thinking, then shook her head. “No, thank you. If he already knows what’s happened, I’ll wait to speak with him when he returns home.” She started for the door, then paused to glance back. “Who brought him the news?”
“A gentleman rode in early yesterday.”
A gentleman? Unable to think how to ask for a description of this gentleman, but suspecting who, Tabitha nodded and departed.
“Mr. Wilkins were here calling on the mayor,” Patience told Tabitha at the wagon. “I went around to the kitchen to get some water and got to talking.”
“Good girl.” Tabitha patted the maid’s hand. “Let’s be on our way home then. I’m finished here.”
She wanted to get home. She wanted to see Dominick and tell him he must be mistaken, or else Kendall had another accomplice. Either situation was possible. The paper from the study seemed incriminating, yet a number of people could have hidden it there, especially if—
Tabitha’s blood ran cold. Someone might have hidden it there because he suspected someone would search the study. Someone like Dominick.
The snake could have killed Dominick as easily as her. Maybe both of them were disposable, both of them a danger to the man at whom they should point their fingers.
Tabitha turned her thoughts over and over on the journey back to Seabourne. Never had the twenty miles felt so long, so dull, so stifling. She wanted to jump out of the wagon and run all the way home. When they reached her cottage by the sea, she went into the house just long enough to set down her bag before going into the garden and out the back gate.
She was halfway to the village before she thought better of her actions. Darkness had fallen at least a half hour ago. She couldn’t walk up to Mayor Kendall’s house and ask to see Dominick. All too likely, he was secured for the night. All of them might be asleep for the night. Her request would cause a disruption and unwanted attention.
Feet dragging, she turned back toward home.
She caught the scent a heartbeat before an arm coiled around her waist and cold steel pressed against her throat. “This is a reminder to mind your own affairs, midwife.”
Searing pain scored her shoulder. The arm released her. She reeled, fell to her knees on the sand, fumbled to find her kerchief to staunch the flow of blood oozing down her chest. It was merely a scratch. It wouldn’t kill her. If she remained conscious so the incoming tide didn’t drown her—
A rush of air swooped behind her. She ducked. Not fast enough to avoid the blow, but fast enough to roll away from the tide line before the second blow struck.
As darkness claimed her, she identified the smell from her garden, from Sally’s room, from the house of one of her patients.
31
______
“Can you swim?” Raleigh asked Donald Parks sometime after the evening dogwatch rang through the ship. “And when I say swim, I mean really manage to stay afloat in the water and move.”
“I grew up in Seabourne. My father made me learn.” Parks sounded weary, discouraged. “But what good is swimming if we’re stranded down here?”
“We won’t be for much longer. They—they’ll want to punish me before we up anchor.” Raleigh swallowed at the thought of that vicious cat-o’-nine-tails lacerating his back.
If a rope didn’t score his neck.
“That way all the hands can watch and know . . . They can see what happens to deserters.”
“But I’m not a hand.” Parks shifted in the dark. “I’m a prisoner.”
“They’ll make you a hand soon enough, and they’ll want you to see me punished. Pressed men are the most likely to desert, so they’ll want you to see what happens if you leave without their permission.” Raleigh snorted. “As if they ever grant permission to ordinary seamen. But you’re going to have to desert now or end up heaven only knows where.”
“Ha.” Parks didn’t sound amused. “I could end up heaven only knows where if I go over the side.”
“You could.” Raleigh rubbed his aching temples. Too little sleep, the blow to his head, and nearly no food or water for too long were taking their toll on his ability to think, to plan, to try at least one more time to get something right. “But I don’t think we’re all that far from shore. They got us here too quickly for distance, and the waves against the hull sound like shore breakers more than deeper-water waves.”
“They do,” Parks confirmed.
“And the few times they’ve opened the hatch,” Raleigh continued, “I’ve heard shore birds. But it could still be a mile or so. Can you manage that far?”
“If the tide is going in and not coming out.”
“If it’s going out . . .” Raleigh hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious.
Parks coughed. Or perhaps laughed. “I drown if it’s going out unless I can grab something to keep me afloat.”
“Maybe an oar. You might find an oar at hand if you’re near one of the boats.”
“And I could use it for a weapon if anyone tries to stop me.”
“Yes.”
But if he did strike another man with an oar and they caught him, he’d be lashed to the upright grating for flogging too.
Raleigh’s empty stomach churned. “It’s a big risk, Parks. Is it worth it?”
Parks remained silent for so long, Raleigh expected him to say no. Then the other man inhaled a loud, deep breath. “Yes, it’s worth it. But what about you? How will you get away?”
“I won’t,” Raleigh said. “When I got caught trying to desert, I made a bargain with the captain. I failed to fulfill it. I’ll never be trusted again.”
“I’m sorry.” Parks sounded as though he meant it.
“One thing, though, Parks.” Raleigh chose his words with care. “Please tell Tabitha the truth. I mean, please tell her that I helped you get away.”
“I’ll tell everyone.”
“No, just Tabitha. Let the others think I�
��m just . . . gone.”
“But your family.” Horror colored Parks’s voice. “Don’t you want your family to know where you are?”
“They’ll know.”
“But—”
“Quiet. Someone’s coming.”
A few moments later, the hatch opened and a marine stood in the opening, a lantern shining into the bread room. “Captain’ll see you, Trower.”
Parks stood as far as the low deck beams allowed. “What about me? I want to—”
“Sit down, sailor,” the marine barked. “If Captain wanted you, he’d have asked for you. Trower, on your feet.”
“Yes, sir.” Raleigh rose, head bent, shoulders slumped.
The marine moved aside. Raleigh stepped over the coaming and preceded him between rows of hammocks slung between the guns on this lower gun deck. Men slept in four-hour shifts. Neither the light nor the tramp of Raleigh’s and the marine’s booted feet seemed to disturb the men in their berths. They were too used to constant noise even in the middle of the night.
Raleigh had never gotten used to the noise. Only when completely exhausted had he slept. Perhaps he could use that as an excuse for his behavior, the agreement, the treachery.
God, let Tabitha forgive me so she can forgive others. Let her be happy. The prayer rose in his head as he climbed the ladder to the main deck and trudged to the quarterdeck companionway.
Another marine stood post outside the captain’s door. He thumped the butt of his musket on the deck and called, “Trower’s here, sir.”
“Come in,” was the quiet response that sounded like a thunderclap to Raleigh.
And let Parks get home to his family. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for my failings.
If Raleigh hadn’t failed so miserably, Parks wouldn’t be there.
Sure he was about to be sick on the deck, Raleigh entered the captain’s cabin. The odors of tar, bilge water, and unwashed bodies diminished inside the main cabin, with its fine woods, soft furnishings, and cleanliness. The aroma of lemons wafted on the breeze puffing through the open stern windows. Raleigh took a long, calming breath, smelled his own stink, and choked.
“Do not befoul my carpet, Trower.” Captain Roscoe glowered at Raleigh from behind an unlit pipe. “You’re in enough trouble already.”
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