A Hiss Before Dying

by Rita Mae Brown

  The other guests, not fueling social ambitions, paid court to the governor and his wife as well as the people from Charleston and Philadelphia. One must ever expand one’s list of acquaintances.

  In the main kitchen, the outside kitchen also in use, slaves bussed back and forth. Bettina, a general in the midst of battle, gave orders, walked between the kitchens, declared this needed a pinch of basil, that a dusting of powdered sugar, and the raspberry sauce, when dessert was served, she drizzled herself from a crystal pitcher, the sauce having been made on the estate, stored in the pantry like the canned foods.

  Serena, hurrying as another round of dessert toasts were given, gushed, “Bettina, a triumph!”

  Bettina, holding a special woven basket covered in a cloth, glowed. “Serena, where’s Grace?”

  Just then, the young lithe girl, the one whose mother felt she should marry Jeddie, burst into the kitchen, “Oh, Bettina. Everyone sings your praises.”

  “That’s always good to hear. Now, you take this basket to DoRe, he’s in the stable. And, Serena, they’ve all been fed?”

  “Were and we even made sure the house folks had a set table. Even Sheba, who says she just has to talk to you about the stuffed capons. I told her you’d been in the kitchen since dawn.” Serena smiled.

  “Ha!” Bettina laughed.

  As the women in the kitchen began to damp down the stoves, put up what little food remained, the men servants waited for the guests to repair to the smoking room while the ladies would go to the east parlor. Once there, they’d enjoy one another, then join together for perhaps a half hour before their carriages rolled up to the front door. People would recall everything they could to one another on the journeys home.

  Ewing picked a long broom straw out of a narrow brass can near the fireplace, leaned over to set it alight then touched it to his pipe, one long draw and the tobacco caught, a tendril of smoke floating upward. He threw the straw into the fire. Other men followed suit as Weymouth brought in extra decanters, placing them on the long hunt table.

  Christopher Shippenworth talked to the governor across the room.

  Basil Sasilieri, the Charleston planter, pipe also in his mouth, walked up to Ewing.

  “Mr. Garth, beautiful ladies, excellent food, bracing companionship, thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Basil, I’m just trying to catch up to you gentlemen from Charleston.” He chuckled. “Tell me, Sir, are these currency irregularities affecting business?”

  Basil sucked one long puff, removed his pipe. “Affecting, I’d say depressing. Rice, as you know, is not an easy crop. One starts the season with one set of numbers and ends it with another, lower. I don’t see how we can continue. A man can’t expand, but I’m sure this affects each of us in the room.”

  Ewing nodded, then observed Jeffrey Holloway pull out a heavy gold pocket watch, lift open the cover to check the time against the large grandfather clock.

  Lowering his voice, Ewing remarked, “Why would any sensible man wish to be hagridden by minutes and hours? This incessant looking at new timepieces baffles me. It’s enough to have a clock in the house, but to carry one around.” He smiled slightly. “The times are changing but time is not.”

  Basil nodded. “These things come and go. As for time, well, I feel it in the morning when I get out of bed.”

  They laughed, treading the common ground of middle age.

  Jeffrey Holloway, in rapt talk with Charles concerning design, architecture, halted a moment as Yancy Grant joined them. He nodded as custom dictated to Jeffrey, then spoke to Charles.

  “Charles, your St. Luke’s covers much ground. The stonework will take a great deal of time.”

  “That it will, but the foundation is dug, as you may have seen, and the two buildings at the end of what will be connected by arcades, that also is dug out. Now comes the real work.” He grinned. “Perhaps it’s because this is a church, but we work together, sing as we work, very different than what would occur in England.”

  “Do you ever miss it?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Sometimes, perhaps Christmas, I miss hearing the bells peal in the village, but gentlemen,” he looked from one to another, “my wife was worth crossing an ocean, fighting a war to find. Sometimes I wonder at my good fortune.”

  Jeffrey smiled. “You are indeed fortunate.”

  Yancy snorted. “You, too, Sir. You fell into the honeypot.”

  Such rudeness startled both of the younger men.

  “Charles, excuse me while I take my leave.” Jeffrey half bowed to Charles as Yancy grabbed his elbow.

  “I know you’ve seen Sam Udall, the banker, and I know where you’ve seen him. How would your rich wife like that?”

  “Yancy, that is enough.” Charles firmly stepped between the two men.

  John, noticing the tension, walked over to his brother-in-law’s side. Yancy was either too drunk or too angry or both to care.

  “Holloway, you’ve taken advantage of Maureen. You’re spending her money without a single idea of how to replenish it and you consort with whores in Richmond and—”

  He didn’t finish because Jeffrey hit him with a right cross to the jaw. Yancy crumpled like a linen napkin.

  Charles knelt over the unconscious man as others gathered around.

  “I’ll kill him.” Jeffrey lunged for the supine man.

  John, tall and enormously strong, put his hands on Jeffrey’s upper arms, clamped them to his sides. “You will not.”

  Jeffrey, lifted up like a small boy, was carried out of the room. He had sense to be quiet. John carried him outside and in doing so, two of Cloverfields’ larger men swiftly hurried to John’s side.

  “Let’s walk him down to the stables. DoRe can handle him,” John advised.

  “I don’t need handling. That son of a bitch. He’s been after my wife’s money even while Francisco lived. Furthermore, I am not lying with whores in Richmond!” He was about to sputter more when John silenced him.

  Tulli, lantern in hand, scurried out of the stable upon hearing John approach.

  “Tulli, fetch some ice.” He then released his grip on Jeffrey’s left arm. “Steady. Steady. That’s what I used to tell my men as we marched toward fire. Your wife may have heard three or four versions of what happened before she arrives down here. Allow as how you lost your temper, how you can’t stand Grant’s overzealous desire toward her. If she asks questions, try to answer them. If not, especially if she asks about Richmond, say nothing. Forgive me for giving orders.”

  “You are a major.” Jeffrey had regained his composure.

  John smiled. “And I have been married longer than you. I expect Mrs. Holloway will be down shortly or DoRe will bring the coach up to the house if you so deem.”

  “Sir.” Tulli led Jeffrey on.

  “Put his hand in ice, Tulli,” John ordered.

  —

  Back in the house, Charles called Rachel from the ladies’ gathering, briefly told her of what had transpired, and suggested she wait with Maureen while DoRe brought up the coach.

  Maureen, center of the drama although she wasn’t sure about it, did gather that her husband had belted Yancy Grant unconscious. This display of violence did not displease her.

  Back at the carriage, the boys brought up the Selisse carriage from the carriage house, DoRe donned his livery. He tucked Bettina’s basket into a wooden box affixed to the side of the carriage, stepped up, felt the smooth reins in his hand, clucked, and they moved forward toward the house, Jeffrey in the carriage, his hand in a small bucket of ice.

  Once at the front door, Rachel, now assisted by Sheba, brought up from the women’s servants quarters, stood with Maureen. Sheba already soaked up as much as she could. Finally she had a wedge she could drive between husband and wife. No one was going to control the Missus but Sheba.

  Rachel walked down the steps, stood at the carriage door while one of the Cloverfields men, in Cloverfields’ livery, Prussian blue and gold, opened the door for Mrs. Selisse
as he dropped the brass steps from the carriage for her.

  “Thank you. What a wonderful feast.” Maureen squeezed Rachel’s hand.

  She then held the footman’s gloved hand as he steadied her up the steps.

  “Jeffrey, what have you done?”

  “Something, my dear, I wish I had done months ago.”

  Sheba sulked outside the carriage, then Maureen indicated she could climb in and the footman assisted her.

  John, walking briskly up from the stables, reached Rachel just as Catherine walked outside for a moment wondering what was afoot.

  “Shall I assume the gathering is aflame?” John laughed.

  Catherine answered. “Great excitement. We couldn’t have asked for more.”

  Rachel laughed along with her sister. “No one will forget this spring celebration.”

  “Where is Yancy?” John felt the plunging temperature.

  “Carried out to the brood mare barn and placed on a pallet in the tack room. He’s still out cold. A blessing,” Rachel answered.

  A few snowflakes twirled down. They looked upward, seeing low clouds in the night sky. The snow in a minute began to fall faster.

  “Good Lord,” Rachel exclaimed. “Snow on the daffodils.”

  “We’d best inform our guests.” Catherine felt John’s strong arm around her waist, glad for his warmth, as they climbed the stairs. “What a surprise.”

  There were more to come.

  November 15, 2016 Tuesday

  “We’ve kept track of the bald eagle nest in Sugar Hollow,” MaryJo Cranston reported. “All eaglets survived and I wouldn’t be surprised if more eagles come in this far.”

  “Why?” BoomBoom asked.

  “They’ve made a big comeback on the James River and the Chesapeake. More population usually means looking for more suitable places to nest. Anyway, all good news,” MaryJo responded.

  The Virginians for Sustainable Wildlife met this Tuesday at Susan Tucker’s. Each month they marveled at how quickly the time had flown by. The reports made, accepted, they finally broke for drinks, food.

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, and Susan’s wonderful corgi, Owen, full brother to Tucker, shot into the dining room.

  “Sounds like a stampede,” Liz Potter noted.

  Tucker ever so helpfully spoke up from under the table. “That’s all Pewter. Two-Ton Tessie.”

  “Die, dog!” Pewter whapped the dog right across her tender nose.

  “Ow. I’m mortally wounded by a psychotic cat,” Tucker wailed.

  “Oh, Tucker, when will you learn to leave her alone?” the corgi’s brother reprimanded her.

  Mrs. Murphy, never one for these dramatics, sat beside Harry’s chair just in case a moment of sharing would wash over the humans engaged in chatter.

  “I smell ham.” Pewter, happy to have smacked Tucker, sidled up to Dr. Jessica Ligon.

  Being a veterinarian might have inoculated the young woman from falling victim to Pewter’s charms but, no, she slipped the cat a morsel of ham.

  The back door opened, Ned’s baritone rang out. “I’m home.”

  “We’re in the dining room,” Susan called out as Ned walked in, said his hellos, and joined them.

  “I am starved. That damned city council meeting droned on and on and on. I should be paid by the hour. I try to attend one a quarter, give reports from the House of Delegates, but I might just change my mind.”

  “You are a good public servant,” Susan informed him.

  As he took a seat next to BoomBoom, the tall beauty remarked, “Isn’t the budget in trouble? I mean, didn’t they cut the municipal band? Cutting one of the activities that brought us all together.”

  “The budget is always in trouble.” MaryJo shrugged. “Show me a political meeting where there isn’t hand-wringing and finger-pointing.”

  “What we need is a good sex scandal. That will wake us up.” BoomBoom laughed.

  “Don’t look at me.” Ned held up his hands in innocence. “I married the best girl in the county.”

  The ladies applauded and Susan laughed even as she filled a plate for him. He could fill his own plate but she was watching his sugar intake. While he was in good shape, diabetes ran in Ned’s family.

  “Anything good happen at the meeting?” Jessica inquired.

  “Yes, well, the beginning of good things. I first gave a report of how things are going at the House of Delegates, my usual report. Then I presented your ideas, those of you on Save Our Old Schools, concerning rotating studies there so young people could learn about the past.”

  Harry perked right up. “And?”

  “Here’s how any new idea is greeted. First, silence. Then someone says we should study that. Someone else remarks money would need to be spent so bathrooms would be in order, the woodburning stoves checked for leakage and healthy inhalation.”

  Susan said, “Do we need birth certificates? Is the city going to fret over gender?”

  “God, we haven’t reached that point. This is only the beginning but I’m sure a lively discussion of young people’s gender will ensue. However, no one instantly opposed the idea. I didn’t even feel that slight resentment from a council member that this wasn’t his idea first.”

  Cooper knocked on the back door, letting herself in. “The law.”

  “We’ve got our hands up,” Ned teased as everyone raised their hands when the deputy came into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She gratefully sank into a chair.

  “Big day?” Harry asked her neighbor.

  “No more than usual, but I finished up over at St. Luke’s. Two tombstones were knocked over. Reverend Jones said this is the second time.”

  Ned put down the pickled egg he was about to eat. “Not Michael and Margaret Taylor’s?”

  “How did you know?” the deputy asked him.

  “Fair and I put it back up. If we’d used the front-end loader, we might have harmed the stone.”

  “I saw it when I was in the second story of the western part of the main church.” Harry thought a moment. “October 15, 1786. There were odd marks in the dirt over the grave, like knife thrusts. Or that’s what it looked like to me.”

  “You don’t think the stone could have gouged the soil?” MaryJo stated an obvious thought.

  “No. These were thin marks just like a knife. No one thought too much about it but it would seem that grave exerts a fascination,” Harry offered.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Murphy groaned.

  “Maybe she’ll forget it.” Tucker gulped a bit of cheese.

  “Ha. Fat chance.” Pewter tossed her head, looking lovingly up at Jessica.

  “Maybe there’s something in that grave.” Harry’s mind started spinning.

  “Two old dead people.” MaryJo laughed.

  “Well, yes.” Harry smiled. “But all those stories about buried treasure at the various estates, at The Barracks, well, maybe there’s treasure at St. Luke’s.”

  Ned remarked with quiet authority, “You’d need to come up with a compelling reason to exhume the Taylors. I say let them rest in peace.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, yes, we shouldn’t disturb the dead but there have been odd, disconnected things. The driver with his face torn off—”

  Cooper jumped in. “Harry, that was ruled a…shall we say death by misadventure. Something wild killed him. It doesn’t appear to be murder.”

  “Okay. But Pierre Rice was murder and then his Tahoe was found at the old school with a wire cage in the back, eagle feathers inside. And the gravestones got knocked over twice.”

  “If someone thought something was in there, don’t you think they’d be digging?” BoomBoom interjected.

  “Maybe they were interrupted or maybe there wasn’t time. I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud,” Harry said just as the house shook slightly, the windowpanes rattled ominously.

  Ned leapt up, hurried to the window while Susan punched into The Weather Channel on her phone.

  MaryJo felt the wi
nd hit the house. “Crazy weather. You know, I’d ask a meteorologist if there were severe crosswinds where that Volvo transport was found. Driver could have pulled over to get out of the wind, stepped outside from curiosity.” She paused. “Just a thought.”

  Another blast pounded the house.

  “Ladies, get home while the getting is good. The Weather Chanel reports high winds followed by lashing rains and flooding. Came up out of nowhere.”

  Ned turned back from the window. “Looks ugly.”

  “Wasn’t on my app before,” BoomBoom complained.

  Susan advised, “Girls, go on while you have a chance. I’ll clean up.” She held up her hands before anyone could protest.

  MaryJo took her coat from Susan, as did Jessica, who also had a hike to get home to Nelson County.

  Harry carried dishes back to the kitchen, helped by Cooper. They left last, but within fifteen minutes of the others, as they worked fast.

  Heads down they ran for their cars, winds ferocious.

  Cooper, driving a squad SUV, hollered to Harry, “I’ll go first. If I stop just wait behind me.”

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker flew into the car as the door was opened and Harry slid behind the driver’s seat.

  “Black as the Devil’s eyebrows,” Harry commented to her animals, who hunched down in the seat.

  As she drove out she felt a hard thump behind her but kept going. She wasn’t dragging anything and a heavy tree branch hadn’t landed on the back of the Volvo.

  It wasn’t until the next morning, fields soaked, some trees down, as she walked out to the barn that she noticed a hole at the rear of the Volvo.

  “That looks like a bullet hole,” she said to Tucker.

  It was.

  November 16, 2016 Wednesday

  Sitting at the kitchen table, overcast skies adding to the gloom, Fair faced Cooper. Susan was also there. Harry put her hand over her husband’s.

  “Honey, don’t get so upset. Your blood pressure will shoot up.”

  “Upset. A bullet’s dug out from the seat of your station wagon. Yes, I’m upset. Someone shot at you. They didn’t take a shot at Cooper, driving ahead of you. They waited for you. If it hadn’t been raining so hard, who knows?” He squeezed her hand.