Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Morrisa was impressed with the elder’s spunk. “Guess not, if’n ye can pay for it.”

  “You needn’t concern yourself about that,” Edith retorted blandly. “In fact, if you make the necessary arrangements and send someone to fetch my baggage from the Moonraker, I shall pay you for your time. Or would you rather entertain the men?”

  The pointed question drew a light scoff from Morrisa. “I can do yer errands for ye, alright, but I gots ta get ‘nough ta satisfy the madam.”

  “You’ll get enough,” Edith promised. “But I’ll not suffer a delay. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I left England, and I want what I’ve asked for posthaste. Do you understand?”

  Morrisa supposed it wasn’t beneath her to serve as a maid for once in her life. Besides, she was curious. It was a rare thing indeed to find a wealthy lady traveling alone, and she could only wonder at the elder’s purpose. What dire circumstances had compelled an old woman to suffer through an arduous voyage without benefit of servant or manly escort?

  With a nod, Morrisa accepted the lady’s conditions, but in return she asked for double her usual earnings, planning on keeping Freida in the dark about the extra. Receiving a fine leather purse, she bustled off to talk with the tavern-keeper and was back in a wink. “Ye can have the last room on the right upstairs. The tavern maids’ll be bringin’ ye up a bath whilst I send a fella ta fetch yer baggage from the ship. Though the cap’n probably’ll ne’er mistake ye, ye’d better give me yer name so’s he’ll know for sure ‘twas ye what sent the bloke o’er for yer things.”

  “Lady Edith du Mercer.”

  Morrisa set her head thoughtfully aslant. “I figgered ye had breedin’ an’ a title.”

  “I’m honored that you noticed,” Edith rejoined loftily.

  Morrisa opened her mouth to give a crisp retort but promptly decided against it. This old bird would not take kindly to a dressing-down, Morrisa perceived, and if she grew snippish, it would seriously reduce or even negate what she might otherwise gain by holding her tongue.

  “And your name?” the lady inquired.

  “Morrisa. Morrisa Hatcher.”

  “Is Hatcher your real name or one you’ve taken on over the years?”

  Morrisa squirmed uncomfortably. Whoever this ancient biddy was, she was no one’s fool. “Me ma gave birth ta me without gettin’ hitched, if’n that’s what ye’re askin’. ‘Twas a butler she claimed what done it ta her, but he wouldn’t own up ta it. She got kicked out’ve the gran’ house where she’d been workin’ at, but he stayed on like he ne’er done nothin’ ta nobody. After she had me, she said he was a real sly bird an’ she done gone an’ hatched his li’l chick. The name stuck.”

  “Well, Morrisa Hatcher, what about some food?”

  “I’ll fetch ye some vittles meself after ye’ve taken yer bath,” Morrisa said. “Would ye be carin’ for some assistance in unpackin’ yer clothes or gettin’ undressed?”

  Edith du Mercer was as shrewd as Morrisa had ever hoped to be and could sense the judicious reasoning going on behind those dark eyes that watched her so closely. “Whatever assistance you’re willing to render will be rewarded, Morrisa, but only if I leave here with no fewer possessions than I’ve entered with.”

  Morrisa met Edith’s unswerving stare and recognized the challenge that she would be undertaking in aiding the woman. “I’ll ain’t gonna steal nothin’ from ye, if’n that’s what you mean.”

  “You’re very astute, my dear. We understand each other very well.”

  “I ain’t no thief,” Morrisa declared, bristling.

  “No?” Edith permitted a small glimpse of a smile. Her tone conveyed some disbelief as she asked, “Do you actually get as much as you claimed a moment ago? Or are you just a liar?”

  Morrisa chafed under the elder’s goading. “A girl’s gotta earn her keep one way or t’other.”

  “Of course, Morrisa,” Edith agreed. “And as long as you remain honest while you’re working for me, you could possibly earn far more than you would by bedding a man. But you must remember, I’ll give up nothing more than what I’m willing to yield to you, and that by my own choice. Do you understand?”

  “I hear ye,” Morrisa acknowledged.

  “Then you may lend whatever assistance is needed.”

  Motivated by curiosity, Morrisa escorted the lady to her room, directed the preparation of the bath herself and laid out a chemise and dressing gown, both of which were so rich and beautiful that she had trouble imagining their cost. In some awe, she ran a hand over the garments, wondering how she might look in them, but she quickly banished the idea of rifling through the elder’s possessions behind her back. She could almost bet the old snake could draw blood with her tongue if she were vexed.

  “I ain’t ne’er seen clothes what’s as fine as yers,” the harlot admitted, glancing around.

  Edith had been watching her and was satisfied that the younger woman had kept her wits about her and not tried to stuff something into her clothing. “Perhaps if you serve me well enough, Morrisa, I’ll leave you some when I sail back to England. I have plenty enough as it is in my home.”

  “That’d be real kindly o’ ye, m’liedy,” Morrisa eagerly replied with a buoyant smile.

  “Then come help me undress,” Edith urged, “and we can talk more while I soak in a bath.”

  Edith’s directive was carried out swiftly, and two sheets were hung from the low beams to enclose the tub, providing some privacy for the matron. As Morrisa waited on the other side, Edith began making her own inquiries.

  “Have you ken of a young woman named Shemaine O’Hearn living in the area?”

  Morrisa snorted in distaste. It seemed nowadays everybody arriving on the inbound ships was asking where the li’l bogtrotter might be. “ ‘Course, I do. We sailed here on the London Pride together.”

  “Did you become friends with her?”

  The harlot jeered. “Enemies would be more like it.”

  “What made you hate her?”

  Morrisa was wary but truthful. No one could hang her for disliking a person. “Sh’maine was always puttin’ her nose in where it didn’t belong. I had a right good way o’ handlin’ the other women ‘til she started talkin’ ta ’em. Would’ve had ’em all bowin’ and scrapin’ ta me, if not for Sh’maine.”

  “So you resent her?”

  “Aye, ye might say as much.”

  “I’m sure at times you must have been angry enough to even wish her dead.” Edith voiced the conjecture carefully and anticipated the response.

  “Not only wished it, had reason to see it done. . . . Not that I would have, mind ye,” Morrisa interjected cautiously. “Ye see, there were others what wanted her dead too, an’ were willin’ ta pay for it. The turnkey in Newgate said someone in London was anxious ta pay for her death. He even said some real good things could be done for me if’n I’d snuff out her breath an’ send back proof ta him. But with him bein’ in England an’ me here so far away, it didn’t seem likely I’d ever collect me due if I sent the li’l bogtrotter ta the grave. I’ve even been thinkin’ lately he was probably hopin’ I’d do it an’ then provide the proof so’s he could collect all o’ the reward. An’ me be damned.”

  Edith had realized there had been flaws in her efforts to arrange for Shemaine’s demise, but unfortunately they had been unavoidable. Her barrister had understood the importance of the nobility protecting its name and heritage, and although he had enticed the thieftaker to arrest the girl and the magistrate to work his wiles in sentencing the girl, he had refused to be personally involved in arranging the murder of a young woman from a wealthy family. Consequences would be too steep, he had argued, and in that matter at least, no amount of coin could persuade him to do otherwise. He had a serious aversion to hanging, he had explained, but he would, however, find her a name of one who’d be willing to do the deed and arrange for her to contact the man incognito. Several nights later he had reported that there was such a man, a turnkey
at the prison who had killed for hire before. But as Edith had later found out, that one had failed her. Now she was looking for new possibilities.

  Edith concluded her bath, donned a chemise and wrapped a dressing gown around her slender frame. Joining the harlot on the other side of the sheet, she seated herself on a bench and picked up the conversation as Morrisa began brushing out her long, heavily grayed black hair. “I was wondering, Morrisa, if anyone has ever tried to do away with Shemaine.”

  “Aye, but so far the bloke ain’t done nothin’ ta speak o’.”

  “Someone you know?”

  “A tar from the London Pride. He’s kinda mean-minded toward Sh’maine, says he owes her for her uppity ways. But Mr. Thornton came inta town a couple o’ times ta warn me that he’ll come lookin’ for me an’ Potts if’n Sh’maine’s e’er hurt again or killed. Well, it didn’t rightly seem fair, him blamin’ me, but he vexed me so, I warned Potts ta hide out for a while, else he’d be gettin’ us both inta an ugly stew.”

  “If you were able to go anywhere you wanted to, someplace where this Mr. Thornton couldn’t find you, would you consider letting Potts have his revenge on her?”

  “ ‘Twouldn’t hurt me none ta see the bogtrotter buried, but I’d ne’er kill her meself, so’s if’n ye’re thinkin’ ye’re gonna catch me up in a hangin’, ye ain’t.”

  “You needn’t fret yourself, Morrisa,” Edith encouraged. “I’ve wanted Shemaine dead just as much as you, but that event has never come about.”

  Morrisa couldn’t imagine a proper lady wanting to see harm done to another. But then, she had never been around aristocrats long enough to be able to grasp what any of them were likely to think. She was inquisitive nevertheless. “Why would a fancy liedy like yerself be wantin’ Sh’maine dead? What she e’er done ta ye?”

  “She stole my grandson’s heart, and I abhor her for that.”

  A loud, unladylike snort accompanied Morrisa’s reply. “His heart ain’t the only one Sh’maine’s done stolt. That Mr. Thornton’s gone an’ claimed her as his.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that some colonial had bought her—”

  “Not only bought her but bedded her!”

  “You mean she’s been sullied?” Edith was at first jubilant over the idea, but when she considered her grandson’s determination to find Shemaine, it seemed doubtful that Maurice would ever blame the girl because she had been forced by her master. A laborious sigh slipped from Edith’s lips as she imagined Maurice making magnanimous offers of marriage to the girl despite the likelihood of her being with child by another man.

  “I’m afraid her lost virginity will change nothing. My grandson has been thoroughly bewitched. The little trollop has her claws on his heart and will not let go.”

  “Well, I’m thinkin’ Sh’maine’ll be havin’ ta make a choice betwixt the two, ’cause Mr. Thornton ain’t gonna let any wife o’ his go traipsin’ off with ‘nother man without a fight. He killed his first wife, so’s I hear. If’n he catches Sh’maine cavortin’ with yer grandson, he just might kill her, too.”

  “Shemaine is married, then?” Edith asked, receiving a pert nod when she glanced around. “Perhaps that fact might dissuade Maurice from involving himself.”

  “Humph. If’n yer grandson be the one what faced Sh’maine an’ Mr. Thornton right out in front o’ this here tavern last night, he didn’t seem too keen on givin’ her up, even knowin’ she’s hitched ta the colonial.”

  “How I’ve longed to see her dead.” Edith sighed wearily. “If I could only find the right person to carry out such a deed, I’d give them a fortune.”

  Morrisa chewed her fingertip thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if she could trust the woman. If the elder was seeking to entrap her, then she’d be a fool to suggest that she could arrange for something terrible to happen to Shemaine. Still, why would Edith du Mercer travel all the way from England just to lure a harlot into a trap? The idea was so farfetched it was ludicrous.

  From the very first moment of their meeting downstairs, it had been evident to Morrisa that this grand lady was tenacious and had a direct purpose in mind. And the more they talked, the more she became convinced that this was no lily-white angel she was keeping company with. “Right off, I can tell ye that this here Potts is just itchin’ ta slice Sh’maine’s throat.”

  “If you can get him to do away with Shemaine, there’ll be a substantial reward in it for you. If you came here on the London Pride, then I would assume your papers of indenture are being held . . .”

  “By Freida . . . the madam.”

  “With the funds I’m willing to give you, Morrisa, you’d be able to buy your freedom and set up your own company of girls anywhere you have a desire to go. If you’re caught, of course, you must not say anything about me encouraging you to do the deed. ‘Tis doubtful that anyone would believe you, but if you were to incriminate me, I’d certainly repay you in kind and send someone to get rid of you. There would, however, be an even greater reward for keeping silent, and since you wouldn’t be directly involved, I could probably arrange for your freedom.”

  “I knows when ta hold me tongue, m’liedy. Ye needn’t worry ’bout me.”

  “The moment I saw you I thought we’d be able to understand each other.”

  “ ‘Tain’t hard ta get Potts ta kill Sh’maine with just meself doin’ the talkin’. He’ll do anythin’ I ask him. He’ll have ta kill Mr. Thornton, though, ta protect both our skins after he kills Sh’maine. Afterwards, Potts’ll be needin’ some coins ta tide him over while he hides out. His own is down ta nubbins.”

  “I’m willing to pay him, a little beforehand to encourage him and a greater reward afterwards, if he does the deed.”

  “Just in case he don’t, I’m thinkin’ there’s ‘nother one what might do the deed for her own pleasure. She ain’t gots no idea o’ what I seen or what I figgered out ’bout her an’ a certain pipsqueak what gots hisself killed ’cause o’ her. She’s too high an’ mighty ta talk ta me, but if’n ye’re willin’, m’liedy, she might be o’ a mind ta talk ta ye. I’m also a-thinkin’ she wants outa this here place real bad an’ will be needin’ a fat purse ta break free.”

  “Do you think we need to have Potts and this other woman trying to kill Shemaine at the same time?” Edith remembered how trim and petite the girl had seemed standing before her after rejecting an offer of wealth beyond the shores of England. It didn’t seem likely that two assailants were needed.

  Morrisa was of a different mind. “Potts bungled his attacks too many times for me likin’ an’ ain’t gained nothin’ from ’em ‘ceptin’ a hole in his side. Mr. Thornton’ll likely shoot him on sight if’n Potts don’t kill him first. That’s the main one I’m skeered o’ ’cause he’ll chase me down clear ta the end o’ the earth ta get his revenge for us killin’ his darlin’. But even if Roxanne Corbin is seen, she could at least get close ‘nough ta Sh’maine ta do her some real harm, an’ I’m thinkin’ she’d be happy ta have a chance ta get a weighty purse ‘sides.”

  “And this Roxanne Corbin is the one to whom you wish me to speak?”

  “Aye, she’d be wantin’ ta do the deed, alright, seein’s as how Sh’maine stole the man what she was plannin’ on marryin’. From what I heared from that li’l pipsqueak after the two o’ them got into a squabble, Roxanne was real taken on Mr. Thornton maybe as far back as ten years. Some say she was servicin’ his needs, but ol’ Sam said not, ’cause she’s too ugly an’ Mr. Thornton’s gots an eye for the pretty ones. Right after Thornton married his first wife, Roxanne went sorta crazy. Then his missus was kilt, an’ first thing ye know, she’s a-keepin’ the Thornton house an’ a-makin’ plans ta wed him.

  “Then Sh’maine come along, an’ this Thornton fella up an’ marries the bogtrotter. That left Roxanne a-stewin’ an’ a-frettin’ like she was ’bout ta bust open with envy. Right now she’s tryin’ ta tell everybody Thornton kilt his first missus. But I knows she wants him back. I can sees it in her eyes when he pranc
es his handsome self down the street with that bold stride o’ his. O’ course, she don’t knows I’m a-watchin’ her. Roxanne’s so anxious ta get him ‘neath her petticoats, all he’d have ta do is snap his fingers an’ she’d snatch ’em up high just ta speed their couplin’. Truth be, Mr. Thornton’s so caught on Sh’maine, he ain’t wantin’ nothin’ at all from ol’ horse-face or nobody else. I even tried ta talk him inta comin’ upstairs with me, but he wouldn’t have any o’ what I could’ve given him. Roxanne has ta know she ain’t gots a mule’s chance with Sh’maine a-livin’ . . . so’s ‘twould seem ta me she’d be awfully willin’ ta consider snuffin’ out the bogtrotter’s life. If’n she’s o’ a mind ta do the killin’, a purse’d push her forward, ’cause then she could skedaddle from her pa.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the people of this town, Morrisa.”

  The harlot shrugged. “Some o’ me customers are real talkative at times. But then, I sees a lot while tryin’ ta drum up business.”

  “You said you saw something that Roxanne did to this pipsqueak, as you call him?”

  “Aye, I was in his house the night he was killed. She caused it, all right. Not that she laid a hand ta him, ye understand, but she’s guilty just the same.”

  “If she’s not willing to murder Shemaine for a purse, perhaps I’ll be able to convince her that it will be to her advantage to comply unless she wants to be arrested for a man’s murder.”

  “Like I said, m’liedy. Roxanne didn’t do it exactly,” Morrisa maintained, stressing the point.

  “Well, if she laid a snare for the man, she’s just as guilty, isn’t she?”

  Morrisa set her jaw slightly askew as she debated the danger of threatening the smithy’s daughter. “She’ll set her hound ta chewin’ me hide if’n ye mention me name, m’liedy. I’ll be as good as dead if’n they catch me.”

  “Is that why you wish me to speak to her? Because you’re afraid of her?”