Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  “Indeed, the style is most becoming, Miss Carter.” The girl nodded her assent.

  “I know little of styles, but I find the color pays a very pretty compliment to your eyes, Miss Carter. Sea green, I should perhaps say.”

  All three women turned in astonishment to see Captain Talbot standing just inside the open doorway. The mantua maker’s shop was a purely feminine realm. Although it was not uncommon for a man to place an order for a gown, as Captain Talbot had done when he escorted Caroline into the shop, it was most unusual for one to return and comment on a fitting.

  Young Joan writhed with embarrassment and looked desperately at the open door. The shop matron, too, cast an unhappy glance that direction, but the heat of the day made it incumbent to allow for as much ventilation as possible. So, rather than withering in her discomfiture, the more experienced matron took advantage of the unexpected opportunity to close the sale and get on with her next business.

  “I am so pleased to find that we are in agreement, Captain. Shall we have the other…” A quick glance focused everyone’s attention on a small pile of ragged clothing in the corner “…articles wrapped and returned to the sloop?”

  Caroline felt heat rise in her cheeks. What must these women think of her, having come dressed in such rags? She was a lady, but no one would believe her—she’d first appeared as a ship’s boy and now must look like the captain’s whore. Ladies did not wear boy’s clothing and ladies did not travel without a chaperone. And no one could mistake Captain Talbot for a chaperone.

  “We’ve no need of the old clothes.” Edward pulled a few coins from the drawstring purse at his waist. “This was the agreed price, was it not?”

  “Thank you, Captain. And do come again, Miss Carter. Will your stay in Charles Town be a long one?”

  Caroline had to struggle to keep tears out of her voice. “I think not, Mrs. Cook. I must return home soon. Good day.” The last words were flung over her shoulder as she turned and headed through the door.

  I must return home soon, I must return home soon, I must return home soon…The words echoed in her head with each footfall. She had bounded down the steps and several paces up the street before Captain Talbot caught up to her. She wobbled a bit as her pace slowed.

  “Miss Carter, please, the day is too warm. And…” Edward waved up toward the buildings at the end of the street. “…you do not wish to continue in this direction.”

  Caroline stopped and looked up at him. “I must return home soon,” was all she could manage to say. She took his proffered arm and they turned and walked up the street together in silence.

  They strolled past shops and coffeehouses and inns, the society of which Caroline had dreamed for so long. She gazed at each edifice with resentment, as if the buildings deliberately withheld the joy she had expected at such a moment. Gradually, though, she realized she did enjoy the strong, steady feel of the captain’s arm linked in hers. Their paces matched, step for step, in an easy, graceful rhythm.

  Caroline almost giggled when she thought of the one time she had tried to stroll arm-in-arm with Mr. Throckmorton. His arm had trembled, as with some sort of palsy, and he had kept his gaze fixed on the uneven ground, constantly warning her of rocks and other pitfalls in their path. Fortunately, he had abbreviated their outing on account of pressing business.

  Yes, this was nothing like a walk with Mr. Throckmorton through the gardens and fields of Hill Crest. Gratitude welled up inside her, and Caroline smiled and began to pay closer attention to the spectacle of Charles Town.

  The smile seemed to melt the silence. “Ah, yes, Miss Carter,” Captain Talbot continued as if a quarter of an hour had not elapsed since her last sentence, “although you must return home rather soon, it would be a shame, would it not, to leave Charles Town without savoring some of the town’s pleasures?”

  Caroline’s smile widened. She did not know exactly what Captain Talbot had in mind, but at this moment, she didn’t really care. She would enjoy herself and enjoy the town. Home was something she could think about later.

  Chapter Fifteen

  What questions need they ask? Should they inquire if anyone had sighted a woman dressed in boy’s clothing? If they simply asked about a boy, certainly no one would have noticed—working boys in cheap clothing filled the streets of this provincial town.

  Josiah tried to remember if there were any distinguishing features to describe Miss Carter’s face or figure. To his horror, he realized he could not even bring her image to mind. She was shorter than he, certainly, as most people were. She had hair that was neither too dark nor too light, with perhaps a reddish sparkle in the sunlight. A hazy impression started to form in his mind. She usually wore her hair curled—but, of course, it would not now be done up as it was at Hill Crest. Her eyes were…a light color…probably, but he could not be certain. She had two of them, that was all he had particularly cared about. But to describe her to others he needed specific characteristics.

  She was slight of build, and always seemed to move very quickly, he remembered. And she laughed a lot, sometimes an annoying giggle, but often an open, engaging laugh.

  “Fishoystersclams! Fishoystersclams!”

  The words drew Josiah’s gaze to the men hawking wares further up the street. Charles Town did not appear to be much of a town, but he had to admit he saw more signs of commerce here than he had in any previous settlement he had visited in the colonies.

  He turned to allow Charles to catch up with him. Lost in thought, both men had said nothing since they arrived on shore a quarter of an hour ago.

  “Mr. Throckmorton, I believe we should separate to begin our inquiries. Would you be so good as to secure lodgings for the night? We can meet at sunset at…” The younger man’s eyes were also drawn to the commerce up the street. “…at that tavern, there. The one with the brick front.”

  Josiah turned back to look at the appointed building just in time to see a man hurled unceremoniously out the door into the street. Would he appear a coward if he suggested a rendezvous with less volatile patrons? “I’ll meet you in front of the building,” he promised.

  Charles’ attention then focused in the opposite direction. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Throckmorton, I’ll begin this way.”

  Before Josiah could answer, he headed off toward a group of plainly dressed gentleman conversing on a side street several yards away.

  Josiah walked slowly up the street. He had hoped to discuss some questions or strategies they might employ in their search. However, pride held his tongue—after all, Charles had not asked him for advice, so how could he admit to the younger man that he, the experienced barrister, could not figure out what questions to ask in their search. If Charles could do it on his own, he should certainly be able to do so as well.

  Only now he felt he couldn’t. It was too awful. What was he looking for? An effeminate ship’s boy? Or, taking the matter one step further, a woman in rags, from a ship full of men. What would that make her? He couldn’t ask. He didn’t want to know.

  Josiah closed his eyes and tried to swallow the lump rising in his throat. When his eyes opened, he realized he was now quite close to the tavern Charles had appointed as their meeting place in a few hours’ time. At least he had been given the task of finding a room. He could make a thorough search of any establishment with rooms for rent without making awkward inquiries. In fact, he could start right here.

  Josiah had no sooner lifted his foot to step toward the door when the sound of breaking glass, followed by laughter and a sharp wail, made him take an awkward hop backwards. He struggled to regain his balance and immediately began to look for another prospect for lodgings. To be thorough, he would have to research the tavern with the glass-breaking patrons, but there was no reason he had to research it first.

  In fact, he could start by looking for the nicest, most comfortable, or at least the cleanest-looking establishment.

  It was not a long search. There were few enough places advertising hospitality, an
d fewer still he would have cared to set foot in. The most likely prospect seemed to be a small building not far from the waterfront where a stout, plain woman offered rooms and meals but permitted no beverages stronger than cider or ale.

  “I’ve five rooms,” she explained in hoarse drawl. “Three’re lent to gentlemen and the fourth to a…a lady. I’ve one left. It’s the hottest chamber, but there’s two beds, and you’d have room for three or four gentlemen, sir. More, p’rhaps,” she added with a grin, “if they’re your girth, sir.”

  “Hm, yes.” Josiah took a deep breath and wished the shadow he cast on the opposite wall did not bear such a close resemblance to a poker. “We’ll take the room. There will be just two of us Miss, uh…”

  “Cheesewringer, and it is Mrs. Cheesewringer, though my poor John is long gone now.” She gave an exaggerated sniff. “The fever and ague gripped him soon as we landed in this swampy country. I’ve been running th’ place on my own these ten years.”

  Josiah heard two more sniffs, and saw Mrs. Cheesewringer dab at her eyes with the corner of her apron, though what she was trying to absorb appeared a mystery, her eyes being as dry as baking stones.

  “Yes, then, well, how much for the room? We’ll take supper elsewhere.” Josiah assumed they had better patronize as many establishments as possible to further their inquiries.

  “Three shillings each for the private lodging, another six pence for hot water in the morning, and a shilling each for breakfast, first night in advance.”

  It seemed high for these primitive accommodations, but then, everything in this backward land seemed to cost ten times more than it was worth.

  “Yes, fine.” Josiah handed the requisite coins into her outstretched palm. “Mrs. Cheesewringer, we will be conducting business in town. Mr. Charles Carter and Mr. Josiah Throckmorton, if you would be so good as to accept any messages or callers for us?”

  “’Deed, I would, sir.”

  “Our luggage will be sent around directly.” Or maybe not so directly, but Josiah hoped he could bribe someone to bring it sometime during the afternoon. “Good day.”

  He was almost out the door before he heard the hoarse drawl again.

  “Beg your pardon, sir, are you Carter or Rockmarn?”

  “Josiah Throckmorton, at your service, madam.” When Josiah saw the grin on her face again, he added a big flourishing bow and grinned himself. As he walked away, he suddenly became aware of the smell of good food, and wished he had not been so hasty in deciding to have supper elsewhere.

  “Good afternoon, miss.”

  “Good afternoon.” Caroline paused, sensing she should say something before continuing up the stairs to her room. Though her landlady appeared to be busy polishing, she looked at Caroline with a twinkle in her eye and seemed to be near to bursting with the need to talk. “Have you, uh, had a pleasant morning, Mrs…?”

  She looked around but saw no indication of the proprietress’s name. The omission appeared not to be noticed, however, as her landlady immediately took up the invitation to reply.

  “Ah, yes, miss. Now, well, it’s been a bit hot, and my back is aching something awful, but what’s to mind when I’ve all my rooms rented. And the best is…” She looked quickly toward the empty doorway. “…I’ve just rented the worst room for three times the normal rate. A tall gentleman, all arms and legs with the Queen’s English on his tongue, didn’t even look at the beds!”

  She gave a little laugh, and Caroline felt obliged to at least smile, though she did not really share her landlady’s humor at the prospect of cheating some poor gentleman out of his money.

  “And he’s paying extra for the breakfast, too, ha! I probably should have charged more for the morning wash water. Next time, next time.”

  Caroline didn’t even want to smile at this. She remembered how the landlady had quoted a rate—she couldn’t recall the amount—when they arrived, and how Captain Talbot had laughed, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and quietly but very sternly told her he had no time for her nonsense. They seemed to come to an agreement rather quickly after that—Caroline had not much cared at the time. All she had wanted was the chance to get away by herself, and the small, plain room they had given her upstairs suddenly seemed like heaven.

  Thinking back on their entrance now, though, she felt a little uncomfortable. Her room was directly across from that of the captain. What must this woman think of her?

  “I’m afraid I am a little fatigued, and it is so hot. If you will excuse me, Mrs., uh…”

  “Cheesewringer. Henrietta Cheesewringer.”

  “Mrs. Cheesewringer, if you will excuse me, I’m going to go up to my room.” Caroline glanced around, as if to emphasize the fact she was going to her room alone. “In case I should fall asleep, will you be so good as to knock on my door at sunset?”

  “Yes, certainly, miss.”

  She had been pulling her way through waist-high weeds in mud, struggling hard to take each step and sweating so much that perspiration dripped heavily onto her sleeves. Up ahead, she could barely see the figure of a rider dressed in a black coat, cutting his way through the fields to the sea beyond. He seemed more distant with each minute, and she grew frenzied in her efforts to catch up.

  Suddenly, the figure halted, turned toward her, and reached out a hand in welcome. She laughed then; the task of plunging through the mud and weeds became almost joyous. Every few steps, she would look down to watch her dirtied hands as they pulled the weeds aside, and then she’d look up again to see the figure appearing closer and closer…

  Someone was tapping on the door; Caroline sat upright. No weeds blocked her way, only a brown blanket entwined with her arm. She closed her eyes then opened them again. No mud, no ship, just the plain dark room with a shuttered, musty smell. She was in Charles Town, at an inn, and soon she would be going to the theatre with Captain Talbot!

  The tapping at the door continued. “Miss, miss? Are you about? ’Tis nearly sunset. Miss, miss?”

  “Thank you, Mrs., uh, thank you, ma’am.” Caroline felt a little dizzy as she made a sudden move toward the door, opening it just in time to stop her landlady’s hand from beginning another round of taps. “Thank you for waking me. Would you be so kind as to bring me a pitcher of water?” She looked toward the dusty basin on a stand in the corner. “And a flannel and towel as well, please?”

  She did not know if the inn was regularly in the business of supplying linens to its patrons, but she hoped she might be made an exception, having nothing but her new gown and chemise with which to wash and dry her face.

  “Why, yes, miss. I’ll have Annie bring you water and towels. Would you be needing some refreshment, too?”

  Caroline nodded gratefully. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “I’ll send up a cup of cider, then.”

  After the landlady departed, Caroline closed the door and sat down on the bed with a sense of rapture. It was so peaceful, so restful to be here. She had the whole room to herself. A servant would bring her water and a drink. True, the cider in Charles Town tasted rather wretched, but it was infinitely preferable to rum and salty water.

  She lay back on the bed and let her gaze follow a crack in the plaster ceiling. No one seemed to expect her to do anything. It was a truly blissful sensation, so unlike life on the ship.

  Caroline frowned at that realization. Life on the ship had been hard, and she didn’t miss being there. But she had thought she preferred being on board the ship to being at home. At home, where she had…her own small room, and servants to bring her cider and towels.

  So, which did she want?

  Town. She wanted to walk down the streets of the town with Captain Talbot, to go to the theatre and have a late evening supper; and then, when they came back to the inn, he might even kiss her. He must find her attractive, at least a little, or he would not have bought her the dress and proposed this outing.

  Caroline sat up quickly again when she heard a strong kick on the door. “Yes?”
>
  “Your towels and cider, miss. And water.”

  When Caroline opened the door, she was surprised to look into the dark face of a young Negress, who was balancing water and cider precariously with towels draped over both arms. Caroline stood speechless for a moment, leaving the girl with her awkward burden, until some sense of decorum returned.

  “Come in, please. May I…?” She feared that if she reached out to help, she might upset the whole balance.

  The girl skillfully unloaded her cargo, and Caroline soon had pitcher in basin, towels neatly hung at the side and a mug of cool cider in her hand.

  “You be needin’ anythin’ else, miss?” The girl waited quietly by the door.

  “Are you Annie?” Caroline had never seen a black slave in a house setting before. She had expected “Annie” to be a young servant lately over from Cornwall or Ireland, perhaps. At Hill Crest, all the slaves worked in the fields and slept in separate buildings away from the house. They kept to themselves, and often spoke in strange words Caroline could not understand. Yet here was a slave working quite satisfactorily as a maidservant. Caroline studied the girl with interest as she drained her mug of cider.

  “Would you care for ’nother, miss?”

  This was most gratifying. Caroline could not remember a time when a servant had actually offered to bring her something. “Yes, please. And, if you don’t mind, I need some help lacing my gown.” Would this girl have any idea how to fasten all the laces and buttons on the new gown? Caroline hoped she hadn’t embarrassed her by asking.

  “Cert’ly, miss.” Annie started tugging and fastening with confidence, but it soon became apparent she was not used to such duties.

  “I think if you pull that one…”

  “Yes’m.”

  “And…now this one over here.”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Ouch. There, I think that does it.” Caroline had no mirror, but what she could see of the dress looked correct, and it pinched in all the same places it had earlier when she first put it on. “Thank you, Annie.”