by Kate Dolan
“Yes’m. I’ll bring you ’nother cider, now.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Caroline pondered the girl’s enthusiasm for her duties as she waited for Annie’s return. Did she work more cheerfully because she was resigned to her fate instead of anxiously waiting for the freedom at the end of an indenture? No, that made little sense. If anything, contemplation of her position should make the girl belligerent rather than cheerful.
So, what was it? She pictured Annie draping the towels over the washstand. She moved with health and vigor, and her dress had been in better shape than many of Caroline’s own gowns. She must have good food and shelter, then, and care was taken in the matter of her clothing.
Caroline could certainly not say the same for her family’s slaves at Hill Crest. The servants slept in the house and ate the family’s food. By law, they had to be provided with certain clothing—her mother had complained of this often enough.
But the slaves had no such protections, as far as she knew. Perhaps, if they were dressed properly and trained in the ways of the household, they might prove more satisfactory in the house than the ill-mannered servants they had of late.
No, her mother would never permit slaves in the house. But when she got home, she would take a good look at the slaves at Hanset. Perhaps some of them might be trained to work in the house.
This was the first time in many days she had thought of returning to Maryland and becoming mistress of her own plantation. Now that it seemed so far away, why did she think of it again?
“Miss.” A sharp knock followed the sound of Annie’s voice. “Captain Talbot is waiting downstairs for you.”
Caroline opened the door and looked at the mug of cider Annie held out to her. “My hair!” She put up her hands, but could not see without a mirror. Were any stray pieces sticking out? “My shoes?” She looked around and saw them near the bed. “I need a small rag for my shoes!”
“Yes’m.”
“And tell Captain Talbot I’ll be down directly.”
The slippers they had procured from somewhere this afternoon were quite elegant and covered with beautiful beads, but they were too big for her, and the left one frequently slipped off as she walked. Why hadn’t she thought about fixing it sooner? She would hate to miss the start of the performance.
A few minutes later, she made her awkward descent down the narrow stairs and found Captain Talbot waiting in the parlor.
“Good evening, Captain.” She hoped her smile looked elegant and engaging.
“Good evening, Miss Carter. I trust you had an enjoyable afternoon?”
“Very restful, Captain, thank you.” She waited for him to take her hand.
“Let us go, then.” It was not until they reached the street that he offered his arm. “It’s just up here a bit at Eberly’s. It won’t be real theatre, of course. They have no theatre building in Charles Town. But Hathaway and Dursten are from London and their players are said to be quite excellent.”
“I’m sure,” was all Caroline said, but she knew it would be wonderful. She had never seen theatre of any kind before, the settlement at Elkridge Landing being too small or too remote to attract any professional players. To see the words of Shakespeare or Dryden brought to life must be simply marvelous.
A breeze from the sea felt fresh on her skin. She watched it ruffle the loose strands of hair around the Captain’s face.
He frowned. “Is something wrong? Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” Caroline giggled at his sudden concern. “The wind mussed your hair a bit, that’s all.” She propelled him forward toward a growing crowd at the end of the street. He did cut a fine figure. She knew the two of them looked well together. And she was going to the theatre, at night, in a town.
When they neared the end of the street, though, she found the “theatre” a little disappointing. A row of torches set around a makeshift platform made up the stage, while people of all descriptions sat on the ground passing cups and bowls around. A man up on the stage was saying something, but it was difficult to hear with all the revelry among the audience.
Caroline wrinkled her nose at the noise and the smell, and the captain led her around so they were upwind of the crowd and clustered among a more attentive group of patrons. When she looked down with dismay at the prospect of dirtying her new gown by sitting in the dirt, he took off his coat and spread it as a rug for her. His gallantry produced a nearly audible sigh from her. This was the life she had been meant to lead.
Or perhaps there was a bit more to hope for yet. The theatre repertoire proved to be even a greater disappointment than the setting. The performance consisted for the most part of a series of convoluted monologues combining famous lines from the plays of at least four or five different dramatists. At the end, when the two famous players took the stage, the audience enjoyed some witty dialog and a couple of energetic fights. But the attempt at a heroic death scene never captured their fancy, and the dying speech was interrupted several times by calls from the audience urging the dying player to “pick up your sword and fight the bastard again.”
Thus the evening entertainment ended on a comic note. Despite her disappointment at the quality of the theatre, Caroline was in a gay mood as she and the captain stepped back onto the street.
Then she caught a glimpse of a face. It couldn’t be…the narrow, drawn face, the sad puppy eyes, all at a height well above most of the other men in the crowd dispersing from the makeshift arena. Josiah Throckmorton was here, in Charles Town, at this very minute, and probably looking for her. This was simply unbelievable. It was impossible.
The uneven torchlight made it difficult to see clearly; it must have been someone who looked like him, perhaps even a distant relative.
Caroline took a deep breath and looked all around her but did not see the face again. Most likely she had imagined it. Was it a guilty conscience trying to haunt her as she walked down the street arm-in-arm with another man? After all, she was still engaged to Mr. Throckmorton, although it seemed the Caroline Carter who was betrothed to Josiah Throckmorton existed in another life and could not possibly be her any longer. Perhaps he considered the engagement a thing of the past as well. But then, why would he come looking for her?
That he hadn’t, of course, was the logical answer. She merely imagined he had. Did she want him to come looking for her? Of course not. She wanted to stay with Captain Talbot and see exotic ports. She did not want to return to life in Maryland, even if it were to become mistress of her own plantation. And she did not want to share her life with fussy old Mr. Throckmorton. He would certainly never come all this way to look for her. The trip might interrupt his weekly whist match. He would run the risk of dirtying his stockings. And he might catch a chill or fever. No, he would never come all the way to Charles Town to look for her.
Would anyone?
Her father, certainly he would miss her. Might he…?
“Miss Carter, Miss Carter?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You were positively lost to me for a moment, there. Would you care to take some supper at Campbell’s Tavern? Or are you ready to retire for the evening?”
“Supper would be lovely, Captain.” As long as she did not see any more faces in the crowd, she wanted to stay out as late as possible, make this night last forever if she could. She did not want to think about what might happen tomorrow; it would certainly be less pleasant than what was happening right now.
Chapter Sixteen
What a sorry excuse for theatre that had been! All that ranting and prancing and roaring. But the crowd, when they had paid any attention to the stage, had seemed to enjoy the performance immensely. Fortunately for his own sensibilities, Josiah had missed the better part of the drama and had concentrated most of his energies on scanning the faces in the crowd for Miss Carter or her brother. Charles was supposed to have met him at the site, but the performance had ended nearly half an hour earlier; and he still saw no sign of his traveling companion.
/> He sighed. He knew Charles had been as diligent as he in making inquiries, so he could not feel slighted. Still, he was discouraged. To begin with, he knew he had been less than assiduous in his search; in fact, it was almost as if he were avoiding the task.
Moreover, Charles seemed to have found another topic of inquiry which absorbed nearly as much of his attention as his search for his sister. It was quite peculiar. The two times Josiah had met up with him, he had found the younger man engaged in serious discourse with two or more gentlemen of austere dress. It had not seemed like the casual conversation of a man making inquiries about a lost relative. Once or twice, Josiah had heard them speak of “the Lord’s will;” and while they could have been explaining that God wanted to punish Charles’s sister for her iniquitous adventures, he guessed that Miss Carter had not played the central role in the conversation. Charles was engaging these men in discussions of theology of some sort. Meanwhile, Josiah waited.
He was standing near the edge of the makeshift arena, watching the faces of passersby as they moved through the glow of the torches, when Charles finally arrived.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Throckmorton. I was engrossed in conversation and lost track of the hour, I’m afraid.” He looked around with embarrassment. “The performance has been over for some time, has it not?”
“Yes, Mr. Carter, it has.”
“Yes, well, then, shall we go on?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Please, sir, lead the way.”
“Well,” Josiah began as he eased away from the tree trunk against which he had been leaning, “I believe I’ve visited all the public establishments in town, except for Campbell’s Tavern, Farthings—whose patrons seem to be excessively fond of breaking glass—and the Shrewsbury Coffeehouse. You were headed in that direction when we separated; I assume you’ve made inquiries there?”
“I have,” Charles answered somewhat sheepishly.
“And?”
“No sign of her, I’m afraid.”
“And? Where else have you been?”
“Well, I’ve been, uh, speaking with local gentlemen all day at…various places, and—”
“Have you been to Campbell’s or Farthings?”
“Ah, no.”
“Well, shall we try Campbell’s?” Josiah really did not relish the thought of walking into the bawdier Farthings house this late in the evening, when the patrons would have even more empty rum bottles available for breaking.
“We might, sir, but Farthings is closer, and it does appear to be a larger establishment. Our time might be better spent there.”
Josiah could not argue with that logic without feeling like a coward. “Yes, you’re right, Mr. Carter.” He yawned, an action that contrasted strangely with the knot of anxiety in his stomach. Why had he waited until this late to go into Farthings? “After this, I’m afraid, I shall have to make an evening of it. We can inquire at Campbell’s tomorrow.”
Walking through the dark later, the crushed shell of the street crunching under his footsteps, Josiah touched a sore spot on his head and winced. “I believe I’ll have a rather unpleasant bump on my head tomorrow, but other than that, I appear to have emerged unscathed. How did you fare, Mr. Carter?”
“You mean from the, uh…yes, well, no major bruises, at least, none that I’ve noticed yet, all limbs present and accounted for and—oh, one cut on my arm here. Seems to be bleeding a bit. The true question is, did we learn anything?”
“Besides the fact that Farthings is not an establishment we’d particularly care to frequent on a regular basis?” Josiah replied. “No, I don’t think we did. The men in there were too drunk to see anything and too drunk to remember it if they had been able to see anything. The rum was rather better in there than in the other houses, though, I must say.”
Charles gave him a smile. “I think they put less of the salty local water into it.”
“Yes, that would explain the copious quantities of broken glass and the loyalty of the patrons.”
When they had attempted to leave the first time, several men had insisted, quite pointedly, that they remain in “the best damned tavern in all the colonies.” Though annoyed at first, Josiah had found their loyalty rather amusing, even after he learned the men expected Charles and him to each stand them a round of drinks in the “best damn tavern in all the colonies.”
Eventually, these loyalists had found a new game to play—poking fun at comrades who had fallen senseless in the corner—and Josiah and Charles were able to leave without being further accosted.
And now it was back to…back to…wherever that house was, with the widow and the smell of good food—though it was now too late to find any. Josiah realized he felt terribly hungry all of a sudden. The only thing to do was hurry back and sleep till it would be time for a big breakfast.
It seemed to be taking an awfully long time to get there.
“Are you quite sure this is the correct street, Charles?”
“Well, ah, yes…” Charles spun around and looked, a bit unsteadily. “A street, with houses…how many can there be?”
“What do you mean, ‘how many can there be?’ This is Charles Town. A town. Towns have quantities of streets. But then, you don’t have any real towns in Maryland so you wouldn’t know that.”
“I object, sir! I do, indeed, know of towns. Why, Elkridge Landing—”
Josiah snickered.
“—perhaps is not exactly a town, but Annapolis, St. Mary’s, Joppa Town…”
“I do hope Joppa is actually a town, for I shall have to spend a deal of time in that vicinity if I take up the practice of law again. We’ve been down this street three times if we’ve been down it once,” Josiah announced with a yawn.
“Right. Turn here, then.” Charles pointed down a side street.
“Are you sure?”
“Not at all.”
“Good, then it’s probably the right street.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mr. Throckmorton.”
“For God’s sake, Charles, after all we have endured together, you should be able to address me by my Christian name. If you can remember it, that is.”
“Well, then, Josiah, what do you say? Is this the house, or isn’t it?”
“I believe you have found it,” Josiah announced warmly. “We have found it.”
“Oh, now you’re to take all the credit, when I’ve done all the work,” Charles said, assuming a tone of mock injury.
“Work? Leading us down the same street three times?”
“Well, at least I was leading us somewhere. You would still be walking in circles if—”
Both men froze.
“Caroline?” Charles recovered his voice first. “Caroline, is it really you?” He rushed toward a young lady seated on the porch of the guesthouse. “Oh, thank God. I feared we should never find you. But I vowed…” He turned back and motioned to Josiah. “We vowed we’d not rest until we found you, though it should take years. And yet God has led us to you so quickly. And He has kept you safe.”
Charles stopped at the foot of the porch steps when he suddenly noticed what Josiah had taken in at first glance—the young lady had been engaged in an intimate tete-à-tete with a strange gentleman. In fact, she had practically been sitting on the lap of this gentleman, and it was her flirtatious giggle that had first drawn her to their attention.
But she wasn’t giggling anymore. She had practically leapt to her feet when Charles approached, her hands in front of her face as if in horror. Then she turned and bolted into the house.
Josiah looked at Charles. Had they just seen Miss Carter? Surely not. She might have wanted to run away from him, but she certainly never would have run from her brother. The young lady on the porch must have been a stranger; Charles’s effusive greeting no doubt frightened her off.
Josiah started to climb the stairs, pulling Charles along beside him. “I believe, Charles, that you are mistaken.” He turned to the gentleman on th
e porch and forced a smile. “I am afraid we both mistook your companion for a Miss Caroline Carter, who visits in town. She does not yet know of our arrival and we had hoped to surprise her.” He prodded Charles. “Obviously, we surprised the wrong young lady, eh?”
Although she did look a great deal like Miss Carter.
Charles looked around, dumbfounded. “Why did she…?”
Josiah stepped toward the stranger with his hand outstretched in greeting. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr…?”
“Everett. Edward Everett, at your service, Mr…?”
“Throckmorton, Josiah Throckmorton. And this is Charles Carter. I am…acquainted with Miss Carter’s family in Maryland, and I, we, came to…visit, as I said.” His earlier glibness seemed to elude him now.
The girl had looked so very much like Miss Carter, and obviously Charles seconded this opinion.
Josiah tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but he could think of nothing else to say that would not make the situation more awkward—and it remained awkward for some moments after. Charles stared at the seat lately vacated by the young lady, while the mysterious Mr. Everett watched them both with a curious half-smile on his face.
Finally, Josiah had had enough. “Gentlemen, the hour is late and the mosquitoes most trying on the patience. I intend to retire for the evening. Perhaps we might renew our acquaintance at breakfast?”
Mr. Everett bowed and motioned for them to lead the way into the house. As it was too late to wake the landlady, Everett opened a desk drawer, removed two keys then turned to Josiah. “Your room, Mr. Throckmorton?”
“The garret, if you please. Thank you.” Josiah took the proffered key and a candle from the desk then gestured for Everett to take the lead up the stairs.
What if the young lady were, indeed, Miss Carter? Did she share a room with this Mr. Everett?
That gentleman stopped before a door on the second floor and unlocked it. Josiah paused unsteadily and pretended to busy himself with something on the bottom of his shoe while he watched Everett enter his room. The small room appeared empty, though it was difficult to be certain in the dim light. Other doors indicated the presence of the two additional guest rooms on this floor—had Miss Carter run to one of these?
