Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  Edwina burped softly. “Yes, thank you.”

  “It was most kind of you to invite us to dine with you on such short notice,” Caroline continued. The tenant could not have known they were coming; how was it she had prepared extra food?

  “There, now, the honor is purely mine.” Now that she could at last stand still for a moment, Mrs. Johnson seemed embarrassed.

  She had not prepared extra food, Caroline realized suddenly. They must have eaten Mr. Johnson’s share of the dinner. Would he have anything to eat when he returned home? She looked at the poor yet resourceful woman standing before her. Certainly, she would find something to prepare for her husband to take the place of the food her unexpected guests had eaten.

  But Caroline felt she should make some restitution. “You must allow us to return the favor and do us the honor of dining with us one day next week.”

  Edwina looked at her incredulously.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “We could not possibly—”

  “Please, I insist. As residents of Hill Crest plantation, you are welcome in our home.” Caroline felt very elegant extending such an open invitation, and she smiled and made a small curtsy. When she looked up, she noticed the youngest boy had a large quantity of something—gravy, she hoped—smeared across his face from his nose to his ear. Had she really invited these people to dine with them? What if they tried to drink from her mother’s cup?

  “I’m afraid we must be about our business for the afternoon. I hope you will excuse our early departure.” She edged toward the door.

  “Now, certainly, Miss Carter. I have been so honored to have you both as my guests. Boys?” Mrs. Johnson turned toward her sons; the younger one wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Please shake the Misses Carters’ hands, and be sure to tell them how much you enjoyed their visit.”

  The older boy dutifully marched up and proffered his hand. “Thank you for visiting, Miss Carter and Miss ’Wina Carter.”

  The younger boy suddenly took shelter behind his mother’s skirts. After she whispered in his ear, he called out a muffled, “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Caroline replied, reaching to open the door.

  Chapter Thirty

  "Now, then, Mr. Throckmorton, in what way may I be of service?”

  In response to the attorney’s question, Josiah cleared his throat. His conversation with Carter had left him little time to conjure up fictional legal questions. What on earth could he ask?

  “Well, um, let me first offer my thanks for your hospitality, Mr. Goodwin. I do believe we’d be at the mercy of the elements without your generosity.”

  “Ha! Generosity, indeed. I believe I collect more for beds and meals than I ever could make as an attorney. You are most kind to say so, though, since I know there must be at least half a dozen houses closer to the new court by now.”

  “Yes, well…” If there had been any decent houses in the vicinity of the courthouse, Josiah certainly hadn’t seen them. “All that aside, I do believe your clients enjoy staying with you, despite any inconvenience.”

  “They are a loyal lot, sir, that I cannot deny, and I have been grateful for their business these many years. Of course,” he said, smiling at Josiah, “I am grateful for new custom as well.”

  Many years? “If you don’t think me impertinent,” Josiah asked, “how long have you worked with the Carter family?”

  “Oh, my, many, sir, a score, at least. No, nearly twice that. No, perhaps not that many—”

  “I see.” Josiah wanted to ask about the type of work the attorney had undertaken for Carter, but he did not wish to appear nosy or rude. “Do you have a challenging variety to your practice, Mr. Goodwin? Or does it tend to run to similar cases?”

  “Challenging? Well, now, that is most prettily phrased. The cases can be more than I understand, at least as to understanding the law. But the desired result seems clear enough most of the time, so I—”

  Josiah felt color rise to his cheeks. “You misunderstand me, sir! I did not mean to imply your practice was beyond your comprehension. I merely asked about the variety of types of action—criminal, equity and so forth. And then, I would seek your advice as to procedure in the county courts and assizes.”

  “Variety? My heavens, yes. Well, enough for my taste, anyway.”

  Josiah hoped he would eventually describe some of this variety.

  “But compared with the legal undertakings you must have experienced in London, our courts must seem very drab,” Goodwin continued.

  “Perhaps if you described some of your cases to me, I might be able to refute that assumption.” From what Josiah was beginning to discern about court days, drab was not exactly the word he would have applied.

  “Cases?” Goodwin sat back in his chair and scratched his ear. “Well, there’s Carter’s business with the debts, of course, and I’ve got…” He paused and closed one eye while completing his mental tally. “…three—no, four—runaway servants this time. A master not paying the full allotment of freedom dues. One stolen cow, a flock of chickens worried to death by a dog, a borrowed horse never returned…”

  A horse! Josiah could bring an action against Ellis for conversion of his horse!

  “…a servant alleging abuse, oh, and a case of miscegenation. Bad one, that. Not looking forward to it.”

  Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Even if he had not wanted to accompany Carter on his journey, he still should have planned to come to Joppa to sue his overseer for the loss of such valuable property.

  “And there are, sure enough, many other debt actions this session. Carter’s is the greatest, though. I’ve advised him to have it removed to the Provincial Court in Annapolis.”

  Josiah did not imagine anyone would know of Ellis’s whereabouts, but he could still enter judgment against him and—Provincial Court? His thoughts abruptly turned back to their original course. “Would such removal really be advantageous to Carter?”

  “It will buy him some time.”

  “But the justices in Annapolis, might they not be more strict about settling the matter according to terms from London?”

  “Very likely.”

  So, the change in venue would not really help in the end, only delay or perhaps even worsen the blow. Nevertheless, the prospect of a temporary respite seemed to have lifted Carter’s spirits.

  Goodwin sat back in his chair and smiled. “Now, then, you really must tell me how I may be of service. What has brought you to Joppa this session?”

  “A horse, Mr. Goodwin.” And, indeed, a horse had carried him to Joppa, even if a horse had not provided the justification for the trip initially. He might have originally undertaken the journey to help Carter, but now he could use the trip to help himself.

  It would be laughably simple to have judgment declared against his former overseer. Collecting would be another matter, of course, but at least he would have done something. Josiah yawned as his horse plodded leisurely down the road from Goodwin’s house to the Joppa courthouse. A few stubborn brown leaves clung to the trees despite the brisk wind, and he wondered if they would remain in place all winter, refusing to accept the fact it was time for them to move along to the forest floor. When spring came with a crop of new greenery, the old brown leaves would have no place at all.

  He looked at Carter sitting straight and tall on the horse ahead of him. How could the man have so much energy after so little sleep and a breakfast of cheap rum? Josiah thought longingly about the warmth of a London coffeehouse on a cool morning and the smell of nearly burnt coffee beans. It had been an eternity since he had enjoyed a cup of good coffee, and it seemed another might pass before he did so again.

  Betty could never get the beans roasted right; as with bacon, she seemed to burn half while leaving the other half sorely undercooked. By rights, some of it, even a small portion, should have come out just done, but that never seemed to happen. Josiah wished he could bring over one of the well-trained cooks from the Thro
ckmorton house in Sussex. They could show Betty how to roast coffee beans over a slow fire and to tell by the scent when they should be taken off to cool.

  Or he could show her himself.

  Certainly not. He was not going to go around teaching the servants the things they were already supposed to know. It was somebody else’s job to teach them. Besides, he had never actually roasted coffee beans himself, and—

  He was going back to England, anyway, wasn’t he? He could wait.

  But in the meantime he could explain to Betty that—

  Why did it matter? He wasn’t even anywhere near Betty’s miserable kitchen. He was out in a strange carnival land of frontier justice, where men brought their troubles before the courts in the morning and drank them away every night. Or rather, as soon as they left the courthouse, Josiah realized, as a man suddenly staggered across their path and disappeared into the dense greenery on the opposite side.

  The growing sound of laughter and the music of a tin whistle indicated the “town” of Joppa must be near at hand. As if on cue, an opening appeared in the canopy of trees ahead; but before he could catch a glimpse of the courthouse or any of the other buildings, all the horses in the small convoy from Goodwin’s house drew to an abrupt halt.

  “Get your bloody arse out of the road!”

  Josiah craned his neck forward to see the source of the disturbance ahead.

  “Ahhh, get your bloody road out of our dance!”

  Josiah could not see who was talking, but he could hear a lot of laughter in response to this statement. It sounded as if there were as many people blocking the road as were attempting to travel it.

  His horse took advantage of the stop to graze on a few half-dead plants. Josiah observed this with annoyance, but when he looked up he could see a slight break in the trees about twenty yards to the right of the narrow excuse for a road on which they sat in a bizarre sort of traffic snarl.

  “Take your trollops off to the side of the road somewhere. We mean to get through here.”

  “Trollops? That’s an insult to these fine ladies. I believe you owe them an apology.”

  Josiah stood in his stirrups—yes, it looked like they should be able to get to the clearing by picking their way through the woods on the right.

  “Mr. Goodwin?” He could not see Goodwin, but he knew his host was near the front of the convoy.

  “Fine. I’m sorry your women are trollops. Now, get them out of our way!”

  “Mr. Goodwin!” Josiah tried calling a little louder, but it seemed useless. Everyone was engrossed in the brewing fight ahead. He roughly jerked the reins and led his horse into the woods, ducking as lower branches swatted his head.

  The detour took less time than he had imagined. The horse instinctively chose the path of least resistance, and soon Josiah had emerged in the clearing on the other side of the “dance” that blocked the road. He was inspecting his hat for stray leaves when Carter drew up alongside.

  “I rather think they want to fight, but I confess I’m not up for it.” He smiled, and Josiah was suddenly reminded of Miss Carter’s smile after they had struggled to subdue the uncooperative ham.

  “Nor am I. Getting too old, I suppose.” Another man had also followed Josiah’s new trail out of the woods. “I imagine Goodwin is not anxious to be drawn into a brawl himself, although I daresay he enjoyed watching them try to start one.”

  Carter laughed. “I believe they must start earlier each year.”

  The light in his eyes again reminded Josiah of Miss Carter, although he remembered that her laugh had been much lighter, and quicker, somehow. He felt a little funny thinking about it.

  Of course, he had only shared a laugh with her that one time. He had heard her giggle at him many times. That memory quickly destroyed the light, happy feeling that had started to envelop him.

  He looked away from Carter. To his surprise, he found himself staring not at a featureless melange of trees, but into the eyes of a young girl. Well, perhaps she was not so young. She wore the decolletage of a full-grown woman, but her wide eyes seemed childish and unsure. Too late, she changed her look to a nervous smile and tried to reach out enticingly.

  “Care to take a ride, sir?”

  Surprised at the sudden proposition, Josiah could think of no polite reply. “Ah…no.”

  The girl’s smile disappeared, and the wistful scowl that replaced it reminded him of one of the Carter sisters, the sullen one. Elaina, was it? Ednora? It did not signify. The girl faded from his view as rapidly as she had appeared.

  So, it was most puzzling when he found he was still thinking of her some minutes later as the group dismounted in front of the courthouse. The girl had not appeared to enjoy propositioning men, as others around him did. What circumstances had forced her into such a desperate, unpleasant situation?

  “Debt actions are posted on this board, Mr. Throckmorton.” Goodwin pointed as he walked toward Josiah. “Criminal actions over there, and the remainder…” He took two steps past Josiah. “…right here. As you can see, Carter’s case has already been removed from the docket. A debt action of that size should have been brought in to the Provincial Court to begin with—surely, it is their jurisdiction.”

  “Indeed,” Josiah mumbled absently. He supposed this would be a good time to speak to the clerk about adding his action for conversion. He hadn’t particularly liked the horse, but it was his horse all the same; and Ellis had no right to take it. And besides, the animal was worth a substantial sum, and he needed to conserve all of his assets if he was going to—

  Going to what?

  “What are you going to do, Mr. Throckmorton?” Goodwin blinked in the sunlight as he waited for an answer.

  “Ah, I’m going in to see the clerk, to put the conversion action on the docket.”

  “Good. Well, then, we will meet up later, I am sure.”

  Both men tipped their hats perfunctorily as Josiah climbed the courthouse steps. Inside, a number of men were queued in front of the clerk’s table. He rocked back on his heels and resigned himself to a long wait in the cheerless room.

  Why did he need to conserve his assets? What was he planning to do? The face of the nervous, smiling girl from the street flashed in his vision, followed by a vision of Caroline’s scowling sister. A girl driven to desperate means by lack of money. One day, that could be one of the Carter girls—even Caroline herself.

  If Carter were placed in debtor’s prison, there would be no one to run the plantation, certainly no one with the skills and experience to reverse the fortunes of the estate and make the venture profitable. Charles might have managed quite well, but Charles was dead and the fault was Josiah’s. He should have jumped in first to save Caroline; she had been betrothed to him. And the size of the debt itself was largely owed to his improvident management of the pirates. It was his responsibility to put things to rights, to take the debt on himself.

  But how could he? His own debts were mounting. He had not been able to manage his plantation during the last several months…

  Yet it had been managed well on his behalf, managed by a man he had never taken the trouble to know by name. Someone had watched over his interests. Now it was his turn to help the interests of the Carter family. And might not that Someone—Divine Providence, perhaps—continue to watch over his interests?

  Be not afraid. The words washed over him like warm waves upon the sand. These were the words that had helped him before.

  Only one man stood ahead of him now in the queue. From the corner of his eye, he saw Goodwin shake hands with a client and walk toward the front door.

  “Mr. Goodwin! A word, if you please.” Josiah left his place in front of the clerk’s desk to catch up with Carter’s trusted legal adviser.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Caroline pushed up her sleeves as she looked down into the icy cold water in the washbasin. Taking a deep breath, she splashed water onto her face, rubbed a bit of soap onto her fingers, transferred the slick bubbles onto her
face then rinsed with several splashes of cold water.

  Her nostrils filled with the smell of salt pork. It was funny how she had never noticed before that the soap always smelled of kitchen grease, but then, she had not been used to cooking until recently. Now, it seemed like she practically lived in a pan of frying grease at the edge of the kitchen fire.

  She dipped her arms in the basin then soaped and rinsed them with the same speed. Her arm smelled of salt pork, too.

  Despite the chill, she paused before pulling her sleeve back down into place. The old burns on her arm had healed well, certainly as well as could be expected, leaving puckered red marks that might not even be noticeable by the time warm weather came again.

  But did it matter if no one could see the scars? She would not be attending dances; she would not be preparing a new gown; she would never be escorted to dinner. The scars on her arm told the whole story: her irresponsible venture to the Falls Inn, her hard days aboard the ship, the exciting and frightening moment when it appeared they might engage another ship in battle and then pain—the pain of the burns and the greater pain of betrayal when the captain told her he must put her off the Osprey.

  But then there had been those beautiful days in Charles Town, escorted by the captain, almost a real lady in a real city.

  Where was the captain now? Would he come to rescue her? After all, Mr. Throckmorton had stolen her away, hadn’t he? Captain Talbot would not really have left her alone in Charles Town. No decent man could do such a thing to a lady. And he had certainly treated her as a lady those last few days. Well, he had perhaps taken a few liberties. She could not imagine Mr. Throckmorton trying to sit her on his lap as the captain had done on the porch in Charles Town, and by the look on her brother’s face—

  Charles. The scars told of her horrible betrayal of her brother. Her reckless adventure had cost him his very life. How could she face such a debt? She could not. That was why it had been so easy to busy herself with domestic duties. That was why she tried to keep the whole episode completely out of mind. Tears dropped heavily from her eyes as she pulled down her sleeve and turned away from the washbasin. Her brother had come such a long way, worked so hard to find her and then—she had refused to even speak with him!