Saving Grace

by H D Coulter

  “Understood.” George smiled at Bea and then back at Beth.

  “Get yourselves cleaned up, and rest, and we will let you both know once the person has made contact and we understand where to go,” suggested Beth happily, ushering the men away.

  Once the men had disappeared, and left them stroking the noses of a pair of handsome black mares, one with white star, Beth glanced at Bea. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, but... it just complicates matters, having them here now.” A torn sensation washed over her. She was happy to have Joshua here, supporting her, fighting for their family. He was doing what she had begged him to do. But she knew if push came to shove, he would also hold her back from what needed to be done. She set her jaw and continued stroking the horse’s nose, calmly and rhythmically. She concluded, if it came to it, she would venture past all of them alone.

  Chapter 38

  Drayton Hall, April 1833.

  HANLEY TAPPED ON THE door before entering the nursery. “Good morning, my dear.”

  There was, of late, an undeniable sense of new beginnings to his life, something he had never felt before. At first he had wanted to take the child merely as a jaded form of payment, to enact his ultimate revenge upon Bea; punishment for thinking she had escaped him and believing she had the perfect life with that boy. But now he couldn’t deny that he honestly enjoyed waking each morning, and hastening the few steps down the corridor, eager to see this little girl’s face. He could give her a life built upon happiness, surround her only with good things; she would love him naturally, freely, and with all that she was. One day she would look back up at him as a young woman, with all her strength and beauty, and see only a loving father. And it was here, it was possible. Pushing the door open gently, he found them both on the floor, Grace attempting to crawl to Jessie across a padded quilt, stumbling now and then, but always continuing, with grunts of determination. She paused as he entered and stared at him with her huge green eyes. There was no judgement, no pain. He was just someone who made her smile. Someone she needed.

  “And how are you this morning, my little one?” She clapped her chubby arms willingly to his chest as he lifted her up and touched his face curiously in an awkward pawing motion. He could almost believe she loved him.

  This was his life now; spending his days here at Drayton with his daughter. That would finally make him happy.

  “Did she sleep well, Jessie?”

  “Yes sir, she only woke the once, an’ she ate a substantial breakfast an’ milk this mornin’.”

  “Aren’t you a clever girl?” He threw her into the air and caught her quickly, making her squeal with excitement. “I’m about to do my rounds. Would you two like to join me for some fresh air?”

  “I’ll... fetch her cardigan.” Jessie made her way to the drawers.

  “Meet us downstairs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hanley waited for her on the front porch with Grace balancing delightedly on his lap. There was a floral scent in the air, and the night’s chill was disappearing quickly into the day. She swayed there, supported by his enormous hands, pulling at his hair and prodding affectionately at his bent nose, his brown, long-lashed eyes, and chiselled tanned jaw. He noticed that, from time to time, Grace would look about for someone almost as though she had heard a voice she recognised, its owner waiting just out of sight. He had also grudgingly realised how much she missed her Mama, calling out for Bea, the anguish in her little noises clear for all to interpret. But now she seemed far more at home, comforted richly by Sarah, and entertained meanwhile by his deep voice, strong hands and uncharacteristic patience.

  “There you are.” Jessie had appeared behind the odd pair, and she bent down, about to place a light cardigan around Grace’s shoulders, ready to feed her arms through the tiny holes, when she was met by Hanley’s hand, stopping her.

  “... Would you like me to fetch the pram’ round, sir?” Jessie stepped back and gave way to him.

  “No, there is no need, I’ll hold her.” He gestured for the top, and gently placed Grace’s arms through the holes himself, tugging the sleeves over her rounded wrists. “There. Snug as a bug!” She mirrored his broad smile, kicking her legs out and shouting something unintelligible, but unmistakably enthusiastic.

  For the past few mornings, the three of them walked around the whole plantation. He would explain the finer details to Grace in jest, and explain carefully that all of this would be hers one day, to enjoy, and to manage. Jessie always joined them and not wanting to let the child out of her sight. He watched how the slaves, one by one, noticed the black woman at Hanley’s side, and how low Jessie held her head each time they walked past the cotton-pickers, or walked through their makeshift hob-village. Muttering to one another how there wasn’t even a mark on her, that she was living in the big house now with the master’s child. He knew there was now nowhere she truly belonged. Outcast and bathed in suspicion, she could no longer return to them.

  This morning they cut through the meadows; Grace loved to watch the butterflies flit from one wildflower to another. Hanley used his free hand to pull at the stalks, creating an instant bunch in his hand for Grace to admire.

  “Have you heard from Beatrice at all, Jessie?”

  Jessie paused in her step, thrown by the question. “No, sir. I ain’t spoken to no-one.”

  “Because, I hear that two women, two Scottish sisters, are travelling through the south looking for their extended family – do you not think that such simple-minded subterfuge smacks of Beatrice Lightfoot?” He looked innocently over his handful of daisies to his escort and snapped the head off the largest flower.

  “No, sir,” repeated Jessie, unable to move. “I promise you, sir, we have not corresponded. I do not know where she is. But if it is... I mean, how would she know where we are? Her Mister, he would never let her come alone like that. My guess is that she’s still in Boston.”

  Hanley let the rest of his bunch of stalks fall to the ground. “I told her I would make her come to me and I think she has. I will therefore invite her here, alone; show her how well our daughter is doing and suggest strongly that she should stay permanently. I want us to be a family... but if she does not agree, or tries to take my beloved Grace, then I have no choice but to-”

  Jessie quickly interrupted. “If this woman is Beatrice, sir, then... she will see what you have built fo’ yourself here, and how much you love your child, and... I am sure she will not want to take that away from you. She knows what’s best.”

  Hanley laughed at Grace’s infectious giggle as he tickled her neck with a spare daisy. “It is your job to make that clear, persuade her that this is the only option she has if she wishes to remain the mother of our child.”

  “Sir.”

  “She is to come for dinner tomorrow.”

  Jessie took a step forward and held out her hands, almost pleading with him. “Allow me to make up the house for her likin’, sir, to show her how much she’ll be wanted here. Like you said sir, it is her only option.”

  “Very well.” Stretching his arms up, he threw Grace in the air, causing all the petals she had clutched a hold of to cascade out of her little hands, before she landed once again in his firm grip, the ground around his feet strewn with trampled flowers.

  Chapter 39

  Each evening, their new protector, Mr Adolphus Franklin, moved them from one town to another, booking them into modest establishments and half-built towns. In each place they stayed, there wasn’t much to see, with their wooden buildings, a handful of stores and, if they were lucky, a church in the town centre. Yet, each one had a single large brick building, a statement built by a plantation owner that not only did they own their slaves, but the town and the white population inside. By the third day, they were only five miles away from Drayton Hall. Every night they would find a place to come together and try to form a plan to free Grace and Sarah. Bea had found out Sarah was now Jessie by Hanley’s command. But none of their plans could work. Hanley kept
them beside him night and day. How could she slip past him? And if Bea suggested anything too risky, Joshua put a stop to it. There was a hopelessness descending on the group, especially Bea. What had she been thinking? That she could simply walk into the plantation and take them back and that Hanley would do nothing? If he caught her, this time she wouldn’t escape the noose, not by his hand, not in the lawless south.

  They were running out of time. Mr Franklin had to leave them at this town and return to his store before they missed him, and they now had less than a week to free Sarah and Grace and make it back to the ship before it stranded them for months. They strode past shop windows displaying bonnets and dresses, without really taking anything in. Bea stopped outside one front and gazed at her reflection in the bright panes of glass. She looked tired, as tired as she had been while pregnant with Grace, and the dreams... they had resurfaced too... She caught her breath. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. No, it couldn’t be. She hadn’t had regular monthly bleeds since Grace had been born, but then... She counted back the days and realised that this month hadn’t come. Nor had the last. But she couldn’t possibly think about another baby, when her first-born was missing. If Joshua knew she was pregnant with his child, would he stop her from saving Grace? She hated herself for thinking it but now she couldn’t stop wondering.

  “I think I am going to head back to the inn and rest a little, I suddenly don’t feel too well.” Bea rubbed her hand against her forehead, suggesting she had a headache.

  “Are you alright?” Beth studied her sister’s face and saw the familiar burden weighing heavily on her shoulders.

  “I haven’t been sleeping, that is all.” Bea patted Beth on the shoulder and attempted a smile. “I would like to rest before we meet tonight.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?” Beth asked gently, a hint of worry in her voice.

  “No, you stay out a little while longer. The men are not far away, and I shall be just across the square. I just need... a moment.”

  “Of course, dearest, I understand. I’ll check on you in an hour.”

  Bea nodded gratefully and turned back across the street to head round the square through the park. She arrived at the Inn which was in the centre of the small town, with its painted white wooden walls and shutters on the side of the windows. There was a porch that stretched along the edges of the building, sporting a few wicker seats on either side of the front door. An elderly man sat with a folded newspaper in one hand and a steaming cup in the other. He stared at the people walking past, commenting to himself obliquely on their appearance, or where he imagined they might be going. He had been there last night when they had arrived, again first thing in the morning, and he was there now, looking Bea up and down as she walked back up the steps, alone, but she was in no mood for a conversation.

  She dashed through the hallway and headed straight to their room. The space was cool and dark; Beth must have closed the shutters against the early afternoon sun. Bea pulled at her ribbons, her bonnet slipped off her head, and she placed it down on the small vanity unit. She paused for a moment, and caught sight of a card, with her make-believe name printed elegantly in the centre. She froze, the hairs on her arms standing up with fear. Even Mr Winston didn’t know of their false name. On the back, a pool of solid red wax, with a crest pressed into it. She recognised it, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think where from.

  In an instant the seal was cracked in two and there it was, his name.

  Dearest Beatrice,

  It delighted me more than I can say to discover you had, so swiftly, taken up my offer to visit us in the South.

  The family is well, young Grace is thriving here, smiling more and more each day, and attempting to crawl. She has her nurse, Jessie, with her at all times.

  We spend the days walking the plantation and overseeing the workers, and she sleeps contentedly each night.

  It would delight us to receive you for a little dinner, and kind conversation, this evening, should you be available? I will send a coach to pick you up at six so that you have time to greet Grace before her bedtime.

  As ever, yours affectionately,

  Captain Victor Hanley.

  This was it. A clandestine attack wouldn’t work now. She had to do it alone tonight. She knew Joshua would protest, along with Beth and George, but she had no other choice. And she didn’t have long to get ready. Thankfully, Beth had packed one of her more elegant dresses, the green one she had worn to the gala. The cold water left over in the washing jug was refreshing as she splashed it across her face and down her neck. Using a fresh wash-cloth, she wiped away the remaining sweat. She wasn’t fond of this muggy heat of the south, and it wasn’t even summer yet. She did not know how people coped.

  She sat down at the vanity unit heavily, and placed both hands on her waist, trying to slow her breathing, and took up the small set of quill pen and writing paper the inn offered each of its occupants. If Beth didn’t return in time, then she needed to write it down. She had already decided not to tell Joshua of her plan, knowing he would only stop her; knowing he wouldn’t understand. She wrote a letter to Beth, on one side instructing her where to meet should their escape be successful; on the other side, a loving apology. She paused before starting with her husband’s letter. He was the love of her life. And yet, she realised it was all just words; that her actions sent out a very different message. That he wasn’t worth more than their child, that she didn’t trust him, and that she felt no compunction in leaving him behind once again.

  She had just finished pinning up her hair in a simple design and putting the finishing touches to her dress when the door opened.

  “What... what are you doing? I thought you were ill?” Beth walked into the room, a shocked expression on her face.

  “I received a letter. From Hanley. He knows we are here and has invited me... to go... alone.” Bea held up her hands and stopped her sister’s protests. “We are in his world now. I have to play by his rules if I hope to get them back.”

  “And if it’s a trap?” Beth furred her eyebrows, folded her arms whilst blocking the door.

  “Then it’s a trap.” Bea gazed across at her face in the mirror, observing her own pale cheeks and tight lips, avoiding her sister’s stare.

  “Bea, you can’t...” Beth pleaded.

  “I have to try; we are running out of time.” Bea pointed to the vanity unit. “I have written to you of what to do if I am successful – meet me there tonight, it’s what we have already discussed. If I don’t appear an hour after midnight, then you run - all of you.”

  “Bea.... wait!” Beth stood firm in front of the door.

  “The carriage is arriving at six. I have to go.” Bea grabbed hold of Beth and pulled her in tight. “I love you – be happy. I think George is the one. Above all, know that I am sorry.” She released her and placed three other letters in her hand. “Keep these safe,” she instructed as she made her way to the door, “and give Joshua his letter only if I don’t... if I cannot meet him.” Beth nodded, stepping mutely aside, and the door closed quietly, with only a swirl of skirts and the creak of the handle as the latch clicked back into its bracket.

  Chapter 40

  Drayton Hall.

  THE CARRIAGE TURNED down the drive to the house. Bea’s stomach churned with anxiety at the role she needed to play if they wanted their plan to succeed. The house was larger than she had expected, with its pillars framing the porch, and the gilt decorations wrapping themselves discreetly around the edges of the building. Placed perfectly one storey above and between the two columns was a balcony with French windows. As if on cue, they swung open and Hanley stepped out, dressed in a grey suit. He looked like he was at home here, finally where he belonged. He watched the carriage pull up to the doors, another display of power, before languidly retreating into the house. Bea fidgeted with the frayed piece of lace wrapped round her wrist. “You are my child; you are not his – you are innocent – you are loved – you are mine.
”

  The coachman jumped down and opened the carriage door, offering her a hand. She could hear footsteps getting closer as a spit of sick entered her mouth, suddenly noticing her hands were wet with sweat. She saw the front door open in the corner of her eye, and saw him stride forward, offering his hand as a replacement to the coachman. Her heart pounded in her chest and found it difficult to breathe, as it felt like the lace tightened against her throat.

  “Beatrice. I am so glad you took me up on my offer.” He sounded like the Hanley she had met over two years ago back at the house and Mrs Johnson’s; secure and dripping with charm. How wrong she had been. She wanted to shout at him, to scratch his eyes out for all the pain and heartache he had caused, but she politely tilted her head. “But of course.” Play the game.

  “Before we get settled, shall we head up to the nursery to see little Grace?”

  She couldn’t help but pause in her steps as her chest cried out in longing. “... Please.” He stared down at her, seeing the pain all too clearly in her face at being apart from her child.

  “Jessie has cared for her night and day. She has wanted for nothing.” He encouraged her towards the stairs. “They are in the room besides mine.” Bea nodded her head, unable to talk as she held her breath. The closer they got to the landing, the more she could hear them. A chuckle of pure delight resonated out the bedroom door and down the stairs, causing a blend of joy and grief to wash over her. It was a sound she had missed with every fibre of her body for the past three weeks, and yet it was now somehow a little different. She moved a little faster. “She has a wonderful laugh; it reminds me of yours.” There was a sincerity in his voice there that she had never heard before. “She is a happy child.”

  The door opened, and the sight of Sarah and Grace greeted her, playing with a set of coloured wooden balls on a velvet rug. Sarah looked up first, and her eyes widened to saucers at the sight of Bea. Then it was Grace’s turn to notice the visitor. Bea fell to her knees and stretched her arms.