She inhaled deeply and nodded to herself. It should work.
It would work.
It had to.
Sunset splashed the city with the day’s leftover color as the cart rattled up behind the mansion. The white walls glowed pink and orange, looking as if the house were blushing at some indiscretion.
She couldn’t find it in her to pray for her own predicament, but for Jerusha … What could it hurt? Lord, help Jerusha and Daniel. Help them to be free.
Chapter 4
Graham grabbed Connor’s arm and pointed. “That was Merry!”
Connor squinted after the open cart. “Yep.”
In a trice they were sprinting after the cart. She was in his sights. He could not let her slip away again. He dodged a strolling couple and landed ankle deep in one of the puddles of wastewater that punctuated the street. It would be a miracle if he could salvage his boots. No matter. If the expense of a pair of boots was all it took to shift the weight of guilt this very night, he would pay it and gladly.
The cart turned and he lost sight of it. Redoubling his pace he swung around the corner with Connor hard on his heels. His side began to ache, and he gasped for breath. He pushed on in dogged pursuit, but the trotting cart horses were outpacing him.
He straggled to a walk when the cart turned down a street lined with prosperous homes. He turned and found Connor a few paces behind him.
Breathless, hands on his knees, he gasped, “I think it’s safe to assume that they must be going home.” A laugh burbled up from his belly. “I can’t think why I was in such a rush to follow.”
Connor mopped his face. “I can.” The big bruiser’s mouth turned down, but then the laugh he had repressed bounced to the surface.
Graham put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and bent over, laughing and trying to catch his breath. “Connor, you are supposed to keep me from being ridiculous.”
“No man can make water run uphill.”
“You wound me, brother. You wound me.”
“Not mortally. You look thoroughly disreputable.”
Graham glanced down at himself and realized the truth of it. His boots and breeches were splashed with effluvia from the street. His shirt was soaked through with perspiration and his neckcloth hopelessly disarranged.
Ought he return to his lodging for a change of linen? He could not bear the thought. His goal was within his grasp. In the brief glimpse he had of Merry, she had looked distinctly solemn. What if she suffered ill-use in that fine mansion? Could he live with himself if he allowed it to go on a moment more than necessary? He groaned. There was no way he was turning back at this point. He would see his task completed this very evening. “Come on.”
Together they marched down the quiet street and turned in at the Benning gate. He had decided that he should tell Merry first, so he went around to the back entrance, where it would be more acceptable for a servant to receive someone. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated, licking his lips.
“You want me to do this?” Connor stood at his elbow as always, supporting him by his mere presence.
Graham inhaled and knocked. “No.”
A dignified black man answered the door, and Graham summoned a weak smile. “I would like to speak to Merry Lattimore.”
The children were sleeping soundly by the time Merry returned from the apothecary. She went out to the kitchen for a bite of supper.
Cookie greeted her with a wave of her spoon. “Hello, Merry. Glad yer back, child. There’s ham in the vittles today.”
Merry bent over the pot. “Mmm, smells good.” She heaped a pile into a bowl. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“Company. Mr. Benning’s shipping partner, Mr. Fraser, is up from Charles Towne for a visit.”
“Merry?”
Merry glanced up to find Mr. Benning’s man, Isaiah, standing at the base of the stairs. “Isaiah, is everything well?”
“Yes ma’am. You have a visitor.”
Unreasoning panic hit her like a punch. Who could it be? Had someone gotten wind of her plan? It wasn’t possible. She hadn’t even begun to act on it.
“Do you know who it is?”
“Mr. Sinclair—says he’s a magistrate.”
Merry slumped back onto the stool, face and hands suddenly clammy. “That is impossible. He’s in London.” Her words came out as a raspy whisper.
“He claims it’s urgent.”
“I have no wish to see him.” Pushing to her feet she hurried from the kitchen.
Graham smiled and stepped forward as the manservant returned to the door. He had his hat half-off when the man held up a hand.
“I’m afraid Merry does not wish to see you.”
“Pardon?”
“If I may say so, she seemed upset.”
Graham merely blinked, hand suspended in the act of removing his hat. This could not be happening. It was simply too ridiculous. He had come halfway around the world to tell the minx that he had obtained her pardon, and she would not deign to see him?
The servant stepped back and the door shut firmly in Graham’s face.
He whipped his hat the rest of the way off and ran a hand through his hair. Crushing the hat in his other hand, he slapped it against the doorframe.
“This is insufferable!”
Connor’s lips were compressed in a manner that suggested he might be restraining a laugh. “Why don’t you just mail the blooming papers, and I’ll go book passage for home?”
Graham clapped his hat back on his head and stepped away from the door. “What we are going to do is set watch on this house until Merry Lattimore steps foot outside, and once she does, I am going to slap these papers in her hand and then bid her adieu and a pleasant life.”
Merry tossed on her pallet bed until she thought she might go mad. What was Graham doing here? He belonged in London, pronouncing judgment on the masses. Or possibly at some country home, courting a squire’s daughter. He belonged anywhere but here.
She put her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat. She closed her eyes. Oh, there had been a day when she had longed for his arrival—waited, watched for it like an eager puppy. Nose pressed to the windowpane, her eyes had roamed over the foot traffic in the street. Watching, watching for a tall, lithe form in a bottle green coat and buff breeches. Russet hair tied back with a neat black ribbon. Dark, playful eyes that made her stomach flop like a landed fish.
Her fingertips brushed cool glass, reaching toward him when at last he appeared. She whirled to bound down the stairs in greeting only to find her mother standing in the doorway of her room.
“This will not do.”
“What?”
“Flinging yourself after Mr. Sinclair in such a profligate manner.”
Her cheeks ached as if they had been pinched a thousand times. Humiliation pulsing dull and sharp at the same time. “I just want to see him. He has been away so long.”
“You haven’t the sense of a nanny goat. Ladies do not wish to see men. Men wish to see us. I have told you this before.”
“But—”
“Now, remember yourself, and for once act as a lady.”
Mother ushered her from her room and down to the drawing room, a stiff hand on Merry’s back both propelling her forward and restraining her. She took her place on the settee, hands gripping her embroidery hoop, but she couldn’t make a stitch. Her eyes brimmed with tears, blurring the colored thread like a chalk drawing in the rain.
The door opened and Father ushered Graham in. Despite the weight of her mother’s disapproval, Merry couldn’t resist looking up, seeking his eyes. His delighted smile lit a glow in her, melting the reserve her mother’s chilly words had iced around her heart.
She thrust aside her sewing and rushed to him, hands outstretched. They had a lovely afternoon.
And then he had never returned.
Father’s health had begun to decline, and Graham disappeared, taking with him her hopes of love.
Merry started awake and pressed her fingers
against her eyes. She had to find a way to banish these memories.
Abigail Benning had given her leave to borrow books from the library. Mayhap now was the time to avail herself of the privilege. Anything would be preferable to dwelling on her hurts or basking in dread of the errand she would have to perform that evening.
She slipped from the nursery and downstairs. The door to the parlor stood open, and conversation and laughter spilled out into the hallway.
She started to slip past, but the sound of her name brought her up short.
“Merry, we were just speaking of you, please come meet everyone.”
She closed her eyes briefly. She had been so close. Straightening her spine, she turned back and entered the brightly lit drawing room. “Yes madam?”
Mrs. Benning sat next to a handsome youth. The lad was well formed with an unmistakable air of the master about him. Indeed, Mr. Benning must have looked just like him as a young man. Abigail patted the lad’s arm. “This is Raleigh, my eldest son. He’s been visiting with our friends the Frasers these many months. I’m so very happy to have him home.” Her smile was brighter than the lamps that lit the room.
Another well-dressed couple sat among the family circle.
“And this is Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. They are good friends and partners with our family.”
Mr. Benning hung back, standing behind the settee. A smile turned up the corners of his mouth, but it was as stiff and artificial as wooden flowers. Unlike the others who looked at her as if she were a performing monkey, his troubled gaze rested on Mr. Fraser.
Merry jerked her attention back to what Mrs. Benning was saying.
“Merry has proven to be a most adept stillroom maid. I don’t know what I would have done without her help this past month.”
Mr. Benning raised his glass. “To Merry Lattimore and her physics.”
The fine folk raised their cups and laughed, tossing off the drinks in a go. Merry resisted the urge to smooth her apron.
Mrs. Benning embraced Master Raleigh again. “The children will be so pleased to see their brother if they are awake still.”
“I’m sorry, madam, they were fatigued and went to sleep directly. Do you wish me to rouse them?”
Mrs. Benning looked to her son then shook her head. “No, I suppose not. He will see them in the morning.”
The conversation swirled on, and Merry slipped away unnoticed. Thank goodness she had not been asked to wake the children. It would have been a battle to get them to sleep again. And she had plans for the evening.
Her fingers trembled at the thought of sneaking away in the night. At least the presence of guests meant that Mrs. Benning would be less likely to check on the children every few minutes as she had been wont to do in the past few days.
Merry selected a book at random from the library and returned to the refuge of the nursery. When at long last the rustles and murmurs faded into the quiet of night, she cracked open the nursery door and slipped into the hall.
A floorboard creaked, and she flattened herself into the shadow below the curve of the stairs. Master Raleigh stomped from his father’s study, his face a study in scowling frustration.
Back pressed against the wall, she could feel his heavy tread reverberate through the house, just as his displeasure reverberated through the atmosphere.
Merry glanced at the front door. She was so close, and yet, what if someone discovered her absence? They could add time to her sentence, or even tie her to the whipping tree. Her heart stuttered at the thought. She closed her eyes. Why must she always borrow trouble?
Then she pictured Jerusha’s red-rimmed eyes as she stared out the window into nothingness. She owed Jerusha a great deal, and she had promised herself that she would never sit back idly while injustice prevailed.
Licking her lips, Merry crept from the safety of the deep shadows. There would be no return.
It was time to hie himself home. Darkness had long since fallen, and Graham was beginning to fear he would fall asleep in his discreet vantage point. It was too late for Merry to stir tonight. He would return in the morning to renew the watch.
He stood and pushed his fists into the small of his back. By his count, and he had counted it over several times in the last few hours, they were nearly even. True, she had been wrongly transported, but she had caused him almost enough trouble to make up for it. The thought of the feather tick awaiting him rose in his mind. It was most certainly time to head for bed.
A tiny creak drew his attention. He turned in time to see a small figure slip into the street. He knew that frame. Moonlight crawled from behind a cloud to illuminate her delicate features. What was she up to?
Graham hurried from the shadows to follow. Merry paused every so often as if to get her bearings, but she always started again, aiming for some, as yet unknown, goal. Had she some tryst planned? Or perhaps she was trying to sneak aboard a boat headed back to England. Pure folly. Any convict caught returning before they’d completed their term faced an automatic death sentence.
She skirted the market green and entered another area of residences and shops. Then around the edge of the College of William and Mary and into a district chockablock with gin pits, gambling dens, and bawdy houses. At last she stopped in front of a tall, thin house. A porch lined each floor, but only on the side of the house, making it look like a debutante glancing coyly over her shoulder.
Merry approached the house and knocked on the door. It opened, and after a moment she was admitted. What could the girl be about?
He slipped into the narrow alley between a chandler’s shop and a cartwright’s paddock and settled in for another wait. He would find out what she was up to if it killed him.
Merry ought to have worn a cloak. Though ostensibly a private home, Sarah’s business was all too public to risk being seen here.
At last the manservant who had admitted her returned and motioned her up the stairs. “Mistress Proctor will see you.”
She followed him and was led into a small sitting room. Sarah rose to greet her. “Merry! It seems an age since I have had the pleasure of your company.”
Merry embraced her friend and smiled. “You are looking well.”
Indeed, she was. Gone was the gaudy dress she’d worn in Newgate. The gown she wore now was undoubtedly costly, but much more demure. And adorned by a single necklace of good quality. Her hair was piled high in an elaborate coiffure designed to show off her long, graceful neck. Everything about her bespoke taste and refinement.
“You tutored me well. And this new world has proven most lucrative. I may stay even after my term has expired. Come and sit. I must know how you are faring.”
“I’ve come to beg a favor.”
“Name it. I’m mistress here, and if it’s in my power you shall have it.”
“I need to borrow fifteen pounds.”
Whatever Sarah had expected, this was not apparently it. Her eyebrows flew up in astonishment.
Merry rushed on. “I offer myself as surety. If I do not repay the debt, I shall indenture myself to you, though I must beg you to wait until my term of service with the Bennings is completed.”
“What trouble have you found that you need such funds?”
Should she tell? Sarah knew as much about bondage as anyone. “A friend of mine is in desperate straits. Master Benning intends to sell off her son.”
“Are you proposing to buy him? Fifteen pounds shan’t prove sufficient.”
Merry shook her head.
“Then what?” Eyes narrowed, Sarah stepped back, looking Merry over as if she did not know her. When her eyes reached Merry’s face for the second time, she gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. “You intend to help them run away, don’t you?”
Merry said nothing.
Her friend gripped her arm and leaned in close. “Are you mad? If you are caught … They do not treat such matters lightly here.”
“I know.”
Sarah’s gaze searched her face. “I suppose if I don’t agre
e to aid you in your folly, you will simply find some other means to obtain the funds?”
“You know me too well.” Despite her weariness, Merry smiled.
Sarah shook her head. She looked as if she were about to refuse.
“I would not ask it for myself, Sarah. Please, I cannot sit by and see this boy torn from his mother. They … I must do this.”
Sarah closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “You shall have what you ask, but”—she clutched both Merry’s hands in hers—”I beg you to be careful.”
“I swear I will be.”
Sarah gazed into her eyes, searching for something. A promise that all would be well, perhaps. Merry could offer no such pledge. Matters had gone awry for her all too frequently.
Her friend pulled away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Merry sank onto the settee, absently caressing the smooth arm. The satiny finish glowed in the candlelight. Everything about this house and its furnishings spoke of luxury. Sarah’s dubious profession had at least provided the means to live well. Merry could not begrudge her success, and yet how was it that Sarah had prosperity and independence, while Merry’s struggle to do right had landed her in naught but trouble?
Sarah returned with a small leather purse.
“Here it is, in silver. They wouldn’t be able to pass off gold without being questioned. As it is there could be difficulties. Hard currency is not easily obtained in these colonies.”
Merry stood and took the weight in her hands. “Thank you.”
“Won’t you reconsider?”
“I wish I could.”
“Then take it, and do as you will.” Sarah sounded petulant as she placed a hand on Merry’s shoulder. “I’ll pray for you.”
Merry could not quite prevent her eyebrows from leaping for her hairline. “You will pray for me?”
Sarah grinned and gave her a push. Her old accent snuck into her voice. “Even if He don’t take much notice of baggage like me, I figure it won’t do any ’arm.”
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