Heart's Heritage

by Cecil, Ramona K. ; Richardson, Lisa Karon;

  Merry hugged her. “I must go before I’m missed. Take care of yourself.”

  “And you.”

  Merry slipped back down the stairs and out the door. The weight of the purse made her feel conspicuous. If it should be stolen … Summoning her courage, Merry breathed a prayer. She really ought to have brought a cloak, and to the devil with the rain.

  She tiptoed down the porch steps and out to the street, one hand on the purse to keep the coins from jangling. She knew the way now though. It oughtn’t take long to get home.

  A parcel of black-gowned students from the college swung around the corner, and she darted into an alley. The boisterous pack launched into a drinking song. Window sashes clattered open, and sleeping householders hurled invectives. One of the disgruntled neighbors may have thrown something, too, judging from the loud grunt and slurred guffaws.

  Merry shivered in her hiding place and wrinkled her nose. With her usual good sense, she had hidden next to someone’s privy. She sighed and willed the inebriated scholars to pass on. At last they did so, and she emerged into the street.

  A misty rain crowded in, both miserably wet and curiously dry. Merry hunched forward. She’d be lucky to survive this night’s outing. Water leached into her shoes, turning her feet clammy. The soles had been worn through since arriving in Virginia, and she had not the funds to replace them, or was that the Bennings’ duty?

  It did not matter at the moment. All that mattered was that the water from the streets was soaking through her stockings. She shivered. Behind her she heard the sound of another step.

  Her heart skipped a little as if encouraging her to speed up. Suddenly cold in addition to wet, she sped up to a trot.

  There it was again. Was someone following her or merely traveling in the same direction? Again, Merry picked up her pace, hurtling through the narrow streets in search of sanctuary.

  A hand gripped her shoulder. She opened her mouth to scream.

  Chapter 5

  Merry, it’s me.”

  Strangling the cry for help, Merry turned to face Graham Sinclair. He loomed above her in the night, tall and lean. Handsome face clean and gleaming, his hair neatly tied behind with a black bow. If he had the sense of a gnat, he would fear her. She curled her fingers into her skirts to keep from striking him.

  “Why are you skulking about so late at night?” she demanded.

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  He held up a hand. “Miss Lattimore, I know I must not appear to be your greatest friend, but I have been working diligently on your behalf.”

  “Oh yes, I know.” Her nostrils flared as if she smelled something even worse than Newgate. “You saw me committed to the blackest hole in England, with nothing to look forward to but death.”

  The force of her anger scored his brow with deep ridges. “Miss Lattimore, I did no more than my duty.”

  “Have you come to gloat then? I confess I do not understand it. My family and I were ever kind to you.”

  His other hand joined the first in a placating gesture, though his voice grew harsh. “I had no choice in the matter. The evidence against you was too strong.”

  Her skin flamed beneath his scrutiny. Clinging to the tail of her anger, she held her arms out wide as if modeling a new gown. “Allow your eyes to drink their fill. I have been brought low by the Pagets and your false sense of duty. I hope you are proud of all you have accomplished.”

  She could see the bob of his Adam’s apple despite his stock.

  The furnace of humiliation churning within her made even her eyes burn. He stepped back. His outstretched palms made him appear a supplicant. “I have no interest in seeing you brought low. Indeed, I owe your father too much for me to rejoice at your plight. I came to Virginia to find you.”

  “Surely you didn’t assume I would desire your acquaintance after all that transpired. And why would you wish mine? I am nothing but a thief to you.”

  “Quiet.” Graham held a finger to his lips. “Are you trying to draw the attention of the watchmen?”

  She turned on her heel. “I did not desire this conversation at all. You accosted me.”

  “I know you didn’t steal the jewels.”

  It was perhaps the only thing that could have made her stop and turn back. “You know?”

  “Near the end of May the jewels turned up missing again. Upon investigation it was discovered that Lucas Paget had stolen them. It seems he was also the one to place them in your valise.”

  “Did he hate me so much?”

  “It seems he feared you would tell his mother of his gambling debts.”

  Merry shook her head. “His debts? Surely, she already knew?”

  “Not their full extent, I think.”

  “Do you mean to say that he purposely made it appear as if I had stolen those gems in order to discredit anything I might have told his mother?”

  Graham shrugged.

  She inhaled, fighting down a rage that stole her breath and blinded her. How could anyone be so depraved? So … so heedless of how their actions injured another person? She reached for a nearby wall to anchor herself. White-hot energy pulsed through her. The way she felt at the moment she could swim back to England and administer the thrashing Paget deserved.

  Graham stepped closer. His eyes held a depth of understanding that prodded at her vitals. She closed her eyes against his sympathy. Despite herself she had been trying to salvage some sort of meaning from the madness. But no. It had all been senseless. A tragic waste. She shook off the gentle hand he placed on her arm and bared her teeth in a snarl.

  “Have you come all this way to tell me that I’m innocent?”

  “No.” He whipped off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve come because I have obtained a pardon for you.”

  “What?” Merry took a step back. The world spun and contracted.

  “When I discovered the truth I petitioned the king and obtained a pardon.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “Contrary to what you seem to think, I believe in justice and honor.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I do not know what to think.”

  “You used to think me a friend.” His voice was as gentle as the mist. He opened his jacket and pulled out an oilskin-wrapped packet, which he extended toward her.

  Merry took it in trembling fingers. Home. She could go home. She could not speak. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Mayhap they would mix with the rain and he would not notice in the dark.

  “Everything you need should be in there. If you wish, I will come to the Benning home tomorrow and explain it all. They may not want to let you go after having paid for you.”

  She opened her mouth to thank him when a sick feeling settled in her stomach. If she left the Bennings now, there would be no way she could help Jerusha and Daniel. Her hands began to tremble. “That will not be necessary.”

  The weight of the money pouch tugged at the waist of her skirt. She could forget that any of this had ever happened. Just book passage on the next ship leaving Virginia.

  Graham was looking at her with an intensity that unnerved her. Could the man read her mind? She cast about for a means of explaining her reluctance. “They have been very good to me. Once they see the documents they will be just.”

  He gazed down at her, searching her face. “Are you certain? It would pain me a great deal to have gone to all this trouble and then for you to remain trapped here.”

  “By all means we must be certain that you are spared any pain.”

  He pulled back, the moon glinting on the hurt in his eyes.

  Merry swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I ought not to have said that. But I prefer to handle this matter myself.”

  “Then I bid you adieu.” Stiffly he turned away.

  “Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Yes?”

  “I… Thank you. You have accomplished something I never dreamed possible.”

  He stepped back to her side and took her hand in his. “Miss
Lattimore, I am so dreadfully sorry for all that has befallen you, and for my part in it.”

  The warmth of his hand encircling hers sent a shiver up her spine. She looked up, searching his face, but shadows hid his eyes.

  “My father said you had the most finely honed sense of honor he ever encountered.”

  He chuckled. “Of late, it has caused me a great deal of trouble.” He took her hand and laid it on his bent arm. “Please allow me to see you back to the Benning house.” He made no move to lead her away.

  Merry could not seem to move or even to tear her gaze away from his. Almost dreamily he raised a hand and cupped her cheek. “You’ve not been harmed, have you?”

  “No.”

  “You relieve my mind greatly.” As if suddenly realizing the inappropriateness of his proximity he turned and strolled with her as if they were on the Strand in London rather than the backwater of Williamsburg.

  The loss of his warmth was a kind of bereavement, but Merry attributed her desire for closeness to the chill of the rain.

  Her foot slipped in something thick and viscous, and the coins in Sarah’s pouch clanked. He glanced at her sharply but didn’t comment, and she chose not to explain. It was not his affair. He would likely interfere if she confided in him. What he did not know, he could not divulge.

  “Mrs. Paget’s lady’s maid, Grace, gave me your valise. I have it in my lodgings. Will you receive me if I bring it to you tomorrow?” His playful tone covered a wounded note.

  It was Merry’s turn to ignore what she did not wish to confront. “You’ve seen Grace? How was she? I was so concerned when I left.”

  “She seemed hale and hearty. I doubt any of them were surprised to see Lucas Paget come to a bad end.”

  He fulfilled her desire for news from England, describing every detail he could recall of his interviews with the Pagets’ servants. He even made her laugh as he described Lucas’s ignominious arrest.

  Merry would never have dreamed that she would find herself in such a situation, and yet here she was, walking in the rain in the middle of the night with Graham Sinclair, and nearly enjoying herself.

  Having reached the Benning home, Merry left Graham at the gate and continued on alone. She slipped in the same door she had left by and bolted it behind her. She crept up the stairs. No one stirred, though she thought she saw the gleam of Daniel’s eyes as she passed his pallet in the hall.

  She breathed more easily once she slipped into the nursery. Hastily she hid Sarah’s purse and the documents regarding her pardon.

  Then she gladly changed out of her wet dress and donned a dry nightgown. She towel dried her hair and lay down on her pallet. It felt so good to lie flat. She stretched out and sighed, listening to the rain that had picked up pace until it drummed in steady cadence against the roof.

  In just a few days this would all be over, and she could go home to England. She practiced saying it aloud. “England.”

  Somehow the notion had become ephemeral, as difficult to conceive as the drops of water in the ocean. She shifted on her pallet, kneading the straw inside into more comfortable lumps.

  Despite the chill in the air, she broke into a sudden sweat. No. Oh no. What had she done? In borrowing money for Jerusha, she had offered herself as surety. It had all seemed so distant and tenuous. Jerusha would have found the means to repay the debt before Merry’s years of service were completed with the Bennings. But now …

  Perhaps they could get by on less. It mightn’t be as easy for them to escape, and especially for them to start a new life, but they were used to handling difficulties. Certainly they were more used to poverty than stewardship.

  Merry rolled over again, the metallic taste of shame on her tongue.

  Had exposure to crooks and ruffians robbed her of her sense of justice? And yet, what benefit had justice ever provided her? Why should she not grasp at her opportunity for freedom?

  “To do justly, and to love mercy.” As if in a hazy mirror, an image of her father’s face rose to the forefront of her mind. She shook her head to banish the vision. He had loved to speak of ideals, but there were no ideal situations, only chasms of chance to be avoided. It seemed that if she did not fall into this one, there was another nearby, yawning wide to swallow her.

  A rustle, a murmur, a clatter in the hall. Chewing on her lip guiltily, Merry sat up. She swept back the coverlet, tiptoed to the door, and opened it a scant few inches.

  Jerusha stood in huddled conversation with Daniel on the other side. She glanced up as Merry peeked out. “Master’s ill. Come quick.”

  Merry nodded and slipped through the door, as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the children.

  A cluster of slaves and visitors stood in the hall outside the master’s room. They opened a path for her, and she entered to find Abigail Benning clinging to her husband’s hand. The room stank of the vomit that befouled the bedding and floor. Red welts splotched Mr. Benning’s face and chest. He opened his mouth to speak, and his features contorted. Veins corded his neck and stood out in stark relief at his temples.

  Tears streamed down Abigail’s cheeks. “Help him, please.” The terror in her eyes tugged Merry forward.

  “We need to stop him from vomiting,” Jerusha said.

  His eyes rolled back in their sockets. “Angel.” He reached a hand toward Merry.

  “No.” Merry put a hand on Abigail’s arm to draw her attention from her husband’s agony. “The vomiting is good. His body is trying to purge itself of some evil humor.”

  Abigail looked deeply into her eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Listen to what she says.”

  “Has a physician been summoned?”

  Jerusha stepped forward. “I sent Daniel.”

  “Hattie, I need towels and water. Jerusha, I will need marshmallow.”

  Both slaves sped from the room, their skirts whipping up a breeze.

  Merry took Mr. Benning’s wrist, trying to find the speed of his pulse.

  Harsh and pointed, the blood pounded through his vessels in angry surges. The skin was flushed and hot, and carmine blotches blossomed on his arms and hands. His eyes fluttered shut. She opened the lids to find they had rolled back in his head.

  She had seen something like it once when her father had been summoned to tend to an emergency while they had been on an outing together. Surely this could not be the same thing? She shook her head.

  Not poison.

  Someone handed Merry the water and towels she had requested. She soaked one of the towels in the basin and wrapped it around the master’s neck. She spoke soothingly and wiped the sweat from his forehead with another dampened towel.

  Jerusha returned with an entire basket of medicinal herbs from the garden, each labeled and preserved in its own paper packet. She had also thought to bring the mortar and pestle and the bloodletting kit from the stillroom.

  “You are ahead of me, Jerusha. Thank you.”

  Jerusha took the towel from her hand. “I’ll do this.”

  Merry met her gaze and nodded. “I need some lukewarm rose tea.”

  “I’ll get it.” Isaiah hurried from the room.

  Merry flipped through the packets until she found the marshmallow. She unfolded the packet, tapped some into the mortar, and began to grind the dried leaves into powder.

  The voices in the hall escalated in timbre.

  Isaiah appeared at her side with a pitcher of tea.

  She mixed a dose of powdered marshmallow into the tea.

  “Help me hold his head.”

  Jerusha and Isaiah held his head still as Merry put the cup to his lips and slowly tipped in a sip. He gurgled and gasped. His eyes popped open.

  Abigail murmured soothing noises. The rigidity in his frame relaxed slightly when his gaze found her.

  “Angel.” Again that single strange word.

  The night spun out in jerky starts, as if time were a spool of yarn fitfully unwound. The marshmallow seemed to curb the violence of the purging, but his pulse re
mained hard and driven. With Jerusha’s help, Merry made a tincture of hawthorn and administered it.

  Another shifting in the hall and Dr. de Sequeyra arrived. “What is this then?”

  Abigail dissolved into incoherent tears.

  The slaves pulled back, looking to Merry. She outlined the symptoms she had observed and the physic she had administered. “I had thought to bleed him, but the pulse was so forceful I feared he would lose more than necessary.”

  The dignified physician nodded and opened his bag. He pulled out a lancet and scalpels. “Very right. He seems to be resting more comfortably now.” He picked up his instruments and turned to the bed.

  “The writhing has slowed,” Merry said, racking her tired brain to provide all the details her father would have required in the same circumstance.

  “You did well. Perhaps you could assist me further?”

  “Yes sir. My father was a physician.” She glanced up to find the good doctor regarding her approvingly.

  He nodded directly. “See what you can do about relieving us of our audience.”

  Licking her lips, Merry did as she was bidden. Only Abigail refused to be shooed away. She stayed at her husband’s side, never releasing her grip on his hand.

  Dr. de Sequeyra kept Merry moving throughout the night as they fought for Reginald Benning’s life. Somewhere around dawn, bloody spittle began to dribble from his mouth.

  Merry quickly dabbed it away and glanced up to see if Abigail had seen.

  They had lost.

  By midmorning, he was dead.

  The sun spread the town with a butter-colored glow. Graham led Connor around to the back entrance of the Benning home. He breathed in deeply, feeling a hundred pounds lighter. True, Merry hadn’t initially reacted as he would have liked, but she had softened by the time he had seen her home. It wouldn’t take long to convince her to return with him. It wasn’t as if she had a great number of options at her disposal.

  Merry’s valise banged against his leg. The return of her things might even beguile a smile from her.

  He knocked on the frame of the open door. Connor came up beside him, as stiff and alert as a bird dog on the scent. Graham’s smile withered as he took in a more careful account of the house and grounds.