Heart's Heritage
Page 22
Surely he had been expecting such a thing? Yet he sat back with narrowed eyes.
“Do you seriously believe that a slave could use as her defense the notion that she intended to run away?”
Merry closed her eyes and looked down at her hands. “I—she did not—”
“I have never practiced law in this colony.”
“Surely it cannot be so difficult. Nearly every lawyer in Williamsburg sat at the Middle Temple for instruction, just as you did.” Her desperate hope was slipping away.
“I had intended to return to England on the first available packet.”
Merry gritted her teeth. Time to discard her pride. “I beseech you, Mr. Sinclair. I know that Jerusha did not do what she is accused of. I also know how highly you prize the ideal of justice.” She raised a hand to her stuttering heart. Perhaps a dash of guilt would help him to decide. She opened her mouth to remind him of the mistake he had made in her case.
But he spoke before she did. “You are correct. I love justice.” He offered her a rueful smile. “I am also coming to value mercy. I will speak to Jerusha, but …”
Merry held her breath and met his gaze steadily.
“You must understand that this will not be easily settled.”
“I understand that Jerusha will die unless someone does something to help her.”
He rubbed his face wearily. “I shall undertake to see her tomorrow.”
He looked so worn that Merry softened. She placed a tentative hand on his sleeve, feeling the warmth of him through linen and brocade. “Thank you.” The words came out close to a whisper. “This means a great deal to me. More than I can say.”
“Tell me all you know.” His free hand covered hers as it rested on his arm, his gaze seared hers with a look at once unfathomable and unguarded. A scalding flush rose through her neck and into her cheeks. She caught her breath.
At last she could bear the weight of his regard no longer and pulled her hand from beneath his.
She cleared her throat, making an effort to sound normal. Carefully she recounted all she could of Mr. Benning’s illness and all that had been done to save him.
Graham proved a good listener. His questions incisive. “Who brought the medicines?”
“Jerusha.”
“Is it possible she tampered with them?”
“There wasn’t time. And besides, he had already been poisoned, though I did not wish to think it at the time.”
“How was the diagnosis of poison made?”
“I cannot answer for Dr. de Sequeyra, but it occurred to me almost immediately. Mr. Benning was covered by a virulent red rash. And he said the word angel twice. That combined with the intensity of his pulse and vomiting called to mind a case my father treated.” Despite the gravity of the discussion, Merry almost smiled. Her mother would have been appalled to hear this conversation. And yet Graham seemed not so squeamish. Perhaps all her mother’s pronouncements had been her own opinion, and not truly representative of his feelings at all. He seemed genuinely interested in her opinion—in this matter at least.
“Why the word angel?”
“The toxin in lily of the valley can cause a person to see a halo around objects or people.”
“When was it administered?”
Merry stared into the fire. “I don’t know. It would not take long for the poison to act. It must have been shortly before he went to bed.”
“Did Jerusha have opportunity to dispense the poison?”
Merry swallowed and then nodded. “She took both Mr. and Mrs. Benning their evening’s draught each night before bed.”
Graham sighed and sat back in his seat. “Matters are not promising. Jerusha had the means and the opportunity to commit this murder.”
“I swear she did not. She would not. As I told you, we had it all planned.”
He held up a quieting hand. “We must face the realities if we are to overcome them. Your own case might have been decided differently if you had understood the weight of the evidence against you.”
She could scarce argue with that. “What do you intend? I checked. We have only three days before the hustings court convenes.”
“I shall ask questions. Luckily, my friend Connor has accompanied me, and I will enlist his aid. I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to absolve her. You can return to England in peace, knowing you have done all you can in aid of your friend.”
Merry cocked her head. “I have no intention of proclaiming my innocence until this matter has been resolved.”
He stiffened and frowned, eyebrows drawing together. “Why-ever not?”
She clenched her jaw. This was more like the Graham Sinclair she’d known of late. “I have grown fond of the children and of Mrs. Benning. They do not need more upheaval in their lives at this time. And besides, if Jerusha did not kill Mr. Benning, someone else did. Surely the most effective means of proving Jerusha’s innocence is to discover who is guilty. I am perfectly placed in the household to search for evidence of the true killer.”
“This is far too dangerous.” He stood. “I forbid it.”
Merry stood as well. “You can forbid me nothing. You are not my guardian.”
He sighed heavily. “Don’t be fatuous. Investigation is dangerous work. If you intend to go through with this, then perhaps I shall withdraw as Jerusha’s counsel.”
Merry shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over one arm, her chill gone. “Then it is even more imperative that I discover who really committed the murder. And I shall start with Mr. Fraser.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Then I shall be forced to present myself to Mrs. Benning and inform her of your good fortune myself.”
She breathed in through her nose. Once. Twice. “I don’t think you would do anything so ridiculous. You are more a gentleman, and more intelligent, than that. But if you do, I will destroy the proofs and claim not to know you, and you shall look like an imbecile.”
Chin high, Merry managed to sweep from the house before she began to cry. It was no wonder he had never married. Who could bear with such a manner?
Grumbling under his breath, Graham shrugged out of his robe. Drat the chit. There were times she had not the sense of a goat. Hadn’t he already warned her of the dangers of walking about at night? She had either the hardest head in Williamsburg or the thickest.
He had no time to go upstairs in search of his boots. And yet there was something valiant about her heedless courage. Sighing, he slipped from the house, taking care to secure the door behind him.
There was no fathoming women. He scanned the street searching for a hint of her passing. Which direction had she taken? In fact, how had she found him in the first place? The situation seemed to sum her up, a bundle of competence and naivete.
He set off in the direction that would lead most quickly to the Benning house. Trotting in double time he soon spied a small figure ahead of him. It could only be Merry. He picked up his pace until he was no more than a block behind. He opened his mouth to call out, but thought better of it. No woman would want her name heralded through town in the middle of the night. Come to think of it, after her tantrum, it might be best to lag behind and simply watch to make certain she made it home.
A shadow disengaged from its brothers and lurched toward Merry.
Graham sprang forward. A yell as savage as an Indian war cry tore from his throat.
The shadow reached for her. Snatched at her shoulder and spun her around. Sprinting, Graham tucked in his chin and lowered his shoulder to barrel into the attacker.
His shoulder hit naught but air, but his knee and shin caught on something that sent him tumbling. He threw out his hands to catch himself, grunting at the bite of gravel against his palms. In clumsy haste he rolled over, prepared to parry an attack.
But no attack followed. The only sound was a low groan. A man knelt in the street rocking slightly, his shoulders hunched.
Well, that explained what he had tripped over, but what in heaven had happened?
Graham sat up. “What did you do?”
“Something my friend Sarah taught me.” She looked smug as she offered him a hand up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m picking gravel from my palms. You might have warned a fellow.”
“I meant why are you here?”
“I followed to make sure no harm came to you.”
If possible she looked even smugger. “As you can see I am perfectly well.”
“I see.” He squinted at her. Mayhap there was less naivete in her makeup than he had guessed. “Do you know this fellow? Do you wish to call the watch?”
The smugness fled, to be followed by wide-eyed horror. “Heavens no. I don’t wish to be found out of the house this evening.”
He clambered to his feet. Eyes still narrowed, he offered his arm. “I’ve come this far, perhaps you would not mind if I saw you home.”
After a moment’s hesitation she accepted. “As you wish, but we cannot make a habit of this.”
Graham looked over his shoulder to find the dark figure still crumpled like a dirty handkerchief. He nodded and restrained the desire to administer a good kick of his own.
Merry flicked a sidewise glance up at him. “Are you wearing house slippers?”
Despite himself he flushed. “I did not want to miss catching you.”
She shook her head, but the caustic comment he expected did not emerge. “I appreciate your concern.”
This was his chance to repair the offense he had caused. “It was the same impulse that prompted my earlier remarks. I care for your safety, though perhaps I could express it in a less heavy-handed fashion.”
“That would be a pleasant change. If you think you can manage it.”
Ah, there was the biting repartee.
He halted, drawing her to a standstill as well, and offered his best bow. “I can but try. Perhaps you will do me the honor of keeping me humble? You are so good at it.”
She turned her face away, but not before he caught the ghost of a smile flicker across her features.
Chapter 7
Merry woke to find herself wedged between two small bodies. Sometime in the night the children had climbed from their beds to cuddle on her pallet. Dried tearstains still streaked John’s downy cheeks. She traced the path with the pad of her thumb. Poor baby.
He sighed in his sleep and turned on his side. Gently, Merry edged from between the children and stood. What she wouldn’t give for a few more minutes of sleep. Temptation pulled at her as inexorably as gravity. She yawned. Stretched. There was much to be done.
Yawning again, she coiled her hair up and covered it with her mobcap. In a few moments she was in the kitchen inquiring about breakfast for the children.
The other slaves had already eaten, and Hattie was in the scullery, so she found herself alone with Cookie. Merry stood with her bowl of mush and watched her for a moment. Despite her age, the old slave woman moved about her tasks with economical grace.
“Cookie?”
“Yes, honey?” She scarcely looked up from the dough she was kneading.
“You don’t think Jerusha did this, do you?”
Cookie stopped then and studied her for a long moment. “No.” She returned to pummeling the dough. “No, I don’t.”
“Then someone else must have.”
“Don’t know nothing ’bout that.” She stared doggedly at the dough she worked.
“What do you know of the Frasers?”
“Nothin’ I ain’t already told you.”
Merry put her palms flat on the worktable. “They’re the only newcomers to the household. Unless someone else came to see Mr. Benning late in the evening.” She reached a tentative hand out to touch Cookie’s arm. “I don’t think she did it either. I want to help her.”
Tears welled in Cookie’s eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ can help her now.” Her features crumpled, and she felt for a chair.
“I don’t believe that.” Merry moved closer and put an arm around the woman.
Cookie’s shoulders heaved, and she raised her apron to conceal her face. Merry’s own eyes stung from unshed tears and her throat ached, but she could not give way to sentiment. If she had any hope of helping Jerusha, she had to keep her emotions under control, and as Graham had suggested, find evidence. At long last, Cookie lifted her face and swiped at her eyes. Without a glance for Merry she stood and settled back into the rhythm of her work.
“How long had Mr. Benning and Mr. Fraser done business together?” Merry asked.
“Sixteen, seventeen years. Long as Master Raleigh been alive. They met while Missus was expecting.”
“Do you know what sorts of business interests they have in common?”
“I don’t know nothing ’bout business.”
“Have they visited before?”
Cookie sniffed, sighed, and turned back to her dough. “Once a year usually. They sail up from Charles Towne on one of their ships and stay for a month or so.”
“How long have they been doing that?”
“Oh, ten years, maybe.”
“Has this visit been different than any others?”
“Don’t know. I don’t see much of the family ’cept for Mrs. Benning. I’d say she and Mrs. Fraser are polite, but they ain’t never been great friends. You’d do better to ask Jerusha or Isaiah.”
“I’ll do that.” Merry pushed away from the table and stood. “Cookie, I will do everything I can to make sure justice prevails.”
The old woman nodded, but didn’t meet Merry’s eyes.
With the children’s breakfast tray balanced on her hip, Merry padded down the hall. Through the door of the morning room she heard the sound of the young master’s voice raised against the softer timbre of what could only be his mother’s voice. Merry paused, glancing to make sure she was alone in the corridor.
“I care not. I am nearly a man.”
Merry could not make out Abigail’s reply. She stepped closer to the door, taking care not to rattle the crockery.
“… what your father wanted, Raleigh.”
“Then it is small wonder I am glad he is dead!” The pounding of boots warned Merry, and she scooted down the hall before it was flung open by the red-faced, tearful young man. He rushed past her, hardly seeming to notice her presence.
In the vacuum of his anger she could hear his mother weeping.
Merry bit her lip, the desire to comfort Abigail at war with the knowledge that she should not intrude. Abigail Benning had been a gentle and generous mistress, but that did not make them friends. It was no good thinking of what might have been if the circumstances had been different. Merry was a convict, and she’d do well not to forget it. At least, not until she could put her pardon to use.
She headed up the stairs and was about to enter the nursery when Mrs. Fraser’s woman sidled into the hall, closing the door behind her as if it were made of porcelain.
Merry hoisted her tray higher and nodded a greeting. “Good morning. You’re Nellie, aren’t you?”
The woman raised her gaze from the ground as if startled to be addressed. “Mornin’.”
She was a handsome woman with tawny skin, but some weight seemed to pull at her, grinding her shoulders down into a stoop.
Merry cast about for a means of prolonging the encounter. “Do you know where everything is? Do you need anything?”
The other woman paused. “I’m fine.” She spoke quietly, almost furtively, as if unused to being addressed.
“You must have been here before.”
She nodded. “The family has been coming here for years, and I’ve come with ’em ever since Mrs. Fraser made me her woman.”
“Do you enjoy the visits?”
“It’s a nice place. ’Course this time hasn’t been the same, what with poor Mr. Benning being killed.”
Nellie glanced side to side as
if worried about eavesdroppers. “I feel real bad for poor Master Raleigh. Mrs. Fraser heard him having a big fight with his daddy right before he took sick. He’s a good boy, but that kind of guilt can eat a boy up. Don’t do nobody any good.”
“Do the Frasers ever bring their children?”
“Don’t have none. I best be getting Mrs. Fraser’s morning tea. She don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Of course. It was nice to meet you.”
Merry shifted the breakfast tray again and entered the nursery. Something Nellie had said niggled at her, but she could not bring the thought into full bloom.
The children stirred as she entered, and she set the tray down gingerly.
She must find time to speak to Isaiah. He could tell her about Mr. Benning’s business dealings. He might even be willing to tell her if there was bad blood between Mr. Benning and Mr. Fraser, provided she could find the right leverage.
Graham rubbed a damp palm on his breeches as he approached the Benning home. He’d grappled with the decision all night, just as Jacob had grappled with God. Merry might never speak to him after this, but he had to see her safe.
He half expected to be turned away as the house was in mourning, but Mrs. Benning agreed to see him, and he was shown into the drawing room.
He bowed over her hand and took the proffered seat.
“I understand that you have been bereaved, Mrs. Benning. I offer my sincerest condolences. I assure you I would not have intruded were it not important.”
She was gracious, but grief seemed to have worn her thin as a tissue-paper doll. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. Isaiah said you have some news for me?”
“Yes madam. It’s in regards to Miss Merry Lattimore. I believe she is indentured to this household?”
“Yes.” A wary light glinted in her eyes. “I’m afraid she is not for sale. Mr. Cleaves has been most persistent, but I cannot—will not—part with her.”
Graham held up a hand. “No madam, that is not my intent. I’ve come from London.” He explained his part in Merry’s conviction and the subsequent discovery of Paget’s guilt.
Almost in spite of herself, she seemed drawn into the tale. She nodded as he explained the circumstances of Paget’s capture.