Despite his apparent goodwill, Merry could not find it within herself to like the gentleman. She watched with distaste as he shoveled another bite into his maw, no more mannered than one of the convicts with whom she had been caged.
“It has all happened so quickly that I hardly know what to do. Indeed, I do not even know what my options are.”
“Surely you do not mean to say that you would consider staying here?” Mrs. Fraser dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
Abigail looked up from her plate. “Oh, I wish you would.”
The houseboys presented the next course with the unobtrusive precision of a well-executed minuet.
Merry smiled at her. “I would not leave you at such a time in any event. There is time enough for me to return to England.”
“Then we shall have the pleasure of your company for a while longer.” Mr. Fraser lifted his glass, and for a moment Merry feared he would propose another toast. He merely drank deeply and followed with a too-large bite of roasted beef.
“Mr. Sinclair, do you have any notion how long your obligations will keep you here?” Merry was desperate enough to turn the conversation away from herself that she had no compunction in throwing Graham to the wolves.
“Williamsburg will miss the presence of such a polished, handsome gentleman.” Mrs. Fraser sounded as distressed at the notion of Graham leaving as she had at the thought that Merry might be staying.
He cleared his throat. “I am not certain my business will be so neatly concluded. Matters of law can often be complicated by unforeseen circumstances.”
“A lawyer, eh?” Mr. Fraser held his glass up for Daniel to refill.
Graham inclined his head. “A barrister. Although I have not practiced in a good while. I am compelled by circumstance to return to my old occupation.”
Mr. Fraser’s eyebrows lifted in exaggerated inquiry. “I took you for a solicitor. I suppose it must be a personal matter, if you would prolong your stay here. Perhaps you are considering establishing a business in Williamsburg. We are flourishing.”
A calculating gleam entered Graham’s eye, and his chin tilted, oh so slightly. Merry had seen that look on any number of occasions, from considering a horse for purchase, to crafting a strategy to confound one of his professors. It generally preceded something outrageous.
“Actually, sir, I have committed to defend the slave woman, Jerusha, against the charge of murder.”
Mrs. Fraser spluttered and coughed into her glass. Graham turned to her, offering his napkin. Her husband paid no mind. He half stood. “You presume on Mrs. Benning’s kindness! I will ask you to leave, sir.”
At Merry’s side, Raleigh Benning also rose. “Mr. Fraser, this is not your household that you can—”
Abigail raised a hand in a gesture as peremptory as a general’s signal. “Mr. Fraser, you will not speak to a guest at my table in such a manner.” Her voice brooked no quibbling. “Raleigh, Mr. Fraser is also our guest. Now, I assure you both that I wholly support Mr. Sinclair’s efforts. I do not for a moment believe Jerusha killed my husband. There has been some mistake.”
Mr. Fraser resumed his seat, his mumbled apology less than convincing. Brow furrowed, he stared at his plate as if he had forgotten what he had been in the midst of doing.
Mrs. Fraser had overcome her coughing fit, though her voice sounded strained. “But slaves are well known for their scheming. It wouldn’t be the first time one poisoned their master. The penchant is well documented.”
Merry sought Daniel. He stood by the sideboard, his eyes staring into nothingness. Did she not realize that Jerusha’s son was at hand?
Raleigh spoke for the first time. “Not Jerusha.” Scarlet spots seared his cheekbones in asymmetrical splotches. His glare dared anyone to argue with him.
Head held high, Abigail stretched her lips into a smile. “I do appreciate your concern for our family, Mr. Fraser. Perhaps we could turn the conversation to less painful topics? Mr. Sinclair, we are most pleased to have your company for as long as possible.”
Graham inclined his head. “Thank you, madam.”
Merry regarded Abigail as she shepherded the conversation through the next course. A formidable spirit lived within her delicate frame. She had to look closely to notice that the skin around Abigail’s eyes was pulled taut with strain, and her mouth was ringed with a tense white line. Her eyes were dry, but reddened, and she blinked often. She ought to rest, but seemed unable to accord herself the luxury.
Merry turned her attention to her plate. She had not eaten so well in many months. Despite dreaming of such a moment, she found she was ill equipped to stomach the bounty. Indeed, she was growing queasy. She pushed the remaining food around, like a child hoping that a detested vegetable will disappear if prodded enough.
Her flagging attention was brought back to the conversation by Mr. Fraser’s raised voice.
“I wonder at your obstinacy, young sir.” Mr. Fraser tossed his napkin on the table.
Raleigh Benning regarded the older gentleman from beneath lowering brows. The smoldering rage in his eyes sent a chill up Merry’s spine. Such bitterness …
“I shall thank you not to presume too much upon our acquaintance, sir. You are not my father.”
Fraser’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “You should be glad of that, my boy. If a child of mine treated a friend of the family, who only sought his good, with such impertinence I should have him horsewhipped.”
“I shall count my blessings then.” Raleigh shoved away from the table. “Mother, ladies, I bid you good evening.” He offered a perfunctory bow before marching from the room.
“You will have to take that boy in hand.” Mr. Fraser was not yet done putting a damper on the meal. “He will require a stepfather to keep him in line. I understand that he ran with a most unpleasant crowd while at William and Mary. We kept him from such things while in Charles Towne of course. But now that he has been returned, he will need watching. A devotee of Patrick Henry, of all people. Those fellows are all rabble-rousers. Mark my words.” He stabbed the table with a forefinger. “You will need to marry again soon. It will require a man’s strength of will to keep that lad in check.”
Abigail sat so still that she might have been carved of alabaster. Only her eyes snapped with fiery outrage. Even Mr. Fraser must have sensed that he had gone too far. Uncomfortable silence settled over the table.
“Mr. Fraser.” Abigail’s voice held an edge like sharpened iron. “I shall be most grateful if you would refrain from such comments. My husband was only buried this morning. I do not care to be married off again so soon, nor do I wish my son upset further with talk of being sent away. I am sure you understand.”
Merry was sure of no such thing.
Clearing his throat, Fraser wiped his mouth with the napkin he had tossed aside earlier. “Apologies. Meant no offense. I’m merely advising you as I know Reginald would have wished me to.”
“I appreciate your concern, and I will call upon you as I have need.” As regal as any duchess, Abigail stood. “Ladies, perhaps it is time we withdraw and allow the gentlemen to enjoy some port.”
More than happy to leave the table, Merry stood and hurried to the door then stepped aside to allow Mrs. Benning and Mrs. Fraser to precede her. She glanced back hoping to catch Graham’s eye. Instead, she found Mr. Fraser staring at her with a narrowed, calculating gaze.
Chapter 8
Mr. Sinclair.” Merry pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders. She glanced furtively around. “Mr. Sinclair,” she hissed again.
He stopped and turned to her, retracing his steps along the oyster-shell path. “If we are going to continue these midnight assignations, you may as well call me Graham.”
“This is no assignation.”
“What do you call it, pray tell?”
“I …” Merry sucked in a calming breath. “Have you matured at all since nineteen?”
He flashed a grin. “Some.”
“I
fail to see it.” She waved an impatient hand. “There is little time for games. I wanted to share what I have discovered.”
“Yes, that dinner was perhaps the least successful I have ever attended.” He drew closer. “And yet it provided a most interesting glimpse into the relationships of these characters.”
“They are not characters. They are people.”
“Poor Miss Lattimore, has life used you so cruelly that you have abandoned all the joy and whimsy I always associated with you?”
Her cheeks flamed in irritation, and it was an effort to keep her voice lowered. “Yes, they have abandoned me. Now, will you please listen?”
At last chastened, he nodded. “Let us step away from the house at least.”
Hand on her elbow he steered her beneath a graceful old oak. They stood close together in the gloom of the overarching branches, curiously intimate in their seclusion from the rest of the world.
Merry’s breath seemed overly loud all of a sudden. The heat radiating from Graham’s body seeped into her, and she relinquished her grip on her wrap. She closed her eyes briefly. What would it be like to relinquish control of herself as well? To just be held? To let him stroke her hair and tell her it would all be well?
“Well?”
Merry blinked. Now it was she distracted by foolishness. “I apologize, I’m woolgathering.”
“Is it possible that Raleigh Benning killed his father?”
She shook her head. “Don’t be daft.”
“Did you not hear the passion in him? The notion of going to London fills him with dread.”
“I’ll grant you that he does not care for the idea, but I cannot credit he would deliberately kill his father.”
“Perhaps in the heat of an argument he lost his head and lashed out in desperation.”
“If Mr. Benning had been killed by a blow to the head I might be able to credit your theory, but he was poisoned. That requires deliberation.”
“He does not seem much affected by the death.”
If only she could see Graham’s face she could read his intentions better. Was he playing devil’s advocate, or did he really think Raleigh Benning might have murdered his father? “I think he is more grieved than he appears. He masks his pain in anger.”
“His grief could contain a large measure of remorse.”
“I am convinced of it, but not because he killed his father, merely because they argued before he died.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t you taking a great deal on trust?”
“Perhaps you have never felt such a degree of fury. I have. I know what it is like to be angry enough to kill, and yet not to strike out. I learned it was possible just before I left London.”
His voice softened. “Merry—”
She held up a hand to ward off the words, though he probably couldn’t see it. “Can you look into Mr. Fraser’s business relationship with Mr. Benning? He is my choice of suspect. I have been unable to learn a thing about their dealings. It’s not the sort of matter they discussed with their slaves. Though the servants know about almost everything else.”
“I already have Connor looking into things. But do not close your mind to other possibilities.” He leaned a shoulder against the oak. “Have you considered Mrs. Benning?”
“Abigail? Why?”
“A great number of murders are committed by the spouses of the victim. And I saw a formidable strength of will in her.”
Merry shook her head. “Absolutely not. Abigail had nothing to do with his death. I would swear to it.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I know her. She is not capable of murder. Certainly not that of her husband. They were in love.”
“We must at least consider her. If you truly want to see Jerusha freed, we must consider someone.”
“I tell you she did not do it.” She dropped her voice to a feathery hiss. “I realize that people are capable of the foulest deeds, but Abigail Benning had no reason to kill her husband. She loved him more now than when they first married.”
He cleared his throat. “What if he had … betrayed that love?”
“The slaves would know.”
“Do not be blind to the possibility.” Stiffening, he peeled himself away from the tree and gripped her arms. “You must be on guard at all times. If you were to slip and let someone know that you are trying to discover the murderer, you could be in grave danger.” He shifted even closer and raised a hand to cup her cheek.
She longed to see his face better, to read the message his eyes contained. Her heart pounded, sending the blood rushing pellmell through her veins and scattering her thoughts.
She had craved this since leaving England. A comforting arm. Someone to rely on other than herself. How nice it would be to simply turn over all responsibility and allow Graham to handle matters.
A flutter of panic plucked at her chest. She would never again make the mistake of blindly trusting that matters would work out simply because it was just. If things were going to be set right for Jerusha, it would be because Merry made certain it happened. Graham might do what he could, but he might just as easily change his mind. After all, he’d left her when she needed him.
The delicateness of Merry’s cheekbone cradled in the palm of Graham’s hand made his heart constrict. Had she eaten anything since leaving England?
She seemed to lean into him, and he inhaled the lilac scent of her hair. She was no longer the girlish miss of his memory, but fully a woman. A groan stuck in his throat as he fought the instinct to draw her closer, crush her to his chest, to feel the press of her body against his.
What would she do if he lowered his mouth over hers? He blinked.
She stiffened, straightened, pulled away. Perhaps she could discern his thoughts.
He cleared his throat of confusion. “I promise to do all I can for your Jerusha. But you must promise to be cautious. I cannot bear the notion of you being in danger again.”
His arms hung at his sides, empty.
“I need to get back to the house.” Her voice held a wistful note.
Mayhap she did not want to leave?
What was he thinking? He had condemned this woman to horrors he couldn’t imagine. It was scarcely a recipe for courtship.
She slipped away from him as quiet as a wraith in the darkness. “Thank you. I know this is not what you intended when you left England. I hope you are able to return as soon as you wished.” She whirled, lifted her skirts, and darted for the house.
Graham sighed. It was entirely possible he had taken on more than he could handle with this case. He rubbed a hand over the stubble forming on his chin and turned toward his lodgings.
Upon entering, he found that Connor had waited up for him.
“Learn anything?” Graham sat on his bed with enough force that the ticking on either end went airborne, as if the feathers had not forgotten how to fly.
“A bit.”
“Spill it, Connor. I’m exhausted.” Graham pulled off a boot and allowed it to thud to the floor.
“There isn’t much to spill. Fraser and Benning were partners in several ventures. They jointly owned three different ships transporting cotton, rice, indigo, and tobacco from the colonies to England and returning with tea, woolens, and the trappings of civilization.”
“What else?”
“An auction house and a silver smithy. Their plantations are separately held, and each has other sole holdings.”
“Any hint of shady dealings?”
“Not a whisper, but I’m just getting started. If there are any grubs under the rocks, I’ll dig ’em up.”
“We may have to begin looking at the son.”
“He’s young, isn’t he? Just a lad?”
“Seventeen or so. Seems he’s cast his lot in with the rabble-rousers who have been putting His Majesty’s nose out of joint.”
“Seems a leap from there to murdering his own father.”
Graham worked at his other boot. “H
is father wanted him to go to the Middle Temple to study law. Zealotry is a strange creature. It can blind an otherwise reasonable person to his own folly. He finds all manner of justification for his behavior.”
“But this is a poisoning. Lads strike out in anger. They don’t usually have the foresight to employ poison.”
“Poison is a woman’s weapon?” Graham paused and glanced up.
Connor shrugged. “Did you consider the wife?”
“I tried.” Graham immediately regretted the acerbity of his tone. “Merry is decidedly opposed to the notion that it is even possible.”
“Merry is it?”
“Not to you.” Graham let his other boot fall, though he would have preferred to heave it at Connor’s smug smile. “She will not dictate whom we can investigate. I intend to save Jerusha’s life, but I very much fear it may be a Pyrrhic victory.”
Afternoon sun streamed through the drawing room windows, setting the dust motes aglitter. Merry watched as they swirled and glided in unending dance. The need to yawn niggled at the back of her throat, and she inhaled through her nose as deeply as she could, trying to forestall the inevitable.
She plunged her needle back through the fine muslin secured in her hoop and formed another tiny stitch. Out on the lawn she heard John’s throaty giggle and smiled. Despite the blow of their father’s passing, the children were fully recovered from their illness.
A bit of iron from her busk poked her in the side and she shifted.
Mrs. Fraser’s too-refined voice carried on in seeming perpetual soliloquy. “The royal governor wrote personally to thank me for my support. He said that without such support as mine, the museum never would have been founded. It’s the first in the colonies, you know. I feel quite humbled to know I had a hand in it. I always say it is important to be civically minded. Our countrymen can learn a good deal by studying culture. It will raise the moral tone. Of course, I quite understand that Williamsburg is a smallish place. It would be difficult to organize something so ambitious here—”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Abigail broke in, a smile crinkling the fine skin around her eyes. “We have managed to complete the Public Hospital. I’m told it will open any day.”
Heart's Heritage Page 24
