“Yes, well, a hospital such as that is scarcely a bastion of culture and good taste.” Mrs. Fraser set aside her sewing and reached for her snuffbox.
“Too true, but it does speak to the compassion of our House of Burgesses, and it will provide a valuable benefit to our citizens.”
Mrs. Fraser took a delicate pinch of snuff. “My dear Abigail, it is to house mental incompetents. Not really the sort of place one would want one’s name associated with. Now, if you turned your attention to patronizing the arts—”
“Oh dear,” said Abigail.
“Is something the matter?” Mrs. Fraser dabbed at her nose with a filmy white handkerchief.
“I seem to have run out of black ribbon.”
Merry shifted her aching shoulders. “I would be pleased to run to the milliner’s.”
Abigail looked up from her handiwork. “Would you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, if you do not mind. There are one or two other trifles I could use. Have them put on our account.” Abigail busied herself with writing out a list of the required items.
Merry neatly folded up her sewing and put it away.
With a conspiratorial wink, Abigail handed her the list. “It is a beautiful afternoon, my dear. Take your time.”
A corresponding smile burst from Merry as she understood. Poor Abigail, she could not save herself from another tedious afternoon with Mrs. Fraser, but she could fall on her sword and give Merry leave to save herself.
Abigail waved her away. “And do take one of the slaves to carry things.”
Merry inclined her head. “Yes ma’am.” She had just the person in mind.
She found Isaiah in the butler’s pantry polishing the silver. “I’m going to the milliner’s to fetch some things for Mrs. Benning. Would you come with me?”
“Yes ma’am.” He wiped his hands on the apron he wore to protect his clothing and slipped it over his head. “You want me to fetch the cart?”
Merry blinked. She hadn’t been offered the use of a carriage for her convenience in … ever. The offer sounded ludicrous in its luxury. But they would have more time to converse if they were on foot. Regretfully she declined the offer.
Isaiah retrieved a large basket, and they set out.
“How long did you serve Mr. Benning?”
“Oh, I was his man since we was just striplings.”
“It must be strange to think he is gone.”
“That it is, miss. I never thought I’d see the day….” He shook his head.
“Do you believe Jerusha poisoned him?”
He hesitated. “That’s what they’s sayin’.”
Merry cocked her head, looking up at him sideways. “I don’t believe a word of it. Jerusha would no more harm the Bennings than you. Mrs. Benning agrees.”
His mouth sagged open a touch, and his eyebrows pulled together. “Mrs. Benning said that?”
Merry nodded.
“I surely am glad to hear it.” His dark eyes bored into her. “Do you think there’s hope for Jerusha?”
Merry paused. She didn’t want to provide false expectation, but neither did she wish to dash the tentative hope she saw in his eyes. “Our belief in her innocence means little. We must find the means to prove it.”
“How you goin’ to do that?”
“What can you tell me of Mr. Benning’s business dealings? Particularly as they relate to Mr. Fraser?”
“I don’t know as there’s much I can tell. Mr. Benning’s clerk, Mr. Porter, would know all ’bout that—”
A commotion down the street snatched at Merry’s attention, and she turned her head.
It couldn’t be. What was he doing now?
Graham grabbed for his hat as it tumbled from his head. He whirled to face the culprit. “Apologize, sir!”
Mr. Cleaves crossed his arms. His nose turned up in a caricature of disgust. “It only stands to reason that a man who would choose to advocate for a Negress should be undressed in public.”
Three ruffians, either sons or apprentices, closed in hard by the man’s shoulder.
Graham narrowed his eyes. “Have you a quarrel with me, sir?” He felt Connor taking up position at his own shoulder.
“Why? Do you intend to call me out?”
“Perhaps. Do you intend to continue being an insufferable lout?”
Cleaves flushed, his arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped closer. “We don’t need the likes of you coming to Virginia and stirring up trouble among the slaves.”
The louder Cleaves became, the more passersby stopped to watch.
Graham looked down the end of his nose at the tradesman. “Treating your slaves with a modicum of decency will do more toward dampening unrest than rushing to judgment.” He held up the tip of his walking stick while discreetly redistributing his weight and bending ever so slightly at the knee. “But I shall make allowances for your error. A mere bully boy cannot be expected to understand deeper considerations.”
A hoot of laughter went up from the men surrounding the tavern door.
Cleaves rushed forward, his fist raised.
Graham braced for the attack. He was in no mood to be trifled with, and the jackanapes would get the beating he so clearly required.
“There you are!” A flurry of flowered, beribboned femininity inserted itself between Graham and the charging bull.
The latter stumbled to a stop.
Graham blinked and looked down to find Merry Lattimore dressed in the finest Williamsburg could offer and looking lovely. Her smile might well have been spread on with a trowel, however, for it did not reach her eyes, which snapped with fury.
“I have been looking everywhere.” She looped her arm through his. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She tossed a rosy smile over her shoulder in coquettish fashion then led him away, prattling on about an errand at the milliner’s shop.
Graham glanced over his shoulder. Her manservant and Connor flanked them, while the befuddled tradesman still stood with his arm raised.
Graham’s fingers clenched into fists. “What do you think you are doing?”
“I’d ask you the same,” she hissed. “Brawling in the street like some urchin? Such behavior does not befit the dignity of a magistrate … or a barrister. And it will win you no friends among the gentlemen of this city.”
She was right of course, but he itched to pound something, and Cleaves would have done nicely.
Raleigh Benning appeared at his side. “I saw that.”
Graham glanced at him. “Yes?”
“That was Thomas Cleaves. Don’t listen to a thing he says. He thinks that because he is rich he can do anything he wants.”
“Oh yes?”
Raleigh nodded. “There are many of his type around the college. They beat their servants and families and think they are big men. I say they are small men with small minds. They know nothing of the principles of liberty.”
Graham looked sidewise at the lad. “On that we are agreed.”
Raleigh Benning offered him a cocky smirk. “Many nations suffer the same lack of understanding, I think.”
Graham returned the smile and touched the brim of his hat, acknowledging the young man’s score.
Raleigh nodded, and his expression softened into a genuine smile. “Had it come to open battle, I would have joined your side. Jerusha would never hurt my father, and that means someone else did. I would consider it a service to my family if you find the person responsible.”
Graham halted to turn and look Raleigh in the eye. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I give you my solemn oath to do everything in my power.”
“Thank you, sir.” Moisture flooded Raleigh’s eyes, and he cleared his throat. “I must be off.” He tipped his tricorn. “Miss Lattimore, gentlemen.”
He hastened down a side street leaving Graham to stare after him.
“If that lad killed his father, I’ll eat my stockings,” Connor said.
Graham turned to him. “Hardly evid
ence worthy of the court’s consideration.”
“Don’t mean it’s not worthy of ours.”
“Miss Lattimore, may I present Connor Cray, the most contrary man in the world, and the best friend.”
Merry dipped into a curtsey as she extended her hand to Connor. She was regaining the unconscious grace she had carried as a young girl. Perhaps there was hope that her experiences had not damaged her beyond repair.
“Mr. Cray, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, we met before, miss. Back in Mr. Sinclair’s magistrate’s office.”
Her cheeks bloomed as red as a peony, and Graham caught a flash of white as she briefly caught at her lip with her teeth. But then she swallowed. “Then I am pleased to meet you again in better circumstances.”
“And I you. Gra—Mr. Sinclair was as testy as an old goat until he obtained your pardon. He couldn’t think of anything else.”
Merry glanced up at Graham, and their gazes collided. “Indeed?”
Her coffee dark eyes held his.
“Yes ma’am. He couldn’t sleep for weeks.”
Graham cleared his throat. “May we escort you somewhere?”
“I am on my way to the milliner’s.” At last she broke her gaze.
Graham drooped. Ben Franklin’s electrical experiments might be advanced exponentially if he could harness the power in Merry Lattimore’s eyes.
Chapter 9
Merry turned her face away from the street and adjusted her veil. Her reputation had just been restored, no sense in inviting recognition. She rapped on the door to Sarah’s fine house.
Her fingers tapped a restless tattoo against her skirt. She raised a fist to the door again. It swung in before she could strike, and she stepped forward involuntarily. She adjusted her veil again. “Is Mrs. Proctor home?”
“She’s sleeping.” The maid’s bleary eyes and disheveled hair suggested that she had been doing the same.
Merry plastered on a cajoling smile. “I am sorry for disturbing you, but it is most urgent that I speak with her.”
The maid sighed, but stepped back, allowing Merry just enough room to squeeze through into the house.
“I’ll go ask if she will receive you.”
Merry nodded. Fair enough. She toyed with the fringe on her reticule as she waited for the maid to return. Had Graham been as upset by her sentencing as Mr. Cray implied? Could it be that she had been as harsh as he in her judgment. Or perhaps even harsher. She swallowed hard against the notion.
“This way.”
Merry jumped at the break in her reverie and followed the maid upstairs. She found Sarah still abed.
Her friend extended a languid hand, but retracted it to smother a yawn.
“What is it, Merry?”
“I’m afraid I have another favor to beg.”
Sarah shifted her covers. “More money?”
“No. In fact, I’ve brought your coin back.” Merry plopped the heavy purse onto the mattress.
“Then what?”
“The friend I told you of has been taken up for murder.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth. “What happened?”
In terse sentences, Merry sketched out the details. She could not sit still, and found herself wearing a trough in Sarah’s Wilton carpet.
Sarah shook her head. “It’s terrible, but I don’t see that your Jerusha has a hope.”
“She did not do it.”
“She is a Negress. Her trial will have even less to do with justice than mine would if I were accused of murder.”
“I refuse to believe that justice can only be afforded to the well-to-do.”
Sarah shook her head. “Don’t be naive.” Her tone was a lash, bringing blood stinging into Merry’s cheeks. “Money is only one factor. I have coin enough, but in many respects I am as much a slave as Jerusha. I am bound by my occupation as surely as she is fettered by the color of her skin. Neither of us will ever be given the benefit of the doubt.”
“If we provide evidence that someone else committed the crime, they will have to listen to reason.”
Again, Sarah shook her head, her pretty lips turned up in a resigned half smile. “What do you wish of me?”
“The Nyriad is in port. It was owned by Mr. Benning and his partner. If any of the crew come to your house, would you endeavor to discover whether they have ever heard of any dubious dealings?”
“That ought to be easy enough.”
“Be discreet.”
“My dear, men say women are gossips, but once you get a man gabbing there is no stopping him.”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
“Think nothing of it, my girl.” Sarah offered a genuine smile now, her pique evidently forgotten or at least forgiven. “Shall I send round a note if I learn anything?”
“Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem now.”
“Ah, then now we can discuss what interests me.” Sarah plucked at the fine linen of Merry’s skirts. “Where did you get these new togs? Not to mention the wherewithal to come a-visiting in the morning?”
Graham pushed away from the table and rubbed his eyes. He needed a drink. Law texts were so dry they sucked the moisture right out of a man. His lamp flickered, and he reached to the sideboard for his mug. Tepid lemon water would not have been his first choice, but he would make do. He quaffed the drink and smacked his lips at the tartness.
The piled books glared at him like a pack of disapproving dons. He ground his teeth. He left Oxford years ago, but it had never left him.
Kneading the back of his neck with one hand he flipped the page of the enormous text before him. Hmm. Perhaps if he appealed to the Virginians’ notion of the principles of property ownership. He dipped his quill in the inkpot and began sketching out his defense.
Merry’s image rose before his mind’s eye. Her eyes had haunted him for months now. He would not fail her.
The knob rattled, and Connor stepped over the threshold.
Hungry for the distraction, Graham turned to him. “What news?”
“You owe me two quid.”
Making a show of grousing, Graham dug in his pockets and counted out the sum in the smallest denominations he could find. “I hope I got my money’s worth.”
“I think you’ll be pleased.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
Connor’s rigid stoicism cracked, and a grin split his features. “I thought you’d never ask.” He settled onto his bed and loosened his stock.
Graham smiled back and shook his head. “Out with it, man!”
“All right, no need to shout.” The great lout stifled a chuckle and narrowly averted a bloody nose by beginning, “I couldn’t turn up a hint of scandal ’bout Mrs. Benning. Seems a lady of blameless and upright habits. ’Course I ain’t talked to her servants. Miss Lattimore chased me away ’fore I could strike up any interesting conversations. She told me she’d speak to you later.”
That should be an enjoyable conversation. “Is that it?”
Connor slid him a sly sidewise glance. “Not by a long shot. There is a lad what works at the warehouse Mr. Benning owned. I loosened him up with a couple of pints of ale over at Chowning’s Tavern, and when we were friendly, he tells me as how Mr. Fraser has taken over care of the books in the last two years. He also found as how there were two different insurances taken out on the same cargo. One here in Williamsburg in the firm’s name, and one in only Fraser’s name, taken out by a company down in Charles Towne.
“He would never have known, but for coming across a copy of the policy once when Mr. Fraser was here last year. Seems this ship in question, the Phoenix, sank in a sudden gale. Apparently it was a real shame. She was fully laden, on a return trip from England, and went down within a couple leagues of the port in Charles Towne.”
Graham straightened in his chair. He’d known there was something off about Fraser. Merry would be delighted. “How convenient.”
“Wasn’t it just.”
/> “Did he have the policy, or can he get it?”
“Wouldn’t clap to the notion, I’m afraid. Doesn’t want to be out of a job.”
“I suppose he’ll not testify then.”
“Nope. Looked like a vicar at a bull-baiting when I asked him about it ever so gentle-like.”
Graham rested his chin on his knuckles. “It’s a start. If there was this, there will be more.” He glared at the wall before him as if the answers he sought might suddenly be written there.
They had a good deal of investigation yet to do. Preventing the exposure of a fraud might be enough to drive a man to murder, but who was to say Benning hadn’t been in on the deal? Still, the second policy in only Fraser’s name was suggestive. He needed to speak to Benning’s clerk as soon as possible.
“Do you think—” His question was interrupted by a snore. Connor had changed clothes and gone to bed.
Graham blew out the lamp and stood, stretching.
It mightn’t work, but at least he now had a strategy.
Merry closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun’s caress. The rich smell of the soil and sun-warmed herbs seemed almost another personality working alongside her and Abigail.
“It is beastly out here. I don’t know how you both can stand it.” Perched gingerly on a cushioned seat, Mrs. Fraser swatted at a bumblebee droning lazily near her ear. “Pay attention, you foolish girl.”
Nellie started to attention and shifted the enormous parasol she held so that no bit of Mrs. Fraser’s person should be exposed to the sunlight.
Pink faced and smudged, Abigail looked up from her weeding next to Merry. “But it is such a lovely day, Catherine. Just smell the flowers. Surely such scents are as beautiful as incense wafted before the Lord.”
“Don’t be blasphemous, Abigail.” Mrs. Fraser raised a lace-edged handkerchief to her nose. “All this aggravates my summer catarrh. I’m sure it can’t be good for you to be mucking about in the dirt all day. It certainly does your complexion no favors.”
“I hardly think that matters. I no longer have anyone to impress.” Abigail attacked the root of a weed, driving her trowel deep into the soil and extracting it with a tiny grunt of triumph.
Heart's Heritage Page 25
