“Can I help you gentlemen?” The clerk’s fingers closed around the cup greedily, but he still managed to sound superior.
Graham reclined in the booth, using his own posture to put the man at ease. “I believe you can.”
Porter could restrain himself no longer. He raised the tankard to his lips and drained it off in a long swallow. Graham gestured for Connor to get the man another round.
“I need you to tell me all you can of Mr. Benning’s business dealings with Mr. Harland Fraser.”
“I know ’bout you. You’re defending the slave woman. Not the kind of work what’s going to earn you any friends round these parts, I can tell you.”
Graham retained his slouch, but allowed an edge to creep into his voice. “I do not care to curry your friendship. I simply require information.”
Porter sniffed, but accepted the second tankard Connor shoved in front of him. “Ain’t nothing to tell.”
“Had there been a falling out between the two?”
“Why can’t you people simply accept that the Negress done for him?”
Graham narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, you people? Have other people been asking?”
“Yeah, that Miss Lattimore what weaseled her way into the household. She’s a slick one. She was asking about poor Mr. Fraser just this afternoon. Didn’t find nothing out though. Had to admit he were an upright gentleman.”
Miss Merry was in a fair way to becoming quite the investigator. He needed to talk to her about not trampling the field before him, however.
Graham plucked a couple of sovereigns from his pocket and allowed Porter to see the gleam of gold. He rubbed his thumb over the topmost coin, and Porter licked his lips.
“Think hard. Did Mr. Benning act strangely in any way before his death? Change any of his habits? Anything?”
Porter’s gaze followed the coins as Graham placed them deliberately on the table with a definitive clink.
“There was one thing.”
“Yes?”
“He rented a meeting room from Lorring’s Tavern for a whole month. His nicest one, too, with a private entrance. No one but Mr. Benning was to go in or out.”
“How did you learn of this?”
“I um … happened to see him going in one night and asked around a bit.”
“He was not simply entertaining a wench?”
“He never stayed in there for long. And nobody else ever came or went. At least not that I knew. I mean, there weren’t but the one key.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
Porter held up a hand. “Not a blessed thing. He was a very regular gentleman.”
Graham slid the coins toward Porter a half inch, and the man scooped them up, grabbed his tankard, and bolted.
What could Benning have been about in that meeting room? And how was Graham going to gain entrance?
Merry’s late-night forays through Williamsburg had nearly grown mundane. So much so that when the night watchman’s lantern momentarily blinded her, she was able to summon the aggravated hauteur necessary.
“ ’Ere now, where you goin’?”
“I hardly think it’s any concern of yours where I go.”
“It ain’t safe for a lady to be out this time of night. There’s bad’uns about what would try to take advantage of a pretty piece on the loose.” His lantern swayed slightly, and gin fumes wafted her way.
Isaiah stepped closer to her shoulder, entering the circle of light.
The watchman sniffed. “This fella yours?”
“As you can see I am well protected. Now please allow us to pass.”
The man shambled aside, and Merry swept past, her heart pounding in her throat.
A wispy fog settled into the streets, as if Williamsburg were self-conscious of its taverns and gin houses and trying to hide them from view.
“Maybe I ought to lead the way, miss.” Isaiah spoke in a hushed tone, looking over his shoulder as if expecting to be set upon.
Merry licked her lips. “Yes, I believe you are right.”
Within moments they stood before Lorring’s Tavern. Isaiah led the way around the back. Merry produced the key and handed it to him. He inserted it in the lock, and it turned smoothly.
Despite her bravado, there was a chance that someone would disbelieve her tale of an errand from the Widow Benning. The threat of being sent to gaol struck her anew, paralyzing her. She inhaled and closed her eyes tight.
She had made her decision. She would have to trust God to see her through the next step, even if she couldn’t see the way herself.
Swallowing the acrid taste of dread, she crossed the threshold. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears as she surveyed the scene. The very ordinariness of the narrow chamber settled her nerves a bit.
A table, a handful of chairs, a sideboard, and a small secretary occupied the room. Even the walls were spartan, containing only a map of the colonies over the fireplace mantel and a few wall sconces decked with half-burned tallow candles.
Isaiah moved toward the lamp on the table.
“No,” Merry whispered. “Make certain the curtains are drawn first.”
He did as bidden. His tug on the drapery sliced the moon’s light from the room.
Merry groped forward. Her toe cracked against the table leg, and she swallowed a howl.
“You all right, miss?”
Her affirmative came out as more of a whimper.
The light flared, and she found him eyeing her with concern.
“Stubbed my toe. I’ll be fine.” She turned to the secretary and pulled it open.
For several moments the only sound was the rustling of paper. The letter of assessment, whatever had spurred Mr. Benning’s summons, it had to be here—somewhere. She refused to believe differently. But the moments sped past. They had to hurry.
Lord, please help us find these things. Grant that justice is done in this matter. The prayer tumbled through her, and with it came a sudden release of the worst of her tension. The responsibility for this endeavor did not lie solely with her. Jerusha had been right. Even if she failed, God’s plan would not be thwarted. Even if she never understood the purpose of the suffering, God knew, and in the end His judgment was the only one that would matter.
Fingers no longer trembling, she paged through the last of the documents. They were all as dull as drainage ditches. Nothing.
“Isaiah, perhaps you could search the sideboard.”
Gnawing at her lip, she sat back in the seat and surveyed the narrow wooden desk. With all its cubbyholes and crannies, it reminded her of her father’s desk. She bolted upright.
Could it be possible?
Her fingers groped beneath the shelves. Father’s desk had had a secret compartment that would open only if one knew the trick. Her fingers brushed the edges of each nook.
“Ouch!”
Isaiah looked up as if wondering how she had possibly managed to injure herself while sitting still. “Miss?”
She pulled her finger from her mouth. “Splinter.”
He nodded and turned back to the sideboard.
“It must be here somewhere.” She stood and turned. Her eyes measured and noted every inch of the room. This secret office was too coincidental not to play some significant part.
She stopped in her perusal and turned back to the map on the wall. Was it the uncertain flicker of candlelight, or was there a bulge in the map’s canvas?
She crossed to it and eased it from the wall. A thin leather folio dropped from behind the map and thunked to the floor.
A scraping sound from outside snapped their heads up as sharply as the wind tugging at laundry on a line. Their gazes met and Isaiah bent to blow out the lamp. He scrambled behind the curtains while Merry snatched up the folio, dropped to the floor, and crawled beneath the table.
She pulled her knees up to her chin, making herself as small as possible. The door swung inward, allowing a tiny slice of moonlight in with it.
Her ears strained to the bu
rsting point, alert to every rustle and scrape. The intruder was quiet, but her sensitive fingertips detected his approach by the give in the floorboards. Her own breathing rasped unnaturally loud in her ears.
He rounded the table, and she realized that there were at least two of them. One on each side of the table. She was trapped.
“The lamp is hot.” The whisper sounded taut. “Someone has been here.”
How many of them were there? Merry shrank farther in on herself. Maybe she could crawl out the other side and through the door before they noticed her.
No such luck. The lamp leaped back into life, illuminating the chamber. It might as well have been broad daylight.
A chair slid away from the table, and a man sat down, his knee nudging her.
Merry scrabbled for the other side of the table, but a hand had hold of the back of her skirt and dragged her inexorably backward.
The intruder hauled her clear of the table, and she landed on her backside with a thump.
Graham jumped back, rapping his elbow sharply against the table. “Merry!”
“Graham?”
“What in the devil were you doing under there?”
“Hiding. What are you doing here?” She struggled to untwine her feet from her skirts and stand.
He grimaced. “You must know. I’d venture you are here to the same purpose.”
She thawed a bit. Her chin lowered and a sheepish smile flirted with the corners of her lips. “I believe we have just discovered the documents we sought.”
“We?”
Isaiah stepped from behind the curtains. Just two feet away from where the man had been hiding, Connor sucked in a choked gurgle.
Graham turned back to Merry, and she cast a superior smile in his direction and held up a thin portfolio.
In the wavering lamplight, Graham fumbled with the string holding the documents closed.
“C’mon.” Connor flapped a hand, urging haste.
At last he had it. He unfolded the stiff leather and removed several sheets of parchment.
The heads around him bent even closer. Merry pressed against his side, her hair so close he could smell lavender. The desire to slip a hand around her narrow waist and draw her even closer blinded him for a moment.
What was he doing? He yanked his attention back to the matter at hand with brute force. The first document proved to be a letter of assessment for the Phoenix, produced by a shipbuilder in Norfolk.
“This is it.” The warm whisper of Merry’s words caressed the nape of his neck, and he swallowed hard.
He turned to the next page. “What is this?” The penmanship was childish at best, blotched and nearly unrecognizable.
Dear Sir,
I have knowlige that may be of use to you. There is a more to the sinkin of yor ship then you been told. If you are intrested maybe we can reach turms. I will call at yor convenince.
Jim Nash
Behind this was an affidavit drawn up, signed, and even properly notarized.
They all hunched forward to read it.
Merry gasped as she came to the end of it. She looked to Isaiah. “Fraser turned the Phoenix into a pirate ship.”
Graham rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. Now this was motive for murder. What a devious mind the man must have to dream up such a scheme.
“Then they didn’t scuttle the ship?” Connor said.
“No. He must have used his ill-gotten gain to refit her and put her into service terrifying his competition along the South Carolina coast.” Graham grimaced at the man’s audacity. “A nearly perfect plan. If the ship were ever hauled to, he could deny any knowledge. As far as he knew, it had sunk.”
Merry picked up the thread of the story. “But this Jim Nash had been a mate on the Phoenix and knew her top to bottom. He recognized her and brought the story to Mr. Benning. Surely now we have Fraser.”
She turned to face him, and Graham’s chest tightened. He couldn’t think clearly when he was so near her. He backed away a step. “We are certainly a good deal closer. Connor, we need to find this Jim Nash.”
“Yes sir.”
“We must determine how Fraser managed to introduce the poison. I have pondered the problem all afternoon and have been unable to discover a satisfactory conclusion.”
“It seems doubtful it was introduced during dinner.” Merry ticked off one finger. “And I have not discovered that they met afterward.” She looked back at Isaiah.
“That’s right, miss.”
“Nor did they meet before dinner. I spoke to Master Raleigh today, and he said that his father mentioned an unpleasant interview he would be having with Fraser. But he didn’t say when.”
“That’s right, sir,” Isaiah said. They hardly have time to say ‘good day’ to each other before dinner. Mr. Benning would have waited for a better time to conduct business.”
“What does that leave us with?” Graham had to distance himself from Merry’s warmth and sweet smell. He took to pacing the narrow confines of the room, a finger raised thoughtfully to his lips. As if he could think of anything but pulling Merry close to him.
Connor pushed himself away from the wall he had been holding up. “When did the Frasers arrive?”
Isaiah rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “The morning before the family got home.”
Merry tilted her head. “We took the children out to the plantation for a few days. We were supposed to be home a couple days earlier. But didn’t arrive until the same day you did.”
Perhaps they’d gotten the wrong end of the stick. If the poison had not been introduced that day … Graham whirled on the old slave. “Did Mr. Fraser have the use of Mr. Benning’s study during that time?”
“Yes sir.”
“And Mr. Benning was already upset with him?”
“Yes sir.”
“One more question. Did Mr. Benning habitually take anything in the evening? A glass of brandy or port?”
Isaiah shook his head. “No sir. I mean, he did sometimes, but not regular-like.”
Graham hung his head. Blast. Mr. Benning had been known as a man of regular habits. Surely it was likely that the murderer had counted on that foible to execute his plan. Nothing else made sense.
“There was his tincture though.”
“What?”
“A patent medicine Mr. Benning swore by. Said he’d never had a day’s sickness since takin’ that stuff.”
“Had he been taking this medicine long?”
The corner of Isaiah’s mouth quirked up. “At least five years. He hid it in his study though, and took it before bed each night ’cause Missus didn’t like it. She said it was quackery, and it’d kill ’im one day.”
“And it did.” Graham smacked his hands on the desk. “Fraser must have known the jig was up and set out from Charles Towne with murder in his heart. Things worked perfectly to his purposes. He was familiar with Benning’s habits. All he need do was place the poison in the medicine and then wait for Benning to poison himself.”
“If we find the bottle, perhaps an apothecary or chemist can discover if it yet contains poison.” Merry’s eyes glittered so brightly with hope that it hurt to look at her. What if he should yet fail?
“Surely Fraser will have destroyed it,” Connor said.
“We must at least look,” Merry said.
Graham held up a hand. “Merry, if you find it, bring it to me before court in the morning. If I do not hear from you, I will assume it was destroyed. Connor will search for this Jim Nash. By the grace of God, we will save an innocent life.”
Chapter 12
Merry bounced impatiently from one foot to the next as she waited for Isaiah to produce the tincture.
A grin nearly split her face in two as he pulled a small green bottle from the very back of the desk drawer.
Professor Cardew’s Tincture for the Restoration of Health and Spirits.
“We have him.” It was only then she looked up to find Isaiah frowning. “What is it?”
&n
bsp; “This here’s empty. He weren’t even halfway through his last one. I knows ’cause I always bought the new ones for him.”
Her spirits plummeted like a pheasant hit by a fowling piece. “I had so hoped.” Sighing, she pressed the bottle tight. “Perhaps the chemist will be able to swab it out and get enough to test.” She tried to smile.
“I’ll be praying on it, Miss Merry. You can be sure of that.”
“Thank you, Isaiah.”
She trudged up the stairs to her room. Thank heavens for Graham. At least he would do all he could for Jerusha. She could not ask for a more valiant defender. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of his head bending nearer as he inhaled the scent of her hair. In decency she ought to have pulled away, but she couldn’t. He had seen her at disadvantage so often that she could not refuse the opportunity to be attractive in some measure.
She unpinned her hair and rang for Hattie to help doff her finery.
The memory of his shock at finding her beneath that desk brought a smile to her lips. He had looked fit to faint. How ironic that his breaking in to a tavern had proven to her he was a man of principle, just as her father had always believed.
Lighting a candle required too much effort. Once Hattie had helped her from her bodice and skirts, Merry slipped into her nightdress and headed for bed. Even if she could not fall asleep, it would be nice to stretch out and close her eyes. It was almost over.
The sheets were cool as she slid between them. She rested her head on the feather pillow and allowed her eyes to drift shut.
Her foot nudged something and she froze. A bed warmer gone cold?
Something shifted. Slithered. Searing pain sliced through her foot. She screamed. Flailing against the covers that seemed to pin her in place, she rolled from the bed, landing with a thud on the floorboards. Tears stung her eyes. Her foot throbbed. She couldn’t stand. She crawled away.
Her door was flung open, and Daniel rushed in. Hard on his heels, Abigail, the Frasers, and several of the slaves poured through the door in search of the commotion.
Merry pointed with a shaky hand to the bed. “Snake.”
Snatching up the tongs from the fire, Daniel prodded the bedclothes. Abigail joined Merry on the floor, wrapping her in an embrace. “Are you injured?”
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