Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Duncan felt restless. Surely something would happen soon. He’d made certain Brigit viewed things she could easily steal and pawn. For a while he’d almost forgotten himself. He’d managed to track Brigit into the parlor and immediately snagged the twins as an excuse to go in and monitor the maid. Brigit ended up teaching the girls a simple tune on the piano. When they’d each learned it, she set them a few octaves apart and let them play it as a duet. They made up several silly lyrics to go along with the music, and Duncan had to admit Brigit was quick to find a rhyme and had a sense of whimsy.

  She’d also not forgotten to do her tasks; once she had Julie and June set up on the piano bench, Brigit flipped the cushions, plumped the pillows, and rolled up a rug. Not long thereafter, Duncan saw her fling that very rug over a line and beat it. Cold as it was outside, she’d come back in with rosy cheeks.

  He refused to be beguiled by her pretty face. Sooner or later she’d slip up, and he’d know it. Duncan sensed that time was at hand. He’d retired to his bedchamber, but rest eluded him. Duncan finally took off his shirt and shoes yet restlessly prowled until he got rid of some of his energy. At long last, he looked out in the hall, yawned, and left his door ajar. He didn’t bother to fold back his bedding—he lay atop the counterpane and dozed.

  The slightest rustle and click woke him.

  Chapter 15

  Brigit woke to a shout. She yanked on a robe and hastened into the hallway. Lee, Trudy, and Fiona stumbled from their rooms, too.

  “Did someone die?” Lee quavered.

  Trudy ran for the stairs. As she struggled to yank open the oftentimes stubborn door, she wailed, “If somethin’s awrong, I’m finding Duncan. He’s strong enough to protect me!”

  Fiona tromped down the stairs, fluttering her hand under her nose and muttering, “That perfume she’s wearin’ is strong enough to revive Goliath and make him keel over dead a second time.”

  By the time Lee and Brigit reached the second floor, the family was up and standing in a knot by the master suite. The children were in nightshirts, and Miss Emily’s flannel nightgown peeped out from beneath her roomy shawl. Mr. John had his arms around Miss Emily, who was weeping.

  Duncan wore a pair of black britches and a blacker scowl. He folded his arms akimbo and spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ve been patient far too long. Enough. Enough, I say. Whoever’s the thief, confess now.”

  “Thief?” Trudy’s gasp conveniently bumped her right up against Duncan.

  Duncan righted her and took an aggressive step forward. He shoved the children behind his back. “The ring. I want it now.”

  “What ring, Unca Duncan?” Phillip asked as he scratched the cowlick at the back of his head.

  “Anna’s wedding ring.” His voice rivaled a thunderclap.

  “Anna’s got a wedding ring?” Fiona yawned. “That makes no sense at all. The lass isn’t even betrothed yet.”

  “Timothy’s mother was named Anna,” John said somberly. He continued to shelter his wife in his arms and rub his hands up and down her back. “Emily kept the little gold band in a special place. It was to go to Timothy’s wife someday.”

  “No further explanations,” Duncan rasped. “Everyone is to go to his or her room. One at a time, you’re to visit the necessary. Open the laundry chute, then close it. Whoever took the ring is to slide it down the chute. We’ll not be able to determine who took the ring, so you can keep your wicked little secret.”

  Emily wiped her eyes and quavered, “Whoever took it, I just want it back. If you’re in dire straits and needed money, you could have come to me. I’d have willingly helped you. I still will. Please—just give back Anna’s ring!”

  Brigit blinked to keep from crying along. She swallowed hard and held her hands tightly together at her waist. She’d once had a ring—a pretty little emerald Mum had given her for her thirteenth birthday. What a treasure it had been—a symbol of her becoming a young lady. When they’d arrived in America, Da barely had any money left. Brigit had sneaked away the second afternoon and pawned her ring. They’d eaten three meals before Mum noticed Brigit’s ringless finger. The memory still tore at Brigit—not because of the sacrificed ring, but because of the anguish on Mum’s face. Miss Emily looked as bereft as Mum had.

  “Back to your rooms now.” Duncan looked fearsome as could be, and Mr. John had his hands full trying to calm Miss Emily.

  June stared up at her uncle with saucer-sized eyes and tugged on the leg of his trousers. “I’m not big enough to open the laundry door.”

  Julie added, “Me neither.”

  Duncan’s craggy face softened for a moment as he bent down and rumbled, “Now there’s a fact, but I’ll not fret over it. Neither of you is tall enough to have reached the ring in the first place.”

  Titus poked Phillip in the side. “That leaves you out, too, shrimp. You’re too short.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are, too!”

  “Boys!”

  Phillip got up on his toes and stood shoulders to ribs with Titus. “I opened it before and threw Julie’s do—” He cut off the word and flushed brightly.

  “Phillip, you’ll keep those feet on deck here.” Duncan set his hand on the lad’s shoulder to make his point. “I’ll deal with you about the doll.”

  Emily pulled away from John. “Phillip, did you take the ring?”

  “Why would I want some stupid, old girl’s ring?”

  “The rest of you go to your rooms,” Duncan ordered. “In ten minutes you’re to start making your trips to the laundry chute.”

  “No ring.” Duncan paced in the library. He wheeled around and frowned. “How did you and Em both sleep through someone sneaking into your room?”

  “We weren’t in the room.” John cleared his throat. “Em—well, I’d carried her to the necessary. She’s not feeling her best in the early mornings. It looks as if you’re going to be an uncle again.”

  The news stopped Duncan in his tracks. He looked from his brother-in-law to his sister and back. “Well, I’ll be switched.” For a moment he grinned. Babies. Em loves babies. But at her age? I’m almost twenty-one. That makes Em … thirty-three. A surge of anger swelled. “That does it. You can’t have this kind of upset in your delicate condition!”

  “Delicate?” Emily let out a watery laugh. “Family, yes; delicate, no. I’m healthy as a draft horse. I’m just so s–sad that s–someone is embarassed to c–come—” She dissolved into tears again.

  “Whoever it is isn’t embarrassed; she’s wicked. And we already know who it is, so let’s stop beating around the bush.”

  John jerked to attention. “You saw who took it?”

  “No, but I told you and Em—”

  “He made a wild accusation when he said ’tis Brigit.” She sobbed into John’s chest as she clung to his shirt. “I know he’s wrong. I just know it.”

  Duncan heaved a sigh. The last thing his sister needed was for him to add to her agitation. He gave John a look, and John nodded. They’d take care of it later. Duncan then said as softly as he could, “Our Emily, don’t be in a dither. I won’t do anything rash. You have my word on it.”

  She lifted a tear-stained face to Duncan. “Stop sounding as if I made you gargle vinegar, Duncan O’Brien. This whole thing is a tragedy, and I’ll not have you add to it by accusing an innocent. No, I won’t.”

  He had no trouble giving her his promise. “I won’t harm an innocent.” I’ll catch Brigit red-handed.

  The uneasiness in the house was palpable—between the election results and the theft, everyone was on edge. Miss Emily had Goodhew call the staff together while John was at work and the children were at school. Brigit watched her as she pasted on a tremulous smile.

  “I’ve lived through lean times, and I know what a strain it can be. Each of you is a valuable part of this household. I’ve decided since it’s too hard on someone’s pride to ask for help, the best thing to do is intervene. Instead of having distrust and tension, I’m simply increasing
everyone’s salary.”

  Goodhew sniffed. “I’ll not take a cent more. I won’t be painted with that extortionist’s brush.”

  Everyone else started to chime in, but Miss Emily held up a hand to silence them. “No one is to speak of it again. Not a word. I’ve made a decision, and it’s a condition of your employment.”

  Brigit shook her head. She’d never seen such a sad set of circumstances—or so she thought until later that afternoon when she was clearing away the luncheon dishes. Poor Miss Emily had no more than risen from the table when she collapsed into a dead faint.

  Trudy let out a screech.

  “Stop that noise and go fetch Goodhew,” Brigit commanded as she raced to Miss Emily’s side. She immediately loosened the throat of Miss Emily’s gown and chafed her hands.

  A shadow fell over them, and Duncan boomed, “What did you do?”

  Brigit glanced up at him. “She swooned. I don’t know why.”

  He scooped Miss Emily off the floor and headed for the stairs. “Fetch Cook to help me and have Goodhew send for the doctor.”

  Trudy, Cook, and Goodhew arrived at the same moment. Cook must have spilled something in her haste. The front of her dress and apron was drenched. “I’ll see to her,” Brigit volunteered and hurried up the stairs right behind Duncan.

  As soon as he settled his sister on the bed, Duncan turned his back. He rasped, “Loosen her … dress improver. She oughtn’t be wearing one in her condition.”

  Brigit gave fleeting thought to ordering him out of the chamber. It wasn’t proper for him to be there. It wasn’t even proper for him to allude to such an intimate issue. Squabbling with him wouldn’t tend to Miss Emily though. Brigit quickly unfastened Miss Emily’s gown, unlaced her corset, and covered her with a blanket. She then dipped a cloth in the pitcher and draped it over Miss Emily’s forehead.

  Duncan wheeled back around. “Leave.”

  For the next three days the young captain who once sparkled with humor and intelligence prowled around the house like a hungry panther, ready to pounce. Brigit counted the days until he set sail again. The man was wound like nine days on a seven-day clock.

  Brigit’s heart went out to Miss Emily. The poor woman was distraught, and she didn’t do well at hiding that fact. Oh, to be sure, she tried; but ‘twas clear as an icicle that her feelings knotted her something fierce. Brigit tried to do tiny things to ease Miss Emily’s sadness. She made an effort to open drapes to let in the weak wintry sunshine. She hummed lilting tunes. Cups of tea, an unasked-for footstool—anything Brigit could think of, she did for Miss Emily.

  Phillip, the wee scoundrel, had taken Julie’s doll and dumped her down the laundry chute. He’d confessed that rotten deed, yet the pretty little china doll never ended up in the laundry bin in the basement. Duncan brought in a small grappling hook. He cleverly dropped a rope down the chute, tied the hook to the end, and slowly pulled it upward. By doing so, he recovered Fortuna Hunter.

  Later that day Brigit saw Duncan tinkering with sliding more things up and down the chute. She figured he’d come to the same hope she had: Mayhap the ring had been sent down the chute and got lodged as the doll had. Her hopes soared, then crashed as Duncan finally slammed the chute and stalked away.

  The world was turned upside down. Folks seemed to want to pick on one another. To hear half the folk talk, President Lincoln was the devil incarnate; the other half would drag a chair up to Christ’s right side for him. Slave and free, rich and poor, North and South—strife and contention fulminated just beyond the property line. Until now it had stayed there—but the peace of the Newcomb home and life was no longer assured.

  Duncan watched for an opportunity to restore that peace. He’d not managed to nab absolute proof that Brigit was the thief, but every last fact pointed toward her. He’d heard the rustle and click before he discovered Anna’s ring had gone missing. The door to the servants’ quarters in the attic clicked. He’d checked, and it sounded like the noise he’d heard. Then, too, the very last maid down to see what the ruckus was about just so happened to have been Brigit. She must have taken a few moments to hide the ring.

  Duncan gave consideration to tearing the attic apart to locate the ring, but it was such a wee band, it could be in countless places—many he’d not even consider. As soon as he proved her guilt, he’d force Brigit to reveal where the ruby ring had gone.

  Aye, ‘twas she. Logic gave firm reason to rule out every other member of the household staff.

  Emily pointed out that Phillip had swiped Julie’s doll, and they’d all presumed it had been stolen. Most of the other items were minor and could easily have been misplaced. But she couldn’t explain away the figurine or the ring.

  John vacillated between trusting Emily’s judgment and wanting to fire all the maids. Because it would upset Em too much, he didn’t want to tilt her precarious peace of mind based purely on conjecture.

  Waiting. Of all things, Duncan counted patience among his weakest traits. A man of action, he hated to stand by and let time pass without doing something. Clearly something needed doing.

  Chapter 16

  Brigit cleaned the windows in the library. I should have traded with Trudy. I could be scrubbing the tub instead of this. Then I wouldn’t have to be here, remembering how Duncan O’Brien hid in here, trying to escape from Miss Emily’s marriage candidates.

  Deeply troubled by the shadow hanging over the household, Brigit tried to banish any worries or suspicious thoughts. She’d done nothing to earn anyone’s distrust or animosity. Duncan alternated between being his suave, clever self and rumbling with all of the fearsomeness of thunder.

  ‘Twas a crying shame he’d lost his peace.

  Oh, he’d not outright say so. A man had his pride and didn’t want others to know when things bothered him. It was just that Duncan never seemed much of a mystery to her. From the day she’d been a coconspirator by keeping his presence in the library a secret, she’d thought they’d gotten along well enough. Reading his thoughts came as easily as scanning a newspaper. The only problem was, Brigit kept getting the wild notion he was watching her.

  Miss Emily kept telling her to go the extra mile, to be sympathetic about the pressure Duncan was under. What with the political matters at a near boiling point and the frustrations of dealing with supplies that weren’t arriving on time for the shipbuilding, Duncan simply wasn’t himself—at least, that’s what Miss Emily said.

  On top of all of that, they were having foul weather. Men pontificated about how the Farmer’s Almanac had rightly predicted this relentless stream of storms, and Brigit had felt the icy sting of the sleet on several occasions. For the past few days, the temperature had dropped even farther, and they’d experienced snow, of all things! Surely, for the men to be working out of doors gave adequate cause for Duncan to come home in a black mood.

  Since he’d announced a thief was in the house and spilled his ugly thoughts, Brigit had become increasingly self-conscious. Thoughts about finding a new position filled her mind, but with the uncertainties in the political climate and the facts that she had no funds upon which to fall back and her parents relied on her, she had to stay. Brigit decided to keep vigilant. She loved Miss Emily and wanted to help put an end to this travesty. She’d do it because it was the right thing to do, but also because Miss Emily had been so kind to Mum and Da.

  Mum and Da had looked so pleased when she’d brought what Cook called “the autumn baking crate.” Why, with just a bit of meat and eggs, they’d have most of what they needed to eat for quite some time. Aye, and that extra jar of apricots Cook had given—Brigit had nearly cried with delight over how good the Lord was to add that extra bit of sweetness to her parents’ life.

  She’d been giving almost all of her pay to them when she visited on her day off. Da picked up a day job here and there, but mostly bosses wanted to hire stronger, younger men. The voyage over had left Mum frail of health. She’d not last a month if she took on any labor. Each day Brigit woke with
a sense of gratitude that God provided this job.

  Beautiful things filled the Newcomb estate. Aye, the home boasted grand rooms with fine appointments. Upkeep on such a place was a never-ending proposition. Miss Emily kept the staff busy. In the past two days, she’d taken to giving orders here and there that should have been customary; but what with the suspicion that a thief might be in their midst, the chores took on a different flavor. The tensions stretched tight.

  Brigit swiped at a tiny streak along the edge of a pane. For all she’d endured until now, she’d always found contentment in her circumstances. She suspected Duncan O’Brien felt that same way. Whoever was behind the robbery had stolen Duncan’s serenity as certainly as he’d taken all the goods.

  Worn out from yet another busy day, the entire household retired early. Brigit stood at her attic bedroom window and fidgeted. When Duncan had come home, he’d been in a good mood—as if the sea winds had blown away the worries he’d carried when first he set sail. Now he hovered. Every time she turned around, he seemed to be there. His smile didn’t reach his eyes either. Like a lightning bolt, the realization struck her as she mopped the floor tonight. He’s hunting for the robber, and he thinks I’m guilty!

  Holy Savior, what am I to do? I can declare my innocence, but what would that accomplish? She rested her forehead against the icy pane and blinked back tears of frustration. A pair of verses from the twenty-fifth chapter of Proverbs ran through her mind. “If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: for thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.”