“I see,” Douglas answered slowly. “Tell me, why share this information with me, specifically? What have I got to do with any of it?”
The fog of Douglas’s rage was clearing just enough that he was beginning to realize the enormity of this opportunity, the chance to collect information from a confirmed Blackbirder and relay it to abolitionists. Learning about the illegal slave trade from someone on the inside would be invaluable to the mission. If he played his cards to the aces, he could also use the information to ruin Matthew, permanently, and let him suffer justly for all the hurt he caused.
“Ah, but you see, you do,” Matthew answered with glee, standing as his excitement mounted. “As I said, I often have investors. I understand from my brother that you have quite a fleet of ships at your disposal, and funds, funds are essential to our success. It would be advantageous for me to establish a stronghold in Charleston, a gateway to the continent. I haven’t any contacts in the Carolinas, and it’s an opportunity fairly begging to be exploited.”
Douglas agreed that Matthew must certainly not have contacts in Charleston. Otherwise he would have known that Douglas Elling was once a suspected abolitionist, the last person to whom he should be revealing himself.
“You could join me on an upcoming journey I am planning. Just a bit of investing is needed. I’m sure our costs will seem negligible compared to what you encounter regularly in Charleston. Depending on your level of commitment, I might even have you organize your own mission after that.” Matthew nodded enthusiastically, apparently delighted by his own largesse.
Douglas hesitated, wishing he’d had time to prepare for this meeting. The more he learned from Matthew, the better equipped the abolitionists would be to combat these Blackbirders going forward. If he did nothing, hundreds of men and women would be snapped up from some African shore, bound for a life of slavery and disaster. There was nothing to consider or deliberate. He could not stand motionless.
“You’ve certainly given me something to think about,” he finally told Matthew. “When, pray tell, are you planning your next excursion?”
“February, I think.” Matthew’s bravado faltered for just a moment before he livened back up. “I suppose you would need to devise a reason to linger in England until then. Unless you still fancy running about in search of my niece. I must say, it seems you’ve already taken too much trouble for a trifling scrap like Abigail. Plenty of other destitute wenches out there with physical assets to match.”
“If you’re interested in doing business together,” Douglas uttered through clenched teeth, forcing himself to rein in the violence of his reaction to Matthew’s words, “you’ll not speak to me of your niece.”
Matthew blinked once and then cleared his throat. “Of course,” he stammered.
“We understand each other,” Douglas said levelly, forcing his mind back to its calculations. “I will likely be required to return to Charleston shortly,” he told Matthew, as though he was thinking aloud. “With so many months until your voyage, I believe I could return to Liverpool in time to make your departure date. Perhaps you might provide more specifics, and I could reach a definite decision.”
“Lovely,” Matthew’s lips spread thin in a satisfied smile. “Meet me at the shop at the close of business tomorrow, and we will review the details. Come around back.”
“Indeed,” Douglas responded, relaxing a fraction now that he could see Matthew was readying to leave.
Matthew donned his coat and reached for the bottle of scotch.
“Leave the scotch,” Douglas told him. “Every now and then I do like to have a drink by myself.”
Matthew likely saw no more need for gifts after their apparent agreement. But nothing was yet finalized. As he looked from the bottle back to Douglas, Matthew seemed to reach the conclusion that the bottle must be left behind.
He nodded solemnly. “Enjoy it.”
It wasn’t five minutes later that Douglas sent Matthew’s bottle of scotch whiskey flying into the boarding room wall, shards of his own disgust exploding all around him.
And now here he was, waiting in the slow evening drizzle to meet Sammy outside the Upperton Mill. He would ask again if Abby had returned to her parents’ home today, and if not, whether they’d had any news. He knew already what the answers would be. Abby was surely going to stay as far as possible from her uncle, and so was he. Just as soon as he ensured the man’s destruction.
29
STOCKBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
MAY 1846
“Eleanor,” Abby called across the stark schoolroom, “please come back to your seat. Mary would like to apologize for knocking into your satchel.”
“But she did it on purpose, Miss,” the seven-year-old pouted at Abby, her blue eyes wide with distress.
“Did not!” Mary snapped from beside Abby.
“Did too!” Eleanor shot back with a grimace.
“Come now,” Abby answered, walking to Eleanor and placing her arm around the girl’s delicate shoulders. “There is nothing productive about shouting back and forth. Even if Mary did knock about your things intentionally, she is ready to apologize. And you remember what we learned during our prayers on Sunday, don’t you,” she prodded.
Eleanor nodded contritely, as Abby crouched down to put herself on eye level with the girl and softly recounted, “Christians must always be prepared to accept an apology with gentleness and respect. Are you ready to do that?”
“Yes, Miss,” Eleanor answered dutifully.
After Mary’s successful apology, the girls sat side by side again, working on their arithmetic exercises and giggling intermittently. Abby returned to her desk to organize lessons for the week, but she was interrupted again, this time, by Margaret Parsons, headmistress of the school.
“What a delight to have an arbiter as competent as you, Abby,” the matronly Miss Parsons smiled down at her. “I hope you don’t mind. I was watching from the hallway. The way you handled Eleanor and Mary is but one of the many triumphs I’ve witnessed from you since your arrival with us at Hadley.”
“Thank you, Miss Parsons,” Abby answered, unnerved by the compliments.
The headmistress pulled a student chair over to Abby’s desk and continued speaking as she sat her large frame onto the chair. “I still can’t imagine our good fortune in finding an adjunct as competent as you.” Margaret smoothed her gray skirt as she assured Abby, “We will be so pleased to offer you a permanent position just as soon as something opens. If you ask me,” she lowered her voice and leaned toward Abby, “I think Edna Handler’s days with us are numbered. She must be near sixty years old, and she’s first to admit that she’d be happier planting lupines alongside her cottage than chasing children.”
“Oh, Miss Handler has been lovely to me,” Abby answered, almost defensively, remembering how it had been Edna Handler who opened the door for her the day of her arrival, ushering her into the dining hall for tea before asking any questions. “But you know I would jump at the chance to fill any permanent role.”
“Yes.” Miss Parsons’s shoulders dropped for a moment, and Abby reflected that the woman looked to be near the same age as the soon-to-retire Miss Handler. “I do wish you would tell us what happened to send you here, but I understand if you are still not ready.” She looked searchingly at Abby. “You’re certain there is no one you would like us to contact?” She asked hesitantly, “Perhaps you’d let someone know where you are?”
“I told you,” Abby answered tightly, struggling to remain respectful and then noticing that the chatter throughout the room had grown to a new level. “Myra, Ettie, girls, please,” she reproached the room as a whole. She turned back to Miss Parsons before continuing more quietly. “I had been studying with a governess down South, when my patron’s house was set ablaze by ruffians. There are none left for me to contact, as there were no survivors,” Abby lied, twisting Douglas’s family history to fit her purpose.
“Very well,” Miss Parsons offered an exaggerated sigh,
as if Abby’s desire for privacy was the great tragedy of the woman’s existence, “if that’s the story you want to hold to.” She stood and adjusted Abby’s shawl on her shoulders in a tender gesture. “Incidentally,” she added, “my nephew Neil will be calling for tea this afternoon. Won’t you join us? I do believe he might be just the ticket to cheer you up.”
“Thank you, but no. I still have to get through my preparation for tomorrow. Another time.” How she wished Miss Parsons would stop trying to foist this Neil upon her, carrying on all the time about how handsome he was. Abby couldn’t even bear to consider it.
“Very well. If you change your mind, we’ll be in the back library past five,” she spun out through the doorway, her long salt-and-pepper braid trailing behind like a separate entity.
Watching her wayward braid, Abby reflected that the woman could have been quite fetching if she simply tended a bit more to herself. The grave style reminded her so much of Larissa, who must have adopted her own austere habits during her time teaching at Hadley. Abby’s heart sank at the memory of Larissa. She knew she had done her governess great disservice by disappearing without so much as a goodbye or thank you. Most likely, she would never see Larissa again and so would never be able to explain or apologize. Several times Abby had been tempted to send Larissa an explanatory letter, but then she always thought the better of it, lest her actions reveal her place of hiding. Besides, let Douglas explain it instead of her, come clean and confess his fiendishness to Larissa.
Abby felt a stinging behind her eyes. She rose to add more wood to the classroom’s stove, suddenly quite chilled despite the mild April day. She would not weep. Not anymore. She shook her head in disbelief that she had actually considered Douglas an honorable man. She had opened her heart and believed all the thrilling compliments he’d bestowed upon her, as though each one had been fashioned especially for her. Every time she thought of that cob roller, she yearned to strike something. Douglas had been toying with her all along. It could not have been more than eighteen hours after his declarations of devotion that she found Cora Rae ablaze in his arms.
Abby walked to the front of the room and began erasing the equations she’d written earlier in the day. When the girls were finished figuring, they would move on to the day’s spelling lesson. As chalk dust floated around her, she chided herself that she must work harder to push Douglas from her mind. She was at Hadley now, and she had a future ahead of her at this school. Thanks to Larissa’s instruction and the schooling Abby had as a younger child, the headmistress had been readily impressed by Abby’s academic knowledge.
Abby found a modicum of relief surrounding herself with the young girls at the school, whom she knew were free of guile or cunning. Like her brother, Charlie, they said what they felt, and their emotional displays could be trusted, relied upon to mean what they seemed to show. Here, she was respected, and she was confident that over time, her position at Hadley would begin to fulfill her entirely. She would need nothing else, she told herself, in order to feel satisfied with her life. Least of all, Douglas Elling.
30
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
JULY 1846
Douglas pulled his mare to a halt beside the Cunninghams’ porch and hastily jumped to the ground. Ever since leaving Wigan, he had the perpetual sensation that he was pushing his way through a crowd of people, as though there was constantly someone standing in his way. He bounded toward the door, his fist raised to grab the knocker, even as he was still climbing the steps of the porch.
A boy in a crisp white jacket and black trousers, a young house slave, opened the door. “Good afternoon, sir. Could I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Miss Cunningham, if you please. With my apologies to her for calling without proper forenotice.” Douglas cleared his throat, frustrated by the delay. He’d have preferred to barrel into the foyer and shout straight up the stairs.
“One moment, please. If you wouldn’t mind just waiting here, I know they weren’t expecting nobody.”
“It’s fine, Jonah,” rang the voice of Cora Rae, as she emerged gracefully from a room adjacent to the foyer. “I will help Mr. Elling.” She did not bother to look at the slave, who glanced back at Douglas and then retreated, disappearing down a long hallway.
“Douglas,” her voice seemed to rise an octave as a satisfied smile overtook her face, “what an unexpected pleasure.” She continued walking closer to him.
“Don’t.” Douglas seethed the cold command. “I am looking for your sister.”
“Well, I see you’ve forgotten your gentlemanly manners.” She exaggerated her drawl as she continued, “I don’t know how the upper class behave in Britain, but if this is representative, I don’t care to find out. Don’t forget you’re back in Charleston now, where there are certain expectations.” She glanced over her shoulder and then stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “If you would accept my apology for behaving rashly at our last meeting, I think you might see I have more to offer than just social instruction.”
“Go,” Douglas demanded, “and fetch your sister,” he spoke slowly, deliberately in order to control himself, “or I shall be forced to disclose to this entire household what kind of a Southern lady you really are.”
“Well, I never . . .” Cora Rae gasped, stepping back as though he had shoved her.
“Get Gracie!” Douglas growled, losing the little patience he had tried to exercise.
Cora Rae blinked twice and then scurried away.
Douglas wandered over to the arched window in the foyer and stared out to the street that was just visible through the trees adorning the Cunninghams’ drive. Carriages were passing, as well as people on foot, conducting the business of the day. It seemed impossible to Douglas that life could carry on for these people, all the functioning occurring habitually as always, when Douglas’s entire world had flipped. It was over four months now since he had lost Abby, and the ache was only spreading. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyebrows, trying to push back the worry, to focus on finding her.
At the sound of footsteps against the marble floor behind him, Douglas turned to see Gracie approaching. She was wearing a silk dress of deep blue, contrasting with her pale face and leading it to appear even whiter than usual.
“Douglas,” Gracie began, “please come to the parlor. I’ll have one of the house girls bring sweet tea.”
“Thank you, Gracie, but I am in quite a hurry. I know it must rattle your sensibilities to entertain a visitor only in your entryway, but I would greatly appreciate it if we could speak right here, and do it quickly.”
“Certainly,” Gracie answered as she brushed at a stray strand of her dark hair. “Has there been any word?” she asked, her concern apparent.
“No, nothing,” Douglas’s answer was laced with exasperation, and he saw a look of guilt flash across Gracie’s face.
“You know something,” he snapped, stepping toward her. “Has she contacted you?”
“No, no, I haven’t had a word from Abby. Not so much as a scribble,” Gracie protested, shaking her head.
“Then why do you look as though you’ve been caught with your hand in the collection basket?” Douglas noticed she was wearing a silver promise ring on one of her dainty fingers, but the strained grin on her face wasn’t euphoria or giddiness; it was guilt.
“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Gracie argued, the pitch of her voice rising.
“Come now,” Douglas warned. “If you are withholding information about Abby’s whereabouts and she is hurt, even so much as a scratch, so help you God, you’ll rue this day.” He realized he was shaking a finger in her face.
“No, no,” Gracie stammered, “I promise I haven’t heard from Abby. Cross my heart and hope to die,” she made an X on her chest with her finger. “It’s . . .” Gracie looked over her shoulder in the direction Cora Rae had gone, “it’s something else.”
“Now is the time, Gracie,” Douglas struggled not to shou
t. “Out with it.”
Gracie looked around the grand vestibule before speaking.
“Rae planned it. She wanted to be caught in an embrace with you so Abby would renounce you and leave you available for the taking. I helped arrange for Abby to look through your study door at just the right moment.” Gracie looked up at him helplessly, as though he could absolve her.
Douglas was aghast that Abby’s friend could have been so cruel, yet another person in Abby’s life who had let her down.
“Please don’t look at me like I am wicked,” Gracie pleaded. “Rae bullied me into it,” Gracie sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress. “She threatened to steal Harrison if she couldn’t have you.” Tears were falling from Gracie’s wide round eyes. “Had I known it would go this far, that she’d run away after she saw y’all, I never would have gone along. And now,” Gracie gulped as she swiped at her eyes with the cloth, “Abby could be anywhere, and it’s all my fault.”
“You should be ashamed of your behavior, Gracie Cunningham,” Douglas chided, “not only for treating your friend as a bargaining chip, but for having so little regard for yourself. If Blount is smitten with you, it should take more than someone else’s manipulations to remove his affections.” He gently pushed her chin up with his fingers so their eyes met. “Gracie, you must have more faith in yourself. You are a lovely young woman. Now stop wasting time with self-pity and start thinking about where Abby might have gone. Deservedly or not, you were her closest friend in Charleston. She must have said something, anything that you would remember, that might give us a clue as to where she’s got to. Think, Gracie!”
“I’m sorry,” she dabbed at her eyes again, “you know Abby, she kept mostly quiet about herself, unless it was to give her opinion. Those she had aplenty. I just . . .” She seemed to be sorting through her mind for anything relevant, “I just don’t know anything about where she’d have gone.”
Trouble the Water_A Novel Page 27
