by Dilly Court
Hubert sat down, smiling gently. ‘I’m quite recovered now, thank you, Jerusha.’ He turned to Vincent and his smile faded. ‘I have to thank you for all this, and I want you to know I’m truly grateful, but you cannot be expected to foot the bill for relative strangers.’
‘Call it Yankee hospitality, Hubert,’ Vincent said casually. ‘I’ve no doubt you’d do the same for us if we were in similar circumstances.’
‘We’re only here for two days,’ Jerusha added earnestly. ‘Papa has to get back home to make sure that everything is running as it should, but I’m hoping you’ll accompany us. It would be so good to have you visit with us for a while.’
‘It would indeed.’ Vincent signalled to a waiter. ‘More coffee, and a pot of tea for my English friends.’
Mirabel sat down next to Jerusha. ‘May we, Hubert?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Perhaps a few days in the country would help to restore you to full health.’
He looked from one to the other and a slow smile spread across his thin features. ‘I can see that I’m outnumbered.’
Vincent resumed his seat, tucking his napkin into the top of his plum-coloured waistcoat. ‘I’ll take great pleasure in showing you round my plantation and the curing barns. If it’s all right by you, Hubert, I’ll book us tickets on the Peninsula railroad tomorrow. It’s over three hundred miles to Richmond, and then a carriage ride from the railroad station to Loblolly Grove.’
Mirabel’s lips twitched. ‘Loblolly? What’s that?’
‘It’s a species of pine tree,’ Vincent explained without giving his daughter a chance to respond. ‘The early settlers had to clear acres of it before they could use the land. It’s a common tree in the south-eastern states.’
‘Well, I think it’s a lovely name,’ Mirabel said, laughing. ‘I love the place already.’
‘You’ll love it even more when you’re there.’ Jerusha reached out to take a bread roll. ‘What shall we do this morning? Do you fancy a carriage ride to see the sights? Or shall we explore Ladies’ Mile and see what the department stores have to offer?’
Vincent smiled indulgently. ‘I can see this is going to be an expensive outing, Hubert.’
Next day they left for the D’Angelo plantation, travelling by train. It was late afternoon when the carriage that had picked them up at the station drove through the gates into a tree-lined allée, which led to a white house built in the Greek revival style. Bathed in golden sunshine, the wide veranda with its colonnaded portico seemed to welcome them with a smile.
Jerusha was bubbling with excitement as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘I love travelling, but it’s so good to be home.’ She was the first to alight with the help of a servant who had rushed forward to open the door. Mirabel followed more slowly, and finally Vincent who had stopped to assist Hubert to the ground.
‘Are you all right, Hubert?’ Mirabel asked anxiously. His haggard appearance was alarming, and he was visibly unsteady on his feet, but his smile was undimmed.
‘I’m fine, thank you, my dear.’
Vincent took him by the arm. ‘A mint julep will set you to rights, my friend.’
‘Come along, Belle,’ Jerusha said eagerly. ‘I want to show you your room.’
Mirabel glanced at Gertie, who had opted to travel on the driver’s seat with Caleb, the coachman: a striking young man with a skin like ebony and a wide grin that revealed startlingly white teeth. ‘Come along, Gertie.’
Gertie shot Caleb a sideways glance, fluttering her lashes. ‘Ta, cully.’
He winked and flicked the whip over the horses’ ears, driving off in the direction of a stable block.
Mirabel followed Jerusha up the steps onto the shady veranda and through double doors which led into a spacious entrance hall. The scent of lilies filled the air and the white-painted walls seemed to have trapped the last remnants of sunlight. The parquet flooring gleamed like the skin of a conker newly plucked from its spiny case, and a hint of lavender polish emanated from the reception rooms on either side of the hall. Mirabel caught a glimpse of the understated elegance of the furnishings as she followed Jerusha upstairs, with Gertie tagging along behind.
Jerusha led the way to a room at the back of the house which overlooked a wide sweep of lawns surrounded by oaks and stately magnolias which were just coming into bud. ‘The fields are over yonder,’ she said, pointing vaguely. ‘The servants’ quarters are behind the curing barns.’
Mirabel peered out of the window. ‘You don’t have slaves to work the fields, do you?’
‘Heavens, no. What gave you that idea, honey? Pa fought to abolish that practice many years ago, and he’s employed freed slaves ever since he took over the plantation. Some of them have been with us for as long as I can remember.’ Jerusha turned away from the window. ‘Can you ride a horse, Belle?’
Taken by surprise, Mirabel stared at her. ‘I – I don’t know. I never tried.’
‘I’ve got just the mount for you, honey. She’s a sweet little mare with a darling nature. Sitting on her is like being in a big old armchair. Tomorrow we’ll go for a ride around the plantation and I’ll show you how it all works.’
‘Better you than me,’ Gertie whispered. ‘Shall I start unpacking, ma’am?’
Jerusha grabbed Mirabel by the hand. ‘Come on, Belle. Leave her to sort out a gown for dinner tonight and I’ll show you my room. It’s just along the landing.’ She turned to Gertie with a smile. ‘My maid, Zenobia, will show you your quarters, Gertie. She’ll look after you.’
Carried along in the wake of Jerusha’s enthusiasm, Mirabel followed her friend to her room, which was a mixture of boudoir and nursery. The frilled lace curtains and tester on the four-poster bed, similar to the one in Mirabel’s room, were complemented by the patchwork quilt made from tiny hexagons of pastel-coloured silk. A solemn row of dolls sat propped up on the pillow shams, their painted faces staring straight ahead and their ornate gowns neatly arranged by loving hands. A white wooden rocking horse stood in front of one of the tall windows, its grey mane tied with ribbon and a matching pink bow on its tail. The dressing table with its triple mirror was, in contrast, very much the domain of a grown-up lady with its array of silver-backed combs, brushes and mirror and cut-glass pots filled with all manner of creams and lotions.
Jerusha stripped off her travelling clothes, stepping out of them as they fell to the floor. She stood very still while her maid slipped a clean gown over her head and fastened the tiny buttons on the back of the bodice.
‘All done, Miss Jerusha.’ Zenobia stepped away, folding her hands on her spotless white apron.
‘I’ll be back directly to change for dinner. Have the emerald green satin ready, Zenobia.’ Jerusha spun round to face Mirabel. ‘Come with me, Belle. There’s someone I want you to meet.’ She headed for the doorway.
Once again Mirabel followed in her wake, wondering why her friend had chosen to change into an afternoon gown when it was almost time to dress for dinner. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘You’ll see.’
Mirabel was tired and conscious of her travel-stained garments. She would have liked to return to her own room, but Jerusha marched on ahead. ‘Here we are,’ she said, ushering Mirabel into a bedroom shaded from the sunlight by the overhang of the portico. White net curtains fluttered at the open windows and a cool breeze circulated, but the sickly sweet smell of illness pervaded the atmosphere.
Jerusha moved slowly towards the bed where a woman lay propped up on a mountain of lace-trimmed pillows, staring blankly into space. She might, Mirabel thought, have been a life-sized doll similar to the ones in Jerusha’s room, but for the rise and fall of her chest beneath a white cotton-lawn nightgown. Jerusha leaned over the sick woman. ‘Mama, I’ve brought someone to see you.’
A movement in the corner of the room caught Mirabel’s eye and she turned to see a young and extremely beautiful black woman standing by a side table, holding a medicine bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. ‘It’s time for Miss Betsy’s m
edication.’
‘Thank you, Kezia.’ Jerusha made way for her, watching while the maid spooned medicine into the invalid’s mouth.
Kezia wiped the excess from Betsy D’Angelo’s chin with the corner of a towel she had tucked into her apron. ‘Don’t tire her, Miss Jerusha.’
‘Has she missed us, Kezia? Do you think she realised we weren’t here? I changed my gown so that she didn’t see me in my outdoor clothes.’
‘I can’t say whether she did or did not, Miss Jerusha. We got along just fine, considering.’
‘I’m glad,’ Jerusha said, sighing. ‘I was worried about her. She was never far from my thoughts.’ She beckoned to Mirabel. ‘Come closer so that she can see you. I believe she understands what we say even if she cannot respond.’ She dropped a kiss on her mother’s forehead. ‘Mirabel has come all the way from England, Mama.’
‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,’ Mirabel said softly. For a brief moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest in Betsy’s green eyes, but it was gone almost instantly.
‘I have so much to tell you, Mama,’ Jerusha said eagerly. ‘But I can see by the way Kezia is glaring at me that this is not the right time. I’ll come in the morning when you’re rested.’ She raised her mother’s limp hand to her lips, holding it to her cheek briefly before laying it back on the coverlet. Blinking away tears, she turned to Mirabel. ‘We’d best get changed for dinner, Belle. I declare I’m quite faint from lack of nourishment.’
Outside the sick room, Mirabel patted Jerusha on the shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea that your mother was an invalid.’
‘Pa never mentions her to anyone outside the family,’ Jerusha said, sniffing. ‘She’s been like this for three years or more, since the riding accident, but she used to be so full of life and so beautiful. We had big parties in those days, with lanterns in the trees and dancing on the lawn. She used to love music and she could sing like an angel, but that’s all gone now. Pa has taken her to the best doctors but none of them can do anything for her. They say she might improve with time, so we keep on hoping.’
‘I’m truly sorry,’ Mirabel said earnestly. ‘I never really knew my mother; she died when I was very young.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, I truly am.’ With a palpable effort Jerusha managed a wobbly smile. ‘At least my mother is still with us, and I believe she understands more than she lets on.’ She walked on. ‘It’s time we got changed and joined the gentlemen, or they’ll be wondering what’s happened to us. I do hope Cook has done something special for dinner.’
The meal in the elegant dining room had been a lively affair with Jerusha at her best, and Vincent regaled them with stories of his struggles to rebuild the plantation after the war. Hubert had eaten well and Mirabel was reassured by his improved appearance, although he retired to bed early, leaving Vincent to sit and smoke his cigar alone on the veranda. Jerusha was seemingly tireless but Mirabel had begun to wilt. After coffee accompanied by crystallised fruits, which Jerusha tucked into even though she had just enjoyed a substantial meal, Mirabel was forced to admit defeat and go to her room.
That night she was lulled to sleep by the hypnotic sounds of the cicadas and katydids and the haunting call of the whip-poor-will. A breeze rustled the leaves of the mighty oaks, but in her dreams the sighing of the wind became the sound of the sea. She was once again on a ship, but this time it was not the Servia, but a three-masted schooner buffeted by a great storm. She was on deck, calling out to the man who struggled to control the ship’s wheel as it fought to escape his grasp. Even before a sudden flash of lightning illuminated his face she knew who it was. She awoke to the sound of thunder, her heart was racing, and for some inexplicable reason she was convinced that he had survived.
Chapter Fifteen
THE CERTAINTY THAT Jack was still alive, however ill-founded, made the world a more colourful place and infinitely more interesting. The next morning Mirabel joined in with everything Jerusha suggested with an enthusiasm she had not felt for a long time. She put her fears aside and allowed the D’Angelos’ groom to help her onto the grey mare, riding side-saddle around the plantation with Jerusha, who was an accomplished horsewoman. In the afternoon she sat in Mrs D’Angelo’s bedroom while Jerusha read several passages from Daisy Miller, a novella by Henry James. Whether or not the story registered with Betsy was questionable, but the sound of her daughter’s voice seemed to soothe her and she drifted off to sleep. Jerusha closed the book with a sigh. ‘I keep hoping that one day she’ll come back to us.’
‘Miss Betsy’s doing just fine,’ Kezia said, moving silently from her chair to the bedside. ‘She understands more than you think, she just don’t have much to say. When the time comes she’ll open her mouth and speak.’
The sound of horse’s hooves broke the ensuing silence. Jerusha leapt to her feet and ran to the window. ‘It’s Ethan, and about time too. I declare I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.’ Picking up her skirts, she raced from the room.
Mirabel sent a questioning glance to Kezia, who shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ethan Munroe. His family own the neighbouring plantation.’ She turned her attention to Betsy, plumping her pillows and smoothing the sheets.
‘I – I’ll leave you to do your work,’ Mirabel said lamely. She hurried from the room and made her way slowly down the wide staircase.
In the entrance hall Jerusha was berating a tall young man, whose fair hair flopped over one eye as he raised her hand to his lips. ‘I came as soon as I heard you’d come home,’ he protested.
‘I might just forgive you,’ Jerusha said, smiling. ‘But only if you promise to stay for dinner.’
‘I’d love to, honey, but I have a business meeting in Richmond.’ He bowed from the waist, clicking his heels together. ‘I regret that I cannot accept your kind invitation, Miss D’Angelo.’
She slapped his wrist. ‘If you mock me, Ethan Munroe, you can just get back on your old horse and ride on to your boring old meeting.’
He grinned and gave her a hug. ‘I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.’
‘Oh, well, since you put it that way, I guess I’m pleased to see you too.’
Mirabel cleared her throat to announce her presence and Jerusha spun round, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. ‘Mirabel honey, may I introduce my old friend, Ethan Munroe.’ She turned to Ethan, adding proudly, ‘Mirabel is from London, England.’
Mirabel met his curious gaze with a smile. ‘How do you do, sir?’
He acknowledged her with a courtly bow. ‘How do you do, Miss Mirabel? I must say it’s a pleasure to meet an English lady.’
Jerusha slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘We’ll take tea on the veranda, Amos,’ she called to the servant who was standing to attention awaiting instructions. ‘I’m dying to tell you about the things we saw in Europe, Ethan.’ She turned to Mirabel with an eager smile. ‘Will you join us, Belle?’
Mirabel nodded. ‘I’ll come in a minute.’ She had just spotted Hubert sitting in the parlour reading a newspaper, and she realised with a pang of conscience that she had not seen him since breakfast. She entered the room, pausing in the doorway to give him a searching glance. To her intense relief she noted that his colour had improved and he looked more like his old self. ‘Hubert.’ She crossed the floor and pulled up a stool to sit by his side. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you.’
He looked up, peering at her over the top of his spectacles. A slow smile spread across his thin features. ‘Nonsense, my dear. You have every right to relax and enjoy yourself.’
‘But you are feeling better, aren’t you?’
He folded the newspaper and set it aside. ‘I’m completely recovered and looking forward to continuing our travels.’
Somehow the thought of moving on had lost some of its appeal. Their unplanned detour had been a delight, and Mirabel knew that she would be sorry to leave: she would miss the plantation and the generous hospitality of
their hosts. ‘I think we should stay here a while longer, Hubert. You need to get your strength back.’
‘It was a passing sickness. No doubt I’ll suffer it again when we embark on the next part of our journey, but we must get to Florida in time to see the ghost orchids in bloom.’
‘Of course, but wouldn’t it be better to travel overland instead of by sea?’
He shook his head. ‘I went into all the possibilities in London, and I think I can safely say I have the best itinerary possible. I’ve discussed it with Vincent and he also agrees that the best route would be by rail to Newport News and from there by sea.’
‘But you were so ill on the Servia, Hubert.’
‘I hope to find my sea legs, as they say.’ His eyes glowed with enthusiasm and he grasped her hands in his. ‘This is my last chance to find a ghost orchid to add to my collection. Any amount of physical suffering will be worth it in the end.’
She withdrew her hands and stood up. ‘All right, Hubert. If you’re sure.’
‘I am absolutely certain. We’ll do it together, my dear. I can’t fail if you’re at my side.’ He picked up the newspaper and opened it. ‘Now go outside and join your young friends. Make the most of your time here, my dear girl.’
‘I will.’ She knew that there was no use arguing with her husband once he had made up his mind, and for herself she was undaunted by the prospect of a long sea voyage. She left him reading his paper and went outside to join Jerusha and her beau, for it was obvious that Ethan Munroe was not a casual acquaintance. Mirabel suspected that her friend was more interested in the young man than she was prepared to admit.
Ethan stayed for an hour or so before taking his leave, promising to return next day to take them on a picnic on the banks of the James River. Jerusha jumped to her feet and gave him a hug. ‘You darling man, I just knew you’d think of something particularly nice to do for Belle. Sadly she’s leaving us the day after tomorrow.’
