Blood Moon (The Mercy Carver Series Book 2)

by Jana Petken

  “Wake them! Inform them that Mrs Bartlett and Captain Stone have come to call; make sure to tell them that we will not be leaving until they see to us. Do you understand me?” Jacob ordered.

  “Yes, sir, Captain Stone...Right away, sir,” Charles said quietly with the same tremor.

  He closed the door, lifted the candle from the table that sat just inside the hallway, and walked to the breakfast room. He entered and then closed the door behind him. Miss Elizabeth sat on the couch, in the same spot and in the same position that she’d been sitting in all afternoon. Tea had come and gone without a drop being drunk and the soft, moist white cake was hard and dry. Rose had been no help at all. After screaming at the sight of her mistress, she had run to her attic room and had not come out since, and he figured no amount of persuasion would make her come back down. He was on his own.

  Miss Elizabeth had gone mad, completely disconnected from reality, and she was getting crazier by the minute. Her staring eyes had not left Mistress Margaret’s corpse, and if anything her fascination with it had grown. Every now and again, she spoke to the body, but it was clear that she had long since forgotten that she had done murder and that Mrs Mallory was dead.

  He had tried to move the body, but she had threatened to whup him if he touched Mistress Margaret again. He had urged Miss Elizabeth to go to her room, telling her that she should get ready for the ball, but she had also forgotten all about that and had giggled childishly after telling him she didn’t know anything about a ball.

  He approached her slowly. He was just as scared of her as he’d been when he first saw the dead woman. “Some people have come a callin’, Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Bartlett and Captain Stone are here for a nice visit. You want I tell them to come in?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes left the body. She looked at Charles and threw him an irritable glance. She turned her attention back to the corpse and cocked her head. “Do you want to see Mrs Bartlett, Margaret?” she asked.

  Charles stifled a sob. “Lord above, Miss Elizabeth, I ain’t got no thoughts on how to help you. You just sit quiet now. It’s all right. Shh – I’ll go fetch these nice people.”

  Charles walked with determined strides to the front door. He couldn’t lie, hide the body, or help Miss Elizabeth. He was done. This was a crazy house with crazy white women, and he would rather take his chances with Captain Stone than suffer the stench of rotting flesh and a crazy-eyed female who might be aimin’ to kill him too.

  He opened the door and bowed his head. “Please come in, sir,” he said.

  “Where are they?” Jacob demanded.

  “They both in the breakfast room, sir, but I ain’t done nothin’ – I ain’t done a thing to nobody. No, sir, I found Miss Elizabeth—”

  Jacob brushed past him, followed by Mrs Bartlett and the aide, looking just as mystified now as he had when they’d left the ball.

  “Miss Elizabeth – she done killed. I ain’t done nothin’,” Charles insisted, following behind the group.

  Jacob’s heart was jumping in his chest. He had just heard the word killed, and his worst nightmare had become a reality. Dear God, he thought, opening the door, du Pont had killed Elizabeth, and he was to blame.

  He took a couple of steps inside. He was followed by John, the senator’s aide, while Mrs Bartlett, looking panicked, stood at the door, refusing to enter the dimly lit room.

  The windows were closed, and the rotten stench that greeted Jacob knotted his belly. Jacob focused his eyes in the semi-darkness and found Elizabeth sitting on the couch. He sighed with relief and walked closer. He walked past the table and chairs, eyes still staring at Elizabeth’s odd demeanour, and then came to a sudden halt when he almost tripped over something lying on the rug. He looked down and saw the body lying just in front of Elizabeth’s feet. He gasped but steadied his voice enough to say to John, “Take Mrs Bartlett into the hallway and stay with her. Do not allow her to come into this room.”

  He waited until John had closed the door behind him and then looked again at the body, the protruding knife, the blood, and du Pont’s ugly facial grimace. So many details confronted him. His eyes darted between du Pont and Elizabeth, who was completely unaware of him standing in front of her. He was being soaked by emotions like rain flooding him. Du Pont’s dead. It’s over, were his first thoughts, but they were quickly followed by, Surely Elizabeth has not done this?

  He watched Elizabeth for a minute or two, afraid to speak lest she wake up from her trance and became hysterical at his intrusion. He cast his eyes over her face and gown. She seemed relatively unharmed, but her blood- soaked bodice and skirt, tousled hair, and shocked expression left no doubt that she had killed du Pont.

  Jacob sidled to the couch and sat next to Elizabeth without removing his eyes from her. She was still not aware of his presence. She was almost doll-like in her appearance, with white porcelain skin on a face as still as a statue, unblinking eyes, and lips half open in what he could only describe as a soft smile.

  He spoke her name quietly in an affectionate tone. “Elizabeth, it’s me, Jacob. Are you hurt?” There was no recognition or response. “Elizabeth, dear, do you know who I am?” Her expression remained the same, eyes fixated on the corpse. He looked at her profile. Her face was relaxed, and her hands were clasped loosely on her lap.

  On closer inspection, he saw that the side of her face was bruised. Rough hands had pulled her hair, and some coils had come loose from pins, leading Jacob to believe that there had been a struggle. He looked at her face again for signs of other injuries. He noticed her arm then and saw black, pink, and blue patches which had not been noticeable in the candlelight when he had first entered the room. Du Pont had beaten her, yet she displayed no sign of being in pain, he thought.

  Jacob sighed, miserable. He had done this to Elizabeth. She had been du Pont’s pawn, used as a weapon against him, nothing more. He went to the door and opened it slightly. He called John and whispered in his ear. “Get the marshal and sheriff here straight away. Tell them there has been a murder and ask them to bring a doctor and an undertaker before this stench knocks us out.”

  John’s eyes widened with disbelief and questions. “Who’s been murdered?” he asked.

  “Mrs Margaret Mallory. Just get them here – hurry.” Jacob turned his attention to the slave, and for the first time, Jacob pitied him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Charles, sir. Please, sir, I ain’t got no part in this. You got to believe me, Captain.”

  “I do believe you. You can tell the marshal all about what happened when he gets here, but until he arrives, you do exactly what I say,” Jacob told him.

  Charles nodded vigorously and sighed with relief. “Anything you want, sir,” he answered.

  “Bring me a sheet. When you have done that, make some tea for Mrs Bartlett and Mistress Elizabeth.”

  Jacob left the room and stepped into the hallway to speak to Mrs Bartlett. She sat in an armchair and seemed to have lost her appetite for gossip and her quest to save a Southern belle. “Is dear Elizabeth dead?” she asked Jacob with a small sniff into her handkerchief.

  “No, Elizabeth is alive. Mrs Mallory is dead …”

  “Oh, thank goodness!” she blurted out, before crossing herself. “God rest her soul in heaven with the almighty Lord. Oh my, this is a shock. Why, I feel quite faint. Did Elizabeth kill Mrs Mallory? Where is Elizabeth? Is she in that room? Should I speak to her?”

  Jacob wondered what to say now. Elizabeth had clearly suffered some kind of mental malady. She was in shock, so much so that her mind seemed to have rejected all that had happened. She had lost all awareness of her surroundings, bar the dead body on the floor, and even that was but an object of curiosity to her.

  He began slowly, trying to make sense of his words as he went on, not just for Mrs Bartlett’s sake but for his own understanding. “Elizabeth is stained with blood. It’s on her hands and all over her gown. She has bruising on her face and arms. Her hair has been grabbed and tousled, w
hich leads me to suspect a struggle between her and Mrs Mallory. The problem is, I can’t seem to get through to Elizabeth. It would appear she has lost her mind, Mrs Bartlett.

  “Oh, dear Lord. Oh my, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Might I go in and speak to dear Elizabeth?”

  “You may, Mrs Bartlett, but no lady should have to see Mrs Mallory’s dead body.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks – I’ve seen dead bodies before. One more won’t hurt me, especially hers.”

  Jacob nodded. There was no more to time to waste on discussion, he thought. Elizabeth needed help before the lawmen arrived to question her. “Do you think you could persuade Elizabeth to accompany you to her room until the body is removed? She is fixated on Mrs Mallory’s corpse, and I cannot stress how damaging that sight might be to her mind.”

  Being asked to help caused Mrs Bartlett to recover her faintness of heart. She would have so much to tell the Richmond ladies tomorrow, she thought. Why, her stories of this night would probably last an entire week.

  “I quite agree,” she said. “I will do all I can to get her out of there.”

  Charles returned with a white sheet and followed Jacob back into the breakfast room. They covered the body. Elizabeth blinked, looked disapprovingly at Jacob, and said, “Leave Margaret alone.” She turned back to the white covering and continued to stare, oblivious once again to their presence.

  Mrs Bartlett clasped her throat as she entered. “Oh my. Lord have mercy,” she uttered. “We have to open a window. I declare, I’ve never smelled anything so unnatural.”

  As she stared at the covered body, Jacob whispered to her, “Please convince Elizabeth to go up to her room. She is not responding to me, but she might to you, if you use your feminine persuasion.”

  Mrs Bartlett nodded and gasped as she took in the bloodstains on Elizabeth’s gown. “Elizabeth, it’s me, Mrs Bartlett. Would like to take tea with me upstairs? Mrs Mallory is sleeping, and we don’t want to disturb her, do we?” She looked at Jacob. He nodded his approval. “Will you come with me, Elizabeth? I have so much to tell you, and I’m sure we will be much more comfortable upstairs.”

  Elizabeth tore her eyes from the body reluctantly and stared at Mrs Bartlett.

  Mrs Bartlett took a step back. There was no light in Elizabeth’s eyes, she thought. There was nothing but darkness. She was possessed! There was nothing that would entice her to take Elizabeth up those stairs. “Oh my word, I think she has gone completely mad,” Mrs Bartlett said to Jacob. “Maybe we should wait for the doctor. I don’t think I can help at all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The doctor examined Elizabeth, and the marshal and sheriff took statements from Charles, Jacob, and Rose, who was forced to come downstairs. Mrs Bartlett had insisted on returning to the ball. She was clearly overcome with a desire to relate the murder scene and all that had occurred with her husband and the Richmond ladies before the news got out and somebody beat her to it.

  There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Elizabeth had killed Mrs Mallory. Elizabeth’s bruising however, was enough to presume that there had been a violent struggle between the two ladies. The doctor pronounced Elizabeth very ill indeed and insisted that she be taken to hospital rather than arrested and incarcerated in jail. The doctor also stated that Elizabeth’s condition was akin to a form of coma, albeit one where the patient was awake. She was also suffering from amnesia and seemed to have no clue that Mrs Mallory was in fact dead. She had lost her senses and needed her family; this was his conclusion.

  Jacob watched the long blade being pulled from du Pont’s body. The corpse itself was then lifted and put into a wooden coffin. His thoughts were mixed. He was worried sick about Elizabeth, but he was also pleased that du Pont was dead. She was gone from his life forever. Mercy would find peace now.

  After leaving the house, Jacob mulled over what had been done and what he still had to do. The two house slaves, Charles and Rose, had been taken to the jailhouse, where they would remain until after the judge had spoken to them. The undertaker had asked Jacob about du Pont’s burial. “Throw her into a hole and don’t bother marking the grave. She does not deserve a decent burial – and don’t waste any words on her,” Jacob had retorted. The marshal had been visibly surprised by the forcefulness of Jacob’s answer, and Jacob was consequently invited to the jailhouse first thing in the morning to give a statement regarding his relationship with the dead Englishwoman.

  A telegram would have to be sent to the Coulters. He would request permission to remain in Richmond until Elizabeth’s family got here. There was no going to Norfolk to see Mercy now.

  The marshal said he was going to arrest Elizabeth for murder, for there was no doubt in his mind that she had committed the crime. Jacob had been vocal in his protestations, for what good would that do, he’d asked, if Elizabeth was at present unaware of the entire incident? His request to the marshal, to hold back on the arrest, was met with deaf ears, however. Murder was murder, the marshal told him, and she would be charged, regardless of her mental state.

  Jacob rode back to Yorktown after spending an additional three days in Richmond. His body was heavy in the saddle. His head was bowed with the weight of guilt pressing upon him like a ton of rocks. Mr and Mrs Coulter were distraught. Their only daughter was lost in some other world and was incapable of recognising even her own parents. The Coulters had not been unkind to him, he thought, as he spurred his horse on, but this was because they knew nothing of his history with du Pont. Had they known about his association with her, they would have blamed him for this entire mess, and rightly so.

  He thought back to the moment the Coulters saw their daughter. Elizabeth had been handcuffed to a bed. Her eyes held a look of fear, and she had flicked them left to right and back, as though she were following a horrific scene. Mrs Coulter had spoken to her daughter, but there had been no response, no glimmer of acknowledgement, and barely a blink from her eyes.

  Elizabeth had not spoken a word in the past three days. Her lips had moved with whisperings impossible to decipher. Her expression was completely passive and disinterested by the presence of those who loved her. The marshal had personally come to the hospital and had officially arrested her. She had not flinched when handcuffed, Jacob recalled now, and she had been unaware that within days she’d find herself in the jailhouse behind bars.

  Mrs Coulter’s eyes had filled with tears in that first reunion. She had blessed herself, praying profusely for some miracle that would bring her daughter back to life. Old man Coulter had marched off immediately to seek out the marshal. Only over his dead body would his daughter be locked up, he had stated.

  Jacob had promised to take full responsibility for Elizabeth’s care and legal fees. He had assured them that he’d find the best lawyer in Richmond, and he had done that, at great expense. Jacob had also given testimony, confirming Mrs Bartlett’s story by saying that he had warned Elizabeth about Mrs Mallory’s deceit and prowess for manipulation. He had added that he’d tried his best to talk Elizabeth out of coming to Richmond with the woman. Jacob had then enquired into the execution of du Pont’s will. The lawyer and a prominent judge had been verbally united in saying that there could be no inheritance for Elizabeth unless she was proven innocent of the crime of murder.

  He felt sick to his stomach. He had planned to surprise Mercy in Norfolk, but the opportunity to go to her had been lost. He had wanted to take her good news about his ongoing divorce proceedings, but all further actions regarding this legal issue would be halted now, according to the Richmond lawyer.

  He was drowning in questions. Was Elizabeth’s mental state permanent? Would she remember what she had done? Would she hang for her crime? Would she be deemed fit enough to sign divorce papers? This last question was probably the least important, but it burned brightest in Jacob’s mind. He wanted nothing more than Mercy beside him, right now and forever. The irony was that du Pont had ultimately defeated him with her death – for if there was no divorce in the nea
r future, there would be no marriage to the woman he loved more than life itself.

  He grumbled to himself. He was a selfish bastard for even thinking about his personal needs. Elizabeth was facing a hanging if she was deemed fit enough to get to the courthouse. There was nothing wrong with her physical state, and should her mind come back to full or even partial awareness, she wouldn’t stand a hope in hell in front of the judge.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mercy felt the cool air caress her skin. It was late, after midnight, and the sultry summer nights had turned chilly, with autumn breezes sweeping in from the Atlantic Ocean. Mercy’s arm was entwined in Isaac’s as they walked back to her quarters in a comfortable silence, with no urgency of foot or need to make conversation. She spent most nights in Isaac’s company. They ate together when he was not on duty. They took gentle strolls around the fort and Negro encampment. Sometimes he even allowed her to ride with him into Newport News, where she would stare lovingly at Lina and Charlie’s boarding house with a mixture of nostalgia and sadness.

  Mercy had spent a month at the fort. It was mid-October, and her wrist had all but healed. She had come to care deeply about the slaves encamped just outside the fort’s walls, and she had worked tirelessly in the past two weeks to make this rough and somewhat uncomfortable camp a home for the Negros. There were barely enough hours in the day. She rose at dawn and rarely reached her bed until after midnight.

  Nelson did not join her in the evening excursions and activities with Isaac. He spent most of his time in the infirmary or with the slaves. Mercy had introduced him to Andrew, who had, upon his arrival at the fort, enlisted in the Union Army alongside Mathew and Billy. Nelson’s contentment was evident. He strutted behind Isaac, admired by the other Negros for being a legally free man – and one who had earned a respectable position as the surgeon’s orderly.