Blood Moon (The Mercy Carver Series Book 2)
Page 21
“No, you have to stand by her.”
Jacob nodded, utterly defeated. “I will always love you. I’ve made terrible mistakes and I will live with regrets for the rest of my life. Knowing that you might be content somewhere with a man who can give you everything I cannot will make my loss bearable – this is the only thing I can hope for now.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mercy softened her stance after hearing Jacob’s news. She would remain in Yorktown until the morning. To leave now in darkness would be nothing more than prideful stupidity. Anyway, she thought, she was exhausted and far too sad to take herself off into a new unknown.
Mercy’s back rested against Jacob’s chest as they rode her horse back into Yorktown. His arms were wrapped protectively around her waist. They rode in silence and the horse moved as slowly as a sloth in the half mile back to the centre of town, as though sensing the despair and reluctance of the riders.
Mercy wished the mile would multiply by a thousand. Arriving at the boarding house would herald the end of her and Jacob. It would bring to an abrupt halt to her dreams for a future with him, in a world already bound in the fog of war. She had no tears left to cry or words to say. The fear of losing him had been so strong that she had gone back on her word and had implored Jacob to rethink his decision. She had begged him to allow her the choice of remaining by his side, but she had no argument to sway him and no more words to ease his guilt.
He had asked her to imagine a scene whereby she sat in a house alone in Portsmouth, hated, shunned, and with no hope for marriage or children. He would come to her once or maybe twice a week, always in secret, carrying blame on his shoulders like a heavy sack of responsibility. It would eventually become a burden too heavy to abide, he’d told her.
She caressed his bare forearms, unable to deny herself this one last moment of tenderness between them. She was just as much at fault in all of this as he, she thought. It was unfair that he carry this responsibility alone. She was glad Madame du Pont was dead, happy that the cruel, murdering bitch had died at the end of a blade. She deserved more than the death she’d been given – torture and suffering in agony for days would have been more fitting for the likes of her. That’s how she felt about du Pont. She had brought du Pont onto Elizabeth’s path, but Elizabeth should not have been the one to wield the knife and take du Pont’s life. No, she thought again, that should have been her job.
After securing a room, Jacob emerged from the boarding house with a serious and thoughtful expression. They led the horse down the street to the blacksmith. It would be fed, watered, and stabled, the blacksmith assured her. As they walked back to the boarding house, Jacob linked his fingers in hers. Mercy thought it ironic. She and Jacob had just been robbed of a lifetime of conversations, yet she could find nothing to say at this moment.
They stopped in front of the boarding house door. Jacob searched her eyes. “I don’t know how to do this – I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” he said.
She felt her eyes fill with tears yet again. “Please don’t say goodbye,” she pleaded.
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t,” she blurted out. “Will you stay with me tonight? Can we have a few more hours together?”
Jacob’s eyes brightened. He caressed her cheek with his hand and nodded. “Thank you.” His words caught in his throat, making his next words a soft whisper. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, as long as you promise not to say goodbye to me in the morning. When you leave me, kiss me and tell me you’ll see me soon – and believe it when you say it. I won’t let Madame du Pont take all hope from us. She’s stolen everything else. I hate her! Lina believed in fate and destiny, and I do too. God brought us together, and only he can tear us apart, not du Pont – so there must be no talk of farewells or any nasty business, do you hear me? I’m going to stop crying now, and you will not see another single tear from me this night. This must be our night, no one else’s. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he answered.
Mercy lay enfolded in Jacob’s arms. It was black outside. She could see no stars or moon, just a world of darkness. She was covered in it. It was seeping through her skin into her heart, emptying it of joy. She had been staring out of the window for what seemed like hours, searching for answers and trying to imagine a better future than the one that lay ahead.
Fleeting thoughts converged in her mind, but one in their midst was now gaining her full attention. An interesting notion, it was transforming into a coherent idea. Du Pont had wanted to destroy Jacob and, in doing so, destroy Mercy. Should she, Mercy, do nothing to help Jacob now? Could she allow the old cow a victory to accompany her bones in the grave? No, Mercy decided. That was unacceptable, and she was having none of it.
Jacob would be awake soon. She would kiss him, tell him that she loved him, and wish him luck. He would leave immediately for Richmond, but he had asked her to remain awhile longer. Jacob’s colonel had been kind enough to order three of his men to escort her all the way to the Confederate secondary defensive line on Warwick Road. Jacob was not happy about her going anywhere, of course, but last night it had been decided that she would go back to Norfolk.
She gazed lovingly into his face and then gently drew her finger across his lips. She snuggled closer to him and felt her skin burn with desire. She kissed his mouth, parting his lips with her tongue. Jacob stirred, clearly hungry for her even as he roused from sleep. He opened his eyes and in one swift movement rolled her onto her back. He arched his back and looked down at her face. “Mercy …Oh my, Mercy. I love you, my darling,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jacob found Mr and Mrs Coulter in their hotel. As he waited for them to join him for tea, he thought about the telegram that he had received three days earlier in Yorktown: “ELIZABETH IN JAIL STOP RECOVERING STOP GET HERE STOP URGENT.”
His body was drained of energy. He grieved for Mercy, yet upon leaving Yorktown, he had begged her not to return to him. He would always mourn her absence. This was the punishment for his stupidity. But Mercy would love again. A good man would find her and fill her life with happiness. He had to believe this. He despised himself for being a fool and a coward. He dreaded the days to come – yes, feared the outcome of Elizabeth’s trial and his own future.
It was early evening now, just past sundown. Mr Coulter and Jacob sat at a table in the hotel restaurant. Mrs Coulter was in the bedroom upstairs, far too distraught to drink tea in a public place, she had told her husband. Jacob was surprised and deeply worried at the turn in Elizabeth’s condition. Mr Coulter had informed him on his arrival that four days ago she had spoken for the first time in the presence of the marshal and prosecutor. Her words had been damaging, for they had demonstrated conscious thought and were therefore damning enough to make an official arrest possible.
“What exactly happened?” Jacob now asked. “Was there any sign that Elizabeth was coming round beforehand?
“Nope, I never heard a single word fall from her mouth. The doc at the hospital reckons it might have had something to do with her nightmare the previous night. According to him, she was hollering and kicking bedclothes off her all night long. She was screaming the Mallory woman’s name – shouting for you too, I heard tell. I reckon my girl just woke up with a whole lot of mumbo jumbo recollections in her brain. They got her in the bowels of that stinking jailhouse. It’s a dark, dingy hole; hell, I wouldn’t want to see any man in there, never mind my girl.”
“So she’s getting her wits back?” Jacob asked.
“I can’t rightly say one way or the other. She ain’t making much sense – I’d like to think her getting her wits back would be a God-given miracle, but damn it, there ain’t no reason to be happy if she recalls doing murder.”
“I agree. What did she say to the marshal?” Jacob asked.
“Not much. Don’t go thinking this was a long talk between them. She knew where she was. She knew me and her Ma. That slimy prosecuti
on lawyer asked her about you. She said she remembered getting married but couldn’t recall who to – her recollections are still coming and going, far as you are concerned. He asked her about the Mallory woman. She shut up mighty fast, told him she didn’t want to talk about Margaret Mallory, said she was scared of the woman.”
Jacob drank the last of his tea and poured another cup for himself and Mr Coulter. He was not hearing good news. If he were the law, he would figure Elizabeth was lying. Recalling some things and not others did not make much sense to him. She needed her Ma and Pa and had remembered them – but she sure as hell didn’t need to recall Margaret Mallory, and she had conveniently forgotten that she had killed her. He was no legal man, but it sure looked suspicious from where he was sitting. “What exactly does she remember about Margaret Mallory?” Jacob asked.
“Only that they lived together. I do recall her asking the marshal where Mrs Mallory was. Elizabeth said Mallory best be kept away from her – said the house was hers and not to let Mrs Mallory take it from her. I tried to quieten her down. I told the marshal to let her be, but that damn prosecutor came in, and he wouldn’t stop goading her with his damn questions. The son of a bitch ain’t buying Elizabeth’s story. I could see his scepticism – clear as the damn puss pimple on his face.”
Jacob was not surprised at the prosecution’s cynicism. Elizabeth’s shock had obviously worn off, to a certain extent, and her memory could not possibly be selective. Could it? “This doesn’t look good,” he said. “If she knows she’s had a disagreement with Mrs Mallory, that’s motive right there.”
“I blame you for this, Stone!” Mr Coulter lashed out at Jacob, his earlier civility disappearing with his tea. “This probably ain’t the time to call you out, but you put my daughter into this piss pot situation, so I’m tellin’ you right now, you had better figure a way to get her out of it.”
Jacob had wondered when the accusations would come. He would let them slide. Coulter was stricken with grief. He and his wife were beside themselves with worry. His marriage to Elizabeth and subsequent divorce proceedings were exactly why this had come about. Coulter was right about that. “I’m here to help in any way I can, sir. You might be right in saying I got her into a mess, but not this one. I never played a hand in sticking a knife into Mrs Mallory’s belly. I tried my damndest to talk Elizabeth out of coming to Richmond. I gave her what you asked me to give her. She had enough money to live a good life and find a man who’d love her the way I could not.
“You know as well as I do that she didn’t want me any more than I wanted her. Any man who says she did is a damn liar. Your daughter never loved me, and that’s a fact. But I married her all the same.”
“It was your duty to marry her, you son of a bitch! You don’t leave no daughter of mine at the altar – no, sir, not my little girl.”
“That’s not the issue here,” Jacob said. “The point is that I did marry her and I looked after her. Hell, I even went to Mrs Mallory and threatened her to stay away from Elizabeth. No, I didn’t do this. Your daughter got herself into this mess all by herself – and you have to see it that way too.”
“Well, like I said, it don’t mean you ain’t played a part in it,” Mr Coulter insisted. “If my daughter hangs, I swear on all that’s holy, you will follow her to the grave. If the judge gives her a jail sentence or a pardon, I will expect you to tear up them divorce papers. You ain’t never getting that separation finalised ’cause I will make damn sure that never happens.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jacob had approached Mrs Bartlett and, through her, Senator Bartlett, her husband. His aim had been to convince Mrs Bartlett to testify to Margaret Mallory’s mistreatment towards Elizabeth. Mr Bartlett, however, refused to allow his wife to speak on Elizabeth’s behalf. That, he told him, would not be appropriate given his position in the government.
The slave, Charles, still being detained, had also shocked Jacob with his blatantly false statement, claiming that Mrs Mallory had been a kind and exemplary mistress. He would not be allowed to take the witness stand, of course, but nonetheless, his statement would be read out and admitted into evidence.
Jacob was at an impasse. He had heard from the defence lawyer only two days ago that not one person had offered to come forward to defame du Pont’s character. Jacob had requested that he be allowed to testify to du Pont’s brutality as a whore mistress. He was also amenable to making known the events on the night of the Liverpool mansion’s fire. He was not above degrading his reputation as a damn whore mongrel if it would help Elizabeth’s case. But he was Elizabeth’s husband, and his testimony would not be allowed.
Jacob watched Elizabeth rise from the narrow cot in her cell with sluggish movements. According to the marshal, she had not moved since early evening the previous day. The cell was not much bigger than six feet long and four feet wide. It had only a narrow open slit for a window that looked into another adjacent basement, situated high up in the wall and impossible to see out of.
Jacob was grateful for small mercies. There were no prisoners on either side of Elizabeth. She would not have to endure the stench or talk of vulgar drunks or equally foul-mouthed criminals. Leaving these two cells vacant, however, was the only act of kindness the marshal had afforded Elizabeth. Murder was the most serious of crimes, the marshal had stated again and again, and as such, his wife would be treated the same as all murder suspects, regardless of her vulnerabilities.
After being searched, Jacob was left alone to speak with his wife. Elizabeth came to stand at the bars that separated them. She gave him a contemptuous stare, as though the sight of him annoyed her greatly. Jacob looked into her eyes. They were brighter and clearer. Gone was the wide-eyed vacuous stare present on the night of and subsequent days after the murder. In its place was the habitual haughty and disdainful expression he had come to know.
Her hair hung loose, knotted at the ends and in need of a good wash. Her face was gaunt and ashen. Her pink gown was dirty and covered in dust that had blown in from the glassless slit of a window. Her feet were bare, and her toes were blackened with grime. She was a sorry sight, Jacob thought. Yet she didn’t seem to mind a bit about the state of her appearance or cleanliness.
“Elizabeth, how are you feeling today?” he asked hesitantly.
“How do you think I might be feeling?” She scowled at him.
“The doctor tells me that your memory is coming back. I spoke with him last night. He says you are improving all the time. He thinks you will soon be quite well.”
“What does that fool know?”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jacob asked her.
“You can get me out of this place – today … now. This is hell! I don’t belong here. I have done nothing wrong, yet everyone is being mean to me.”
“I give you my word that I am going to do my very best to get you released,” Jacob said. “But you do know that you have to go to the courthouse tomorrow? You recall that your trial starts at noon?”
“Yes, I do recall being told that. That horrible marshal said I killed Margaret. Why, that’s the most preposterous thing I have ever heard.”
“So you still don’t remember anything about the night Mrs Mallory died?”
“No! I told you yesterday and the day before that I do not recall any such thing! I’m sure she’s not dead at all. She is hiding because she is angry with me. She wants folks to think she is dead – that’s what she is doing.”
Jacob saw the toss of her head and stubborn pout of her lips. He did not believe her. “You remembered that you and I are married. Do you still recollect our wedding?” he asked.
“Why, yes, that seems to be coming back to me more and more. If I recall correctly, it was snowing … I remember you brought that white trash Mercy Carver to my marital home. We are married – yes, that’s right: you are my husband. I also recall you being spiteful. I declare, I cannot remember one single nice thing about you. You’re a hateful dog of a man, Jacob Stone.”
Elizabeth took a step closer to the bars. She looked past Jacob, making sure they were alone. She crossed her arms across her middle and then smiled. “What if I do? It doesn’t mean the judge or anyone else has to find out. You won’t tell on me, will you, husband? You wouldn’t want your wife to hang? Why, I can just imagine what folks in the county will think about you should anything terrible happen to me. After all, you abandoned me for another woman. You tossed me aside like a piece of rotten meat. This is your fault. Everything that has happened to me is because of your cruelty.”
“Dear God, you remember killing Margaret Mallory, don’t you?” Jacob said.
Elizabeth smiled again and ridiculed him with her eyes. “Why, I don’t know what you are talking about. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less kill somebody.”
Jacob took an unconscious step backwards but couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face. She felt no remorse, no emotion whatsoever, he thought. He had spent sleepless nights worrying about her. He had lost Mercy because of her!