“Would you care to serve it?” Mrs. McLeary asked doubtfully.
Millie took that as praise—the hostess was willing to let her appear in the dining room and perhaps acknowledge her part in the success of the meal, rather than keeping her hidden in the kitchen. But Millie felt she’d gain more by working hard and letting someone else take the glory.
“No, you go ahead, ma’am. I’m making fine progress on these dishes.”
Mrs. McLeary cast a glance over the sideboard, where Millie had set the clean cooking pans to drip dry.
“I must say, you’re a regular plow horse when it comes to kitchen work.”
“I’ll accept that as a compliment.”
The hostess picked up the coffeepot. “It was intended for one, to be sure. I don’t suppose you’d consider stopping here for a while? As a cook?”
“No, but thank you. I hope to press onward as soon as the river permits it.” Millie couldn’t imagine the station agent paying her much, and when the flood season was past, they might not want her at all. Best to move on. She hummed as she plunged a stack of dirty plates into the water.
“Oh, and be sure you eat, too,” Mrs. McLeary said. “Heaven knows you’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, I shall.”
That was two bits she’d saved David, Millie reflected as the hostess left the room.
The dining room door flew open, and Mr. McLeary lumbered in. His gaze settled on Millie. “Ah, Mrs. Evans. How nice of you to help my wife this morning.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Millie kept scrubbing away at the cheese baked on to a tin pan.
“I knew someone other than my wife made those biscuits—she hasn’t the touch for them.”
Millie smiled.
“And that potato ramekin, as she calls it, was mighty tasty.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, sir.”
Mr. McLeary nodded. “If you’re interested in finding work, ma’am, I’ll pay you a dollar a day, and you can have Sundays and Thursdays off. We don’t generally get any stagecoach passengers for meals on those days.”
A dollar a day was a decent wage for most jobs, especially for those a woman might find, but it was much less than Millie had earned when cooking in a restaurant that catered to miners. Beside, this stage stop was fairly isolated. There wouldn’t be any social life to speak of. Where would the cook sleep? In one of the rooms they now rented out for guests? Or would they stick her in a tiny cupboard with a cot? Though she wasn’t afraid of hard work, a life of drudgery and fending off men’s advances didn’t appeal to Millie. Philadelphia, with her connections there, was her best chance at finding a new and pleasant life.
“I do thank you for the offer, sir, but I must go on with the stage.”
“Hmm.” McLeary frowned. “Well, the river’s still too high for you to go today. Too dangerous.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him as she squeezed out her dishrag. “Do you think we shall be able to cross tomorrow?”
“Perhaps. And if you want to keep helping my wife today, I’ll pay you that dollar, and you can have your meals besides.”
“Thank you. I’ll accept, if you don’t charge for my room tonight either.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest then grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Evans, but my wife gets quite harried when we’re filled up with guests. It’s a deal.”
David reached for a third biscuit. For once, a stage stop provided ample food for the travelers. Perhaps it was because they were stranded and the owners wanted to keep them from complaining overmuch. This breakfast seemed vastly better than last night’s supper. Though not ill-tasting, the stew had been a bit watery and bland. That and the cornbread had been served in stingy portions. But these biscuits—David had never tasted better.
The driver who’d brought them to McLeary’s the day before reached past David for the butter.
“They must have a new cook. I’ve never knowed Miz McLeary to make such fine biscuits before. Even the coffee’s good.”
“Oh?” David looked down the table, where their hostess was refilling some of the other men’s cups.
The one woman dining with them said loudly, “This potato and egg dish is delicious. Would you share your receipt?”
Mrs. McLeary hesitated, then laughed. “You’ve caught me out, ma’am. ’Tis not mine at all. The other lady what’s staying here made it from scratch, and not having a receipt book or anything.”
Other lady? David glanced quickly about for Millie, but she was nowhere to be seen. He’d assumed the noise of the overly full house had kept her wakeful last night and she had slept late. Had she really risen early to cook for them?
When Mrs. McLeary came down the table with the coffeepot, he held out his mug. As she poured, he said softly, “Pardon me, ma’am, but did I understand you to say that Mrs. Evans cooked this meal?”
“She gave me a bit of assistance this morning.” Mrs. McLeary didn’t seem happy with the accolades the others were giving the food. “That’s not to say she did it all, by any means, but I was telling Mrs. Willard that Mrs. Evans did volunteer her way of making the egg dish. We were short on eggs this morning, you see, being as we have so many guests.”
David nodded. “And where is Mrs. Evans now?”
“Oh, she’s about,” Mrs. McLeary said vaguely.
David said no more but finished his breakfast. Afterward, he went outside and strolled toward the river. The water roiled among the trees, which rose from it like pilings. It lapped at the doors of a barnlike structure, and two men stood next to the building, mournfully watching the swollen river.
David ambled toward them and called, “Are you the ferryman?”
Both men turned toward him, and the older one nodded. “I am, sir.”
“What’s the forecast? Shall we get across soon?”
The gray-haired man shook his head. “She’s crested, but you see the ferry.” He pointed, and David saw the flat boat then, tied to a tree several yards out from shore.
“The dock’s clear under water,” the ferryman said. “Wish I’d put a longer rope on the ferry. We may lose it yet.”
“If you’re lucky, you might get over tomorrow,” the other man said. “Or the next day.”
David thanked them and walked back to the house. On impulse, he walked around to the back. The kitchen door on the back porch stood open, and he looked inside.
Millie was wrist deep in a large pan of dishwater. The plates and cups flew through her hands, into the suds. Scrub, turn, swish, and she dropped one in the big kettle beside her, which David assumed was clean water. Scrub, turn, swish, plunk. After repeating the motions half a dozen times, she shook the drops from her hands and picked up a pair of tongs, then proceeded to pluck the clean dishes from the rinse and place them to drip dry in a rack.
Mrs. McLeary came back from the dining room with a tray of dirty coffee cups and silverware. She set it on the sideboard near the dishpan, and Millie went back to her routine of scrub, turn, swish, plunk.
David almost stepped into the kitchen, but he thought better of it and backed away, slipping down the steps and around the corner of the house in silence.
He went to the barn and rummaged through his luggage. His leather-bound Bible met his fingers, and he pulled it out. Near the barn door, he found a keg of horseshoes. Placing a short board across the top, he made a stool. For the next half hour, he read undisturbed and closed his eyes to reflect and pray.
Lord, I don’t know what to ask for. My instinct is to plead with You to get me away from this place, but You know better than I do. Bring us along in our journey in Your own time.
At the sound of men approaching, he opened his eyes. Two of the tenders came into the barn.
“Mr. Stone.” One of them nodded to him as they passed and went on to care for the idle teams.
David rose with the vague feeling that there was something important he should have prayed about, but whatever it was had slipped his mind now. He climbed the mow l
adder and put his Bible back in his valise. Too bad he hadn’t brought another book along. He hadn’t seen any reading material in the station house, but perhaps the McLearys had some books in their private quarters.
He ambled across the yard. The ground there was still muddy, though the grass around the house had dried in the sunshine.
The station agent was inside, sorting mail from the sacks the stages had brought in. It occurred to David that the longer they remained stranded, the more people would collect at the stage stop. The hay mow might be as full as the house by tonight.
“Mr. McLeary,” he called, walking over to the agent’s sorting table. “I wondered if you had any books about the place.”
“Well now, we used to have an old volume of Edmund Burke’s essays that a lawyer left here, but it disappeared last spring. I suspect the division agent swiped it, but he won’t admit it. And there was a copy of King Lear kicking about. I’ll ask the wife.”
“Oh, don’t bother, sir,” David said. The shotgun messengers for the two stalled eastbound stages had a card game going in one corner, and a couple of passengers off the second coach were seated with mugs before them. David headed toward them, but Millie came out of the kitchen carrying a pitcher of water, and he found himself smiling at her.
“Mrs. Evans, I am told you had a hand in preparing our sumptuous breakfast this morning.”
“Well, yes.”
“That was a proper meal, if you’ll allow me to say it. Very tasty.”
“Thank you.” Her long lashes swept upward, revealing her captivating green eyes, but she quickly veiled them again. “I trust you had a restful night, sir.”
“Perhaps not as restful as some, but more so than others,” David said, thinking of the stamping horses beneath the hay mow and the rustling noises and snoring that wakened him repeatedly in the darkness.
She nodded and gave him the ghost of a smile. “I expect that’s right. And if you’ll excuse me, I shall rest myself. The house seems to be quieter now than during the night.”
He inclined his head in a bow and watched her go up the stairs. Millie really was a charming woman. Quite personable, and that auburn hair…Though she must be at least thirty, she’d kept her youthful grace and winsomeness, not to mention her figure, which of course, a gentleman never would comment on. If she’d been born to different circumstances, she could have fit easily into his social circle in England. David couldn’t think of another woman besides his niece or Elise Bentley that he’d rather make small talk with at a party.
He turned away with a sigh. What was he thinking of—social circles indeed! This was America, where such things didn’t matter. Perhaps he could get a cup of coffee and join the other men. Their conversations started up again, and David became aware that they’d stopped talking while Millie was in the room. It seemed every man’s eye was drawn to her, and they’d all postponed their business until she’d left.
CHAPTER 15
A commotion in the hall disturbed Merrileigh. She and her husband were just having tea with the children, and then she would dress for a card party at the Fitzhughs’ home. She did hope this interruption wouldn’t force them to change their plans.
The maid entered with a perturbed look on her face.
“What is it, Mary?” Merrileigh asked. “Did someone come in? I heard voices.”
“It’s Mr. Walmore, mum. He insists on seeing you.”
Randolph frowned. “Tell him to come on in.”
The maid looked doubtfully toward Merrileigh.
“I’ll go and see what he wants,” Merrileigh said quickly. Pastiche’s race must have been over two hours ago, and she dearly wanted to hear the outcome, but not in front of her husband.
“Father, do you think I’ll be able to go shooting with you in the fall?” asked Albert.
That’s it, Merrileigh thought. Distract your father for a few minutes. That’s all I need. She smiled as she crossed the hall to the morning room. What good children she had!
“Perry, what’s to do?”
He turned toward her, and she caught her breath. His hair stood on end, as though he’d run his hands through it many times. His cravat was undone and hanging loose about his neck, and his complexion was pale as ice.
“What’s happened?” She strode to him and took his hands. “You lost, didn’t you?”
He frowned and shook his head rapidly. “No. No, I won. You were right about Pastiche.”
“Then—what’s the matter?”
“Merry, you’ll hate me so!”
“Just tell me.”
“Hedge and I went round to the club after the race, and Lord Brampton was there. He wanted to get up a game of faro.”
“Faro?” Things fell rapidly into place in Merrileigh’s mind. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t lose the whole bundle.”
“No, but…” His breath came in shallow gulps. “Merry, he accused me of cheating.”
“What?” She stared at him. “Are you mad?”
“No, but he was. Stark, raving insane. He claimed there was no way I could be so lucky.”
“Lucky? You mean you won again?”
“Bless you, dear.” He reached a trembling hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a fistful of notes. “Five thousand pounds I came away with.”
Merrileigh’s jaw dropped. “You…you won that much?”
He nodded. “Last night after the game at Tattersall’s, I had six hundred. After the race, I had two thousand and a half. And Brampton and the others—Merry, I clipped their wings but proper, I’ll tell you.”
She laughed. “But that’s wonderful!”
Peregrin sobered and shook his head. “No. No, it’s not. He accused me of cheating, and…” He stared at her, his face stricken. “I must bolt, Merry.”
“Bolt? What are you talking about?”
“The old curmudgeon wanted satisfaction.”
“You mean he wants to duel you?”
“Worse. He pulled a pistol then and there.”
“But…what happened?” Obviously her brother was still in one piece. Merrileigh wanted to shake him and make him blurt out the story faster.
“Hedgely put a gun in my hand.”
“What? You’re joking! He’s your friend.”
“Yes. Said he would stand as my second.”
“But…there are rules.”
“Yes, and laws, too. We broke every one of ’em. Brampton refused to wait until dawn. He was going to blow my head off.”
Merrileigh drew in as deep a breath as her corset would allow. “What did you do?”
“Blew his, of course.” Peregrin hung his head. “What on earth am I to do? Hedge told me to run out the back. The club had to call the coppers in, you see.”
“Naturally.” Meredith swallowed hard. “You’ll have to leave England.”
“That’s what I said. They’ll have me in irons if I don’t. Merry, they might hang me. I mean—he was a lord.”
“But you kept your winnings.”
“Yes. Hedge and Rutherford scooped the bills off the table and stuffed my pockets and told me to run for it. Said they’d handle the police, and no one would dispute the money was mine. But I don’t dare to go home for my things.”
“Let me think.” Merrileigh pressed her hands to her temples. “We can’t stop the scandal now. We must tell Randolph.” She raised her hands. “Oh, not everything, just the part about the club and Brampton. That ship that’s leaving Liverpool—you can make it if you have a good horse.”
“You still want me to go to New York?” Peregrin stared at his sister with a silly twist to his lips and his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline.
“More than ever now. Only we won’t tell where you’ve gone. Not even Randolph will know.” Merrileigh said. “Your winnings will keep you for a long while, especially if you’re careful and don’t gamble.” She nodded slowly. “You stay here. I’ll bring Randolph in so you can tell him. I’ll suggest we send our footman around to get your clothes. Jus
t don’t tell Randolph that you have a destination in mind. Say that you’ll run for it and hop on the first ship you find that’s ready to sail. He won’t know that I am aware of where you’re going.”
“And I hoof it to New York and try to find David?”
“Yes. If we can fix it so that Randolph comes into the title, he might be able to fix it for you later, so that you can come back. Do you understand?”
Peregrin nodded. “Merry, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.” She gave him a quick hug. “Buck up, little brother. And my previous offer stands. Two thousand.”
“Half my winnings are yours.” His brow furrowed, and the rest of his face tightened.
“Take the two thousand out of that. You have plenty to live on in America for a long time.”
The door opened, and Randolph came in.
“Hullo, Perry. You look awful.”
The fact that her brother didn’t laugh showed Merrileigh how shaken he was.
“I’m afraid I’ve pulled a stunner, Randolph. Don’t hate me. I was only defending myself.”
“What?” Randolph stared at him, then swiveled his head to look at Merrileigh. “What’s going on?”
“Sit down, my dear,” Merrileigh said. “Peregrin has a tale to tell, and then he must flee. Meanwhile, I propose we send Thomas to pack a bag for Perry and bring it here.”
Randolph eyed his brother-in-law severely. “What? You’ve got in so deeply you’re ruined?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid.”
“Sit, dear.” Merrileigh practically pushed her husband into a chair.
Peregrin walked shakily to a chair opposite Randolph and sat down. “I’ve shot a man. A lord.”
“What on earth?”
Merrileigh gave a quick account, which Randolph punctuated with questions. At last he took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“I suppose you’re right. There’s nothing for it but to skip until things blow over.” He looked up and scowled at the miscreant. “Perry, how could you?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Merrileigh said.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 76
