by Leen Elle
Derek climbed the ladder to his loft with heavy steps. When he found his good clothes at the bottom of his trunk, he laid them on his bed and started unbuttoning his shirt. He'd just pulled it off and tossed it onto his trunk when a wonderful thought come to his mind.
She did say to clean up. What's cleaner than a bath?
Derek scooped up his shirt and yanked it back on. Forgetting the oppressive heat to thoughts of cool water, he scurried down the ladder and ran out into the sunlight. He could get in at least fifteen minutes at the river if he hurried.
He ran across the lawn, careful not to be seen by the working party still setting out food and center pieces on each table. Ducking through the bushes, he charged down the path, into the jungle of Spanish moss and wilting leaves. The canopy of the forest acted like a greenhouse, making the air even thicker and harder to swallow into his lungs, but Derek barely noticed as the sound of the river grew louder.
When he arrived at the muddy slope of bank, Derek kicked off his shoes and plunged into the icy current. Between his new responsibilities in the stables and the Smithfield's' arrival, he hadn't had time to go swimming in nearly two months.
When he'd waded in the water for as long as he could justify, Derek trudged out, onto the bank. He didn't bother putting his shoes on, just started at a jog up the path. When he pushed through the bushes, he spotted Gabriel standing by the corner of the house. He turned at the sound of the bushes parting.
"No fair!" Gabriel whined as he took in Derek's wet clothes and dripping hair. He, himself looked hot and sticky in his fine suit, his round cheeks and forehead red with heat and sun.
"Your mother said to clean up," Derek answered indifferently. "Figured a bath was as good a clean-up as I could get."
"You could have gotten me."
"She would have noticed. Beside, you and your friends'll go swimming after the party, I bet. I'll have to help put stuff away."
Gabriel still looked bad-tempered, but Derek was satisfied that he was placated enough not to tell his mother he'd seen Derek sneaking back from the river.
Heading along the edge of the trees so no one in front of the house would notice him, Derek hurried back to the stables to change. The doors were still open and he could hear Abigail's voice piping from inside.
"That was so fun! Can we ride the horses tomorrow, too?"
"Perhaps. Now come, we have to brush your hair and make you pretty for Mrs. Worthington's party."
Derek ducked behind the building just as Mrs. Smithfield led her daughter out the door. When they were far enough away, he slipped inside, grinning to himself at not getting caught. His grin fell as he came face-to-face with Mr. Smithfield, who was just closing the latch on Blueberry's stall.
"Oh, uh, good morning, sir." He hoped he didn't look too guilty.
"Oh, Derek." Mr. Smithfield looked a little startled. "Good morning. Have you been swimming?"
"Just cleaning up for the party."
Mr. Smithfield glanced skeptically at Derek's muddy feet for a moment then gave him a warm, knowing smile. "Well, be quick. Jonathan just came and told us the first guests have arrived."
Derek smiled. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
With a last, short smile, Mr. Smithfield looked behind him and held out his hand. "Bartholomew?"
The little, dark-haired boy poked his head out of the last empty stall.
"Come, it's time to go."
Bartholomew stared at Derek for several seconds before hurrying forward with clumsy, waddling steps and taking his father's hand with his own two, pudgy ones, his wide eyes never leaving Derek.
"See you out at the party."
"Yes, sir."
When Mr. Smithfield had closed the door behind him, Derek hurried up to the loft and changed into his Sunday clothes as quickly as he could. As he set off across the lawn, trying to flatten the brim of his hat, he was struck once more at how much like Mr. Worthington Mr. Smithfield was. It was almost eerie to see and talk to him. As he reached the top of the knoll, he stopped, sighing at the line of horses and carriages coming up the drive.
"Well," he told himself, resolutely fixing his hat onto his head, "it can't be worse than Mrs. Worthington's punishment if I don't go."
By late afternoon, the party was going about as well as Derek thought it would. He'd received a lot of scowls from Mr. Millstone and Abby kept following him around. She seemed to think he wasn't in trouble anymore because he'd been allowed to go to the party and she took this as a sign that she was allowed to play with him again. Every time he thought he'd have two seconds to himself, there she was, skipping towards him, her pigtail bouncing happily.
Just as Derek shooed Abby off to play with her brother (who was crawling under the tables and poking at people's shoes) for the third time in as many hours, an even more unwelcome person happened along.
Smirking and strutting, his friends close behind, Anthony made his way through the crowd.
Derek had known this moment would come, and it seemed he could only be grateful it had been put off for so long into the day. He was slightly sickened and very annoyed to notice Gabriel tagging along with the pack, though.
Anthony spotted Derek as if he'd been looking for him. Striding the rest of the way across the lawn like a dog who'd scented game, he stopped very close to Derek and said loudly, "Derek, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be in the kitchen with the womenfolk."
Derek shook his head at the lame insult. Looking towards the house, past the group of boys, he noticed Catherine sitting on the porch bench in her pretty blue dress, talking to Mr. and Mrs. Cutter. "I haven't said hello to Miss Catherine yet, so if you'll excuse me." Pushing by Anthony, he started to walk away. He was only slightly gratified in seeing Gabriel looking embarrassed and ashamed.
"You know, Mrs. Worthington really is a very nice lady," Anthony said loudly to his friends. "I mean, how many people do you know who would take in a mutt? Not just a mutt, but the son of a whore."
He tried to keep himself walking towards the porch, focusing as hard as he could on Catherine, who was smiling at Mr. Cutter as he spoke to her. He's not worth it. He isn't
"I mean, she must have been a whore, right? Had a mutt with a nigger"
Derek turned sharply back towards the other boys. He covered the distance he'd walked away in two, long strides, and punched Anthony in the jaw.
There was no real force behind the strike, but it seemed to catch both of them off guard. Whatever retort Derek had been planning, he didn't think that was it. For several seconds, the two boys stared at each other in surprise, Anthony's friends and Gabriel shifting wary glances from one boy to the other.
After several, tense seconds, Anthony finally seemed to have processed what Derek did. He threw a punch of his own.
Ducking out of the way, Derek bumped into one of the refreshment tables. He caught himself from falling just in time to be knocked to the ground by Anthony tackling him. The two wrestled on the ground for several minutes before knocking into the table that was set up with drinks and spilling wine all over themselves. Seconds later, Derek was being hauled to his feet by a very angry looking Jonathan.
"Inside, now," he said through clenched teeth. With a warning look at Anthony that told him all too clearly that he was to follow, Jonathan marched the two boys into the house, his grip on Derek's collar never loosening.
"What did you two think "
Jonathan was cut short by Mrs. Worthington and Mrs. Clayton walking quickly into the room. Derek could tell he was in for some real trouble by the way Mrs. Worthington's crystal blue eyes were narrowed at him, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. She opened her mouth to speak, but Anthony's mother beat her to it.
"How dare you! What were you thinking, boy?"
Anger swelled in Derek. It had been too long a week and he'd had too little sleep. Against all his better judgment, he yelled back at the woman, "If you're going to yell at anyone, yell at him! He's the one who started it!" Turning to glare at Anth
ony, Derek was gratified to notice that the other boy's right eye was already swelling and turning purple, and his bottom lip was bleeding a thick line of red down his chin.
Anthony glared back at him as he lifted his hand to wipe some of the blood away from his mouth. His dark eyes were narrowed and smug despite his injuries.
"Oh, and how is that?" Mrs. Clayton demanded, her hands on her hips.
Derek looked back at the woman. "He insulted my mother."
Mrs. Clayton's eyes narrowed and her angry frown deepened. Her jeweled necklace glittered in the candle light. "Oh, insulted your mother, did he? I'm sure my Anthony didn't say anything that was less than true."
"He called her a " He choked on the disgusting word. " whore. My mother was not a whore."
"How would you know? No one knows your mother, boy."
Derek's rage threaten to overwhelm him. He opened his mouth to say something else he would probably regret, but was silenced when Jonathan's voice, even and as cool as ever, came from behind him.
"I knew her."
Everyone turned to look at Jonathan. Derek couldn't help but notice that Mrs. Worthington's eyeballs were dangerously close to bulging out of her head completely.
"I knew her," he repeated, looking directly at his mother. "And anyone who speaks words of her that are anything less that respectful is a liar and should be ashamed. She was a good woman. I will not tolerate that sort of language towards her in my home."
Mrs. Clayton gaped soundlessly for several seconds. "Well, I never!"
"My dear woman," Jonathan said with the slightest bow, "you have now. Shall I show you the door, or do you think you can manage on your own?"
Judging by the way she huffed and stalked out of the house, Derek assumed she could manage very well on her own. With a quick glance at Jonathan, Anthony turned and fled after his mother, his hand still pressed to his bleeding mouth.
Suddenly noticing Mrs. Worthington's silence through the interaction, Derek grew very curious despite his nerves. He looked at her just as she turned to face him.
"And now to deal with you." Her eyes glinted.
"Leave him alone." Jonathan wasn't looking at either of them, but rather at the place Mrs. Clayton had been standing in, as though he was still waiting for her to leave.
"What did you say to me?" she breathed with barely concealed outrage.
Jonathan looked back at his mother with an even expression. His voice was calm, but firm. "I said, leave him alone." Turning his attention to an open-mouthed Derek, he said, "Go clean yourself up then come back here and clean that mess you're making."
It was only then that Derek realized a line of blood was running down his cheek (it started to itch now that he was paying attention to it) and that he was dripping wine on the floor. His good Sunday shirt was ruined.
Chapter Fifteen
Derek woke to the pattering of rain on the stable roof. He was sore from sleeping the wrong way on his bed and the steady tapping of the rain was driving spikes into his brain, but his eyes were wide and alert as soon as he reached consciousness, the previous day flooding back to him in vivid waves.
Clambering out of bed and rushing to the pulley arm where he'd hung his clothes to dry after his swim the day before, Derek scrambled to get dressed. By the time Devon hollered, "Boy!" he was already halfway down the latter.
"You up early," Devon said, peering at Derek blearily.
"Rain woke me." Snatching the pail off the wall, Derek rushed to dump oats into first Blueberry's trough, and then Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's.
"Go an' git the breakfast."
Derek nearly dropped the pail trying to hang it back up. He nodded quickly, grabbed his hat off the hay bale by the door, and started across the lawn, ducking down against the rain.
Far from trying to be helpful, Derek had an agenda. He wanted to talk to Jonathan, and he wasn't planning on taking "no" for an answer. Finally, someone was talking about his mother, and he was going to take advantage of it.
When he reached the shelter of the hall beyond the side door, Derek leaned up the servant stairs, listening hard for sounds of the family stirring. There were muffled voices and light footsteps. Satisfied that he'd gotten there early enough, he kicked his muddy shoes off and went down to the kitchen.
"Got breakfast done?"
"Child, you're worse than Gabriel!" Beth was standing by the hearth looking harassed. "I just got in here. The fire's not even started, never mind breakfast cooked!"
Derek took a roll out of the basket on the table. "I'll just wait then."
"Imagine. You, up early on a Sunday." She shook her head.
"Not for church," he answered around a mouthful of bread. "I wanted to see Jonathan."
"Well, if you're going to be here, at least set the table. And stay out of Missus Worthington's way. She's in a right mood."
"She's always in a right mood. Bet she'd like to hang me after yesterday."
"Bet she would," she agreed shrewdly. "And she's in a righter mood than usually." Beth's voice dropped to a whisper. "Her and Master Jonathan were arguing last night when Atty and I were upstairs filling the tub for Missus Worthington (Master Worthington's wife)."
Derek leaned forward a little. He would bet anything Mrs. Worthington wasn't too happy about Jonathan stopping her from punishing him. That was another thing he wanted to ask Jonathan about. That was almost stranger than the man mentioning Derek's mother in the first place. "Were they arguing about the scene at the party?"
"I couldn't tell, but I don't know if I've ever heard Master Worthington raise his voice like that, and especially not to his mother. It was just lucky Missus Worthington (Master Worthington's wife) was able to sleep through it all. Atty and I decided to let her be 'til they were through. Bath water was almost cold by the time those two laid off."
"Wish I could've heard him yelling at her. I'd pay to see it."
"If things keep up the way they've been going, you just might hear some of it. Master Worthington's been mighty rude to Missus Worthington lately, and I don't reckon she's going to put up with it too much longer."
Derek grinned despite his mounting nerves.
"Here." Beth pushed a pile of clean saucers into Derek's hands. "For the table."
Nodding, Derek left, taking the stairs two at a time as he balanced the saucers carefully. The news that things really were as unstable among the Worthingtons as they looked from the outside brought a strange thrill of pleasure and nerves to his stomach. He wasn't sure if he should be happy that Mrs. Worthington was finally getting told off, or worried about what the power-shift might do to his own position in the household. Either way, he figured things couldn't get much worse for him than what he was already used to.
In the first floor hall, Derek walked slowly by the stairs, listening again. The waking up sounds were a little louder. He strolled slowly around the table, setting out plates, saucers, glasses, and silverware, all the while straining his ears for footsteps on the stairs.
Just as he was running out of dishes to set, heavy footfalls came towards the dining room. His eyes half-lidded, Jonathan stopped in the doorway. "Beth if you could "
There was a long pause in which Derek didn't dare speak.
The expression on Jonathan's face was, as always, unreadable. Finally, the man said, "When you go back downstairs, send Beth up to see me. I have mending that has to be done before we leave for church." He started to walk out of the room.
Taking a gulp of heavy air, Derek blurted, "Who was she?"
Jonathan froze.
"Was she really just a...a servant?"
Several seconds passed before Jonathan faced Derek again. His eyes were hard and not so tired looking. His tone was cold with insurmountable distance, coming to Derek not from across the room, but as if from another world. "Mother has told you everything you'll ever know about your parents."
"But I just thought "
"Silence!" Jonathan yelled, startling Derek. Whatever he might have done, Jonathan h
ad never been one to raise his voice. He was like his father that way. Glaring at the boy with what could only be hatred, his voice deadly cold, he continued, "You are in this household as a servant. You have been kept here because of my mother's generosity. It is not your place to ask questions."
"It is when everyone's keeping something from me!" Derek heard the desperation in his own voice, but there was no time to feel embarrassed by it. This was his only chance to learn anything about his parents, and it seemed no matter how tightly he tried to hold it, it was slipping away. He clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking.
Peering at him for a moment, Jonathan sneered, "No one's keeping anything from you. You're a delusional little boy, with fairy tale thoughts that somewhere out there, there might be someone you belong to. Someone who might want you."
Derek glared at Jonathan, fighting the urge to yell at him. He knew he was lucky Mrs. Worthington wasn't bearing down on him as it was.
"Your mother is dead." A ringing silence greeted the proclamation. "She was a servant in this house." There was a sneer of disgust behind these words. "And that's all you need to know."
Unable to form a response, Derek only stared, his insides gripped by a strange and heavy feeling. The back of his throat started to itch and it was impossible to swallow.
Jonathan continued to stare at Derek for several seconds, his hard, cold eyes boring into Derek's. In an infuriatingly calm voice, he said, "Send Beth up when you go back to the kitchen. I have mending that has to be done before we leave for church."
Derek stood still, unable to move as he watched Jonathan disappear around the doorframe. He listened as weary steps went up the stairs and down the hall.
At least ten minutes passed while Derek stood there, his fists still clenched painfully. When at last he heard the softer, quicker steps of Mrs. Worthington coming down the stairs, he slipped down the hall and onto the kitchen stairs before she spotted him.
By the time he reached the kitchen, he'd made up his mind admittedly against his better judgment to try talking to Jonathan again later.
