“What about the other apprentice I saw with Will? Can’t he be a witness?”
“He would face the same difficulty. A master’s word carries more weight. And then Tom would no doubt face dire consequences of his own.”
Then there was no way around it. Unless . . . “Can’t you intervene, Doctor?”
“I’ve considered it, but from my observation of the man’s temperament, I fear that he would deal with them even more harshly. I’ve chosen instead to do small things to alleviate their misery. And to pray fervently that they make it through the remaining years of their indenture whole in body.”
“I can’t accept it.” Another sob threatened, but she wiped her nose again and took a deep breath. “I must think of some way to help.”
“I hope you do.” Dr. Loftin patted her shoulder. “I know it may be difficult under the circumstances, my dear, but we do have a dinner engagement to keep. We won’t be able to help Good’s apprentices tonight, so in the meantime, we should not be rude to our hosts. Perhaps something will occur to us by tomorrow.”
She had forgotten that she should be dressing now for dinner with the Burbridges.
“Perhaps you should go look in on Susan and Mabel,” the doctor said. “I will send Mary up to help you. She will bring you my late wife’s gown.”
“You’re too kind, Doctor. I’ll see to it that the girls are prepared.” Mustering a weak smile, she balled the crumpled handkerchief in her fist and took a few steps to the foot of the stairs. “Have you seen my father?”
“I believe he’s dressing already.” With a slight bow, he withdrew to the drawing room and gently closed the doors. She ascended the stairs, deep in thought.
The gray-brown waters of the Allegheny lapped ahead of them as the Millers drove toward the bridge in the doctor’s coach. All of the girls were muffled in capes and fur hats; the warming box beneath Ann’s feet staved off the frosty bite of the air on her slippers. She sat stiffly beside her father, the blue-green satin of her borrowed dress spilling to the floor and encroaching upon Susan’s knees. Dr. Loftin sat across from her father, and the two men conversed about the history of Pittsburgh. At least she herself did not have to make pleasant conversation. Her father’s secrecy still disquieted her in his presence. Her little sisters chattered with one another about the width of the river.
As they left the cover of the bridge, a wintry gloom stole into the afternoon, hinting the approach of dusk. Ahead on the Pittsburgh wharf, hundreds of men crawled like rats from one skeletal boat hull to another, the sharp taps of their hammers echoing across the river. The hiss of furnaces and a low hum of engines rose from buildings all along the waterfront, as if the city breathed and its unseen heart beat somewhere below ground. Piles of coal tumbled into the edges of hills of white sand; raw riches of the earth heaped themselves in every spare yard of space. The line of glassworks and iron foundries stretched unbroken until the point of the city dropped away into the three rivers. And everywhere crept the musty smell of smoke that hung black against the somber sky.
The coach made its way through the streets. Ann was stunned by the number of wagons, horses, and pedestrians. She was glad Dr. Loftin had an expert driver as well as a coach to offer them. The doctor was himself an excellent amateur driver who enjoyed the pursuit and occasionally drove his own coach, but she felt safer with a real coachman at the reins. The heavy wagons headed west looked dangerous. They were so massive compared to the other conveyances on the road. If a driver misjudged his distance and hooked one of the fine coach wheels on a heavy wooden wagon wheel, it would splinter to bits. Their judicious driver kept them well clear of the wagons. It was more difficult to avoid the pedestrians, some of whom seemed driven by a fatal impulse to hurry as close to the coach as possible.
They moved away from the wharf. The products of factories disappeared, and the establishments of attorneys, tailors, and dressmakers appeared. A yellow brick church sat gracefully amidst a grove of trees.
“Ann, a castle!” Mabel pointed to another church. It was enormous, dark gray, with buttresses and spires. Susan gasped, and even Ann was impressed. She had never seen a building like this outside the pages of a book.
Her father looked out the coach window. “It’s a church, girls. Trinity Church. Finished last year.”
The coach slowed, turned into a narrow drive, and stopped. Ann slid the loop of her fur handbag over her elbow. She had brought a few essentials: a tiny hand mirror and comb, a handkerchief. But there was something else in her bag too. She had not wanted to leave Will’s letters behind at the doctor’s house. The crinkling of the paper when she touched the bag was like a talisman for the apprentice’s welfare, reassuring her that she would somehow think of a way to help him.
Dr. Loftin opened the door and handed her out to the graveled drive. The Burbridge home was very large, as she had suspected it would be—a two-story red brick with imposing white columns. Evergreen hedges taller than a man were trimmed into neat lines and curves, forming a green wall circling half an acre around the home. Within this protective embrace, smaller evergreen bushes had been trained into tiered cones. Some were perfect spheres of solid dark green.
“Topiary,” Dr. Loftin said in response to her expression of wonder. “Not fashionable in Europe, perhaps, but pleasing to look upon.” He turned back to help the little girls out of the coach.
“Good evening,” a cheerful voice called out. Some yards from the coach, Allan Burbridge walked down the wide white steps of his home and came to greet Ann, bowing over her hand. When he looked up at her, his gray eyes were keen with interest. “I’m delighted you could come, Miss Miller.”
“Your garden is lovely,” Ann said.
“Thank you.” He indicated the twigs protruding from heaped mounds along the walls of the home. “I wish you could see the roses, but they are asleep and cannot be awakened.”
She smiled. “Like Briar Rose.”
“You’ve read the Grimms’ tales?”
“Yes, the new edition—the small book for children.”
Susan came up beside Ann and took her gloved hand. “I love Briar Rose.”
“She was beautiful and kind, like you and your sisters.” Allan looked at Susan first, but then at Ann. She blushed.
She admitted that Allan was both intelligent and attractive. And it did not hurt that his thick wavy hair was neatly clipped, his broad shoulders clad in a fine black coat. But he was clearly not serious about this pursuit. He threw out flirtatious phrases with far too much aplomb and did not watch her closely in the way of a real suitor who would hang on his beloved’s every response. And she might live in the country, but she was no milkmaid to heed the sweet whisperings of the lord of the manor. She did not realize she had smiled at her own thought until Allan smiled back.
“Shall we go in?” he said, offering her his arm. Dr. Loftin took Susan’s hand to be sure she would not slip on the steps, and Ann’s father brought up the rear with Mabel.
A butler—a real butler—stood at the door and took their coats, Ann’s handbag, and the leather portfolio her father carried with him when on business. The butler retreated back through a side door, presumably a coatroom. Ann composed herself so she would not look awed or silly, but it was hard not to marvel at the enormous foyer, the dark gold color of the walls, the high ceilings with white crown molding carved with Grecian leaves. Ahead through a wide double door frame, she could see blue and gold carpets and the dark, graceful curves of furniture made by masters. A chandelier shimmered with candles.
Her sisters’ eyes were about to pop from their heads. Mabel let go of her father’s hand and ran up to Susan, grabbing her arm. She jabbed Susan in the ribs as if to say “I told you so.” Ann raised her eyebrows at Mabel, sending her a silent but familiar warning. Her littlest sister dimpled and left Susan alone to return to her father’s side, contenting herself by gazing avidly in every direction.
“My family awaits us in the parlor,” Allan said as he led Ann forward,
his arm strong and steady under her fingertips. He bent his head and lowered his voice. “I’m afraid you’re not our only guests tonight, though I dearly wish you were.” His breath tickled her ear, sending a pleasant shiver through her. She should not allow him so close, but she did not know the polite way to tell him so.
She did not have to wonder for long at his meaning, for when they walked through the double door frame and turned into the oval parlor, she saw three very straight backs, two in satin and one in serge. The Holmeses.
Mrs. Holmes and Amelia descended upon them with the cries of predatory birds.
“Oh, Miss Miller, Mr. Miller! And the darling girls!” said Mrs. Holmes, swooping over in a cloud of heavy floral scent. Magnolia, of course.
“Ann, how wonderful that you could grace us with your presence!” Amelia poked out her chin toward Ann like a beak.
Ann was taken aback by the change in their demeanor— their false sweetness was almost as bad as their earlier snubbing, but at least it was less awkward. Perhaps the Holmeses had realized that if the Burbridges accepted the Millers, they would be best advised to follow suit.
Mr. Holmes shook Dr. Loftin’s hand. “Good to see you again, Doctor.” As Mr. Holmes extended his hand to her father, he wrinkled his nose toward his brows and made his startling, snuffling honk before saying, “And you, Mr. Miller.”
Ann wanted to giggle at her father’s alarmed expression, but he manfully took the hand offered to him. She snuck a glance at her little sisters. Thank goodness they were not laughing—yet. Susan and Mabel had dubbed Mr. Holmes “The Great Goose” in the privacy of their stateroom. Ann noticed that Mabel’s hands were pressed together demurely in front of her, but her arms waved back and forth at the elbows, like wings; Susan’s lips trembled. Ann laid her arms across each of her sisters’ shoulders.
“I believe we may need to refresh ourselves after our coach ride,” she said.
Louisa Burbridge, soft and demure in rose silk, came to her rescue. “Why of course. Come with me.”
They left Ann’s father and Dr. Loftin to make conversation, while Louisa showed them to the back of the parlor. Ann led her sisters through a small door into a powder room, all white wood panels and gold trim, with a full-length mirror on a matching white stand. Ann did not have time to admire its beauty for long, as she had little sisters to admonish. They emerged suitably chastened, and Ann rested easier in her hope that perhaps they would avoid girlish mischief for the rest of the evening.
When they approached the group, Mrs. Burbridge welcomed Ann with a regal if somewhat tremulous sweep of her arm. “Miss Miller, we were just about to go in to dinner. Won’t you accompany—”
But even as she indicated Allan, and he moved as if to offer his arm, Amelia Holmes fluttered between them and seized him by the elbow. “Why, thank you, Mr. Burbridge,” she said.
Allan smiled at her, as a gentleman would, but the look he gave Ann over Amelia’s shoulder was rueful. Dr. Loftin stepped up and offered Ann his arm with an air of amused sympathy, while Mr. Miller escorted Mrs. Burbridge. They all proceeded into the velvet-dark dining room with its rich, patterned wallpaper and softly glowing tapers.
They dined first on a creamy crab bisque, then little Cornish squabs, and finally a steaming succulent half pig, carved at the table by the manservant. Susan and Mabel were models of demure girlhood. Ann might even have begun to relax and enjoy herself, were it not for her creeping anxiety about the conversational cuts and parries of the Holmeses.
“How exquisite your gown is,” Mrs. Holmes said to Ann. The Southern matriarch took a sip of wine and peeped over the rim of her glass. “I have been telling Amelia for weeks that fashions earlier in the decade were much more attractive than what Paris is offering us now. And now you prove it for me beyond a doubt.” She sighed. “You see, Amelia. The higher waist is more becoming.”
Ann’s face burned. There was no chance that she would be able to retort; she had little experience with other women, and certainly not women like these, who could present a glass full of poison so it smelled as sweet as ambrosia.
“Miss Miller is indeed a vision tonight,” Dr. Loftin said.
“Well said.” Allan turned to Ann. “But, beautiful as the gown may be, I believe it is not the dress that transfixes us but the timeless beauty of the one who wears it.” The corner of his mouth quirked. He lifted his glass in Ann’s direction. “A toast to classical grace.”
“Hear, hear,” said the doctor. He and Allan grinned at each other and then at the company. Mr. Miller, Mrs. Burbridge, and even Mr. Holmes raised their glasses with genuine goodwill, but Amelia’s mouth was pursed and sour.
Her mother also looked vexed before hiding it with an overly bright smile. “And perhaps a toast for your daughter, Philip?”
He honked. Even in her discomfort, Ann wanted to laugh. Mr. Holmes finished clearing his sinuses and lifted his glass once more. “To a radiant daughter, possessed of all the feminine virtues her mother could bestow upon her.”
Now she thought Allan would really lose his composure, because his shoulders convulsed for a moment before he quickly changed the subject.
“Mr. Holmes, have you had any success in business here?”
“My runaway slave is apparently hiding somewhere here in town, as I suspected.”
Mrs. Holmes gave her husband a disapproving look, but he appeared not to notice.
“In a part of town known as Arthursville, which is infested with free blacks who harbor fugitives.”
“How do you know his whereabouts?” Ann’s father asked mildly.
“Oh, I have my means.” Mr. Holmes waved at his glass, and the silent servant stepped forward to pour him more wine. Mr. Holmes watched the ruby liquid trickle into the glass with satisfaction.
“And it was worth it to you to travel all this way?” Her father surprised her with his persistence.
“It’s the principle of it, you see.” Mr. Holmes had lifted his glass, but thumped it down on the table so the wine trembled in it.
Did the man not see Mrs. Burbridge frowning?
“When my other slaves see one escape, they are emboldened to try the same thing themselves. Consequently, it is of great importance to bring runaways back and make an example of them.”
Ann disguised a shudder, wondering what such an example entailed.
“I do not have to do it myself, of course,” Mr. Holmes said. “There are men for hire who will bring back fugitives. But a planter of my acquaintance suspects that my slave ran away with one of his slave women, and I feel some responsibility to ensure that my friend’s stolen property is returned too.” Mr. Holmes patted his lips with a lace-edged napkin. “The best of it is that we have laid a little wager.”
“Indeed?” Dr. Loftin’s face was neutral.
“Yes,” said Mr. Holmes. “He has sent a hired man to find his fugitive, and I have come to find them myself. If I find them first, my friend owes me his best thoroughbred mare. Should his hired man find them first, I owe him a year’s supply of port. And that’s a goodly amount of port, I assure you.” He laughed gustily and then honked again. “Well, I must excuse myself for a moment.” He pushed back his chair and got unsteadily to his feet.
Mrs. Holmes murmured something and rose to follow her husband. Ann had no doubt that Mr. Holmes was about to be read a lecture on the mingling of wine and politics.
As the Holmeses exited toward the parlor, Mrs. Burbridge spoke into the vacuum. “Tell us about your ministry, Mr. Miller. You must gather so many stories, riding about as you do.”
The company embraced the new topic with evident relief, and when Mr. Holmes returned, he did not attempt to raise the subject of his fugitive again.
The rest of the dinner passed in more cheerful conversation, with only an occasional acerbic glance from Amelia. Allan was charming and attentive, and as he escorted Ann out into the hallway, he asked if he could take her to see some of the sights of the city soon. She agreed, grateful that the Holmeses
were far enough behind to miss this exchange.
“Then I will see you this week?” he said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I have no pressing engagements.”
“I’m a lucky man.” He pressed her hand and turned to take her coat from the butler, who stood behind him.
“Your bag, miss.” The butler spoke with a hint of an Irish brogue. He held her fur bag in one hand and the leather portfolio in the other. She took both and handed the leather case to her father.
“Why, thank you, Ann,” he said. She was touched to see that he appreciated even this small gesture of help. But she shook off the tender feeling, remembering his harshness the day before. She could not trust him.
They set off in the coach. The girls were tired now, and they all rode in silence. Ann reflected on Allan’s attention, smiling to herself. He was very entertaining. She smoothed her skirt and laid her handbag on the seat. It crinkled with the sound of dry paper.
The letters. The memory of the apprentice returned, along with a rush of guilt. I have been prancing about enjoying myself and eating fine food, while he lies injured in a freezing barn.
She must give the letters to him as soon as she could. But she could not afford to give Master Good any reason for suspicion. She would have to wait and watch for her first opportunity.
Twelve
MISS MILLER HAD BEEN AVOIDING HIM ALL WEEK. Will was sure of it. He had glimpsed her several days before, as she stood at one of the upstairs windows of the doctor’s home, gazing out at the Goods’ home with a preoccupied look. When she noticed him watching her from below, she started and stepped back, dropping the curtain into place over the window. He had not seen her since then.
He stood by Dr. Loftin’s pig enclosure, where the pigs were now eating their morning meal. Perhaps she might come out to talk to him if he stood here long enough. But the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that Master Good would see him. And there was no sign of Miss Miller yet, not even a twitch of the curtains.
Fairer than Morning Page 9
