“Stand off, Jacob!” Dr. Loftin stood between Will and his former master, breaking their view of each other.
After a moment of tense silence, Master Good edged around to where Will could see his furious glare. “When I have you before the judge again,” he rasped, “I’ll own you for the rest of your days.” He spun on his heel and stormed out the back hall, one hand to his bruised throat. The door slammed.
Dr. Loftin stood immobile, facing the back hall. Mr. Miller released Will’s arm and sat heavily in the chair under the painting.
“I misjudged.” He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, his face weary, as if he had aged ten years in the past three minutes. “Forgive me.”
Dr. Loftin turned to him. “We all misjudged, Samuel. Jacob is beyond all reason.”
Will crossed to Mr. Miller and slumped on the floor beside his chair, his back to the wall. The saddler did not turn to him, but Will felt a hand on his shoulder.
They remained that way, in heavy silence, until Dr. Loftin escorted them out to the coach.
“I had almost given up hope.” Allan grinned and moved a chair immediately adjacent to hers, where she sat with a book in her lap. “You didn’t write.”
“I’m sorry.” She smiled at him, though her thoughts were far away. Despite the enticing selection of books at the Burbridges’ home, she had read the first line of this one at least ten times without absorbing it.
“Were you too busy to even think of me?” he asked.
“In a sense.”
“Is some Rushville beau chasing you?” His question was light as he fell back into their old banter.
“And if one were?”
“I would have to hunt him down.” He grinned, but a wolfish quality gave her pause. This man killed for me. She wished herself with her father and Will rather than alone here with Allan and the memory of the duel.
“I have difficulty . . .” She stopped. “I have been troubled by what happened here.”
“Of course you have.” He picked up her hand in his and pressed it lightly. “Any woman would. It’s no disgrace. Your honor is unquestioned.”
Honor. What honor is there in murder? He did not understand. She could not explain without insulting his courage in the duel, which had been the only way he knew to respond to what he had seen.
“Have you thought of me, in our separation?” He was teasing again but retained his hold on her hand.
Without answering, she withdrew from his grasp and stood. She paced before the cold hearth. “You did not shake hands with my father’s apprentice.”
He paused. “No, I did not. Should I have?”
She touched the frame of a tiny landscape painting as if it fascinated her. “I thought you were a democrat.”
“I am. Except when I am jealous.”
She turned in surprise. He was grinning at her.
“Surely you jest.” His ridiculous suggestion provoked her to smile back at him.
“He is a man, apprentice or not. And he has seen you every day for weeks. That alone would have me raving with envy.” He was too witty to be sincere. “And then, of course, he venerates the very ground you walk on.”
Her laugh was short. “He is my father’s apprentice, Allan.” She must change this uncomfortable subject. “There is someone else in Rushville. He has proposed.”
“And will you accept?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are his merits? Tell me.” He challenged her with a tilt of his head. “Then I will tell you if you should marry him.”
She could not help but chuckle. “In your unbiased view.”
“Of course.” He ducked his head in mock humility.
“He is intelligent.”
“How intelligent?”
“I don’t know!” She put her hands on her waist in mock exasperation.
“As intelligent as I?”
She smiled with him. “Perhaps.”
“As intelligent as your father’s apprentice?”
“Don’t bring him into this. We are having a serious conversation.” Unsettled, she began her pacing again.
“Then tell me about your suitor, without making me drag every detail from you.”
“He is handsome. He is a gentleman. He loves poetry.”
“Ah.” There was a world of condescension in Allan’s sigh.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What?” She whirled on him now, both curious and irritated.
“He is one of those.”
“Just because he loves poetry?”
“Because you mention it.”
“Lord Byron loved poetry,” she said.
“And would he have made a good husband?”
“You don’t know Eli.”
“But I know you.”
She fell silent. Did he? Did he know her well enough to judge whether she should marry Eli?
He rose from his chair and walked to her, standing behind her and bending down to whisper in her ear. “I will tell you this . . .”
She shivered at his breath on her neck.
“From your description, I fear this handsome poet less than your apprentice.”
She eased away, annoyed. “You presume too much.”
“I intend to.” He looked at her sidelong with his gray eyes, still smiling. He did amuse her so, even when he transgressed.
But the memory of murder hung in the air around him.
A knock came at the front door, beyond their line of sight. Ann heard the butler’s polite mumble. After a moment, her father and Will walked into the parlor.
They were not happy.
“He has refused my offer,” her father said. “I believe he will have the bounty hunters here for Will posthaste.”
“Then we must leave,” she said.
“No,” Will said. “I won’t run again. I’ll leave it to the court.”
“But the court has already decided against you!” Ann’s voice rose. She had crossed to within a foot of him in her agitation, staring up at his resolute face.
“I’ll leave it in God’s hands.”
“Don’t do that, man.” Even Allan seemed unsettled, untangling his limbs and rising from his chair. “You can’t just throw your life away in the hope that some divine power will rescue you. It will not.”
“It is not some nameless divine power.” Will met Allan’s gaze, his dark eyes shadowed. “It is the Lord who parted the Red Sea and brought the Israelites out of Egypt.”
“If you choose to throw away your life on the hope of primitive tales and miracles, I can’t dissuade you.” Allan stalked away, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets for emphasis.
His skepticism shocked her, but she did not agree with Will’s decision any more than he did. She pleaded with him softly. “But the Lord helps those who help themselves, Will.” He seemed as unmoved by her words as he was by Allan’s.
Her father spoke up. “Both of you hold your peace and let him make his decision.”
Her stomach in knots, she raced for the stairs, afraid she would lose control of herself if she stayed. She heard her father talking to Will in a low voice as she turned on the landing and continued her flight, clutching her skirts with white knuckles.
Once down the hall and in the privacy of the bedroom, she began to pace again. Then she fished the Bible out of her traveling case and held it to her chest as if it could take away the fear. She knelt down beside the bed, not caring if she wrinkled her dress, and prayed with her face pressed into the quilt.
Some time later a knock came at the front door.
She jumped up and hurried out of her room again, almost tripping down the stairs in her haste. Allan and her father were exchanging words with some rough-looking men who had seized Will’s arms and were hustling him out of the parlor. He went quietly, his head held high.
She rushed through the room after them, wanting to scream. Her father, just as distressed as she, placed a hand on her arm to stop her, but
she made it into the foyer before he was able to arrest her completely.
Just before they dragged him through the front doorway, Will wrestled around to look back. He glanced only at her, with calm reassurance in his eyes. She stepped forward with some wild idea of begging his captors for mercy, but her father’s grip tightened and held her back.
The door closed.
A little sound escaped her. She stood still, like a child who has cut herself for the first time and stares in wonder at the red line, before the pain comes.
Her father folded her in his arms, and the pain came.
Thirty-Seven
A SOFT TAP CAME AT THE BEDROOM DOOR.
“Ann?” It was Louisa’s voice.
She pushed herself up from the bed to sit on the edge, straightening her dress, brushing at her hair with her hands. “Come in.”
Louisa peered around the edge of the door, her fair skin seeming even paler with uncertainty.
“It’s all right.” Though all was plainly not right, Ann could not hide away forever. She had already missed supper with the Burbridges the previous evening, knowing she was too distraught to make pleasant conversation.
“I’m sorry to disturb you.” Louisa moved to the bed and sat down beside Ann.
“You could never disturb me.” Ann smiled faintly.
Louisa folded her hands in her lap and turned her gray eyes to Ann. “I hate to see you so sad. Is there anything I can bring you? Anything at all?”
“No.” A wild idea blazed through her. “Yes. A coach and driver.”
“Would you like to go out? I believe that’s a capital plan.”
“I would like to go on a drive. To the jail.”
Louisa went dead white. “Where?”
“Will you come with me?”
“To the jail?” Years of etiquette training could not keep the shock from Louisa’s question.
“Please.”
Louisa twisted her fingers together, the wisps of blond hair around her face adding to her air of maidenly distress.
“We would not be long. There must be guards—we would be safe.”
“I will ask my grandmother about the coach. Meet me downstairs in a few minutes.” Louisa slipped around the door again.
Ann scrambled to her wardrobe and pulled on her stockings, then shoved her feet into her short boots, buttoning them with fingers clumsy with impatience. She made a quick attempt to restore her tidiness in the glass of the vanity, then clunked downstairs once more to wait for the verdict.
She could tell by Louisa’s light, quick step as she descended the stairs that Mrs. Burbridge had agreed. Louisa was animated by nervous excitement.
“Did you tell her why?” Ann was too curious not to ask.
“I merely said we wished to go out for a while.”
That was a relief. Ann would not have wanted her new friend to lie on her behalf.
“The jail is not far from the wharf.” Louisa spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ll ask the driver to take us to a nearby street, and then he can pick us up at the same point.”
Ann nodded and followed Louisa out, pausing only to retrieve her hat.
“Ann?” Her father’s voice made her jump. He stood behind them in the foyer, having approached as silently as a cat.
“Yes, Father?”
“Where are you going?”
Louisa raised her voice above its usual level, sounding cheerful. “I thought I would take Ann out for a breath of fresh air, Mr. Miller. She has been penned up in her room for so long, I thought it would do her good.”
“Oh yes, Miss Burbridge. Just the thing.”
“Goodbye, then.”
“Enjoy your drive.” Mr. Miller walked back into the parlor.
Ann let out her breath and, tying the sash of her hat, walked out to the coach.
The sky was overcast, making the crowded buildings near the wharf seem even dirtier and duller.
“This way.” Louisa started across the street, turning her head constantly to check for oncoming wagons. Puddles of mud threatened their dresses; if any water splashed up, Louisa’s silk would never recover. Picking their way from one dry patch to another, they made it to the line of stores and taverns on the other side.
“It’s on the next street.” Louisa led her around the corner of a butcher’s shop.
Ann followed her down a narrow alley. The rank, foul odor rising from piles of scraps and human waste brought bile to her throat, and she covered her mouth and nose with one hand. She kept a wary eye on the windows above. Mud puddles were bad enough, but chamber pots would be a horror.
She breathed easier when they emerged onto the next street. The buildings here were nondescript, large, like storehouses. A small, rough field lay to their left, and then beyond the field another building squatted, ugly and low. The double gate was faced with black, studded metal.
“The jail,” Louisa said, pointing.
They walked to it, still forced to maneuver around the mud and refuse. Most of Pittsburgh’s streets were not amenable to fashionable walkers, which is why the fashionable did not walk here.
A couple of burly men in open-necked shirts loitered across the street in the yard of one of the buildings. Conscious of their leering gazes and mutterings, Ann quickened her step. Louisa did likewise. The men chuckled.
At the post beside the gate was a small barred window. Ann approached it cautiously and leaned toward the bars. “Hello?”
A head popped up inches from her, causing her to jerk back. The man was scarred with old pox and missing his front teeth. “Whaddya want?” He spat tobacco juice to one side. Ann watched with repulsion as it ran down the wall next to countless similar stains.
“I’m here to see a prisoner.”
“That ain’t usual.”
“They don’t get visitors?”
“Not like you.” The man guffawed. “But I suppose some do come through now and then.”
“This one came in yesterday. His name is Will Hanby.”
“I don’t know their names, miss.” He spoke with grudging respect. “But you can come in and look around. It ain’t a proper jail like in Philly. It’s small. You can’t miss him, if he’s in here. And the two of you can’t do any harm.” He shuffled to the back of the booth, and in a moment a loud series of scrapes and clanks announced the turn of the key in the gate. It creaked open a foot, then two.
“Go in, then.” The guard jerked his head. Ann edged around him.
The guard locked the gate with a turn of the key after Louisa sidled by. “When you go out,” he said, “just keep going. There’s another guard in back. That’s the way you go. In the front. Out the back.”
A windowless hallway lit only by a few candle sconces turned at a sharp right angle a few yards ahead. The first cell held a misshapen bundle of rags sprawled on a cot. He smelled of strong spirits and groaned when they walked by. Ann shuddered.
When they rounded the first corner, she discovered that the jail was like a rat’s maze, small as it was. Two cells on each side, then another sharp left in the corridor. Why they had built it this way, she did not know, but her nerves jangled every time they turned a corner. She was afraid of the people in the cells, though most stared at them without speaking. One jumped at them and reached through the bars; Louisa gasped and grabbed Ann’s arm. The old man shrieked with glee and gibbered nonsense at them.
Another corner. A bearded man scratched himself where he slouched against the wall. “Hey, girlies.” He followed his greeting with a stream of suggestions so vile that Ann and Louisa almost ran to the next bend in the hall. Louisa was shaking when they paused.
“I’m sorry,” Ann said.
“Don’t worry,” Louisa said. “I won’t faint.”
As if to prove herself, she led the way down the hall. The first cell was empty. The second held a familiar form. Will lay on the wooden shelf that passed for a bed, his eyes closed.
With a sympathetic look, Louisa motioned silently to Ann to go speak to him.
She pointed to herself and pantomimed going around the corner, then promptly did so.
Ann inched closer to the barred cell. “Will.” She did not want the other prisoners to hear her and start a racket—or worse, a commentary.
He blinked. He sat up.
“Ann!”
She laid a finger to her lips.
He jumped up and strode to the bars, grasping them as he spoke in a low voice. “What are you doing here? Are you here alone?” His whisper contained a hint of outrage.
“No, Louisa came with me. She’s waiting for me.”
“Still, this is no place for you.” His hair was unkempt and a faint shadow darkened his jaw line.
“I had to see you.”
He did not move, his dark eyes locked on her.
She dropped her gaze, confused. She leaned close and whispered, “Was I right to visit you?”
“Yes.” He moved closer and extended one hand through the bars, palm up. She was too surprised to move for a moment, but he plainly wanted to take her hand. She laid it in his.
“Thank you.” He closed his fingers around her hand. As she felt the warmth of his touch, it struck her with terrible force that he was behind bars—that after the judge spoke, he would in all likelihood be legally bound to Master Good for the rest of his life. Her lip trembled and she swallowed hard, pressing her hand into his. He gently pulled her toward him. They stood, almost touching, save for the bars. Her eyes filled.
Footsteps echoed back in the direction of the other cells. The groans and cries of the prisoners announced the passage of another. “I must go,” she whispered.
He released her hand with reluctance.
Ann turned and pattered around the corner. Louisa waited a few steps ahead in the hall.
Ann hurried up and murmured in her ear, “Someone’s coming.” She heard footsteps behind them, so close that they must be at Will’s cell. She and Louisa froze.
A female voice she did not recognize called Will’s name.
“Emmie!” His shock traveled even around the corner. “How did you know I was here?”
“Tom found out from your old master. He told me.” It was a young voice, uneducated but sweet.
Fairer than Morning Page 29
