by Mary Ellis
Jackson’s mind whirred with possibilities, besides the dull ache from decidedly not-the-best whiskey in the house. “Worry not, Mr. Hornsby. Your holds will be full. You have my word. Allow me a night to speak with my associates. Meet me at this warehouse tomorrow. You can see for yourself the quantity I need to ship. We can negotiate the price and terms then.” Jackson jotted the address on the back of his card.
The captain stared for a long moment. “I don’t know you, Henthorne, but I suppose it’d be worth my while to have a look-see. But I ain’t comin’ alone and I intend to be armed.”
“I would expect nothing less. I too will be accompanied by trusted employees, but have no fear. Considering your success in reaching Bermuda, I predict a long and lucrative association for both of us.” Jackson tipped his hat, left a twenty-dollar gold piece on the bar top, and walked away from the loathsome place. He felt he’d handled himself well. At least he didn’t break into a cold sweat until inside his carriage. Considering the sour stench to his own perspiration, the reason Flannigan’s pub smelled so foul became clear.
Amanda knew that opportunities like this didn’t come knocking every day. When Jackson announced that afternoon he wouldn’t be home for dinner, she seized her chance. With teapot in hand she approached the settee where her sister sat reading. “Did I hear Jackson mention he would be dining in town?” she asked, refilling both their porcelain cups.
Abigail wrinkled her nose in a pout. “You heard correctly. Goodness, ever since he took over for Papa Henthorne, he’s gone more nights than he’s home. Always meeting with this factor or that planter. And he insists on calling on ship captains down by the docks. They can’t be a quality sort if they spend most of their lives at sea.”
“The captain who brought me to Wilmington was a true gentleman,” Amanda said consolingly, taking a small sandwich from the tiered tray.
“An exception to the rule. I’ll be relieved when life returns to normal. I miss having Jackson home in the evening.” Abby’s face screwed into a scowl. “This tea is tepid. Helene, bring us a fresh pot and see that it’s steaming.”
The maid set aside her sewing and rose to her feet, frowning as she left the room. “Of course, madam.”
Amanda bit back her original comment. “Why don’t you and I do something exciting? Let’s have dinner in town. Perhaps at the Kendall House?”
Abby gaped at her. “Dine at a hotel four blocks away when we’re local residents? Salome probably has dinner preparations already underway.”
“Whatever she’s cooking will keep until tomorrow. With Jackson out tonight, let’s not rattle around the huge dining room alone. Don’t you remember Mama going to the Ritz with her friends every now and then? They would have a grand old time.” Amanda allowed her eagerness to practically bubble from her ears.
Abigail took little time to decide. “I do remember that. Sometimes they would drink champagne in the afternoon, unbeknownst to their husbands.” She lifted her fan to hide her face.
“I don’t recommend that for us, but dinner would be a lark.”
“I agree.” Abby rose elegantly to her feet. “I’ll send Thomas to make reservations for eight with the concierge.”
Amanda jumped up. “Please reserve the table for six o’clock instead.”
“Goodness, no. Only the uncultured bourgeois dine that early.”
“Just this once, sister dear, because I have a surprise for us afterward.”
Abby laughed. “Are you finally breaking from your shell? Very well. Six it will be, but I insist we remain in mourning attire.” She strolled from the room, her request for fresh tea forgotten.
Two hours later, they walked through the elegant lobby of the Kendall House, resplendent with crystal chandeliers, dark cherry wood paneling, and Persian carpets. The concierge greeted them immediately and showed them to the best table in the restaurant. The other diners paid little attention to young women in black. Almost every day Wilmington gained another widow due to the war. Their meal of sea bass with potatoes au gratin and roasted asparagus was delicious. Amanda noticed that her sister ate more than a few tastes of everything for a change.
“You have kept me in suspense long enough.” Abigail ate a bite of cherry pie and set down her fork. “Did you ask a couturier to keep her showroom open late tonight? I’m afraid the selection may disappoint you. Little from Paris gets past the Union navy. Northern wives and sweethearts will be well dressed from everything the Yankees confiscate.”
Amanda pushed away her dessert. “No, I would like you to accompany me to the town council meeting that starts in thirty minutes.”
Abby choked on her mouthful of tea. “A town council meeting—what on earth for? That sounds stultifying and dull.”
“I intend to address the council. Because none of them know me, I would like you to provide the introduction.”
“You wish me to stand up at a meeting with landlords airing grievances about slovenly tenants or housewives who don’t like the neighbor’s cat digging up their gardens?”
Amanda smiled. “Sounds as if you’ve attended one before.”
“I have, hence the description of stultifying.” Abby dropped her napkin next to her plate. “I tagged along with Jackson once. He required some sort of variance for Henthorne and Sons. He insisted we stay for the entire meeting to not appear rude, but I honestly couldn’t keep my eyes open. I dozed off against his shoulder.”
“Once you provide the introduction, I’ll explain you are required at home and must take your leave.”
Abby narrowed her gaze. “Why do you wish to address the council, Amanda? You’re not a landlord and our neighbors own no cats.”
“I want their support in restoring trade. All the mills need cotton, not just Papa’s. And certainly increased business would benefit Wilmington as well. I’ve heard tales of shortages throughout the area. Something needs to be done.”
Abigail settled her shawl across her shoulders and started toward the door. “You’ve invited the wrong Henthorne. Jackson would be happy to attend with you next month.”
Amanda waited until they reached the sidewalk to respond. “Jackson, bless his heart, is a businessman. He’s interested solely in contracts with Dunn Mills to help his father’s company.”
“What is so wrong with that?” With Thomas’s assistance, Abby stepped up into the carriage.
Amanda didn’t wait for help. “Nothing on the surface, but Papa placed me into a position of responsibility, first as his emissary and now as his heir. I am charged with running Dunn Mills, Abby. Mama depends on me to make wise decisions to save the company from ruin.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.”
“I assure you I’m not. I want the council to recognize me as a valuable asset to commerce.”
Abigail placed an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “I hate to point this out, my dear, but you’re a woman. They’re not about to take you or any other female seriously.”
Tears flooded Amanda’s eyes, unbidden and embarrassing. “Can’t I at least try? Won’t you help me? You were a Dunn before you became a Henthorne.”
Abby sighed and then hugged her tightly. “Of course I’ll help, but I’ll leave after the introductions. I do feel a bout of sleepiness coming on.”
Amanda dried her tears and concentrated on her speech—the one she’d rehearsed for days in her head. Yet despite her preparedness and her sister’s position in the community, the end result was less than ideal.
The entire council and most citizens in attendance stood when they entered the stuffy, smoky room. “Mrs. Henthorne, to what do we owe this pleasure, madam? I speak for all when I extend sincere condolences on the loss of your father.”
Abigail extracted her fan to flutter demurely beneath her chin. “Thank you, Mr. Rose, gentlemen, for your concern. May I present my sister, Miss Amanda Dunn? She’s visiting from our home near Manchester.”
Amanda lifted her veil, triggering gasps from several men at the startling resemblanc
e. Apparently, some hadn’t known Abby had a twin. General murmurs of greeting and sympathy followed.
“My sister would like to address your honorable council on behalf of our late father. Papa sent Amanda as his spokesman when he became too ill to travel.”
Most members continued to gape, their eyes rotating between the sisters like a pendulum until the chairman cleared his throat. “By all means, Miss Dunn. How may the city of Wilmington be of service to your family? I once met your father during one of his visits years ago. He was a man of fairness and integrity.”
Amanda offered a half curtsey and launched into her perfectly prepared speech. But it wasn’t necessary for Abigail to concoct excuses to slip out early. Nor was it necessary for the sisters to take seats among the disgruntled landlords and irate gardeners. The assemblage of middle-aged and elderly gentlemen, all well dressed and polished, listened patiently until she concluded her presentation. Two of the men looked confused, two seemed bored, and one grinned with ill-concealed amusement.
Then the chairman rapped his gavel to quiet the crowd. “Silence in the chamber,” said Mr. Rose. “It’s fortunate you have family in our fair city to visit because your errand on behalf of Dunn Mills was pointless. President Davis relaxed his original stand against commence with England enacted during the early years of the war. Although there has been no outright statement of reversal, the leader of the Confederacy recognizes the importance of a strong economy. Goods need to flow in both directions if we are to prevail over the North. Cotton and tobacco have been leaving Wilmington on a regular basis despite the fleet of Union ships attempting to stem the flow. If Dunn Mills needs cotton, Mr. Henthorne, either junior or senior, could make those arrangements. You certainly don’t require the approval of the town council. What you need is a fast ship, a brave sea captain, and good fortune to reach England.”
Amanda didn’t dare glance at the rotund member who continued to chuckle at her distress. “Thank you, Mr. Rose and council, for permitting me to address you this evening. I apparently suffer from a case of misinformation.” She bobbed her head politely.
“Goodness, gentlemen,” said Abigail. “I thought this a matter better handled by Jackson.” Her tone turned sugary as she batted her thick eyelashes. “But when a Dunn is sent across the sea on an errand, we aren’t ones to take the matter lightly.”
“No harm done, Mrs. Henthorne. Please give our regards to Jackson and Randolph.” The chairman reached for a stack of papers. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Dunn. Enjoy your holiday in Wilmington with your sister, and again, our sympathies to you both.”
Dismissed like two schoolgirls, Abigail linked arms and pulled Amanda from the chamber. “Whew, I’m glad that is over with. Let’s hurry home to put our feet up and enjoy a cool glass of tea.”
Amanda didn’t reply. She was absolutely speechless with indignation.
Six
Abigail stretched in the late afternoon heat. Even in the shade the air was oppressively warm. It was barely June, yet the refreshing breeze from the east had disappeared unless a storm was blowing in off the sea. Straightening in her chaise, she peered down into the courtyard below at her slaves hard at work. Salome’s helpers sat shucking corn and snapping beans at the worktable. Miriam took down a set of sheets from the clothesline to be ironed, while Josie washed Amanda’s dainties in a tub of sudsy water. She would hang them discreetly inside the washhouse on ropes stretched end to end so as not to cause embarrassment.
Only the sight of Helene sewing in the shade marred the otherwise idyllic courtyard tableau. Amanda’s English maid refused to associate with the Henthorne slaves. Though that irritated her, Abigail understood it stemmed not from bigotry but rather from the peculiar and distinctive British caste system among servants. As a lady’s maid, Helene considered herself superior to a woman who cooked meals or laundered clothes. Unless expressly ordered to do so, she refused to pitch in around the kitchen. Instead, the young woman stretched out any chore given to fill her day. And Amanda permitted such blatant lack of ambition.
“Tell me, Helene,” Abigail called over the railing. “Where is your mistress on such a lovely afternoon?”
The maid startled as though the question roused her from a stupor. “Miss Amanda was reading in her room the last time I checked, ma’am.”
“In her room, when the gallery is so much cooler?” She frowned. Just as when they were children, her sister’s aloofness irritated her. Amanda always became standoffish when put in her place.
“Yes, ma’am. Perhaps she fell asleep.” Helene’s interest in the conversation apparently waning, she refocused on her sewing.
“If she’s not sound asleep, Helene, ask Miss Amanda to join me. I desire company.” Abigail stood stiffly. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she saw anger flash in the maid’s eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Henthorne. I’ll check.” Helene dropped the garment on the chair and strode inside the house. She could have easily taken the gallery steps but chose not to.
It was only fitting that her temperamental sister would have a maid who shared the same quality. Why Amanda hadn’t spoken during the ride home from the council meeting was a mystery. Hadn’t Abigail gone to the restaurant and dined at a ridiculously early hour just to please her? Hadn’t she provided the necessary introduction to Mr. Rose and the other councilmen? Amanda would have sat in that airless chamber all night if not for her. Whose fault was it that she didn’t have her facts straight?
Abigail rang the bell for tea and waited, but her sister arrived before Amos and the afternoon refreshments.
“Helene said you wished to speak with me?” She looked flushed and damp from hiding in the heat of her room.
“I was worried about you. Why do you nap indoors when I have another perfectly fine chaise here on the gallery?” She pointed so there would be no confusion. “This is America. Servants are allowed to see us sleep without thinking us hopelessly indolent and sluggish. And if they ever do think unkind thoughts, they have the sense not to speak them.” Abigail chuckled.
Amanda sat but didn’t recline on the chaise. “Thank you, but I wasn’t napping. I was reading over the contracts and other documents I brought from Dunn Mills. Mr. Pelton furnished me with several books about cotton I need to review. I prefer to study in my room where it’s quiet.”
Amos arrived with the tea. Abigail waited until he poured and served before speaking. “I can’t imagine why you bother with this. If no one is taking issue with trade with England, then Jackson can make the necessary arrangements.”
“He could have done so already. I called at his father’s office the day after I arrived. I don’t understand why he chose not to keep me informed.” From her tone of voice, her foul mood hadn’t abated.
Abigail felt her own temper flare. “I hear his carriage in the lane. Perhaps you could ask him yourself.”
“I believe I shall.” Staring with a face devoid of emotion, Amanda lifted her cup and sipped her tea.
“Jackson, I’m up here.” Abigail called as he crossed the courtyard. “Would you be kind enough to join me on the gallery?”
Jackson took the steps two at a time, took his wife in his arms, and began kissing her passionately until he spotted Amanda in the shade. “I beg your pardon. I thought Abigail was alone.” Few would describe his expression as contrite.
“My sister has some questions for you, darling. Amos, instead of eavesdropping in the doorway, please bring Mr. Henthorne his bourbon.” The butler vanished without a word.
Amanda set her teacup on the table. “Hello, Jackson.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Dunn. I have some questions for you as well.” He leaned against the balustrade and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Where did you two go yesterday evening?”
Apprehension ran up Abigail’s spine like a spider. “We enjoyed a delicious dinner at the Kendall House. We both had sea bass. It was too hot for Salome to fuss with dinner just for us. And Amanda reminded me of the larks Mama took with her
friends in London.” Aware she was rambling, Abigail clamped her mouth shut.
“I’ve had their sea bass—quite delicious to be sure. But I’m more interested on your exploits upon leaving the Kendall House.” Jackson turned to face Amanda squarely.
Her inscrutable shell began to crack. “We attended a town council meeting. I had heard nothing from either you or your father, so I thought it was time to take matters into my own hands.”
Amos delivered a more ample than usual drink, interrupting the staring contest between the two.
“So I heard from several of my business associates.” His contempt was unmistakable.
“What did they say?” Abigail jumped to her feet. “We stayed less than ten minutes and were politely received by Mr. Rose.”
Much to her dismay, Jackson redirected his animosity at her. “Of course they were polite as a courtesy to my father and me, but undoubtedly they laughed all the way to the club. Two women in my household don’t have the common sense to approach me with this matter? And my household includes you, Miss Dunn, while you are our guest.”
Before Abigail could reply, Amanda stepped in front of her. “Please don’t blame your wife. This was entirely my doing. She wasn’t aware of my intentions when she agreed to have dinner downtown.”
Jackson took a deep swallow of his drink and grimaced as the spirits burned his throat. “I don’t blame my wife, Miss Dunn. I know Abigail would never shame me in this fashion.”
“How could my actions possibly cause you embarrassment? I made it quite clear I was my father’s emissary, not yours.”
