The Last Heiress

by Mary Ellis

  Pivoting on his heel, Jackson headed toward Market Street at a brisk pace. However, he didn’t get far before four bushy derelicts stepped into his path from the alley between warehouses.

  “What’s the big hurry, guv’na?” One gap-toothed giant spoke with a strong Irish brogue.

  Jackson bristled at the audacious lack of respect. “I hurry because there is some place I wish to be,” he said with feigned sincerity.

  “I’m thinkin’ you’re gonna be a tad late.” This observation came from a scrawny wastrel who accompanied his comment with a sharp jab to Jackson’s shoulder.

  “See here, you drunkard. If you don’t crawl back to the gutter, I’ll have you clamped into chains and leg irons. This town doesn’t tolerate—”

  Whatever had been his conjecture regarding Wilmington’s tolerance for rowdy behavior died on his lips. The giant of a man delivered a punch to Jackson’s midsection, robbing him of air and the ability to speak for several moments. While he gasped for breath, a familiar face stepped from the shadows. “Do ya remember me, Mr. Henthorne?” asked Elias Hornsby, grinning like a madman.

  Jackson stared into the watery eyes of the sea captain, struggling to enunciate a single word. Hornsby’s thugs jostled him rudely from both sides. Finally he managed a simple sentence. “Of course I remember you.”

  “That rather surprises me, considering your loads of cotton and tobacco left on the Lady Adelaine earlier and now on the Roanoke.” Hornsby spat on the plank sidewalk, just missing Jackson’s boot.

  He attempted to move away from the pack, but the giant clamped a viselike grip on his upper arm. How does a man find enough to eat to maintain three hundred pounds during wartime? “The sole reason I utilized those particular vessels is because I own them.” Lifting his chin, Jackson tried to resurrect his dignity.

  Hornsby’s fingers clenched into fists. “You think I don’t know that? I spend my life on the docks—right here.” He stomped his foot. “Not up the hill on Third Street, sipping tea from porcelain cups with fancy ladies in big hoop dresses.” Waving his little finger in the air, Hornsby used a foppish voice to describe their afternoon custom.

  The blood drained from Jackson’s face. “You’ve been watching my family?”

  “Not me personally. I’m a busy man. But I do make a habit of keeping tabs on business associates.” Hornsby inched closer, the odor of cheap whiskey emanating from his stained frock coat.

  “I take offense to your boorish tactics, sir.” Jackson squirmed to rid himself of the meaty hand on his arm to no avail. “I signed no contract of exclusivity with you. I purchased two steamers, and why wouldn’t I make use of my investment?”

  “Who’s captaining them boats?”

  “Captain Russell mans the wheel of the Lady Adelaine, while Captain Philips commands the crew on the Roanoke.”

  Hornsby spat a second time into the gutter. “Fancy-coats, that’s all they are. One good blow comes up at sea and those lily-livers will sink your ships.”

  An ominous frisson ran up Jackson’s spine. “Russell and Philips came highly recommended.”

  “By who?” demanded Hornsby. “The blokes who sold you those steamers? I didn’t take you for a fool, Henthorne.”

  Jackson considered a right jab to the captain’s beer-bloated gut, but his four companions provided a convincing deterrent. “I appreciate your insight, Captain, and I will pray my boats prove stalwart in a hurricane.”

  Hornsby snorted with contempt. “I don’t give a fig whether your ships sink or not, but I need to rectify a lit’l misconception of yours. When the Countess Marie arrives in port, you’ll load the next consignment onto her at our previous contract price. If you get more goods to export, then you can fill the holds of the Adelaine and Roanoke. But I got a crew to pay and nobody seems to have cotton to ship but you. Take a look around. Do these boys look like they plan to stand idle while you grow richer than Midas?” The captain thumped on Jackson’s chest with a stubby index finger.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. With the cotton I have coming from South Carolina, I’ll have enough to keep your ship and mine busy.”

  “You’ve got plenty to lose, Henthorne, if you don’t. And I ain’t talkin’ about your fancy new side-wheelers.”

  After a few more hard jabs to his ribs, Hornsby and his band of miscreants left him and disappeared into the dark alley. Jackson stood for a long while until his heart rate slowed and a wave of nausea passed. How could he feel sick without a morsel of food in his belly? On rubbery legs he ambled toward his club, but thoughts of a delicious supper were long gone. He needed either bourbon or maybe his preacher, because he might need a miracle after all.

  Jackson entered his club and headed straight for the quiet reading room. He was in no mood for the convivially of the main hall. Instead, he slumped into a wing chair and buried his head in his hands. Hornsby’s bullying tactics had left him uneasy. Not due to the fact he hadn’t stood up to the assault. Only an insane man would take on five men, all of whom were well experienced with barroom brawling. No, his anxiety stemmed from his own bold assertions. He had no idea how much cotton and tobacco would find its way to Wilmington with the current condition of roads and rail lines. Peterson could have fallen prey to a Union sharpshooter for all he knew.

  “May I bring you something to drink, Mr. Henthorne? And have you dined yet this evening, sir?”

  He peered up at one of the club’s distinguished butlers. “No, I haven’t eaten, but I’m not in the mood for company tonight. Could you please bring me some coffee?”

  “Of course, sir. May I also bring you a sandwich? It would be breaking club policy, but I believe an exception could be made. They served a fine roast beef this evening in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Marcus. That is very kind of you.” Jackson discretely passed the freeman a gold coin.

  Sliding it into his pocket, Marcus bowed and backed away. But Jackson’s solitude proved short lived.

  “I wondered if you would have the guts to show your face, Henthorne.”

  Jackson spotted Michael Frazier, a tobacco factor of dubious repute, in the doorway. His notoriety at the gaming tables far surpassed his reputation for brokering agricultural goods. “Why would I need guts to visit a club I belong to?”

  Frazier bumped into several tables as he tried to cross the room. “Because you’re nothing but a thief and a coward.” The slur accompanying his words confirmed his inebriated state.

  Jackson jumped to his feet. “Lower your voice, sir, or I’ll have you thrown into the street. Now tell me what this is about.”

  Frazier braced a fleshy hand on the back of a chair. “You stole my ships out from under me. I commissioned the Lady Adelaine and the Roanoke. I staked everything I had on those steamers.”

  It took only moments for the pieces of a puzzle to fit together in his mind, including Peterson’s reluctance to name the original buyer for fear of social embarrassment.

  “It seems that everything you had wasn’t adequate, sir. Your deal had already fallen through when I was approached about the ships’ availability.”

  “That broker may have continued negotiating with me if you and that Charleston swindler hadn’t jumped in. Your father never would have stooped so low.” Frazier swayed on his feet.

  Jackson glanced uneasily around the room. Although no other member sat within earshot, their conversation was attracting attention. “I will ask you again to lower your voice. Sit down, Frazier, and we’ll discuss this like gentlemen.”

  “What is there to talk about? You stole my ships out from under me and now I’m ruined. That broker won’t even return my deposit. You should be ashamed if you have no more honor than this.” The tobacco factor staggered from the room, leaving chairs askew and one overturned table in his wake.

  Jackson was left with a churning gut and accusatory glares from his peers. He slumped into a chair facing the window. When the butler appeared at this side, he barely acknowledged the man.

&nbs
p; “Here is your sandwich and coffee, sir.”

  “Just leave it, Marcus.”

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Jackson gripped the chair’s arms as though clinging for his life. “Yes. See that I’m not interrupted for the rest of the night. Can’t a man get some peace and quiet even at his club?” A hitch in his voice betrayed the fragile state of his emotions. He needed to gather his wits before returning home or his astute wife would demand an explanation before he took off his hat.

  Eleven

  The next morning he hummed a lively tune while completing his chores. Then he penned a formal invitation to Miss Amanda Dunn in his best script on a sheet of parchment from the millinery store next door.

  Dear Miss Dunn,

  Would you honor me with your presence at dinner at the home of Odom Sims on Saturday? Festivities will commence at eight o’clock sharp. For your convenience, a carriage will arrive at the Henthornes’ at half past seven. If no previous commitment demands your attention, kindly give verbal acknowledgment to my emissary, Rufus Sims.

  Your devoted servant,

  Nathaniel Cooper

  When the ink had dried, he added a gob of sealing wax and used an odd-shaped bean for an imprint. Next he sent word to the livery stable that he needed to hire a carriage on Saturday night, along with a note to his poultry purveyor for two fresh hens, plucked, disjointed, and ready to fry. For the rest of the day, he could barely keep his mind on his work. When one young matron requested three pounds of flour, he filled her sack with ground cornmeal, much to her dismay.

  That afternoon he closed up shop early and walked home. The person he needed was sitting at the kitchen table practicing arithmetic sums. “What’cha doin’ here already, Mr. Nate?” asked Rufus. “I was hopin’ to help clean the store after I finished this homework.” The boy thrummed his fingers on the last row of problems.

  “I have too much on my mind to worry about dusting cans of peas,” Nate said as he hung his hat on a peg. “If it’s all right with your mother, would you deliver a letter for me to Miss Dunn? I’ll pay you five cents.”

  Closing his book, Rufus swiveled in his chair, his last five problems forgotten. “Can I, Ma?”

  Ruth nodded. “As long as you don’t dillydally. Supper’s almost ready.”

  Grinning, Rufus said, “You don’t have to pay me, Mr. Nate. I like running errands for you. And that house is real fine.”

  “This is an important job, young man, so don’t forgo appropriate compensation,” Nate said, chuckling at the boy’s perplexed expression.

  “Okay, I’ll take the nickel. Do you want me to hide in the bushes until I can speak to Miss Dunn alone?” He tugged on his cloth cap.

  “Absolutely not. You should walk up to the front door and knock, proper-like. When the butler answers, tell him you have a special delivery for Miss Amanda Dunn.”

  Shaking her head, Ruth placed her hands on Rufus’s shoulders. “Here in North Carolina, deliveries go to the back door, including couriers.”

  Nate frowned. “Always so many rules to learn. Very well, knock on the back door, but stand up straight and don’t mumble. Tell whoever answers that you’ve been instructed to wait for Miss Dunn’s response.” He handed Rufus the invitation. “And don’t drop it in a puddle.”

  “I won’t, Mr. Nate. Can I go now, Ma?” Rufus hopped from foot to foot.

  “Since this dinner is in three days, let’s not tarry another moment.” Ruth pointed her son toward the door, and he took off like a startled rabbit.

  With Rufus gone, Nate and his landlady discussed how to make piecrust, the easiest method of coring and peeling apples, and what spices to add to the cornmeal breading for the chicken. She had just ladled up three bowls of thick fish chowder when Rufus bounded into the kitchen, letting the door slam behind him.

  “I seen her, Mr. Nate! I seen Miss Amanda.” His words came at a breathless staccato.

  “Saw, Rufus. You saw Miss Dunn.” He smiled while Ruth rolled her eyes.

  “That’s what I said. I knocked on the door, said I had an important letter, and that I would sit on that stoop till Miz Dunn makes up her mind.” Rufus pointed at nothing in particular, as though reliving the event. “Then the lady said, ‘Who are you, boy?’”

  “I said, ‘I’m Rufus Sims.’”

  Nate bit the inside of his cheek. “What happened next?”

  “The lady just shook her head, made a funny sound, and shut the door. I sat on that stoop for the longest time. Then a different gal gave me a cup of water and a molasses cookie.”

  Nate made an appropriate murmur of appreciation.

  Rufus’s eyes turned very bright. “Then, before I had a chance to finish my water, Miss Dunn herself comes out the back door!”

  Nate and Ruth produced identical expressions of surprise.

  “That’s right, with the lady in the apron right on her heels. Miss Dunn said it would be a pleasure to accept and that I should wait one more minute. Then that second gal threw my water into the bushes, filled my cup with cider, and handed me another cookie.” Rufus’s joy was surpassed only by Nate’s. “And then Miss Dunn brung your letter outside with her message at the bottom.” With great dramatic flair, Rufus extracted the sheet from inside his shirt.

  “You had better read it aloud,” said Odom, appearing in the doorway. “We’re all in suspense.”

  Nate took the paper with a trembling hand. “Miss Amanda Dunn accepts your dinner invitation with fond anticipation.”

  Rufus held up a coin. “Then she gave me a nickel too—ten cents, two cookies, and a cup of cider—just for running up the hill and back.”

  Ruth guided the boy to the tub to wash. “All right, son, let’s settle down. Your father is ready to say grace.”

  Nate reread the ten words twice more and then took his seat. When he bowed his head during Odem’s prayer, he added his own silent words of thanks. He finally had more to be grateful about than just food.

  Amanda had never so fondly anticipated an event in her life. But it didn’t take Abigail long to learn she’d received a formal invitation and from whom.

  “Regarding this dinner you have been invited to,” Abigail asked later that day, “where does Mr. Cooper hope to serve? In the storeroom of his market?”

  When Amanda explained that they would be dining in the Simses’ kitchen, without the family present, she thought her sister might faint from shock.

  “Unchaperoned, just you and Mr. Cooper, in the home of Negroes, no less?” Abigail’s face scrunched into a scowl.

  “As you noted previously, few members of Wilmington society will witness this breach of decorum, so my reputation—or rather yours—is safe for now.”

  Abby’s nostrils flared in an unbecoming fashion. “A letter to Mama detailing your atrocious behavior will be on Jackson’s next ship to Liverpool.”

  “What can she do? Place me in an ice-cold tub of water the way she did when we were children?”

  Abby pressed her hand to her mouth as color drained from her cheeks. “I had almost forgotten her favorite method of punishment. To this day I only take hot baths no matter what the weather.” She locked gazes with Amanda. “When did Mama finally stop that cruel tactic of persuasion?”

  Amanda softened her stance. “She tried it once after you eloped. I refused to climb into the tub and threatened to run away if she forced me.”

  Abby’s pique over Nate’s invitation seemed to fade. “Well, see that you’re home by a decent hour. I don’t want to explain your whereabouts to Jackson. And if you end up with indigestion, don’t come crying to me.” She glided away with her chin held high.

  During the next three days, Amanda selected her outfit not less than a half dozen times. On the momentous afternoon, she soaked in a tub of rosewater, buffed her fingernails until they shone, and had Helene create a cascade of curls trailing down her back. After applying a touch of henna to her lips and gargling with vinegar, she took a final appraisal in the mirror. Suddenly
the sound of Jackson barking orders to the slaves broke her pleasant bubble of anticipation. Hurrying downstairs, Amanda intercepted her sister in the parlor doorway. “Jackson is home early. He’ll soon be inside the house.”

  “Yes, I heard his carriage. We’re dining at his attorney’s home tonight. He probably wishes to leave with enough time to ride across town.”

  Amanda blocked her path. “Nate’s hired carriage will be here any minute. Where should I say I’m going if Jackson asks me?”

  “Of course he will ask,” Abby said with a sigh. “I’ll try to detain him in the garden. Fetch your shawl and wait beyond the privet hedge. As unseemly as standing on a corner may be, I don’t wish to upset my husband. I’ll say you have already left for the Kendall House.” She strode down the center hall with more than her usual amount of energy.

  At first Amanda couldn’t fathom Abby’s change of heart in regard to deceiving Jackson, but then she remembered that Abby had run away from home to be him. Perhaps she could no longer deny her twin the same right to pursue love. Regardless of the reason, Amanda was grateful. When the carriage turned the corner onto Third Street, she was ready to climb aboard before the coachman slowed to a complete stop.

  “Good evening, Miss Dunn.” He tipped his top hat. “Let me get that door for you.”

  “No need. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She hiked up her skirt, jumped inside, and pulled the door shut behind her. Amanda held her breath until the mansion faded from view. But as they neared Castle Street, the butterflies in her stomach took flight. At her destination, she waited patiently until the driver opened the door.

  “We’re here, miss.” He positioned a wooden step and helped her down to the sidewalk.