Lady in the Mist (28 page)

“I’ll walk back with you.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I want some of that jam that should be finished by now.”

“And to ensure I go home and stay there.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, Tabitha.” With a noise half like a growl and half like a laugh, he stopped, turned, and kissed her. “Just don’t lose the key.”

“I’ll give it back to you when I return.” She took his arm again and they returned to the mayor’s house.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she told Letty. “Will you watch over Mr. Cherrett here? He’s . . . got a wandering eye.”

“Not since he met you, he don’t,” Dinah said with a giggle.

“Does he indeed?” Letty met Tabitha’s gaze and nodded.

She understood. Tabitha could rely on her to ensure that Dominick did nothing to jeopardize his position.

A little mollified, Tabitha returned home to pack and ordered Japheth and Patience to be ready to leave at first light. They would spend most of the morning traveling the rough road to Norfolk, and Tabitha would call on Sally Belote as her excuse for being there.

In the morning, Dominick knelt at his attic window and listened to a wagon rumble out of the village. Tabitha was on her way to Norfolk. If he was right and Kendall was involved, she was walking straight into danger.

“I should be with her.” He pounded his fist against the windowsill. “Lord, why am I confined here like a prisoner? I’m of no use to anyone like this.”

He’d never been of use to anyone. He’d taken and taken from his father’s generous, if indifferent, largess. He’d taken knowledge from his Oxford tutors, and he’d taken information from people who thought he’d befriended them. He’d used his social position, money, and brains to get whatever he wanted. He’d even taken away his father’s desire to see his youngest son become the vicar of the church at Bruton-on-Aix, the family parish. He’d taken friendship and now a selfless, loving act from Tabitha.

He’d given nothing.

“Lord, You gave us so much—Your wisdom, Your love, Your life. I can never do enough to be worthy of that. Even finding out the identity of this traitor isn’t enough to make up for the past.”

Of course it wasn’t. His father had been generous only while Dominick did as he wished. When he learned of his son stepping over the line, he treated Dominick worse than his lowest servant, worse than his horses or dogs. Only perfection pleased.

Only perfection pleased God. God wanted a cleansed heart, a repentant life.

“And I will never get there. I’ve sinned too much.” Dominick’s chest tightened and his eyes burned. “I can’t earn forgiveness, even with this mission.”

But the mission would help. His father might still despise him and deny him access to the family, but others would receive him. He could rejoin his friends with his head held high. His brothers would talk to him. He’d have a family again, even if it was as good as being an orphan. Most of all, he could find work as someone’s steward or man of business. In time, Father might even reconsider his edict that Dominick’s name must never be mentioned in his hearing. Eventually, the people he’d hurt might forget enough to forgive.

And would that be enough for them to accept Tabitha?

Thinking of her lovely, serene face, her practical and compassionate nature, and her intelligence, he didn’t know how they couldn’t want to be near her as much as he had from the minute he’d encountered the mermaid on the beach. Yet thinking of English society with its strictures and mores, its prejudices and adherence to lineage, its respect for wealth and loathing of getting one’s hands dirty in trade, he knew they would shun her at every opportunity.

She was right. He could have his old life back in England, or he could have her.

His old life meant a position, a place, the knowledge that he belonged with a certain type of people. He would find work, interesting work. He might even earn enough respect for a position in the foreign office. Staying with Tabitha meant staying in America, where his name meant nothing. He owned no land and lacked the ability to acquire it. He was English and despised in many circles for nothing more than that heritage. He might love her more than anyone he’d ever known—related to him or otherwise—but his love might not be enough to give her the security she wanted, the life she deserved.

If I’d truly loved her, I’d have left her alone to renew her courtship with Trower.

One more sin to blot his copybook.

Yet if she’d truly loved Raleigh Trower, none of Dominick’s machinations should have won her away. She hadn’t rebuffed him. She accepted his friendship then his courtship. She’d even sought him out. If he left her, she would be alone in the world again.

He couldn’t do that to her. At the same time, he couldn’t face a life with no purpose for himself, no vocation, no profession. Without land or money in America, being a gentleman, third son of a marquess, meant nothing. He suspected being a former bondsman made matters even worse, regardless of any service to their country he had performed. It could harm her future as much as her presence in England could harm his.

Yet how could he leave her without anyone to love her? And what if she clung to him merely because Raleigh Trower was gone and Dominick was there?

Only one way to find that out.

If Raleigh Trower still lived, Dominick would find him and free him, whatever the cost.

30

______

Remembering how she’d been treated at the Belote home before, Tabitha rounded the house and knocked on the back door. It was closed, odd for a warm summer day, and she feared the servants were elsewhere, that everyone was elsewhere. The house lay in a stillness not common in the middle of the afternoon.

Then she heard a baby’s cry, the weak mewling of a newborn. She stepped back from the house and glanced up toward the sound. Yes, an upstairs window stood open. Movement flashed in the dim interior of the chamber beyond, and the crying ceased.

“Sally?” Tabitha called. “Sally Belote? It’s Tabitha Eckles.”

“No,” she thought someone gasped.

“May I come in?” Tabitha persisted.

Silence.

“Sally, is something wrong?”

The baby responded with a whimper.

Not caring if she offended the haughty Mrs. Belote, Tabitha tested the handle of the kitchen door. It yielded with a touch. With an exhalation of breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she marched into the kitchen to find it neat, the fire banked, loaves of bread rising beneath a spotless linen cloth on the worktable. For whatever reason they were gone, it appeared Cookie and her daughter Abigail would be returning soon.

But why Sally was alone with the infant and not answering her, Tabitha must find out. She remembered her way through the house and hastened up the steps to the second floor. Sally’s room overlooked the back garden and field beyond—a pleasant view, but not as fine as the bay on the other side. Nor as cool. The air grew increasingly stifling as Tabitha traversed the hallway on the upper floor and found Sally’s door.

Locked—from the outside.

Heart jumping into her throat, Tabitha turned the key and opened the door. Of course, she could be making a mistake. If Sally had suffered from a mental break, as women sometimes did after childbirth, Tabitha could place herself in danger. On the other hand, the child was most certainly in danger, and the girl shouldn’t be alone with him.

But she was alone. Quite alone. When Tabitha opened the door, the baby was nowhere in sight. No infant lay in his mother’s arms. No cradle stood by the cold hearth. The chamber, with its pastel colors and ruffles, belonged to a young woman about to launch into the world of husband hunting, not the chamber of a new mother.

Except for the smell. Tabitha caught a whiff of urine, rich mother’s milk, and another odor as familiar as those of a baby, but completely unrelated.

Her nostrils flared. She clutched her neck, where the mark of the knife barely remained.

From her chair near the open window, Sally stared at Tabitha with huge blue eyes. Her mouth worked. No sound emerged.

“I heard the baby,” Tabitha said. “And I smell him. Where is he?”

“Not here.” Sally shook her head. “He died.”

“In the last two minutes?” Tabitha closed the door, locked it, and slipped the key into her pocket. It clinked against the one to Dominick’s chamber.

His prison.

“I heard him crying,” she persisted.

“It must have been a cat.” Sally didn’t move from the chair. “We have cats in the stable.”

“Sally, I am a midwife. I have been around scores of babies. I know the difference between a baby’s cry and a cat’s.” Tabitha moved further into the room, glancing around for a hiding place, for the source of that smell.

Tobacco? Whiskey? Some herb with which she was unfamiliar?

Nothing came to her immediate attention, but the baby could be hidden in any number of locations—under the tall bed, inside the chest at its foot, inside the armoire. In any of those locations, he could suffocate in the heat of the chamber. And something had made him stop crying and stay quiet.

Her skin crawled with the possibilities.

“Where are your parents, Sally?” Tabitha asked.

“Father’s at sea and Momma is at church with the servants.” Sally didn’t hesitate in her answer. In fact, she sounded like she was reciting.

“So why were you locked in your room?” Tabitha sidled over to the bed and perched on the edge. She took out Dominick’s key and began to play with it. “It’s awfully hot in here.”

“I want to go shopping, but Momma says I have to stay here until I stop—until my milk dries up.”

“Understandable. If you can’t take the baby with you, you could make a mess of your gown.” Tabitha dropped the key. “Oops.”

She sank to her hands and knees. Under the guise of retrieving the key, she looked under the bed. Nothing, not even dust motes.

“So how recently did the baby die that your milk is still coming up?” Tabitha rose and walked to the chest to sit. “You don’t seem sad about the loss of your child.”

“I’m not.” Sally stuck out her lower lip. “He’s a nuisance. That’s what Momma says.”

“And what do you say? How do you feel about the baby?” Tabitha examined the chest. It was so full of quilts, the lid wouldn’t close properly. If the baby lay in there, he was indeed departed from the world—and recently. He couldn’t possibly breathe.

Two enormous tears pearled on Sally’s lashes. “I love him. He doesn’t look a bit like his . . . like him, and he doesn’t—” She clamped her hand over her mouth.

Tabitha narrowed her eyes. Sally sat on a chair twice her size. Despite the warm day, a blanket was draped halfway across her lap.

Of course.

“I’m pleased to hear you love him.” Tabitha sprang, whipped back the blanket, and exposed a tiny form nestled on the chair beside Sally, his eyes closed, his face scrunched up, his lips working at a cloth teat. “He looks quite alive to me, Sally.”

“I’m so glad. I’m always afraid.” Sally began to sob into her hands. “Momma says I have to keep him quiet when people come to call. But the only way I can is to soak a cloth in sugar water with a drop or two of brandy on it.”

“Oh my.” Tabitha scooped up the infant. He weighed no more than a pumpkin, but his limbs were rounded and smooth, signs he was eating well enough. Still, Tabitha removed the sugar teat and examined every inch of him. And she sniffed. Perhaps the brandy was the familiar scent she’d caught. But it wasn’t. The cloth needed to be changed, and the baby should have begun to cry in a stranger’s arms. No harm should have been done with only a drop or two of spirits.

“No more brandy.” Tabitha glanced around. “Where are clean cloths? He needs a fresh one.”

“In that chest under the quilt.” Sally rose and retrieved a square of fine muslin. “I’ll take him. The mess doesn’t bother me at all. He smells so sweet even like that.” Tears continued to fall down the girl’s cheeks. “I don’t want to give him up, but Momma says I must because his daddy won’t marry me.”

“Yes, the daddy.” Tabitha carried the child across the room to where Sally had spread the cloth on the floor. “Has he come by to tell you he won’t marry you?”

“I-haven’t-seen-him.” The words emerged in a breathless rush, all running together.

Tabitha frowned. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’ll take Charles now.” Sally held up her arms.

Tabitha gazed at the sleeping infant—the perfection of round cheeks, peach fuzz on his head, miniscule ears. She touched the bottom of a tiny foot, and the toes curled. She knew Sally watched her, waited with arms extended, to take her child, but Tabitha couldn’t let go. Her arms wouldn’t open, her hands wouldn’t release the precious bundle of life.

“He’ll ruin your gown, miss,” Sally prompted.

“Of course.” Tears misting her eyes, Tabitha forced herself to give Sally’s son back to her. “When did you see Harlan Wilkins last, Sally?”

“I said I haven’t.” Sally kept her head bent over the baby.

Charles opened his eyes and blew a spit bubble.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Sally’s voice held awe. “He hardly ever cries, but he knows me more than anyone.”

“I can see that.” Tabitha looked away, her heart a mass of pain in her chest. “I want you to look at me, Sally, and tell me you haven’t seen your baby’s father.”

“I haven’t.” The girl took a long, shuddering breath. “And it’s not Harlan Wilkins. I lied about that.”

“You lied in extremis of labor?” Tabitha swung toward her, staring. “Then who is the father if it’s not Harlan Wilkins?”

“It’s”—Sally leaned forward and kissed Charles’s cheek—“Thomas Kendall.”

“Mayor Kendall?” Tabitha felt like the floorboards had been yanked out from under her. “No, it can’t be. He—”

Was in Norfolk. He made a number of journeys to Norfolk. His plantation was nearby, but that simply afforded him opportunity and access . . . Yet why wouldn’t Kendall marry Sally? He was a widower, and she came from a good family. Surely she was more dangerous to a politician unwed than as his wife.

“No, not Kendall,” Tabitha said. “It’s Wilkins, and he’s frightened you into lying.”

“No, no,” Sally cried.

Charles began to wail.

“I—he—” Sally cuddled the baby close to her chest. “No, he hasn’t been here.”

“Which he?” Tabitha knelt to be at eye level with the younger woman. “Wilkins or Kendall? Kendall or Wilkins?”

“Wilkin—I mean, Ken—” Sally paled. “You tricked me.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I . . . didn’t.” Sally turned her head to wipe her wet face on her shoulder. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Not when you said Wilkins, did you?”

“No. That is—he’ll take my baby away if he finds out.”

“No, he won’t.” Tabitha stroked loosened hair back from Sally’s brow. “He doesn’t want that much trouble. But he won’t find out. I promise you that. I never tell on my patients unless they require me to testify for them in court.”

Was that why Wilkins was frightening Sally into lying? And slipping poisonous snakes into Tabitha’s basket? Just to protect his reputation? But of course, if he wanted to be the next mayor of Seabourne and maybe Norfolk if he amassed enough of a fortune—

She reined in that line of thinking. Not now. Not yet.

“Sally, listen to me,” she said in a gentle but authoritative voice. When the girl looked at her, Tabitha continued. “You must stop putting Charles under blankets in this heat, and no more brandy.”

“But Momma—”

“Tell Mrs. Belote I said so. And if she tries to make you, you come to me. It’s twenty miles away, but there are always wagons traveling to the sea. Someone will give you a lift. Do you understand? You will harm your baby, maybe even kill him, if you continue this treatment.”

“I don’t want him to die,” Sally wailed. Charles wailed along with her.

Tabitha hugged them both, held them for a full minute. “I believe you, child. And don’t let Harlan Wilkins frighten you. If he tries again, get a message to me. I’ll manage him.” Slowly she rose and pulled the key from her pocket. “This is what you should be hiding. You need fresh air and sunshine.”

With another long look at the baby’s sweet face, she rose, then turned her back on the pair and left the room. She kept the door open behind her. She wanted Sally to be able to stay at home and receive the loving-kindness of her family. At the same time, she wouldn’t be the least ruffled if she added Sally to her household. Sally and Charles.

Thinking of the joy of having a baby around, she rounded the house and climbed into her wagon. She nearly directed Japheth to take her home. Then she recalled her plan to investigate whether or not Mayor Kendall had been in Norfolk over the past few days, as he claimed, and directed her driver into town. If she obtained her information quickly, she would be able to go home, with the days so long this time of year. Part of the journey would be in the dark, but she was used to traveling at night.

Not much remained of Norfolk after the fire of five years earlier, not to mention the destruction caused by the British during the revolution. It was still the largest city within a day’s travel, and the anchorage in Hampton Roads brought numerous merchant vessels to drop anchor and unload nearby. For Kendall to go there to enact legal business was likely.

To go there to enact illegal business was just as possible.

Armed with news of Raleigh’s and Donald Parks’s disappearance two days before, Tabitha began inquiries about Kendall at the wharves, where sailors looked at her askance, and at warehouses, where she wasn’t treated much better. At the first two inns upon which she called, the landlords sneered at her. The second one went as far as to say that his establishment allowed no solicitation.

“I am not soliciting.” Cheeks hot, stomach roiling, Tabitha stalked out and proceeded to the third inn.

“Why do you want to know?” the landlord asked.

To Tabitha, this sounded as good as an admission of Kendall’s presence, so she was forthcoming with her identity. “I’m Tabitha Eckles, the local midwife in Seabourne.” She smiled. “That has nothing to do with Mayor Kendall, though. I was simply here visiting a patient and knew he was supposed to be in Norfolk, so thought I’d look him up.”

“Indeed.” The landlord narrowed his eyes. “Would he expect you to call on him?”

“Mayor Kendall and I are on friendly terms, sir.” Tabitha bowed her head as she recalled the previous inn experience. “Not inappropriately friendly. We have mutual concerns about the safety and well-being of the inhabitants of our village, and there’s sad news—”

“He knows.” The landlord covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. “That is to say, word has gotten here already.”

“Of course.” Tabitha smiled. “So has Mayor Kendall been here since Thursday? I mean, you’ve seen him?”

“For every meal, ma’am. I expect him for his dinner soon. Would you care to wait?”

Tension uncoiling inside her, Tabitha hesitated as though thinking, then shook her head. “No, thank you. If he already knows what’s happened, I’ll wait to speak with him when he returns home.” She started for the door, then paused to glance back. “Who brought him the news?”

“A gentleman rode in early yesterday.”

A gentleman? Unable to think how to ask for a description of this gentleman, but suspecting who, Tabitha nodded and departed.

“Mr. Wilkins were here calling on the mayor,” Patience told Tabitha at the wagon. “I went around to the kitchen to get some water and got to talking.”

“Good girl.” Tabitha patted the maid’s hand. “Let’s be on our way home then. I’m finished here.”