Midnight Rose (30 page)

Where would he have hidden the key?

And then it dawned on her.

Ryan would presume no one would dare go through his things, so he would not take much effort to hide it. Accordingly, she found it in the center drawer, tucked in a back corner.

Unlocking the last drawer, she found what she was looking for.

She took a blank sheet of paper, laid it over the diagram, and hastily copied it. Returning the diagram, she closed the drawer, locked it, placed the key precisely where she’d found it.

Then, as she rose from his chair, she was startled to find Eliza standing in the doorway. Her expression was cold, her eyes accusing.

With forced joviality to cover her shock and unease, Erin cheerily said, “My goodness, Eliza. You’re as quiet as the proverbial creeping mouse. How long have you been standing there?”

Eliza ignored the question. Tightly, she asked, “It’s late. Are you going to be having breakfast or lunch?”

Annoyed, Erin chose equally to disregard her query and instead fired another, lifting her chin slightly in a gesture meant to override the servant’s imperious attitude. “Did my husband say where he was going?”

“Ebner might know,” was the curt response before Eliza abruptly turned on her heel and left.

Erin bit down on her lower lip as she worried about how long Eliza had actually been standing there and whether, from that distance, she could tell what was being copied. Surely not. It was a long way between door and desk.

Putting it out of her mind, Erin returned to her room and rang for Annie. When she appeared, cheerful and eager to serve as always, Erin asked her to take a seat. She obeyed, suddenly looking a bit nervous.

With a deep breath, Erin began, “Annie, I have to know that I can trust you to keep your mouth shut about anything you see or hear when you go places with me.”

Annie’s eyes grew wide, and her spine tingled with curiosity as she was quick to assure her mistress, “Yassum. You don’t have to worry about me sayin’ nothin’ ’bout nothin’. I tol’ you before, I want to be yo’ slave—” she saw Erin’s immediate frown and corrected, “uh, handmaiden. I’ll be good and loyal. I promise.”

Erin had no choice but to give her the chance to prove it. “I’ll trust you till you give me reason not to. Now then, I want you to go to the stable and have a carriage ready in an hour. We’re going to visit my mother.”

“Yassum.” Annie jumped to obey.

Erin called to her again, compelled to ask, “Does Eliza often clean Master Ryan’s study in the mornings?”

Annie swung her head from side to side. “Oh, no’m. Mastah Ryan, he don’t allow nobody in his study unless he’s there, too. That’s the only time we’re allowed to clean. Can’t none of us go in there less’n he’s there.”

Erin nodded thoughtfully and waved her on her way. No doubt Eliza had seen the study door open and looked in to see who was daring to disobey the rule. She had probably not been standing there long at all.

But regardless, Erin made a mental note to be more alert to the ubiquitous housekeeper in the future.

During the ride, Erin observed that Annie seemed upset. Her enthusiasm was absent, and instead of gazing happily out the window, she sat with eyes downcast, hands folded in her lap.

Finally, Erin offered, “If something is wrong, Annie, I wish you’d tell me. If I’m going to trust you, you’re going to have to trust me back, you know.”

Gloomily, Annie agreed with that, then worriedly asked, “But am I gonna get in trouble?”

Erin firmly shook her head. “Not if you just keep silent and do as you’re told.”

Annie thought about that a minute. “But what is it I’m not supposed to tell?”

With a resigned sigh, Erin knew there was nothing to do but confide in her. She had no trepidation, really, in doing so. The girl was almost fawning in her desire to please, and she’d made it clear she despised Eliza. Candidly, she explained, “I’m going to be helping some of your people who aren’t treated as well as you are, Annie.” Erin watched her face closely for any sign that Annie might react negatively to what she was hearing. When Erin saw only excited interest, she went on to say, “There may be times when I’ll want you to see if someone has left a message for me somewhere close to the house. You will have to be extremely careful in slipping it to me. Master Youngblood is not to know and certainly none of the other servants. Do you think I can count on you to do that?”

With awe and admiration, Annie leaned forward, almost trembling in her excitement. “Oh, yassum. Yassum, fo’ sure.” Confidence renewed, she rushed on to share the gossip she’d heard from the other slaves. “Miz Erin, I know only too well how me and the rest at our place need to give thanks every day for how good we’re treated. It’s true, Miz Victoria can be mean sometimes, screamin’ and yellin’, and one time she slapped me and gave my hair a yank when I accidentally broke somethin’ while cleanin’, but she didn’t have me whipped. I don’t know of anybody that’s ever been whipped at Jasmine Hill. She threatens, sure as God’s in His heaven, that she’s gonna beat somebody’s worthless hide, but she don’t never do it. She might, if’n it won’t fo’ Mastah Ryan, but he’s jest like his daddy, good to the bone, he is.

“No, ma’am.” She sat back, shaking her head in positive assurance. “You ain’t never got to worry about me tellin’ nothing.”

Suddenly she snapped her fingers and brightly cried, “Are you lookin’ fo’ a hidin’ place for somebody to leave you somethin’? I know just the place—Miz Henrietta’s pot.”

Erin blinked, sure she hadn’t heard right. “Miss Who’s what?”

“Miz Henrietta,” Annie explained impatiently. “Don’t you know about her? She was Mastah Calvin’s wife, the one he named Jasmine Hill for. She’s buried right there out your bedroom window, almost. You can see her grave when you look out to the left.

“And it’s said,” Annie continued uneasily, “that when the jasmine is in bloom, and the night air is just sick with that sweet smell, that you can sometimes see her walkin’ around down there, sniffin’ them flowers, ’specially if
the moon is full, and—”

“Annie,” Erin cut in to stop her ghost story, “what about her pot?”

“Her flowerpot. It sits right there on top of her grave, in front of the tombstone. My momma tol’ me that her momma tol’ her Mastah Calvin had it carved out of marble sent all the way from Italy. He used to have flowers put in it every day when there was any bloomin’. And when there wasn’t, he’d have paper flowers made up. Momma said her momma said that was one eerie sight, seein’ them paper flowers stickin’ up outta the snow.

“But,” she finally concluded, “nobody never put nothin’ else in that pot after he died, so it’d make a good place fo’ somebody to leave you whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.” She flashed one of her special toothy grins, eyes shining in anticipation of praise.

She received it. “Thank you,” Erin said, and meant it. “Now all you’ll have to do is tell me when you find a flower, paper or otherwise, in that pot. I’ll know what to do then.”

Annie was so proud, happily wiggling in her seat to think how she was such big help to her mistress. “What kind of flower you gonna have, Miz Erin?” She wanted to know, anxious to keep the conversation alive so the good feeling would last. “You gonna have a jasmine? They bloom the longest, but they’d be kinda hard to make out of paper.”

Erin did not have to think long on that. She smiled to herself as she whispered, “No. Not a jasmine. A rose.”

Always it had been her favorite flower, but never more so since Ryan had showered her with so many. Maybe, by adopting the blood-red rose as her special signal, she contemplated, it would help assuage her feeling that she was, in a way, betraying him.

Ryan took the back steps three at a time. Dashing through the service porch, he passed by Eliza as though she were not even there. Through the years of growing up with her watching his every move like a barn owl after a field mouse, so she could tattle to his mother, it was second nature to disregard her at every opportunity. But, after dashing through the house and not finding Erin anywhere, he was forced to address her.

“Did Miss Erin tell you where she was going?”

Eliza was ready with her answer. After all, Miss Erin had not told her, but Annie had, and he didn’t ask her about Annie. “No, sir,” she replied in the proper enunciation Miss Victoria had taught her, void of dialect. “Miss Erin didn’t say anything to me.”

He turned away without further conversation. She heard him going down the back hallway toward his study. Tiptoeing behind him, she peered in through the half-opened door, just as she had done that morning, when she’d seen Miss Erin take something out of his drawer and copy it. She didn’t know what it was, but maybe Miss Victoria would, and she sure intended to tell her. Miss Victoria was going to be very mad about all of this, anyway. And Miss Ermine wasn’t going to like it, either.

Eliza liked Miss Ermine, because after the betrothal was announced, she had made it clear that when she married Master Ryan and moved in, she might be bringing some of her own servants with her, but Eliza would still be in charge, even if something was to happen to Miss Victoria, she had whispered. Eliza knew what she meant. Miss Ermine would be mistress of Jasmine Hill when Miss Victoria passed on, and Eliza was pleased to know she’d still be in charge should that happen, and not any slaves Miss Ermine brought into the house.

She could see Master Ryan writing something on a piece of paper. Moving from the doorway, she eased on into the parlor directly across the hall and waited. In a few minutes, she heard him come out and go up the stairs. Then he hurriedly came back down and left the house.

Eliza went straight to Miss Victoria’s room. She wasn’t about to think of it as belonging to Miss Erin, because once Miss Victoria got back from her trip, she’d take over again.

She found the note lying on Miss Erin’s pillow. She could not read the lines that explained he had received word Quincy Monroe’s mare was about to foal, and he was going over there. He might not be back till late, maybe even on into the morning. He would miss her, he wrote, but he would be thinking of how wonderful it was last night, and he hoped when he came home he would find her in his bed again.

No; Eliza could not read. Victoria Youngblood felt there was a certain limit to how learned a slave should be. So Eliza did not know what Master Ryan had written and didn’t care. All she knew as she tucked the paper in her apron pocket was that by doing so, she was helping maybe to make Miss Erin unhappy, and maybe she would start thinking how she never should have married Master Ryan. Eliza was also confident Miss Victoria would approve.

Erin was doubly pleased when she arrived at her mother’s. First of all, Zachary was nowhere around, and, second, her mother was dressed and sitting on the side veranda. “I’m so glad you’re better,” she cried with a kiss of greeting.

Arlene, with forced gaiety, replied, “It’s such a lovely afternoon I couldn’t bear to be indoors.” Actually, she had not felt like getting up at all, and only with Rosa’s help had she been able to get her clothes on and make it to her favorite rocking chair. But she’d anticipated Erin’s visit and did not want to worry her by still being bedridden when she arrived.

Rosa brought mint tea, and Erin noticed she would not look her straight in the eye. She waited till it would not appear so obvious, then followed her inside to corner her in the service kitchen. “I’ve got the diagram of the labyrinth,” she said hurriedly, not giving her a chance to protest or refuse to take it. She stuffed it in the pocket of her apron and continued, “Tell Mahalia there is a grave on the river side of the house. She can’t miss seeing it. There’s a big tombstone. In front of that is a marble flower vase. When she wants me to meet her in the center of the labyrinth, tell her she’s to leave a red rose in that vase. If she can’t find one, she’s to make one out of paper.

“Tell her,” she rushed to finish, “that I’ll always have money for her. Maybe not as much as I’d like, but when she’s in need, I’ll be there with something.”

Rosa just looked at her with fear-widened eyes and lips trembling.

“Rosa, just do it!” Erin snapped impatiently. “After this, Mahalia will know how to contact me without involving you.”

Rosa managed a quick nod and turned to scurry out the back door and head for the outbuildings.

Erin stared after her with a chilling stab of foreboding. Was there another reason, she wondered, why Rosa was so nervous? She did not know, knew only that something within was urging her to get her mother out of that house of evil as soon as possible.

Erin stayed till there was just enough time to get back to Jasmine Hill before dark. “I’m going to send a carriage for you early Sunday morning so you can come and spend the day with us,” she promised, giving her a hug, thinking once more how sickly her mother looked.

Arlene was reluctant to promise. “Maybe. We’ll see.” Then, suddenly, although she hated to, she felt she had to tell her, “Zachary isn’t at all pleased about your getting married while he was away. He thinks it shamed him.”

Erin wanted to say he had always done a good job of bringing on his own shame and certainly didn’t need to give credit to anyone else. But her mother knew that, and there was no need to cause pain by reminding her. “He’ll get over it,” she soothed. “Besides, soon it’s not going to matter how he feels, because you’re going to come and live with me.”