Riverbreeze: Part 2 (30 page)

Robert barked a laugh. “Look at you!” Robert pointedly eyed Roger’s expensive outfit. “Sometimes you’re prettier than the ladies!”

Roger grinned, causing his cheeks to dimple. He shrugged his shoulders, shameless. “As Nicki always says, ‘tis better to be out of this world than to be out of fashion.”

Robert laughed again, amused to no end. Then he had a crazy idea. “You know, Robin is about the same age as your Emily and if Elizabeth and I have several boys, we should pair them up. Join our families.”

Roger stilled, puffing on his pipe, pondering that idea. Then he pointed the pipe at Robert. “I thought you hated arranged marriages the same as I do.”

Robert shrugged a shoulder, dismissing that. “I do, but…” He looked seriously at Roger. “’tis a thought.”

“Aye, it is.” Roger mused.

There was a short silence as they listened to the calls of a pair of Bobwhites.

“What did you name her?”

“Grace, after Nicki’s grandmother.”

“Nice, very nice.”

“We thought so.” Roger said simply. Then there was another silence as Roger enjoyed his pipe some more. The bobwhites called to each other again and further away in the distance a hawk cried.

Robert broke the silence. “You were right, you know.” He said quietly.

Roger turned to look at him. “Right about what?”

“My servant. He ran away and was caught by the Indians. They killed him.”

Roger eyes widened. “How did you find out?”

Robert told him the whole truth, about how Owasewas came to get him and to ask for guns to trade. Of course he wouldn’t trade his guns so the boy was left to be sacrificed.

“I’m sorry, Rob, but I told you. Are these two servants any better?”

“They were with Francis for six months already, and they’re older…and wiser.” Robert smiled wryly. “They’re decent workers. I trust them.”

Roger raised his eyebrows, his expression saying what he thought of that.

“I know; I know.” Robert waved off his concern. “You’re going to tell me the same thing as before, but I told them about Connelly last night and I do not think they’re eager to run away anytime soon.”

“I hope you’re right, for your sake.” Another pause, then a grin. “So, how is married life treating you? You appear to be in accord with your new wife.”

Robert smiled in return and actually felt his face warm. “I am. Elizabeth suits me just fine. I admit I was worried in the beginning, but she’s most agreeable. Most agreeable, indeed.” He repeated, a contented look on his face.

Robert’s and Roger’s conversation was interrupted by Huett and Elizabeth emerging from the front door. Huett once again reminded Robert of the court date, then thanked Elizabeth and Robert for their time and hospitality. They all said good bye and the Bassetts went back into the house for breakfast although Robert didn’t have much of an appetite. He was thinking too hard about the upcoming duel with Sparshott. He was more worried about that than the trial.

One week instead of two. Could he get back in fighting form? He never did get a chance to visit Adam Cooke. And he couldn’t go today. He had already promised Abby he would take her to Warren’s property to visit the grave of her friend and to dig up some of her medicinal plants for transplanting.

Oh well, at least he would have some goldenseal to make into a salve to heal his wounds!

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Clue is Found

An hour later, Robert kept his word and rowed Abigail across the river to the Warren property even though he could have reneged after the unpleasant visit with the Sheriff. Abigail certainly would have understood if he hadn’t felt like going, but he was just as eager to dig up some plants for transplanting as she was, and he also wanted to speak with Thomas about the fire.

Thomas Warren met them at his dock, having seen them approach from the construction site of his new brick house. He welcomed them heartily, kissed Abigail’s hand, then invited them in for a drink and to say hello to his wife, Jane.

When Robert stated the reason for their visit, Thomas readily gave them permission to dig up as many plants as they wished to. He said that, unfortunately, he and his wife would not be able to maintain the garden. Their own kitchen garden was all they could manage on their own.

Abigail didn’t stay long in the house after meeting with Jane and sipping some cider. She wanted to spend a few quiet moments alone visiting Beatrice’s grave before going to work in the garden. She offered her apologies and slipped out the door.

The grave was located at the head of Beatrice’s medicinal herb garden. It was the first on this property from the Warren family. Thomas Warren had dug the grave himself and had constructed the coffin. He hadn’t let anyone help him; he had wanted to do it all by himself. He had built a little, picket fence around the gravesite, put a temporary wooden cross at the head of the grave and had covered the grave with rocks until the tombstone that he had ordered could be delivered.

Abigail, along with Jane, had planted rose bushes on either side of the cross, Beatrice’s favorite flower. Thomas had, at least, allowed them to do that.

As she approached, she already felt tears start to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe it had been a whole week since Beatrice’s funeral. It seemed like it had only been yesterday when she and Beatrice had been visiting and laughing over cups of peppermint tea.

She missed her so much; she didn’t know how she was going to survive without her close friendship. And she didn’t understand how this tragedy could have happened. Beatrice had always been so careful around fire, never leaving a fire unattended, keeping her skirts out of the fireplace and pinching out candles whenever she left the cottage. Abigail found it inconceivable that Beatrice would have had this type of accident. Evidently both Robert and Thomas were of a like mind; Robert had already spoken to her of their suspicions.

Presently she saw Robert and Thomas exit the Warren’s original clapboard house. Robert picked up a roll of burlap squares from the ground, tucked them under his arm, then grabbed the shovel he had propped up against the house. After saying a few words to Thomas, he headed towards her, still needing his stick to help him walk, while Thomas headed for the brick house he was building on the property he had just purchased from Thomas Rolfe. He and three carpenters he had hired were working on the roof today. Several of his neighbors were also helping, including the gentleman who had purchased the property from Abigail after her husband had died.

When Robert reached her, he laid the shovel down and put his arm around her. “Are you all right?” He asked gently.

Abigail nodded, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’ll be fine, thank you.” She murmured.

“Do you need more time before we start digging?” Robert asked.

“I think so.” She looked up at the sky to see the position of the sun. She knew that Robert wanted to get back home at least before sundown. Elizabeth, Evelyn and Nathan had been left at the house while Jamie and Dolnick had gone to the Tyler plantation, now the Archer plantation, to retrieve their horses and the cow and calf that Robin had inherited. At least she didn’t need to make supper but she did want to get home before dark, having never liked traveling in the dark. Nevertheless, she said, “Just a few more minutes, if you do not mind.”

Robert also checked the sky. “All right, a few more minutes. I’ll go poke around the ruins of the cottage until you’re ready.”

Abigail watched him walk away, using his stick to lean on, wondering how he could poke around the ruins of the cottage where their good friend had died. If she could have her way, she would never set eyes on that awful scene ever again. But she understood that he was doing it in the hopes of finding a clue or two. During the trip across the river, Robert had spoken of his and Thomas’ suspicions that someone had set the fire, and how Thomas had come to the party to eavesdrop.

Unfortunately though, Thomas hadn’t heard anything of interest at the gathering and he hadn’t found anything either in the ruins.

Perhaps Robert would have better luck. He did have excellent eyesight and the sun was quite bright today.

Abigail hoped he would find something to incriminate someone. In her opinion, nobody should get away with murder.

Her own situation was quite different. She didn’t want anyone knowing about her attack. It was too embarrassing. She didn’t know who did it anyway and he hadn’t left any clues. Robert had brought it up during their trip here, but she had cut him off, not wanting to talk about it.

The sounds of construction started up again after the men’s break, hammering, sawing and shouting, and Abigail could hardly hear her own thoughts. Still, she knelt down and turned her attention to the rose bushes, weeding around the thriving plants. She was pleased to see them doing so well; there were several clusters of new, purplish leaves along the stalks. There had been enough rain to keep them alive although there weren’t any blooms yet. Next summer there would be beautiful pink blooms, but unfortunately Beatrice wouldn’t see them.

Suddenly Robert shouted for her. He sounded rather urgent and Abigail wondered if he had fallen and gotten hurt or if he had found something? Heart pounding, she quickly stood up, brushed the dirt off her skirts, and hastened the short distance to the burned-down house.

He was standing in the middle of the charred ruins, close to the stone fireplace which was the only structure remaining. The stones were black with soot and an iron pot lay among ashes on the brick fireplace floor, the crane and pothook melted and bent. Brass candlesticks still stood on the sturdy, massive mantle, blackened by the fire, the candles completely melted away. The walls of the house had burned to charcoal and ash, and charred roof beams lay collapsed on the floor, moved aside only enough to remove the body. He was studying something in the palm of one hand.

“What have you found?” She gasped when she finally stopped at the edge of the devastation.

“Do you recognize this? Was this one of Bea’s handkerchiefs?” He asked, holding out his hand. Using his stick to help him, he stepped gingerly over the beams and then over the stone threshold where the door had once been, closing the distance between Abigail and himself.

She took his hand and steadied it, focusing all her attention on the scrap of material. She sensed Robert watching her as she carefully picked it up by an edge. Immediately she could see that this was not one of Beatrice’s handkerchiefs and said so, but there was something familiar about it. She frowned, looking closer. And then she remembered where she had seen it before and gasped. She looked at Robert, her eyes wide.

“What?” Robert demanded, rather impatient.

“I think I recognize this.” She whispered ominously.

“Whose is it?” Robert asked quickly.

“I think…” She paused a moment, taking the time to turn the scrap of material over and over again, studying it intently. She wanted to be absolutely sure she was correct.

The piece of material was very small, only about three inches square, and was made of finely-woven ivory linen. It was dirty, the edges singed, but a small portion of what looked like a monogram in royal blue silk thread remained. Unfortunately not enough of the monogram was left to make out even one letter; however, Abigail recognized something else about the design. “I think this is Master Burnett’s handkerchief.” She said carefully.

“Burnett!” Robert exclaimed loudly, taken aback by her declaration.

Abigail nodded. Using her pinky fingernail, she pointed to the blue embroidery. “See this curlicue?”

“Yes.” Robert nodded.

“Master Burnett once loaned me his handkerchief at church and at the bottom of the P is this curlicue. The embroidery was very ornate.”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

Abigail nodded. “I’m quite sure.” She said, feeling sick to her stomach. To think that he might have done this was unimaginable. He had always been so courteous and gracious to her. Once, in a moment of weakness, she supposed, she had even thought about marrying him. That moment hadn’t lasted long.

“That filthy, hypocritical son of a ….” Robert burst out, then stopped short. He looked apologetically at her.

Abigail dismissed his outburst. That was nothing new. “Where did you find this?”