The Solitary Envoy (4 page)

Mildred was dressed for going out. She wore a high-necked dress of burgundy velvet, with matching feathers adorning her dark tresses. She gave her daughter a long look.

Erica swallowed hard. She could see the storm gathering within her mother’s gaze.

Forrest greeted his wife. “Ah, Mildred. Excellent. I was just going to send Carter for you. Come in, come in.”

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

“And I the same. All right, Carter, tell them the entire batch is acceptable and I will sign for payment.”

“Very good, sir. Good morning, madam.”

“And a good morning to you, Carter. Forrest, I wish to discuss—”

“No, don’t sit down quite yet. Come over here, please. I want you to have a look at this.”

Mildred allowed her husband to take her by the elbow. “Is something the matter?”

“Quite a lot, actually. But nothing that cannot wait a moment.”

Forrest Langston was known within the business community as a man of considerable power and a personality to back it up. Within his own family, however, Mildred Langston ran things much the way she wished. Or so it normally was. Today, however, the jovial acceptance Forrest usually showed his wife was gone. He neither smiled nor commented on how attractive she looked, which was uncommonly strange indeed.

A bit tentatively Mildred said, “Child, await me in the parlor.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“No, Erica. Remain exactly where you are.”

“Forrest, what I wish to say to you—”

“Pertains to our daughter, does it not?” He led his wife over to where Erica stood by her desk. “Erica, show your mother what you have been working on.”

Hesitantly Erica swiveled the sheet of parchment around.

“Tell me what you see, Mildred.”

“Forrest, I fail to understand—”

“Attend me a moment, I beg you.”

“Oh, very well. I see a letter.”

“Precisely. Examine it, if you would.”

The name at the top of the sheet finally registered. “She is writing to the vice-president?”

“None other. But that is not what I wished you to see. Notice the quality of the script. Notice also that she has no notes from which she is working. Our daughter, my dear, is able to take my words as I speak them and script them in a hand so fair most recipients think she has taken all day to prepare it.” He slid the letter to one side and pointed to the open ledger. “Erica, explain to your mother what is on this page.”

“Costings from a bill of lading, Father.”

“When was this made up?”

“The shipment arrived in November of last year. The cost of each product along with the accrued price of transport is in the first column.” She disliked the way her finger shook slightly as she pointed, but there was nothing she could do about it. “Here in the second column is the agreed strike price, if the item is due for auction. Beside that is the price at which it finally sold. Here in this column is our profit from the transaction. These two paintings remained unsold. The vicepresident saw one when he visited the coffeehouse last week.”

“Fine. Now add for me the figures in the profit column.”

“Forrest, please—”

“Just a moment longer, my dear. Go ahead, Erica.”

“Four hundred ninety-seven pounds and thirteen shillings.”

“Do you see, Mildred? Without need for pen or paper, without batting an eye, your daughter can work out all our figures. What’s more, she carries them about in her head. Erica, tell your mother the total charges outstanding against us from the two ships now overdue.”

“That will not be necessary.” Mildred attempted to gather herself up. “Forrest, you force me to speak plainly. I did not raise our daughter to become a glorified clerk. Do you hear me? She is a Langston, and I expect her to act like one!”

“Listen to yourself, my dear. She is a Langston. And a clerk she will not remain. She is learning the business. Learning all I can teach her, and more.” He swept a hand above the work spread across Erica’s new desk. “Would you have Reginald do this work?”

Her mother faltered. “Perhaps in time …”

“In time, yes, if I forced him. And do you know what would happen? He would do it. Just as Erica would follow you into the salons of Washington. Because they are both good children who love and honor their parents. But they would be miserable, my dear. Would you consign both our children to lives of melancholy?”

Erica grasped her hands in front of her. It was the only way to keep the tremors in check. Her mother chose that moment to glance over, and Erica knew with sickening realization that she was going to order Erica downstairs. Down to sit through another round of boring teas with women twice her age, who had nothing better to do than gossip about their children and neighbors and discuss the matrimonial prospects of a young woman who wished to remain precisely where she was, doing exactly what she was doing.

Before Mildred could speak, the rear door that led to the warehouse flew open and Reggie cried out, “Everything’s ready, Erica!”

“Not now,” Erica said, her voice so weak she scarcely recognized it as her own.

“Good morning, Father. ’ Morning, Mother! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Isn’t what wonderful, child?”

“Erica’s idea, of course. An absolute topper!”

Both parents looked at her, puzzled, and Mildred demanded frostily, “Precisely what idea is this?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Don’t say that, Erica!” Reggie bounded across the room. “I can’t believe you haven’t told them yet.”

“I was going to. But things …”

Reggie tugged on his father’s sleeve. “It’s been right there in front of my eyes for weeks, Father. Longer. Then Erica comes in looking for me, and she sees it, and Bob’s your uncle!”

Erica blushed more deeply than Horace Cutter had the previous evening. Her brother’s enthusiasm was touching, but his timing couldn’t have been worse. “It really isn’t anything, Father.”

“You say the pair of you have something to show me?”

Reggie said, “I’ve laid it out just the way Erica asked.”

“Very well.” He offered Mildred the crook of his arm. “Coming, my dear?”

Her mother began to protest but found herself swept along. “I am not finished with our discussion, Forrest.”

“Of course not. But let us attend to the children. Come, Erica.”

Reluctantly she followed the others out the office’s rear door. What she had spent excited hours planning and sleepless nights envisioning now seemed like a child’s idle fancy. If only she could turn the clock back and make the whole thing disappear.

The clerks’ room was almost as large as her father’s office. The family proceeded down the central hall as the clerks stood or sat upon high stools and worked the ledgers opened on their tall slanted desks. They wore armbands to keep their sleeves from dipping into their inkwells, but the tips of their fingers were stained a permanent black by the India dye. Erica saw how her mother stared at the clerks’ fingers as each man greeted the employer and his family. She saw the delicate shudder that shook her mother’s frame and realized that Mildred was imagining this as her daughter’s fate. Erica hung her head. It was only a matter of time before she would be banished from the work she loved.

The rear door of the clerks’ office opened onto a broad balcony. This was another of her father’s designs. To her right stood a clerk’s slanted desk, this one empty. Her father called this his foredeck, and no one could remain here except upon his express invitation. From this high perch Forrest was able to view his entire operation. The empty desk was there to hold a ledger, should Father desire it.

The warehouse was a vast affair. As they started down the stairs Erica spied four workers erecting a set of portable walls, something her father had seen done in the holds of a ship and decided to use here. Once in place, the walls formed a solid barrier. The space could be used for woodworking or loom spinning or anything else that might create dust and noise. Or a netting could be thrown over the top and the space used to house valuable items. Yet Forrest Langston could look down and still see all the activity going on within his empire.

Normally such matters brought Erica a sense of swelling pride. Just as she loved the mingled aromas of spices and roasting coffee and dried leaf, she loved to see the evidence of her father’s ingenuity. Today, however, she dreaded displaying her idea before him. If only she had not spoken about it to Reggie. If only he had not been so enthusiastic. If only …

“Over here, Father!” Reggie led them into one such temporary alcove. From the spicy fragrance, Erica knew the piledup sacks contained peppercorns.

Beyond them, an older man in tattered overalls stood nervously by a little table. His skin was so black it looked almost purple, and his yellowed eyes darted nervously from one figure to the next.

Reggie turned to him and struggled to shape the simple French words, “This is my family!”

The old man might not have understood. More likely, he was too nervous to make much of a response. He continued to bob his head at no one in particular and fumble with the brim of his tattered straw hat.

“I know this man.” Forrest’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“His name is Fran
ois, Father.” Reggie’s eyes danced in anticipation. “Do go on, Erica!”

“Yes, daughter,” Mildred agreed. “Do tell us why we are here.”

Erica forced herself to take a step forward, wishing a hole would open at her feet and she could disappear into it forever. “I—I, well, this is Fran
ois.”

“As I’ve already said,” Reggie inserted.

“He is one of the new men hired for warehouse duties, do I recall that correctly?” asked Forrest.

Forrest Langston had no slaves. He was a staunch abolitionist, the name given to those who felt the American constitution was intended to serve all men, of all races. But the president owned slaves, and so did many within his cabinet. Forrest Langston and his fellow abolitionists knew theirs was a struggle that would take many years to realize.

“Yes, Father. But Fran
ois does not speak much English.” Erica forced herself to stop fumbling with the sweep of her skirt. “He is from Martinique. Well, he was born and raised in Cuba. Then he was an indentured servant in Martinique for twelve years. He worked his passage to America, and he’s been here in our employ for almost three months.”

“Forgive me, husband, but I have far more pressing matters than this discussion of a new employee’s personal history.”

“Abide with me a moment longer, my dear. Go on, Erica.”

“Yes, Father.” She turned to the man and said in French, “Would you please begin?”

“The mademoiselle wishes for me to do as we discussed?”

“Yes, please.”

Fran
ois continued to fumble with his hat brim. “I did not mean to steal, mademoiselle. All the workers, they take leaf scrapings to smoke.”