The Time Heiress (19 page)

Cassandra had always assumed they went to their own homes at night.

“It is also a decoy. It looks as though it is intended to be secret so that if it is found, the slave catchers will think it is where the runaways are kept. But they will see it is empty and leave.”

Sure enough, they soon heard the pounding of footsteps on the first floor again and after more loud exclamations, heard the front door slam shut.

“Oh my God,” she exhaled.

“Do not move yet,” he whispered, “not until they tell us we are safe.”

Cassandra felt tears running down her face. She had never been so frightened in her life. Mr. Evans looked down at her. She could see his expression in the illumination of the skylights. His eyes searched her face.

“I am sorry,” he said. “It is all my fault. I am so sorry.”

“No, do not say that. I feel like I have been so naïve.”

“We just wanted to protect you.”

“I am so stupid!”

“No, not at all. It is just that the fewer the people who know the better.”

He brushed away her tears and his fingers touched her lips. She grasped his hand and kissed it. He pulled her closer and put his lips on hers. She responded without thought as her mouth opened. He kissed her deeply, hungrily. Her arms went around his neck, while his hands encircled her waist. She pressed her body into his. She could feel the heat between her thighs and felt him stiffen. He kissed her neck, then her bare shoulders.

They heard a soft rap on the door far below and pulled away from each other, panting. They smoothed their clothes and hair.

“Mr. Evans, Mrs. Reilly!” called Caroline’s muffled voice. “It is safe to come down.”

They looked at each other and took a deep breath.

“We are coming!” said Mr. Evans loudly. “I will go first,” he said to Cassandra, “but let me help you.”

He took her hand and kissed it, then, still holding it, cautiously went out and down the steps, feeling his way along.

They walked throughout the house with James and Caroline to assess the damage, by the light of one lamp, making sure all curtains were closed. There were vases knocked over, pictures broken, tables and chairs on their sides. Caleb’s painting was on the floor, the frame broken. Cassandra ran to it and carefully picked it up. The canvas was intact and unharmed. She sighed with relief. Nothing else that was broken was terribly precious; the damage could have been worse. Cassandra carefully laid the painting out on a table and they all grabbed brooms and dustpans and started to clean up. They left the trash by the inside of the back door, fearing to step outside, even into the garden. Mr. Evans said it was likely the house was still being watched.

Just as they resigned themselves to go to bed, having discussed that there was nothing they could do to find out information about their friends, there was a soft tapping at the back door. They all froze.

“It is me, Jerry!”

James rushed to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. He breathed a sigh of relief and let his brother in.

“What has happened?” James asked.

“What are you doing here, James?” his brother asked.

“I came to get some peppermint from the garden.” He patted a package in his coat pocket. “I was just about to leave when these two appeared.”

“Come sit down,” said Caroline, indicating a kitchen chair.

“No,” Jerry said, looking at Cassandra and Evans. “I am only staying a moment. I just came to tell you that they are all safe.”

“Oh, thank God!” cried Cassandra.

“They made it to the church rectory, and Grandfather let them in and took them to the basement safe room. Then he and mother held off Vanderhoff’s men with rifles. The men were armed too, of course, but they thought better than to challenge a reverend at the church doors.”

Cassandra felt a surge of love for Reverend Williams and Sarah Johnston.

“Grandfather says he will send Cass and Miss Bay back here in the morning,” he continued. “But he says it is time to start making plans for the runaways to move farther north to safety.”

Cassandra looked around at the faces of Mr. Evans, James and Caroline. They seemed pained. “Who,” she asked, “are the runaways?”

“I know we have not told you anything,” Mr. Evans began, “but we will explain it all in the morning, I promise.”

“Yes,” said Jerry. “I must get back. I am relieved to see that you are both fine, and now I must report that news to the others who are frantic with worry for you.”

“But how did you know this was all happening?” asked Mr. Evans. “The last we saw you, you were still playing at the cotillion.”

“Not long after you left, someone came in with word that they had seen you approached by Vanderhoff’s gang, and that you fled. Once that information spread around the party, everyone hurried out to get home. No one wants to be out on the street with those maniacs about.”

“Will you be safe going back to the church?” asked Cassandra.

“I know these streets like the back of my hand,” he replied.

“He was a very mischievous boy,” said his brother wryly, “sneaking out and running around when he should not have been. I am not worried about him.”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Mr. Evans said, giving him an affectionate pat on the back.

“Happy to be of service, sir,” he said, looking with awe into the older man’s eyes.

Mr. Evans smiled. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He opened the door and slipped out.

Cassandra covered her mouth with her hand. Tears sprang to her eyes. What they were now mixed up in was exactly what she’d feared when they first met Cassandra Johnston. She just wanted to see Evie, safe and sound. She wanted to get back to the portal. She was glad they were leaving in three days. Maybe they should consider going even sooner, she thought.

Mr. Evans turned to her. “All will be well, Mrs. Reilly, now that we know they are safe.” He said to the others, “We should go to bed. There is no point tiring ourselves out.”

James said he would take Samuel’s room; Caroline and Cassandra would sleep in their own beds, and they decided it would be best for Mr. Evans to go back up to the safe room to sleep. There was no leaving the house tonight, and if there was another raid, they would not find him there.

Once Cassandra was in her bed, she listened to Mr. Evans moving around upstairs for a while. She wanted to think about something other than slave catchers and runaways. She heard the pattering of rain on the window panes, and thought of him in his bed, just above her, hearing it fall on the roof. She was glad to think the rain would cool the air in the attic.

She thought of the kiss. He was so close to her at this moment, only the distance between her bed and the ceiling separating them. She imagined tiptoeing down to the kitchen and, if she found the door to the pantry unlatched, opening it and slipping through. She imagined lifting her lacey nightgown high as she climbed the dark stairs and when she reached the top, calling out his name, softly. She would call him Thaddeus. He would say, “Here I am,” and she would part one of the hanging blankets to find him lying in a humble, wooden bed, stripped down to his undergarments. He would have tossed the blanket aside to stay cool. She knew that his body, visible in the moonlight, would be firm and lanky. He would hold out his hand to her and she would take it and let him pull her onto the bed. He would roll on top of her, kissing her, grabbing her wild, loose hair. Then he would easily lift her nightgown off, and find her naked underneath. He would quickly remove his underthings and he would lie on top of her again, their bodies pressed together. His hands would travel all over her; hers would grasp his muscled arms and roam across his back, his buttocks, up to his neck. She’d run them through his hair and finally hold his face while they kissed. He would enter her then and they would make love quietly, only communicating with their eyes. His hands would grab her breasts, he’d kiss them, suckle them. He’d reach down and grab her behind, she’d lift her legs higher, he’d be moving up and down, he’d bring her to climax over and over, and then he’d reach ecstasy and they’d kiss and kiss and kiss.

*****

She awoke in the morning when she heard the creaking of footsteps above. Her room was dark, though she could see a dim light filtering through the curtains. She could hear that it was still raining. She got out of bed, went through her morning toilette, dressing with care in the outfit she and Evie had first bought at A.T. Stewarts, a bodice of dark green velvet that buttoned up the front with a neckline and collar of white lace, bell sleeves, and a lighter green full, silk skirt of two tiers.  She fixed her hair, then ventured downstairs. She found Mr. Evans at the breakfast table, alone, sipping coffee. Delicious smells were coming from the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said, with a sly smile and a raise of his eyebrows.

She tossed her head in mock haughtiness and sat down.

“Is that Anna Mae in the kitchen?”

“It sure is.”

“And where is Mr. Johnston?”

“James? He went home as soon as it was light. He figured his wife would be worried.”

“Do you think it is safe?”

“For him, yes. He has nothing to fear from Vanderhoff and his crew. Besides, he took the carriage. You know now that one is in good hands with Carter.”

“Yes,” she said with a small laugh. “And Caroline?”

“She is here somewhere.” There was a pause. He was studying her—serious now. “Cassandra—” he reached out and grasped her hand, only to jerk it back when the door swung open and Anna Mae entered with a tray piled with platters of scrambled eggs, sausages, biscuits, a bowl of grits, butter, jams, milk—more food than two people could ever possibly eat.

“Good morning, Miz Reilly,” she said as she plopped the tray on the table and proceeded to empty it.

“Good morning, Anna Mae. You are back early.”

“Well, people gotta be fed.” She finished emptying the tray and went back into the kitchen.

“Mr. Evans,” Cassandra began, but then they heard the clattering of a carriage outside and soon after, the sound of a key in the front door, and murmured conversation. Cassandra rushed into the entry hall as Caroline was hurrying away with a heavy-looking suitcase, followed by Miss Johnston hauling another.

Evie dashed in and grabbed her in an embrace. They clung to each other as Cassandra whispered, “Thank God, thank God.” She stood back, and looked the younger woman over. She was still wearing the white gown from the night before, but it was rumpled, and her hair was flying out of its arrangement in all directions. “Are you hungry? You must be hungry.”

“I am starving!”

“Come,” said Cassandra, ushering her into the breakfast room.

Mr. Evans leapt up when she entered and pressed her hand in both of his warmly. “Miss Bay, we were so happy to hear everyone escaped unscathed. Are you all right?”

“Yes, perfectly,” Evie replied. “I am also so very relieved to see you both. We were out of our minds with worry last night until Jerry came back with the report that you had made it back here.”

Cassandra felt herself blush, but Evie didn’t appear to notice.

Mr. Evans had a stern look on his face. “I feel terrible that I put Mrs. Reilly in such danger.”

Miss Johnston then joined them in the breakfast room. Mr. Evans and Cassandra greeted her with equal warmth.

“Let us sit down,” said Miss Johnston, “let us talk.”

She and Evie both began to fill their plates.

After taking a large bite of toast and a gulp of coffee, Miss Johnston began. “Mrs. Reilly,” she said, “has Mr. Evans told you what the situation is?”

“No, not really.”

“Do you know that Caleb, Lillian, and Samuel are runaway slaves?”

“I had begun to figure that out.”

“There is a price on their heads. They are healthy and young, which makes them valuable commodities to their former owners.”

Evie broke in. “They have been in New York five years. They escaped together from a plantation in North Carolina. They were relatively safe here until the Fugitive Slave Act came into being. We are…I mean, they are, all in danger now.”

Cassandra turned to Mr. Evans. “And you? They just want to kill you?”

“Yes, because of my involvement in the Underground Railroad.”

“Mrs. Reilly, it is time you knew we are all involved,” cut in Miss Johnston. “I am sure they wish they could kill us all. But Mr. Evans is particularly loathsome to slave owners because he travels down south and actively helps slaves escape. He helps set up ‘stations;’ you know, safe houses, he arranges modes of transportation.”

Cassandra looked at him, feeling proud to know him.

“We all do what we can,” he said. “And now you know that this is a safe house, too, as is All Angels. The Johnston family has been helping slaves to freedom for years. Since you have been here, a family has come through and gone on to safety.”

“Yes,” she said. “Those nights when I heard noises in the attic, and you were all exhausted that one morning—”

“Cassie…Mrs. Reilly,” Evie hastened to say. “Please forgive me for being secretive with you—”