Authors: Eleanor Kuhns
“Not indigo,” Rees said.
“No. Indigo produces that wonderful blue without any help. But you must know how expensive indigo is. Even the indigo produced in South Carolina.” Beckoning Rees with his dark fingers, he went down the hall to the kitchen. He crossed to the prickly plant on the windowsill and brushed his fingers over the white film. But, when he showed Rees the result, it was not powder as Rees supposed but tiny squirming insects. Marsh crushed them between his fingers, producing a dark red fluid. “Spanish red, cochineal. The dye used to color the Roman pope’s robes. This plant grows in Mexico and South America. It does not grow well here; I’m not sure why not. Believe me, I tried.” He stepped around Rees and threw open the door into the dye room.
A flood of pungent musty air rushed out, setting Rees coughing.
Marsh went on through and opened the back door. “Do you see those samples?” He pointed to the strips of red cloth hanging from the rail, right next to several strips of green, tinted in hues ranging from pale celery to emerald. “You see that bright scarlet? That’s cochineal. The rosier pink next to it is madder root. Sometimes madder will yield a bright red, too, but cochineal is much better.”
“And that?” Rees asked, pointing to a burgundy strip, the color of fine wine.
“From a Peruvian berry.” Marsh sighed. “Expensive to import. And we tried to duplicate the results with pokeberry, but although the original color is a beautiful dark reddish burgundy, it fades immediately.”
“Nate was trying to produce Spanish red, emerald green, some of these intense colors much more cheaply,” Rees said.
Marsh nodded. “And the most difficult color of all to produce is green, especially that intense emerald.” Marsh pointed at a bale of withering leaves. “That is chilla, from the Andes Mountains. That makes a nice green with copper carbonate, but the leaves only grow at a certain altitude in the mountains. And it does not surrender the same intensity as Scheele’s green. Have you heard of Scheele’s green?”
“I saw correspondence from a Mr. Scheele in Nate’s desk,” Rees said.
“Yes. Nate was in communication with Mr. Scheele. He invented that bright green, made of copper arsenite. I’ve heard President Washington had two rooms decorated in that color.”
“And that?” Rees asked, pointing to the pale celery green.
“That’s from lily of the valley. But I wouldn’t recommend using that if I were you; that plant is extremely poisonous.”
“Hmmm. And the yellow?” Rees asked.
Marsh opened his mouth to answer but then, recollecting the time and place, stopped. “May we continue this conversation at a later time? The memorial service for the master is absorbing all of my energy right now.”
“Of course,” Rees said with a bow. “But I hope to continue it. Dyes are more interesting than I thought.”
“I’ll look forward to it—after the memorial. Grace is working extremely hard on it, helping us in the kitchen, and she often asks my advice.”
“And how does Molly feel about that?” Rees asked, flicking a look at the other man. “Her daughter, in the kitchen?”
Marsh smiled without humor. “She’s isn’t happy about it, but Grace is just as strong willed as her mother and she wants to do this. Besides, keeping busy is how she deals with her grief.” As he talked, he urged Rees toward the front door.
Rees stopped, just a little rebellious at being herded, and glanced around. “You’re fond of Grace.”
“I’m fond of all of Nate’s children,” Marsh replied promptly, shouldering the other man forward. This time Rees acquiesced; he knew he’d return to the cottage, and soon, despite Marsh.
They climbed the slope to the house, Rees quickly falling behind the other man’s long-legged stride. Even from the top of the slope, he could see the activity inside the kitchen. With dinnertime approaching, in addition to the upcoming memorial reception, the kitchen staff must work at full speed. He imagined he could see Lydia’s square white cap inside and craned his neck.
Rachel saw him and hurried out, wiping her wet hands on a towel. “Mr. Rees. Stay for dinner?” She looked at him with an anxious smile and leaned ever so slightly forward. “Augustus?”
“He’s safe. He…” Realizing all at once that Marsh was regarding him with interest, Rees closed his mouth. He didn’t think Marsh would betray Augustus but couldn’t be sure. The fewer people who knew Augustus’s secret location, the better.
Rachel scowled at Marsh and with a reluctant glance he retreated into the kitchen. Rachel turned back to Rees. “Some of Master Nate’s things are still downstairs,” she said, her gaze hot and fierce. “Perhaps you should collect them.”
“Perhaps I should,” he agreed. He followed Rachel through the kitchen downstairs to the cellar. The door to the small room in which Nate had lain was open and Rees went straight to it. In the dim light he could see something lying on the floor but he couldn’t tell if it was the canvas shroud or something else.
“Mr. Rees.”
He turned with a start, knocking his head on the lintel. Nude to the waist, her breasts completely exposed, Rachel stood close behind him. Rees backed up until he was pressed against the table. “Please, Mr. Rees,” she whispered, “save my son. I have no money to offer you.…” Taking his hand, she pulled it toward one of her naked breasts.
For a moment Rees surrendered to lust, but jerked his hand back before he touched her. “No,” he said. “I mean, I will help Augustus. He’s safe. But you mustn’t—”
A slight sound at the door brought his head up and his gaze locked with Lydia’s shocked and horrified stare. Betrayal, anger, and a horrible crushing hurt contorted her features. Tears overflowed her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks. “Lydia.” Rees breathed. Rachel whirled, holding her bodice over her naked breasts, as Lydia fled up the stairs. “No. Lydia, wait!” Rees shouted, starting forward. He pushed past Rachel so violently, he almost knocked her over. “I already promised your son I would do all I could to free him, and I will. This isn’t necessary.”
Rachel lowered her eyes, humiliated, but she spoke from relief. “I should have known you are as Master Nate was.” Rees barely heard her. He hurried up the stairs, out from the kitchen, and down the road to catch up with Lydia.
He saw her indigo skirts disappearing behind the barn as she ran, without bonnet or basket, toward the laundry room. Dust puffed up from her flying feet and hung in the air; if it didn’t rain soon, all the crops would burn up in the fields and everyone would go hungry. “Lydia!” he cried after her. “Lydia, wait!” She neither slowed nor turned around. Rees ran after her, his long legs eating up the distance between them. “Lydia, please.”
Juniper stepped out of the laundry and, shading her eyes, watching the running woman and the man pursuing her. She held out her arms to catch Lydia and threw Rees such a baleful glare, he jolted to a stop. Burning with frustration, he watched the laundress wrap the sobbing woman in her arms and hustle her to safety in the laundry.
“Damn,” Rees muttered. Now when would he find an opportunity to make things right? Would it even be possible?
Chapter Fifteen
Rees couldn’t go home; he couldn’t. But he couldn’t stay here either. He knew everyone was staring at him, wondering what had happened. Certainly neither of the women would explain and he couldn’t either. Fuming, he spun around and started down the lane toward the lay-by. He wanted to go into the cottage and finish his search of that mysterious trunk, but he knew Marsh would be on his trail in a few minutes. Of course, Marsh’s desperate effort to bar Rees from searching the cottage only made him more determined to know what the servant wanted to keep hidden. Tomorrow Rees would arrive here even earlier.
He turned his wagon toward Dugard and the Contented Rooster. Dinnertime was fast approaching and with only a few slices of bacon and bread for breakfast, Rees’s stomach growled demandingly. He sat at his usual small table by the window, his thoughts still scattered by the anger and shame that burned like banked coals, ready to burst into flame at a moment’s notice. Jack Jr. brought a cup of coffee and withdrew silently, after one fleeting glance at Rees’s grim expression.
He gazed unseeingly out the window, trying to think around the emotion that blazed inside him.
Susannah approached carrying a plate of apple cake. “More questions?” She smiled at him.
“Not today,” Rees said.
She inspected his expression. “You look as though you lost your last friend,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“What’s bothering you? I know that look. Remember when Nate decided he preferred Ernest Bridge to you?” Rees managed a smile.
“I was all of eight or nine, I think.”
“Nate was angry at you for something and wanted to punish you.” She paused. “He could be cruel.” Rees nodded and sighed. With one final anxious look in his direction, Susannah departed, her skirts whispering. Rees was left in solitude to reflect upon his sins.
* * *
When he reached home several hours later, Abigail was alone in the kitchen. She turned with a bright and very strange smile. He knew immediately Lydia was home and visibly upset. “Where’s Miss Farrell?” he asked.
“Down by the bees.”
Of course: she had gone to the bees for comfort. Rees turned and went out the back door, walking down the slope to the cottage. He spotted her from the hill’s crest, her white linen cap moving among the boxes lined up in the shade of the oak trees, and knew when she had seen him by her sudden stillness. He paused a few feet away.
“Lydia,” he said. “You completely misread the situation.”
“Misread? Am I to doubt my own eyes?” She turned toward him. Her face was so swollen with crying, she was unrecognizable. “How can anyone misread an unclothed woman?”
“You don’t understand. She offered herself to me in payment for helping her son. I declined. I would never accept such an offer.”
“I— When I saw her with you, I felt I understood why you were so passionate I not work there. You wanted to hide your connection to Rachel.”
“You should know me better. I would never take advantage of anyone weaker than myself. Even as a boy, I didn’t.”
“I’m certain you could find an argument that would allow such congress,” Lydia said bitterly, “especially if you desired her.”
“If I loved her, perhaps,” Rees admitted, “but I barely know her.” He paused, peering into her face and hoping for a sign of softening. “Lydia, I remained alone for eight years after Dolly’s death. I could not betray her, and I’d watched her coffin go into the ground.”
“But we don’t even have an understanding,” she said. Rees stared at her and as the fear of losing her took hold, a proposal of marriage trembled on his tongue. “Don’t ask me to marry you, not now,” she said, reading his intent. “I will refuse, knowing you offered only from fear.” Slapped by the rebuff, Rees stepped back. Lydia took in a deep breath. “I’ll listen,” she said. “I know Rachel is desperately worried about her son.”
“Yes,” Rees said eagerly. “She’s a slave. She owns nothing but desperately wants to protect her child. So, she tried to pay for my help in a different coin. I assured her I was already rescuing Augustus.” He paused and then added, “In any case, I suspect she must know our secret now. She saw me hare out of the kitchen after you.” Lydia slanted a glance at him, and for the first time her body relaxed. “I doubt she’ll betray us,” he added, “but I’ll speak to her.”
She shook her head at him, her expression stern. “No,” she said, “I will.” She started up the slope to the cottage. When Rees turned to follow her, she held up her hand to stop him. “I need time to think.”
“Nothing happened…,” he protested once again.
She looked at him, her eyes troubled. She didn’t smile or frown; she just regarded him in silence. Then she turned and walked away. This time Rees made no attempt to follow. Cautiously hopeful that she would accept his explanation and turn sweet, he walked back to the house.
He did not realize he had taken the letters from Nate’s trunk and stuffed them into his pocket until he was getting undressed for bed that night. When he took off his coat and went to hang it on the chair, he heard the crackle of paper.
What the—?
He pulled out the wad of paper and looked at it in dismay. He must have pushed them into his pocket when he heard Munch barking, an action so automatic, he had not been aware of it. He untied the blue ribbon and pulled a letter out of the packet at random. The first paragraph made him squirm in embarrassment; these were love letters. And from Molly, if the definite
M
at the bottom was any indication. Rees hastily bundled them back together and tossed them onto the bedside table.
The second packet, comprising three documents, appeared more promising. All were signed
Cornelius Lattimore, Esquire, New Winstead,
the same name Rees had found in Nate’s desk. He held them to the candle to better read the script. In beautiful flowing copperplate, the first responded to an inquiry, apparently from Nate, expressing a willingness to meet in the near future. The second set a date and time and referred to previously mailed directions. The final document was an invoice for services rendered. With a sudden flare of excitement, Rees reread the third communication. Although nothing indicated the exact kind of services, he’d wager his soul that these had been legal services. And if that were true, what kind of legal services had they been? And did George Potter know?
Rees refolded the documents and put them upon the table. These provided a new path to explore and one he was certain would lead to some answers. How soon could he travel to New Winstead? In a more hopeful frame of mind than he had been for some time, he washed his face and hands and went to bed, putting an end to a very long and eventful day. He hoped tomorrow would be less exhausting.
* * *
A thunderous knocking woke Rees. He sat up and looked around, muzzy with sleep. The sky outside the window was still black, sprinkled with stars, and he thought it could not be earlier than three o’clock in the morning. The knocking came again, followed by an unfamiliar voice calling his name. Rees went to the window and threw it up, pushing his head out into the fine drizzle. “I’ll be down!” he shouted. “Stop that noise.” He saw movement but could not recognize the visitor. Rees pulled on his breeches and slid his bare feet into his shoes and tiptoed quietly into the hall. Although he hoped David had not been disturbed, he met his son also creeping downstairs.