Glory Over Everything (15 page)

I slipped on the black silk eye patch that the tailor had designed to fit as flawlessly as a well-made glove, then I turned to Robert for his appraisal. “What do you think?” I asked.

Robert looked me up and down, then gave a rare smile. “It is a handsome look,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Burton will be pleased.”

“Do you think so, Robert?” I asked again.

He nodded. “I do,” he said, then gave my shoulders a last quick brush before he held open the door.

T
HE DRAWING ROOM,
just off the dining room, was already filled with guests when I entered. Mr. and Mrs. Burton were waiting for me, and together they took me on rounds to greet everyone. I already knew Nicholas and his wife and had met the family lawyer a number of times, but this evening I was introduced to his attractive young niece, a Miss Grewen.

When Robert opened the doors of the dining room to announce dinner, there was a collective gasp of delight. Candlelight from the low-hanging chandelier lit the glittering silver and crystal on the long dining table. Masses of white blossoms spilled over onto crisp white linen, and the scent of jasmine was thick in the air.

Robert, stylish in a blue body coat, blue trousers, and a yellow vest, stood at the ready alongside six assistants, all dressed like him, minus the yellow vest. A disgruntled Delia was positioned next to the sideboard.

When I was seated in the place of honor on Mrs. Burton's right, I had no doubt that this evening was about my promotion. But with so much attention on me, I had grown increasingly uneasy and wished the Burtons had not made this fuss. Yet I could see Mrs. Burton's excitement, so I forced myself to smile at her, for I had never seen her this happy.

When everyone was seated, Robert, much like a conductor at a concert, set the meal in motion. Delia ladled out a creamed carrot soup, then handed the bowl off to a waiter, while Robert gave a last inspection to make sure the waiter's thumb was enclosed in a white napkin before he served each bowl to a guest. Etiquette dictated that we not wait for the complete table to be served and those who began were quick to declare their approval.

The feast was served at a practiced pace, with the soup course leisurely followed by crab, picked clean and then roasted in its shell—a dish Mrs. Burton knew that I particularly enjoyed. Each course brought with it a new wine, and though I seldom drank, I did so this evening. I had two glasses in quick succession and was quite relaxed when another favorite dish of mine, roast lamb with mint, was served.

When the cheese and fruit were brought to the table, Miss Grewen, the young woman seated to my right, turned to me. “Would you care to share a pear with me?” she asked, blushing as though she had offered a true intimacy. Feeling friendly as a result of the wine, I smiled my agreement and adeptly speared the ripe fruit with my fork. I glanced over to see Mrs. Burton watching while I peeled the pear as she had taught. I gave her a quick smile and then a teasing wink. She laughed aloud, but then her eyes filled with tears. Before I could apologize, champagne had been poured, and Mr. Burton was rising with glass in hand. I looked again to Mrs. Burton and was concerned to see that her eyes still glistened.

“Are you all right?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she said, reaching for my hand. She looked at me with such affection that I was reminded of Grandmother. In that moment my usual reserve fell away, and I spontaneously lifted and kissed Mrs. Burton's hand.

“We are here this evening to celebrate this young man.” Mr. Burton nodded toward me. My face grew hot. By now I was convinced that he was going to offer me employment. Buoyed by the dinner wine, I quickly thought out some words of gratitude.

“Not only has he become a valuable member of our work team”—here he exchanged a nod with Nicholas—“but Mrs. Burton and I have come to care for him as we would a son.”

I lowered my head. How unexpected were those words. I had come to care for each of them deeply, but to hear him use the word “son” touched me. When I looked up again, his eyes shone back at me. “And so, James, with our friends to witness, Mrs. Burton and I are asking you to join our family. We would like you to legally become known as our son, James Burton.”

Stunned, I looked to Mrs. Burton, who now wept openly.

“James?” Mr. Burton addressed me again.

I tried to take it in. Could this be true? No! They didn't know me! An image of me holding a blasting rifle was quickly followed by another of Belle. I couldn't go through with this. What if they learned the truth? No! I wanted to shout. No! You don't know me!

“Do you accept us, James?” Mr. Burton asked, his voice choking back tears.

Mrs. Burton leaned over and grasped my hand. “Please say yes! Everyone is waiting.”

Had she not been clinging so tightly to my hand, I might have bolted. Instead, when she urged me on, I rose unsteadily. “I don't know what to say . . .” I struggled for an answer.

Mrs. Burton began to laugh through her tears. “Oh, Jamie, please say yes! Don't you know that we already think of you as our son?”

I looked down at her. She wore a silk green gown made especially for the occasion, and though the white lace ruffle overpowered her, she had never looked so dear. How could I hurt her in front of all of her friends?

I felt light-headed and clutched her hand for strength. “Yes.” I forced the word out. “Yes,” I repeated. Nicholas's cheer of approval set off a round of applause.

“I would like everyone to raise a glass,” Mr. Burton called out, lifting his champagne glass in my direction. “To our son, James Burton.”

As everyone joined in the toast, no one else seemed to notice the crash of the tray when it slipped from Delia's hands, and everyone was crowding around me as she rushed from the room.

“You've made them so happy these past years. They are so proud of you.” Those phrases were repeated over and over, and I did my best to respond appropriately.

As Robert directed the guests into the drawing room for coffee, the Burtons led me to the study. There, we sat at a table where their lawyer handed me a document enclosed in a beautiful folder of velvet indigo. As I scanned it, the lawyer explained that my signature and those of the Burtons were all that was required on this document to put my adoption in motion. The lawyer handed me a pen, but I set it down. I felt desperate to tell the truth. Yet, if I did, I would lose everything—this home, my job, and not least, the Burtons' support and love.

“What is it, James?” Mr. Burton asked, seeing my hesitation.

“I am not worthy,” I murmured.

Mrs. Burton reached for my hand to kiss it. “Of course you are, my dear,” she said.

“We are getting old, James,” Mr. Burton said. “You understand the business, and what you don't yet know, you will grow into. There is no one better suited to take over for me one day.”

“Don't you see, Jamie,” Mrs. Burton asked, “how much we need you?”

“It gives me peace of mind to know that you would be here for Mrs. Burton should something happen to me,” Mr. Burton continued.

Put this way, how could I not agree? I dipped the pen and signed the document. With joy, they both did the same, and after a thorough handshake from Mr. Burton and a tearful hug from Mrs. Burton, we left to join the others. Shaken to my core, I needed time away to gather my thoughts, so I excused myself, leading Mrs. Burton to believe that I had to accommodate nature. “Take your time, dear boy,” she said. “Miss Grewen will be entertaining us on the harp, so slip in quietly on your return.”

The stairs and long hallway were dark but so familiar that I didn't bother to take a lantern when I hurried toward my bedroom. As I approached, I saw light coming from under the door. Alarmed to think that I might have left one of the mirror sconces lit, I rushed ahead and threw open the door.

Delia was standing over my desk.

I was already so overwhelmed by the events of the evening that it took me a moment to comprehend what I was seeing. Delia took advantage of my surprise to push past me and hurry out. Immediately, I saw what lay on top my desk. In the excitement of the preparations, I had forgotten to pocket my key to the chest drawer.

I rushed over to the chest-on-chest to find the bottom drawer locked. I opened it and sighed in relief to see that the jacket was untouched. Then on closer inspection, I found Lavinia's letter missing.

I don't know how long I sat on the bed, trying to decide what to do, but when the tall-case clock bonged, I was reminded that the Burtons were waiting downstairs with their guests. I willed myself to stand and go back down. As I slipped into the drawing room, some of the guests turned to smile in my direction. I nodded to them as I lifted the tails of my jacket and settled into my seat next to Mrs. Burton, who reached over to pat my hand.

The melodious ripple of Miss Grewen's harp faded as my thoughts raced. I tried to recall the exact wording of the letter. My chest pounded when I remembered two partial sentences that would be incriminating—the first was Lavinia's offer to draw up papers to verify my freedom, and the second was Belle's mention of my “living white.”

I seethed with fury at Delia. I knew that though she was once a slave, she could read and write, for I had seen notes she left for Robert. What did she mean to do with my letter? Was it enough to have it as a threat to me, or did she mean to show it to Robert or even the Burtons? Then how would she explain her thievery? Surely she realized that would put her own position in jeopardy.

I was left with the decision of whether or not to confront her. Naturally, she would deny the theft. In the end I decided to wait and see what she would do. If she dared present the letter to either Robert or the Burtons, and if I were made to leave because of it, I would not go alone.

A
LONG WITH MY
adoption, I was given a position in Mr. Burton's silver business that included a handsome wage. Determined to prove my worth to the Burtons, I applied myself more than ever. By the winter of the following year, there came an additional responsibility when, after working all day with silver, Mr. Burton and I began to stay into the evening so he could teach me his muddled accounting system.

“We all have weaknesses,” he said with some embarrassment as we sorted through box after box of confusing paperwork, “and this, dear boy, is one of mine.” He confided how much he had always disliked this aspect of the business, and after seeing the chaos, I could understand why. I knew there was another way, for as a child I had spent many hours assisting Miss Lavinia in keeping up to date the housekeeping accounts. Finally, after weeks of attempting to sort out Mr. Burton's accounts, I respectfully asked if we might use another system.

He agreed to try it, and when order began to emerge, we more happily faced the long hours necessary to get the job done. We were almost up to date with the records the February afternoon that Mr. Burton suggested that we make it an early evening, as he was suffering from a headache. Wanting to complete the task, I suggested that he go ahead without me and asked if he might send Ed back with the carriage later in the evening. “Or is that expecting too much of Ed to ask him to come back out in this sleet and snow?” I asked.

Mr. Burton's hand felt warm on my back. “I appreciate your diligence, my boy,” he said. “I'm sure Ed won't mind coming for you.” Wrapping himself in his long woolen greatcoat, he left. Nicholas also departed early and, after locking the front door behind him, I hastily ate a bread roll, then went back to work in the office, determined this night to put in order the last of the accounts.

It wasn't until the office clock dinged eight times that I realized the hour. Weary, I stood up to stretch. Where was Ed? I wondered. If he was waiting outside with the carriage, why hadn't he rapped at the door? Perhaps he didn't want to disturb me. I stretched my arms out wide, then yawned again and decided I was finished for the night. There was little enough left, and I could easily complete it tomorrow. I had rolled down the desk cover and was locking it when there came a banging from the front door. A voice called out for me, and I flung open the door to find our neighbor's servant.

“Robert sent me! You's to come home!”

“Where's Ed?”

“The carriage went over. They hurt bad.”

“Who's been hurt?” I asked.

“Mr. Burton and Ed. They hurt bad! I helped get 'em in the house!”

R
OBERT MET ME
at the front door. He spoke low into my ear as he took my coat. “Mr. Burton is badly injured. The doctor is here.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“We don't know. Ed took a corner too sharp, or maybe it was the ice, but the runner caught and the carriage tipped. When Mr. Burton tried to get out, the horses panicked and dragged him until—”

“Where was Ed? Why didn't he get hold of the horses?”

“He was thrown from the carriage. He isn't—”

An agonized voice called out in pain from upstairs.

“Dear God!” I said. “Is that . . .” I didn't finish and ran to take the stairs two at a time.

“Jamie! Jamie!” Mrs. Burton cried out from her husband's bedside.

“I just found out!” I said as she grasped hold of my jacket and began to weep. “Shh. Shh,” I soothed. At the sound of my voice, Mr. Burton's eyes opened. When I reached for his hand, I tried not to react to the sight of his swollen and bruised face. “Don't worry. I'm here,” I said, and gripping my hand, he closed his eyes.

The doctor motioned me to the door when Robert came in with a newly arrived nurse. “I've just medicated him,” the doctor explained, “but his left hip is broken, and I don't know how much relief he will get. He has other injuries as well, but at this time they are difficult to assess.”

“Will he survive?” was all I could think to ask.