Probable Claws

40

May 11, 1787

Friday

“What do you intend to do about it?” A puce-faced Maureen pointed her fan at Yancy.

“I paid you for William’s services, for each day he was off your estate.”

“He ran away. You owe me his value.”

Jeffrey, knowing that contradicting his angry wife wouldn’t do a bit of good, sat by her side in the lavish tack room in the stable.

DoRe, wiping down one of the fine carriage horses, listened to every word. The other stable hands flitted in and out. He’d raise his eyebrows and they’d dash out again, a flurry of work for the mistress’s ever-critical eye.

“Madam, William’s defection,” Yancy said with a sly drop in tone, “was an affair entirely of his own devising. Posting rewards just as I have for Black Knight is all I can suggest.”

“So you refuse to pay me the five thousand dollars of his value?” She inflated the young man’s price.

“I do.” Yancy knew perfectly well what she was doing, trying to wear him down.

Next would come a supposed compromise.

“Realizing that he was headstrong and did escape using your horse, four thousand.”

“Madam, he is not my responsibility. I could just as easily turn to you and declare that your slave stole my horse, and Black Knight is worth ten thousand dollars.”

“He is not worth a dime. He didn’t win the race,” she spat.

“He had no chance. It was bad enough William stole an extremely valuable animal with good English bloodlines, he also savaged Jeddie Rice.”

“How is the young man, by the way? I’ve been meaning to go over to Cloverfields but can’t seem to get away.” Jeffrey diplomatically did not inform Yancy that keeping Maureen somewhat steady, canvassing the barn men regarding William, had taken a great deal of time, too much time.

“Riding. Nothing hot but he’s back up, his arm in a sling. He knew nothing, of course. His face will bear a permanent scar. His collarbone will heal. He’s young.”

“A whip shouldn’t leave much of a scar.” Maureen hadn’t a scrap of concern over Jeddie Rice.

“You’re right.” Yancy uttered those golden words. “However, William sewed small lead weights into the end of the whip, a small square flap. I thought nothing of it. But when he would whip Black Knight it stung. Certainly stung Jeddie, who William hit far harder than my beautiful horse.”

“Ah.” Jeffrey sighed. “Yancy, let’s you and I come up with a joint poster, a joint reward? My wife is too distraught by this to carry an additional burden.”

“I can be of assistance.” Her mouth snapped shut.

He put his hand over hers. “Of course you can, but first you had one worker short in the stables and then this. Too much weight on your lovely shoulders.”

Much as she didn’t like being slid aside, she basked in the compliment.

“If you think it’s not too much for you. You have those coach commissions.”

He smiled at her. “All will be well. My first concern is ever your welfare.”

Yancy rose with difficulty, bowed slightly. “This distresses each of us and I am heartily sorry that such an event occurred.”

“Yes.” Jeffrey stood while Maureen remained seated.

The two men walked outside, where Jeffrey helped Yancy into the saddle. “Had you even a slight premonition?”

“None. He labored hard, listened to instruction.” A deep sigh followed this. “Thank you, too, for settling your wife.”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Other than the last race, how did you fare?”

“Very well. Sam Udall, a shrewd man with many connections, proved a good business partner. I hope we will work together again. I have paid off my debts. If the last race could have been run then I would have enough profit to reinvest in my holdings.” He paused. “But we have found a good vehicle for profit.”

That meant that a healthy profit was realized. Jeffrey need not have asked more, but he watched Yancy ride away as he mused that two men ready to kill each other could reach an accord. Turning, he felt warm sunshine on his face as he walked to the stable. No word reached anyone concerning the affair in Philadelphia. He wondered if those delegates could reach an accord. Then he thought to himself, If Yancy and I can do so, surely they can.

On his way out Yancy passed Charles and Rachel, Rachel driving the phaeton, on their way to Big Rawly. He told them of his recent meeting, they both expressed the hope for a good first cutting of hay, then he rode away.

Once at the exquisite main house, Rachel untied her bonnet, Charles dusted himself off, and the butler ushered them into a large, airy back room.

Maureen, up from the stable, extended her hand, a small glass of sherry at her side. “Please sit. Forgive me for imbibing spirits early but I have endured an unpleasant meeting with that man.”

“We do hope our visit will rectify that.” Charles inclined his head toward her as he took a seat in a French chair, itself worth a bundle.

Rachel waved away a tray of sweets now placed on the table where the young but not especially pretty serving girl poured tea.

“Autumn, after serving our guests, do make sure my husband is in his shop.”

A slight curtsy. “Yes, Miss Maureen.”

As the slender girl left, Rachel reached over, took a letter from her husband, handed it to Maureen. “This arrived today.”

Maureen beheld the pale blue stationery, deep black ink in a strong man’s handwriting on the envelope. She slid out the heavy laid paper, opened it to behold a baron’s crest at the top. How fetching. Just the sight of it enlivened her. She read the three pages avidly, then dropped her hand with the letter into her lap.

“Your brother will show us his estate.” She nearly cooed. “He longs to meet us. And to his great credit he is forthright about what is owed.”

Charles, voice soft, replied, “Oh, Mrs. Holloway, my brother is a good man, which you will see for yourself. Our late father’s improvidence has nearly crushed him.”

“One million pounds of debt. I don’t wonder.” Maureen, given her father’s banking profession in the Caribbean, was conversant with the true value of pounds, rubles, livres, even drachmas of old.

“May I write him that you and Mr. Holloway will be visiting?”

“Of course, and I will write to him also. Jeffrey needs to finish his big coach-in-four. Then we may be off. He works quickly, my Jeffrey. Then again, he has hired some of the best wheelwrights, coopers, and cabinetmakers, to say nothing of the harness man. The best.”

“How will he ever surpass the coach he made for you?” Rachel praised Jeffrey, always a good move.

“Oh, he is endlessly inventive. Can do anything. Solve problems with wood, iron, copper, even creating spaces for grease in the wheel hubs so they will hold more grease, and the same for the axles. He amazes me.”

“He is a lucky man. You have given him the opportunity to work, work he desires.” Charles, himself doing work he loved, meant that.

She beamed. “I will accept your brother’s offer. I have no desire to live in England, and I assume neither do you?”

“This is my country.” He breathed in slightly. “Do I harbor fond memories, pictures of verdant green pastures, of the sparkling rivers lapping at those shores? I do. And I am grateful for my education but…well, you know this from your experience, here we are not so bound by birth. It is no sign of low birth to work with one’s hands. Ah well, you know these things.”

“I do.” She carefully returned the letter to the envelope. “Do you think the baron is accurate in his assessment of what he needs to live?”

“Being far away from current costs, I trust his figures. He won’t be as foolish as our father, but he has a place, a title, and he must fulfill responsibilities. If there is a war we are expected to raise regiments, supplies. If we are not asked, given a specific goal, then we must work however the king commands to prosecute the war.”

“One pays for one’s privileges.”

“It’s the way of the world,” Charles agreed. “He will continue to investigate the correct route for an adoption. It has been done throughout the centuries. Well. Julius Caesar adopted Octavius, so there is a long path.” What Charles didn’t say was that Jeffrey and Maureen would probably not have children. So the title would die in time or Jeffrey, himself, would need to adopt. Charles figured, cross that bridge when they came to it.

“Monies will be needed to cross palms.” Maureen tapped the letter on the palm of her hand a few times as though hearing a distant rhythm.

“That, too, is the way of the world,” Rachel replied without much intonation, then added, “And we have a small price.”

Shocked, Charles’s jaw dropped. She had said nothing to him.

Maureen, far more cynical, simply stared. “Yes.”

“As I said it is small.”

“How small?”

“I wish you to free DoRe.”

Surprised, Maureen covered that emotion. “You have one of the best coachmen in Virginia.”

“I do and you are kind to notice. DoRe will do as he pleases, I have no knowledge that he would work for us.”

“Then why should I free him?”

“Because he is courting Bettina.” Maureen knew of this, as did just about everyone. “I hope this will embolden him to ask for her hand.”

“What does being free have to do with it?” Maureen was in no mood to assist any slave, especially after William’s running away and the loss of other Big Rawly slaves.

“If he lives here and she with us, they will have very little time together. Imagine if your beloved Mr. Holloway lived and worked on another estate. You two belong together.” Rachel knew that would reach her, especially the “belong together.”

“Well,” Maureen asked, “just why is Bettina’s happiness and DoRe’s happiness so important?”

Charles, eyes wide, observed every syllable, every gesture.

“Maureen, you know how my mother suffered at the end.” Maureen nodded and Rachel continued. “Bettina never left her side. She even slept in the bedroom. The two of them shared a special friendship, something rare. I want Bettina’s days to be filled with love.”

Leaning back in her chair, Maureen held off.

“Rachel, my love, you feel such things so deeply. I had no idea. Oh yes, I knew that Bettina cared for your mother, and your mother asked her to promise to watch over you for Ewing has spoken of it many times.” Charles smiled at her. “And now you are watching over her.”

Rachel modestly dropped her eyes, then raised them up to Maureen, who cared little for the emotion involved.

“If you will give me time to be certain one of the stable boys can take over.”

“DoRe has trained them. It shouldn’t take long.” Rachel wanted to clap but didn’t. “Two months?”

“Three. I won’t free him until I have made all the arrangements with the baron. That will be months, for once we are in England I intend to enjoy London.”

“Of course, but if there is hope, perhaps DoRe will not wait overlong to speak to Bettina about a future,” Rachel said.

Charles glanced at the ormolu-festooned clock. “We have overstayed our welcome. You, as always, have been gracious. It’s such a pleasure to visit you and Big Rawly,” Charles fibbed, but did not stand up until Maureen did.

His manners were impeccable, not lost on Maureen or anyone, really.

Rachel kissed Maureen on the cheek. Charles bowed and brushed his lips over her hand. She felt quite regal.

Driving back to Cloverfields, a glorious light breeze tossing her hair, for she put her bonnet on the seat, Charles said, “You think of everything.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I hope for the best. And I pray the Holloways and your brother will work this out.”

“Rachel, he has no choice. It’s an heir or ruination. Clearly she has the money. She didn’t blink.”

“What do you think a dollar is worth versus the pound?” she asked, feeling the soft leather in her hand as King David trotted along.

“The pound is worth far more. Twenty dollars? Fifteen?”

“Then again, a dollar in Virginia, in South Carolina. Just what is a dollar worth?”

He grinned. “A pound, a dollar, a pittance compared to your value.”