A Dream of Daring (22 page)

“What? Merciful Lord! How
could you, Nash Nottingham?” Rachel scolded. “I take great offense, I’ll have
you know!”

“Maybe you intentionally
made noise by the senator’s room to draw him out,” Tom continued. “Not only did
you have a motive to steal the invention and use it to get out of your
financial difficulties and into Rachel’s good graces but you also had a motive
to do away with Senator Barnwell. You were angry with him. You were continually
frustrated in your attempts to court Rachel. The senator didn’t like you. He
saw through your pretensions. He saw nothing in you for his daughter. Indeed,
he and I were both in your way.”

“You’re crazy!” cried
Nash. “You’re obsessed with that invention. It’s deranged your mind.”

“Maybe you saw a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enrich yourself, to defeat me, and to do away
with the senator all at once. That one night you had your chance to accomplish
all that.” Tom’s voice was hard.

“That’s rubbish! Besides,
I was on fine terms with the senator. We had a little misunderstanding that
day, that’s all.”

“A misunderstanding you
neglected to mention until Mr. Markham told us that he saw the senator throw
you out of the kitchen after the funeral,” interjected the sheriff. He turned
to the overseer. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Markham?”

“Like I said, Sheriff, I
seen the senator throw him out o’ Miss Polly’s kitchen that afternoon.”

Nash swept a handkerchief
across his damp forehead.

“And the kitchen is where
you would’ve found the carving knife,” the sheriff added.

“I didn’t touch any
knife!” Nash waved his hands in protest.

“Why were you in that
kitchen?” asked the sheriff. “And why did you argue with the senator on the day
of his death?”

“My words with the
senator had nothing to do with the invention,
nothing at all
.”

“You lied when you
testified that you weren’t at the Crossroads that night. You held animosity for
Mr. Edmunton and his invention. You argued with the deceased. And you wanted
Miss Barnwell’s hand, but the senator wouldn’t permit it,” pressed the sheriff.
“All of that we know. Now tell us the rest.”

“I didn’t take any knife
or harm anybody.”

“Why did the senator
throw you out of the kitchen?” repeated the sheriff.

“I told you. He
misunderstood me. I was in the kitchen looking for my coachman, but he thought
I was chasing a female servant.”

“You wouldn’t be giving
even a hint of pursuing a slave girl while Miss Barnwell’s father was around,”
said the sheriff, his voice harder.

“And you’d never get your
clothes dirty in a greasy kitchen to look for your coachman,” added Tom.

“Why were you in the
kitchen?” the sheriff repeated, his voice harder.

A silent agony played out
on Nash’s colorless face. The sheriff waited, but the suspect remained silent.

“All right,” said the
sheriff, “maybe you’ll talk after spending the night in jail.”

He gestured to the
guards. “Arrest him.”

The two guards moved
toward Nash.

“Wait!” Like a child
afraid of the dark, Nash seemed gripped by terror. “Don’t put me in that
disgusting rat-hole! I couldn’t stand that!”

“Then talk,” said the
sheriff.

Nash sighed in
resignation.

“Okay, I
was
chasing a slave girl.”

“Good gracious!”
exclaimed Charlotte.

“How could you!” cried
Rachel.

“Now, now, it’s not was
you think, ladies! Not at all.” Nash said.

“And Senator Barnwell, no
doubt, didn’t like you chasing the girl,” said the sheriff.

“He didn’t like it at
all, but it had
nothing
to do with the invention.”

“What did it have to do
with?”

“She was a young mulatto
woman. I had seen her earlier that day when I arrived. I had approached her
that morning. I suppose I frightened her, because she ran into the kitchen. The
senator first noticed my interest in her that morning. That’s why he frowned at
me when I had just arrived, as Markham told you at our meeting after the crime,
Sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded,
remembering the matter. Markham also nodded, frowning at everyone.

“After the reception, I
looked around for the girl, and I entered the kitchen to inquire about her
whereabouts. The senator, I realized, was observing me and followed me in. He
knew that I had stumbled on something. He got angry and threw me out.”

“What did you stumble
on?” prodded the sheriff. His ruthless eyes locked on Nash’s pleading ones.

“A secret.”

“What secret?”

“Something I wasn’t
supposed to know.”

“What?”

“It has nothing to do
with the invention.”

“Come on, Mr.
Nottingham,” the sheriff said tiredly. “What did it have to do with?”

“I had discovered
something about the girl, and I wanted to see her close up to be sure.”

“What did you discover?”

Nash hesitated.

“Mr. Nottingham. You’re
trying our patience. It’s time to come clean.” The coroner interjected his
older, respected voice to help the sheriff. “What did you discover about the
slave that caused you to look for her in the kitchen and that caused the
senator to throw you out?”

Nash glanced anxiously at
Charlotte and Rachel.

“Answer, Mr. Nottingham,
or face arrest.” Duran threatened. “What did you learn about the mulatto girl?”

Nash dropped his eyes to
the floor, avoiding the women’s glances. When he spoke, his voice was barely a
whisper. “I learned that she . . . was
a . . . Barnwell.”

The women gasped.
Rachel’s hands covered her face in disbelief. Charlotte’s head dropped in a swoon.
The coroner reached into his pocket for smelling salts.

Chapter
18

Charlotte’s eyes opened
after she inhaled a whiff of spirits from the coroner’s small flask. She and
her daughter were given cups of water. Sweat glistened on Rachel’s bare
shoulders, and her shawl lay in limp folds in the crooks of her arms.
Charlotte’s face was pale from her light-headedness.

“Ladies, I’m deeply
sorry . . .” Nash began, his head down.

“If you’re sorry, then
shut up!” said Rachel, channeling her anger into vigorous waving of her fan.

“. . . but
necessity compels me to speak as an honest man must to defend his honor.”

“To defend your honor,
you’ll take away ours!” cried Charlotte.

Nash sighed helplessly.

Charlotte glared at him,
then turned to Duran. “Isn’t it clear that this pathetic man will stoop to
anything to get himself out of a fix?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.
Barnwell,” replied the sheriff, “but I intend to hear him out.”

“It’s lies you’ll hear.
All lies!” The widow’s cries filled the courtroom.

“Now, now, Mrs. Barnwell.
You must try to calm down,” Dr. Clark instructed.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,”
said the sheriff. His eyes paused on Charlotte briefly, then moved on. “Now,
Mr. Nottingham, let’s hear your story.”

Avoiding the women’s
stares, Nash spoke. “As you know, I arrived earlier than the other guests. My
coachman let me off at the house, but there was no one there to greet me. The
slaves seemed at a loss with the death of their mistress. I felt a touch of
mal
de mer
from the ride, so I was impatient standing there, looking for
someone to escort me in and get me a claret to settle my nerves, Sheriff.”

Duran nodded. “Then
what?”

“I noticed a young
mulatto. She was dressed like a house servant. She looked weak and disheveled,
as though she had just been beaten. A ribbon that tied the front of her dress
at the neckline was undone, as if she had loosened her garment for a few lashes
to her back. She was leaning against a marble statue near the entrance, in
pain, unable to stand. I called to her to show me in and fetch me a claret.”

“You mean you asked a
beaten woman who could barely stand to fetch you a drink?” blurted out the
sheriff.

“She was a
slave
,
after all,” Nash replied. “The girl seemed unable to comply. That was when I
noticed something. With her garment slipped off her shoulder, I
saw . . .”

Nash hesitated.

“Come on, you saw what?”
the sheriff prodded.

Nash glanced out the
window, where he could see the top of the jail behind the sheriff’s office, and
a shot of panic flashed on his face. When he spoke, he seemed oblivious to the
people in the room, speaking only to the barred windows across the street.

“I saw on the girl, just
below her shoulder and above her heart, a little birthmark, just like that one
right there.” He pointed to the tiny heart-shaped mark on Rachel’s body.

“What in tarnation!”
shrieked Charlotte. “Liar!”

She quickly lifted her
daughter’s shawl to cover her bare shoulders, but it was too late. Everyone’s
eyes had already darted to Rachel and seen the birthmark.

“It was the very same
mark in the very same place as Rachel’s. It was so distinctive, a fetching
little heart! What could explain that? I immediately concluded it must run in
the family,” Nash said.

“Lies!” Charlotte shook
her head in vigorous denial. “All lies!”

She shot up and hurled
her cup so its contents splashed in Nash’s face. He took the attack quietly,
wiping his face.

“Mrs. Barnwell, now calm
down!” directed the coroner, pushing her by the shoulders back to her seat.

“I declare to goodness!”
Rachel said, scowling and pulling the shawl up to her neck. “How could you
suggest this girl has anything to do with us, Nash Nottingham? It could have
been a piece of dirt you saw, and for that, you disgrace us. Why, I’ll never
speak to you again!”

“Ladies, please, quiet
down,” said the coroner.

“I saw what I saw.” Nash
shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I walked toward the girl to examine the
birthmark more closely. I asked her what that little thing was below her
shoulder. But she was frightened of me. She quickly tied her frock to cover the
little reddish mark. Then she mustered her strength and ran. She disappeared
into the kitchen.”

Charlotte and Rachel
fumed.

“During this interlude,
the senator appeared. He was walking with Markham. The senator seemed to notice
my interest in the girl and my attempt to see the birthmark. He looked
displeased. Just what did I think I was doing, he asked. I told him that I had
come early in the hope of speaking to him. About what, he asked me brusquely. I
told him it was about acquiring the Crossroads Plantation. This part of the
story I told you previously, Sheriff.”

Duran nodded.

“The senator said he
thought my funds were strained, and I replied that I had a plan. He said that
Cooper might purchase the place, but he supposed it was good to have more than
one buyer interested.”

“That’s when you didn’t
tell the senator that you wanted him to give you Rachel, along with the
Crossroads as a wedding present?” Tom asked sharply, knowing the answer.

“Nash, you scoundrel!”
cried Rachel.

Nash squirmed guiltily in
his seat, then continued. “That’s when Senator Barnwell said he had to go to
town, and he asked Markham to show me around the place.”

The sheriff looked at
Markham, who nodded his head in agreement with Nash’s story.

“Then after the reception
that afternoon, I looked for the girl again. I wanted to examine the birthmark.
I went into the kitchen and asked about her. The senator, I soon realized, was
suspicious of me. He followed me in, and then, well, encouraged me to leave.”

“He threw you out. I seen
that part,” said Markham.

“So that’s what I was
doing in the kitchen, Sheriff. I was looking for the girl with the curious
birthmark, the identical marking to Rachel’s. It had nothing
at all
to
do with Tom’s confounded invention or plotting to murder anybody or stealing
any knife.”

The sheriff pulled out a
chair and sat across from the coroner. “Dr. Clark, what do you think about this
business of the birthmarks?”

The coroner stroked his
face thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the matter. The
others watched him and waited.

“It’s rare, but it does
happen,” said the man who was also the town doctor. “Here in Louisiana, we have
a strange mix of people. We find things here that you don’t often see
elsewhere. With the English settlements in these parts, and the isolation of
the plantations and the intermarriages of cousins and the like, I’ve seen cases
of rare traits running through families.”

“Like what?” asked the
sheriff.

“I know of a family with
an extra bone that juts out of the side of one foot, between the ankle and toe
joint. Several family members have it. Another family has a parent and several
children with extra teeth impacted in their lower jaws behind their molars.”

“What about birthmarks?”
asked the sheriff.

“I’ve seen birthmarks run
in certain families. I know brothers who have the same birthmark in the same
place on their legs. And cousins with the same birthmark on the back of their
necks. If a birthmark is passed on by a parent to one offspring, it could be
passed on to another.”

“Did Polly Barnwell have
that birthmark?” asked the sheriff.

“My heavens!” said
Charlotte.

“I treated Polly for
consumption. No, she didn’t have any such marking,” said Dr. Clark. “Besides,
Polly wasn’t a blood relative of Rachel.”

“We take offense at this
questioning!” Rachel glared at the sheriff, who was undeterred.

“Did Polly’s husband, the
senator’s brother, have the marking?” asked the sheriff.

“He wasn’t my patient. I
wouldn’t know,” Dr. Clark replied.

“Didn’t Polly’s husband
die twenty-four years ago?” asked Nash. “I remember the senator mentioning that
at the funeral.”

“That sounds right,” said
Dr. Clark.

“This girl looked younger
to me, maybe nineteen,” said Nash.

The sheriff nodded. “Well
then, did
Wiley Barnwell
have this birthmark?”

“Sheriff, really!” cried
Rachel.

“You must stop these
insinuations at once!” scolded Charlotte.

The sheriff acknowledged
the women with a brief, sympathetic glance, then turned his attention back to
the coroner for a reply.

“Wiley Barnwell was never
sick a day in his life. I can’t recall ever examining him while he was alive.
After the crime, I didn’t see any birthmark on his body—”

“You see, Sheriff! You
see!” Rachel said triumphantly.

“
However
,” Dr.
Clark continued, “the knife wound tore the tissue over his heart. So because of
the damage caused by the murder weapon, it’s impossible to know if there was a
marking on the skin in that area.”

The sheriff nodded, then
turned to the women. “Mrs. Barnwell, did your husband have that marking?”

“Certainly not!”

“Miss Barnwell, did you
ever see that birthmark on your father or any other relative?”

“No, Sheriff, I most
emphatically did
not!
”

“Do either of you women
know anything about the girl that Mr. Nottingham described?”

“No!” they said in
unison.

“It’s a lie!” Charlotte
added. “It’s only the word of a coward and a scoundrel who’ll say anything to
keep himself out of jail. If it’s just him who says it, Sheriff, then it can’t
be proven.”

The sheriff slowly turned
to Brett Markham. “Mr. Markham, do you know the mulatto female that Mr.
Nottingham described?”

“Yup,” he replied.

“Is she the slave that
the senator directed you to whip and that you gave lashes to in the old cottage
house on the morning of the crime?”

“Yup.”

“Did she have a birthmark
above her heart, as Mr. Nottingham says?”

Markham surveyed the
group suspiciously.

“Did the slave have the
birthmark, Mr. Markham?”

“I never whipped her
before. Miss Polly never allowed that, no sir. But that day, the senator was in
charge. I ordered her to loosen her dress. She done it. I lashed her back, just
a few stripes to teach her good.”

“Did you see the
marking?” repeated the sheriff.

“I seen her outside later
when this feller did.” He pointed to Nash. “I seen her staggerin’. I seen her
dress fall off from her shoulder, like he says.”

“Did she have the
birthmark?”

Everyone in the room
stared at Markham.

“Yup. I seen it.”

“Liar!” Charlotte’s arm
shot across the table, her finger pointed at Markham’s face. The coroner, in
the gesture of a doctor giving comfort, gently put her hand down and held it
for a moment.

“Where is this girl, Mr.
Markham?” asked the sheriff. “Can we see her and verify the birthmark?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“She’s the girl the
senator sold that day.”

“What!” Tom gasped.

A look of astonishment
cracked the sheriff’s marble face, sending furrows across his brow.

“The senator up and gone
to town with her,” Markham added. “Seemed sudden, but then the wench was Miss
Polly’s personal servant and of no use no more.”

The sheriff spoke slowly,
as if digesting the full implication of his words. “You mean Senator Barnwell
suddenly had to go to town that day to sell the very slave who had the
birthmark, after Mr. Nottingham noticed her?”

“Seems so,” said Markham.

“Why didn’t you mention
before
that the slave he sold was the one you whipped?”

“Nobody asked me,
Sheriff,” said Markham dully.

“Did you notice that Mr.
Nottingham had paid special attention to her?”

“I didn’t pick up none on
that, Sheriff. Only that the senator didn’t like purty boy here.” Markham
pointed to Nash.

“Did this matter of the
girl, as far as you know, have anything to do with the invention, Mr. Markham,
anything at all?”

“I don’t reckon so.”

“Do you know anything
about this girl’s parents, or how she got to the Crossroads?” the sheriff
continued.

Markham shook his head.
“I been there jus’ five years. The girl was there when I came. Nobody ever said
nothin’ ’bout her parents to me. I managed the field hands. Didn’t know much
’bout the house servants.”

“In the afternoon, when
Senator Barnwell went into the kitchen and argued with Mr. Nottingham, did that
have anything to do with the invention?”

“Nothin’ I can tell,”
said Markham.

“Did you hear the
invention mentioned by either man?” asked Duran.

“Nope.”

The sheriff weighed the
matter, then spoke to the coroner. “From what I can tell, the quarrel that
occurred seems to be
a . . . personal . . . matter between
the senator and Mr. Nottingham.”

“I agree.” Dr. Clark
nodded.

“For now, you can go, Mr.
Nottingham,” said Duran.

Nash gave a great sigh of
relief. He sprang from his chair and bowed to the women, who were looking
daggers at him.

“I assure you, I am most
deeply and humbly sorry,” he whispered. Then he turned to leave.

Tom was incredulous. He
approached Nash, standing eye-to-eye with him.

“You mean you really did
want to
sabotage
my invention?”

Nash rolled his eyes
irritably, but Tom pressed on.

“An invention that
would’ve given you a chance to make the profits you have trouble making as a
planter, to have the idle time you crave, to pay your debts, to buy your
clothes at the finest shops, and to support your lavish tastes? That night, you
took a big risk in coming to the Crossroads to sabotage my invention. Since you
were willing to go that far—to break the law—I don’t understand why you didn’t
try to go for the big prize. How could you choose to
destroy
the
invention instead of to exploit it for your benefit?”