Petals on the River (100 page)

no one's fool.
 
"Me ma gave birth ta me without gettin' hitched, if'n

that's what ye're asking'.
 
Twas a butler she claimed what done it ta

her, but he wouldn't own up ta it.
 
She got kicked out've the gran'

house where she'd been workin' at, but he stayed on like he the'er done

nothin' ta nobody.
 
After she had me, she said he was a real sly bird

an' she done gone an' hatched his li'l chick.
 
The name stuck."

"Well, Morrisa Hatcher, what about some food?"

"I'll fetch ye some vittles meself after ye've taken yer bath," Morrisa

said.
 
"Would ye be carin' for some assistance in unpackin' yer clothes

or gettin' undressed?"

Edith du Mercer was as shrewd as Morrisa had ever hoped to be and could

sense the judicious reasoning going on behind those dark eyes that

watched her so closely.
 
"Whatever assistance you're willing to render

will be rewarded, Morrisa, but only if I leave here with no fewer

possessions than I've entered with."

Morrisa met Edith's unswerving stare and recognized the challenge that

she would be undertaking in aiding the woman.
 
"I'll aren't gonna steal

nothin' from ye, if'n that's what you mean."

"You're very astute, my dear.
 
We understand each other very well."

"I aren't no thief," Morrisa declared, bristling.

"No?" Edith permitted a small glimpse of a smile.
 
Her tone conveyed

some disbelief as she asked, "Do you actually get as much as you claimed

a moment ago?
 
Or are you just a liar?"

Morrisa chafed under the elder's goading.
 
"A girl's gotta earn her keep

one-way or t'other."

"Of course, Morrisa," Edith agreed.
 
"And as long as you remain honest

while you're working for me, you could possibly earn far more than you

would by bedding a man.
 
But you must remember, I'll give up nothing

more than what I'm willing to yield to you, and that by my own choice.

Do you understand?"

"I hear ye," Morrisa acknowledged.

"Then you may lend whatever assistance is needed."' Motivated by

curiosity, Morrisa escorted the lady to her room, directed the

preparation of the bath herself and laid out a chemise and dressing

gown, both of which were so rich and beautiful that she had trouble

imagining their cost.
 
In some awe, she ran a hand over the garments,

wondering how she might look in them, but she quickly banished the idea

of rifling through the elder's possessions behind her back.
 
She could

almost bet the old snake could draw blood with her tongue if she were

vexed.

"I aren't the'er seen clothes what's as fine as yers," the harlot

admitted, glancing around.

Edith had been watching her and was satisfied that the younger woman had

kept her wits about her and not tried to stuff something into her

clothing.
 
"Perhaps if you serve me well enough, Morrisa, I'll leave you

some when I sail back to England.
 
I have plenty enough as it is in my

home."

"That'd be real kindly o' ye, m'liedy," Morrisa eagerly replied with a

buoyant smile.

"Then come help me undress," Edith urged, "and we can talk more while I

soak in a bath."

Edith's directive was carried out swiftly, and two sheets were hung from

the low beams to enclose the tub, providing some privacy for the matron.

As Morrisa waited on the other side, Edith began making her own

inquiries.

"Have you ken of a young woman named Shemaine O'Hearn living in the

area?"

Morrisa snorted in distaste.
 
It seemed nowadays everybody arriving on

the inbound ships was asking where the li'l bogtrotter might be.
 
"

Course, I do.
 
We sailed here on the London Pride together."

"Did you become friends with her?"

The harlot jeered.
 
"Enemies would be more like it."

"What made you hate her?"

Morrisa was wary but truthful.
 
No one could hang her for disliking a

person.
 
"Sh'maine was always puttin' her nose in where it didn't

belong.

I had a right good way o' handlin' the other women til she started

talkin' ta em.
 
Would've had em all bowin' and scrapin' ta me, if not

for Sh'maine."

"So you resent her?"

"Aye, ye might say as much."' "I'm sure at times you must have been

angry enough to even wish her dead." Edith voiced the conjecture

carefully and anticipated the response.

"Not only wished it, had reason to see it done....
 
Not that I would

have, mind ye," Morrisa interjected cautiously.
 
"Ye see, there were

others what wanted her dead too, an' were willin' ta pay for it. The

turnkey in Newgate said someone in London was anxious ta pay for her

death.
 
He even said some real good things could be done for me if'n I'd

snuff out her breath an' send back proof ta him.
 
But with him bein' in

England an' me here so far away, it didn't seem likely I'd ever collect

me due if I sent the li'l bogtrotter ta the grave.
 
I've even been

thinkin' lately he was probably hopin' I'd do it an' then provide the

proof so's he could collect all o' the reward.
 
An' me be damned."

Edith had realized there had been flaws in her efforts to arrange for

Shemaine's demise, but unfortunately they had been unavoidable. Her

barrister had understood the importance of the nobility protecting its

name and heritage, and although he had enticed the thieftaker to arrest

the girl and the magistrate to work his wiles in sentencing the girl, he

had refused to be personally involved in arranging the murder of a young

woman from a wealthy family.
 
Consequences would be too steep, he had

argued, and in that matter at least, no amount of coin could persuade

him to do otherwise.
 
He had a serious aversion to hanging, he had

explained, but he would, however, find her a name of one who'd be

willing to do the deed and arrange for her to contact the man incognito.

Several nights later he had reported that there was such a man, a

turnkey at the prison who had killed for hire before.
 
But as Edith had

later found out, that one had failed her.
 
Now she was looking for new

possibilities.

Edith concluded her bath, donned a chemise and wrapped a dressing gown

around her slender frame.
 
Joining the harlot on the other side of the

sheet, she seated herself on a bench and picked up the conversation as

Morrisa began brushing out her long, heavily grayed black hair.
 
"I was

wondering, Morrisa, if anyone has ever tried to do away with Shemaine."

"Aye, but so far the bloke aren't done nothin' ta speak o'."

"Someone you know?"

"A tar from the London Pride.
 
He's kinda mean-minded toward Sh'maine,

says he owes her for her uppity ways.
 
But Mr.
 
Thornton came inta town

a couple o' times ta warn me that he'll come lookin' for me an' Potts

if'n Sh'maine's e'er hurt again or killed.
 
Well, it didn't rightly seem

fair, him blamin' me, but he vexed me so, I warned Potts ta hide out for

a while, else he'd be gettin' us both inta an ugly stew."

"If you were able to go anywhere you wanted to, someplace where this Mr.

Thornton couldn't find you, would you consider letting Potts have his

revenge on her?"

" Twouldn't hurt me none ta see the bogtrotter buried, but I'd the'er

kill her meself, so's if'n ye're thinkin' ye're gonna catch me up in a

hangin', ye aren't."

"You needn't fret yourself, Morrisa," Edith encouraged.
 
"I've wanted

Shemaine dead just as much as you, but that event has never come about."

Morrisa couldn't imagine a proper lady wanting to see harm done to

another.
 
But then, she had never been around aristocrats long enough to

be able to grasp what any of them were likely to think.
 
She was

inquisitive nevertheless.
 
"Why would a fancy liedy like yerself be

wantin' Sh'maine dead?
 
What she e'er done ta ye?"

"She stole my grandson's heart, and I abhor her for that."

A loud, unladylike snort accompanied Morrisa's reply.
 
"His heart aren't

the only one Sh'maine's done stolt.
 
That Mr.
 
Thornton's gone an'

claimed her as his."

"Yes, I've heard that some colonial had bought herþ"

"Not only bought her but bedded her!"

"You mean she's been sullied?" Edith was at first jubilant over the

idea, but when she considered her grandson's determination to find

Shemaine, it seemed doubtful that Maurice would ever blame the girl

because she had been forced by her master.
 
A laborious sigh slipped

from Edith's lips as she imagined Maurice making magnanimous offers of

marriage to the girl despite the likelihood of her being with child by

another man.

"I'm afraid her lost virginity will change nothing.
 
My grandson has

been thoroughly bewitched.
 
The little trollop has her claws on his

heart and will not let go."

"Well, I'm thinkin' Sh'maine'll be havin' ta make a choice betwixt the

two, cause Mr.
 
Thornton aren't gonna let any wife o' his go traipsin'

off with nother man without a fight.
 
He killed his first wife, so's I

hear.
 
If'n he catches Sh'maine cavortin' with yer grandson, he just

might kill her, too."

- "Shemaine is married, then?" Edith asked, receiving a pert nod when

she glanced around.
 
"Perhaps that fact might dissuade Maurice from

involving himself."

"Humph.
 
If'n yer grandson be the one what faced Sh'maine an' Mr.

Thornton right out in front o' this here tavern last night, he didn't

seem too keen on givin' her up, even knowin' she's hitched ta the