Sweeter than Birdsong (15 page)

Mrs. Hanby darted a shocked glance at Kate before assuming a polite mask.

The expression of the elder Mr. Jones sparked to interest. “But why not, Mr. Hanby? Do you not wish the company of such charming ladies on your journey?”

“Of course,” Ben said. “But Miss Winter doesn’t have her mother’s permission.”

Frederick grinned. “Mrs. Winter will have nothing to fear if her daughter is with you paragons of respectability.”

“Frederick,” said Mr. Jones. “Perhaps we should all go with Ben and make a party of it. We have nothing pressing at home, and Mrs. Winter would be quite sanguine if she learned half of Westerville was accompanying her daughter.”

“But we have no way to inform Mrs. Winter in time,” Mrs. Hanby said, her tone final, her posture stiff.

“Oh, but we do,” Kate said. “Mrs. Lawrence can tell her about it when she and Cornelia return, so my mother will not worry.”

Ben paused for a long moment. “I would be glad of your company,” he said to the Joneses, to Kate’s surprise. “My errand is a drab business affair and you may entertain the ladies while I accomplish it.”

His mother turned away toward the street.

Victory! Kate did not like to distress Mrs. Hanby, but it would all be perfect now. The Joneses’ company would ensure the Hanbys would not take all the blame should Kate disappear. Relief made her weak in the knees, but there was nowhere to sit.

“That may be the Lawrences,” Mrs. Hanby said in a tight voice. She pointed to a cab that turned the corner at the end of the street and headed toward them. The team of horses moved at a swift trot as the driver urged them on with a wave of his whip.

The cab halted and the horses stamped next to them.

Mr. Jones grinned. “Then it’s settled.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones, for your kind offer.” Kate let a hint of her hidden elation creep into her tone. “I have always wanted to see Cincinnati.”

Fourteen

B
EN’S MOTHER HAD BEEN SILENT AND CONTAINED EVER
since their departure from Columbus, and even the impressive courtyard of Cincinnati’s Red Stag Inn did not seem to break through her mute contemplation. The hired hackney cab had pulled in, everyone had stepped out of the coach, and servants in livery ran this way and that carrying luggage. Still, his mother remained rooted to the ground in the middle of the yard.

“Mother,” he called. “Come out of the way or you will be run down.” Several coaches and a delivery wagon vied for wheel room, and a few horses champed their bits or dozed at hitching posts studded around the yard. Mr. Jones and Frederick had already gone inside to see about the rooms and dining. Miss Winter lingered by the hired cab, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she glanced first at the veranda of the hotel, then at his mother.

His mother did not move, but beckoned to him, so he limped out into the open space with the help of the temporary crutch the doctor in Columbus had given him.

“What is it? We need to go inside. This is not safe—there is too much traffic.”

“I could not be sure of having another moment alone with you, not while I am boarding with Miss Winter and you are with the Joneses.”

“What is it?”

“Your father and I have never discussed Mr. Jones with you because of your friendship with his son. We did not want to prejudice you should our suspicions prove unfounded.”

“What suspicions?” A buggy drove past them, too close, at speed, so he felt the wind of its passing. He flinched away on his good foot. “Mother, this is not the place for a protracted conversation. Let’s go on the veranda before we are run down.”

“Just one minute more. If we go up there, Miss Winter will follow, and she must not hear either.” His mother’s straw hat shielded her worried face from the young lady’s view. “Be careful not to reveal anything about your errand to either of the Joneses. Remember when they lived near us back in Rushville?”

“Yes.” He had played with Frederick at frog catching and raft building. After the Hanbys moved away, Ben had not seen Frederick for ten years. But the Joneses moved to Westerville two years ago to give Frederick proximity to Otterbein for his studies, and their remembered boyhood adventures had drawn the two young men together in camaraderie.

His mother whispered, “Did you notice that we never dined with the Joneses, nor they with us?”

“No.”

“You were too young to observe such things. But your father always suspected Mr. Jones was responsible for the failure of one of our Railroad missions. Two fugitives who had just left our home were recaptured because someone told the slave-hunters where to find them. Your father thought Mr. Jones might be watching us.”

It couldn’t be true. “That’s all speculative.” Other arguments flashed in his mind but vanished, like a lit twist of gunpowder in paper. His parents did not mean to insult Frederick’s family— Railroaders did need to show caution.

“That’s why we never told you,” his mother said. “But I don’t like it at all that they came here with us.”

“Frederick and I are good friends. And they are wealthy, and his father does indulge him. They probably wished to have a lark with all of us in the city. I don’t think we should rush to judgment.”

“Perhaps not. But be especially careful, please.” Her gaze held his. “You know Mr. Jones is very friendly with the U.S. Marshal in Columbus. The marshal has even come to Westerville before—he went to Sunday services with Mr. Jones. Mr. Lawrence saw him.”

That was worth knowing. “I will be discreet.” A needle pricked his conscience, as if agreeing to keep his own counsel was an admission of doubt in his friend’s honor.

“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, you can go escort Miss Winter into the inn, and I will tell that porter where to put our bags.”

Ben used his crutch to hitch his way over to the young lady, while his mother walked to the back of the coach on the street side, where the luggage had been piled.

“Is everything all right?” Miss Winter asked, only just meeting his gaze before looking away, twisting her gloved hands together. Maybe she regretted her request to join them, though it had been a pleasure to see her ardor for travel give her a moment’s boldness. And now that Frederick was here, Ben did not have to worry about the ladies at all while he went on his errand.

He smiled at her. “I am to help you into the inn, my mother says, though I won’t be of much use with this.” He waved the crutch a few inches off the ground.

Supper was far above the average roadside inn fare: roast squab, soft rolls still warm and buttery, and a strawberry-rhubarb pie with just enough crumbly topping to balance the jellied fruit. Miss Winter wielded her fork with grace. Mr. Jones shoveled in pie without ceremony, between jovial comments to Frederick and compliments to Miss Winter that made her blush. Ben’s mother was still uncommonly quiet, which troubled him.

“Ben, you must come out with us this evening to my friend’s club,” Mr. Jones said. “Mrs. Hanby and Miss Winter will no doubt wish to retire early, after their travel. But we can take a hack to the club and introduce you to our friends.”

Ben glanced at his mother. “Do you wish me to stay with you tonight?”

“No,” she said. “You should go. We will occupy ourselves for the next day or so with shopping and sightseeing. Is that agreeable to you, Miss Winter?”

The young lady nodded, her expression more alive than he had ever seen it before. The change of scenery suited her.

“Very well, Mr. Jones,” he said. “I’ll go with you.” He didn’t have to meet John Parker until noon tomorrow, and he was curious about these gentlemen’s clubs. He had only read of them in the papers, and they seemed to be places where much business was done amidst cigar smoking and card playing, but without vulgar drunkenness or immorality. Gambling seemed to be the worst vice of the upper-class clubs, and Ben did not have to play cards if he did not wish.

“Capital!” Frederick grinned and sipped his ale, then blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s meet in an hour at the front steps.” He got to his feet. “Shall we dress, Father?” Mr. Jones also rose and they made their farewells to the ladies, Frederick bending low over Miss Winter’s hand and smiling at her. She probably liked his look, though she was too shy to return his open admiration. Well, what if she did? She was an exceptional young woman, and Frederick was a good man who would make any girl a fine husband. No reason to be disconcerted by any of that, or to be bothered by Frederick’s courting of her. Ben should not feel any jealousy—he was merely concerned for a young woman away from her home. So why did he feel disgruntled as Frederick and his father whisked around the end of the dining room and up the stairs?

He went to meet them downstairs after a few minutes, bowing over Kate’s hand as Frederick had. He liked to see her soft smile when she felt at ease. She was a mystery, but a very enjoyable one. And Ben had at least one advantage over Frederick—Ben understood her passion for music. Frederick liked all pursuits equally, because his open nature ran calm and smooth. To him all things were agreeable but none sublime. Miss Winter had a more closed nature, like Ben’s own, and Ben knew all too well that such private natures channeled their passions more fiercely.

Kate watched Mrs. Hanby as the older woman finished her pie and laid down her fork. She took her time with her meals— but Kate did not want to be impatient after all Mrs. Hanby’s kindness.

A stout maid came in to clear away their dishes, her red hair bound under a clean white cap. “Are you Mrs. Hanby, ma’am?” she said.

“Yes.”

“I have a message for you and Mr. Hanby from the Negro man.”

“Who?” Mrs. Hanby laid her napkin on the table.

“He said his name is Mr. Parker.” The maid’s sideways flick of her eyes suggested she did not think a black man’s name of much import. “He wants you to meet him by the stable.”

“Now?”

“He said as soon as you can, ma’am.” She piled the last dish on her arm and waddled away.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hanby said. “And Ben is already gone.”

“Shall I come with you?” Kate asked.

“I think Mr. Parker may wish to speak in private—yet I cannot go without another person, or it will be . . . awkward.”

She knew that what Mrs. Hanby meant was not “awkward” but “scandalous.” A woman could not go meet a man alone.

“I do not mind. I can stand outside of earshot, if he wishes to speak in private,” Kate said.

“Thank you. Then let us go down.”

When they arrived in the stable, with its earthy smell of leather and horses, Kate stood at the entrance. Mrs. Hanby walked to the end of the barn, where a tall black man waited by the end stalls. Ben’s mother looked even smaller in her trim dress and straw hat next to this stranger’s giant frame and muscular build. He and Mrs. Hanby stood a good four feet from one another, for propriety’s sake, talking in low voices. From the motion of her hands, Mrs. Hanby seemed to be concerned.

When she turned and crossed the swept stone floor to Kate, her pretty features were set, her eyebrows drawn in resolution Kate had never seen before.

“What is it?” Kate asked.

“We must bring our bags downstairs.”

“We are leaving?”

“Mr. Parker needs my help this evening, right away. And I cannot leave you here alone, without a chaperone, nor can I go with him without a companion. You must come with us, and we will just catch the steamboat on its last run for the evening. When we get to his house, you may stay with his wife, which will be safe.”

“What about Ben—Mr. Hanby?”

“I will try to send a message after Ben, if I can determine which club the Joneses may attend. I pray Ben will be in time to join us on the boat to Ripley.”

Ripley? Kate closed her mouth on the questions that swarmed her mind. Mrs. Hanby clearly did not want to be quizzed. But they were going to a different town—what would this do to her perfect plan to disappear in Cincinnati?

They had to cross the courtyard again to return to the inn building. It was even more crowded than before, filled with travelers coming off the steamboat that had brought Mr. Parker. Every hitching post was occupied by a horse, some thoroughbreds finely bred with thin skin and long legs, others cart horses built for strength. A messenger boy in a red cap crossed the yard with a rapid stride for his short legs, his satchel advertising his profession.