Whispers at Midnight (18 page)

So it was with a grateful smile that Amanda
observed the buildings of Williamsburg arising in the distance. And
once again she was glad she had come. The damage with Gardner had
been slight and easily mended. If only it were as easy to correct
matters with Ryne.

***

The dinner at Gardner’s house proved to be a
small affair, for which Amanda was glad. His cook, an elderly woman
named Doris Campbell, had recovered from her illness and prepared a
meal that was a delight to the palate. Besides the cook there was a
maid who served the meal, a pleasant-faced but rather slow young
woman Gardner referred to as Molly, who had only recently come into
his employ.

The other guests were from a plantation that
adjoined a smaller estate Gardner had recently bought. Jonathan
Weller and his wife Margaret and their daughter Ariel Chitton, a
young widow whose husband had died some three years ago, were old
friends of Gardner’s. It was their custom to stay at Gardner’s
house on any of the infrequent trips made to Williamsburg. Of this
trip he had little advance notice of their plans but on learning of
them had decided Amanda must come and meet them.

“This is my cousin, Amanda Fairfax,” Gardner
said, completing the introductions.

Amanda’s cheeks reddened slightly. Ryne used
the term disparagingly, so she was a little taken aback to hear
Gardner refer to her as his cousin. And though she was pleased he
would consider her a true relation, she suspected the real reason
was the same one that had occurred to her. If Ryne were to live at
Wicklow, it would be best if a family tie were established. Gardner
had concocted the relationship to protect her from the scandalous
comments that might result otherwise.

“I never knew you were related to Sarah
Fairfax,” Ariel commented.

“It was a distant relationship,” Gardner
said. “But we are cousins nevertheless.”

“I see,” Ariel said, raising her brows a
fraction.

“Now that I am at Wicklow,” Amanda added,
“we feel quite close to one another.”

“Like brother and sister,” Gardner said.

Amanda concluded he had shared her thoughts
earlier in the afternoon. She was pleased to see they remained of
one mind on what had happened.

“You are a sensible girl, Amanda, not to
believe in curses and such.” Margaret Weller had an attractive,
vital appearance to her face. She had taken a quick liking to
Amanda and let it be known. “After what happened to Evelyn Wicklow,
I think I would wonder,” she said matter-of-factly.

Amanda looked up curiously. “What did happen
to Evelyn? Where did she go?”

“No one knows what became of my
grandmother,” Gardner answered. “According to the tales, and there
were many about my grandfather, he fought a duel over Evelyn—”

“I thought the duel was fought over gold,”
Amanda broke in.

Gardner smiled. “Perhaps it was. There are
many stories and they do not all agree. In any event, my
grandfather was killed and both his opponent and Evelyn disappeared
the same night. The conjecture, naturally, is that the opponent was
a former lover of Evelyn’s and that the two of them took the
Wicklow fortune and fled. The mystery is that no one saw them
leave, and neither has ever been heard from again,” he added.

“My mother recalled that when Jubal
Wicklow’s body was found there were two wounds, one in the side,
another in the back. It was evident he was murdered following the
duel, perhaps by Evelyn herself after her lover proved a poor
shot,” Margaret said. “But even so, I find it hard to imagine she
would abandon her own child.”

“It all took place long ago and no one can
say with certainty what happened. Even my grandfather’s servants
and friends did not know who the other duelist was or why the duel
occurred. I believe it likely the gold everyone thinks hidden at
Wicklow actually never existed,” Gardner said.

“But the ruby heart did exist,” Margaret
stated with conviction. “The Heart of Happiness. My mother said it
was priceless and the most magnificent jewel ever cut. She saw
Evelyn Wicklow wear it many times. If Evelyn did not take it, what
could have happened to the ruby?”

“If it had the value everyone claims, it was
probably stolen in the days of confusion following my grandfather’s
death. That it is missing does not prove Evelyn guilty of
murder.”

Amanda was sorely tempted to ask a few
questions herself. She would like to know more about the ruby and
more of Wicklow’s troubled history. But Gardner’s tone indicated he
would not be receptive to further discussion of the matter.
Margaret apparently noted the same and ceased her comments.

After that the conversation went to lighter
talk, and it seemed dinner was over very soon. The ladies retired
to the drawing room and the men went out to a tavern to share a
tankard of ale with other gentlemen of their acquaintance.

“No need to wait up for them,” Margaret
Weller said with a deep, bold chuckle that would have brought shock
to a polite gathering of women in Britain. Amanda was learning
quickly that colonial women were not a shy lot and were far more
likely to speak their minds than their counterparts in England.
“When Jonathan gets to a tavern, it’s gambols and ale till well
past midnight. But we’ll not slight ourselves,” she added, pouring
glasses of sherry for the three of them. “Drink hearty, lasses. A
good glass of sherry helps the digestion.” She put a glass in
Amanda’s hand and another in Ariel’s. “Now, Amanda, you must sit
down and tell us all the news of London.”

Amanda reported all the gossip she could
recall that she thought would be of interest to Margaret Weller and
her daughter. But while Margaret listened with rapt regard and made
frequent witty comments, Ariel’s attention seemed to wander.

Ariel took out a sampler and worked on it
intently. But frequently her eyes left her needlework and turned to
the drawing-room door as if hopeful that Gardner and her father
would return sooner than expected. Apparently Ariel was more
concerned than her mother about her father’s indulgence in spirits.
Amanda smiled. It was touching that the daughter felt so close to
her father and worried over his behavior.

“I wonder, Mrs. Weller,” Amanda asked when
they had exhausted the subject of London society and had run the
gamut of persons Margaret considered the cream of Williamsburg, “if
perhaps you might know Emma Jones and her niece Trudy, both of
Richmond.”

“Well, I daresay there isn’t a soul in
Richmond I don’t know,” Margaret said boastfully. “Her husband
Clarence did work for Mr. Weller. Was a wheelwright, and a good
one, but could never keep his face out of a tankard. The sodden
bloke left Emma a load of debts and naught else when he died. Poor
Emma.” She sighed heavily and clasped her hands together in a
gesture of despair. “And a fine woman she is, too. Sold milk and
butter in the market to keep her household running. I warrant too
she was always as much a mother to that niece of hers as was her
sister.” She shook her head slowly. “Don’t know what is to become
of her.”

“She’s to come to me at Wicklow. And Trudy
too. The suggestion was put to me by Cecil Baldwin,” Amanda said
gaily, the sherry having made her more talkative than usual.

“Oh?” Margaret Weller gave a quick but
momentary twitch of her shoulders.

Amanda, however, overjoyed by the glowing
comments on Emma Jones’s character, took little notice of it. She
had made up her mind that she liked Margaret Weller and now found
it a treat to engage in womanly conversation. So many grave matters
had labored her thoughts of late that this light talk gave a
pleasant ease to the strain she felt.

“Wicklow is far too big for me alone,”
Amanda went on, encouraged. “So we have made an arrangement which
will benefit us all.” Then with a pensive smile she added, “Of
course Ryne is to stay until his lodge is repaired, and in return
has offered to have his laborers restore the grounds. I shall be
grateful for that. But I hardly know he is at Wicklow. He is so
seldom in the house.”

The briefest of silences ensued during which
Ariel, who to this point had looked as if she might fall asleep at
her work, gave a sidelong glance at both Amanda and her mother. A
slight smile touched her lips before she dropped her head to once
again become absorbed with her embroidery.

“Emma Jones is a good woman,” Margaret said
in a rush. “I might have worried over your being at Wicklow alone,
so far from Williamsburg and your neighbors. But now I shall know
that you are well looked after. Whatever Emma Jones has agreed to
do, you can depend on it. The woman is reliable. Don’t know much
about the niece. Looks a bit frail to me, but a pretty bit she is.
Rotten luck she’s got nothing to bring to a marriage.” Margaret’s
gray eyes twinkled conspiratorially. “Though I’ve heard
rumors.”

“Rumors?” Amanda asked, gazing at Margaret
speculatively.

“Mother, must you repeat every shred of
gossip you hear?” Ariel spoke suddenly and both Margaret and Amanda
turned to her in surprise. She had been so quiet and seemingly
uninterested in the conversation that they had almost forgotten her
presence. Amanda had even begun to wonder if there were not a blank
mind behind her otherwise comely face. “You warble more than a
mockingbird,” Ariel added flatly.

“Hmmph, perhaps I do,” Margaret answered,
undaunted. “But there’s always plenty who wait to hear my song, and
when it’s a tune that interests you, your ears twitter as
well.”

“Very well, then, Mother, do go on. As if
you would not anyway.” Ariel sipped her sherry, but despite her
protests, Amanda noticed the light of affection in her eyes,
indicating that though she might not always approve, there was a
closeness between mother and daughter.

Margaret stood and turned her ample backside
to Ariel as she poured herself a second glass of sherry. When she
took her seat again, her face was bright with amusement.

“I guess I know what’s made you touchy as a
hen with chicks.” Margaret broke into a broad, open smile and
chuckled loudly. “Better tend the fire if you don’t want the coals
to die.”

Whatever the exchange between Margaret and
Ariel meant, Amanda was puzzled. But undoubtedly it had some
private meaning she had no need to know. And though she would not
like to admit it, she was much more interested in the gossip
concerning Trudy. After all, if the young woman was to be in her
house, she would like to know all she could about her. And Amanda
felt gratified that even though Margaret Weller had a penchant for
gossip, she would never be malicious.

“You mentioned a rumor, Mrs. Weller.” Amanda
swallowed her pride and broached the subject that had aroused her
curiosity.

Margaret smiled and nodded perfunctorily at
her daughter.

“You see, Ariel, a dull place the world
would be without a little gossip.” Margaret was enjoying herself
considerably, though Amanda was not sure if it was the sherry or
the prospect of a new audience that made her beam. “I have heard
that young Trudy is a lass born on the wrong side of the blanket.
Seems Emma Jones’s sister was abandoned by the girl’s papa—though
he paid her off well. Heard she went through all the money before
she died.” She paused. “Nobody knows who the papa is. But it’s told
he was a man of wealth who couldn’t or wouldn’t marry Trudy’s
mother.”

“Nobody knows, Mother?” Ariel piped in with
a bemused smile. “Not even you?”

“Nobody knows if I don’t. Nobody, that is,
except perhaps Cecil Baldwin, who passed the money along. And that
dolt is too stiff-necked to ever let it slip.”

“I suppose that means you asked him?”

“And what if I did?” Margaret answered her
daughter indignantly. “It was only out of interest in the girl.”
She sniffed. “The old fool told me to mind my own business.”
Margaret paused to drain the last drops from her third glass of
sherry.

“And you deserved the reproach,” Ariel said
with a grin.

“So I did.” Margaret gave her deep laugh
once more.

“But it did no harm to ask.”

So Trudy had a stigma to deal with. Sad. But
it made no difference to Amanda. If anything, it explained her
shyness and reticence. Amanda felt a little ashamed at having
encouraged the talk about Trudy and made a silent promise to
herself to be a special friend to the girl.

With a look of weariness on her face, Ariel
left her chair and returned her glass to the tray on the serving
table. Either the conversation had bored her or she was tired from
her travels. Yet as Ariel stifled a yawn, Amanda had the feeling
she had been under an inspection from those slanted gray eyes.

“Amanda, it has been delightful spending the
evening with you, but today has been overlong for me. I beg your
leave,” Ariel said in a voice that was polite but lacking in
warmth.

“Of course, it has been my pleasure as
well,” Amanda said politely. “A good night to you, Ariel.”

It was then the idea came to Amanda that
with a mother as gregarious as Margaret, it was no wonder Ariel had
not developed the art of conversation. She wondered if the late Mr.
Chitton had found her a dull wife.

Ariel, her gray taffeta rustling as she
walked, went to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Mother. Do you plan to wait up
for Father?”

Margaret patted her daughter’s hand with a
great deal of vigor.

“I do not. The sun may be cracking the
darkness before those two return. I suggest we all go to bed.
Ariel, we have a full day tomorrow, shopping and calling on
people.” She rose, smoothed out her rumpled skirt, and turned to
Amanda.

“Won’t you plan to spend the day with us?
I’m sure we could have a splendid time showing you round to our
friends.”

Amanda was tempted, but thought of all she
must attend to before she entered into such festivities. She
offered a gracious refusal.