Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (31 page)

"I was just coming to tell you he came in," Gabriel said quickly.

"Go upstairs," she ordered in a deathly calm voice.

With a last look at Derek, Gabriel scurried up the rest of the stairs, rubbing the palms of his hands where they'd hit the stone steps.

"Beth, I should have known you would let him in here against my wishes!"

"No, Missus "

"I came in on my own," Derek interrupted. "She didn't know. She was just bringing me up stairs."

Mrs. Worthington stared into Derek with outrage, swelling even more. "
A mouse
?" she screeched at him, unable to hold it in any longer.

Derek winced, staring at the floor.

Heavy footsteps came down the servants' stairs and the panel door swung open violently. Jonathan stepped out into the hallway, his eyes blazing with a raw anger Derek had never seen before. Staring at the man, he took a step back down the stairs.

"Mother, if you do not stop your yelling this instant " Jonathan stopped as he spotted Derek and Beth huddled on the stairs.

Shrinking almost immediately in her son's fury, Mrs. Worthington bit out in shaking syllables, "The
boy
is in the house. You know how he upsets Mrs. Smithfield and Catherine."

His temper in check, Jonathan eyed Derek and the spilled basket of bread, butter, and jam that lay strewn on the stairs. He turned to his mother and answered coolly, "
Your
tantrums upset Catherine much more than
his
coming in the house to get food." Once it was obvious that Mrs. Worthington was not going to make any farther argument, Jonathan looked at Derek. "Take your dinner and get out."

Sounding braver than he felt, Derek said, "Beth isn't in trouble, is she? She didn't know "

"No one is in trouble," Jonathan said. The words, which could have been soothing, came out in a dark whisper.

Picking up on the silent threat all too clearly, Derek scooped the fallen food into the basket and hurried up the stairs past Mrs. Worthington. He all but ran through the side door and down the steps to the stone path.

When Derek got back to the stables, he left the basket by the door and climbed the ladder. With a heavy sigh, he dropped onto his bed, his mind reeling as much from Jonathan's behavior as from the fact that he'd gotten out of that unpunished. He sat there for several minutes and just as he thought that he should go out and insist that Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth come in, the stable door opened and the tell-tale shuffle of feet announced that Devon was back from whatever he'd been sent to do in the attic.

"Hey, Devon," Derek called, standing up and walking to the edge of the loft to peer down at the old slave. "What did Mrs. Worthington have for you to do in the attic?" For the first time in days, he thought of the girl in the painting.

Instead of answering, Devon pulled off his hat and said gruffly, "Come down here, boy."

His brow knitting with confusion at his odd tone, Derek climbed down the ladder and walked over to the man. "Yeah?"

Devon shuffled a little more, then said, "Oh hell, there's nothing' fer it."

"Nothing for what?"

"Nothin', only Mrs. Worthington says I'm suppose to whup ya."

That being the last thing he'd expected to hear, all he said was, "What?"

"Fifteen stripes, she says, an' no less." Devon paused for a moment, then added in a lower voice, "Or it comes out of my hide."

This statement could have been an attempt at an apologetic excuse, or just a way of stalling. Either way, hearing it brought a bitter taste up from the back of Derek's throat.

Jonathan wouldn't play along this time, so she threatened the old man into it?
For a second Derek didn't do anything, then his surprise gave way to annoyance and anger.
Fine
, he thought.
Let her have her victory if she wants it that bad
. Without word, Derek stripped his shirt off and looked at Devon expectantly.

The old man obviously had expected a little more of a fight because he only stared for a moment as if unsure of why Derek had done that. "Well," he commented as though he felt he should say something, but didn't know what.

He didn't say anything else after that and Derek was grateful.

The next morning, the sound of a light rain patting the roof lazily slowly brought Derek out of his haze of sleep. He breathed in deeply and cool, thin air filled his lungs. He tried to roll onto his side, but only turned a little before he was gripped with pain. Letting out an involuntary groan, he slumped back onto his stomach, his muscles going weak and limp without his permission. Derek sucked in a few shallows breaths, letting them out slowly. As the muscles heaved with the motion the stripes on his back pulsed and throbbed. It had been several months since he'd last been beaten this severely and he was now wondering how he could have forgotten how much it hurt.

At least now I know he doesn't feel sorry me
, Derek thought dryly, preparing himself for another attempt to sit up.
He could have gone a little easier, though.

It took another two tries before Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, his back arched forward, his elbows on his knees, in an effort to keep his muscles from moving. Normally, he would have had Beth to put cool ointment on his wounds, but at this point he wasn't even sure if he could make it to the house.

Derek scowled at the floor. Forcing himself to his feet despite every sense telling him to stay still, Derek walked stiffly to the little chest and drew out his clean shirt. He struggled with his shirt for a minute before he finally got it on, the warm fabric brushing brutally over the sores.

Climbing jerkily down the ladder, Derek muttered, "Stairs are definitely easier than ladders."

As he reached the ground, Derek stopped for a moment to look at Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, who was peering at him shrewdly, her tail swishing listlessly from side to side. She seemed almost smug in an understanding assessment that something wholly unpleasant had happened to her nemesis.

Derek glared at her.

Unaffected, she turned away from him and started slurping water from her trough.

"Stupid mare." Grabbing his hat more roughly than was necessary, but ignoring the pain, Derek marched out into the morning air.

The thin clouds that dripped on the plantation were moving quickly away and the sun kept peaking out through breaks in the gray. With the rain passing, the humidity started to return.

Looking across to the corral, Derek saw Devon exercising Blueberry. He walked to the fence and rested his elbows on the top rail. "Hey, old man, I was gonna do that."

"Already done," Devon answered without looking at him.

"Why so early?"

"Master Smithfield is gon' take 'im out again."

"Oh. Did you get breakfast already?"

"By the door."

Derek scowled a little. He had the distinct impression that the man was avoiding any real conversation. "Did you eat yours?"

"Yep."

Shaking his head, Derek walked away. "So I'll just finish what's left then," he said to himself. When he stepped back into the stables, he took the little towel off the basket. There was ham and bread with a small jug of milk. Derek settled down on one of the hay bales and started eating.

Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth snorted, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, you shut up. I have half a mind to set you loose out in the woods."

"Good morning, Derek."

Derek nearly fell off his hay bale as he turned sharply, barely suppressing a groan as his muscles tore. "Mr. Smithfield. Good morning, sir," he said, standing up.

Mr. Smithfield was smiling. "Is she giving you a hard time?"

"She usually does."

Mr. Smithfield glanced at the food set out on the towel then back at Derek. "I just came in to get the riding equipment."

"I'll have Devon bring Blueberry in and get him ready for you." He stepped outside and called to Devon, who was already pulling Blueberry out of the corral by a short lead. "It'll just be a minute."

Nodding, Mr. Smithfield folded his arms behind his back and looked around. "Is this where you stay?"

"Up in the loft, actually." Derek eyed his breakfast hungrily. He didn't think it would be polite to keep eating, though.

"Have you always been out here?"

"No, sir. I used to have the room Beth and Atty are sharing. But when Jonathan came back I mean, I don't mind giving up my room. It was a lot smaller than what I have out here, and it got awful hot in the summer. This suits me fine."

Just then, Devon shuffled into the stable. "Git the blanket and bit. I'll git the saddle on 'im."

"It's too heavy for you," Derek said without thinking.

"I'll manage."

"I'm sorry I took you away from your breakfast," Mr. Smithfield said, watching as Derek took down the equipment.

"No trouble," Derek said, gritting his teeth against a howl of pain as he stretched to reach the bit and bridle that hung on the wall.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Smithfield asked, his brow drawn in concern.

Walking to Blueberry, Derek nodded. "Yes, sir." With jerky motions, he threw the blanket over the horse and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"You seem a bit stiff."

"I might have slept wrong," he lied.

"You work very hard for a young man your age."

Pushing the bit into Blueberry's mouth, Derek shrugged a little and regretted it. "Not too much. I get time to go for walks and things like that."

"Gabriel was telling Abigail about a path through the woods to the river."

Traitor.
"Yeah. It's a nice walk, but the water is a little fast right there for swimming. Farther downstream is all right, though."
I should go for a long swim later,
he thought, imagining the cool water on his back.

"He's all ready," Devon said, interrupting farther conversation.

"Thank you." Mr. Smithfield took the lead, nodded to Derek, and walked outside. He mounted Blueberry and started across the field.

"When he comes back I'll take care of the horse."

"I can do it," Derek answered.

"Mrs. Worthington wants you to do the bushes by the porch."

Derek scowled. "I did them last week. They can't need trimming again. It hasn't really rained for days."

"Her orders, not mine." With that, Devon walked up the center of the stable and went through the door into his living quarters.

Derek rolled his eyes and sat down to finish his breakfast. He partially hoped he would see Mrs. Worthington while he was at the house. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he was hurt. He wouldn't let her see him suffer. He would go and do his chores as if there was nothing wrong.
And if that doesn't spite her,
he thought viciously,
I'll tell her I hope she has a good day.