The Last Heiress (36 page)

Jackson leaned back as the footman served bowls of thick onion soup, the crusty cheese still bubbling. “Let's allow this to cool while you tell me what's troubling you.”

“Amanda found out that our army planted water mines near the mouth of the river. She believes your ships will be sunk if they venture out to sea.”

Of all the things that could upset a society matron, this had to be last on the list. “What the devil?”

“Do not invoke that name, Jackson. It can only make matters worse.” Abigail murmured a quiet prayer under her breath.

He finished his drink and then called to the butler. “Bring me a lemonade too.” He modulated his tone for his wife. “Explain how my English sister-in-law could be privy to such revelations when I haven't heard a word on the wharf.”

“Perhaps our army fears spies among the dockworkers, so they keep silent. Recent immigrants hold all sorts of allegiances these days.”

Jackson blinked at the woman who looked like his wife but certainly didn't sound like her. “Yet,
Amanda
was able to find out.”

Abigail smiled, grasping the irony at last. “Ah, yes. Mr. Cooper told her before he left town to enlist at Fort Fisher. I believe his brother is a general at the fort. Anyway, his brother told the shopkeeper, who told my sister.” She tried a spoonful of soup. “Oh, my. This is delicious. I'm so glad Salome changed from those heavy fish chowders.”

“Cooper's brother is a
general
at Fort Fisher?”

Her spoon halted midway to her mouth. “Maybe she said colonel. I don't recall. But Joshua Cooper is the reason Amanda's Mr. Cooper joined the Confederate army. Apparently he's not an anarchist after all.”

“If there's a shred of truth to this.” He pushed away his soup.

“I believe there is. He loves Amanda and, therefore, he feels a smidgen of loyalty to me as well.”

Jackson pressed his fingertips to his temples, where a dull ache had begun. “What you're saying makes no sense, Abigail. Why would soldiers plant mines in the river? The blockade runners bring in food and guns as well as take cotton and tobacco out.”

“Because the Yankees landed on the shore and attacked the fort. Colonel Lamb doesn't want any more midnight surprises.” Abigail dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Is a lieutenant ranked higher than a colonel? Because I believe
that's
what the shopkeeper said his brother was.”

“No, it is not higher,” Jackson replied absently. He closed his eyes as his mind began to spin with the dreadful possibility her story might be true. He'd been too busy worrying about losses from Hornsby's thievery to listen to news about the war. The
Roanoke
should be in Bermuda, consigning another load to bring back, but the
Lady Adelaine
was scheduled to leave port tomorrow once the captain completed the paperwork. He couldn't take a chance on losing his brand-new ship if Amanda's information was correct.

Jumping to his feet, he dropped his napkin next to his plate. “I'm going to the docks. I must inform Captain Russell that he's not to depart under any circumstances until I get to the bottom of this.”

Abigail clamped her slender fingers around his wrist, her grip belying her petite size. “You will do no such thing. Captain Russell is probably ensconced at the Kendall House, enjoying an evening away from that boat. Please finish your dinner, my dear. Dawn will be soon enough to cancel the
Lady Adelaine
's departure.”

Jackson remained in place, not because he couldn't break free from her restraint, but because never before in their marriage had Abigail given him orders. “First your sister and now you know my business better than I?”

She looked up with her luminous dark eyes. “Certainly not,
Jackson, but unsavory miscreants prowl the wharves at this hour. You are too important to me…to us…to chance being killed over your pocket watch or even the
Lady Adelaine
filled to the decks with gold.” Abigail folded her hands over her stomach. “Please, husband, let's finish dinner and go to bed. Tomorrow you will rise to the challenge refreshed.”

He could not refuse a request so sweetly asked. “As you wish, my dear.” He sat down again, picked up his spoon, and began to eat.

The next morning after his usual ham and eggs, he rode down to the docks in the carriage. When his foreman, Edward Campbell, arrived a few minutes later, Jackson peppered him with questions. The man had heard nothing about water torpedoes but volunteered to inquire. Apparently, the tavern where Jackson encountered the dubious captain of the
Marie Celeste
entertained sailors from first light until after midnight. Within two hours, Campbell returned with news that the river had indeed been mined.

“Who told you this?” Jackson asked. “Can the informant be trusted?”

“Yes, sir. I spoke to the captain of the militia. They have been called to the fort. The captain was ordered to round up stragglers and report at once. The captain sent his men ahead, but he wasn't in any particular hurry to join them. The port has been closed until further notice. No ships are to approach the fort for any reason. What should we do, Mr. Henthorne? Do you want us to unload the steamer?” As though already weary, Campbell leaned his shoulder against a post.

“Give me a minute to think,” Jackson said. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he walked from one end of the cotton warehouse to the other.
If the port is closed, how can I sell the contents of the
Lady Adelaine
to the highest bidder? And how can the
Roanoke
return with its profits, along with a cargo of war materials? But ships blown to pieces won't do me much good either.

By the time he walked back to Campbell, a plan had taken shape. “Complete the departure manifest. Then handpick eight or nine of your most reliable workers. Make sure they are sober men whose families can spare them for days at a time. Can
you
be spared at home to accept a new position for me, Mr. Campbell? I'm willing to double your salary.”

The foreman nodded eagerly. “Our daughter is married and living in Beaufort. Our son is with Joe Johnston somewhere west of here, and my wife can fend for herself. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Yankees are getting too close. Even if our army protects Wilmington, I don't trust the unsavory lot hanging by the docks, not after my experience with Captain Hornsby. I plan to instruct Captain Russell to sail the
Lady Adelaine
downriver about twelve miles. There is a hidden inlet that maintains deep enough water even at low tide. I'll have him drop anchor there and wait this out. Everyone seems to think the Yankees are itching for a fight and our Colonel Lamb will give it to them.”

Campbell pulled on his ear, deep in thought. “Do you want Captain Russell to stay on the ship indefinitely?”

“Of course not. That's why I need you. I'll send a carriage to bring the captain back to town. You and several others will stand guard for three or four days at the time. Then trade off with the other half of your men. Tell them I'll pay their full wages for half the work as long as they keep their mouths shut regarding the inlet's location.”

Campbell smiled. “I don't think too many will argue 'bout that.”

“As I said, I'll pay you twice your normal amount and give you Sundays off.”

“That's mighty generous, Mr. Henthorne. Your wages have always been more than fair.”

“I need a man I can trust, Campbell. My entire fortune is tied up in my vessels. I am ruined if I lose those steamships.”

“Nothing will happen to the
Lady Adelaine
, not with me in charge.”

“I'm indebted to you, sir.” Impetuously, Jackson extended his hand.

Campbell looked at it for a moment in stunned silence before brushing his palm down his shirt and then shaking heartily. “You won't be sorry you put your trust in me.”

Fifteen

January 1, 1865

A
manda began the New Year resolved to avoid duplicitous behavior. Tradition called for resolutions—changes—to a person's mind-set along with the avoidance of certain habits that threatened a person's well-being in this life and perhaps hampered their chances of obtaining the hereafter. She started down this fresh path by avoiding the Stewarts' gala on New Year's Eve. The last thing she wanted was to don a voluminous ball gown and cumbersome hoop and then mingle with people who found her oddly unsociable. She was oddly unsociable.

Although Jackson promised to stop foisting her on Wilmington bachelors, she had no desire to waltz with aging widowers or young men still learning to dance. And conversations with the overdressed, overly made-up female guests would be no better. Even the kindhearted matrons couldn't resist asking: “How is your storekeeper faring these days?”

Why did people insist on identifying a person by their vocation,
as though how someone made his living determined his worth as a man? Yet, back at home in England she had done the same thing. A nobleman, even a desperately poor one, was worthy of her time and attention, whereas the gardener or milk delivery man or lamplighter on the street wouldn't warrant the briefest of hellos.

America was the land of opportunity, and Amanda yearned for a clean slate. So she remained home during the two-day affair hosted by the Stewarts. She spent a quiet evening with Helene, Salome, Amos, and the few slaves who hadn't run off while the Henthornes were in the country.

Word of a possible invasion of Union troops had frightened both slaves and free people of color. Slaves didn't fully understand the Yankees' intentions. And along with the freemen, many feared the army would burn their homes and kill their chickens. Exaggerated tales of General Sherman's exploits in South Carolina and Georgia had spread all the way to Wilmington.

Amanda ate supper at the massive trestle table in the subterranean kitchen with the others. Afterward, on a surprisingly mild evening, Amos played a lively tune on his fiddle for those inclined to dance. Even Helene lifted her skirts with one hand and tried to duplicate Salome's footwork, while Amanda clapped her hands to keep the rhythm. Anything to keep her mind off Nate. Where was he on this breezy, cloudless night? Had he safely reached Fort Fisher, or had he been shot by sharpshooters from the same army he intended to join?

That New Year's morning, as soon as the sun rose over the rooflines, Amanda penned a long overdue letter to her mother and a second to Charles Pelton
.
Although she frequently sent details regarding cotton headed to Liverpool and Manchester, this letter contained a different type of instructions to the man in charge in her absence.

“Ah, you're up bright and early this holiday morn.” Helene bustled into the room with a tray containing Amanda's carafe of coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. After opening the drapes and making the bed, she headed for the door.

“Stay, Helene. Have a pastry with me so we can talk.” Amanda gestured toward the small table by the window.

Helene glanced at the doorway. “I don't know if that's wise, Miss Amanda…”

“It will be late afternoon at the earliest before the Henthornes return. If Abigail is feeling well, they may drive straight on to Oakdale. We may not see them until the weekend.”

“That's good to hear. Tell me what has you so industrious this morning.” Helene sat down and took the smallest pastry from the tray.

“I have written a list of changes to be implemented at Dunn Mills.”

Helene arched one delicate eyebrow. “Regarding how garments are to be made?”

Amanda snickered. “Goodness, no. I have no knowledge of manufacturing. These are changes within the village of Wycleft.” Picking up the letter, she blew lightly on the damp ink. “I want a local school for the mill children so they won't have to travel to the next town. Mr. Pelton is to advertise and then hire a headmaster. We'll use the church hall until a facility can be built. Attending school should be encouraged until age sixteen but mandatory until children are fourteen. A father's wages will be adjusted to prevent hardship from the loss of income if his children are absent from the mill due to obtaining an education.” She picked up her coffee cup and sipped daintily.