The Last Heiress (37 page)

“A bonnie idea, especially about the new school. 'Tis a tragedy for lads and lasses to be illiterate in this day and age.”

“That's not all. Mr. Pelton is to hire a doctor, perhaps a young
man fresh from university, who wishes to establish a new practice. The doctor's fees will be paid by Dunn Mills and not borne by the workers. A generous yearly stipend will be agreed upon when the doctor is hired.”

“My, these are bold changes, Miss Amanda. Don't you want to wait until you discuss them with your mother?”

“No, I do not.” Amanda bit into a cream-filled pastry. “Mama knows nothing about living conditions in Wycleft, and I doubt she would care if she did. According to papers sent me by Papa's solicitor, I am in charge.”

“I commend your progressive thinking, ma'am.”

“At least it's a start. When I see for myself how much of Nate's assertions are true, I will institute additional improvements.”

“I suspected your Mr. Cooper might somehow be involved with this. The citizens of Wycleft will owe their improved lot to a shopkeeper in North Carolina—one they will never meet.”

Amanda smiled at the idea of
her
Mr. Cooper. Then the image of him dressed in a faded butternut uniform caused her chest to constrict. “Perhaps Nate will visit my home one day and offer suggestions, but this will get Pelton moving in the meantime.” She inserted the letter in an envelope and sealed it with a drop of wax. “I have written to my mother as well. You will deliver both upon your arrival in England.”

Helene set down her sweet roll in surprise. “Upon
my
arrival? Where will you be?”

“Right here in Wilmington, waiting for Nate to come home.” Amanda swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry.

“But you told Mrs. Henthorne that he left to fight for the Confederacy. The war could last months or even years more—”

“I can't be in England while he may lie wounded and languishing in some hospital without someone to care for him.”

“What could you do, Miss Amanda? You're not a trained nurse,
and you cannot search the battlefield for him.” Helene shivered visibly before refilling Amanda's cup. “Wait to hear from him in the comfort of your home.”

“I have made up my mind to stay, but
you
will not. Thomas will take us to the train station tomorrow. I've made inquiries regarding which rail lines are still functional. We shall travel to Richmond together, where I'll see you safely into territory controlled by the Yankees. I won't leave your side until you're safely on a train to Washington.”

“Washington? What will I do there by myself?”

“You will book passage on the next steamer to England. No gunboats will prevent ships from leaving the nation's capital. With proper English documents, no one will deny you passage.”

“What should I tell your mother? Mrs. Dunn will be incensed if you don't return with me.”

“I explained everything in my letter to her, at least as much as I know now. She won't like it, but I'm a grown woman with plans to follow my heart.”

“Like Miss Abigail,” murmured Helene.

“Yes, I suppose so, but I never thought I would admit it.” She placed a third envelope next to Helene's plate. “This contains traveling money along with your next six months' wages.”

The maid shook her head. “I can't take money I haven't earned.”

“You
have
earned it by accompanying me to a strange land. This will support you until you find another position.”

Helene glanced around the lavish suite. “I suppose America has much to recommend it. If only circumstances were different here…”

“It is splendid to hear you say so! Perhaps one day you'll return for a visit, if and when Nate and I marry and make our home here. But rest assured, Helene. Our circumstances will be vastly different than the Henthornes.” Just uttering those words gave Amanda a jolt of courage.

Impulsively, Helene hugged her for a brief moment. “I shall miss you.” A tear slipped beneath her lashes.

“And I, you. Now go collect your things while I will pack a bag for a few nights. There's no telling how long it will take to get you back to the United States instead of the Confederate States of America. I'm hoping January will be mild this year.”

Helene bobbed her head and went into the alcove to pack. Suddenly the prospect of returning to Red Rose County banished her worries over rough water or seasickness.

Amanda wished she could feel so optimistically about the future. She had no doubts regarding Nate's integrity. It was the mind-set of the Union army that kept her pacing until the wee hours of morning. When sleep refused to come, Amanda penned a note, brief and to the point, to her sister.

Abby, I've gone to Washington to see Helene safely past the Union blockade. She will sail for England but I will return to Wilmington. My fate is irrevocably tied to the outcome of this war, the same as yours.

With fond regards, Amanda

“Frankly, I don't understand you, Abigail,” Jackson said as he thumped on the ceiling of the carriage to signal the coachman. When the carriage started to roll, he turned toward her on the seat. “You insisted on remaining another day after the New Year's brunch because you felt better than you had all winter.”

“Rosalyn graciously asked us to stay, and it had been ever so long since we visited…”

“Yes, I understand that. But when I suggested we go straight to the plantation to extend the holiday with my parents, your stomach suddenly felt queasy.” He tried not to sound as peevish as he felt.

Abigail remained quiet for half a minute before responding. “I believe your mother upsets my constitution.” She giggled behind her fan.

Jackson fought the urge to laugh. “I'm not sure I like your new forthright manner of speech. Is this your twin's influence after the last nine months?”

“Perhaps so. We can't help but affect each other, even though we attempt to remain autonomous.”

“How do you affect Amanda?”

“I've observed that she's less judgmental of those not sharing her opinions.”

“I don't see much improvement in that regard, but I appreciated her news about the river channel. That could have been ruination for me.”

“My point exactly. If she stays in Wilmington long enough, I predict you two shall become fast friends.” Abigail lifted her fan to cover her face.

“Pigs will fly first.” Jackson thumped again on the ceiling as they turned onto Third Street.

The footman stuck his head in the window. “Yes, Master Henthorne?”

“Tell Thomas to stop at the front hitching block. I'm going to town after I see Mrs. Henthorne inside.”

When the footman had withdrawn his head, Abigail said, “Must you, Jackson? I so yearned for us to have a quiet evening by the fire.”

He kissed the back of her gloved fingers. “I won't be long, my dear. Then we'll have our evening together. I need to talk to Mr. Peterson while he's in town. He should be informed of the situation with the
Lady Adelaine
and the
Roanoke
.”

Abigail issued an unladylike snort. “Business, business. I'll be glad when this war is over and life returns to normal. I liked you better the way you were before—mildly slothful.”

He looked twice to make sure the right Dunn sister was sitting beside him. Once they were inside the house, Jackson helped Abigail to her favorite settee under the window. After tucking her up in a quilt and summoning a pot of tea, he returned to the carriage for the ride to Wilmington's best hotel. If truth be told, he was as eager for a quiet evening at home as she was.

“Why have you provided a bell if no one intends to respond?” Jackson chastised the Kendall House clerk. It had taken three rings before the man emerged from the back room.

“Begging your pardon, sir. How can I help you tonight?” The clerk sounded appropriately contrite.

“Kindly let Mr. Peterson know Mr. Henthorne is here and wishes to speak with him. I'll wait in the gentlemen's parlor.” Jackson hooked his thumb toward a masculine lounge, thick with blue cigar smoke even at this early hour.

“Mr. Peterson, did you say, sir?” The clerk's thin face paled considerably.

“Yes, Mr. Robert Peterson. Step lively. I don't have all night.”

“Uh…please allow me to get the manager, sir.” Before Jackson could protest, the clerk disappeared into the private office.

Moments later a distinguished white-haired man appeared with a somber expression. “Mr. Henthorne, a pleasure to see you,
sir. I regret to be the bearer of bad news. We sent word to your home after finding your name on several papers in Mr. Peterson's possession. Your butler indicated you were gone for the holiday and wouldn't return for several days.”

Jackson bit back a caustic retort as a wave of panic burned inside his belly. “I stand before you now. Perhaps you can convey the news without further delay?”

The manager swabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. “Mr. Peterson checked in on the thirty-first to enjoy the festivities at the club. He left instructions not to be disturbed the next morning. We assumed he wished to sleep late. When a maid checked his room that evening, she found him unresponsive in his chair. She informed me, and I summoned the doctor and the mayor. Because the militia has been called to the fort, we have few civil authorities in town.” He dropped his voice to a whisper as though pillagers might soon descend on his hotel.

Jackson braced his palms on the counter. “What exactly do you mean by ‘unresponsive'?”

“Dead, sir. Mr. Peterson is dead. The doctor believes that bout of swamp fever weakened his heart and it simply gave out.”

“He's
dead
?” Jackson's exclamation revealed his inability to comprehend the manager's words. “Swamp fever?”

“Certainly you knew he was very sick last fall while in the backwater counties. The miasma has taken many men to an early grave.”

“Those papers you found…are the ledgers and contracts still in his room?” Jackson felt sudden beads of sweat run down his temples.

The manager's demeanor cooled. “They were gathered into a satchel along with Mr. Peterson's personal effects to await the arrival of his family. I understand he had a brother living abroad.”

“That's right, Steven Peterson, who is in Bermuda.”

“Yes, sir. I believe that's where we sent notification.”

“I was in partnership with both brothers. I demand to see those papers to ascertain what provisions were made in case the unthinkable transpired…” Jackson knew he was rambling almost incoherently, but the demise of Mr. Peterson had discombobulated him.

The manager splayed his hands on the counter. “This sounds like a matter for your attorney, Mr. Henthorne, and perhaps a court of law. I will keep the gentleman's possessions secure pending the arrival of his brother or an order from the court.”

Jackson grabbed hold of the man's lapels. “You self-important little— My entire fortune is in jeopardy!”

The manager shrugged away, incensed. “That will be the case for everyone if the war doesn't end soon. Good day to you, sir!” He stomped into his office and closed the door, leaving Jackson alone and shaking in the lobby.