The Mistress of Tall Acre (39 page)

Benumbed, Sophie spent the rest of the morning in the stillroom, trying to plan the physic garden, a replica of Seamus’s mother’s in its heyday. Sitting on her worn stool, she tilled and planted the fertile acreage in her mind, counting seeds, all the while wondering where Seamus was.

High above, the roof was half shingled. The din of hammers stole her concentration and lent to her aching head. Setting aside her seeds, she opened the housekeeping book, gaze landing on a receipt that said
Mistress Ogilvy’s Water.
In the margin, Seamus’s mother had written, “John’s favorite scent.” Made up of thirty-three herbs and flowers, the concoction was distilled in white wine.

Never had she so needed the stout, soft-spoken Cornish woman who’d been Lilias Ogilvy. What would the former mistress of Tall Acre say or do about her granddaughter’s disappearance? What would she concoct to soothe her son’s bleeding hands and heart?

Early Hall raised a hundred questions she couldn’t answer. Why had Seamus gone there? Would she ever know? Was it simply to give vent to his blinding fury? Or did some secret knowledge of Anne and Tobias Early account for every shard of shattered glass?

As the needs of the day closed in, she met them as best she could. Two children in the quarters were down with croup and needed camphor and hartshorn. The child sickest with worms had recovered, thanks to prayer and constant nursing, but another child had fallen from the dovecote and broken his arm. The wants never seemed to end.

Basket on one arm, Sophie left the sanctuary of the stillroom and headed down the shell path to the spinning house. She’d timed her visit carefully. ’Twas the noon hour and dinnertime. She didn’t want to interrupt the workday. Riggs didn’t like it, and what’s more, Seamus didn’t like it.

She entered the building, her practiced calm eroding at Myrtilla’s frown. They were alone in the large room, the silence thick.

“I’ve come to see how things are faring here.”

Myrtilla stood by her idle wheel. “The weaver’s turnin’ out a fair amount of woolen cloth and linsey. I’m trainin’ a tenth woman to spin.” Her chin tipped up, eyes dark with discontent. “Molly’s been raisin’ a ruckus again, just so you knows.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve sent her to the laundry.” Done with Molly’s quarrelsomeness, Sophie moved on to other matters. “I’d like you to bring all the children to the small parlor to be measured for new clothes. This afternoon would work best, if you can manage it.”

“To the house?” Myrtilla’s dark hands caressed the distaff of the spinning wheel. “Mistress Anne never did abide any slave children near at hand.”

“Well, I’m not Mistress Anne, nor are there any more slaves here at Tall Acre.”

Myrtilla’s gaze sharpened. “Word is the general freed us on account o’ you. Makes me wonder why.”

Sophie set her basket on a near table. “I simply mean for you to live as the general and the good Lord intend, as a free woman, with all the rights and privileges that brings.”

“I may spin fine, but I can’t read nor write. Riggs says a body ain’t worth much without such.”

“Would you care to learn? You and Jenny?” For the first time since they’d met, Sophie sensed some common ground. “As a free woman, you have that right.”

Myrtilla’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits, snuffing Sophie’s hopes. Had Myrtilla been so impudent with Anne? With Seamus she was docility itself.

Sophie tried again. “There was a woman in Williamsburg, a friend of my mother’s, who founded the Bray School. She taught enslaved and free children before the war. We might do the same here.”

Myrtilla started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut. The other spinners were coming in, ready to resume work, all giving Sophie a respectful greeting. Without waiting for Myrtilla’s answer, Sophie left to finish her rounds, thoughts of Seamus as heavy as the iron keys in her pocket. Another hour inched past as she emptied her basket, dispensing tonics and advice, speaking with servants who bore none of Myrtilla’s moodiness.

Bypassing the coach house, she paused briefly to look down the wide corridor that sheltered the Ogilvy conveyances. Anne’s riding chair was now at Three Chimneys. Out of sight if not out of mind.

She flinched as pewter clouds released a cold, stinging rain. The work on the roof had come to an abrupt halt as men scrambled down ladders and gathered up tools. Hugging her basket tighter, she hastened back to the house as a west wind began an uneasy rising.

Mrs. Lamont met her in the foyer. “The general has left for Williamsburg.”

Williamsburg. Again.

29

T
he gentle knock on his study door could be none other than Sophie.

Seamus did not answer. He was in no mood for company or questions after another fruitless week in Williamsburg. Sophie’s very presence drove home a great many things he wanted to forget. Lily Cate’s absence. His destruction at Early Hall. His rude treatment of her. He owed her an apology, but he felt bankrupt, nearly soulless, consumed by stark, embittered fury and a deep, never-ending need for his daughter. He turned his back on the door and focused on the storm beyond the windows.

“Seamus?” Her soft call was nearly lost beneath the patter of rain. She came in unasked, further fraying his loose ends.

He faced her, noting the strain in her features, the sleepless nights and weeping he wasn’t privy to. Her careful entreaty tore at his forced composure. “Is there any news?”

His own throat ached. “Nay.” Tears glazed her eyes, turning him more on edge. With an effort, he took control. “What is it, Sophie?”

Her voice was nearly lost beneath the rumble of thunder. “I’d like to reopen Tall Acre’s schoolhouse. Teach Jenny and whoever else wants to learn to read and write.”

He listened grudgingly. She was trying to bury her hurt beneath a blur of work. He couldn’t fault her. Was he not doing the same—losing himself, or trying to, shutting their circumstances out? “Don’t you have enough to do?”

Was it his imagination, or did she almost wince at his harsh tone? “I—’tis important to keep busy, to not think . . .” She paused, hands coming together over her heart in a gesture that only wrenched him further. “The schoolhouse might give me some measure of peace.”

He looked away, glad of her request if only because it made room for his own. “Now seems a good time to tell you I’m considering taking part in the Virginia Assembly.”

“The Assembly?”

“Aye, there’s much that needs to be done. I’ll be away in the capital much of the time when I’m not in Williamsburg.” He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He rarely drank this early, but lately it seemed the only thing he could stomach. “The states are bickering for power, and Congress is considering a new constitution. Meanwhile Britain is laughing at us as we conquer ourselves with petty rivalries and jealousies.” He took a fiery swallow. “All this leaves me wondering what we fought for in the first place.”

“Do you have political ambitions then?” There was an odd edge to her voice he’d not heard before. He welcomed it. Anger was far preferable to tears. “Is your being general not enough, Seamus?”

He shrugged, a cold callousness taking over. “Away from Tall Acre, I might forget for a time, be of benefit elsewhere. You just said as much yourself.”

“What will be next? Attorney general? Governor of Virginia?”

He lit a second taper as thunder rolled and the room grew darker. “Why are you so opposed?”

“My father’s politics were our undoing. I hardly see you now. I would be a political widow then.”

His hand shook as he moved the taper nearer. “So you want more of me, Sophie?” The once tender question, now phrased bitterly, brought a crimson stain to her cheeks.

He sensed she was thinking of the man she loved. He certainly was. He’d racked his brain for a name, a neighbor, someone who might be the one. Like a splinter, the wondering lodged inside him, painful and distracting, compounding the hurt of losing Lily Cate. Making him feel an unfit husband as well as father.

“You have free rein to hold your school if you want to,” he said evenly. “I’ll be in Richmond and Williamsburg for the most part. Riggs will oversee things in my absence just as he did during the war.” He set the empty glass down. “I suppose the matter is settled.”

Only it wasn’t settled. He read the questions in her eyes, even though she’d retreated into a tear-stained silence.
Have you given up on Lily Cate? Is that why you’re leaving, Seamus? Will you make a life without her? Without Tall Acre? Can you really outrun the pain?
In truth, Richmond and the Virginia Assembly were the farthest things from his mind.

She hugged her arms to her chest as if chilled. “When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow morn.” He sat back down at his desk, bringing an end to the conversation. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

The next morning Sophie kept to her bedchamber, determined to avoid Seamus’s leaving lest she come apart completely. A quick look out the window told her what she had no wish to know. Through the shimmer of the rising sun, she saw his silhouette as he turned in the family graveyard beneath the oak grove. He went more often of late, though he never stayed long. There was simply too much to do at Tall Acre.

Her emotions were so worn, so sore, she simply sat amidst the pungent company of dried herbs and flowers, wishing for something to ease her heart. His heart. The distance between them had never been greater. Had she only dreamed those tender words and Sabbath kisses, half-stolen bits of heaven, before everything came crashing down?

His leaving, this sudden political bent, seemed an outright rejection of her. Yet despite the heartache of Lily Cate, he was still her husband. Her hero. The man she loved. How would she find her way back to him?

The following days loomed long and lonesome. In Seamus’s absence, she began meeting with Riggs and Mrs. Lamont, but it was no substitute for the master of Tall Acre. Questions that only he could answer were put to her, and she found herself growing wearier. Not even prayer seemed to sustain her.

“You must eat, Mistress Ogilvy,” Mrs. Lamont urged at nearly every meal.

But Sophie had no heart for anything with a husband and child both missing.

“We’ve searched for weeks, sir, and have exhausted all leads.”

Seamus stared at the sheriff, thinking how no amount of money or begging would sway him. The case was no longer paramount. Other, more pressing matters awaited. Seamus didn’t blame him. But he couldn’t rest.

“Then I’ll hire another search party. Go over the ground we’ve covered once more. Take out further notices in the papers.”

The sheriff nodded. “I understand, sir. ’Tis not easy to move on with a child missing. We’ve done all we can and questioned the Fitzhughs repeatedly. They maintain their innocence, and oddly enough, I believe them. Till something more is uncovered, there’s little to be done.”

Truly, there was little left to do but return home once he’d finished in Richmond. He rode south without any sense of direction or purpose, letting Vulcan take the lead. When Tall Acre came into view, he felt nothing, the pride and pleasure it had once wrought now a memory. Thirsty and winded, he took a side alley to the stables, glad the staff were at supper. The familiarity of hay-strewn stalls, the tack on the walls, and the nickering of his favorite horses were hollow, holding none of the welcome of before.