“The girl has gone to Niagara? Why did you not stop her? I leave you in charge of this household, woman, and you let this happen?” As Annie’s husband spoke, he took his soup spoon and threw it at the wall of the dining-room, narrowly missing her head.
Annie knew that all the servants would hear her husband’s outburst. She had just told him about the note Anne left for her with Lucy. Already her young granddaughters were crying, and Eliza and Mary had risen from their chairs as if to restrain him.
“What was I to do, husband? I had no idea she had left the house until I read the note.”
“Get that slut of a maid up here right away. I must ask her some questions.”
Annie rose and pressed the button on the mantel. She could hear the bell ringing belowstairs. In a minute Lucy appeared in the doorway, her face pale. She seemed to sense that an interrogation was coming her way.
“My daughter gave you a note,” William said. “We know from it that she was going to Niagara. Did she tell you how she would get there?”
“I know nothing about her plans, sir. She merely gave me the note and I delivered it to Madam as I was instructed.”
“What I really need to know,” William said to Annie, “is how she thought she would get to Niagara at this time in the year. There are no ships on the lake now and no proper roads. How the devil—”
He broke off and turned again to Lucy. “How was she dressed?”
Annie noticed the girl’s trembling hands and the blush that rose to her cheeks. “In her usual garb, sir.”
“And what does that mean? For God’s sake, give me the details.”
“From what I can recall, sir, she wore her heavy green redingote with cape collars. I did not really notice, sir.”
“Get out, get out. You are as much use to me as—”
Annie knew that “tits on a bull” would come next. But Lucy had already fled from the room, so they were all spared the phrase William had been about to dump on them.
But now the man focused his attention on her. “I must see the note,” he said.
“I threw it into the fire. I was upset.”
That was a lie. She had locked it into the secret drawer of her bureau, and there it would stay for her eyes only. Her husband must not know the full contents of that letter Anne had written. In it, she said that she intended to go by horseback—yes, by horseback—to Niagara and that she was hiring someone by the name of Jacques Vallière to go with her, following some Ojibway trail or other along the lake. Who was this Vallière person and how was she to find money to hire him?
All this must, of course, be kept a secret from her husband. It was possible that she could be successful in hiding these unpleasant facts. But what she still feared was that William would discover some of his clothes were missing from the wardrobe in his bedchamber. Anne had written she intended to dress in men’s clothing for the long ride. She said she had no thought of riding side-saddle as “women of propriety” did. She had actually underlined that phrase. “To ride as a man would is necessary,” Anne wrote, “and to that end I have donned Papa’s buckskin pantaloons, his wool claw-hammer coat with wide pleats, and I have stuffed papers inside the toes of a pair of his boots.”
Another thought came to Annie. Anne must have been wearing her father’s clothes when she left the house. Surely Lucy must have noticed this garb. Why had she lied? Or was it possible that Anne had taken her father’s clothes in a portmanteau and dressed at this Vallière’s abode? The impropriety of it all made her tremble with rage and fright. But of one thing she was determined. Her husband must not know the full extent of Anne’s misbehaviour.
Aloud she said, “Let us finish our meal, husband. The girls are upset, as you can see, and nothing is to be gained by further discussion of Anne’s absence. After supper you and I will retire to the parlour and see what can be done.”
There was a great sigh from William. But Annie could see that, upset as he was, he was hungry. Food was always important to the man. “You are right,” he said. “Let us finish the meal.”
So the Brunswick stew was placed before them and removed, with only her husband able to eat more than a mouthful. Then came the gingerbread with rum sauce, one of Eliza and Mary’s favourite desserts, but even that went largely untouched. At last her granddaughters and daughters retired to their bedchambers, and she and William moved into the parlour.
“Now, husband, let us discuss this like rational beings. Anne has gone to Niagara—as she said in her note—to see that John and his wife and child are safe. Surely you cannot be angry with her for that wisdom.” Annie motioned him to sit in his favourite chair in front of the roaring fire that sent its warmth through the room and, she hoped, into the cold heart of his wrath.
“It’s how she did it. Sneaking off when no one was looking. Not telling us how she planned to travel. Leaving us here to worry about her welfare. It’s all so, so. . . ” William was clearly still angry, but now he drifted off in mid-sentence while he poured himself a glass of sherry from the decanter on the Pembroke table beside his chair. That was a good sign.
Annie made a quick decision. While he was thus distracted from his main grievances, she would tell him some good news: about what she had observed yesterday afternoon as she watched John Beverley Robinson and her daughter in intimate conversation as they came up the walk to the front door. “I think something may be developing between those two. They certainly had eyes only for each other.”
“Well, that at least is good to hear. But what led to all this? Why was Robinson walking with her?”
Oh my God, time for another lie! “I know only that he came to the front door today to ask for Anne’s help. His sister had an illness of some sort. I know that she spent the day at the Boultons’ residence and that she provided some excellent care for Mrs. Boulton.”
“Hm. Hm.” William downed his sherry and poured himself a second glass. “Well, that all sounds good. But they had better settle things soon. I’m sending Robinson to England to work on further legal studies so that he can be called to the bar there. He’s been a worthy Attorney-General in these months of turmoil with the Yankees, but now he needs a leave of absence to improve his credentials.”
Annie forced herself to make encouraging noises as William talked on and on about Robinson’s future. They had deviated from the subject of Anne’s removal to Niagara, and for these moments at least she could keep her husband’s focus from his daughter’s departure. Then, as soon as she was alone, she could summon Lucy for a private talk and find out exactly what the girl knew.
William rose from his chair. “Bedtime,” he said. “I cannot waste more discussion this evening on my daughter’s silliness. Tomorrow we shall get to the truth of where she is and what she is doing. I shall send my clerk about the town to see if any information can be discreetly revealed to me. One thing I know, we must get her married to Robinson and out of this household at once and for all time.”
As he moved towards the staircase, he stopped and turned to her. “It’s damned cold in this hall. And cold outside, too. Have the girl Lucy get out my wool claw-hammer coat for the morning. She can come up to my wardrobe now and see to it.”
How in tarnation am I to cope with all this! “Not that coat, husband. It’s too short. The weather will be very cold tomorrow. I’ll have her get out your long coat with the high collar and shoulder capes. That will keep you comfortable.”
“Very well. Just make sure that it is here on the coat rack when I need it in the morning. Good night.”
She pressed the button that summoned Lucy. When the servant stood before her, she passed on her husband’s instructions. When Lucy came downstairs with the coat, Annie waited while she hung it on the rack. Then, when Lucy turned around, she moved close, took the girl’s hands in hers, squeezed them hard enough to hurt the slut, and said in an undertone. “And now you must tell me the truth about my daughter. I cannot tolerate your lies. Who is this man Vallière? Where did she get this horse she talked about in her note? Out with it.”
“I know nothing about Miss Powell’s plans, ma’am. You must believe me.” She tried to pull her hands away, but Annie held them in a tight grip.
“You are lying, girl. Tell me the truth or you leave this house tomorrow.”
“I can say nothing more, ma’am. I have told the truth. Please. Please.” She began to cry.
Perhaps the girl was telling the truth. What was she to do? At any rate, if she carried out her threat of dismissal, how was she to find another servant in this town?
“Go,” she said. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. But get out of my sight tonight. I have had enough for one day.”