20
DeMornay stood in the doorway between the butlery and the salon.
Aurelia had frozen at her daughter’s side, her expression hard as stone. Catherine tried to take it all in even while panic knotted her stomach. DeMornay had returned, and he was not pleased.
The plantation manager’s boots clattered across the salon. “What happened here?”
Catherine secretly motioned for Tom to leave.
He did not move.
Angel began to sob again, and Aurelia buried her daughter’s face against her shoulder. She backed away, still holding Angel. “Gots to get de food on de table.”
Fear clearly gripped Aurelia just as it did her daughter.
“Who broke my teapot?” DeMornay demanded.
“Your teapot?” The arrogance set off Catherine’s temper. Her response also gave Aurelia time to hurry her daughter from the room. “It is more mine than yours. I am a Lafreniere. You are not.”
She saw the corner of Tom’s mouth inch upward, and confidence rushed in. She was much more an owner than DeMornay ever would be. He was only a servant.
DeMornay scowled briefly before recovering that calm facade. “A matter of semantics. I am looking out for your best interests, dear Catherine.”
The emphasis infuriated her. “I can look out for my own interests. This was an accident.” She waved at the broken tea service.
DeMornay tugged off his leather gloves. “Are you going to introduce me to your other friend?”
The smile might lead a stranger to believe he was genuinely interested in meeting Rourke, but Catherine could sense an undercurrent of anger beneath the placid surface. DeMornay did not welcome uninvited guests.
She took a deep breath, hoping to still her racing heart. “This is Captain Rourke O’Malley from Key West.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” The handshake appeared firm. “You are here to bring Mr. Worthington home.”
Not a question. A statement.
“If he wishes to leave,” Rourke replied without the slightest indication he was ill at ease.
Catherine glanced at Tom’s rigid expression. Her heart leapt. He was here for her. They both were. Tom had asked her to go with him last night. She had refused at the time, but now she would gladly accept transport to the city. Then she could settle the matter of inheritance once and for all.
“Tom is in my employ,” Rourke was saying, “but he will make his own decisions.”
Tom glared at DeMornay, as if by doing so he could force the man to admit he had stolen Tom’s father’s ship. He must have known how impossible that was. DeMornay was as closed as a secure safe.
“You may leave now,” DeMornay said in a low voice.
“No.” Catherine addressed all of them at once. “Rourke and Tom are my guests. We will dine on the gallery.” She cast a triumphant smirk at DeMornay. “Let no visitor say Black Oak plantation treated them without the utmost courtesy. Gentlemen, you may join me while Mr. DeMornay changes into something fresher.”
She saw Tom’s eyebrows lift in surprise and a flash of admiration cross his face. So, she had impressed him. Catherine smiled to herself as she led Rourke and Tom back to the gallery. She had not commanded such a presence except during her father’s illness. It felt good to be in control again. When DeMornay reluctantly retreated to his quarters, she wanted to shout for joy.
Instead, she directed the men to the table. This time she placed Rourke and Tom on the same side. DeMornay always sat at the head of the table. Today she selected that seat.
“Do you think Aurelia is Elizabeth’s mammy?” Tom whispered to Rourke after they sat.
“No. I knew the woman well. Though ten years can change a person, this woman could not be her. The stature and coloring don’t fit.”
That settled the question niggling Catherine since Key West.
Rourke leaned closer to her. “We don’t have much time. If you want to return to Key West with us, let us know now.”
“Return to Key West?” Though her heart longed for just that, she couldn’t leave until she knew if she owned part of Black Oak.
“But you must,” Tom hissed. “Can’t you see what that man is doing?”
“Of course, but I can’t leave Louisiana yet. I would be grateful if you would take me to the city, though.” She would have to give up on finding the sale document for now.
Rourke looked into her eyes. “When?”
“At your earliest convenience.”
“Then after that you will go home with us.” The hope in Tom’s voice almost broke her heart.
She shook her head. “Not yet. Not until I know if Black Oak is mine.” She lowered her voice as a thought occurred. “But Aurelia and her children . . . perhaps they could go to Key West with you.”
Concern etched deep lines in Rourke’s face. “For an enslaved Negro to set foot on Key West soil, the owner must show proper papers.”
“I could free them.”
“You have that authority?” Tom asked.
“I do.” She hoped.
Rourke shook his head. “No free colored people are allowed ashore.”
Catherine didn’t understand. “Even Anabelle’s husband?”
“He established residence before that law was enforced.” Rourke’s expression betrayed his dismay with the regulation. “Even if that were not the case, we couldn’t get out of New Orleans without the owner and papers aboard. Otherwise we would be accused of slave trading.”
Catherine knew nothing of American laws. “That is not allowed, then?”
“It is not. If caught, the ship would be seized, and we would all face prison.”
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. Was there no way to help Aurelia and her children? She took a deep breath. It was the only way. “Will you stay until I have those papers?”
Rourke did not answer at once. “I have a business, a wife, and children.”
“I ask too much. Forgive me. There will be another way.”
Catherine knew where that would lead, yet she had no other choice. “And bring me back here when they have been delivered?”
Tom’s expression grew black. “Back here? Why? Because of him?” He waved toward the back of the house. “Can’t you see who he is?”
“Who am I?” DeMornay glided onto the gallery with clean trousers and frock coat, his hair neatly combed.
Catherine quaked. How much had he overheard?
No one spoke.
DeMornay stared at Catherine just long enough to send a shiver of fear up her spine. Leave while you can, Aurelia had begged her. Everyone echoed that sentiment, yet she could not let go of the hope of resurrecting Maman’s beloved home.
She extended an arm toward the empty side of the table. “Please join us, Mr. DeMornay.”
If menace could be delivered in the scrape of a chair’s legs, every person at that table heard it.
Tom could barely focus on the conversation during the meal. That portrait above the fireplace must be the one Catherine had lugged across the Atlantic. Her mother. It hadn’t been there the last time he was in the parlor. She was settling in. How would he ever convince her to leave?
DeMornay fawned over Catherine and seized control of the conversation as if he owned the plantation. She held her tongue, but he could see the temper building in her fiery eyes. Catherine Haynes now believed that she was the mistress of the house and DeMornay was merely an employee.
In truth she had little real power. She did not understand DeMornay’s capacity for deception. Pa had considered himself a fine judge of character, but he didn’t spot the man’s duplicity. DeMornay had left Pa for dead far out to sea without food or water. Only the grace of God had sent the ship’s boat ashore before Pa perished. What would DeMornay do to Catherine?
Tom fisted his hands beneath the table.
Even if she succeeded in claiming Black Oak and sent DeMornay away, Tom faced an intolerable separation. He could not stay. She would not leave. That fact clawed at his heart.
“We are making fine progress in the harvest,” DeMornay said, his gaze fixed on Catherine. “If the weather holds, we should finish in two weeks’ time.”
Though DeMornay spoke calmly, his eyes betrayed the storm within. He was angry, furious, and someone would pay. For a second Tom feared for Catherine, but DeMornay wouldn’t risk alienating her. Not until he was absolutely secure. No, someone else would pay. A servant, most likely.
A boy of perhaps ten brought the meal to the table. Aurelia never appeared.
While the others exchanged polite conversation about the harvest and the weather, Tom considered his dilemma. Could he stand to be a river pilot? Would anyone hire him?
Finally the inevitable question was posed.
“To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Mr. Worthington?” DeMornay reclined in his seat, running his finger around the rim of his bloodred wineglass. “I thought you left for Key West, yet here you are.”
Catherine looked stricken.
Tom stuck to the bare facts. “I saw Captain O’Malley in New Orleans before I secured passage. Since he is heading back that way, there was no reason to seek passage elsewhere.”
DeMornay knew he wasn’t telling him everything.
“Then, Captain, you sail soon for Key West?” DeMornay shifted his focus to Rourke.
“As soon as my business here is finished,” Rourke said smoothly, his expression so calm and confident that it appeared to shake DeMornay. “My wife would never forgive me if I didn’t pay a call on Miss Haynes.”
“Of course.” DeMornay took a deep draft of his wine. He then lifted the bottle. “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for some?”
“I don’t drink spirits any longer,” Rourke stated.
Tom echoed his words when DeMornay gave him the same offer.
DeMornay didn’t ask Catherine. He simply filled a glass and set it before her. She ignored it in favor of tea. By the end of the meal, her glass remained untouched.
“A pleasant repast, gentlemen.” DeMornay rose, signaling the end of the visit. “I have the accounts to manage. Catherine asked to learn, so I am planning to instruct her.” He cast a proprietary look her way.
Her smile seemed forced and fluttered away the moment he wasn’t looking. Something was very wrong.
Tom could not bear to leave her, yet he must. If she’d wanted to go with them, she could have done so. He and Rourke would have protected her with their lives. Instead, she gave a weak smile and waved farewell as they left.
Tom held his tongue until he and Rourke reached the river road. “Do you see what I mean?”
Rourke was frowning. “Something is wrong there. I could feel it.”
“Evil.”
Rourke nodded. “Perhaps. Certainly the man is hiding something.”
“Did you see the way the housekeeper acted? The child’s fear? The way everyone tiptoed around DeMornay? I must get Catherine away from him.”
Rourke gave him a long look. “Even if you have to give up your father’s ship?”
Tom choked on that thought. “Why should I have to give up the ship? Once I prove ownership, it’s mine, and I’ll sail it out of here.”
“If this DeMornay is the one who stole it, do you think he will sit idly by?”
Tom knew he wouldn’t.
“And if he was willing to cut your father adrift without food or water, wouldn’t he use whatever or whoever is at his disposal to defeat your claim?”
“Catherine.” The certainty sank into his soul. “That’s why he clings to her, why he’s trying to gain her trust.”
Rourke sighed. “Never underestimate the enemy.”
Tom had. But he couldn’t give up justice for his father.
“I will get both. There has to be a way.”
Catherine could feel DeMornay’s calm mask dissolve the moment Tom and Captain O’Malley disappeared down the long carriage drive.
“How dare you.”
The cold edge to his voice made her step away.
He grabbed her arm. “You aren’t going anywhere.” He yanked her into the house.
She pulled against him, but his grip only tightened until she cried out. “You’re hurting me.”
He didn’t loosen his grip. “You hurt me by assuming my place.”
“Your place?” She feigned ignorance, though she knew full well that taking the seat at the head of the table had offended him. “I am family.”
He pulled her close. “You claim to be a blood relation. It could all be a lie.”
This was the first time he had questioned her story. Considering everyone else’s doubts, DeMornay’s initial belief could only be explained if he’d known of her arrival and expected it.
“You did receive my letter. That’s why you weren’t surprised by my arrival.”
“Irrelevant. Anyone could write a letter claiming to be someone she isn’t.”
She could not draw a breath. His eyes, black as tar, sucked her into a pit. She clawed to get out. “My mother—”
“Lisette Lafreniere lies dead in the family crypt.”
“Her grave is in England.”
“Lies that no one will believe.”
“Her portrait—”
“It could be any woman. It certainly bears no resemblance to Henry Lafreniere, who, by the way, has never heard of you.” His grip on her arm tightened, and she cried out again. “Calling out will do you no good. No one will come to your aid.” He yanked her through the house.
“I don’t need to learn the accounts,” she managed to say through the throbbing pain.
He halted and shoved her against a wall. “From the start you’ve been trying to see the accounts. Why? So you know how much there is to steal?”
“No!”
“You are a thief and an interloper.”
“You’re wrong.” Ironically, those were exactly the accusations Tom had leveled against DeMornay. “I speak only the truth.”
His laughter rang cruel, and the pain shook her resolve. She stood alone against a man who was physically stronger than her. If only she had left with Tom. If only she’d listened to him. Instead, she had let him and Rourke walk away.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
“Understand one thing. You are a woman, and as such, you will never command Black Oak.” The ice in DeMornay’s voice chilled her to her toes.
She could not give up. She must stand strong for Maman and Aurelia and Angel and the others.
He shook her. “Understand?”
“Yes.” The weak word at least spared her from further abuse, for he let go of her arm. She cradled the throbbing limb, rubbing where he’d clenched her.
“That’s better.” His eyes glittered. “But it is not enough.”
“What?” she gasped.
“You must learn this lesson thoroughly. Someone must pay for your crimes.” He stepped to the back door and shouted across the yard, “Aurelia! Bring Angel.”
“The girl?” Catherine ran to him and clutched his arm, pleading. “She’s just a child.”
He shook her off.
Aurelia hurried across the yard, gaze cast down, dragging Angel behind her.
Catherine couldn’t breathe. Whatever happened, she could not let harm come to the girl. “Please, take out whatever punishment you must exact on me.”
Aurelia stopped at the base of the steps, Angel at her side. Both clasped their hands before them and did not look up.
“Oh, you will suffer.” DeMornay took Catherine by the hand this time, as if they were master and mistress of the household, and headed down the stairs.
At the bottom, he kissed her hand and then let go. It was all a charade. Everything he did was for his own purposes. Nothing was true. She backed out of his reach, conscious that Aurelia watched her every move.
DeMornay stood with his hands gripped behind his back, legs spread wide. “Rules were broken today. You know what happens when someone does not follow the rules.”
Catherine’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest.
DeMornay reached up to where a thick leather strap hung on the supporting column of the veranda. Below a handle, it was cut into long strips, terminated by metal rivets. He gripped the handle.
“Someone must pay.” His ominous words echoed through her head.
Those bits of metal would tear apart flesh. Catherine’s thoughts flashed to Jesus, who had endured terrible flogging and pain to bear the punishment that belonged to us. Belonged to her. Catherine had sinned, had let pride and covetousness govern her actions. Forgive me, Father. Though her limbs trembled in anticipation of pain, what was this in comparison to all Jesus had suffered?
Angel let out a sob before her mother silenced the little girl by pressing her against her hip.
“Don’t coddle her,” DeMornay growled. “It’s time the child learned discipline.”
Surely he would not harm a child.
Yet he stepped toward mother and child.
“No!” Catherine rushed forward, placing herself in front of Angel. “The fault is mine. I should never have asked for tea service at that hour.”
DeMornay tossed her aside like a stalk of sugarcane. “The fault may be yours, but the punishment will be borne by others. You choose. The mother or the child.”