For the second night in a row, Merry slipped away from the house as the shadows sank into midnight. She’d learned her lesson and wore a cape with a hood that disguised her features. Better to have anonymity than the freshness of a breeze on her face.
Once again she fingered the scrap of paper on which she had scrawled the address. She could not afford to mistake her location.
Shadows shifted before her, deepening as she drew near. The rustle of desiccated leaves sounded as if a woman in bombazine was hard on her heels. Despite herself, Merry glanced over her shoulder.
She picked up her pace, scurrying through the heart of Williamsburg as if she were an escaped convict.
Perhaps she was.
From the bowels of the night she heard a scrape and scrambled for cover behind a rain barrel. She licked her lips as she crouched in the dark. A night watchman appeared around the corner swinging his lantern.
“One o’clock and all is well. Fair night out. No clouds to tell.”
Merry leaned her forehead against the rough oak barrel. Her eyes slid closed and she sighed. Only the ache in her legs got her moving again. She swayed slightly as she rose, placing a hand on the barrel to steady herself. The faster she completed her errand, the faster she could get to bed.
She found the house and pulled her hood farther down to hide her features. Breathing deeply she rapped hard on the door. No sound stirred within. She tried again, pounding for a long moment.
At last a woman dressed in a wrapper and nightcap answered. She appeared frightened. “What is it?” She asked in a hiss.
“I must speak to Mr. Sinclair. It is urgent.”
The woman glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Come back in the morning.”
Merry had the presence of mind to shove her foot in the door. “Fetch him now.”
“Get out before I call the watch.”
“He has already passed. I apologize for the disruption, but if you wish to return to your slumber you would do well to call for Mr. Sinclair.”
The woman stepped closer, outrage in her eyes. “Listen here—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bartlesby, but I am awake.”
The goodwife turned to the voice at the head of the stairs. “Do you know this … young person?”
“I do, and I am certain she would not disturb the household unless the matter was of great import.” Looking somber, Graham appeared in the narrow slice of interior Merry could see. Worry lines framed his eyes.
“I assure you, it is,” Merry said, removing her now bruised foot from the door.
The landlady harrumphed and departed for her bed.
Graham edged the door open. The concern in his eyes made Merry’s heart stutter from its usual rhythm.
“If you have sought me out, it must be a matter of dire concern.”
“I don’t know where else to turn.” It was true. If this did not work … Merry’s fingers pleated the edge of her apron as she awaited his verdict.
“Come in.”
He led the way into a small drawing room and motioned for her to be seated. “I am sorry I have no refreshments to offer.”
Merry shook her head. She continued to fold her apron between fidgety fingers. It would be best to be out with it. “The authorities believe Mr. Benning was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Graham sat forward in his seat.
“At first they seemed to believe it was an accident, but later they took Jerusha into custody.”
“Who is Jerusha?”
“A slave woman. My friend.”
He waited.
“She had no reason to kill him.”
“Then why do they believe she did?”
Unexpected tears stung Merry’s eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. If she told him of their plans and he wrapped himself in his justice’s robe, she could lose her freedom once again. All it would take was his word against hers just as with Lucas Paget. Could she face that fate?
She rubbed her burning eyes with trembling hands. If only she weren’t so tired. Mayhap she had made a mistake coming here.
“Miss Lattimore.” His gentle voice coaxed her to look at him. “Whatever you say I shall keep in confidence. But you must tell me what the trouble is so that I may help.” His hand covered hers, warm and powerful.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. Sincerity shone in his eyes, and something else, some deeper regard. A hint of the young man who had helped her bind a broken bird’s wing so many years ago.
She swallowed and forced a tremulous smile. She had not been mistaken. “I know Jerusha did not kill Mr. Benning. They will say that she did it because he intended to sell her son away to a man from another colony. But we—I had a plan. I intended to help them escape. So you see, if she had another means of averting her worst fear, she would have no cause to take his life.”
“You intended to abet a runaway slave?” Horror lanced his voice, reducing it to a sibilant hiss. “The slaves of Virginia are no less people than anyone else, and yet they are reduced to mere chattel.” Merry shook her head vehemently. “I have been so reduced, and I can tell you that humanity is lost more often when power over another is gained than the reverse.”
He placed a finger under her chin and nudged it up until he met his gaze again. “I do not question your morals in this matter, only your sense. Do you realize how dangerous—”
Merry’s spine straightened as if infused with iron. She jerked her chin from his gentle grip. “It was all planned and would have meant only a minimal amount of danger for me.”
“You could be hanged. Must you tempt fate again?”
She scooted to the edge of her chair. “I tempt fate? The circumstances that led to my downfall were hardly of my manufacture.”
“I did not imply it was your fault, simply that you should be careful.”
“You act as if I have no acquaintance with the ways of the world, when it was through your ‘kind’ offices that I was locked in with every manner of wastrel and criminal. I may have been naive upon entering Newgate, but I was not so when I emerged from that school of vice.”
Graham paled, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “I have done all in my power to remedy my mistake.” The words were as sharply severed as if they had met with the guillotine.
Merry gritted her teeth. She had endured much greater insult than he had offered and hardly blinked an eye. She breathed deeply.
“I told you of our plans so you would understand that Jerusha had no cause to murder her master. She had found other means of solving her dilemma.”
“And what do you wish me to do with this information?”
Was he determined to make this as difficult as possible? I have come to ask you to represent Jerusha in the courts.”
Surely he had been expecting such a thing? Yet he sat back with narrowed eyes.
“Do you seriously believe that a slave could use as her defense the notion that she intended to run away?”
Merry closed her eyes and looked down at her hands. “I—she did not—”
“I have never practiced law in this colony.”
“Surely it cannot be so difficult. Nearly every lawyer in Williamsburg sat at the Middle Temple for instruction, just as you did.” Her desperate hope was slipping away.
“I had intended to return to England on the first available packet.”
Merry gritted her teeth. Time to discard her pride. “I beseech you, Mr. Sinclair. I know that Jerusha did not do what she is accused of. I also know how highly you prize the ideal of justice.” She raised a hand to her stuttering heart. Perhaps a dash of guilt would help him to decide. She opened her mouth to remind him of the mistake he had made in her case.
But he spoke before she did. “You are correct. I love justice.” He offered her a rueful smile. “I am also coming to value mercy. I will speak to Jerusha, but …”
Merry held her breath and met his gaze steadily.
“You must understand that this will not be easily settled.”
“I understand that Jerusha will die unless someone does something to help her.”
He rubbed his face wearily. “I shall undertake to see her tomorrow.”
He looked so worn that Merry softened. She placed a tentative hand on his sleeve, feeling the warmth of him through linen and brocade. “Thank you.” The words came out close to a whisper. “This means a great deal to me. More than I can say.”
“Tell me all you know.” His free hand covered hers as it rested on his arm, his gaze seared hers with a look at once unfathomable and unguarded. A scalding flush rose through her neck and into her cheeks. She caught her breath.
At last she could bear the weight of his regard no longer and pulled her hand from beneath his.
She cleared her throat, making an effort to sound normal. Carefully she recounted all she could of Mr. Benning’s illness and all that had been done to save him.
Graham proved a good listener. His questions incisive. “Who brought the medicines?”
“Jerusha.”
“Is it possible she tampered with them?”
“There wasn’t time. And besides, he had already been poisoned, though I did not wish to think it at the time.”
“How was the diagnosis of poison made?”
“I cannot answer for Dr. de Sequeyra, but it occurred to me almost immediately. Mr. Benning was covered by a virulent red rash. And he said the word angel twice. That combined with the intensity of his pulse and vomiting called to mind a case my father treated.” Despite the gravity of the discussion, Merry almost smiled. Her mother would have been appalled to hear this conversation. And yet Graham seemed not so squeamish. Perhaps all her mother’s pronouncements had been her own opinion, and not truly representative of his feelings at all. He seemed genuinely interested in her opinion—in this matter at least.
“Why the word angel?”
“The toxin in lily of the valley can cause a person to see a halo around objects or people.”
“When was it administered?”
Merry stared into the fire. “I don’t know. It would not take long for the poison to act. It must have been shortly before he went to bed.”
“Did Jerusha have opportunity to dispense the poison?”
Merry swallowed and then nodded. “She took both Mr. and Mrs. Benning their evening’s draught each night before bed.”
Graham sighed and sat back in his seat. “Matters are not promising. Jerusha had the means and the opportunity to commit this murder.”
“I swear she did not. She would not. As I told you, we had it all planned.”
He held up a quieting hand. “We must face the realities if we are to overcome them. Your own case might have been decided differently if you had understood the weight of the evidence against you.”
She could scarce argue with that. “What do you intend? I checked. We have only three days before the hustings court convenes.”
“I shall ask questions. Luckily, my friend Connor has accompanied me, and I will enlist his aid. I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to absolve her. You can return to England in peace, knowing you have done all you can in aid of your friend.”
Merry cocked her head. “I have no intention of proclaiming my innocence until this matter has been resolved.”
He stiffened and frowned, eyebrows drawing together. “Why-ever not?”
She clenched her jaw. This was more like the Graham Sinclair she’d known of late. “I have grown fond of the children and of Mrs. Benning. They do not need more upheaval in their lives at this time. And besides, if Jerusha did not kill Mr. Benning, someone else did. Surely the most effective means of proving Jerusha’s innocence is to discover who is guilty. I am perfectly placed in the household to search for evidence of the true killer.”
“This is far too dangerous.” He stood. “I forbid it.”
Merry stood as well. “You can forbid me nothing. You are not my guardian.”
He sighed heavily. “Don’t be fatuous. Investigation is dangerous work. If you intend to go through with this, then perhaps I shall withdraw as Jerusha’s counsel.”
Merry shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over one arm, her chill gone. “Then it is even more imperative that I discover who really committed the murder. And I shall start with Mr. Fraser.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Then I shall be forced to present myself to Mrs. Benning and inform her of your good fortune myself.”
She breathed in through her nose. Once. Twice. “I don’t think you would do anything so ridiculous. You are more a gentleman, and more intelligent, than that. But if you do, I will destroy the proofs and claim not to know you, and you shall look like an imbecile.”
Chin high, Merry managed to sweep from the house before she began to cry. It was no wonder he had never married. Who could bear with such a manner?
Grumbling under his breath, Graham shrugged out of his robe. Drat the chit. There were times she had not the sense of a goat. Hadn’t he already warned her of the dangers of walking about at night? She had either the hardest head in Williamsburg or the thickest.
He had no time to go upstairs in search of his boots. And yet there was something valiant about her heedless courage. Sighing, he slipped from the house, taking care to secure the door behind him.
There was no fathoming women. He scanned the street searching for a hint of her passing. Which direction had she taken? In fact, how had she found him in the first place? The situation seemed to sum her up, a bundle of competence and naivete.
He set off in the direction that would lead most quickly to the Benning house. Trotting in double time he soon spied a small figure ahead of him. It could only be Merry. He picked up his pace until he was no more than a block behind. He opened his mouth to call out, but thought better of it. No woman would want her name heralded through town in the middle of the night. Come to think of it, after her tantrum, it might be best to lag behind and simply watch to make certain she made it home.
A shadow disengaged from its brothers and lurched toward Merry.
Graham sprang forward. A yell as savage as an Indian war cry tore from his throat.
The shadow reached for her. Snatched at her shoulder and spun her around. Sprinting, Graham tucked in his chin and lowered his shoulder to barrel into the attacker.
His shoulder hit naught but air, but his knee and shin caught on something that sent him tumbling. He threw out his hands to catch himself, grunting at the bite of gravel against his palms. In clumsy haste he rolled over, prepared to parry an attack.
But no attack followed. The only sound was a low groan. A man knelt in the street rocking slightly, his shoulders hunched.
Well, that explained what he had tripped over, but what in heaven had happened?
Merry stood over him, her face as fierce as an avenging angel in the moonlight. The light of recognition dawned, and her hands dropped to her sides.
Graham sat up. “What did you do?”
“Something my friend Sarah taught me.” She looked smug as she offered him a hand up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m picking gravel from my palms. You might have warned a fellow.”
“I meant why are you here?”
“I followed to make sure no harm came to you.”
If possible she looked even smugger. “As you can see I am perfectly well.”
“I see.” He squinted at her. Mayhap there was less naivete in her makeup than he had guessed. “Do you know this fellow? Do you wish to call the watch?”
The smugness fled, to be followed by wide-eyed horror. “Heavens no. I don’t wish to be found out of the house this evening.”
He clambered to his feet. Eyes still narrowed, he offered his arm. “I’ve come this far, perhaps you would not mind if I saw you home.”
After a moment’s hesitation she accepted. “As you wish, but we cannot make a habit of this.”
Graham looked over his shoulder to find the dark figure still crumpled like a dirty handkerchief. He nodded and restrained the desire to administer a good kick of his own.
Merry flicked a sidewise glance up at him. “Are you wearing house slippers?”
Despite himself he flushed. “I did not want to miss catching you.”
She shook her head, but the caustic comment he expected did not emerge. “I appreciate your concern.”
This was his chance to repair the offense he had caused. “It was the same impulse that prompted my earlier remarks. I care for your safety, though perhaps I could express it in a less heavy-handed fashion.”
“That would be a pleasant change. If you think you can manage it.”
Ah, there was the biting repartee.
He halted, drawing her to a standstill as well, and offered his best bow. “I can but try. Perhaps you will do me the honor of keeping me humble? You are so good at it.”
She turned her face away, but not before he caught the ghost of a smile flicker across her features.