The Last Heiress Read online

  After listlessly stirring the fireplace ashes to no avail, Abigail trudged down two flights of stairs. With her quilt trailing behind like the Queen’s coronation train, she padded through empty rooms in search of another human being. Dust motes floated on stale air, but in the kitchen a fire blazed on the hearth. The sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar caused her stomach to rumble.

  Salome almost dropped the tray she held when Abigail entered. “What are you doing down here, Miz Henthorne? I’m on my way up with your breakfast—eggs, toast, jam, grits, ham, and fresh cream for your tea, just how you like it.” Dishes rattled precariously from Salome’s trembling fingers. “Go on back to bed. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Abigail slumped onto a bench at the trestle table—a table that could easily seat a dozen servants. “My room is cold.”

  “I told Amos to fetch a load of wood, but none’s been split. He’s trying to chop some now.” Salome huffed. “The worthless boys who tended the garden ran off last night. Chopping wood was the only thing they were good at.”

  “I’ll eat breakfast right here where it’s warm and cozy.” Abigail tucked the quilt beneath her legs and feet.

  Setting the tray down with a clatter, Salome perched her hands on her hips. “You can’t eat down here, mistress. It’s not done. What if somebody sees you?”

  “No one is here to witness my departure from social etiquette, so let’s not worry ourselves. May I have my tea?” She looked up, feeling like a child currying favor from a nanny. When Salome filled the cup to the rim, Abigail sliced the air with her hand. “Stop. You left no room for the cream.”

  The cook issued an exaggerated sigh. “Sorry, mistress. I’m not used to being a lady’s maid.” Her face screwed up with anxiety.

  “Let me handle this while you check the stove. I smell something burning.”

  “I plumb forgot about the johnnycake!” The cook opened the oven door, wrapped a towel around the handle on the pan, and pulled the skillet from the heat. “You sure you don’t want to eat breakfast in the dining room?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “I’m sure. I don’t like being alone in a room.”

  “When is Miz Dunn coming back?”

  “I have no idea.” Abigail tried a forkful of grits, unknown in England but served every morning in Wilmington. “The date on her note was January second. That was three days ago. How long does it take to reach Richmond and then return by train?”

  Salome shrugged her shoulders, bewildered. “Can’t say, ma’am. I’ve never been there.”

  Abigail studied the woman as though for the first time. The cook’s face was pinched and drawn as she kneaded her hands like bread dough. “It’s no matter, Salome. We shall be patient. Tell Amos to come inside and eat with you. Please sit down and finish the eggs, ham, and grits. Don’t bother with that burnt cornbread.”

  “What if Miz Dunn gets back?”

  “I doubt she will walk in this early.”

  “When is Master Henthorne coming home? He’ll be mighty hungry after being gone.”

  “He sent a note saying he had business with Mr. Peterson that might keep him away for two nights. If he was planning to stay at the Kendall House, he will have eaten in town.” Abigail’s composure began to slip as she forced down a bite of eggs. At least they weren’t runny the way Jackson preferred.

  Salome tried scraping the burned cornbread with a knife. “Master shouldn’t stay away so long, Miz Henthorne. Not with the baby coming.”

  “The baby isn’t due for weeks yet. Stop upsetting me and go fetch Amos. He needs to keep up his strength. You two are all I have left,” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Salome offered a sympathetic look, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and bustled outdoors.

  With only the sound of a guttering oil lamp to break the silence, Abigail reflected on just how true her observation was. The sole servants left in the house were a cook and an aged butler. Amos had to be sixty if he was a day. No one remained to wash or iron her pretty dresses, polish the silver, or deadhead the last of the roses. What would she do if the pair of them decided to pack their bags and head for greener pastures?

  These Southerners thought owning slaves would preserve the workforce. As things turned out, nothing could be further from the truth. At least, Salome wouldn’t leave without Thomas. Abigail made up her mind to start paying them a small salary, even if she had to do so behind Jackson’s back. She could live with dusty chandeliers, but going hungry wasn’t an option now that she was eating for two.

  Just as she finished her last bite of breakfast, Salome stomped into the kitchen. “Thomas just drove the carriage into the barn.” She sounded as though the rain had changed to lightning bolts.

  “Thank goodness Jackson is home! Make sure Thomas eats breakfast and inform Mr. Henthorne I’ll await him in the parlor. I’m sure he’ll want to bathe and—”

  Uncharacteristically, Salome cut her off. “Master Henthorne ain’t with him, mistress. Thomas came back alone. You were right. They were at Oakdale…” Salome’s eyes darted left and right, everywhere but at Abigail’s face.

  “What on earth? Why would Jackson stay with his parents, leaving me here to fend for myself?” She sounded every bit as annoyed as she felt.

  “Thomas said you’re ’sposed to pack your bags. Take everything you set store by, along with Granddaddy Henthorne’s silverware and candlesticks. Pack everything made for the baby too. And be quick about it.” Salome’s dark complexion took on a rosy hue. “Those be Master Henthorne’s words, not mine, missus.”

  Abigail rose from the table with as much dignity as she possessed. “Please tell Thomas he’s to come inside once he’s seen to the horse. While the three of you eat, he will tell me every single word Master Henthorne said.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please don’t argue with me, Salome. I need to speak to Thomas myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The cook bowed her head and returned to the courtyard.

  Over the next twenty minutes, Abigail drank two more cups of tea. She feared she might burst from fluids if Thomas didn’t arrive soon. Fortunately, the coachman appeared in the doorway before disaster struck.

  “You wanted to see me, mistress?”

  “Indeed, Thomas. Tell me everything Mr. Henthorne said and leave nothing out.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “He wants you to pack everything important, ma’am. Then I am to take you to Master Randolph’s plantation. No telling how long you’ll be in the country, so you should take all of the baby’s clothes and things too.” Thomas ducked his head with embarrassment.

  “Why didn’t my husband come home with you?” Abigail threw her hands up in the air. “He could help us pack and offer protection for the ride to Oakdale.” Hysteria was beginning to take hold, turning her voice high and squeaky.

  “Please don’t fret, Miz Henthorne. Master gave me his derringer in case army deserters bother you ’long the way. He showed me how to reload too if need be.” Thomas grinned, first at her and then at his wife.

  “Don’t you go shooting yourself in the foot.” Salome cautioned, quite perturbed with this piece of information.

  Abigail used the moment to collect her wits. “Thank you, Thomas. I will feel safe under your protection, but there is something you’re not telling me.”

  The coachman focused on the waxed floor tiles. “Master Henthorne thought we should hurry and leave. You can hear the rest from Mistress Isabelle once we get there.”

  The coachman’s mention of her mother-in-law’s name became the proverbial last straw for Abigail. She slapped her palm down on the table. “No, Thomas! You will tell me where Jackson is this minute!”

  He looked close to an apoplectic fit. Then he cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Master Henthorne went and joined the army, mistress. He says the South has its back agin’ the wall. He won’t let Yankees take Wilmington without a fight.”

  “Ja
ckson…he’s at Fort Fisher?”

  “That’s where he was headed. Don’t know if he got there yet. He wouldn’t let me drive him.”

  Ten seconds of uncomfortable silence spun out before Abigail could speak. Then she said, “Thank you, Thomas. Be sure to eat heartily, because you’ll have another long drive today. You too, Amos.” She’d spotted the butler peeking around the corner. “When you are finished, why don’t you two pack the Henthorne silver while I collect my clothes?”

  “I can do that, Miz Henthorne. I’ll start packing your clothes and the baby’s.” Salome shifted her weight from hip to hip. “That worthless Estelle ran off,” she added in Thomas’s direction.

  “No, I want you to pack the kitchen, pantry, and root cellar, Salome. It sounds as if we’ll be gone awhile.”

  Thomas tugged on his ear while considering her suggestion. “Amos and Salome can take the open buggy while I drive the brougham. That way we can carry more and get all of the horses to Oakdale too.”

  “Won’t it be too cold to use the open carriage?” Abigail glanced from one to the other.

  Amos, who had been quiet thus far, shook his head. “Don’t worry about us, ma’am. We’ll wear everything we own. That way we can stay warm and have more room in the coach.”

  “Very ingenious.” Abigail smiled at the old man, thinking: I will have trouble fitting my clothes into two trunks, let alone wearing all of them. “If there are no questions, let’s get started.”

  Once she was upstairs, she bundled herself into a warm robe and then began to pack as methodically as she could, but hours passed before her trunks were finally filled. Afterward, the mistress and three slaves ate a supper of chicken stew in the kitchen. This time not one of them commented on the impropriety of her actions. There was little talk at all, which suited her fine. She was too weary to think, let alone make polite conversation.

  “Are you ’bout ready to go, Miz Henthorne?” asked Thomas. “We done everything you asked down here. Soon as I hitch the horses we could leave. I don’t mind driving to Oakdale at night. I’m getting pretty used to the dark.”

  “We’ll leave at first light after we get a good night’s sleep.”

  “But Master Henthorne said—”

  Slapping her hand on the tabletop, she looked at each one in succession. “Since my husband isn’t here, I’m in charge. Do you understand?”

  All nodded their heads in agreement. “Thank you. From this day forward you will refer to him as Mr. Henthorne, not master, because you are now paid workers, not slaves. We’ll discuss wages once we’re settled at Oakdale.”

  Three pairs of eyes rounded like saucers, but only Amos replied. “Thank you, Mrs. Henthorne.”

  “And because I intend to pay you, there is no need to run off in the middle of the n-night.” Abigail’s voice cracked, betraying her emotions.

  Salome’s expression turned sympathetic. “If we were gonna leave, ma’am, we would have done so by now. Don’t you worry ’bout us abandoning you.” She patted the sleeve of her dress. “We ain’t going nowhere.”

  Abigail clasped her hand tightly. “Thank you, Salome. Now I must retire. You need to sleep as well. Tomorrow we have a long trip ahead of us.”

  For the next three hours she lay awake on her bed, staring at the ceiling and worrying. What would happen when Amanda came home and found them gone? Was she wandering through Yankee territory with only a maid? She could be arrested as a spy and thrown into federal prison. And Jackson—was he a sitting duck with dozens of Yankee cannons aimed at the fort? How could he survive a battle when, by his own admission, he never even shot a rabbit as a boy? Despite kind assurances from the three domestics, Abigail felt adrift without her twin and her husband.

  “Please keep them safe, God,” she prayed softly. “And grant us an uneventful journey to Randolph’s plantation.”

  But Abigail wasn’t going anywhere the next day or the one thereafter. Not long before dawn, around the same time Thomas was feeding the horses and attaching their harnesses, she experienced a searing pain in her abdomen. Without a shadow of a doubt she knew it wasn’t indigestion or a case of spoiled food. Her baby was on the way sooner than anyone imagined. And she was alone in a cold mansion with a handful of former slaves, not one of which was a midwife. Her optimism for the future plummeted another notch. Right about now, she would be willing to tolerate the disagreeable personality of her mother-in-law to be in more capable hands.

  Evening of January 6

  “This is the end of the line, folks.” The conductor’s ominous announcement roused Amanda from a nightmare. In the dream she had been jostled and pushed by indignant travelers, questioned by surly Union officers, poked in the ribs to make certain she concealed no weapons, and then prodded onto a ship’s narrow wooden beam that extended over a raging sea. Except for walking the plank, her dream hadn’t been too different from reality, considering the last few days. Even with British documents, crossing into the city of Washington from Alexandria hadn’t been easy.

  Finding Helene suitable accommodations within walking distance of the harbor had been nearly impossible. Amanda parted with a substantial amount of gold for Helene’s room, along with a ticket on the next ship to Liverpool. Her offer of a cheque drawn on an English bank had been met with either laughter or a sniff of indignation. At least Helene only had another five days in the chaotic American capital. The hotel had an adequate dining room that served a decent shepherd’s pie and a delicious cup of tea. Amanda knew Helene wouldn’t set foot on the crowded city streets until it was time to board, even if she ate shepherd’s pie for every one of her meals.

  Then Amanda had as much trouble reentering Virginia as she had exiting, perhaps more. Her short stay labeled her a suspected spy in the eyes of military authorities. Battle lines had recently changed, so that what had been Confederate territory no longer was. Her explanation of seeing her maid off to their homeland begged the obvious question: Why didn’t you get on the boat with her? Why, indeed? Doubtlessly, that’s what a wise woman would have done. But not a woman in love.

  After changing trains no less than seven times, they approached Rocky Point, the last town of any size before reaching the coast. End of the line? The conductor’s announcement sent a frisson of dread through her veins. A quick glance out the window revealed they had not arrived in the city of Wilmington.

  “Please, sir, why have we stopped?” Amanda adopted the American penchant for shouting in public instead of waiting for a more decorous moment to make an inquiry.

  The conductor ambled back to where she sat. “Tracks torn up, missy. No telling who did the mischief this time. But don’t you worry. The local boarding house has plenty of rooms for gentlefolk with money to pay. Everyone else can sleep in the stable’s hayloft. Not many horses are left in town anyway.” He produced an indulgent smile. “Tomorrow I’ll call for you at the inn. Then we’ll walk to where the tracks start again. Be ready by noon, let’s say.” He tucked his watch back into his pocket.

  “I must reach Wilmington as soon as possible, sir. My sister will be frightfully worried. I’ve been gone far longer than intended and—”

  “Now, now. You’ll be home by nightfall tomorrow, midnight at the latest.” With that he tipped his hat to her and took his leave.

  “Excuse me, sir. Where is that stable you mentioned?”

  He glanced back with a frown. “You can’t sleep there, miss. It wouldn’t be safe. Speak to Mrs. Hawkins at the inn if you’re short—”

  “I wish to inquire about another matter. Please, sir.”

  With a sigh the conductor pointed in the general direction of town. “Follow the tracks to the square. Turn right on Greene Street and walk three blocks till you come to the end. You can’t miss Waite’s Livery.” He came back to pull down her bag from the overhead rack.

  “Thank you kindly.” Amanda grabbed the handle of her valise and moved toward the door.

  “Don’t forget to meet me on the inn’s porch at noon.”
/>   But she had other things on her mind than a night at the local boarding house, no matter how comfortable the furnishings. She walked to Waite’s Livery as fast as possible without running. Amanda had never run in her life, not even as a child. I’m developing new abilities in America, she mused, giddy from fatigue.

  When she reached the stable, she was too breathless to speak. “Do you have a carriage for hire?” she croaked between gasps for air.

  “Nope. It was stolen by some Yankee major.” A teenager in enormous overalls replied while chewing on a long tasseled weed.

  “Then I would like to hire two horses. Surely you have some. I see one right there.” Amanda pointed at a brown rump and swishing black tail.

  The lad pondered for a few moments. “What you be wantin’ them for?” He eyed her traveling suit, broad-brimmed hat, and high-topped shoes suspiciously. Thankfully, she’d left her hoop at her sister’s.

  Once her heart stopped pounding, she recovered a bit of dignity. “I need two horses—one for me and one for you. I want to hire you as my guide. It’s a matter of the upmost urgency that I reach Wilmington as quickly as possible.”

  “You know how to ride a horse? Ha! That’s a good one, missy.”

  “Young man, you apparently have no idea what an Englishwoman’s childhood education consists of. I’ve had years of riding lessons and happen to ride quite well. I will pay you two twenty-dollar gold pieces if you accompany me to Wilmington.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to beg.

  The young man scratched the sparse stubble on his chin. “Trouble is, I only got the one horse—Bluebells. I hid him in the woods when Yankees rode into town. That’s his name ’cause he likes to eat them flowers, not because he’s a sissy.”

  “Fine. I’ll rent Mr. Bluebells and see that he’s returned safe and sound. I am a woman of my word.” Amanda lifted her chin and crossed her arms.