The Furies (51 page)

“That’s all right, that’s all right,” Amanda whispered, patting her. “You did just fine, Mary. Who do you belong to?”

The girl blinked. “To me. I get to Canada, I won’t belong to nobody ever again.”

“But who did you belong to in Virginia?”

“Cap’n Tunworth.”

“The Reverend’s father-in-law?”

“Yes’m. He a proper gentleman with other white folks, but he can be mean as hell to his niggers when the spell’s on him.”

Amanda nodded, her anger at Jephtha all but erased by the courage and fragility of the young girl who had entrusted her life to two white men, and ridden rattling trains in a lightless wooden cage with mortal fear for her companion.

“I’ve met the captain,” she said. “You’ve confirmed my impression of him—”

“I knew Mr. Syme could get me started to Canada. Mos’ every nigger round Lexington knows that. I never wanted to go till the cap’n sold my mama and papa to a man in Carolina. But the cap’n wouldn’t sell me. I figure I never see my folks again, so I might as well take a chance on bein’ a free person—”

“But why did the Reverend send you here?” Michael asked. “Why not to an organization like the local anti-slavery society?”

“Jephtha’s letter indicated that was getting too dangerous,” Amanda said.

Mary nodded. “He an’ Mr. Syme say they got slave-catchers watching those places now. Watching for colored—even for boxes like the one I come in—”

Suddenly she hugged Amanda, burying her head on the older woman’s shoulder.

“I hate that old box! It was all dark an’ I made it smell bad—I couldn’t help it—I’m so glad I’m here—I’m so glad—”

“Someone bring a couple of clean blankets,” Amanda said while the girl sobbed. “We’ll put her in the third floor bedroom next to Michael’s until I decide what we can do with—”

She froze. At the storeroom door beyond the cluster of servants, she saw Kathleen McCreery.

Kathleen was bundled in a shabby coat. Her pale eyes rounded at the sight of the crate and the black girl in the circle of lamplight.

“Michael—!”

Amanda’s warning spun him toward the door.

“
Get her out of here!
When you take her home, warn her that she’d better not say a word.”

“I’m afraid we’re not in much of a position to issue warnings,” Michael whispered. He stalked to the door and thrust the dumbfounded Kathleen out of sight.

The black girl began to cry in earnest, long wailing sobs. Whether of pleasure or pain, Amanda couldn’t tell. She was still fighting the impulse to cry again herself.

That Jephtha Kent had relied on her willingness to harbor a runaway—a clear violation of the Fugitive Slave Act—was upsetting enough. That the McCreery girl had seen the runaway was an absolute disaster.

Michael returned to the house about half past one in the morning, reporting to Amanda in the library. “I did the best I could but she’s still in a rage. I promised her an additional two weeks’ wages one month from now—
if
she keeps silent about what she saw.”

“Do you think she will?”

Amanda wasn’t encouraged when he answered, “It depends on how angry she’s feeling in a day or two. There’s one commodity that’s not for sale in the Five Points, Mrs. A—an end to an Irishman’s wrath once he’s down on you.”

“Well, let’s hope for the best.”

“What are we going to do with the nig—the girl?”

“Put her on the first steamer heading to Canada. You inquire at the piers in the morning.”

“What about the disciplining of your son?”

“That can wait a few hours. I still must go up and speak to him—”

“You haven’t yet?”

“No, I haven’t yet!” she lashed out. “I’ve been attending to the girl! We tried to feed her and she threw up everything. I finally got some brandy down her. That put her to sleep.”

“You’d better sleep a little yourself. You look exhausted.”

“I’ll see Louis first.”

But even that went wrong.

When she climbed the staircase and reached the door of her son’s room, she found it unlocked. She opened it quietly. The night sky had cleared. The winter moon shone. Its reflection on snowy rooftops cast a luminous whiteness into the room.

Louis lay on his side in the soiled bed, fully dressed. His head was all but hidden in the pillows, as if he’d tried to burrow deep into them to escape the world.

Her face drawn, Amanda stared at him for a long time, thinking.

She found Michael still in the library. His legs were stretched out toward the dying fire. The white cat was dozing on his knees. He looked startled when she slipped inside.

Her glance went briefly to the display case. Jared’s medallion reflected the last red gleams from the hearth.

“Michael—”

“Yes, Mrs. A?”

“I want you to forget about going to the Five Points.”

He blinked. “You don’t want me to contact the Phelans?”

“No.”

She expected him to smile. Instead, quite soberly, he nodded. “That’s good, because I had decided I’d resign rather than do that particular chore. I’m thankful you changed your mind. May I ask why—?”

“I looked at Louis upstairs. And I thought of what you said about the high road. I—I don’t want the ruining of my son to be the price I pay for Kent’s.”

“Why don’t you wipe the slate all the way clean? Forget the stock too. Dissolve Boston Holdings. You’ve more than enough money to start a new firm.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. The stock acquisition is legal. I’ll go ahead with that and hope it succeeds.” She was very much aware of how much she was staking on a single strategy.

Michael smiled then. “At least what you’ve decided should make you feel a mite better.”

“In a way it does. At the same time, I think I’ve walked away from a fight. I’ve never done that in my life.”

“I’d say your decision took more courage than any fighting ever could.”

“I wish I believed you,” she said softly. As she turned to go, the admiration in his eyes was of little comfort.

S
ATURDAY MORNING BROUGHT BRILLIANT
sunshine and the drip of melting snow from the eaves. Amanda slept until nine—three hours past her usual time for rising. When she saw the clock on the mantel of her bedroom fireplace, she got up in a rush, drew on a fur-trimmed robe and went straight to the third floor.

She found Mary just finishing an immense breakfast brought up from the kitchen. The girl seemed in good spirits.

“I never had so much food at one time in all my life! Never slept in a bed so soft, either.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Reckon I am. I couldn’t eat that food fast enough.”

“Good. Today we’re going to look into the schedules of steamers to Canada.”

“It scares me some to think about goin’,” Mary admitted. “I don’t know anybody there. An’ the Reverend, he didn’t have no names to give me—”

“I’ve been told there are antislave societies in almost every large Canadian city. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble locating one. They’ll help you get settled.”

The girl clutched Amanda’s arm. “You don’t think they send anybody after me from Virginia, do you, ma’am?”

“I think it’s very unlikely,” Amanda reassured her, hoping she was right. She left Mary sitting on the bed, bouncing up and down and enjoying the resilience. Mary’s expression was almost rapturous.

Amanda went to her son’s room next. It was empty. In Kathleen’s absence, no one had yet made up the bed. She returned to her own room, dressed and hurried down the staircase.

As she descended the steps, she heard the bell of a horse-car clang on the far side of the square, then the prolonged rasp of a large chunk of snow sliding off the roof. In the front hall, the sun shone through the narrow windows on either side of the door, casting rectangles of light on the carpet. Somehow that glow restored her spirits a little. She felt more competent to deal with the problems that had arisen during the night.

Hamilton Stovall was far from her mind as she entered the dining room and saw Louis, still in his velvet-collared robe, dawdling over a cup of coffee.

He glanced at her, then back to the cup, his manner subdued. A moment later, the maid Brigid appeared. She was a plain, buxom girl in her late twenties.

“Only tea, I think, Brigid,” Amanda said. “But no cream. I’m putting on too much weight.”

Brigid smiled, murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” and left.

Amanda unfolded the stiff linen napkin set at her place at the head of the long mahogany table. Louis was seated on the side, to her left, near a weighty breakfront displaying some two dozen pieces of fine silver. Amanda laid the napkin in her lap; she could feel the tension her presence created. Rather than confront Louis immediately, she began with another subject.

“Where is Michael?”

The boy’s quick exhalation signaled his relief. “Off in the carriage already. To the steamer offices, he said. He told me about the crate Adams Express delivered last night.”

“You’re to say nothing about it outside this house. The girl will be gone within a few days.”

Louis nodded. “I don’t know who I’d tell, anyway—”

“I was thinking of your associates at the Day School,” Amanda said in a quiet voice. “The ones with whom you’ve been quarreling.”

The boy’s head jerked up, his dark eyes wary.

“We had a note from Professor Pemberton yesterday. About your fighting. And your refusal to study. I’ve decided to withdraw you from school for a few weeks.”

He almost smiled. He’d hardly consider that a severe penalty, she knew.

“As to what happened with Kathleen, I’m going to punish you for that when we finish breakfast.”

“Punish me? How?”

“You’ll discover in due time. First I’d like to ask you a question. Have I somehow given you the idea that you can take anything you want in this world with no thought of how you might be hurting other people?”

The boy frowned. “I don’t know, Ma—Mother. Sometimes, I—I do have the feeling you do whatever you please—”

“Then I am to blame—even though there are good reasons why I behave as I do. You had no good reason for what you did to Kathleen. And nothing like that will ever happen again, Louis. Nothing,” she repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled you. That too is going to change. While you’re out of school, I expect you to work around the house. Under Michael’s supervision.”

He accepted the announcement in stoic silence.

“Now I’d like to know something else. After mistreating Kathleen last night, did you feel nothing? No shame? No sorrow—?”

He pressed his lips together, toying with the handle of his cup. When he looked at her again, she felt almost dizzy with relief. There
was
a spark of contrition in those blazing black eyes.

“Yes, I—I felt wretched.” He lowered his head. “But not until it was over.”

He stood up suddenly, hurrying around the corner of the table to stand beside her. “I went to sleep thinking of how I tried to lie to you—and how much you despised me. I can’t stand to have you hate me, Ma—”

She closed her eyes a moment, immensely relieved. Perhaps he wasn’t beyond hope after all.

“I don’t hate you, Louis. I love you. But I can’t forgive or excuse what you did. You hurt Kathleen. You shamed her. You abused her as if she were an animal. You caused her to lose her job because I couldn’t keep her in this house after what happened. No matter how rich a person may be—or how self-important money makes you feel—and it does, sometimes—that still gives you no right whatsoever to hurt another human being who’s done nothing to hurt you. I’m going to impress that on you in a way I trust you’ll never forget. At the same time, I acknowledge my part in your guilt—I expect I’ve set you a bad example because you don’t understand why I do certain things.”

“Would those things have anything to do with that man who still owns Kent’s?”

“What do you know about him, Louis?” she countered softly.

“Why—I know he won’t sell the company back to you, and that makes you mad. You bring up his name with Michael a lot, and you’re mad then too. I’ve read in the papers that Stovall runs a huge steel factory. And I remember once in California, you and Captain Bart had a terrible argument while I was trying to sleep. I heard his name even way back then—”

Amanda sighed. “Well, you’re correct. A good deal of my activity since we’ve come east is connected with Stovall. I expect I owe you a full explanation. You’ll have it—in a week or two—when you’ve shown me you mean to change your ways.”

She couldn’t keep affection out of her voice as she clasped both of his hands in hers. “I can’t permit you to go the wrong way now, Louis. There’s too much at stake—principally your future. You’ll be in charge of Kent and Son one day. I want you to work with Theo Payne if he’ll stay on. Learn from him—”

“But we don’t even own the company!”

“We will,” she assured him. “And you’ll rebuild it into the kind of firm your great-grandfather would be proud of. There’s no limit to the possibilities open to you, Louis. A useful life—a good marriage—entree to the best homes—by the time you’re grown,” she added with a wry smile, “the sour old society ladies who con- sider me new rich will be in their graves. Their children will welcome you as an equal. That’s what I want for you—because you’re a Kent. And because I love you.”

He pulled his hands loose and flung his arms around her neck, hugging her. “I know I did wrong last night, Ma. I’ll make it up to you—I want you to be proud of me—

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest, the relief almost unbearable—

She heard Brigid enter with her tea and broke away. The tea smelled delicious. She drank it eagerly. An image of the portrait of Philip Kent drifted into her mind. She thought,
It isn’t too late. I’ll turn him into a Kent worthy of the name
—

The sound of boots stamping in the front hall caught her attention. She heard Michael speaking to Hampton, set her teacup down and hurried from the room.

Michael stood in an oblong of sunlight, unwrapping a long scarf of red wool from around his collar. His hair shone almost as brightly as his smile.