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Authors: Laurie Alice Eakes
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me.”
“I doubt that’s the same as what’s doled out to a bondsman, so watch your step, Mr. Cherrett. I don’t like tending to a back cut to ribbons.” Admonition delivered, she strode to the house, her skirt swishing around her ankles, her low-heeled walking boots raising puffs of dust in her wake.
Dominick smiled despite his aching palm, despite what she’d intended as a rebuff of his flirtation. He would win her over. He had to. He had less than four weeks to complete his mission, before his uncle left the American patrol and returned to England—leaving Dominick stranded as a servant for months, even years, regardless of whether or not he completed his mission.
5
______
“I tell you, the woman should be jailed for murder.” Harlan Wilkins’s voice rose through the study door and slammed against Dominick’s ears.
Dominick paused on his way to perform the ignominious task of emptying the mayor’s chamber pot and waited to hear more.
“I told you that two days ago and you’ve done nothing,” Wilkins continued to rave.
Told Kendall what? Dominick frowned. He should have listened in on that dinner between the mayor and the merchant.
“And I told you two days ago, Harlan,” Kendall responded in a calm voice, “that neither the sheriff nor I have any evidence of murder, certainly not caused by Miss Eckles.”
Dominick’s fingers closed over the newel post. He scarcely dared breathe for fear of missing a single word.
“According to my servants,” Wilkins ground out, “my wife took a little tumble. Even if the babe came too early, my wife shouldn’t have died.”
“Now, Harlan, Miss Eckles said Mrs. Wilkins was out of her head and—”
“Of course she’d say that.” Something crashed inside the book-lined room.
Dominick drew his brows together. Anger over a wife’s death was surely understandable, but to blame the poor midwife seemed wide of the mark.
“She should be removed from her occupation before anyone else dies,” Wilkins commanded. “She’s a heathen anyway.”
A heathen? Dominick cocked his head, making certain he’d heard correctly. He didn’t think anyone in the civilized parts of America was a heathen.
“That’s a grave accusation, Harlan,” Kendall said. “And even if it were true, it wouldn’t support accusations of incompetence at her profession.”
“She hasn’t gone to church in a year,” Wilkins pointed out. “And we shouldn’t have someone without a Christian faith delivering our young into the world. Maybe if she’d prayed, my wife would still be alive.”
“And maybe,” Kendall said with a tone of steel, “if you’d been home praying instead of at the Fisherman’s Tavern, your wife would be home and well right now.”
“Why you—you—” Wilkins spluttered to a halt.
Dominick sprinted into the parlor across the hall just in time to avoid being caught eavesdropping, as the study door burst open and Harlan Wilkins surged into the entryway.
“You’ll regret taking her side,” he tossed over his shoulder, then slammed out of the front door.
“Some men must blame others for their misfortunes,” Kendall said from the library doorway. “Have you found it so, Cherrett?”
“Sir?” Dominick emerged from the parlor.
Kendall chuckled. “Next time you choose to eavesdrop on one of my conversations, don’t stand on the bottom step. It squeaks.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Dominick grimaced. “I didn’t notice.” He’d skipped over it the night he sneaked out of the house.
“I did. But no harm done. If you happen to encounter Miss Eckles while on your errands, do warn her that Wilkins is speaking against her.”
“Yes, sir. I will consider it my duty to do so, sir.”
He saw the midwife Thursday morning as he followed Letty around the vendors who gathered in the square most mornings, selling fish and early produce, butter and cream. Carrying a basket like a common footman, he espied Tabitha Eckles choosing her own wares.
“I doubt that’s the same as what’s doled out to a bondsman, so watch your step, Mr. Cherrett. I don’t like tending to a back cut to ribbons.” Admonition delivered, she strode to the house, her skirt swishing around her ankles, her low-heeled walking boots raising puffs of dust in her wake.
Dominick smiled despite his aching palm, despite what she’d intended as a rebuff of his flirtation. He would win her over. He had to. He had less than four weeks to complete his mission, before his uncle left the American patrol and returned to England—leaving Dominick stranded as a servant for months, even years, regardless of whether or not he completed his mission.
5
______
“I tell you, the woman should be jailed for murder.” Harlan Wilkins’s voice rose through the study door and slammed against Dominick’s ears.
Dominick paused on his way to perform the ignominious task of emptying the mayor’s chamber pot and waited to hear more.
“I told you that two days ago and you’ve done nothing,” Wilkins continued to rave.
Told Kendall what? Dominick frowned. He should have listened in on that dinner between the mayor and the merchant.
“And I told you two days ago, Harlan,” Kendall responded in a calm voice, “that neither the sheriff nor I have any evidence of murder, certainly not caused by Miss Eckles.”
Dominick’s fingers closed over the newel post. He scarcely dared breathe for fear of missing a single word.
“According to my servants,” Wilkins ground out, “my wife took a little tumble. Even if the babe came too early, my wife shouldn’t have died.”
“Now, Harlan, Miss Eckles said Mrs. Wilkins was out of her head and—”
“Of course she’d say that.” Something crashed inside the book-lined room.
Dominick drew his brows together. Anger over a wife’s death was surely understandable, but to blame the poor midwife seemed wide of the mark.
“She should be removed from her occupation before anyone else dies,” Wilkins commanded. “She’s a heathen anyway.”
A heathen? Dominick cocked his head, making certain he’d heard correctly. He didn’t think anyone in the civilized parts of America was a heathen.
“That’s a grave accusation, Harlan,” Kendall said. “And even if it were true, it wouldn’t support accusations of incompetence at her profession.”
“She hasn’t gone to church in a year,” Wilkins pointed out. “And we shouldn’t have someone without a Christian faith delivering our young into the world. Maybe if she’d prayed, my wife would still be alive.”
“And maybe,” Kendall said with a tone of steel, “if you’d been home praying instead of at the Fisherman’s Tavern, your wife would be home and well right now.”
“Why you—you—” Wilkins spluttered to a halt.
Dominick sprinted into the parlor across the hall just in time to avoid being caught eavesdropping, as the study door burst open and Harlan Wilkins surged into the entryway.
“You’ll regret taking her side,” he tossed over his shoulder, then slammed out of the front door.
“Some men must blame others for their misfortunes,” Kendall said from the library doorway. “Have you found it so, Cherrett?”
“Sir?” Dominick emerged from the parlor.
Kendall chuckled. “Next time you choose to eavesdrop on one of my conversations, don’t stand on the bottom step. It squeaks.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Dominick grimaced. “I didn’t notice.” He’d skipped over it the night he sneaked out of the house.
“I did. But no harm done. If you happen to encounter Miss Eckles while on your errands, do warn her that Wilkins is speaking against her.”
“Yes, sir. I will consider it my duty to do so, sir.”
He saw the midwife Thursday morning as he followed Letty around the vendors who gathered in the square most mornings, selling fish and early produce, butter and cream. Carrying a basket like a common footman, he espied Tabitha Eckles choosing her own wares.
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