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Authors: Stephen L. Carter
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Grafton continued. He spooned fresh tobacco from a pouch. “Rather a rare thing these days, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Grafton.”
“Sorry Dennard snared you first. Wish I’d had a shot at you.”
“Very kind of you, sir.”
“Suppose I were to double what Dennard & McShane are paying you.” His smile was sudden, and feral, the smile of a hunting cat. “If you were my law clerk, Miss Canner, I would not have you waste your time dusting and running errands. I would spend two years training you, after which you would sit for the bar. No woman in this Republic has ever sat for the bar. You could be the first. How does that sound?”
Abigail wondered whether her hearing was off, or whether she might be dreaming, asleep in the bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Louisa. She stared in determined fascination at Grafton’s pipe tool, imported from the look of it: all those shining attachments on a single stem. Nanny Pork smoked a pipe, too, but cleaned the bowl with bits of this and that. Abigail stared at the gleaming tool and concentrated on the great mystery of how one properly cleaned a pipe, because something about this conversation scared her half to death.
“Mr. Grafton—”
“Think of it, Miss Canner. At this very moment, over at the Mansion, they are working out the strategy to defend in the Senate the President who freed the slaves. And you are here. Left behind. Holding the fort. Is that the life you prefer?”
She felt quite breathless, as if she were halfway up a very steep hill. “Mr. Grafton, please. I have duties to attend to.”
“Yes, I do believe I noticed a bit of dust in the corner.” He wobbled to the closet, took out the broom. “I imagine you’ll be needing this.”
IV
“Were you out with Miss Hale last night? Henry Foreman says he saw you dining together at Willard’s.”
“Mr. McShane has encouraged me to spend time with her,” said Jonathan, who had hoped, foolishly, that his employer would forbid him instead. He and Fielding were eating a dinner of cold chop in the dining room. Ellenborough and a footman were serving. With the rest of the family in Europe, most of the house staff had been furloughed. “He believes she might provide useful information.”
“And should you refuse her, Miss Hale might take offense and complain to her father, eh? And there would go any chance of picking up the vote of one of his New Hampshire friends in the Senate. You would seem to be trapped both ways, wouldn’t you, Hills? Still, Henry says the two of you looked rather cozy. I do wonder what my cousin would say.”
“Meg would not understand—”
“Oh, I would never tell. Gentlemen do not tell other gentlemen’s secrets. Now, Henry, on the other hand, fancies Meg. Did you know that? I believe that he would be delighted were your engagement to fracture. And he is no gentleman.” Signaling for more wine. “By the by, you haven’t forgotten, I hope, that I wish an introduction to Miss Canner? You really have no right to keep her to yourself, Hills. Not her
and
Miss Hale.”
Jonathan, spreading butter on bread, eyed his friend curiously. He longed to share with someone his fears about McShane’s increasingly lurid conspiracy theories. But Fielding was not the man. Fielding would only endorse them.
V
Abigail dined that night at the home of the Mellisons, a colored family who had prospered in the dry-goods trade. In the course of the evening, several of the many evil Mellison daughters taunted her about the fact that she had not yet met Mr. Lincoln; and Abigail, with Grafton’s taunts ringing in her ears, could hardly leave fast enough. She rode with Dinah, whose coachman, Cutler, kept a shotgun under his seat, for Washington City was thick with criminals, all set to prey on innocent young ladies; or so the Berryhills believed.
The night fog swirled around the carriage, softening the glow from the gas lamps along the avenue. The buildings beyond were hidden
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Grafton.”
“Sorry Dennard snared you first. Wish I’d had a shot at you.”
“Very kind of you, sir.”
“Suppose I were to double what Dennard & McShane are paying you.” His smile was sudden, and feral, the smile of a hunting cat. “If you were my law clerk, Miss Canner, I would not have you waste your time dusting and running errands. I would spend two years training you, after which you would sit for the bar. No woman in this Republic has ever sat for the bar. You could be the first. How does that sound?”
Abigail wondered whether her hearing was off, or whether she might be dreaming, asleep in the bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Louisa. She stared in determined fascination at Grafton’s pipe tool, imported from the look of it: all those shining attachments on a single stem. Nanny Pork smoked a pipe, too, but cleaned the bowl with bits of this and that. Abigail stared at the gleaming tool and concentrated on the great mystery of how one properly cleaned a pipe, because something about this conversation scared her half to death.
“Mr. Grafton—”
“Think of it, Miss Canner. At this very moment, over at the Mansion, they are working out the strategy to defend in the Senate the President who freed the slaves. And you are here. Left behind. Holding the fort. Is that the life you prefer?”
She felt quite breathless, as if she were halfway up a very steep hill. “Mr. Grafton, please. I have duties to attend to.”
“Yes, I do believe I noticed a bit of dust in the corner.” He wobbled to the closet, took out the broom. “I imagine you’ll be needing this.”
IV
“Were you out with Miss Hale last night? Henry Foreman says he saw you dining together at Willard’s.”
“Mr. McShane has encouraged me to spend time with her,” said Jonathan, who had hoped, foolishly, that his employer would forbid him instead. He and Fielding were eating a dinner of cold chop in the dining room. Ellenborough and a footman were serving. With the rest of the family in Europe, most of the house staff had been furloughed. “He believes she might provide useful information.”
“And should you refuse her, Miss Hale might take offense and complain to her father, eh? And there would go any chance of picking up the vote of one of his New Hampshire friends in the Senate. You would seem to be trapped both ways, wouldn’t you, Hills? Still, Henry says the two of you looked rather cozy. I do wonder what my cousin would say.”
“Meg would not understand—”
“Oh, I would never tell. Gentlemen do not tell other gentlemen’s secrets. Now, Henry, on the other hand, fancies Meg. Did you know that? I believe that he would be delighted were your engagement to fracture. And he is no gentleman.” Signaling for more wine. “By the by, you haven’t forgotten, I hope, that I wish an introduction to Miss Canner? You really have no right to keep her to yourself, Hills. Not her
and
Miss Hale.”
Jonathan, spreading butter on bread, eyed his friend curiously. He longed to share with someone his fears about McShane’s increasingly lurid conspiracy theories. But Fielding was not the man. Fielding would only endorse them.
V
Abigail dined that night at the home of the Mellisons, a colored family who had prospered in the dry-goods trade. In the course of the evening, several of the many evil Mellison daughters taunted her about the fact that she had not yet met Mr. Lincoln; and Abigail, with Grafton’s taunts ringing in her ears, could hardly leave fast enough. She rode with Dinah, whose coachman, Cutler, kept a shotgun under his seat, for Washington City was thick with criminals, all set to prey on innocent young ladies; or so the Berryhills believed.
The night fog swirled around the carriage, softening the glow from the gas lamps along the avenue. The buildings beyond were hidden
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