Read Online Weak Flesh by Jo Robertson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jo Robertson
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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books. A rocking chair sat near the window beside a round table covered in a crocheted tablecloth. A reading lamp and a miniature portrait of Nell rested on the delicate lace cloth.
Meghan was struck by the singular solitariness of the room, a chamber designed for one person. She'd never noticed before, nor paid any significance to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Carver did not share sleeping quarters.
Chapter 8
Gage hauled Michael Hayes out of the back of his gig and marched him up the stairs to the jail cell. Shoving the sodden drunk into one of the three empty cells, he slammed the door shut and looked disgustedly at his shoes, thick with Hayes' vomit. The front of his shirt was stained and sour with the same puking mess.
"Hey, Marshal," Will Pruitt greeted him as he looked up from his place at the duty desk, taking in the stink and disarray of the two men. "What happened? Who's that?"
"A drunk," Gage said unnecessarily. "When he finishes throwing up, take him outside and dump a couple buckets of water on him. Then empty the chamber pot."
Pruitt wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. Gage didn't expect his instructions, however unpleasant, to be questioned. Pruitt peered around the corner into the cell where the man sat on a cot, leaning over the chamber pot, his head in his hands.
"I'm going for a walk," Gage added. "And, Pruitt?"
"Yes sir."
"Get someone to clean out my gig. The bastard about ruined the seats."
#
Meghan slipped down the hallway from Mrs. Carver's bedroom. She fingered the thin ruby ring she'd hastily stuffed into her skirt pocket when Gage ran downstairs to handle Mr. Hayes.
Removing the item, she stared at it and ran her finger over the tiny stone. The slender rim of gold was barely wide enough to hold the initials. Nell's initials, Meg was sure of it.
But who had given her the ring? Perhaps James Wade or Michael Hayes, both of whom Nell was apparently fond enough to accept such a personal gift and both of whom were impoverished enough to be unable to afford a larger stone or a wider band of gold.
If one of those two men had given her the ring as a promise of affection, might he not have killed her if she'd rebuffed him? James or Michael? Or another man of whom Nell had never spoken?
Susan might know, Meghan mused. Didn't sisters often share secrets?
Figuring she still had a few minutes before Mr. Carver realized Meghan had remained upstairs, she walked quietly down the hallway toward Nell's bedroom. The thick strip of Aubusson carpet running the length of the floor from the staircase well to the master suite muffled her footsteps.
Several doors down, Nell's bedroom door remained ajar. Meghan carefully pushed on the door and crept into the now semi-dark room. The gauzy curtains fluttered at the window where she'd left the sash open over an hour ago, and gray light filtered in through the open window, faint, but enough to see by without lighting a lamp.
An eerie chilliness crept down her spine. She ought to go. If Mr. Carver caught her in Nell's room a second time, she'd have no protectors. Neither Mrs. Carver nor Tucker Gage was near enough to bail her out.
Wasn't the ring enough of a clue? It didn't seem so, for it might have a perfectly good explanation, a gift from either parent or another relative. Didn't Nell have a wealthy uncle who was a judge in New York?
No, not a family member, Meghan concluded. Nell's parents would have expected her to wear it openly. If the ring were so easily accounted for, she wouldn't have secreted it away in the special compartment of her jewelry box.
Sometime between staring at the ceiling behind Gage's head earlier and calming down Mrs. Carver, an idea had popped into Meghan's head. She must think as if she were Nell. Meg had always been far more adventurous than her friend in every endeavor except romantic liaisons.
If her friend were involved in a clandestine relationship with an inappropriate man or men – and Meg hated to
Meghan was struck by the singular solitariness of the room, a chamber designed for one person. She'd never noticed before, nor paid any significance to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Carver did not share sleeping quarters.
Chapter 8
Gage hauled Michael Hayes out of the back of his gig and marched him up the stairs to the jail cell. Shoving the sodden drunk into one of the three empty cells, he slammed the door shut and looked disgustedly at his shoes, thick with Hayes' vomit. The front of his shirt was stained and sour with the same puking mess.
"Hey, Marshal," Will Pruitt greeted him as he looked up from his place at the duty desk, taking in the stink and disarray of the two men. "What happened? Who's that?"
"A drunk," Gage said unnecessarily. "When he finishes throwing up, take him outside and dump a couple buckets of water on him. Then empty the chamber pot."
Pruitt wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. Gage didn't expect his instructions, however unpleasant, to be questioned. Pruitt peered around the corner into the cell where the man sat on a cot, leaning over the chamber pot, his head in his hands.
"I'm going for a walk," Gage added. "And, Pruitt?"
"Yes sir."
"Get someone to clean out my gig. The bastard about ruined the seats."
#
Meghan slipped down the hallway from Mrs. Carver's bedroom. She fingered the thin ruby ring she'd hastily stuffed into her skirt pocket when Gage ran downstairs to handle Mr. Hayes.
Removing the item, she stared at it and ran her finger over the tiny stone. The slender rim of gold was barely wide enough to hold the initials. Nell's initials, Meg was sure of it.
But who had given her the ring? Perhaps James Wade or Michael Hayes, both of whom Nell was apparently fond enough to accept such a personal gift and both of whom were impoverished enough to be unable to afford a larger stone or a wider band of gold.
If one of those two men had given her the ring as a promise of affection, might he not have killed her if she'd rebuffed him? James or Michael? Or another man of whom Nell had never spoken?
Susan might know, Meghan mused. Didn't sisters often share secrets?
Figuring she still had a few minutes before Mr. Carver realized Meghan had remained upstairs, she walked quietly down the hallway toward Nell's bedroom. The thick strip of Aubusson carpet running the length of the floor from the staircase well to the master suite muffled her footsteps.
Several doors down, Nell's bedroom door remained ajar. Meghan carefully pushed on the door and crept into the now semi-dark room. The gauzy curtains fluttered at the window where she'd left the sash open over an hour ago, and gray light filtered in through the open window, faint, but enough to see by without lighting a lamp.
An eerie chilliness crept down her spine. She ought to go. If Mr. Carver caught her in Nell's room a second time, she'd have no protectors. Neither Mrs. Carver nor Tucker Gage was near enough to bail her out.
Wasn't the ring enough of a clue? It didn't seem so, for it might have a perfectly good explanation, a gift from either parent or another relative. Didn't Nell have a wealthy uncle who was a judge in New York?
No, not a family member, Meghan concluded. Nell's parents would have expected her to wear it openly. If the ring were so easily accounted for, she wouldn't have secreted it away in the special compartment of her jewelry box.
Sometime between staring at the ceiling behind Gage's head earlier and calming down Mrs. Carver, an idea had popped into Meghan's head. She must think as if she were Nell. Meg had always been far more adventurous than her friend in every endeavor except romantic liaisons.
If her friend were involved in a clandestine relationship with an inappropriate man or men – and Meg hated to
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