Tempest(23)

“Then we’ll have to see to it that other servants come here to work so that you can go back to your family and back to school, at least during the week. How old are you, June?”

“Thirteen. I want to go to college and be a teacher.”

“Goodness, I had that same dream! Do you know, I even passed the entrance examinations for Radcliffe College...”

“Why didn’t you go, then?”

“My mother had other plans for me,” Cathy said with a bittersweet smile.

“She wanted you to go to Tempest Hall instead of Radcliffe? I can hardly believe that!”

“Not exactly. She wanted me to marry a duke, but I met Lord Raveneau and... you might say I upset my mother’s applecart.” Cathy started dusting again, afraid of what June might ask next. “We’d better get back to work, or we’ll be here all day.”



It was four o’clock when Adam returned from an overnight excursion to Bridgetown. He’d purchased supplies and ice, new horses and farming equipment, and had arranged for repairs to begin on the roof. Part of him felt relieved to be restoring Tempest Hall’s dignity, but it pained him more to be spending Jules Parrish’s money.

Adam left his new horse, a stallion he’d christened Lazarus, in the stables. Walking through the yard to the standpipe that was Tempest Hall’s source of freshwater, he rolled up his sleeves, opened his collar, and proceeded to wash his hands and face. When he finished, Simon had emerged from the house with a towel.

“Mistress sends me,” he said, smiling.

“Did she tell you to make me a rum punch as well?”

“Of course, sir. De rum punch waitin’ in de library.”

Adam wished Cathy weren’t so damned good at taking care of him; it made him feel even angrier. Raking his hands through his wet black hair, he walked up the back steps into the kitchen where Retta was sitting in her rocking chair.

“Tomorrow, there will be a delivery from the Ice House, as well as supplies from Fairchild Street Market,” he told her.

“Mistress be pleased to hear it.”

“Retta, I know you’re not as strong as you used to be, but I’m trusting you to oversee this household. Cathy doesn’t know the first thing about running a house. Her family is obscenely wealthy, and she’s been badly spoiled. Now then, what’s for supper?”

“I tell Mistress how to make ox tail stew and she does put it in de pot. I watching it.” She gave him a broad smile. “I don’ know if it right or not, but she do try hard.”

Adam took the lid off the pot and tasted the contents with a wooden spoon. It was astonishingly good. Feeling Retta’s shrewd gaze, he muttered, “It needs salt, and more rum, I think. She has a long way to go to match your cooking skills, Retta.”

“But she do try hard,” she repeated. “You know, sir, when you come up dose steps, I go back to years when de Captain do look jus’ like you, an’ he come up steps de same way.”

“He was nicer than I am, though.”

“I see dat little smile, sir!” She reached out and poked at his booted leg. “An’ I can tell you dat you gran’father not always so nice. When he young, he jus’ like you.” Retta paused for effect. “Take him a long time to admit how much he love he wife.”

“Indeed? How odd that you should mention it.” He glanced at her, blue-gray eyes narrowed. “This conversation is making me thirsty. I believe I’ll drink my rum punch and leave you to watch the pot.”

“Mistress do be cleaning, upstairs.”

“Did I ask?” Frowning, Adam left the kitchen. The house was cool and quiet, no longer musty but well-aired and scented with island flowers and lemon furniture polish. A slight breeze wafted through the gallery while, through the doors to his library, Adam could see a tall rum punch waiting for him on the table next to his planter’s chair. He sat down, pulled off his boots, put up his feet, and drank. Minutes passed. Closing his eyes, Adam soon found himself unable to nap because of a barely audible sound on the floor above. He took his drink and went up the white Chinese Chippendale staircase to investigate.

“Woof!” Tail wagging, Alice came out of his dressing room and crossed the bedroom floor to greet him.

Adam crouched beside her, petted her head, and muttered, “Traitor. You knew I was home, but you couldn’t muster the energy to leave Cathy’s side.” Alice licked his hand. “No, no, don’t deny it; I know it’s true.”

He followed the Labrador then, in his bare feet and riding pants, to the dressing room door. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw what appeared to be two servants wearing aprons and headties, on their hands and knees in the far corner of the room.

“Excuse me.” Adam assumed an authoritative tone. “May I inquire what the devil you two are doing? And who are you? When I left yesterday, June was the only serving girl in the house.”

“Hello, Adam.”

He stared as his pink-cheeked wife got to her feet. “Cathy! I knew you were insisting on doing work yourself, but not dressed like that!”

“I’m just trying to stay clean in the midst of the dust and grime.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Since we don’t have indoor plumbing, I get tired of washing my hair. Please don’t fuss any more about it. You’re scaring June!”

It galled him to be scolded in front of a servant, but Alice had rushed over to Cathy’s side, tail wagging, and he felt outnumbered. “May I ask again what is going on? We swept out that corner before I unpacked my shoes.”

Her eyes brightened. “I’ve just found something terribly exciting and I can’t wait to show you!” Turning to June, she put a hand on her arm. “Will you please go downstairs and help Retta with supper? And I’d be very grateful if you would set the table.”

Adam felt even odder as he recognized the glowing expression on June’s face. She adored her new mistress— and she was scared of him. For God’s sake, whose house was it? No sooner had the girl hurried from the dressing room than Cathy motioned to him to join her.

“Look what I’ve found.”

“You’re not going to get me to crawl around on the floor.”

“You’ve been riding and your trousers are already dirty. Just kneel down here for a moment.”

Reluctantly, Adam obeyed, just in time to see a millipede slither by and disappear under the baseboard. Cathy’s nearness was also unnerving. She smelled of fresh lavender and when she leaned forward to touch the paneled wall, her breasts swelled against the fabric of her shirtwaist.

“Look.” She pressed against the wall until it made a clicking sound, as if a catch had loosened. A panel shifted back slightly and Cathy moved it on a hinge so that a hidden compartment about four feet square was exposed. “Can you believe it?”

He wanted to reprimand her for digging around in his family’s secrets but it would be too mean. Wasn’t she part of his family now? The thought made his head hurt. “I suppose you’ve already searched all the contents?”

“No. I waited for you.” She gave him a winsome smile. “But it wasn’t easy!”

“No doubt.”

Ignoring his tone, Cathy reached toward the wall. “May I?”

When she moved farther forward, he saw her tiny feet peek out from under her skirt. “May I ask what you are wearing on your feet?”

“You certainly can think of a lot of silly questions. They’re ballet slippers, left over from my dancing class years. Just the thing to wear when one is climbing all over a West Indian plantation house.”

Adam heard himself laugh, then bit his lip when she glanced back at him. Together they removed what appeared to be ships’ logs imprinted in gold with NR, his grandfather’s initials, and a rolled-up sheaf of stained parchment. When they brought the items into his bedroom, he put the logbooks on his desk and Cathy sat down on a nearby mahogany chaise, cradling the tattered roll of paper. Alice stretched out on the Turkish rug and began, gently, to snore in the sunlight that filtered through the shutters behind them.

Adam ran his hand over the dark blue leather of the nearest ship’s log. “I recognize these. They’re my grandfather’s journals, begun during his years at sea. When I was very young, I watched him sit at this very desk and write in the newer one.”

“I suppose you’d like to preserve his privacy?”

“For the moment.”

“May I untie this string?” She pointed to the rolled paper.

Adam moved over to sit beside her and nodded. In the next moment, they were both looking at an old, handmade map. Attached to one side was a folded piece of writing paper with Adam’s name written on it. He took it, turned it from Cathy’s view, and read it.

“Well?” She couldn’t help herself. “This looks so exciting! What does it say?”

“It’s from my grandmother, dated 1895. She writes that the map was purported to have been made by Stede Bonnet.”

“Stede Bonnet? The pirate you were meant to be at my ball? What a coincidence!” Cathy pointed to the bottom corner of the map where the words ‘Bonnet, 1718’ were inscribed. “This is amazing! What else does your grandmother say?”