Peg was in the bed.
She was so thin that she hardly made a bulge in the piled-up covers.
The sheriff opened a blanket chest and the other man looked behind a screen. There were not many places to check. Would they pull the covers off the bed?
The same thought must have gone through Lizzie’s mind, for she said, “Now, if you’re done, I’m going back to sleep,” and she got into bed.
Barton looked hard at Lizzie and the bed. Did he have the nerve to demand that Lizzie get out again? But he did not really think the master and mistress of the house were concealing the murderess—he was searching the place only to be comfortable about eliminating the possibility. After a moment’s hesitation he said: “Thank you, Mrs. Jamisson. We’re sorry to have disturbed your rest. We’ll carry on and search the slave quarters.”
Mack felt weak with relief. He held the door for them, hiding his jubilation.
“Good luck,” Lizzie said. “And, Sheriff—when you’ve finished your work, bring your men back here to the house and have some breakfast!”
34
LIZZIE STAYED IN HER ROOM WHILE THE MEN AND dogs searched the plantation. She and Peg talked in low voices, and Peg told her the story of her life. Lizzie was horrified and shaken. Peg was just a girl, thin and pretty and cheeky. Lizzie’s dead baby had been a girl.
They exchanged dreams. Lizzie revealed that she wanted to live out of doors and wear men’s clothing and spend all day on horseback with a gun. Peg took a folded and worn sheet of paper from inside her chemise. It was a hand-colored picture showing a father, a mother and a child standing outside a pretty cottage in the country. “I always wanted to be the little girl in the picture,” she said. “But now sometimes I want to be the mother.”
At the usual time Sarah, the cook, came to the room with Lizzie’s breakfast on a tray. Peg hid under the bedclothes at her knock, but the woman walked in and said to Lizzie: “I know all about Peggy, so don’t you worry.”
Peg came out again and Lizzie said bemusedly: “Who doesn’t know?”
“Mr. Jamisson and Mr. Lennox.”
Lizzie shared her breakfast with Peg. The child shoveled down grilled ham and scrambled eggs as if she had not eaten for a month.
The search party left as she was finishing. Lizzie and Peg went to the window and watched the men cross the lawn and make their way down to the river. They were disappointed and subdued, walking with slumped shoulders, and the dogs, picking up the mood, trailed obediently behind.
They watched the men out of sight, then Lizzie sighed with relief and said: “You’re safe.”
They hugged happily. Peg was painfully bony, and Lizzie felt a surge of maternal feeling for the poor child.
Peg said: “I’m always safe with Mack.”
“You’ll have to stay in this room until we’re sure Jay and Lennox are out of the way.”
“Aren’t you worried that Mr. Jamisson will come in?” Peg asked.
“No, he never comes in here.”
Peg looked puzzled but she did not ask any more questions. Instead she said: “When I’m older I’m going to marry Mack.”
Lizzie had the strangest feeling that she was being warned off.
Mack sat in the old nursery—where he could be sure he would not be disturbed—going through his survival kit. He had a stolen ball of twine and six hooks, made for him by the blacksmith Cass, so that he could catch fish. He had a tin cup and plate of the kind given to slaves. There was a tinder box so he could light fires and an iron pan to cook his food. He had an ax and a heavy knife he had purloined while the slaves were felling trees and making barrels.
At the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a scrap of linen, was a key to the gun room. His last act before leaving would be to steal a rifle and ammunition.
Also in the canvas bag were his copy of Robinson Crusoe and the iron collar he had brought from Scotland. He picked up the collar, remembering how he had broken it in the smithy the night he had escaped from Heugh. He recalled how he had danced a jig of freedom in the moonlight. More than a year later he still was not free. But he had not given up.
Peg’s return had removed the last obstacle preventing him running away from Mockjack Hall. She had moved into the slave quarters and slept in a hut of single girls. They would all keep her secret. They would always protect one of their own. It was not the first time a fugitive had been hidden in the quarters: any runaway could get a bowl of hominy and a hard bed for the night at every plantation in Virginia.
During the day she roamed the woods, keeping out of sight until darkness fell. Then she returned to the quarters to eat with the hands. Mack knew this could not go on for long. Soon boredom would make her careless and she would be caught. But she would not have to live that way for many days.
Mack’s skin tingled with anticipation. Cora was married, Peg was saved, and the map had shown him where he had to go. Freedom was his heart’s desire. As soon as they chose, he and Peg could simply walk away from the plantation at the end of the day’s work. By dawn they could be thirty miles away. They would hide during the hours of daylight then go on at night. Like all runaways, they would beg food at the slave quarters of the nearest plantation every morning and evening.
Unlike most runaways, Mack would not try to get a job as soon as he had gone a hundred miles. That was how they were always caught. He was going farther away. His destination was the wilderness beyond the mountains. There he would be free.
But Peg had been back a week, and he was still at Mockjack Hall.
He stared at his map and his fishhooks and his tinder box. He was a step away from freedom, but he could not take that step.
He had fallen in love with Lizzie, and he could not bear to leave her.
Lizzie stood naked in front of the cheval glass in her bedroom, looking at her body.
She had told Jay she was back to normal after the pregnancy, but the truth was that she would never be quite the same. Her breasts had gone back to their previous size, but they were not as firm, and they seemed to hang a little lower on her chest. Her tummy would never return to normal, she now realized: the slight bulge and the slackness of the skin were with her forever. She had faint silvery lines where her skin had stretched. They had faded, but not completely, and she had a feeling they would always be there. Down below, the place where the baby came out was also different. It had once been so tight that she could hardly get her finger in. That, too, had stretched.
She wondered if this was why Jay no longer wanted her. He had not seen her naked body since the birth but perhaps he knew what it was like, or guessed, and found it disgusting. Felia, his slave girl, had obviously never had a baby. Her body was still perfect. Jay would make her pregnant, sooner or later. But then he might drop her the way he had dropped Lizzie, and take up with yet another woman. Was that how he wanted to live his life? Were all men like that? Lizzie wished she could ask her mother.
She was being treated as something used up, no good anymore, like a worn pair of shoes or a cracked plate. That made her angry. The baby who had grown inside her and made her belly bulge and stretched her vagina was Jay’s child. He had no right to reject her afterward. She sighed. It was pointless to get angry with him. She had chosen him and she had been a fool.
She wondered if anyone would ever find this body attractive again. She missed the feeling of a man’s hands running over her flesh as if he could never get enough. She wanted someone to kiss her tenderly and squeeze her breasts and press his fingers into her. She could not bear the thought that it would never happen again.