Her entire body flooded with relief. That Mr. Brandon would make a generous exit was her deepest wish. It changed the afternoon. They both sat silent and pensive, both thinking of Mr. Brandon. She could not now give James Duke the gift. It would not be apropos. At first opportunity she slid the little packet up her sleeve unobserved. So they sat drinking tea and saying very little until the twilight deepened.
“I must go, I fear,” said James Duke, rising. “I wish—” But what he wished was not spoken.
“Of course I would like to see Mr. Brandon if there comes any — crisis,” she murmured.
“Dr. Hudson said he would come straight to you if, if, if the illness took a grave turn.” As he spoke the doctor’s gig turned in to the street and drew up before the house.
“Oh heavens,” said Mrs. Brandon. James stood waiting, exultation seizing him.
“Dr. Hudson, ma’am,” said Mrs. Blitter, opening the parlor door to show him in.
“Bring more tea, Blitter,” said Mrs. Brandon. She looked at the doctor. His face was expressionless, noncommittal.
“Dr. Hudson, do take tea with us,” she said although her bladder was bursting with tea. “I will just see to it,” and she strode briskly out of the room.
James Duke looked at him. “Is there a change?” he asked in a low voice.
“There is a change,” the doctor answered and said nothing more, waiting for Mrs. Brandon to return. The lady returned, skirts swishing with the violence of her stride.
“Please tell us, Doctor, how Mr. Brandon does.” Her voice was calm and steady.
“I am happy to say that he has rallied, rallied enough to eat heartily and drink like a camel. His derangement seems rather more settled as well. I think he must have passed some sort of crisis. He recognized me, inquired after your health, praised the farmer and his wife. He still objects to milk and bread but in a week or so we may try him with breast of chicken. I feel he might be able to come home soon. Certainly the day nurse is no longer needed,” he said with a nod at James indicating his release from that expense.
Posey was stunned into silence for a long, long beat. “Ah! But can I care for him here? The space is so limited, and the air is not the bracing country air. And certainly not if his derangement persists.” The fresh tea tray and a dish of seedcake arrived; Posey Brandon poured with a steady hand. “Sugar? Yes, lemon?” She passed a cup to the doctor.
“We will wait and see if he continues to improve. I allowed that tonight he may sleep on the farmhouse porch for the benefits of fresh air. In a week if he has grown stronger I think he will be little trouble. I can always send the nurse with him if there is any doubt. It’s rather an interesting case and it would be far easier for me to follow his progress if he were here instead of out in the country. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Duke?”
“Of course,” said James Duke in a grudging voice. “Who could disagree?”
When the clock struck the half hour the men rose, made their good-byes and went out together. James sent Mrs. Brandon a scorching look she quite understood. She smiled and nodded and as soon as the door closed ran to her room muttering sailors’ curses and threw herself into the pillows.
• • •
In the street gloaming it was difficult to see the doctor’s expression when James asked him if he might call on Mr. Brandon.
“Perhaps, in a day or two you might, but I fear that the appearance of a stranger alone might startle him into a relapse. I equally do not yet approve a visit from Mrs. Brandon. It is one of his crotchets that he has developed a fear of her and claims — ridiculous as it sounds — that she somehow harms him. But that will likely pass as he recovers his reason. Shall we go out to the farm together in the morning?”
“If I find I have no other appointments that would be agreeable,” said James Duke. But later, when the moon rose, he went to the stable, saddled his horse and in the gathering darkness took the high road out of the city toward the farm where Mr. Brandon lay dreaming of rib roast.
45. error compounded
The quiet morning broke into noisy pieces when Farmer Taunton’s youngest son, William, a grimy boy with a common face, pounded into the town bareback on a black plow horse. He went panting to the house of his married sister, Charlotte, and she roused her husband, Saul Fleet, who ran to magistrate Jonas Gildart’s house and blurted out the tale, his voice leaping a high whinny and sinking back with the gravity of the news. The magistrate set his full coffee cup down. He pushed it away, sloshing the table.
Saul Fleet blurted, “Charlotte’s brother! He come in from the old place, brought word the old man been found dead. Layin on the porch floor. Strangled or choked looks like. Said his neck all crooked, color a rhubarb stalk.”
Mrs. Gildart brought her husband a new bowl of coffee and the magistrate continued his questions. Saul answered eagerly: No, he didn’t think the old man was given to falling down. No, his mother-in-law slept in the house. Had done so for many years, after a dispute over Mr. Taunton’s snoring, which shook the house timbers. Mr. Taunton slept on the porch in good weather and on the kitchen daybed in winter. He, Saul Fleet, had no idea why anyone would harm Mr. Taunton, a hardworking inoffensive man who did some blacksmithing on the side, was a regular churchgoer and neither drank nor smoked. His turnips were much prized.
The magistrate sent for Charlotte Fleet and her young brother William, who had brought the news. Charlotte knew nothing except what she had heard from William, and the magistrate turned to him.
“Well, boy, I have a few questions. You are William Taunton, the son of Jeremiah Taunton, is that not correct? Good, good. Now, what family members were sleeping in the house last night?”
“My mother, sir. My sister Abigail, me, and T-T-Tom.” He stuttered and mumbled.
“Who is Tom?”
“He is my big brother.”
“Were there any servants in the house?”
“Only Sarah Whitwell. She helps Mother with the washin and comes after prayers Sunday night to be at hand early on Mondays. She sleeps in the little bed in Mother’s room.”
“Did your father allow any vagrants or strangers to sleep in the barn last night?”
“No sir, he never lets them sleep in the barn. Unless they pay. In New England money.”
“And were there any of these paying strangers present last night?”
“Only Mr. Brandon, sir.”
“And who is Mr. Brandon?”
“He is a preacher sir, but is funny in the head from lightnin. He shows a gret big scar on his face. Mother cared for him and Mr. Duke paid Father. He stayed with us since two months or more. Father give him the good front room.”
“Who is Mr. Duke?”
“I don’t know, sir, but Father said he was a rich man. He drives a gig with two greys. Very good horses. I thought I heard them horses last night but it was a patridge in the woods.”
“And was Mr. Brandon in the house last night?”
“Yessir. Dr. Hudson said he was some better and could go home soon. He felt very well yesterday and wanted to sleep on the back porch for the fresh air. Pa said he wished Mr. Brandon could stay on as he was a good boarder and the money helped us.”
“And did Mr. Brandon sleep on the back porch last night?”
“No sir, he did not. Father’s bed is there and he said he would not be turned out of it for any man.”
“Did Mr. Brandon like your father?”
“Most times. But then he said he was sick and tired of bread and milk, which was what we fed him. Pa said, ‘Eat it or go hungry.’ And Mr. Brandon squinched up his eyes very fierce.”