The ladies sipped a light sherry while the men drank port in the library. Every now and then Bettina and Serena could hear Ewing or his sons-in-law laugh, and occasionally, Jeffrey, Maureen’s husband.
As for the women, Serena would sneak down the hall to listen, tiptoe back. “Maureen swears the French court is the height of fashion. The English Queen is dowdy.”
“How does she know?” Bettina dried her hands on a dish towel woven at Cloverfields.
Cloverfields was as self-sustaining as possible.
“Guess she’s been over there. Mr. Garth visited England and France when he was young. Charles came from England.” Serena dreamed of seeing the world, a dream followed by the inconvenience of travel as well as the fact that she was a slave. But certain indispensable slaves traveled with their master or mistress.
Both women wore head rags. Bettina’s tied in the front with a square knot. Serena’s tied in the back. Neither knew why they did it that way, but it was what their kin taught them. They stuck to it.
The kitchen, everything put in place, sparkled. The fire in the small hearth gave off the odor of hardwood. Bettina tossed in two oak logs.
“Sit down, Serena. Let’s catch our breath.” The older woman sighed. “It’s been a long day.”
“You outdid yourself tonight. No wonder you’re tired.”
Bettina smiled. “I do so love to put that bitch in her place. And this new girl that attends to her, Elizabetta, isn’t much better than that damned Sheba. I hope she’s dead.” Bettina meant Sheba, who had disappeared about a month ago, along with a fabulously large pearl necklace.
“No one’s heard anything. Big Rawly’s a hard place to live. Hard.” Serena sighed. “And Marcia, you’d think she’d be sweet like her real mother. Hellion. I am tempted to hit her upside the head.”
Laughing, Bettina swatted good-naturedly at Serena. “Just wait. It’ll get worse.” She paused. “Why can’t that girl with Maureen be called Elizabeth? Elizabetta.” She twirled her hand in the air. “My, my.”
“I guess if you work close with Maureen you turn into a snot, too.” Serena laughed.
The little girl, Marcia, already an exotic beauty, was raised by Rachel as her own. Marcia was two years older than Rachel’s daughter Isabelle. Marcia’s mother was an escaped slave from Big Rawly, accused of killing Francisco Selisse. That he needed killing was never in doubt, but Ailee didn’t do it nor did her lover, Moses. He was helped to York, Pennsylvania, where he was safe. Ailee had been hidden at Cloverfields, gave birth to Marcia. When she looked at the baby, who looked white, which meant she was Francisco’s, Ailee hung herself. The slaves knew, as did Catherine, Rachel, John, and Charles. Ewing did not, nor did anyone off the estate.
Bettina felt if the child could pass for white, they should all protect her. She’d be free. Well, she was free and a handful.
Bettina hummed.
“What’s that?” Serena asked.
“I hear Rachel and Charles sing it. ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.’ ” She hummed some, and Serena, a good ear, picked it up with her.
Footsteps alerted them.
Catherine stepped into the kitchen. “I had to walk away just for a minute. You know, I would consider drowning Maureen if I thought I could get away with it. She’s in there carrying on about how dreadful Yancy Grant is and moreover she knows, knows in her heart, that he wants her. That’s really why Yancy and Jeffrey fought that silly duel.” Catherine put her hands on her hips. “Wonderful meal.” Then she smiled slyly. “Just kills her. Her cook is, shall we say, serviceable.”
The three laughed.
“Is it true Maureen is trying to buy a title for Jeffrey?” Serena looked up into those astonishing eyes of Catherine’s.
“How did you hear that?”
“DoRe.” Serena named the head coachman at Big Rawly, courting Bettina, as both were widowed.
“Now that you mention it, he did refer offhandedly to it, but I really didn’t pay but so much attention. Rachel is the one mesmerized.”
“Miss Catherine.” Bettina’s voice hit the singsong register, meaning she knew Catherine was interested.
A moment of silence, then Catherine admitted, “Well, it’s just so absurd.” Then she burst out laughing. “All right. Back to Purgatory. They’re discussing the merits of shirred velvet versus heavy satin for winter balls. But Maureen did say that Yancy called on them to sell a horse. He promised this spring will be a banner race season, much money to be won.”
“Hmm.” Bettina wondered if DoRe counseled his mistress or if he’d let her throw her money about to make a big show.
“If he visited Big Rawly, you know he’ll come calling,” Serena predicted.
“And if he visited Big Rawly he must be desperate,” Bettina shrewdly asserted.
“You’re right.” Catherine considered Bettina’s insight.
More footsteps. Rachel stepped into the kitchen. “Your turn. I need a small escape.”
Bettina rose. “Miss Catherine. Here. This will help.” She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a jar. “Raspberry jam. She loves our raspberry jam.”
Catherine took the jar. “Good thinking. I’ll tell her it took me a while to find it.”
She turned and left.
Rachel sat down on the wooden bench. “Is it true Jeddie’s mother insists he marry?”
“He’s nineteen. Isn’t he nineteen?” Serena asked. Bettina nodded yes, he was.
“He doesn’t want to get married.” Rachel liked the young horseman who worked with Catherine.
“Says she’s going to throw him out.” Bettina clucked. “And you know how Felicia can get.”
“There’s an empty cabin near the weaving cabin. He’d be close to the women when they work. I mean if he came home early or something. That could be, well, you know.” Rachel was sensitive to such things.
“He hasn’t found the right one. He’s not going to chase the girls or he’d be doing it already,” Bettina wisely noted.
“I’m sure that’s the case.” Rachel smiled. “I’ll talk to Father to see if he’ll allow Jeddie to live over there alone.”