“I do.” She carefully returned the letter to the envelope. “Do you think the baron is accurate in his assessment of what he needs to live?”
“Being far away from current costs, I trust his figures. He won’t be as foolish as our father, but he has a place, a title, and he must fulfill responsibilities. If there is a war we are expected to raise regiments, supplies. If we are not asked, given a specific goal, then we must work however the king commands to prosecute the war.”
“One pays for one’s privileges.”
“It’s the way of the world,” Charles agreed. “He will continue to investigate the correct route for an adoption. It has been done throughout the centuries. Well. Julius Caesar adopted Octavius, so there is a long path.” What Charles didn’t say was that Jeffrey and Maureen would probably not have children. So the title would die in time or Jeffrey, himself, would need to adopt. Charles figured, cross that bridge when they came to it.
“Monies will be needed to cross palms.” Maureen tapped the letter on the palm of her hand a few times as though hearing a distant rhythm.
“That, too, is the way of the world,” Rachel replied without much intonation, then added, “And we have a small price.”
Shocked, Charles’s jaw dropped. She had said nothing to him.
Maureen, far more cynical, simply stared. “Yes.”
“As I said it is small.”
“How small?”
“I wish you to free DoRe.”
Surprised, Maureen covered that emotion. “You have one of the best coachmen in Virginia.”
“I do and you are kind to notice. DoRe will do as he pleases, I have no knowledge that he would work for us.”
“Then why should I free him?”
“Because he is courting Bettina.” Maureen knew of this, as did just about everyone. “I hope this will embolden him to ask for her hand.”
“What does being free have to do with it?” Maureen was in no mood to assist any slave, especially after William’s running away and the loss of other Big Rawly slaves.
“If he lives here and she with us, they will have very little time together. Imagine if your beloved Mr. Holloway lived and worked on another estate. You two belong together.” Rachel knew that would reach her, especially the “belong together.”
“Well,” Maureen asked, “just why is Bettina’s happiness and DoRe’s happiness so important?”
Charles, eyes wide, observed every syllable, every gesture.
“Maureen, you know how my mother suffered at the end.” Maureen nodded and Rachel continued. “Bettina never left her side. She even slept in the bedroom. The two of them shared a special friendship, something rare. I want Bettina’s days to be filled with love.”
Leaning back in her chair, Maureen held off.
“Rachel, my love, you feel such things so deeply. I had no idea. Oh yes, I knew that Bettina cared for your mother, and your mother asked her to promise to watch over you for Ewing has spoken of it many times.” Charles smiled at her. “And now you are watching over her.”
Rachel modestly dropped her eyes, then raised them up to Maureen, who cared little for the emotion involved.
“If you will give me time to be certain one of the stable boys can take over.”
“DoRe has trained them. It shouldn’t take long.” Rachel wanted to clap but didn’t. “Two months?”
“Three. I won’t free him until I have made all the arrangements with the baron. That will be months, for once we are in England I intend to enjoy London.”
“Of course, but if there is hope, perhaps DoRe will not wait overlong to speak to Bettina about a future,” Rachel said.
Charles glanced at the ormolu-festooned clock. “We have overstayed our welcome. You, as always, have been gracious. It’s such a pleasure to visit you and Big Rawly,” Charles fibbed, but did not stand up until Maureen did.
His manners were impeccable, not lost on Maureen or anyone, really.
Rachel kissed Maureen on the cheek. Charles bowed and brushed his lips over her hand. She felt quite regal.
Driving back to Cloverfields, a glorious light breeze tossing her hair, for she put her bonnet on the seat, Charles said, “You think of everything.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I hope for the best. And I pray the Holloways and your brother will work this out.”
“Rachel, he has no choice. It’s an heir or ruination. Clearly she has the money. She didn’t blink.”
“What do you think a dollar is worth versus the pound?” she asked, feeling the soft leather in her hand as King David trotted along.
“The pound is worth far more. Twenty dollars? Fifteen?”
“Then again, a dollar in Virginia, in South Carolina. Just what is a dollar worth?”
He grinned. “A pound, a dollar, a pittance compared to your value.”
41
February 20, 2017
Monday
Harry figured to use this to her advantage, especially in the encroaching darkness. Driving to Richmond on I-64, she remembered when people were given Lincoln’s birthday on the 12th and Washington’s on the 22nd. Schoolchildren loved two days off, as did many adults. Well, commerce first, so both men’s birthdays were rolled into one, Presidents’ Day. She considered it a gyp.
Tucker, seated next to her in the Volvo, watched out the window as the early sunset turned the snow-covered pastures and bare trees gold, then salmon, finally red, then boom: darkness. The intrepid dog knew her human was up to something, but what? The cats, left behind, complained loudly. And Tucker knew when they returned to Crozet a book would be knocked off a shelf and desecrated or something would be pushed on the floor from the kitchen counter. The cats believed in revenge.
Finally, Harry reached the site of the Cloudcroft construction. Parking the station wagon on a side street, easier in Richmond than in other cities, she put Tucker on a leash, grabbed bolt cutters and a mountaineers pick, shoved a small flashlight in her pocket, locked the wagon, began walking. Puffs of breath escaped their noses and mouths, little tokens of winter.