Catherine admired the large rectangular marble. “The base is most impressive.”
“His dates are already carved and so beautifully,” Rachel added to her sister’s praise.
With a flourish of her hand, Maureen remarked, “Italians. No one can work with marble like they can. One can be happy about King George losing the war for many reasons. Leaving behind Italians in the prisoner-of-war camps is one of them.”
Shadowed by Sheba and Bettina, the three women turned toward the house. Sheba couldn’t stand Bettina. It was mutual, but both women put a good face on it.
“I can’t believe my husband has been gone over two weeks. It already seems a lifetime,” Maureen intoned, the grief perfunctory as her voice didn’t register a note of it although she had loved him as a young woman. Time had taken care of that. “Tomorrow is already October, and such a lovely day. How was your apple crop, by the way?”
“Father is so happy he’s planning to expand the orchard,” Catherine answered.
“Perhaps I should as well. Your father has always said the soils and altitude beg for apple trees. Only Ewing would say ‘beg.’ Such a brilliant conversationalist.”
“You bring it out in men.” Rachel said this with a straight face.
“Tsh.” Maureen again waved her hand. “You two ladies will have a light repast with me.”
“We couldn’t put you to such trouble.” Catherine smiled. “I’m here on business.”
“It is no trouble, and I long for conversation with ladies of quality. This place has been overrun with men since Francisco’s terrible end. Can they get me this? Am I planning to sell the southernmost acres, and if I am would I consider them first? Dreary. When Francisco was alive he, as was natural, tended to such things. I had no idea men were so boring.” She laughed.
The sisters joined in, then Catherine smiled slyly. “A few are not. I find, Mrs. Selisse, if they are handsome, their conversation shines a bit brighter.”
“Catherine, you shock me,” Maureen said in jest.
Once seated, the food set before them by two young slaves doing their best not to catch the Missus’s eye, the three enjoyed the cold soup, beginning the “light repast,” which could have filled an elephant.
“Sheba!” yelled Maureen.
Hurrying into the dining room, Sheba looked at her mistress as though whatever was about to issue from her mouth would be the most important statement of all time.
“Do see that Bettina enjoys some lunch, and, Sheba”—Maureen looked coyly at Catherine—“see if you can wrest her biscuit recipe from her.”
A half bob and Sheba left.
“Your Bettina is a woman of strong opinion.” Maureen laughed lightly. “As well as one of the best cooks high or low.”
“She does evidence strong opinion, and you know, Mrs. Selisse, she is often right,” Catherine replied.
“Well, Sheba is not often right. She dithers. She picks out one necklace for me to wear, then tries another, and I can’t get her to move faster. However, she is loyal and stood right next to me during that horrid assault. She could have run and she did not.”
Rachel praised her again. “You could have run, too, Mrs. Selisse. Your courage has not gone unnoticed.”
“I tell you the truth, I was so shocked I couldn’t move. Then a rage washed over me such as I never felt before in my life.” Maureen frowned. “Well, let us talk of happier things.”
“We could start with you telling us where you found that exquisite taffeta.” Catherine spoke of the loose, sky-blue taffeta dress Maureen wore, bound with a beaded sash.
“France. Francisco always said France is the richest country in Europe, and when one sees the fabrics, the jewels, the furniture, just the furniture alone, he must be right. No one of even handsome means can afford it. One needs great sums, and I hear the king is not interested in such luxuries but that he would rather fix clocks. I can’t imagine it. Must be some wild story.”
“It does sound odd,” said Rachel. “But then perhaps the clocks are gilded, encrusted with jewels,” she added.
Catherine changed the subject. “Mrs. Selisse, you have created such beauty here, the house, your furnishings, your gardens. Your gardens alone are worth a trip from darkest Massachusetts.” They laughed as Catherine continued. “I know that Yancy Grant offered you four thousand dollars for Serenissima. That is not enough.”
Maureen’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.”
“It is a good price, but the mare has excellent conformation, an easy temperament, and she is with foal. She is worth more than that, even if you do not use her for a saddle horse. Yancy will run her, of course, then make a profit breeding her and selling the foals. Four thousand is too low.”
“I see.” She put her fork down.
“If you wish to breed the mare, I will help in any way. I do not want to see someone take advantage of you. But if you want to sell Serenissima, I don’t know your plans, I will pay you seven thousand dollars.”
Rachel burst out, “Seven thousand!”
This outburst was planned.
Maureen countered with, “Ewing Garth would pay that for a mare in foal for the first time?” The woman wasn’t as dumb as some thought about horses.
“No, this is my money,” said Catherine. “It is part of what Mother left to me. I don’t want to see such a fine animal run to the ground. She is beyond compare, Mrs. Selisse. She reflects in the flesh what you have accomplished here.” Catherine swept her arm away from her to indicate the whole farm.
As though an afterthought, Rachel said, “Have you been swayed by Jeffrey Holloway?”
Maureen, utterly focused now, looked at Rachel then Catherine. “Mr. Holloway?”
As though with reluctance, Catherine looked directly into Maureen’s eyes. “When he came to inspect Serenissima, according to your request, he mentioned that Yancy Grant was trying to buy her and he, well, how shall I put this, he was not sure that Mr. Grant harbored your best interests but he, as a cabinetmaker, could not say much against Mr. Grant.”
“Did he, now?” Maureen oozed fascination.
“Oh, Catherine, you know he’s smitten with Mrs. Selisse,” Rachel said.
As though appalled, Catherine said, “What is wrong with you, Rachel? After all Mrs. Selisse has endured, she doesn’t need to worry about a young man’s tender feelings.”
“Now, now, Catherine, don’t be too hard on Rachel,” cooed Maureen. “Jeffrey Holloway has been helpful and he lightens a room. Of course, I had no idea.”
What a fib.
“Well, you certainly can’t miss the clumsy attempts of some of the other men,” Rachel said. “At least Mr. Holloway is sensitive to your feelings. He would never push himself. He may be a cabinetmaker, but he is a fine man.” Rachel glared at Catherine, who glared back.
“Rachel, will you please desist and—”
“Rachel, I am not offended,” said Maureen. “I am pleased to know that you two are solicitous of my well-being. Yes, I know why many of these men are continually calling with this and that. But like you, Rachel, I do think Mr. Holloway truly cares and has my best interests at heart.”
“Might we get back to Serenissima?” asked Catherine.
Thrilled with the turn of conversation, Maureen managed to think again about the mare. “I accept.”
Catherine then surprised her by opening the small beaded bag that hung from her waist almost like a jewel. She took out a written check to be drawn from her account in the amount of seven thousand dollars.
Isabelle Garth established separate accounts for each of her daughters with a bank in Richmond. Isabelle also believed that Alexander Hamilton would lead the new nation into solvency and subsequent profit. Never revealing her own financial acumen to anyone other than her husband or her daughters, she had an uncanny sense to know where profits would be made. Among many other abilities, this drew her close to Ewing, and he had rarely made a decision without discussing it with her first.