Every spade of dirt he had thrown on her face once he’d opened the grave made him thank God he’d lived to kill the evil bitch. She was with the Devil by now.
His heavy breathing subsided. DoRe folded his hands together. Someday he needed to tell Bettina, but not now, not now. He wanted no secrets between himself and the woman he loved.
As for God’s punishment, DoRe felt none would occur. If anything, the Lord would rejoice as he rejoiced over Old Testament warriors’ victories over unbelievers. Sheba was an unbeliever. He had done his duty.
In the meanwhile, Jeffrey had stormed up to the house, where his wife, low-cut bodice prominent, sat at her card table. He swept the cards off the table, yanked her to her feet, and slapped her hard across the face.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again.” He towered over her as she sank to her knees.
“I didn’t do anything.” She was stunned.
“You had Elizabetta cut to ribbons. What’s the matter with you?”
Flaring, she spat out, “You can’t let those animals get away with anything. Beat them, beat them into submission. She was in charge of the house and money is missing, jewelry is missing, and Sulli has run off.”
He slapped her hard again. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again! As for Sulli leaving, well, she was a petty thief. Elizabetta couldn’t have known. Do you think she’d be stupid enough to be here knowing or being a part of this? Never. Never. Never. Never. Do you hear me?” He gripped her wrists until they hurt.
“Yes.”
He kept holding her wrists. “I am your husband. I am the Master of Big Rawly. You will obey me. Do you hear? You will never beat anyone again.”
She nodded. Whether she agreed or not was another issue.
The bosoms were not lost on her husband. He pulled her up, ripped her bodice right off her bosoms. The material hung at her waist. Then he kissed her hard, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Do you hear?” he whispered.
“Yes, husband.”
Having never seen Jeffrey like this, Maureen was equal parts frightened and thrilled. The fear subsided. The thrill remained.
26
October 19, 1787
Friday
The two men sat together in Charles’s parlor, having enjoyed a light midafternoon meal prepared by Rachel with Bettina’s help. Rachel left to help Catherine write out some of their father’s correspondence and to allow the two men time alone.
Charles carefully unhooked the brass latch, opening the box to find a mate to the beautiful Nicolas-Noël Boutet pistol his father had given him.
“Oh,” Charles exclaimed as he lifted the work of art from its housing.
“The Baron knew you had forfeited your pistol to John Schuyler when he captured you. He thought this would please you.”
Charles grinned. “Wait until John sees this.” Then he rubbed his forefinger on the rich wood of the flintlock. It was accurate. When one pays that much for a weapon, it had better be, and his late father had paid plenty.
Jeffrey, happy to have made Charles happy, said, “I never understood how you and the major could become so close, but now after my duel with Yancy Grant, I somewhat understand.”
“John originally thought we were lucky to be living. You can imagine. But he knew the Articles of War, and he treated my men and me with respect, even on the march from Saratoga to here, now the prisoner of war camp.” Charles shook his head. “I have never been so cold in my life.”
“I saw it once. Delivered a chest for the wife of the commandant. All those cabins, wooden chimneys, and the rooftops, evergreens. I suppose the needles were to keep out the snow.”
“Well, Piglet and I snuggled up each night.” Charles reached down to pet his devoted, aging corgi. “But I give my captors credit. When I approached the guard with the suggestion of thatching the roofs—that we could do it because no one here really knew how—he took me to the commandant, who seemed relieved, actually, that there might be a way for more protection from the elements. He had no money. The Continental Congress had none, nor did the colony of Virginia.”
“I certainly saw many thatched roofs in England. I liked them, actually.”
“Well, my men and I found reeds, mostly in lowlands near the camp, and we thatched our roof. Then the other fellows did it, those who could. Kept the rain out and the snow. The next thing was cutting firewood. I remember a Hessian from another cabin sneaking over to steal some of our firewood. We caught him and thrashed him worse than we would have thrashed a colonial.” Charles laughed.
“Having seen where you were raised, I would imagine we do appear barbaric,” Jeffrey remarked.
Charles quickly replied, “I do not feel that. Are there castles and kings, are there the great piazzas such as exist in Italy or estates of twenty and thirty thousand acres owned by dukes, no. But the homes in Philadelphia are graceful. I hear Charleston is beautiful, and even Richmond, a bit less refined perhaps, contains touches of elegance.”
Jeffrey brightened. “Technically you and I are brothers now.”
Charles tapped his forefinger on Jeffrey’s hand. “A good addition to the family. I am grateful that you and your wife have rescued my brother. That’s the only word I can use. ‘Rescued.’ Our father, a man of immense charm and sociability, left us in tatters, as you know. Well, insolvent, as he did inherit the title.”
Jeffrey leaned back in the comfortable chair. “My wife sets such a store by such things. Lord Holloway. If anyone would call me that, I would be embarrassed.”
“I doubt any Virginian will, but when you leave our country, you will be so addressed.”
“Maureen insists I have your family’s coat of arms painted on our carriage, on everything, engraved on the silver. My God.” Jeffrey couldn’t help himself.
“Ah well, she was raised where such things still matter.”
“I saw where she was raised. More splendor, which she has reproduced at Big Rawly. She was educated in France.”
“Yes.” Charles smiled, for Maureen spoke impeccable French, as did he. “You didn’t cross the Channel?”
“We didn’t visit France. Maureen, who keeps up with foreign developments, judged it not a good time to see her old friends there. She says the dismissal of the Assembly of Notables in May was unwise. Your brother, when this was discussed, called them the Assembly of Not Ables.”
Charles laughed. “He would, but they didn’t do anything anyway. I can’t see a dismissal as much to worry about, but, then, I am here and very grateful to be here.”
“You don’t miss it?”
“Oh, I miss the shires sometimes. I miss Oxford. I don’t really miss London at all. Every time I would visit, which my father insisted upon for our social education, if you will, I found the city had grown even more. People everywhere. I’m not meant to sit in soirees.”
“Yes, well, I now understand.” Jeffrey smiled. “Italy proved a revelation. I tried to remember my school Latin, but the light, the color of the homes, the furniture”—he paused, blushing slightly—“I will ever be a cabinetmaker. I was enchanted.”
“Business is good?”
“My wife has had that large shop built for me, encouraged me to hire specialized labor. The orders pour in.” He paused. “And you?”