Chapter Nine
A gentle tap sounded on the door, and Agatha looked up. “Go away,” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Sarah pushed open the door and peeked around. “I know. Luther was most emphatic, but I didn’t think you would mind if I came to speak with you.”
“Well, you thought wrong. Now get out.”
Pleased to hear that today the voice carried no pain, Sarah edged around the door and closed it behind her. She found Agatha sitting upright by the window. She wore a dress of black lace and had wrapped a shawl of white about her frail shoulders.
“Are you stupid, girl, or just plain insolent?” Agatha shifted on her high-backed, wooden chair and wished yet again that she might move about without assistance. She watched Sarah’s continued approach, and her eyes narrowed. “So tell me . . .” she paused for effect. “Are you my grandson’s mistress yet, or do you just wish to be?”
Sarah stopped dead, and wondered for the briefest instant if the old woman could read her mind. She felt the color flare in her cheeks and hoped the bracelet was safely tucked under the cuff of her sleeve. Why am I surprised? she thought. Evil thoughts are always found out. And although she had wished only for a moment that he might kiss her again, she knew she had no right to such a thought.
“Do you love him?” Agatha challenged. “That handsome face and those dark eyes that can look straight into your soul.”
Sarah remained silent. How could she admit to Nick’s grandmother what she had yet to admit to herself?
“Cat got your tongue?” Agatha taunted. “Or have I hit on the truth?” She turned back toward the window. “Just leave the way you came in.”
Sarah pulled her shoulders back. “I thought I explained yesterday that I was Mr. Beaumont’s housekeeper.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Didn’t believe it then, don’t believe it now. So get out. I want to be alone.”
Sarah had taken but a single step backward when Nick’s warning flashed through her mind. She’ll not appreciate that you saw her at her weakest . . . she’s a proud lady and can’t accept the fact she can no longer keep up with the image of her youth. Sarah watched Agatha stare stubbornly out the window. You’re lonely and too obstinate to admit it, she thought with sudden clarity. A warm feeling of compassion seeped into Sarah’s limbs, and she found herself moving to stand directly before Agatha.
“But if I leave, then you’ll miss the treat I’ve brought for you.”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed in her wrinkled face. “What is it?” she demanded, craning her neck to see what Sarah carried in her basket.
“Then you’d like me to stay?”
Agatha folded her thin arms across her flat chest. “I probably won’t like it anyway. But suit yourself.”
Sarah pulled a stool close and suppressed a smile as she noted how Agatha’s eyes never left the basket.
“If it’s cake, I shall hate it. They’re always too dry. You might just as well take it back where it came from.”
Now Sarah did smile. “It is not a cake.”
Agatha thumped the arm of her chair with her gnarled fist, then grimaced in pain. “Are you going to open that damned basket or sit there grinning all day? At the speed you’re going I shall be cold in my grave before you decide what to do.”
Slowly, Sarah began to peel back the red-and-white checkered cloth. “Wadsworth and I were in the garden today and . . .”
“It’s flowers, I knew it.” Agatha sagged back in her chair. “I hate flowers, they make me sneeze.”
Sarah put on a patient expression. “No, ‘tis not flowers. But if you interrupt me again, I shall just conclude that you don’t want our gift. And if what Wadsworth tells me is correct, then that truly would be a shame.” Agatha turned her face toward the window, but Sarah only smiled and continued to peel back the cloth. The scent of fresh strawberries and chocolate floated from the basket, and Agatha’s head snapped back so fast Sarah almost laughed aloud.
“You brought me strawberries?”
Sarah reached into the basket and retrieved a crystal dish overflowing with bright red berries. She set the dish gently on Agatha’s lap and sat at Agatha’s feet. “Much of the first crop is not completely ripe yet, but Wadsworth and I found there were quite a few early bloomers,” she said softly.
Grateful that today her fingers worked, her stomach carried no pain, and her teeth didn’t ache, Agatha plucked the plumpest red berry from the dish and bit into it. The juice from the fruit dripped down her chin and it was the most delicious thing she had tasted in months. Greedily, she shoved two more into her mouth before she looked back at Sarah.
“I suppose you feel all proud of yourself now.” The words were sharp, but Sarah noted the way Agatha’s face filled with pleasure, and took no offense.
“I can claim no credit. It was Wadsworth who remembered, so it is he who gets your praise. I’ll be sure to tell him how much you enjoyed his thoughtfulness.”
Reluctantly, Agatha offered the dish to Sarah. “Do you want one?”
Still smiling, Sarah shook her head. “I could be noble and say that they were all for you.” She gave Agatha a conspiratorial wink. “But the truth of the matter is that while we were gatheringhem, I sampled more than my share.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
Agatha cackled at Sarah’s memory, then cradling the dish lovingly on her lap, she settled back. “When I was a girl, I couldn’t wait for the first strawberry crop to come in. Even though it was never a large one and the berries later in the summer were bigger, there is something to be said for the first of the season.” She plucked another from the dish and slowly bit into it. “I remember one summer when my sister and I were still in the schoolroom. I sneaked down to the garden and ate every berry on the vine.”
Sarah pressed her hand to her lips. “What happened?”
Agatha shrugged and popped the rest of the berry into her mouth, savoring the sun-sweetened fruit. “My father was going to take a switch to me, but I was sick all over his shoes.” Agatha chuckled from the memory. “I spent nearly a week in my bed from that little escapade.”
Fascinated, Sarah stared at Agatha in wonder. She understood her love for the succulent red berries, for she adored them herself. But it was beyond her comprehension that anyone would do something so blatant. She tried to picture Agatha as a bright young girl who thumbed her nose at the rules, but the image wouldn’t come.
“You mentioned a sister,” Sarah prompted. “Does she live nearby?”
A sad look covered Agatha’s face. “She died many years ago,” she said quietly. “Besides my husband, she was my dearest companion.”
Sarah reached out and took one of Agatha’s sticky hands within her own. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Agatha shook her head. “Helena was very dear to me.” She smiled with the memory. “My father always used to say that I got all the energy and vinegar while Hallie got all the goodness.”
Sarah pulled her stool closer. “What happened?”
For a long moment Agatha stared out the window as images of her youth sprang painfully to mind, then she turned back to Sarah. “Hallie and my husband both died the same year of the fever.” She stared down at hands now twisted and knotted with age. “No one was surprised when Hallie took ill. She’d been sickly all her life, and it was only natural that I would return home to nurse her. I was her favorite, you see, and she’d always take her medicine for me.” For several minutes Agatha sat silent, lost within her memories. When she looked up, her eyes were lifeless. “Hallie died, and the day we put her in the ground, a part of me died, too. I thought nothing would ever hurt as much, but I was wrong.”
Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun that poured through the window, Agatha shivered and pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. “My husband, Roger, was the next to go.” Her voice caught. “Many said that it was my fault, that I was the one who carried the fever home to him fr
om tending Hallie.”
Sarah knelt beside her chair. “Surely you don’t believe you were responsible. God takes who He sees fit to take.” She set the crystal dish aside and gently placed both her hands over Agatha’s. “If we tried to reason the wisdom of his ways, then we’d all go mad, for it’s not for man to know.”
Agatha gave Sarah a steady look. “I can accept that now, but there were times when I believed the whispers myself. It was too hard not to think that if I had stayed home with my family mayhap the fever would never have found Roger.” She shook her head, and the white lace cap that covered her hair bobbed from side to side. “Bu the worst of it was my son.”
“Nick’s father?”
Again Agatha nodded. “I was so eaten with grief from losing both my sister and husband that I ended up losing Rupert, too.”
“He became ill?” Sarah’s voice held quiet compassion.
A tear gathered and slowly trickled down Agatha’s wrinkled cheek. “He became hateful.” She wiped at her eyes with her knuckles. “I was so sure that something was going to happen to him, too, that I became overbearing. He was my only child, and I desperately wanted him to be perfect.” Her voice softened. “He would be the image of Roger and all that was good, and when he was grown, he’d take over the shipping business Roger had worked so hard to start. Rupert would be my living monument for the husband I had lost.”
“That would be quite a challenge for a young boy.” Sarah watched the emotions etch themselves deeper on Agatha’s pale face.
“I can see that now.” She heaved a weary sigh. “But not then. All I could see was that the harder I pushed, the weaker Rupert became. His backbone disappeared and he believed that the world owed him a living. When I finally realized what he was becoming and refused to give him more money, he left home. I never spoke with him again.”
Sarah felt Agatha’s body stiffen, whether in regret or anger she did not know.
“But Nick . . .” The smile retuned to Agatha’s thin lips. “The only thing of value Rupert and his trollop ever did during their entire worthless marriage was to produce that child. My poor Nicky,” Agatha sighed. “Those fools were blessed with a priceless gift from heaven, and both of them were too stupid to realize it.” Her cheeks flared with color. “All they could think about was their own selfish pleasures. Rupert drank until he couldn’t perform his husbandly duties anymore so she took to the streets. Then my perfect son drank even more to forget the fact that he had married a whore.” Agatha shuddered. “But the worst of it all was when they both drank to forget about Nicky – “
“Surely, in their own way, they cared for their son,” Sarah interrupted.
Agatha gave her a hard stare. “The only thing Rupert cared about was that the bottle never be empty.”
“But the mother – “
“Was a disgrace. The things those two put that child through would make your heart break. And even if it means that I lose my immortal soul, I’ll not say I’m sorry that they died.” Agatha struggled to control her anger, amazed that even after all this time, the thoughts of her son could still cause such pain. “When the constable came to tell me of the carriage accident that took them both, I wept. Not from sorrow as people thought. My tears were tears of joy, finally, little Nicky could begin to have a life. Nick had yet to see his sixth year.”
Sarah felt her heart pound painfully for the child that once was and then stronger still for the man he had become. “He loves you very much,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.
Agatha drew herself erect. “We love each other,” she declared. “But he can be so obstinate when he does not get his own way.”
“Is that why you send him notes that say you are dying?” Agatha had the grace to blush, and Sarah continued. “He is truly distressed when he received them. I know, I was there once.”
“He’s not distressed enough to come,” Agatha pouted, and again folded her arms across her chest.
Sarah shook her head. They were two of a kind, grandmother and grandson.
“Pass me that bowl,” Agatha commended, suddenly realizing that her treasure was out of reach.
Sarah placed the bowl back on the woman’s lap and smiled as Agatha popped another berry in her mouth. “If you eat too many, you shall make yourself sick,” she cautioned.
Agatha looked own her thin nose. “Why should I care? There’s a better than even chance that I’ll be sick tomorrow even without the berries.”
“Why does everyone insist on gambling?” Sarah shifted her position on her stool. “It seems to be a way of life in this town.”
“And just who have you seen gambling?” Agatha challenged.
Sarah studied her hands. “Well, no one actually, but everyone is constantly referring to it. Don’t they know gambling is a sin?”
“Probably not,” Agatha said. “You’ll have to enlighten them.” She studied Sarah in silence. “You know, you remind me of my sister. Same clear porcelain skin and thick, dark lashes. I always hated Hallie for those lashes.”
Sarah sat quietly. She was beginning to realize that in Virginia, what was said often was not what was meant.
“That must be it,” Agatha continued as she licked the chocolate from her twisted fingers. “You remind me of my sister. That must be why I feel so melancholy.”
“Would you truly like me to leave?”
Agatha, mouth full of strawberry, shook her head, making the lace cap shift about her wispy white hair. “Now that you’re here, you might as well stay,” she said finally. “You know I haven’t thought about Hallie for the longest time. We used to have such grand adventures together.”
“Tell me,” Sarah prompted. And Agatha did.
The afternoon sun painted the bedroom with dusty shadows, but neither Agatha nor her guest noticed. Lost in the memories of her youth, Agatha found a captive audience in Sarah. No matter how insignificant the story, to Sarah it was fascinating. She marveled at Agatha’s daring and total disregard for the confines of society. And more than once she suppressed a giggle when she thought of Agatha living in Salem. Rebecca would love to hear the stories, but Sarah knew even she would be shocked by Agatha’s devil-may-care attitudes. In the midst of a particularly scandalous tale, both women were startled by the rap on the door.
Sarah scrambled awkwardly to her feet as Nick crossed the room.
“And how is my favorite girl?” He gave Agatha’s pale cheek a hearty kiss, then turned to gaze at Sarah. Wisps of midnight hair had pulled free from her cap to curl about her delicate features. “I see your visitor is still alive and sports no visible bruises. Can I conclude than that you have had a good day?” His dark-sapphire eyes smiled down at his grandmother, and Sarah felt her knees melt.
Agatha gave his hand a playful swat. “Behave yourself, Nicky. Sarah brought me strawberries.”
“She did, did she?” Nick’s eyes returned to her, and Sarah felt the heat in the room intensify. “And you saved none for me?” His wounded expression made Agatha smile.
“Not a one,” she said smugly.
“Yes, we did,” Sarah answered at the same time. She blushed as both grandmother and grandson turned to stare at her. “I asked Wadsworth to reserve some for your supper tonight.”
“Well, well.” Nick turned a satisfied smile back to his grandmother. “It seems that someone is watching out for me after all. Thank you, Sarah.”
Sarah turned her innocent eyes from one to the other, knowing she had missed something, but not sure what.
“Humph.” Agatha’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “At least Sarah saw fit to bring me a gift, which is more than I can say for you.”
Nick’s dark eyes widened with surprise. “You expect me to bring you a gift?”
Agatha shrugged. “That would have been nice. But, as usual, I see you are empty- handed.”
“Ah, that I am,” Nick teased, placing his arm gently about his grandmother’s frail shoulders. “Definitely empty-handed. But that simply makes it easie
r for me to hug you.”
Agatha struggled to hide her smile as she tried to push him away. “I would rather have had a present.”
“Ah, Gran.” He kissed her cheek, inhaling the rose scent that clung to her clothing. “It just so happens that I have a gift for you, too.” He gave Sarah a wink and then reached into his pocket to retrieve the package.
Agatha hesitated a moment, holding the package in the palm of her hand. The sparkle of her eyes spoke of her excitement even as she tried to pout. “I don’t know if I should bother – “
“Oh, but ‘tis lovely,” Sarah interrupted, not knowing this was a game they played each time Nick brought his grandmother a gift. “You must open it.”
Agatha raised a brow and gave Nick a searching look. “How is it that Sarah knows about my present?”
Nick shook his head as he read the true question behind Agatha’s words. “Why don’t you just open it,” he said firmly, refusing to rise to her bait.
Without waiting for permission, but knowing that Agatha could never manage the wrapping, Nick unfastened the package and placed it back in her hand so she had only to lift back the paper to view her surprise. Sarah waited with stilled breath as Agatha peeled back the wrapping.
“Oh, Nicky.” Agatha beamed as she discarded the brown paper and palmed the necklace. “It is beautiful.” She awkwardly held the chain higher to better view the workmanship. “Did Walter Johnson make this?” She peered at the design wishing she had a party to go to where she might show it off. “He probably charged you an arm and a leg for it. His prices are always too dear.”
“If you don’t care for it, I could take it back,” Nick teased.
Agatha bared her teeth and snarled in his direction. “Don’t you dare try to take back my present. I declare, Nicky, I think this is the nicest thing you have ever given to me.”
Nick smiled, genuinely pleased that Gran was happy. “You say that about everything I give you.”
“Agatha shook her head and pressed the necklace between her knotted hands. “I definitely think that this is the best present ever.”
“Sarah picked it out.” Even as the words left his mouth, Nick knew he had made a mistake. But he almost laughed out loud at the stunned expressions on both their faces.
“Oh . . ."
A thousand questions echoed in the single word Agatha uttered, and Nick knew it was timely to make his exit. “We have to be going, Gran. But I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
Agatha watched her grandson turn, and noted the faintest blush that touched his high cheekbones. Well, well, well, she thought. This is an interesting kettle of fish. “Sarah,” she turned to the girl. “The necklace is lovely. You have a keen eye for quality. But tell me, what did Nick give you?”
Not realizing she had just been outwitted, and unused to deception of any type, Sarah immediately stepped forward and extended her arm allowing the bracelet to slip from beneath her cuff. “‘Tis the most beautiful thing I have ever received,” she said, holding forth her arm for Agatha’s inspection. Agatha’s bent fingers touched the bracelet and she smiled knowingly. Sarah felt a suffocating guilt suddenly surround her. What am I doing? She thought frantically. ‘Tis bad enough I have accepted such a gift, but now I am flaunting it. Her cheeks grew hot and, as quickly as she could, she pulled back her arm and tried to tuck the piece back under her sleeve.
“If you do that,” Agatha nodded toward her wrist, “no one will be able to see your beautiful gift.” She watched the color stain the young girl’s cheeks, and the wheels in Agatha’s sharp mind spun faster. She turned back to her grandson and found him also captivated by Sarah’s sudden discomfort. Well, well, well, she repeated to herself. Just what do we have here?
“You must stay for dinner, Nick,” Agatha commanded in her strongest voice.
Nick smiled but shook his head. He could almost hear his grandmother’s thoughts. “I have business later this evening.”
“Then leave Sarah to dine with me and fetch her on your return.”
Nick touched Sarah’s shoulder and motioned her toward the door so she wouldn’t be pulled into his grandmother’s trap. “Not tonight Gran. I’ll stop in and see you one the morrow.”
Agatha folded her arms across her chest, her foot tapping against the hard wood floor. “I think you have more than business on your mind, Nicholas Beaumont.”
Nick gave Sarah a gentle nudge out the door before crossing back to place a kiss on his grandmother’s head. “I have business in Jamestown tomorrow. I’ll stop by on my way to the docks.”
Agatha gave him a horrified look. “Nicholas Beaumont, don’t you dare call on this house before noon. You know how I hate rushing in the morning.”
“Afraid I’ll catch you in your nightrail?” he teased, flashing her a devilish grin.
“You come on your way home, that way you can tell me what’s going on.”
Nick smiled and executed a courtly bow. “I am your servant, Madame.”
Agatha snorted. “And the day I believe that, pigs will fly.” But Nick had already closed the door and her words amused no one but herself. With great effort, Agatha pulled at the heavy brocade drapery to stare out the window. She could see Nick’s carriage and, within moments, Nick and Sarah came into view. Agatha watched her grandson hold Sarah’s arm to assist her, his laughter ringing in the air.
Well, well, well, she thought again. Neither Nick nor Sarah looked up toward the window where she sat, and neither knew that she stared after them until the carriage was completely out of view.
Agatha let the curtain fall back in place and thought about Nick’s visit. He might have come to see her, but he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from the girl. He’s in love, she thought. He’s in love and he hasn’t even realized it yet. A strange unsettling feeling seeped into her bones, and Agatha suddenly longed for her bed. Nick would marry and then he’d never have time to visit or take a meal with her. He’d want to spend all his time with his new bride. Agatha felt her chest grow tight and her eyelids sting. He’d make a call out of duty now and then, but he’d be too busy with his new family to be really interested in an old woman like herself. She felt tears gather and sniffed hard. Her trembling hand reached for the golden bell to fetch the maids, then she paused.
Perhaps Nick’s being in love wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. Sarah was a sweet girl and a grand improvement over Marigold Thurmont. She would be good for Nick, Agatha decided, thinking of the afternoon they had just spent. Agatha pressed her knotted fingers together and rested her chin on her hand. With a little badgering, Sarah would probably urge Nicky to spend even more time with her, she thought, and her spirits began to brighten. And if Nick gets married, she realized suddenly, then I’ll get grandbabies. The image of holding Nick’s child on her lap sent joy seeping into every joint of her aching body. The notion of losing her grandson slowly gave way to a plan that would ensure Sarah remained in Virginia.
Agatha worked out the entire scheme in her mind, then rethought her logic the way Roger had always insisted she do with business matters.
“It will work,” she declared triumphantly to the empty room. A new sense of purpose made her giddy with excitement as she reached for the bell.
Luther entered, carrying a silver tray with her medicine cup.
“I already fixed the drink, Miss Agatha,” he stated proudly. “It’s not too hot and just the way Miss Sarah showed me. So you drink it right up now.”
Impatiently, Agatha balanced the cup and, to Luther’s amazement, drank the potion straight down without a protest.
“Luther,” Agatha tried to hide her growing enthusiasm, “I’d like you to arrange for Mr. Danvers to call upon me tomorrow. I have some legal matters I wish to discuss with him.”
Luther rubbed his chin and looked confused. “I thought I heard Master Nick say that Mr. Danvers wasn’t your attorney no more.”
Agatha grinned with satisfaction. “You’re absolutely right. Mr. Danvers no longer works for Beaumont Sh
ipping. But I have matters of a personal nature.”
“You sure, Miss Agatha? I thought you didn’t care for that man.”
Agatha smiled and, with some difficulty, rubbed her fingers together. “I can’t abide the man. But for what I have in mind, Michael Danvers will be perfect.” She looked up, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m going to need an ace in the hole for this hand, Luther. And if I have my way Mr. Michael Danvers, attorney-at-law, is going to become my ace.”
Luther folded his arms across his massive chest. “And just how is it that I already know that you don’t’ want me to say nothing to Master Nick?”
Agatha gave her servant a conspiratorial wink. “Things are going to be wonderful around here, Luther. You just trust me and wait and see. And Luther. . .” she said as he turned to do her bidding, “make sure that Mr. Danvers calls on me well before noon.”
Luther nodded and left the room. Young Ruby entered, gave a curtsy to her mistress, and began to light the tapers to push back the night. But Agatha never noticed. With her shawl pulled tight about her shoulders, she began to gently rock to and fro.
Ruby paused to stare at her mistress. In the three years she had worked for Miss Agatha, she had never heard the woman sing. But now Miss Agatha was humming a lullaby. Fascinated, she watched from the corner of her eye until her task was completed. Wait until they hear this in the kitchen! she thought. With a quick curtsy, the girl silently made her exit.
Agatha never noticed. She was completely absorbed with thoughts of holding Nicky’s child.