Mercy stopped screaming and stared blankly at Nelson. She watched her arm being lowered and saw the gun being taken from her grasp. She looked at the gun in his hand as though it were some wondrous, magical creature that had just saved her. She forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Then she exhaled with piercing sobs of fear, sorrow, and disbelief. As she wept, she fell to her knees. Nelson watched her torment unfold. The two girls tiptoed in and stood at the door in silence. Only Mercy’s cries to God were heard. Only her prayers for forgiveness broke the stillness in the room.
After a few minutes, calmness descended upon Mercy. She stood up and walked to the far side of the desk. She bent down and looked into Eddie’s face and lifeless eyes. She pushed his dead body off the desk and watched it hit the floor. She felt nothing bar remnants of hatred.
Papers: she needed to find the papers. After a couple of minutes of rummaging through the top drawer, she found what she was looking for. Eddie had not lied. The papers were there for each of du Pont’s slaves.
She took the one with Nelson’s name and tucked it into her bodice. Approaching the two girls, who shied away from her in fear, she told them, “I’m sorry to have put you in the middle of this. I’m going to have to tie you up. If I don’t, you’ll both get into bother with your mistress – or you can run away,” she added as an afterthought.
The girls shook their heads, looking shocked at the very idea of it.
“All right – but you understand that you are staying here with a cruel woman? And you understand why I have to tie you up?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
Nelson said, “I’ll go find rope now. You gotta take off that dress, Miss Mercy.”
Mercy looked at her wet bloodstained gown. “I’ll go look for something to put on and see if there’s anything else we can take with us, like money and food.” Mercy suddenly grabbed Nelson’s hand. She said, “Nelson, you do want to come with me, don’t you?”
“You saved me, Miss Mercy. I’m yours now. I’m gonna look after you. Ain’t no more harm going to come to you, not while you got ole Nelson. But where we gonna go?”
“Don’t worry about that just yet. Tie the girls up and then come look for me.”
Nelson nodded.
When Nelson left the room, Mercy turned her attention to the girls. She was calm and poised and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t still screaming with the shock of it all.
“I know you’re scared, but these were bad men. This one,” she said, pointing to Eddie, “was going to have me killed tomorrow. Your mistress was going to cut my throat.”
One of the girls spoke for the first time. “He was bad. He took me every day, and he was real rough. I’s real glad he’s dead,” she added, spitting on Eddie’s dead body.
“Please, don’t tell on me when your mistress gets home. If coppers come, tell them that a bandit or a thief killed these men. Will you do that for me?”
The girls looked at each other.
Mercy could only guess what they were thinking. She hated the thought of leaving them here with Du Pont. But she was about to embark on a perilous journey with one slave and couldn’t, wouldn’t, take responsibility for three. If the girls agreed and stuck to a story, they wouldn’t be harmed. But if du Pont threatened them and they told her the truth, du Pont would beat them and send all hell after Mercy. She wouldn’t give up until she’d crushed Mercy for good.
“I’m asking you to lie and to never tell the truth about what happened here. And you mustn’t blame Nelson, because he didn’t do anything. I killed the men.” Mercy was pleading with her eyes.
The two girls nodded in unison. “We ain’t gonna say nothing ’bout no woman being here, we promise,” one said. “And may the sweet Lord bless you for killing that evil on the floor.”
Mercy sighed with relief. She couldn’t be sure if they would stick to their word, but if they could, even just for a day or two, it would give her and Nelson a good head start.
“Thank you. Now, do either of you know where your mistress keeps money?”
“I do,” one said. “I seen her one day with a money box in her bedroom. I knows she puts money in her boots too.”
“Could you go get all the money for me?” Mercy asked her.
The girl beamed. “I can do that.”
“I can get you some food,” the other girl said.
Chapter Fifty-Two
A heavy cloud covering hid the stars and moon. In the barn, Mercy held a lantern up whilst Nelson saddled a horse for her. She had never felt so alive or so grateful to still be alive. The shock of what she had done had worn off, yet she could scarcely believe she had killed two more men. She was still shaking, hanging on to an outward calm for dear life, but she was traumatised. Had she been alone, she would still be sitting on the floor and weeping.
She felt no guilt or sadness at the murders just done. She felt no pity for Eddie and the giant slave or for herself and her present situation. But she needed Jacob. There was nothing she wanted more than to be in his arms right now, for he would make everything right.
She stared into Nelson’s beaten face. Nelson would hang for these murders if he stayed. Madame du Pont would accuse him, wondering at the same time how he broke loose from his chains. The idea of taking Nelson somewhere safe was ridiculous. She didn’t know the country. She hadn’t even had a chance to see the bulk of Portsmouth. Yet her instincts told her to help him, for she could never live with herself if he was blamed for the murders she had just committed. Had Madame du Pont arrived home, Mercy would have shot her without hesitation. This thought also scared her.
The two slave girls had tended to Nelson’s back. He hadn’t cried or uttered a sound when they cleaned and disinfected his wounds. The only indication of his suffering had come from his tightly clenched fists, his trembling lips, and his face, which perspired.
She had saddlebags filled with food and water. She was taking blankets and spare clothes, and now both she and Nelson wore thick winter jackets. She had dollar bills stuffed inside the bodice she still wore. There was money, and plenty of it, stuck to her right and left breasts. Even stealing money couldn’t conjure up guilt.
She also took shackles and the key that fit them. They lay heavy inside a bag which would be right next to her at all times. She had a feeling they would come in handy at some point, for what woman travelling alone would allow a slave to walk unshackled beside her on the road?
She had gone through the cupboard in the hallway and had found ammunition for the guns. There were two different types. She compared the balls inside the rifle’s barrel with the balls in a box and found them to be the same. Nelson showed her how to load the Colt. He used to do this for old Massa Stewart, he told her. She watched him fill the barrel’s compartments with powder. Then he pushed in the conical balls and finally greased each compartment, telling her that this would stop one compartment from igniting another. She had the packhorse laden with everything she could think of, including a small pan for cooking, but there was no room for Nelson to sit on its back. “I still don’t see why we can’t have a horse each,” Mercy told him. “It’s not as though there’s not enough of them.”
“Miss Mercy, if those white folks see me, a nigger slave, on a horse, they’ll shoot me dead for real. An’ I ain’t never sat on a horse.”
“Me neither. But we’ve got to do it or else we’ll never get far enough away from here. I’m not going to get up there on that horse and watch it go at a snail’s pace with you walking beside me. We’ll just have to share a horse for now and hope we don’t fall off.”
“There ain’t no problem riding together at night, I reckon. Ain’t no one in them woods for miles,” Nelson said.
“Good. We’ll get as far away as possible, and then we’ll rest when the sun comes up.”
“But I got to take you home to your folks,” Nelson said.
“We’re not going home. I thought you knew that. I know your mistress better than you do. She’ll have us
both hanged. Just finish getting the saddle on and then we’ll see about where we’re going.”
Mercy, aware of Nelson’s questioning stare, thought again about what she was going to do.
Home and family? No. She couldn’t go back to Portsmouth. She had murdered two men. Nelson would be blamed for their deaths, for there was no reason to connect her to the Mallory farm. Du Pont and Portsmouth were very much connected, though. Du Pont would go to the sheriff, crying about her murdered men, especially Eddie. She would report her missing money, and Nelson would be hunted like a fox. And what if du Pont spotted her as Eddie had? The old hag would find a way to get to her and might even accuse her of the killings out of spite, with or without proof. And the two slave girls, whose names she hadn’t even bothered to ask for, might be tortured into telling du Pont or the sheriff the truth. She couldn’t bear to think about that.
Jacob had understood why she murdered the man in Liverpool, but these killings were becoming a habit! She was a multiple murderess now and wouldn’t be safe in Portsmouth, not from the law or from du Pont. And those she now loved – what would they think of her if she appeared in Portsmouth with this story? No, I destroyed any hope of getting back to Jacob because I pulled that trigger.
What if they waited here until morning to kill du Pont? That would finish off the sordid tale completely, and she would never have to think of the vile woman again. But she remembered Jacob’s story about Nat Turner, the slave. Nelson would not only be blamed for killing the two men but also a white woman. He’d be hunted from here to the north, east, and west. They would use dogs and trappers. He’d be caught eventually and sliced up as a dog’s fleshy meal. Blimey, the situation was bad enough without adding du Pont to the list of killings. Sweet Jesus, Mercy thought, what was she becoming?
Mercy thought hard. She’d heard that slaves were free in the North and lived among the white people there. They had houses, ate in restaurants, mixed at parties, and had jobs. She believed it because Isaac had told her so, and he was from a place called Boston, which lay far north of here.
She wanted Nelson to have the freedom and choice to live his life in any way he saw fit. She barely knew him, yet the sight of the beating he had taken, probably because of nothing more than Du Pont’s whim, was unforgivable. If she allowed him to take the blame for the murders, she’d never live with her guilt and would never, ever be able to face Jacob again. She would get Nelson to the very first Northern state she could reach, and then she’d think about going back to Portsmouth. She’d tell everyone that bandits or Indians had abducted her. She had plenty of time to weave a story, and she would live with it every day until the words were intimately familiar and believable to her own ears. She would cry like a Southern lady.
Mercy was inspired to be more optimistic about her future. Pessimism was being overturned by hope. Some of her fears were probably unfounded. With the powerful Stone family by her side, du Pont couldn’t and wouldn’t dare show her true colours. Du Pont was calling herself Margaret Mallory and was hiding her sordid past; that much was obvious. She wouldn’t be accepted as du Pont if her Liverpool background was made public. Jacob would never allow her to go unpunished for her murderous acts in Liverpool. He had often told Mercy on the ship that one day he would avenge her and all the other poor women whose lives du Pont had destroyed.
No, Mercy decided. Du Pont was not strong enough now or in any position of power to threaten her. So after she got Nelson to the North, she would go back.
She smiled for the first time. She was going to see Jacob again after all, but only after she had completed her mission.
Mercy told Nelson to get on the horse. She was wearing one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of breeches held up with braces. She had crumpled her own soiled clothes, and they were inside one of the saddlebags. She would bury or burn everything she’d worn today. She pulled her hair high into a knot and covered it completely with Eddie’s hat. She tied the leather hat strings tightly round her neck to keep it from falling off. She looked comical but didn’t care.
She snuffed out the candle inside the lantern. Nelson pulled her up onto the horse’s back to sit in front of him. Her body seemed high off the ground, she realised with some trepidation. She turned towards Nelson, as much as was possible, and said, “You know, I learned a lot of things on the ship I was on. We’re going north, and I know a bit about the stars.” She looked up. There were no stars. “The North Star is up there somewhere, and I know how to follow it. We need to get into the woods and ride as far and as fast as we can – and pray we don’t fall off this animal.”
“Where we goin’? You wanna go right or left?” he asked, obviously confused.
“Go to the right and hope we don’t end up in the middle of Portsmouth. Pray that we’ll have a clearer sky tomorrow night. We’ve got a long way to go, and I intend to set you free, Nelson Stuart!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jacob, Hendry, and Isaac sat nervously waiting for the sheriff to update them on the investigation. Mercy had been missing for three days. Isaac had gone to pick her up for the party and had been deeply worried when a distraught Handel told him that she had not returned from her outing that morning.
Isaac and Hendry had gone straight to Sheriff John Manning, who had immediately asked for a posse to be put together and dispatched to all areas of Portsmouth, its outskirts, and east as far as Norfolk. A missing white woman was a serious event. As the hours passed, it became clear that Mercy was either lost or had been abducted. No one dared to mention murder just yet.
Jacob had returned to Stone Plantation with Elizabeth, filled with emptiness and regret. He’d begun to notice his bride’s numerous and infuriating habits. He knew that he was far from perfect, but it seemed to him that Elizabeth, for all her Southern breeding, failed to see any of her character flaws, which were as serious and as disappointing as a one-legged turkey with no chestnut stuffing on Thanksgiving Day. That might not be the best analogy, Jacob admitted, but a flawed turkey was as serious as it got where he came from!
Elizabeth was discourteous in her opinion of others. She didn’t give a damn about the well-being of anyone but herself, and she spoke constantly about her own desires, from her wardrobe to her ideas on how to completely remodel everything in Jacob’s house in order to leave her indelible mark upon it. She had pounded him with questions about Mercy, even on their wedding day, and had insisted that the Englishwoman was just too common and would therefore never be invited to any picnics or balls at Stone Plantation.
Elizabeth wasn’t that different from any other Southern woman he knew. She was a product of a traditional upbringing in which girls were spoiled and bred for marriage, without intellect or good sense being involved in their tutorage. Elizabeth followed the Southern idea that all wives had a duty to conceive but were not necessarily expected to enjoy lovemaking with their husbands. They had made love only once.
Mercy had spoiled him for life. He now knew the joy of being with a selfless, lovable woman who displayed an open and honest character, a disarming smile, a curious mind, and a natural passion. She was invisible now yet always present. She was in his soul. Her thoughts were his and his hers, to the point where no words were necessary between them.
He’d heard her calling him. He knew he was imagining her voice, but a nagging, urgent need to see her had brought him to Portsmouth this morning. He’d been home for four days and was in his honeymoon period. But Jacob had been determined to see Mercy, thus he’d put his foot down.
He’d found Elizabeth at the breakfast table. He grasped a bundle of papers in his hands and hoped he looked sufficiently worried for her to ask what was wrong with him. When she carried on eating, saying nothing but offering a good morning, he’d taken matters into his own hands.
“I have to go into Portsmouth this morning. I’m taking my fastest horse and won’t be away long. Hendry forgot to take some very important papers with him, and he’ll need them for the port authorities.”
; “Oh, but you can’t go, Jacob!” Elizabeth moaned and stamped her foot under the table. “What will folks around here think? This is our honeymoon. I want to be alone with you here. And you did promise to talk to me about the new colours for our bedroom today. It’s not fair!”
“I know, my sweet, but I’ll be gone just a few hours. I’ll bring you a nice surprise back,” he said.
“You will? What will you bring me? No, wait. Why don’t I come with you and I can choose? You’ll have to wait until I change, though. I should look my best. I don’t want those silly girls in Portsmouth thinking I’ve let myself go just because I’m a married woman, now do I?”
“No, of course not,” he said, sounding appropriately shocked at the idea. “But that’s why it’s better if I go alone, so that I can get back to you as quickly as possible with a nice new gown that will make you the envy of every woman in Portsmouth.” Jacob was growing agitated at the sound of her voice. He added for good measure, “And I’ll bring you a new bonnet to go with it. No girl in Portsmouth will ever laugh at you, my dear.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” she gushed.
Elizabeth was forgotten now as Jacob continued to wait with Hendry and Isaac.
Sheriff John Manning, a long-time friend of the Stone family, had taken over the new sheriff’s building whilst Jacob had been in England. He had his own small but private office and deputies under his command. The entire building had been refurbished since Portsmouth had been incorporated as a city.
Sheriff Manning was ensconced in his office with a woman, and the three men were growing impatient and aggravated with him and with each other.
Jacob’s face was ashen. He tried to digest the terrible news that had been delivered to him within minutes of his arrival at Hendry’s Portsmouth house. There he’d found Belle and Hendry, who had tried their best to explain what had happened. Jacob had raged at both of them for not getting a message to him the moment he’d returned to Stone Plantation.