Marcia Talley - The Last Refuge

Since Amy had broken more clauses in her contract than a shady real-estate developer, I wondered why Jud Wilson had agreed to let her come back. Was Derek right? Was Amy too mediagenic a ‘product’ to let slip through their fingers?

‘What happened after you left Drew?’

‘He gave me some cash, put me in a cab, and the cab brought me here. I simply walked in through the kitchen door.’

‘Brazen hussy.’

‘Damn right! Karen gave me a big hug, but I must have set off an alarm somewhere because Jud Wilson appeared after about fifteen minutes and marched me into the conference room. You should see it, Hannah! Long walnut table, upholstered chairs. Very deluxe.’

‘I can imagine. So, what did you tell him?’

‘When he asked why I’d run away, I lied. Karen told me that Jack had once cornered her in the kitchen, so I said he’d made a pass at me, too. Said I freaked. I told Jud I didn’t think I could hack it, being recently widowed and all, so I took a few days off to think.’

I wasn’t exactly in love with Jack, but still, pinning a sexual harassment charge on the jerk seemed a little harsh. ‘Amy, you didn’t!’

Amy puffed air. ‘You know what Jud told me? They knew all about the incident between Jack and Karen, too. Seems Jack snuck down to the kitchen one night where Karen caught him red-handed eating a piece of pie with his fingers, right out of the pie plate. He was a little tipsy, and he backed Karen into the corner. Smeared cherry pie juice all over her breast before she clocked him with a rolling pin.’

I laughed out loud at the picture.

‘They caught it all on tape, Hannah. Jud said the viewers were going to love the way Karen told him off. If she’d been a real slave, he told me, she’d have been whipped after that. Probably ended up on the auction block, too.’

I cringed, thinking how glad I was to be living in the twenty-first century. ‘I can’t wait to see how the show comes out when it finally goes on the air.’

‘At least I won’t be watching it from Buenos Aires.’

‘Tell me something,’ I said later as Amy was brushing my hair. ‘You mentioned that Drew’s new name is Donald. What’s the name on your fake passport?’

‘Angela,’ she said. ‘Angela Clark. Do I look like an Angela to you?’

‘Probably to Drew you did.’

‘In his dreams.’

‘I want some toothpaste! Can you hear me, Founding Father? A fringed stick dipped in lemon juice and salt is simply not going to cut it.’

Hannah Ives

Wednesday dawned sunny and unseasonably warm. For the first time in three days, I was able to get out of bed, get dressed – with Amy’s help, to my great relief – and join the family for breakfast.

Melody leapt to her feet when I entered the dining room, fairly bounced across the carpet and smothered me with a hug. ‘Mrs Ives! You’re all well!’

My stomach muscles were still sore from two days of vomiting, and I tried not to wince as I untangled myself from her embrace. I smiled, looked into her emerald eyes and tapped her on the chin with my index finger. ‘Thank you. I’m glad to be back, too, Melody.’

Melody grabbed my hand and led me around the table to my customary chair. She dragged it out from the table and helped scoot it back in after I sat down.

Gabe glanced up from his porridge. ‘We’re going to see the burning of the Peggy Stewart today, Mrs Ives. It’s a big ship with a lot of tea on it.’

I helped myself to a soft boiled egg. ‘Are you, now?’

‘Are you coming, too?’ Melody asked as she reclaimed her own seat.

Jack looked up from his paper, another facsimile of the Maryland Gazette . ‘Now, Melody, don’t you overtax Mrs Ives. Remember, she’s been ill.’

‘I feel very well, thank you, Mr Donovan. And I’m very much looking forward to the burning of the Peggy Stewart . The last time I saw a boat go up in flames, it was in Cambridge, Maryland.’ I winked at Melody. ‘It wasn’t exactly planned.’

I had captured Gabe’s attention, too. ‘What happened to it?’

‘Gas fumes had built up in the engine compartment. When the captain turned the key to start the engine, there was a spark. Kaboom ! Fortunately, he was able to jump overboard.’

Gabe turned to his father, eyes wide. ‘Are they going to burn a real boat?’

‘I don’t know, son. Do you, Mrs Ives?’

I whacked the top off my egg with the edge of my knife. ‘I have absolutely no idea, having been out of the loop for a couple of days, but LynxE isn’t particularly tight-fisted with their dollars – can you imagine how much they had to pay to get David Morse to play George Washington? So it’ll probably be quite a production.’

‘What shall I wear, Mrs Ives?’ Melody wanted to know.

‘The dress you wore to church on Sunday would suit, I should think. The pink one with all the bows?’

‘And you should wear your blue, Mrs Ives. The one with the ruffles running down the front and the tiny seed pearls. I think that’s so beautiful!’

‘Why, thank you.’ I leaned closer and whispered, ‘Shall we leave our wigs at home, then?’

‘Oh, yes, please, Mrs Ives. It itches like crazy.’

‘We’ll save them for the ball.’ I salted my egg and dug in, not realizing how hungry I was until I was scraping the inside of the shell and looking around for another one. Jack passed me the biscuits with ham when I asked for them, and I was happily munching away when Alex said, ‘Women often think that men aren’t particularly interested in fashion, Miss Donovan, but may I suggest that I’m the exception? For the outing today, I’ll be wearing a pale blue suit with silver braid and I’ll have a matching blue cockade on my hat.’ While Melody stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, he continued. ‘And I’m honored to say, that Miss Amy Cornell has agreed to accompany me.’

‘Cool!’ Melody cooed.

My mouth was half ajar, too, thinking, too much, too soon, Amy. You’re treading on dangerous ground. What if Drew…? I pushed the thought away. ‘Are you coming, too, Michael?’ I asked instead.

‘Indeed I am. I imagine the whole household will be there.’ He waved a fork. ‘Founding Father says.’

Jack took a sip of coffee. ‘Mrs Ives,’ he said. ‘Normally I would have consulted you first, but since you were, uh, indisposed, I told the servants they could have the day off.’

‘Perfectly appropriate, Mr Donovan,’ I said. ‘From noon on?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’ll speak to Karen, then, about laying out a cold buffet this evening.’

‘I already took the liberty.’ He stood, laid his napkin on the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have some accounts to take care of.’

One by one, they left the table, leaving me to savor my coffee alone. I can’t say that I minded.

Later, following a trip to the privy, I finally had a chance to check the wall where I’d left the message in the bottle for Paul all those days ago.

To my delight, the bottle was gone.

It seemed like the entire state of Maryland had turned up for the burning of the Peggy Stewart , which had taken place exactly two-hundred-thirty-eight years before. For the Patriot House residents, on the other hand, yesterday was today: October 19, 1774.

We gathered in the hallway – chatting and giggling in anticipation – and left the house together just as the long case clock was striking two. Jack Donovan, Patriot, in the lead, looked resplendent (I admitted reluctantly) in his black wool suit, wearing a tricorn hat over his powdered wig and carrying a cane. I scooted along behind, followed by Melody who did her best to mind her little brother while at the same time curtseying and waving to the crowds like a royal bride.