“As you wish.” Finch bowed stiffly. “Good evening, Miss Benjamin.”
Long after he had vanished into the darkness, Elizabeth still trembled. Collusion and conspiracy? Rourke? Never. Theft? Of what? She couldn’t help but recall the mystery of their locked trunks. Had Aunt Virginia noticed something missing after assuring Elizabeth that all was there? Was this all because of a mistake? But Aunt had said nothing to her. She would have delighted in pointing out any defect in Rourke. No, it must be something else. Nothing had been amiss in her own trunk. Nothing had been lost at all, not even Aunt’s pearls.
Elizabeth gasped.
The brooch! She’d forgotten to return it to the mate.
10
The crape mourning dress that Elizabeth had worn on the voyage hung precisely where Florie had put it after laundering and pressing. Elizabeth hadn’t worn it since her arrival, favoring the more comfortable cotton gown.
She reached into the watch pocket.
The brooch wasn’t there. Neither was Mother’s miniature.
But they had been there before Florie laundered the dress. At least she’d had them aboard the Dinah Hale, when she’d locked her trunk. She supposed it was possible to lose them between the ship and home, but there was no hole in the pocket and she couldn’t remember any unusual jostling.
That meant they were here somewhere. Elizabeth looked under the bed, wardrobe, and dressing table in case they had fallen out when Anabelle stripped off the dress.
Nothing, of course, but the room had been cleaned several times since then. Aunt Virginia would insist that one of the servants had stolen them, but that was preposterous. A Negro could never sell the brooch in Key West without raising alarms, and the miniature had only sentimental value. Still, if Florie had found them, she would have said something, wouldn’t she? Either way, an unpleasant interview could not be avoided.
Anabelle slipped into the room. “Your father wishes to see you in his study.”
“And I him.”
Anabelle looked surprised, but Elizabeth didn’t have time to explain. No doubt Aunt Virginia had only pretended to sleep while Mr. Finch was pressing his suit and had gone straight to Father when Elizabeth dismissed the man.
“Please send Florie here and tell Father to wait,” Elizabeth commanded as she opened wide the wardrobe doors to check if the brooch had landed there.
“He will not be pleased,” Anabelle said.
Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “That can’t be helped. Send Florie.”
Anabelle dipped into a brief curtsey, the mode of acknowledgment expected at Aunt Virginia’s house. “Yes, miss. At once.”
Anabelle’s stiff, almost contentious formality struck a raw note, but Elizabeth had too much on her mind to delve into the reasons at the moment. Theft was serious. Father would turn the servants’ quarters inside out looking for the pieces. When they were found, the thief would be whipped. Elizabeth cringed at the memory of the strap against flesh that she’d witnessed in Charleston. She hoped Florie had an answer.
Mr. Finch presented an even greater problem, for she doubted he would accept her refusal, not with Father pushing him forward. She rubbed her forehead, which had begun to ache. Why would he be so persistent? Father must have promised him Mother’s inheritance, but that was intended for her, not for a man she did not love.
After thoroughly checking the wardrobe, she crossed to the side window for fresh air. The wild tamarind’s fine leaves, born on arching fronds, waved in the slight breeze. She could still reach the limb she’d crawled down as a girl. Back then she’d run to the harbor to see Rourke. Lamplight revealed the ground far below. Could she make that climb today?
“Miss?”
Florie had arrived. Elizabeth gathered her nerve and faced the girl.
Florie cast her gaze down. Her fingers worked the hem of her apron. “You ask fo’ me?”
Several years younger than Elizabeth, Florie had worked in the cookhouse from a tender age. Unlike Anabelle, Florie was dark as night with a shorter and sturdier frame. Her stride bore none of the elegance of Anabelle’s, and she did everything with a marked deference that Anabelle had never displayed.
“Miss?” Florie asked again, a bit more anxiously.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. She did not want to accuse but to extend grace like her mother had. She smiled to ease Florie’s discomfort. “I fear I may have lost my mother’s miniature and a golden brooch. I had tucked them in the watch pocket of the dress I wore on the voyage here, but now I can’t find them. Did you happen to see either of them when you did the laundering?”
“Yes, miss. I seen dem. I puts dem in dere.” She pointed to Elizabeth’s keepsake chest.
Relief rushed in like the tide. “I never thought to look there. Thank you, Florie. I’m sorry I brought you up here for nothing.”