Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House

“It gives me peace of mind to know that you would be here for Mrs. Burton should something happen to me,” Mr. Burton continued.

Put this way, how could I not agree? I dipped the pen and signed the document. With joy, they both did the same, and after a thorough handshake from Mr. Burton and a tearful hug from Mrs. Burton, we left to join the others. Shaken to my core, I needed time away to gather my thoughts, so I excused myself, leading Mrs. Burton to believe that I had to accommodate nature. “Take your time, dear boy,” she said. “Miss Grewen will be entertaining us on the harp, so slip in quietly on your return.”

The stairs and long hallway were dark but so familiar that I didn’t bother to take a lantern when I hurried toward my bedroom. As I approached, I saw light coming from under the door. Alarmed to think that I might have left one of the mirror sconces lit, I rushed ahead and threw open the door.

Delia was standing over my desk.

I was already so overwhelmed by the events of the evening that it took me a moment to comprehend what I was seeing. Delia took advantage of my surprise to push past me and hurry out. Immediately, I saw what lay on top my desk. In the excitement of the preparations, I had forgotten to pocket my key to the chest drawer.

I rushed over to the chest-on-chest to find the bottom drawer locked. I opened it and sighed in relief to see that the jacket was untouched. Then on closer inspection, I found Lavinia’s letter missing.

I don’t know how long I sat on the bed, trying to decide what to do, but when the tall-case clock bonged, I was reminded that the Burtons were waiting downstairs with their guests. I willed myself to stand and go back down. As I slipped into the drawing room, some of the guests turned to smile in my direction. I nodded to them as I lifted the tails of my jacket and settled into my seat next to Mrs. Burton, who reached over to pat my hand.

The melodious ripple of Miss Grewen’s harp faded as my thoughts raced. I tried to recall the exact wording of the letter. My chest pounded when I remembered two partial sentences that would be incriminating—the first was Lavinia’s offer to draw up papers to verify my freedom, and the second was Belle’s mention of my “living white.”

I seethed with fury at Delia. I knew that though she was once a slave, she could read and write, for I had seen notes she left for Robert. What did she mean to do with my letter? Was it enough to have it as a threat to me, or did she mean to show it to Robert or even the Burtons? Then how would she explain her thievery? Surely she realized that would put her own position in jeopardy.

I was left with the decision of whether or not to confront her. Naturally, she would deny the theft. In the end I decided to wait and see what she would do. If she dared present the letter to either Robert or the Burtons, and if I were made to leave because of it, I would not go alone.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


1815–1816


James


ALONG WITH MY adoption, I was given a position in Mr. Burton’s silver business that included a handsome wage. Determined to prove my worth to the Burtons, I applied myself more than ever. By the winter of the following year, there came an additional responsibility when, after working all day with silver, Mr. Burton and I began to stay into the evening so he could teach me his muddled accounting system.

“We all have weaknesses,” he said with some embarrassment as we sorted through box after box of confusing paperwork, “and this, dear boy, is one of mine.” He confided how much he had always disliked this aspect of the business, and after seeing the chaos, I could understand why. I knew there was another way, for as a child I had spent many hours assisting Miss Lavinia in keeping up to date the housekeeping accounts. Finally, after weeks of attempting to sort out Mr. Burton’s accounts, I respectfully asked if we might use another system.

He agreed to try it, and when order began to emerge, we more happily faced the long hours necessary to get the job done. We were almost up to date with the records the February afternoon that Mr. Burton suggested that we make it an early evening, as he was suffering from a headache. Wanting to complete the task, I suggested that he go ahead without me and asked if he might send Ed back with the carriage later in the evening. “Or is that expecting too much of Ed to ask him to come back out in this sleet and snow?” I asked.

Mr. Burton’s hand felt warm on my back. “I appreciate your diligence, my boy,” he said. “I’m sure Ed won’t mind coming for you.” Wrapping himself in his long woolen greatcoat, he left. Nicholas also departed early and, after locking the front door behind him, I hastily ate a bread roll, then went back to work in the office, determined this night to put in order the last of the accounts.

It wasn’t until the office clock dinged eight times that I realized the hour. Weary, I stood up to stretch. Where was Ed? I wondered. If he was waiting outside with the carriage, why hadn’t he rapped at the door? Perhaps he didn’t want to disturb me. I stretched my arms out wide, then yawned again and decided I was finished for the night. There was little enough left, and I could easily complete it tomorrow. I had rolled down the desk cover and was locking it when there came a banging from the front door. A voice called out for me, and I flung open the door to find our neighbor’s servant.

“Robert sent me! You’s to come home!”

“Where’s Ed?”

“The carriage went over. They hurt bad.”

“Who’s been hurt?” I asked.

“Mr. Burton and Ed. They hurt bad! I helped get ’em in the house!”


ROBERT MET ME at the front door. He spoke low into my ear as he took my coat. “Mr. Burton is badly injured. The doctor is here.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“We don’t know. Ed took a corner too sharp, or maybe it was the ice, but the runner caught and the carriage tipped. When Mr. Burton tried to get out, the horses panicked and dragged him until—”

“Where was Ed? Why didn’t he get hold of the horses?”

“He was thrown from the carriage. He isn’t—”

An agonized voice called out in pain from upstairs.

“Dear God!” I said. “Is that . . .” I didn’t finish and ran to take the stairs two at a time.

“Jamie! Jamie!” Mrs. Burton cried out from her husband’s bedside.

“I just found out!” I said as she grasped hold of my jacket and began to weep. “Shh. Shh,” I soothed. At the sound of my voice, Mr. Burton’s eyes opened. When I reached for his hand, I tried not to react to the sight of his swollen and bruised face. “Don’t worry. I’m here,” I said, and gripping my hand, he closed his eyes.

The doctor motioned me to the door when Robert came in with a newly arrived nurse. “I’ve just medicated him,” the doctor explained, “but his left hip is broken, and I don’t know how much relief he will get. He has other injuries as well, but at this time they are difficult to assess.”

“Will he survive?” was all I could think to ask.

“I don’t know,” came the reply. “Your driver downstairs won’t.”

“Ed?” I asked.

Robert nodded.

“What are his injuries?” I asked.

“It’s his head. He’s unresponsive,” the doctor said, but I did not have time to discuss it further, as Mrs. Burton called out for me again.


TOGETHER SHE AND I remained in constant vigil. Laudanum gave Mr. Burton little relief, and his heart-wrenching cries could often be heard throughout the house. After two long days and nights, I persuaded Mrs. Burton to consider her own health; exhausted, she relented and left me to oversee his care.

It was almost two weeks before his condition improved enough that I was able to leave the house and go to the business, where I found Nicholas struggling to fill all of the orders.

I had been lent our neighbor’s buggy, and during the ride home that afternoon I made the decision to purchase another buggy for the Burtons. On my arrival, I went to find Robert for his help with another driver and I was aghast to find him in the kitchen with his shirtsleeves rolled up, peeling potatoes.

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