Chapter Fifteen
At breakfast in the Toliver household, as well as at other tables in the manor homes of Plantation Alley, the topic of discussion was the unexpected and disappointing cancellation of Willowshire’s annual holiday events. They were the Christmas ball, the tea in honor of the annual visit of Eunice’s sister from Boston for the holidays, and the New Year’s Eve party to which many dignitaries and luminaries were invited. These social occasions were looked forward to all year by those fortunate enough to be on the invitation list and precipitated much advance planning of frocks and accessories and hairstyles by the ladies.
“Whatever do you suppose is the matter over there?” Elizabeth queried those gathered around her table for ham and grits the morning the festivities were to begin. She thought regretfully of the gown hanging in her wardrobe that she’d now not have the opportunity to show off. This morning, in addition to Lettie and her father, who were frequent overnight guests, her family of two sons and grandson had the pleasure of Jeremy Warwick’s company. Afterwards he and Silas were to huddle over the growingly bleak solutions to the problem of Silas and Lettie having to remain behind when the wagon train bound for Texas pulled out in the spring.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Jeremy said.
“It’s as if a dark veil has fallen over Willowshire,” Lettie commented. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with Jessica. When I went to call on her, I was turned away at the door.”
“Same for Michael,” Morris said. “He and I were to go hunting yesterday, but he sent word around that something had come up.”
“Indeed there must be something extraordinary that’s happened,” Reverend Sedgewick added. “None of the family attended the Christmas cantata Wednesday evening. Most unusual. Mr. Wyndham always leaves a large donation in the offering plate.”
“Did Miss Conklin get off to Massachusetts all right?” Jeremy asked Lettie. “I understand that Jessica was to take her to the ship in the carriage.”
“We don’t know for sure, and we’re a bit worried,” Lettie answered. “That’s why I called on Jessica. When I went to air out the cemetery house in her absence, I found blood on the bedsheets, and some bloody swabs in the waste bin as well.”
“Most puzzling,” offered Reverend Sedgewick.
“Do you suppose she cut herself?” Silas asked.
“I wish I could speak with Jessica to find out,” Lettie said.
“Perhaps it was due to nature,” Elizabeth suggested, giving Lettie a look that made her color, and changed the subject. “I was so looking forward to seeing Willowshire dressed for the holidays,” she lamented. “That colored girl of the Wyndhams’…what’s her name?”
“Tippy,” Silas volunteered.
“Is a marvel with seasonal decorations. It’s hard to imagine such ingenuity coming from such an ill-favored strip of a colored girl.”
Morris took a bite of his buttered biscuit and asked with his mouth full, “Are you talking about that monkey-looking maid with the big feet who looks like she could swing from the chandeliers?”
“Yes, dear,” Elizabeth said. “Apparently Jessica dotes on her.”
There was a sudden interruption as Lazarus drew back the double doors to the dining room. He went to Morris’s chair and bent close to his ear. “Excuse me, Master, but there is a visitor in the drawing room.”
“This early in the morning, Lazarus? Who in heaven’s name is it?”
“Mr. Carson Wyndham, suh.”
To the startled silence of everyone at the table, Morris yanked his napkin from his collar. “I’ll go immediately.”
“But he didn’t come to see you, suh,” Lazarus explained. “He came to see Mister Silas.”
“My brother?” Morris stared down the table at Silas as if the idea were unthinkable.
“Good heavens,” Elizabeth said with a loss of breath.
Silas folded his napkin and rose. He grinned at Jeremy, winked at Lettie. “Maybe the old boy has changed his mind,” he said.
Morris raised an eyebrow. “And he came here to tell you in person in the midst of the Christmas season? Don’t count on it.”
“Find out all you can about what’s going on at Willowshire,” Elizabeth whispered loudly behind her hand.
Carson Wyndham stood staring out the Palladian windows of the drawing room with his hands clutched behind his back. Lazarus had taken his hat and the riding crop that he was never without. Silas recognized the stance of a man in deep reflection. He was forced to agree with Morris. Why would the most powerful and richest man in South Carolina deign to call at the breakfast hour to grant his request for a loan this time of year when business had come to a halt?
“Mr. Wyndham, sir?”
Carson turned, and only the force of good manners prevented Silas from uttering his surprise. He recognized a face drawn with severe worry and anxiety. His own was beginning to show signs of such agitation in his mirror each morning. Carson Wyndham’s dour expression, the snap gone from his eyes, seemed at odds with the freshly starched, perky ruffles of his fine cravat. “Thank you for seeing me with no notice, Silas,” he said.
“My pleasure, sir,” Silas said with a slight bow.
“I’m not sure you’ll think so when you hear why I’ve come.”
“Then perhaps we should sit down and I’ll ring for coffee.”
Carson waved a hand dismissively, the large ruby of a signet ring catching the light from the fireplace. “Don’t bother, but maybe you’d best take a chair. I prefer to stand.”
Perplexed, as he sat down in one of his mother’s prized Hepplewhites, Silas searched his mind for a possible reason Carson Wyndham stood in his drawing room—Morris’s drawing room—on the morning when the social event of the year was to have taken place at Willowshire that evening. He could think of none, but of one matter he was certain: The man had not come to grant him a loan.
His firm conviction was immediately shattered when Carson, standing before him, imperious legs spread, hands clasped behind his back, glowered down at him and said, “What would you say if I told you I’d absolve your loan, pay all your expenses to Texas, give you enough money to start your plantation and build a manor home, and throw in fifty slaves in the bargain?”
Silas gazed at Carson as if the man had suddenly popped the buttons of his finely tailored waistcoat. When he recovered from his shock, he said, “I’d say I was dreaming or that you were in the throes of a nightmare.”
“You’re not dreaming, and I’m as awake as an owl at midnight.”
“Forgive me, sir,” Silas said, “but I’m at a loss here.”
“What would you do to get what I just offered?”
Bewildered, but beginning to see a small ray of hope in his confusion, Silas said, “Almost anything short of committing murder or robbing a bank.”
“That’s what I thought.” Carson pursed his mouth and mulled over something in silence a moment as if deciding whether to continue. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and drew a noisy breath through his nostrils. “Well, here it is, Silas. All that I offered is yours if you’ll do one thing for me.”
Silas’s heartbeat held. The enticements the man tendered danced like sugar plums in his head. To start off to Texas with enough money to make every one of his and Lettie’s dreams come true…he would almost make a deal with the devil, but nothing came without conditions—not with Carson Wyndham. “What is it that you want me to do?” he asked.
“Marry my daughter,” his visitor answered.