A Question of Class (6 page)

She threw her napkin on the table and marched out of the room. Benjamin sat patiently through the cheese course and excused himself as soon as it was polite.

When the house was quiet, Benjamin made his way down to the basement. He lit a candle in the kitchen and maneuvered down a narrow passage to a rough wooden door. The door was locked, but he ran his hand over the top of the doorframe until he touched cold metal and a key fell to the floor. He wasn’t surprised Delcour was too lazy to hide the key in a safer place.

Mrs. Delcour had been right to question his story at dinner. He hadn’t worked for a mustard merchant in France. In fact, he had overseen a small vineyard for several years, and followed Delcour’s business dealings in neighboring Bordeaux with great interest. Benjamin heard Delcour toured various vineyards during his time in Paris, and that a valuable bottle of Chateau d’Yquem had gone missing soon after Delcour had visited, though nothing could be proven. Benjamin’s first order of business was locating the bottle. Stealing it from Delcour would give him great satisfaction and replenish the funds he’d spent getting to New York.

Delcour’s wine cellar was humid and cool. Wine racks of dusty bottles lined every wall, and a sheet of muslin covered a large table in the center of the room.

Benjamin scrutinized the racks for the distinctive curve of the Yquem bottle, but came up empty. It must be somewhere in Delcour’s city townhouse. Benjamin locked the wine cellar and put the key back in its hiding place. He had to be patient and bide his time.

After blowing out his candle, he made his way to the narrow stairs that led from the kitchen to the first floor of the house. A shadow loomed at the top of the stairway. He froze.

“Who’s that?” The voice was high and young.

“Freddie, it’s me, Mr. Thomas,” whispered Benjamin.

“Mr. Thomas, you gave me a scare. If you’d been Mrs. Daggett I’d have been done for. Are you on the hunt as well?”

Benjamin was glad Freddie couldn’t see his face clearly. “Hunt?”

“For food. I always come down here at night when I’m hungry. Could barely stomach a bite of Daggett’s supper tonight, and I figured I’d steal a sausage or two. You won’t tell, will you?”

“Of course not, Freddie,” said Benjamin. “I was doing the same. Eat and get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning. Your secret’s safe with me.”

* * * *

Benjamin had no idea what time it was when he first smelled smoke. He’d been dreaming of screams and cries in the night, haunted by the recurring image of his sister being dragged away by slaves and Delcour’s hasty retreat into the dank night air. Benjamin’s first thought, upon waking, was he was back in Haiti, and the slaves were in revolt. But he realized he was at Delcour’s house, not in the tropics, and for a moment he was relieved. Until a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air.

He pulled on his breeches and opened the door to his room. Smoke billowed out from the stairway leading to the basement kitchen. Benjamin caught sight of Delcour’s back as he fled down the staircase, wearing only his underclothes and clutching his shoes. Mrs. Daggett stood at the front doorway of the house, screaming at the top of her lungs, and Delcour almost bowled her over on his way out.

Benjamin called down to Mrs. Daggett. “Is everyone out?”

“It was the boy’s cigarette,” she cried, flapping her hands. “I told him not to smoke in the kitchen.”

She was hysterical, and Benjamin again asked her if the house had been cleared.

“Everyone’s outside, they’re going to the well with buckets. But no, not Mrs. Delcour.” She stared at him with horror. “She’s locked in. Mr. Delcour made me to do it.”

“Go help with the water, I’ll find Mrs. Delcour,” he said.

He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and made it to her bedroom door in a few strides. Benjamin kicked the door hard and, after two tries, the lock gave way. She was standing by the window in her nightdress, coughing hard.

She saw Benjamin and ran to him. “I couldn’t get out.”

Her body pressed against his, and she clung to his nightshirt.

He took out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Stay with me.”

She pressed it to her mouth and nodded mutely, her eyes wide with fear.

The smoke in the hallway was easing. Together, they made it down the front staircase and out the front door. Even when they were safely away from the house, she refused to release her grip on him, and he sat her on a bench and pried her fingers from his sleeve before joining the group of men who were running back and forth from the well to the house. Delcour had pulled himself together and was directing their efforts. The man was still a coward who would do anything, and sacrifice anyone, to save his own skin. Nineteen years later, and nothing had changed. Nothing in the least.

5

“This’ll teach you to burn my house down.” Morris advanced on Freddie with a whip in his right hand.

Catherine gasped in horror. Mr. Thomas and several servants had gone back into the house to survey the damage, and she was alone with Morris and Freddie. The fire had been extinguished quickly, as it hadn’t spread from the kitchen and produced more smoke than flames. But she was still shaking, remembering the frightful scare of gasping for breath and Mr. Thomas’s arms wrapped around her, guiding her down the stairs to safety.

Morris turned on Freddie with a demonic look. Freddie cowered by the well, where he’d been stacking up buckets.

“You can’t do this, Morris.” Catherine reached for the whip. “He’s only a boy.”

Morris cracked the whip in the air and she jumped back.

“You won’t tell me what to do, or I’ll take this to you as well.” He swung around and raised the whip. “You deserve it as much as he does.”

“You don’t know he started the fire. We only know what Mrs. Daggett said. And in any case, he doesn’t deserve a whipping.”

Morris moved toward her. Poor Freddie was near tears, his face crumpled with fear, and Catherine took a couple of steps back, drawing Morris to her so the boy could escape. She had no doubt from the ferocious look in Morris’s eye he would flog Freddie until he bled.

“Did you see what he did to my house? To my house! Do you have any idea how much money I’ve put into that place?” Morris cracked the whip in her direction and a hiss cut through the air.

“Enough.” Mr. Thomas strode over to Morris, grabbed ahold of his wrist, and took the whip out of his hand.

“The boy almost burned everything down,” sputtered Morris. “He’ll be punished for that.”

“We are no longer in Haiti, Mr. Delcour,” said Mr. Thomas evenly. “We no longer flog our servants. Or our wives.”

Morris glared at Freddie, then Catherine. “You’re lucky, both of you. If Mr. Thomas were not here…” His voice trailed off.

“There are more pressing matters,” said Mr. Thomas. “The fire appears to be out, but you’ll need to take a close look and make sure there are no embers burning. You know the layout best.”

“Of course, of course.” Morris pointed at Freddie. “But don’t think you’re out of the woods yet, I’ll be speaking to Mrs. Daggett about you.”

      Mr. Thomas turned on his heel and headed back to the house, taking the whip with him. Catherine let out a gasp of relief.

Morris drew close. He was rank with smoke and sweat. “You would’ve been next on my list, Catherine. And I would’ve enjoyed it immensely. Trust me.”

Morris followed Mr. Thomas back toward the house and Freddie took off the opposite way, running down the drive. Catherine wished more than anything she could do the same.

* * * *

The next morning, Morris announced he would carry on to Trenton as planned, while Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Daggett and Catherine were to take the carriage and relocate to the town. The Mount would remain locked up until Morris returned and arranged for the hallways and kitchen to be scrubbed clean from the smoke damage. Catherine concealed her glee. Whether Mrs. Daggett had left something burning on the stove, or Freddie had carelessly thrown away a cigarette, she was grateful for the opportunity to return to New York and get her hands on the bottle of Yquem.

In the carriage, Catherine sat next to Mrs. Daggett and Mr. Thomas sat across from them. Catherine wanted to thank him for saving her from the fire and Freddie from Morris’s wrath, but she didn’t dare in front of Mrs. Daggett, so they mostly sat in silence.

The wild fields and hills of the upper part of Manhattan gave way to small farms, and soon they were back on the grid that formed the town proper, trotting down Bloomingdale Road. Catherine didn’t mind the air no longer smelled quite as fresh as it did in the upper reaches of the island. Soon she’d be in the middle of the bustling crowds.

When she’d first arrived, she’d quickly learned the citizens of New York were divided into three distinct groups. The lower class were laborers and servants, the middle class consisted of small merchants and clerks, and above that stood the upper class, which to Catherine’s surprise had tiers of its own. At the bottom were the more successful merchants, followed by the elite clergy, lawyers, doctors and politicians, and finally the prominent families. Morris was of the third tier of the top class, and was generally accepted by all. But Catherine, who had been born working class, was looked down upon and treated in a polite but distant manner, no matter how grand a life she led now.

Morris’s townhouse had been acquired sight unseen when they were still in France and the place had never appealed to Catherine, as the rooms were full of dark mahogany furniture left by the previous owner, the walls crowded with paintings in gaudy gold-leaf frames. But now she couldn’t wait to arrive. The first order of business was to contact Theodosia. Mr. Thomas would be watching her closely, but he could hardly keep her from seeing her best friend.

Since Catherine and Morris had first landed in New York, Theodosia had been the one constant in Catherine’s life, even though, as the stepdaughter of Morris’s business partner, Theodosia had
had
to befriend her. She was gracious and kind from the beginning, and stayed true even when it became clear the inner circle of society preferred to keep an arms-length distance from Catherine. The other women had asked about Catherine’s schooling and upbringing, while Theodosia had been more concerned about what she thought and felt, soliciting Catherine’s views on the latest opera or political scandal.

What’s more, the two women learned they had common enemies in the founders of Delcour & Carpenter. Theodosia had little to do with her stepfather after the death of her mother. The large inheritance due Theodosia had mysteriously disappeared, and Carpenter had made his disdain of Theodosia’s existence quite clear. She lived quite simply on a small annuity, yet insisted to Catherine she had everything she needed. They were a study in contrasts: while Catherine desperately wanted to be part of society, Theodosia had never cared one way or another. Of course, Catherine had been ignored and Theodosia embraced, and the irony hadn’t been lost on either girl, making them fast friends.

As soon as Catherine, Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Daggett alit from the carriage in front of the townhouse, Catherine pulled a letter out of her handbag and asked the footman to deliver it to Miss Theodosia Higbee.

“I’d like to see the letter first, Mrs. Delcour.” Mr. Thomas held out his hand.

“You’re going to read my personal correspondence?” she asked. Mrs. Daggett stood still, her eyes darting back and forth between the two.

“It is Mr. Delcour’s wish,” he answered.

She handed the letter over and shooed Mrs. Daggett into the house as he read it. Their strange interchange before dinner, and the fact he had carried Catherine to safety in her nightdress, appeared not to bother him at all. Now he was all business.

“As you can see, there is nothing untoward in that letter. It is an invitation to tea for my dear friend. I don’t know what circumstances have driven you to this point, trailing around behind a woman. It’s quite undignified.”

He gave her a sharp look but handed the letter back. “Thank you, Mrs. Delcour, for your cooperation.”

“Please do join us for tea, Mr. Thomas. That way you’ll be able to listen in on every word. I promise I’ll try to make it interesting for you.”

* * * *

Soon after Catherine arrived at the townhouse, she discovered the oak crate in Morris’s study where he kept the bottle of Yquem was empty. Even further, he’d removed her best necklaces from her jewelry box. Morris had taken precautions before he left, leaving her escape plan in ruins. When Theodosia burst into the drawing room a few hours later, dressed in a simple tan silk that showed off her thick brown hair and dark eyes, Catherine had to hold back her tears. Seeing her was such a relief. Theodosia hugged Catherine but jumped when she caught sight of Mr. Thomas standing near the fireplace.