The Orphan's Dream (24 page)

‘Shall I go and see if the master is ready to go down to dinner?' Gertie asked, busying herself tidying away Mirabel's discarded garments.

‘Thank you, but I'll do it myself. I've spent most of the day with Miss D'Angelo, and I'm afraid I've rather neglected him.'

Hubert was fully dressed, but he lay on his bed looking frail and drained. Mirabel hurried to his side. ‘Are you unwell again? I thought you were recovering.'

He managed a weak smile. ‘I'm much better than I was, but I'm rather tired.'

She perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Would you rather dine in here, Hubert? I could order food for both of us.'

‘It's your last chance to be with your new friend,' he said weakly. ‘Go and enjoy yourself, my dear. I'll ring for service if I feel hungry.'

She stared down at him, frowning. ‘We're due to make landfall tomorrow, Hubert. Perhaps you'll feel better when you're ashore.'

‘I'm sure I will.'

‘But you're obviously not in a fit state to travel on. What will we do?'

‘We'll find a small, quiet hotel where I can rest for a few days.' He laid his hand on hers and closed his eyes. ‘Now leave me, my dear. I just need to sleep.'

In the dining room she found Jerusha and her father talking to a group of people. Jerusha broke away and came towards her with a beaming smile. ‘There you are, honey. I was beginning to think you weren't going to join us.' She glanced over Mirabel's shoulder. ‘Where's Hubert? I thought he was improving.'

‘I'm worried about him, Jerusha. He seems very weak.'

‘It's hardly surprising after what he's been through. I know how I feel if I get an attack of the collywobbles.'

‘I know, but I'm not sure what we'll do when we leave the ship tomorrow.'

‘That's easy, honey. You'll come with us. Pa will see to everything. He always does, so you mustn't worry. Now let's sit down and enjoy our last dinner on the
Servia
, and tomorrow will take care of itself.'

Jerusha's faith in her father was completely justified. Mirabel discovered that she need not have worried about anything as Vincent seemed to have a magic touch, or perhaps it was the generous tips that she had seen him hand out that helped their smooth transition from ship to shore. Carriages appeared at the flick of a porter's fingers and they were transported through the teeming city streets to the grand Fifth Avenue Hotel on 23rd Street, where rooms had been booked by a messenger sent on ahead. Their luggage was waiting for them in their suite of rooms on the fourth floor and they had their own bathroom, a luxury virtually unheard of in England. Hubert moved like a sleepwalker, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, but the hotel boasted an elevator powered by a stationary steam engine, which enabled him to reach the fourth floor without too much difficulty.

Mirabel was grateful to Vincent but she was worried about the cost. Finances were something that Hubert refused to discuss with her, and she had no idea how much he had set aside for expenses along the way. When she saw the luxurious interior of the hotel and the small army of staff who were waiting to serve them she turned to Vincent, demanding to know how much it would cost. He smiled, kissed her hand and told her not to worry. They were his guests, he said, and it was an honour to entertain them and show them what New York had to offer. Mirabel thanked him, but she was certain that Hubert would have something to say when he recovered sufficiently to take control of the situation. In the meantime she abandoned herself to the excitement of the thriving metropolis with its polyglot population who went about their business with such verve and enthusiasm.

On the first afternoon Jerusha took her shopping, and that evening they saw a vaudeville show on Broadway, with supper afterwards in a noisy, colourful Italian restaurant. Hubert declined the invitation and retired early, but next morning he was up and about before Mirabel, and insisted on taking breakfast in the dining room.

Jerusha, as usual, was already at their table and Vincent rose to his feet, pulling up a chair for Hubert. ‘Good morning. I'm mighty glad you feel well enough to join us.'

Jerusha put down her knife and fork, wiping her lips on her napkin. ‘Are you feeling better, sir? You had us quite worried, you know.'

Hubert sat down, smiling gently. ‘I'm quite recovered now, thank you, Jerusha.' He turned to Vincent and his smile faded. ‘I have to thank you for all this, and I want you to know I'm truly grateful, but you cannot be expected to foot the bill for relative strangers.'

‘Call it Yankee hospitality, Hubert,' Vincent said casually. ‘I've no doubt you'd do the same for us if we were in similar circumstances.'

‘We're only here for two days,' Jerusha added earnestly. ‘Papa has to get back home to make sure that everything is running as it should, but I'm hoping you'll accompany us. It would be so good to have you visit with us for a while.'

‘It would indeed.' Vincent signalled to a waiter. ‘More coffee, and a pot of tea for my English friends.'

Mirabel sat down next to Jerusha. ‘May we, Hubert?' she asked eagerly. ‘Perhaps a few days in the country would help to restore you to full health.'

He looked from one to the other and a slow smile spread across his thin features. ‘I can see that I'm outnumbered.'

Vincent resumed his seat, tucking his napkin into the top of his plum-coloured waistcoat. ‘I'll take great pleasure in showing you round my plantation and the curing barns. If it's all right by you, Hubert, I'll book us tickets on the Peninsula railroad tomorrow. It's over three hundred miles to Richmond, and then a carriage ride from the railroad station to Loblolly Grove.'

Mirabel's lips twitched. ‘Loblolly? What's that?'

‘It's a species of pine tree,' Vincent explained without giving his daughter a chance to respond. ‘The early settlers had to clear acres of it before they could use the land. It's a common tree in the south-eastern states.'

‘Well, I think it's a lovely name,' Mirabel said, laughing. ‘I love the place already.'

‘You'll love it even more when you're there.' Jerusha reached out to take a bread roll. ‘What shall we do this morning? Do you fancy a carriage ride to see the sights? Or shall we explore Ladies' Mile and see what the department stores have to offer?'

Vincent smiled indulgently. ‘I can see this is going to be an expensive outing, Hubert.'

Next day they left for the D'Angelo plantation, travelling by train. It was late afternoon when the carriage that had picked them up at the station drove through the gates into a tree-lined allée, which led to a white house built in the Greek revival style. Bathed in golden sunshine, the wide veranda with its colonnaded portico seemed to welcome them with a smile.

Jerusha was bubbling with excitement as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘I love travelling, but it's so good to be home.' She was the first to alight with the help of a servant who had rushed forward to open the door. Mirabel followed more slowly, and finally Vincent who had stopped to assist Hubert to the ground.

‘Are you all right, Hubert?' Mirabel asked anxiously. His haggard appearance was alarming, and he was visibly unsteady on his feet, but his smile was undimmed.

‘I'm fine, thank you, my dear.'

Vincent took him by the arm. ‘A mint julep will set you to rights, my friend.'

‘Come along, Belle,' Jerusha said eagerly. ‘I want to show you your room.'

Mirabel glanced at Gertie, who had opted to travel on the driver's seat with Caleb, the coachman: a striking young man with a skin like ebony and a wide grin that revealed startlingly white teeth. ‘Come along, Gertie.'

Gertie shot Caleb a sideways glance, fluttering her lashes. ‘Ta, cully.'

He winked and flicked the whip over the horses' ears, driving off in the direction of a stable block.

Mirabel followed Jerusha up the steps onto the shady veranda and through double doors which led into a spacious entrance hall. The scent of lilies filled the air and the white-painted walls seemed to have trapped the last remnants of sunlight. The parquet flooring gleamed like the skin of a conker newly plucked from its spiny case, and a hint of lavender polish emanated from the reception rooms on either side of the hall. Mirabel caught a glimpse of the understated elegance of the furnishings as she followed Jerusha upstairs, with Gertie tagging along behind.

Jerusha led the way to a room at the back of the house which overlooked a wide sweep of lawns surrounded by oaks and stately magnolias which were just coming into bud. ‘The fields are over yonder,' she said, pointing vaguely. ‘The servants' quarters are behind the curing barns.'

Mirabel peered out of the window. ‘You don't have slaves to work the fields, do you?'

‘Heavens, no. What gave you that idea, honey? Pa fought to abolish that practice many years ago, and he's employed freed slaves ever since he took over the plantation. Some of them have been with us for as long as I can remember.' Jerusha turned away from the window. ‘Can you ride a horse, Belle?'

Taken by surprise, Mirabel stared at her. ‘I – I don't know. I never tried.'

‘I've got just the mount for you, honey. She's a sweet little mare with a darling nature. Sitting on her is like being in a big old armchair. Tomorrow we'll go for a ride around the plantation and I'll show you how it all works.'

‘Better you than me,' Gertie whispered. ‘Shall I start unpacking, ma'am?'

Jerusha grabbed Mirabel by the hand. ‘Come on, Belle. Leave her to sort out a gown for dinner tonight and I'll show you my room. It's just along the landing.' She turned to Gertie with a smile. ‘My maid, Zenobia, will show you your quarters, Gertie. She'll look after you.'

Carried along in the wake of Jerusha's enthusiasm, Mirabel followed her friend to her room, which was a mixture of boudoir and nursery. The frilled lace curtains and tester on the four-poster bed, similar to the one in Mirabel's room, were complemented by the patchwork quilt made from tiny hexagons of pastel-coloured silk. A solemn row of dolls sat propped up on the pillow shams, their painted faces staring straight ahead and their ornate gowns neatly arranged by loving hands. A white wooden rocking horse stood in front of one of the tall windows, its grey mane tied with ribbon and a matching pink bow on its tail. The dressing table with its triple mirror was, in contrast, very much the domain of a grown-up lady with its array of silver-backed combs, brushes and mirror and cut-glass pots filled with all manner of creams and lotions.

Jerusha stripped off her travelling clothes, stepping out of them as they fell to the floor. She stood very still while her maid slipped a clean gown over her head and fastened the tiny buttons on the back of the bodice.

‘All done, Miss Jerusha.' Zenobia stepped away, folding her hands on her spotless white apron.

‘I'll be back directly to change for dinner. Have the emerald green satin ready, Zenobia.' Jerusha spun round to face Mirabel. ‘Come with me, Belle. There's someone I want you to meet.' She headed for the doorway.

Once again Mirabel followed in her wake, wondering why her friend had chosen to change into an afternoon gown when it was almost time to dress for dinner. ‘Where are we going now?'

‘You'll see.'

Mirabel was tired and conscious of her travel-stained garments. She would have liked to return to her own room, but Jerusha marched on ahead. ‘Here we are,' she said, ushering Mirabel into a bedroom shaded from the sunlight by the overhang of the portico. White net curtains fluttered at the open windows and a cool breeze circulated, but the sickly sweet smell of illness pervaded the atmosphere.

Jerusha moved slowly towards the bed where a woman lay propped up on a mountain of lace-trimmed pillows, staring blankly into space. She might, Mirabel thought, have been a life-sized doll similar to the ones in Jerusha's room, but for the rise and fall of her chest beneath a white cotton-lawn nightgown. Jerusha leaned over the sick woman. ‘Mama, I've brought someone to see you.'

A movement in the corner of the room caught Mirabel's eye and she turned to see a young and extremely beautiful black woman standing by a side table, holding a medicine bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. ‘It's time for Miss Betsy's medication.'

‘Thank you, Kezia.' Jerusha made way for her, watching while the maid spooned medicine into the invalid's mouth.

Kezia wiped the excess from Betsy D'Angelo's chin with the corner of a towel she had tucked into her apron. ‘Don't tire her, Miss Jerusha.'

‘Has she missed us, Kezia? Do you think she realised we weren't here? I changed my gown so that she didn't see me in my outdoor clothes.'

‘I can't say whether she did or did not, Miss Jerusha. We got along just fine, considering.'

‘I'm glad,' Jerusha said, sighing. ‘I was worried about her. She was never far from my thoughts.' She beckoned to Mirabel. ‘Come closer so that she can see you. I believe she understands what we say even if she cannot respond.' She dropped a kiss on her mother's forehead. ‘Mirabel has come all the way from England, Mama.'

‘I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am,' Mirabel said softly. For a brief moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest in Betsy's green eyes, but it was gone almost instantly.

‘I have so much to tell you, Mama,' Jerusha said eagerly. ‘But I can see by the way Kezia is glaring at me that this is not the right time. I'll come in the morning when you're rested.' She raised her mother's limp hand to her lips, holding it to her cheek briefly before laying it back on the coverlet. Blinking away tears, she turned to Mirabel. ‘We'd best get changed for dinner, Belle. I declare I'm quite faint from lack of nourishment.'

Outside the sick room, Mirabel patted Jerusha on the shoulder. ‘I'm so sorry. I had no idea that your mother was an invalid.'