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Back The Ninth Daughter
Chapters (37)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four

“Please tell Miss Droux that both Mrs. Adams and I understand how valuable her time is.” There was silence, broken only by the creak of a manservant’s feet in the hall, and the scratching of Abigail’s quill as she penned a hasty note. “Does she read English?”

“I dunno, sorr.” Oonaugh looked puzzled by the question. “I shouldn’t think so, if she’s French.”

“Then perhaps you could ask her, if she would meet Mrs. Adams here at her earliest convenience?”

“That I’ll do, sorr. You can depend on me.”

“Good.” He laid the second coin on the table. “You may go.” As the door shut behind Oonaugh, he added quietly, “Shall I call Scipio in and have him make more coffee, Mrs. Adams? You look quite exhausted.”

She could hear the half hour striking on Faneuil Hall, and tried to recall which hour had passed. She felt cold, weary to death, and a little ill. Surely it hadn’t been only that morning that she’d started reading through Rebecca’s letters of the summer before last, before sallying forth to the market to question Queenie.

“Thank you, sir, no. Thank you,” she said again, as he came around to her, to hand her up from her chair. “More than I can say.” The thick Spanish dollar he’d held up to Miss Connelley would buy, she guessed, any amount of information from Mlle Lisette Droux, and very quickly, if she knew anything of the cupidity of servants—particularly servants who might be facing unemployment in a foreign city.

He rang the bell nevertheless. Scipio appeared, having evidently disregarded his master’s orders to take himself off to bed. “Have Ulee harness the chaise, to take Mrs. Adams home. I trust,” he added, as the butler turned to obey, “that I have no need to say that I rely on your discretion, about all things concerning the events of this night, Scipio?”

The servant bowed. “You have no need, sir.”

“So Mrs. Adams tells me. If I have not said so before,” he went on quietly, “and I may not have, for you know as well as I that I do speak hastily when angry—I value very much the discretion that is natural to you, Scipio; as indeed I value all of your good qualities. Thank you for the help that you have extended to Mrs. Adams, on behalf of-of my good wife.”

Scipio inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. Mrs. Adams.” And he bowed himself from the room.