Chapter Thirty-Five

Several days later, Jack arrived back at Morrisania with Tudor in tow. Nancy, busy writing to Mr. Tucker and Lelia, heard the commotion but assumed an unexpected visitor had called for her husband, and her presence was not required. It gave her pleasure to write to her friends and speak positively about her sister, Judy. Over the years, she had poured out her emotions to Mr. Tucker, the act of writing a release valve that saved her sanity. Her frustrations at her dependence on her brothers, her misery during those long years at Bizarre, her financial anxieties and all the snide remarks, barbs and disappointments she'd suffered in the years after Bizarre — Mr. Tucker and Lelia had heard it all. How many times had she promised to write to them of cheerful things, only to relapse into complaints of her loneliness, her fears for the future and the way the past kept its claws in her back? Meeting Mr. Morris had changed all that. Now, she wrote of her son and the new life she'd been blessed with. She wrote about Judy's visit, the good terms on which they had parted and her hopes for Tudor's improved health. She kept her reservations about her nephew's character to herself. Jack didn't merit a mention. Describing his rudeness would only make Mr. Tucker unhappy.

She was surprised, then, to hear a knock at her door and Phebe come to tell her that Mr. Morris requested she attend him and his guests in the parlor. More surprising was the expression of unease on her maid's face.

"What is it? Who called for Mr. Morris?"

"It's Mr. Jack and Mr. Tudor. I don't like their looks, miss."

"Oh?" Nancy found herself nodding. "Then I had better go and see what they want." Various possibilities crossed her mind as she descended the stairs. Money? Perhaps a loan for Tudor to return to his studies? It was clear Harvard was not the place for him. A letter of recommendation then? But why was her presence required? Or was this simply Jack acting as if nothing had happened? It wouldn't be the first time. The man was a chameleon. And shameless. She stiffened her spine at the door and walked inside. Silence greeted her.

The parlor was one of Nancy's favorite rooms at Morrisania. This was where she'd first imagined a future for herself and Mr. Morris, gaining confidence in his regard and trust that his intentions were honorable. He had kissed her first in this room, over by the fireplace when they had both leaped up from their books to catch a burning ember that had fallen on the rug. Nancy, more nimble, had reached it first, wetted her fingers and thrown the splinter of smoldering wood back onto the fire. She'd straightened and found him beside her. He took her hand, kissed her fingers then bent and found her lips. All her recent happiness began in that moment. It was here she told him they were to have a child and saw his eyes fill with happy tears. She remembered how his hand stroked her cheek, how she relaxed into the strength he offered.

Now, he sat by the same fireplace. He smiled as she entered, but his expression was grave. Tudor stood at the window and did not look her way. Jack sat opposite Mr. Morris, leaning back with his legs stretched out, looking for all the world as if this was his own armchair at Roanoke. He did not get up.

"My dear," Mr. Morris said. "Thank you for joining us. Tudor, please bring that chair across for your aunt. And one for yourself."

She watched as Tudor brought her a chair. He didn't raise his eyes to her face and retreated to the window without joining them. Mr. Morris's eyebrows twitched, but he said nothing.

"How are you, Jack?" Nancy asked.

"Limited in my mobility." He patted a stick by his side, and she saw one of his legs was padded above his boots. "Riding accident. On the mend now."

"I'm surprised to see you return to us so soon. I hope all is well. The family?"

"All well."

"Then?" She looked from Jack to her husband and back again.

"Mr. Randolph has had much to say to me this morning, my dear," said Mr. Morris. "To the point where I asked him if he was prepared to repeat his remarks to your face. To be honest, I'm surprised he agreed to do so, but I hope you'll hear him out, as I have. Although if you'd rather I just threw him out the door, I'd be happy to oblige."

She caught the brighter note in his voice and was strengthened by it. "If you would have me listen, husband, then I will do so."

"Very well then, Jack," he said. "If you might re-state your case?"

She waited as Jack rubbed his lips over his teeth and she knew his mind was busy calculating how best to proceed. "Jack?" she said. "It's not like you to be lost for words."

His eyes snapped to hers. Then he nodded, raised his hands and slowly clapped. "I am impressed, madam, as impressed as I have ever been with your contrivances."

"Contrivances?"

"You certainly have this fool fooled." He gestured at her husband.

"Mr. Morris?" she asked.

"A fool is nothing to what he calls you, my dear. Brace yourself."

She nodded. "Do go on, Jack."

"I shall, Mrs. Morris. I shall. Although your husband is too bewitched to realize it, I'm here for his benefit. I am come to impress upon your mind your duty to your husband, to rouse some dormant spark of virtue in you, if any ever existed. I come to wake your conscience or, failing that, Mr. Morris's consciousness of the danger posed to him by the woman he calls ‘wife'."

"You consider me dangerous?"

"Are you not?" His tone sharpened, and he leaned forward. "Are. You. Not?"

"Of course I'm not! For goodness' sake, Jack, we've had our differences in the past, but this way of speaking is irresponsible. I hope you have not spoken in such a way of me in New York—"

She broke off as Jack's eyes flicked across to Tudor at the window. "Oh. I see you have."

"Not a bit," said Jack. "They came to me."

"They?" Mr. Morris's eyebrows were raised. "I imagine you mean some relative of mine. They're a disgruntled lot. Let me guess. David Ogden? My nephew has a love for my money and blames my wife for his diminishing expectations. No one takes him seriously."

"No?" Jack's lips puckered. He was annoyed, Nancy saw, and she wasn't sure Jack losing his temper was something she wanted her husband to experience. Mr. Morris appeared relaxed, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Why don't you tell me what you think I've done?" she said.

"It's what you have not yet done that concerns me and ought to concern your husband. I came to give him fair warning."

"Of what?"

"I believe it my duty to ensure that he knows what kind of woman he has married. And at what peril he continues living here with you."

She started laughing. "Are you sure you didn't hurt your head rather than your knee in your recent accident? Mr. Morris in peril? You've lost your wits, Jack Randolph. I love my husband and have never been happier in my life. Tudor must surely bear witness to that."

"Tudor has had much to say about his stay here, madam, and none of it favorable."

"Really?" She turned to her nephew, laughter forgotten, but Tudor kept his back to them, staring out of the window. In shame, she hoped.

"But first, let us consider your character and history. Mr. Morris tells me he wrote to Chief Justice John Marshall before he married you."

"I'm well aware of it."

"I'm sure you are. For a woman with your inveterate disregard for the truth, it was an obvious step. You told Mr. Morris of your innocence and knew Marshall, having presided over the proceedings against Dick and knowing nothing of your life before or since, would give the only response open to him — that Dick had been found innocent of all charges."

"Which he was!"

"Only because of your lies!"

"Jack! Your brother was the finest—"

"Do not speak of him! I have your own letter to Judy, written after you left Virginia, describing your disgusting manipulation of both of my brothers." Jack's face was pale, his nostrils pinched. "In October 'ninety-two you were delivered of a child. You imposed upon Dick, told him the secret of your pregnancy, put into his hands its dead body and begged him to consign it to an unmarked grave. His own dead brother's child. My dead brother Theo's child. The child of a man reduced to a mere skeleton by the time you must have lain with him. Do you ever think how close you and Dick were to the gibbet? Believe me, I do. Had Randy Harrison looked at that pile of shingles earlier, what evidence might he have found? Might we have seen my nephews' father and their aunt found guilty of murder?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"You don't defend yourself? What must your husband make of that?"

"My husband knows what happened."

"Does he though? What is the truth to a woman like you?"

She felt her face redden and her muscles tense. She longed to look at Mr. Morris but feared showing weakness.

"You lied to everyone," Jack continued. "Your own sister had no idea of your pregnancy. As soon as you admitted the truth in your letter, we all knew what you were. Saint, Tudor, Judy and I—"

"You showed the boys that letter?" She counted back rapidly. "When Tudor was what? Eleven years old? You talked to him of this?"

Jack ignored her. "Your lies won you the support of my stepfather. He and my poor brother protected you. Only Dick knew what really happened to the child you claim was stillborn."

Claim?Images flashed across Nancy's mind. Dick's face contorted by sorrow. Phebe's eyes. Patsy, at the trial, talking of gum guaiacum. A tiny bundle whisked away.

"What are you saying, Jack?"

"I'm saying he was the only person that knew the truth. My brother, Dick. Dick, who three years later was dead, suddenly dead, when I was far from home."

"You can't possibly think—"

"I can and do think it! I have been in correspondence with Anna Dudley. She tells me you dosed my brother with something. How quickly was Anna driven from the house after Dick died? Why might that be? Because she knew what you had done!"

"No!" She jumped to her feet, fists clenched, but nothing was going to stop Jack now.

"You poisoned my brother to stop him revealing the truth. Then you tormented your sister and me with your presence for ten miserable years! You liaised with that slave boy — your dear Billy Ellis. I uncovered your intimacy, demanded you leave, and you thereafter lived the life of a common drab. Where did I find you in Richmond? Living in the pleasure garden, no less. Oh, you found your level there."

"Are you done, sir?" she asked.

"Nearly so. I came back here to lay out the truth to your husband. When I first heard he had taken you on as his housekeeper, I was glad of it. I thought him a man of the world, beyond the snare of female blandishments. I never dreamed he would marry you. How could I leave him here, in ignorance, a prisoner under your command?"

"You think he's my prisoner?"

"Why not? You, madam, are a vampire. You sucked the best blood of my family, only to flit off to the north and sink your teeth into an infirm old man. When you find yourself with cramps in your stomach, Mr. Morris, I hope you'll acknowledge that, if nothing else, you were warned." He turned his gaze back to Nancy. "What is to stop you finishing him off as you did my brother?"

"I did nothing of the kind! But you ask what's to stop me now? Well, sir, beyond the love I have for my husband, there is the small matter of our son."

"Tudor says you care nothing for the boy."

She shook her head. "The only poison in our family, Jack, has been dripped in the ear of my nephew. To accuse me of neglect of my son is to court ridicule. My love and indulgence of the child are well known. If anything, I am said to love the boy too much, not too little."

"As well you might. He's your guarantee of future comfort, is he not? But given your reputation, I hardly wonder at the suspicions held by some in Mr. Morris's family."

"You have said more than enough on that head, Jack Randolph," said Mr. Morris. "I will not entertain such foul talk in my house. Indeed, I think it long past time you took your leave."

Jack pursed his lips. "I knew how it would be. You are bewitched, sir."

"You knew how it would be, and yet you came here anyway? Well, you have said your piece. I would like to say mine. What say you, sir?" Nancy asked her husband. "Shall I answer these charges?"

"Only if you wish to do so, my dear."

"I do. How many days ago was it that you first arrived here, Jack Randolph?" When he didn't reply she answered for him. "Less than a week. I think we can all recall the scene. It was heart-warming. You embraced me. Kissed me. Called me family. What has changed between then and now?"

"Your lewdness, madam—"

"What lewdness? This last week? Here? At Morrisania? One moment you accuse me of keeping my husband a prisoner, the next of conducting lewd amours. Who with? When? For months I have been here, in my home, caring for our nephew. Ask him. That he stands at the window now, unable, you will note, to look me in the eye, is a testament to my nursing. What have you offered him, Jack, to come here and support your lies and accusations? Money, I'd imagine. Funds for a trip abroad?" She caught Jack's eyes sliding to the window and knew she was right. "And you, Tudor, accused me of self-advancement and selling myself for my husband's wealth. So easy, isn't it, to imagine one's own faults in other people." She fixed her gaze on Jack, a sense of calm washing over her. "It seems to me that your care of your nephew over there is somewhat haphazard. What possessed you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean leaving him in the care of a woman such as myself. Think how you have characterized me, here in this room today and to heaven knows who else in New York City. And yet you permitted your precious Tudor to be fed from my bounty and nursed by me for months. A woman you now call a common prostitute, the murderess of her own child and of your brother?

"You should be ashamed, Jack Randolph. Think of the ways you have spoken of your brothers today, brothers you profess to love, while slandering them by implication. You knew I loved your brother, Theo. You knew it because Dick told you himself of our engagement when I complained to him of the letter you wrote me. Did you tell Tudor that when you chose to share with him — with a child — the honest words I wrote to Judy after I left Virginia? Did you tell him that had your family's land been less hampered by debt, I would have been Theo's wife long before his death? My father wouldn't let me marry him, but he left me there, aged seventeen, at Bizarre with the man I loved. Dick understood. He was a man of honor. Your accusations against me are an insult to his memory. By charging me with these crimes, you charge him as my accomplice. What do you do to your brother's reputation when you talk of crimes and gibbets?

"In the presence of John Marshall, your brother and I were subject to the severest scrutiny. Dick was acquitted, and rightly so. But now, you revive events from over twenty years ago. You spread the story of your family's descent into scandal for what — to please David Ogden? Or because you cannot tolerate the knowledge of my happiness? You repay our kindness to Tudor by trying to divide us and blast the prospects of my innocent boy. Your conduct is shameful. Dick would be ashamed to hear you. I thank God Judy is not here to witness her son's poor conduct. Why, I received a letter from her only this morning . . ." Nancy broke off, recalling the letter and reappraising its contents, in the light of Jack and Tudor's visit. "My God, she knew what you were up to, didn't she?"

Jack shrugged, but Nancy was on her feet. "I will fetch the letter at once." She flew to her room and back to the parlor, brushing past Phebe in the doorway. It appeared no one had moved or spoken. Good.

"Here." She ran her finger down the page of Judy's tight script. "She says she cannot accept our invitation to spend the winter here with us but insists that she is proud of the honor we confer on her with the invitation. She writes, ‘let nothing persuade you I am less than fully grateful for your kindness to myself and my son.' I know my sister, Jack. She means she will not stand behind you in this slander. Her confidence in me betrays your lies. What kind of woman would be proud of the honor of being invited to spend a winter with the concubine of one of her slaves, after all?" She glared at him. "You are a fool, Jack Randolph. Billy Ellis wanted to marry my woman, Phebe. But you, wrapped up in your madness and envy or whatever it is that drives you, only saw what you wanted to see — a way to shame me and cast me from my home of fifteen years. Does it torment you that in doing so, you set me on the path that brought me here? I suspect it does."

Jack said nothing. Had she bested him? Finally silenced him? It seemed Mr. Morris thought so.

He rose and stared down at their guest. "You have been heard, Mr. Randolph, and treated more civilly than you deserve. I think now, however, it is past time you took your leave."

"Very well." Jack struggled to his feet. She was glad to see him wince in pain. He didn't look at her again but smiled ruefully at Mr. Morris. "I am sorry to see another man in her power, but not surprised."

It was a weak jibe, but she expected nothing less. He might be beaten, but Jack wasn't one to admit defeat. As Mr. Morris moved toward him, Nancy had the pleasure of seeing the younger man flinch. He had ridden here in a temper, determined to have his say. And now, so had she.

She turned to her nephew. Jack's hatred wasn't new. It was Tudor whose part in this hurt. Hearing he had lied about her was a fresh wound. His mother would burn with shame. His father would have whipped him, she thought. Her hand went to her neck where Dick's ring had hung for so many years. Tudor's face was expressionless as he stalked past her. She couldn't hold her tongue.

"I am sorry neither your father nor older brother are here today, Tudor. They might have shamed you into better conduct."

"My brother?" Tudor turned, frowning. "My brother is in an asylum, suspected of burning down our mother's house. If we are to talk of shame, then Saint outstrips me easily."

"You may choose to think so, nephew, but he is twice the man you are, or will ever be."

His mouth formed an ugly smile, but she saw doubt flicker in his eyes. It was a small victory, yet she relished it. As for Jack? Nancy watched him hobble from the room and stifled a desire to hook a foot around his good leg and watch him crash upon the floor. John Randolph of Roanoke they called him now. Beneath all his success and notoriety, he was still the same strange, unhappy boy he had always been.

When the doors of Morrisania closed on Tudor and Jack, Nancy reached for her husband, laid her head on his chest and sobbed. His hand on her back was a comfort, his solid chest a rock of reassurance.

"Will they spread this talk of me throughout New York City?"

"I rather think they have already done so."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "And we have been so happy."

He pulled back at that, gripping her shoulders. "We still are."

"Are you sure?"

"Certainly. There's nothing they can say or do to touch us, Nancy. They have words and accusations, but we have the truth. Do we not?"

Was there an edge to his voice? Did he doubt her honesty? Was it impossible, ever, to be free of her past? His face was full of nothing but love and kindness. She stared into his eyes. With the practice of years of concealment, of promises made and promises kept, she answered him. "Yes. You are right. I told you the truth of it long ago, and no one can come between us."

He held her gaze, and she returned it with intensity, fearing he saw right through her, had always seen through her, and knew, or suspected, the truth she would not speak.

But he only pulled her to his chest again and kissed her forehead. "All will be well," he murmured. "Come what may."