Mack stood squarely in the doorway, to discourage them from entering the house. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. He found his heart was beating fast. He struggled to keep his voice relaxed and calm. “This looks like a search party.”
The taller of the two said: “I’m the sheriff of Spotsylvania County, and I’m looking for a girl by die name of Peggy Knapp.”
“I saw the dogs. Have you sent them down to the slave quarters?”
“Yes.”
“Good thinking, Sheriff. That way you’ll catch the niggers asleep and they won’t be able to conceal the fugitive.”
“I’m glad you approve,” the sheriff said with a touch of sarcasm. “We’ll just step inside.”
A convict had no choice when given orders by a free man, and Mack had to stand aside and let them into the hall. He still hoped they would not think it necessary to search the house.
“How come you’re up?” the sheriff said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. “We expected to have to wake everyone.”
“I’m an early riser.”
The man grunted noncommittally. “Is your master at home?”
“Yes.”
“Take us to him.”
Mack did not want them to go upstairs—they would be uncomfortably close to Peg. “I believe I heard Mr. Jamisson moving around,” he said. “Shall I ask him to come down?”
“No—I don’t want to put him to the trouble of getting dressed.”
Mack cursed under his breath. Evidently the sheriff was determined to take everyone by surprise if possible. But he could not argue. He said, “This way, please,” and led them up the stairs.
He knocked on Jay’s door. A moment later Jay opened it, wearing a wrap over his nightshirt. “What the devil is all this?” he said irritably.
“I’m Sheriff Abraham Barton, Mr. Jamisson. I apologize for disturbing you, but we’re searching for the murderer of Burgo Marler. Does the name Peggy Knapp mean anything to you?”
Jay looked hard at Mack. “It certainly does. The girl was always a thief and I’m not surprised she’s turned into a killer. Have you asked McAsh here if he knows where she is?”
Barton looked at Mack in surprise. “So you’re McAsh! You didn’t mention it.”
“You didn’t ask,” Mack said.
Barton was not satisfied with that. “Did you know I was coming here this morning?”
“No.”
Jay said suspiciously: “Then why are you up so early?”
“When I worked in your father’s coal mine I used to start at two o’clock in the morning. Now I always wake early.”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“You’re never up.”
“Less of your damned insolence.”
Barton said to Mack: “When did you last see Peggy Knapp?”
“When I disembarked from the Rosebud half a year ago.”
The sheriff turned back to Jay. “The niggers may be concealing her. We’ve brought dogs.”
Jay waved a generous hand. “Go ahead and do whatever you need to.”
“We should search the house, too.”
Mack caught his breath. He had been hoping they would not think that necessary.
Jay frowned. “It’s not likely the child is in here.”
“Still, for the sake of thoroughness …”
Jay hesitated, and Mack hoped he would get on his high horse and tell the sheriff to go to hell. But after a moment he shrugged and said: “Of course.”
Mack’s heart sank.
Jay went on: “There’s only my wife and me in residence. The rest of the place is empty. But search everywhere, by all means. I’ll leave you to it.” He closed his door.
Barton said to Mack: “Which is Mrs. Jamisson’s room?”
Mack swallowed. “Next door.” He stepped along the landing and knocked gently. With his heart in his mouth he said: “Mrs. Jamisson? Are you awake?”
There was a pause, then Lizzie opened the door. Feigning sleepiness, she said: “What on earth do you want at this hour?”
“The sheriff is looking for a fugitive.”
Lizzie opened the door wide. “Well, I haven’t got one in here.”
Mack looked into the room, wondering where Peg was hiding.
Barton said: “May we step inside for a moment?”
There was an almost imperceptible flash of fear in Lizzie’s eyes, and Mack wondered whether Barton had seen it. Lizzie shrugged with a semblance of apathy and said: “Feel free.”
The two men stepped inside, looking awkward. Lizzie let her dressing gown sag open a little, as if by accident. Mack could not help looking at the way the nightdress draped her rounded breasts. The other two men reacted with the same reflex. Lizzie looked the sheriff in the eye and he turned away guiltily. She was deliberately making them feel uncomfortable so that they would search hastily.
The sheriff lay on the floor and looked under the bed while his assistant opened the wardrobe. Lizzie sat on the bed. With a hasty gesture she picked up a corner of the bedspread and tugged it. Mack glimpsed a small, dirty foot for a split second before it was covered up.
Peg was in the bed.
She was so thin that she hardly made a bulge in the piled-up covers.
The sheriff opened a blanket chest and the other man looked behind a screen. There were not many places to check. Would they pull the covers off the bed?
The same thought must have gone through Lizzie’s mind, for she said, “Now, if you’re done, I’m going back to sleep,” and she got into bed.
Barton looked hard at Lizzie and the bed. Did he have the nerve to demand that Lizzie get out again? But he did not really think the master and mistress of the house were concealing the murderess—he was searching the place only to be comfortable about eliminating the possibility. After a moment’s hesitation he said: “Thank you, Mrs. Jamisson. We’re sorry to have disturbed your rest. We’ll carry on and search the slave quarters.”
Mack felt weak with relief. He held the door for them, hiding his jubilation.
“Good luck,” Lizzie said. “And, Sheriff—when you’ve finished your work, bring your men back here to the house and have some breakfast!”
34
LIZZIE STAYED IN HER ROOM WHILE THE MEN AND dogs searched the plantation. She and Peg talked in low voices, and Peg told her the story of her life. Lizzie was horrified and shaken. Peg was just a girl, thin and pretty and cheeky. Lizzie’s dead baby had been a girl.
They exchanged dreams. Lizzie revealed that she wanted to live out of doors and wear men’s clothing and spend all day on horseback with a gun. Peg took a folded and worn sheet of paper from inside her chemise. It was a hand-colored picture showing a father, a mother and a child standing outside a pretty cottage in the country. “I always wanted to be the little girl in the picture,” she said. “But now sometimes I want to be the mother.”
At the usual time Sarah, the cook, came to the room with Lizzie’s breakfast on a tray. Peg hid under the bedclothes at her knock, but the woman walked in and said to Lizzie: “I know all about Peggy, so don’t you worry.”
Peg came out again and Lizzie said bemusedly: “Who doesn’t know?”
“Mr. Jamisson and Mr. Lennox.”
Lizzie shared her breakfast with Peg. The child shoveled down grilled ham and scrambled eggs as if she had not eaten for a month.
The search party left as she was finishing. Lizzie and Peg went to the window and watched the men cross the lawn and make their way down to the river. They were disappointed and subdued, walking with slumped shoulders, and the dogs, picking up the mood, trailed obediently behind.
They watched the men out of sight, then Lizzie sighed with relief and said: “You’re safe.”