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“I hope that Mr. Thixton will not be long,” a high-pitched female voice announced, her tone close to a whine.
Two sets of footsteps echoed in the keeping room, one masculine, one feminine.
“If you’ll wait here,” Mr. Danz said firmly, “I am certain Mr. Thixton will join you momentarily.”
“It’s her,” Myra whispered with great facial animation. “You got to see how she acts with him. It’s a wonder she don’t climb right into his trousers on the settee.”
Sapphire lifted both brows. She didn’t have to pretend to be curious.
“Runnin’ over here all the time when her papa ain’t lookin’,” Myra continued in a hushed voice, leaning into the fireplace to scrub again. “Little trollop is what she is. Just can’t get Mr. Thixton to drop his drawers, but not for want of tryin’. You just wait a minute, listen in, you’ll know what I’m talkin’ about.”
The sound of the bristles on the hearth stone echoed loudly in Sapphire’s ears as she used every bit of might she possessed to polish the brass fireplace ornament. “You mean he hasn’t—” She struggled to find the word.
Myra giggled. “No, not as far as anyone here knows, and I can tell you nothin’ happens in Boston, least not Beacon Hill, that Myra Clocker don’t know about.”
Sapphire had to smile. “How do you—?”
“Shh, here he comes—gimme a rag.” Myra snatched a clean cloth from Sapphire’s hand and ripped it in half. Giving Sapphire the other half, she motioned for her to follow her.
The two women slowly crept closer to the doorway, Sapphire, like Myra, dragging the rag along the chair rail to appear as if she were dusting it.
As Sapphire sneaked up on Blake to listen in on his conversation, a part of her felt guilty for being devious, but a part of her thought it might be for his own good.
21
“Miss Lawrence,” Blake said, “how kind of you to call.” Sapphire faced the dining room wall, but looked through the arched doorway into the keeping room. Just out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blake take a fashionably gowned blond woman’s gloved hand and bring it to his lips.
Sapphire gulped, shifting her gaze to the wall in front of her. Myra had not been exaggerating, as she sometimes did, when she described Clarice Lawrence. Clarice was as beautiful as any woman Sapphire had ever seen, with long golden blond hair and clear hazel eyes. Her face was classically exquisite with a short, pert nose, high cheekbones that were slightly flushed and a perfect chin. Sapphire sighed heavily. Clarice Lawrence could only be described as stunning.
Self-consciously, Sapphire tucked a greasy lock of her hair that had come unpinned and tucked it up under her mobcap. On the ship, she had bathed almost daily in a tin tub that Blake had brought for that purpose, but there were no bathing facilities available to servants here beyond a washbowl she had to carry up four flights of stairs to the dormitory, or the hand pump in the kitchen courtyard. Most of the young women employed here either washed at home, or if they lived on
the premises, simply stripped to the waist in their shifts and washed their hands and faces each morning in the August sunshine. Sapphire hadn’t had the time—or the energy, for that matter—to carry water upstairs after her long day was done.
After a moment, she stole another peek into the keeping room. Myra had continued along the chair rail and was now boldly dusting the painted white molding that framed the arched doors leading into the next room. If Blake or Miss Lawrence had noticed Myra’s presence, they gave no indication. Of course, servants were, by nature, invisible, and now it seemed that Myra was the most invisible of all.
Myra caught Sapphire’s eye and curled a finger, beckoning her closer. Sapphire could see that Blake and Miss Lawrence had taken a seat side by side on a fine example of an eighteenth-century Italian settee upholstered in a green and brown brocade with a classic hunt scene woven into the design.
“Really, Miss Lawrence. There was no need for you to travel here in the heat of the day. Your father has invited me to dinner tomorrow evening. I could have seen you then.”
Sapphire eased closer to the doorway. Blake sat stiffly on the settee, his hands on his lap so that no part of his body or his garment touched her, but she was leaning closely. Even from fifteen steps away, Sapphire could smell her rose-water perfume.
Blake looked tired. Apparently he had been working long hours, but perhaps he did that so he could avoid the house and her.
“I just couldn’t bear to wait until tomorrow night.” Miss Lawrence pouted, leaning closer to Blake. “I know it’s forward of me, but I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve missed you all these months, Mr. Thixton.”
He glanced away. “Please call me Blake. You and I have known each other since your father dandled you on his knee. It seems silly that we should not be using given names.”
She giggled and Sapphire nearly groaned out loud. Miss Clarice Lawrence was the type of woman she despised. She had known several of her kind in Martinique—planters’ daughters out fishing for the best catch in the pool of single males. And the Miss Lawrences had been as thick as fleas in London, all sweet-talking, coyly flirtatious and as manipulative as the female of the species could be.
Blake was a man who spoke only truths. He believed in hard work and honesty. For all his wealth and education, he was a simple man. He could never love a woman like Clarice Lawrence. She doubted he could even abide an evening with her.
Sapphire looked down at the rag in her dirty hand and then back at Miss Lawrence, dressed in her mint-green gown, white straw boater’s bonnet and thin white lace gloves. The contrast between Sapphire and Miss Lawrence was both unnerving and unfair, and there was nobody to blame for the outrage but Blake Thixton.
“Tell me you missed me, Blake dear,” Miss Lawrence continued in a simpering voice.
Sapphire almost laughed. It was humorous, really, Miss Lawrence trying to entice Blake while Sapphire, who had made love to Blake more times than she could now count, dusted the molding in his dining room. It was so amusing, Sapphire didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
“I’d really like to have you stay and visit with you,” Blake said, rising from the settee and stepping away from his partner’s daughter, just as she reached for his arm. “I apologize, but I’ve an important matter I must attend to before the end of business today.”
