Page 15 of The Indigo Heiress

14

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

William Shakespeare

Royal Vale’s stillroom embraced Juliet with a distillation of heady scents. Glazed crocks lined shelves and snipped plants adorned Loveday’s homely worktable while aromatic bunches of rosemary, thyme, sage, and parsley hung above their heads, drying for winter’s use.

“I was hoping you’d set aside Father’s ledgers.” Loveday looked up from harvesting her beloved herb garden before a hoarfrost. “I’m happy to have company.”

“As am I.” Juliet came to stand across from her, the burgeoning table between them. “Preserved marigold flowers?”

“For decorating porridge and cakes,” Loveday replied with a wistful smile. “You know how fanciful I am in my little kingdom here.”

How well she handled their lack of domestic help—and Mama’s grievous loss, for this had once been Charlotte Catesby’s domain. “Such becomes you. You’ll make a fine wife and mother.”

Loveday poured vinegar, nose wrinkling. “My success toward that end seems small, even after the ball.”

“Nonsense.” Juliet stifled a yawn. “We’ve not discussed it overmuch since we slept most of yesterday after staying up all night dancing.”

“Which you did quite admirably with Mr. Buchanan.”

“Me?” Juliet replied. “I danced with him but once whilst you partnered with him twice.”

“Who’s counting? Rather, what did you make of him? Father seems quite fond of this particular tobacco lord, even admiring.”

“’Tis hard to form a fair opinion on such short acquaintance.” Juliet took a seat on a stool, still entertaining the notion that Mr. Buchanan might become her brother-in-law. “I’m most interested in your first impressions.”

With a little sigh, Loveday reached for a crock. “Mine are still forming.”

Loveday seemed unusually restrained. Did she need prodding? “I forgot for a few hours how deeply we’re indebted to him, as he can be rather charming, even erudite.”

“Oh?” Loveday began sugaring a tray of lavender. “He seems rather steely at times.”

“Steely? What means you?”

“Hard as marble. Even a tad melancholy. He seldom smiles.”

“Well, he’s a consummate businessman. I keep thinking how unfortunate it is he has no wife. No sweetheart.”

“A solitary gentleman, yes.”

“Given his many fine attributes, I doubt he’ll remain a bachelor long.”

“Indeed.” Loveday paused, lips pursed. “Did you see all the ladies eyeing him openly at the ball? He seemed oblivious to the attention. I do find that rather remarkable.”

Did she? Loveday seemed a step away from smitten. Juliet wanted nothing more than to see her sister happily settled in her own home, even in faraway Scotland if it came to that.

“As for love matches, we need to talk with Father about his own impending nuptials. He’s wanting a small ceremony—a wedding breakfast.”

A double wedding? Juliet bit her lip to keep from saying it aloud. “I wonder what Zipporah wants.”

“We shall soon find out.” Loveday consulted the watch that dangled from Mama’s chatelaine at her waist. “We four are leaving later for an afternoon’s entertainment at the Ravenals’, remember.”

Juliet had nearly forgotten. Surely her matchmaking would be more effective if she excused herself. “I shan’t be joining you.”

Loveday set the sugar scoop down. “Whyever not?”

“I need ... a few hours’ quiet.” She eyed the shelves, feeling duplicitous. “And one of your headache remedies.”

“Well, a little rest should do you good, though it shan’t be the same without you.” Loveday moved toward a closet, disappeared into it, and then returned with something in hand. “Dr. Blair always says drinking hot citron water is most beneficial, but I’m partial to the cucupha—here’s one I’ve sewn with rosemary and lavender.”

“Thank you, sweet sister.” Taking the fragrant, quilted cap, Juliet made her way to the door that opened onto the kitchen garden. “Please excuse me to the Ravenals.”

And Leith Buchanan.

Half an hour with the cucupha and a cup of tea had Juliet on her feet again, this time at Royal Vale’s dyehouse. Situated near the bellhouse, it sat square like the other dependencies, with clapboard siding washed white, its gable roof and shutters green.

Loveday had harvested a great quantity of woad, and Juliet had been experimenting blending its blue dye with indigo. These trials were her favorite pastime—nay, obsession—but she’d not had much time for it of late given her other tasks. Leaving the door open, she moved toward the linen she’d dyed a fortnight ago, the hues astonishingly varied from violet to navy to sky blue.

The latest cakes of indigo, brought from the drying shed and laid out on her worktable, were from this year’s fifth harvest. She’d not yet decided whether to continue using limewater for the process or pure water as the Europeans did. As for which indigo was her favorite, she favored the flora plant instead of the violet plant, or gorge de pigeon. It fetched the best price for dyeing linen and wool, at least in the current market.

Humming a hymn, she took up a hand grinder and ground a dried indigo cake into a fine blue powder before mixing it in limewater to form a paste. A barrel of cold water was on hand and she removed the cover, then added potash and other ingredients to form a dye in which to dip the clean linen cloth on hand. ’Twas her favorite part of the process—

“Where is your father?”

Whirling around, she faced an unsmiling Riggs. His bulk crowded the doorframe, and she realized anew why so many feared him. He was a bull of a man, his temperament the same. Never an observer of common courtesy, he’d not removed his hat or apologized for startling her.

“My father should return soon.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she worked to keep her tone pleasant. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s an outbreak of fever among the tobacco hands. I need the doctor sent for—or at least your sister’s stillroom remedies.”

“I’ll see to both, then.” She replaced the cover on the barrel, abandoning her task. Outbreaks were common enough, especially after an exhaustive harvest. But the worrisome word fever might mean any number of maladies, including the dreaded pox. “Have you had the sick moved to the infirmary?”

“Nay.”

“Then please do so at once while I summon Dr. Cartwright and send word to my father.”

When he didn’t move, her alarm spiked. She faced him, still wiping her hands on her indigo-stained apron though they were already dry. “Is that all, Mr. Riggs?”

“Nay, not all by half.” His granite gaze held hers with sickening force. “I ken what you’re doing in the dark. And I vow to see it end.”

She groped for a reply, her long-simmering fury rivaled by fear. “You know nothing. And if you persist in this threat, I’ll see you put off Royal Vale by the sheriff, your reputation so ruined no other planter in Virginia will employ you.”

Bold words. Brazen words. She felt sick even saying them. To have countered a threat with a threat left her weak-kneed and wondering how he might retaliate.

He finally left, in no way cowed and seemingly more infuriated. She felt she’d stumbled into the wasp’s nest she’d just discovered under the stillroom eaves.

What would a man like Riggs do? What was he capable of?