Caroline peeked out the window. “Oh, dear. It’s Bethany Powers. I can count on one hand the times she’s condescended to come here the past ten years.”
Crims wiped his wrist across his face, smearing crumbs and gooseberry jam. “That ferocious, hatchet-faced dragon is here to hook Joshua for one of her girls. She got word of her red-haired competition.”
Caroline pointed a ladle at Crims. “No doubt you fed the rumor.”
“It gladdens my heart to see Bethany sweat in her stays. Makes Maybelle happy, too.”
James and the children laughed.
“Silent, children,” Caroline commanded them with a well-meaning glance. “We give our guests respect.”
The children and her husband pasted on proper angelic expressions.
Crims did not. Rebellion shone in his sparkling blue eyes. “Mischief, thou are afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.”
Caroline plunked her hands on her hips. “Don’t quote Shakespeare to me, Crims. Curb your tongue in my house.”
“You have asked the impossible,” Crims complained. “It is like curling the Mohawk River back to its source.” He angled his head low and, confidingly, spoke to Juliet. “Bethany likes to throw herself around because her husband is rich. He’s a swindler.”
Joshua, chuckled accustomed to Crim’s contentiousness. Juliet suppressed a smile, and straightened as Bethany Powers burst across the kitchen threshold. Mrs. Powers was a woman of robust frame, round-shouldered and stout; she had a large face with sharp angles, the under-jaw, much developed, her brow low. There was a spiteful attitude in her dark eyes flashing over Juliet.
A servant girl of approximately thirteen summers, head bent low, her brown hair tucked in her mob cap, shifted behind Bethany. Thin as a rail, looking starved and exhausted, she was with certainty, an indentured servant, and Juliet’s heart went out to the child.
Bethany settled on a chair, fluffed out her skirts like a chicken ready to lay an egg.
“I shan’t be long. Grace, you must stand behind me.” Bethany ordered, her chin raised.
“I have an important announcement to make. As the matron of the town’s leading family, I feel it incumbent upon me to host a dance for the harvest. And most importantly—” She smiled at Joshua, “—in honor of Mr. Hansford’s return. My daughters are anxious to dance with you,” she trilled.
“You see, I feel compelled—” she fluttered her deep blue-veined fingers over her massive chest, “even dictated by my esteemed lineage…Sir Eagleton, you must all know…is a distinguished knight in England.”
Crims tilted his head back and scratched his neck. “I heard told Sir Eagleton was beheaded for posing as the King, shouting grand speeches, collecting crowds and huge amounts of taxes.”
Bethany put her nose in the air and sniffed as if she were smelling the stink of a London sewer. “And your ancestry, Mr. Crims, probably comes from that horse you crow about.”
Crims slapped his wooden leg and chortled. “Maybelle forgives your insult because she knows your condescending attitude comes from someone that has bad luck when it comes to thinking.”
“How are you, Mr. Hansford?” Bethany crooned, darting a disapproving glance to Juliet.
Little Mary offered Grace fresh corn pone.
Bethany held her hand up. “Grace is not allowed to eat and should know better.” She turned to the servant girl. “Wait ’til we get home.”
Images of Orpha flashed through Juliet’s mind. Poor Eldon Stevens whipped to death against the post. Hot blood rushed through Juliet’s veins. She clenched her jaws. Only the flex in Joshua’s arms beside her told his annoyance.
Bethany carried on. “You are all invited…that is, if you have proper dress. Do you Miss—?”
Juliet swallowed. Bethany’s hubris was a developed art.
“Juliet Farrow,” Joshua provided. “Everyone else will pale in comparison at the dance.”
She fingered the humble linen dress Caroline had loaned her, nothing compared to the fineness of Bethany’s day clothes, and certainly nothing to wear to such an occasion.
Thomas strode to the door. With a benevolent wink, he slipped corn pone into Grace’s pocket. Oh, there was something between the two of them and hidden beneath Bethany’s oblivious nose. Grace was so taken with his kindness when he went out the door, she stumbled and fell onto Bethany. The woman turned and slapped the girl across the face.
Grace cried out and held her hand to the swelling curve of an Irish cheekbone. A single tear rolled like a drop of quicksilver.
Juliet took two quick steps and stood to her full height in front of Bethany. Keeping her voice low and even, she said, “She is mere a girl. If I ever hear of you striking her again, you’ll have me to deal with.”
