5. Five
Snakes and saltwater. This couldn’t be right, could it? Camilla stared up at the stately home overlooking a sheer cliff at the river’s edge. Maybe she’d misjudged Mr. Gray. If he’d inherited a mansion like this, then he shouldn’t have any trouble getting her the rest of their payment. Based on his suit, she’d had her doubts.
Who knew he had a house larger than the United States postal office with soaring white columns and a second-story balcony wide enough to host her entire crew? Sure, the yard could use a gardener and the paint peeled here and there, but these people had means.
An odd contradiction, that. The sense that this situation dipped ocean-deep with nearly as many hidden dark crevices sloshed around in her head.
Maybe the fifty dollars he’d brought to her yesterday evening wouldn’t be all she’d see of his money. She’d passed a few dollars to the men to have fun on land last night. Then she gave the rest to Solomon to cover this morning’s load of coal, plus enough supplies from the mercantile to survive until she got her payment from Mr. Copeland. Not a penny remained.
But the fellas’ spirits were up, her stomach was full of fried shrimp from Anna’s po’boy shop, and it was a fine day to discover the money for their most-needed repairs would soon be available.
“This way, please.” Daniel climbed the front steps to a spacious porch and fished for a key in his pocket.
She lingered at the rail, looking toward the water far below. Took an adventurous sort to put a colossal house near a drop-off. ’Course, there were a whole row of these fancy residences, so perhaps the wealthy figured if their homes plunged into the river, they’d buy another.
The faded door creaked open, and a small figure burst out, all knees and elbows and the exuberance only a boy of about seven or eight could muster. He latched his arms around Daniel’s knees and beamed up at him.
“You’re home!”
Daniel ruffled the boy’s hair—the same smoky brown as his own. “Where’s your mother?”
Was this his son? Close enough resemblance. Did that mean he had a wife too? Not her place to ask. Though if he was married…
She shook herself. Why the surge of disappointment? She’d barely met the man. Didn’t know a thing about him. Except that he liked Lula, showed Solomon respect, and offered to help when no one required it of him.
“Went to town.” The boy jabbed a finger at Camilla. “Who’s that?”
“Captain Lockhart.” Daniel grimaced an apologetic smile as the boy bounded over.
“Captain? What are you a captain of? A ship? Oh, is it one of those pirate ships like in those books Mama sometimes reads to me? Only if it’s not the scary ones, of course.”
His little lips twitched. “Wait. I thought only men could be captains. Never seen a lady captain before. Is it a whole ship of ladies too? That’s interesting. I wonder what Mama would think. Well, she’d probably say I asked too many questions at once and I should—oh.” He smashed his lips together and clasped his hands behind him.
A laugh bubbled out of her chest, and she knelt on planks in need of a good sanding. “Hi, there. I’m Camilla. Yes, I am the captain of a boat, but it’s nothing so exciting as a pirate ship. Just a little steamboat that belonged to my papa before he went to heaven.”
He blinked bright-blue eyes. Ones quite different from Daniel’s. “My father went to heaven too. I bet you miss yours. I miss mine a whole lot. Uncle Danny is my friend and all, but he doesn’t know anything about baseball.” His lip poked out. “Father was going to take me to New York to see a game someday.”
How should she respond?
Before she had to come up with a reply, a melodious voice bounded across the porch. “There you are!”
A woman emerged from the door Daniel had been attempting to pass through and pointed a finger at the boy. “You know you can’t run off to play until you’ve finished your arithmetic.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His lips curled. “I was only greeting our guest, like Mama says is proper.”
“Uh-huh.” The thin woman who looked to be in her early thirties tucked a strand of dark hair into a lemony-colored wrap around her head. She turned a sassy expression on Daniel. “Danny boy, this little’un is going to cost me the last of my wits.”
Daniel smirked. “Get inside, Lucas. You know you have to finish your schooling.”
“Oh, all right.” He dug the toe of his shoe into the planks.
The adults waited, but the child still didn’t move. The woman with the headscarf rolled her eyes and took his hand. “Come on. Get your numbers finished, and we’ll see if Bo is giggin’ any frogs. We’ll fry us up some for supper.”
Frogs?
Camilla didn’t ask. Something about the woman seemed familiar, though she couldn’t say what.
“Oh. My manners.” Daniel gestured to the woman. “Captain Lockhart, this is Stella Breaux. You met her mother yesterday when we had lunch together.”
Stella’s lips parted. Was she surprised by the title or by Camilla sharing lunch with Daniel?
“Stella, Captain Lockhart will be assisting us on our quest.”
“Well, now, ain’t that something.” Stella released the boy and patted his head. “I best find you sitting at that table writing numbers when I get done talking to the grown folk.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucas gave Camilla a wave and then trotted beyond an oak door long deprived of its polished sheen.
Stella’s long yellow skirt swished across the top of her boots as she covered the distance between them. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain.”
“Likewise.” Camilla tipped her chin. “Your mother is a fabulous cook.”
A burst of laughter jostled Stella’s shoulders. “Don’t let her be fooling you. My uncles are the ones doing all the real cooking. She just likes to throw some seasonings around and chat with the customers.” She winked. “Of course, don’t tell her I told you so.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Camilla flourished a bow, which earned another chuckle from the woman and an owlish stare from Daniel.
Once Stella excused herself and stepped inside, Daniel motioned for Camilla to follow. The interior proved as impressive as the exterior promised. The front entry boasted wood floors, high wainscoting, and oil paintings of stiff-looking people from the previous century. She focused on one hanging over a table meant for gloves or some such.
“Who’s that?”
Daniel hung his hat on a nearby rack. “Those are my great-great-grandparents, John and Francine Merrill. They built this house in 1847.”
Not Gray? Must be on his mother’s side of the family. She glanced over the paintings in gilded frames situated on blue-papered walls. None of them had his smoky-brown hair. While Daniel removed his jacket and hung it on the coatrack, she took the liberty of gawking. Towering doors alongside the entry stood open to what appeared to be parlors stuffed with delicate furniture, and a stairway loomed beyond. Couches with blue fabric matching the walls lined the broad hallway, and behind the stairs, another glass-flanked door mirrored the one at the front.
“Nice house. I can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up here.” She’d have tried sliding down those curving stairs a time or two.
The nonchalant lift of his shoulders didn’t release their tension. “We came here a handful of times as children, but we were never close with Grandfather. It surprised me when I discovered Father had been working with him, looking for the treasure. I thought the two never got along, especially after my mother passed.”
He’d lost both parents as well. Seemed they had that in common. “Lucas is your nephew?”
“He and my sister live here with me.” Daniel trailed a finger along the stair rail. “We all moved in a few weeks ago. The Lord was good to us, especially after Lucas Sr. died in that factory accident. Mabel and little Lucas wouldn’t have had anywhere else to go.”
They couldn’t have lived with Daniel? Didn’t he have a home prior to moving here? Not her place to ask, so she nodded. He’d divulge whatever personal information he felt comfortable sharing, and she wouldn’t push for more even if curiosity often made her mouth run away with her almost as badly as his young nephew’s did.
She followed him around the staircase. When they stepped past another room, Camilla slowed to peek inside. She’d never been in a house this size. What did they do with so many rooms?
This particular one didn’t prove to be anything interesting. Just a dining space. Though it did have a mammoth fan hanging over the table people used to keep the flies away. Not a bad invention. Maybe she should figure out how to install that kind of contraption on the boat. They could take turns pulling the cord during the summer months to keep the insects off the cornbread.
“Hello!” a little voice called, and Camilla leaned inside the doorframe. “Remember me? I’m Lucas.”
She couldn’t help her grin. “Let me see. It’s been so very long.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh yes. We met about five minutes ago out on the porch.”
A sound came from behind him, and his posture stiffened. He spoke with exaggeratedly punctuated words. “Please excuse me. I need to complete my assignment so I can go stick frogs with Uncle Bo.”
She retreated. Uncle Bo? Would that be Stella’s brother or one of her uncles? Were the two families related?
“Bo is Stella’s brother and not Lucas’s uncle.” Daniel supplied from behind her. “I am his mother’s only brother. Trouble is, we have a hard time telling him that.” He plucked a stray thread from his cuff. “I figure it doesn’t matter.”
“Does Stella live here too?”
Daniel approached a door across the hall from the dining room and paused with his hand on the dull silver knob. “House this big has too many rooms and costs a lot to maintain. We take boarders.” At her surprised look, he added, “Stella is a governess for Lucas and keeps everything around here running smoothly. A good trade if you ask me.”
Interesting. A wealthy family that needed to barter rooms in their mansion. She’d never heard the like.
“I took the liberty of drawing up the document.” Daniel motioned toward another door opposite the dining space. “Once you sign it, we’ll get started.”
Contracts were the standard agreements many businessmen preferred, though her papa had said a man’s word and handshake ought to be sufficient. She’d found paper to be a better seal on the terms than spit and a hand slap. She should have had Mr. Copeland sign one. Maybe she’d have gotten her payment on time if she had.
They entered a sturdy room not much different from her father’s cabin on the boat. Rich wood shelving lined the walls, and a hefty desk squatted in the center. Unlike the boat cabin, however, a stone fireplace dominated one wall. She eased closer. Wouldn’t one of these things be nice on a cold night? Two lion-head-shaped andirons covered in forgotten ash huddled inside, their mouths opened in silent roars.
“Take a seat please, Captain.” Daniel strode around the desk and slid two sheets of paper from a drawer. He placed them on the smooth surface and pushed them across to her.
She took the pages and squinted at them. Such tiny writing. She stuck them close to her nose, then held them out at arm’s length. Why not use more paper and write reasonably sized words?
“Do you, um, what I mean to say is, that, well…”
Camilla peeked over the top of the pages to the stuttering man. “I can read perfectly well, thank you.” Guess he hadn’t believed her when she admitted she liked to read. She shook the pages. “But for some reason, rather than using a typewriter, someone wrote in miniature script. I have to put it an inch from my face to see it.”
He cleared his throat. “My apologies.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “For what? Assuming that because I’m the daughter of a riverman I can’t read or for writing too small for any normal person to see?”
He sputtered. “I, well, that is to say…” He shook his head. “Both, I suppose.”
She waved the pages and laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first man to underestimate me, Mr. Gray.”
Properly sheepish, he palmed the back of his neck, settled into his chair, and nodded for her to continue reading.
She remained standing as she studied the page. The miniature words covered in detail the nature of their agreement. She would ferry him to a location of his choosing as long as it was on or bordered the Mississippi River between Natchez and Louisiana and did not exceed more than five miles inland or more than twenty miles above Natchez or ten into Louisiana.
She lifted her eyes above the page to find him watching her. “You used a lot of specific language. Are you a lawyer?”
“I am.”
Double interesting. A treasure-hunting lawyer possessing a mansion filled with tenants. She read another few paragraphs. “I thought you said this trip would have some unexpected particulars.”
“It will.”
“Well, it seems to me you tried to think of every possible scenario anyway.” She didn’t bother to see his reaction and focused on the second page. “What’s this line here? ‘If Captain Lockhart is deemed especially helpful, going beyond the expected parameters, and her dedication directly leads to discovery, she will be awarded twenty percent of the collective value of all monies and objects recovered.’ Didn’t we already agree on a price?”
And what did he mean about being especially helpful? Sure, she’d agreed to look at some clues to soothe her curiosity and in hopes of finding answers about her father’s death, but she was only being paid to navigate the Mississippi.
He splayed his fingers. “Seemed fair to me. But I can take it out if you want.”
A chance at 20 percent of a fictional treasure was still better than nothing. Not that they’d find anything. But what could it hurt to gain a little of the proceeds if they did?
“All right. Where do I sign?”
“No questions about the secrecy clause?”
She dropped the pages on the desk. “Mr. Gray, the secrecy part was the only thing in the entire document I was expecting. I know how this works. Don’t tell anyone about the treasure. Don’t share important clues with strangers.”
With a wry smile, he handed her an ink pen. “So long as we are agreed.”
She scrawled her signature at the bottom of the page. He did the same and then placed the pages in the drawer. “I’ll take that to the bank once we finish here.”
The bank? They kept documents too? Not wanting to sound uneducated, she nodded.
“Now. On to business.” An excited glint entered his eye. “A couple of days ago, I was in here looking through my grandfather’s books. That’s when I discovered something rather, well, unexpected.”
The dramatic flair to his words latched onto her curiosity and tightened the line. She trailed him as he ran a finger along a shelf about chest high. When he reached the end of the bookcase near a window blanketed in heavy curtains, he hooked one finger behind the casing about two inches away from the wall.
She waited.
Nothing happened.
“Were you looking for a book or—”
His finger caught another spot, and the bookcase swung out toward her.
A secret room?
Well, catch her sideways and call her a lark. Looked like they might have some clues to a treasure after all.