For Her Love (14 page)

Grace was still overwhelmed. Not only was Faith strikingly white, she was pregnant. The thought left Grace feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Faith gestured Grace to one side and said, “Might you have a room I can take little Jonathan to? He had a bit of bread and some banana on the ship, but he hasn’t yet nursed.”

Grace nodded and said, “Come inside. I’ll have my maid show you to my room.”

“Oh nay!” Faith protested. “Come with me. I’ve so wanted to meet you. We’ll leave the men to their crude bragging about beddings and babies and you can tell me all about yourself.”

“Weddings,” Grace corrected.

“What?”

“Weddings. You said ‘beddings’.”

Faith only smiled. “Ah, aye, well I’m sure it is
we
who will talk about the wedding. Come, come. I can’t wait to hear the plans.”

Grace led the way, but her mind tumbled all over itself. Perhaps there was no distinction at all between men. Mayhap they were all the same when it came to mating. Had she been deluding herself to believe that Giles was any different? Then again, there might well be vast differences. She looked at Faith, this woman who touched her husband easily and smiled about being pregnant, and she wished that she could ask her about these things.

Faith settled herself onto Grace’s bed and carelessly unlaced her bodice. She wore a gown of blue cotton. Its style was simple, but the cut was elegant and the fabric of the highest quality. The bodice laced up the front, obviously for convenience as she pushed one side down and slid her shift down with it. The little boy, perhaps a year or so old, lay himself down in the crook of his mother’s arm and latched onto her breast with cuddly contentment.

Grace was hard-pressed to understand her own discomfort. She had certainly seen African women nurse their children. But this was so different, and not just because of their white-blond hair and pale skin. There was a grim, desperate functionality to the feeding of a slave child. Mothers did not bond to their children because it was so very unlikely that the babes would live long enough to be weaned. The sight of Faith and her son was so intimate that Grace felt herself blush.

Faith sighed and said, “This will be you in no time. You and Giles will be so happy together, I just know it.”

Grace wished she were as confident.

*

Iolanthe felt better than she had in days. When Edmund had first informed her that Grace would indeed be marrying Captain Courtney, she had been violently ill. She hadn’t even been able to order a whipping, for she knew it would only feed the burning anger inside of her. She had to be able to inflict the pain herself. But each slap delivered to the face of her maid had simply made her crave more.

She had managed to get two letters, written out of sheer desperation, to some neighbors who were traveling to Port Royal, but time was tight. It was entirely possible that no ships were headed for Saint-Domingue soon enough for her missive to Jacques to do any good, and she’d no way of knowing whether the other had found its mark. Her only hope hung by a slender thread.

Then she had come upon her brilliant idea. True, there would be no physical violence involved, but the emotional anguish it was sure to cause would appease her somewhat. Her heart pounded and her cheeks were flushed a fetching shade of pink. She smiled at her own reflection in her vanity mirror, ignoring her besmirched teeth. On top of her delicious plans, she was wearing one of her newest gowns, her hair was perfect, and downstairs was a couple who had traveled the world and would know a woman of culture and refinement when they saw one.

Better still, when Iolanthe made her entrance from the stairs, Grace was nowhere to be seen. There were only Edmund, Captain Courtney, and another man chatting comfortably in the upholstered chairs in the keeping room. Captain Courtney saw her first and hastened to his feet, and Iolanthe’s elation was pierced by the wretched, wretched jealousy that had been consuming her for over a fortnight. Even as the other men rose to greet her, she thought of Grace traveling abroad and being showered with treasures from all over the world, and it took careful effort to keep her face serene and to smile politely. The plan, she reminded herself. Grace would not have all of these things without a price.

The new gentleman made her a courtly bow. “Mistress Welbourne, I should have known that so fair a daughter must have sprung from great beauty to begin with.”

For a moment, Iolanthe saw everything through a red haze. How dare he? How dare he spoil her grand entrance and render her fabulous gown a waste with such a careless comment? She wanted to scream, “That beast is not my child!” But Edmund would have killed her for that, quite literally, so she curtsied and murmured her thanks.

There was a commotion behind her as Grace led an exquisite woman down the stairs. Introductions were made, and Mistress Hampton said something about Grace’s maid remaining upstairs to watch over a baby while he slept in Grace’s bed. That wouldn’t do at all. Iolanthe needed Matu down here. She must be present when Iolanthe played her trump card.

“Your gown is truly elegant,” Mistress Hampton said, distracting her momentarily from her dilemma. “My aunt designs her own gowns, and she would love to see this creation.”

Iolanthe eyed her visitor. The woman knew quality, although she had no sense of style or flair. Still, even Iolanthe had to admit that her looks rendered the plainness of her dress immaterial.

“Thank you. My dressmaker is in Paris. He sends fashion dolls to me each season from which to select. Would you take tea? Grace, send for another wench to look after the baby. I want Matu to serve us.”

“I’m sure Keyah has someone in the kitchen who can serve tea,” Grace replied.

Iolanthe leveled a frosty look at the girl. Nothing,
nothing
could be done without an argument. Suddenly a pungent wave of jasmine filled Iolanthe’s nostrils. She smiled archly. “Rather more perfume than usual, Grace. Did you fear that your fiancé would smell something amiss? I want Matu here, now,” she repeated, and there was a subtle warning to her tone.

She could tell by the stubborn set of Grace’s face and the stiffening in her shoulders that Grace wanted to defy her, but then she glanced at their guests and seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth making a scene.

“Very well,” Grace said tightly before she stalked out the back door to fetch another servant.

Edmund pulled chairs away from the dining table so there would be more seats in the sitting area. Iolanthe tried very hard to concentrate on the small-talk that drifted around her, but she felt giddy, nearly drunk, and she hardly dared to speak for fear that she would begin to giggle.

At last, Grace returned and another servant took Matu’s place with the babe, sending Matu downstairs to fetch tea. “Matu,” Iolanthe called, “do make sure that Keyah uses fresh cake. I know there was some left from yesterday, but we cannot serve day-old delicacies to our guests.” She turned to Mistress Hampton and said, “Our Matu is such a faithful servant. I do not know what I would do without her.”

“I’m sure you’ll miss her terribly,” Mistress Hampton returned kindly.

Iolanthe smiled beatifically. “Whatever do you mean? Matu is not going anywhere.”

Grace stood up, her guests forgotten, cold fear clenching at her stomach. “What are you saying? Matu is coming with Giles and me. She is
my
maid.”

“My, my,” Iolanthe chided softly. “Such possessiveness from one who professes an aversion to slavery.”

“Iolanthe…” Edmund warned.

“What?” she replied, her brown eyes wide. “I am only trying to set to rights a slight misunderstanding.” She gazed around at Giles and his friends, her hands wide in supplication. “You see, Matu is one of many slaves that my father has sent here to work, but they are an indefinite loan. My father retains full ownership. Matu belongs to him, not us. I can hardly send her away without his consent.”

Matu stood, frozen, her eyes never leaving Iolanthe, and Grace rushed to her side, firmly clasping her hand.

“You cannot do this,” she spat at Iolanthe.

Edmund laughed uncomfortably. “Iolanthe is right about this being a small misunderstanding. I will write to
Monsieur
Renault immediately and gain his consent.”

Grace shivered at the malicious smile that curved her stepmother’s mouth. There were times that she and her brother looked so alike.

“You can try, but my father has never approved of people becoming too enamoured of their slaves. It breaks down discipline throughout. I cannot imagine that he will allow you to merely give away one of his Africans, especially to people who will only free her.”

Giles cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. “A simple enough matter to clear up. How much would your father consider fair compensation?”

“Perhaps not so simple. One of the stipulations when my father loans slaves to my husband is that he cannot sell one without my approval. Is this not so, Edmund?”

Edmund had ceased to try to smooth things over with a smile and a false chuckle. He glared at his wife and said, “I am certain that I can persuade you to cooperate.”

“She is invaluable, Edmund. I simply cannot run this household without her.”

Faith rose, opening her mouth to speak, but Geoff shook his head. “Would you mind terribly if Faith and I took a walk?” he asked.

Giles glanced at his friend in gratitude. This was to be his family. It was his problem. “We’ll catch up to you later,” he replied.

“I am so sorry,” Iolanthe protested. “How rude of us to discuss family business in front of guests. But since there is nothing further to be said, please stay. Matu, the tea.”

“Really, we’re not hungry just yet,” Geoff answered, and he ushered his wife, whose face was flushed and whose eyes blazed, out the front door.

Giles took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Mistress Welbourne, I must be frank. I realize that there is some animosity between you and Grace, and I suppose it is really none of my business.”

“I do not suppose it is,” Iolanthe agreed.

“Nonetheless, this ploy is spiteful and malicious…”

“And you will not get away with it!” Grace interrupted.

“Nay,” Giles continued, “you will not. Your father is a businessman. I will pay five times the acceptable rate for a Negro woman in her prime, although we both know that Matu is far older than most slaves ever become.”

“I will not permit the sale,” Iolanthe argued.

“You vindictive little…” Edmund muttered under his breath.

Iolanthe turned on him. “Perhaps it is wrong to keep Giles out of this. He is, after all, nearly family. Maybe he should know why Grace and I are ever at odds.”

Matu pulled her hand from Grace’s, shaking her head. Both hands flat, palms down, she pressed her hands downward. “Settle down. Peace.”

“I should think it perfectly obvious,” Edmund bellowed. “A slave trader’s daughter who allowed her child to become too close to her nursemaid. If you had been a more involved mother, Matu would never have come between you.” He turned to Giles, a touch of panic in his eyes. “‘Tis old history, you see. Matu is the point of contention.”

Matu nodded emphatically, pointing to herself and then to Edmund and Iolanthe.

“You will not stay!” Grace cried. “Nay, you will not!” She reached for Matu, who stepped away, shaking her head and putting up her hands to ward Grace off. Grace faced her stepmother and recognized all too well the euphoric smile, the breathlessness, the unabashed joy taken in another’s pain. Though she’d have given anything to withhold the satisfaction it would give Iolanthe, Grace’s eyes filled with angry tears. “You bitch! You horrible, spiteful bitch! I’ll not marry him! There, are you happy now? But so help me, you will pay! I will make your life a living hell.”

“Grace,” Giles injected, “don’t be rash. We’ll mend this, we will. Mister Welbourne, surely your father-in-law will overlook the technicality if the price is right.”

“He may, but I will not,” Iolanthe insisted. She and her husband exchanged hard looks, glaring into each other’s eyes. In the end, ‘twas Edmund who looked away first.

Matu’s shoulders dropped and her face tightened in defeat as she gestured that she would go and get tea.

“Nay!” Grace screamed, and Iolanthe quivered at the sound.

It struck Giles that the pleasure on the woman’s face was almost sexual, and nausea rippled through him. The entire exchange did nothing but reinforce his belief that Welbourne Plantation was a sick place and that he was absolutely right in taking Grace far away from it.

Grace grabbed Matu’s arm. “I’ll not leave you. I’ll not marry him. I’ll stay with you, Matu.”

Matu wrenched herself free, then took Grace’s arm in her fierce grip, causing the girl to wince. Never mind that she was a small woman; she had hauled buckets of water and heavily laden serving trays nearly her entire life, and there was tremendous power in her hands. She towed Grace through the back door, into the rear courtyard, and spun her around. The glaring afternoon sun shone full on her face as she opened her mouth wide and waggled the stump that remained of her tongue. Then she shoved Grace hard against the side of the house, pointing first into her open mouth, then to Grace. She untied the gathered neck of her simple garment, pulling it to her waist and turning her back. It was mangled by thick, twisted, discolored keloids, severe scarring that was common to African skin and made all the worse by brutal whippings. Clutching the fabric to her breasts, she spun back to Grace, pointing again to herself, then the girl before slipping her dress back up.

The message was crystal clear: “For you. All of this I have suffered for you.” Then she pointed back to the house, gestured for the boat on the ocean, and finally grabbed Grace’s hand and pointed to her ring finger.

Grace stared at her, shaking her head. “I cannot.”

But she would. She had to. Because next Matu did something that Grace had never seen her do before. Giant tears welled up in Matu’s dark eyes, spilling over her leathery face. Her lips pulled into a wide, anguished line. She patted Grace’s chest and then her own, shrugging. A question.