The Battling Bluestocking (22 page)

“You look very much as though you mean to tell me that a cache of diamonds has been discovered beneath one of the tiles in the entry-hall floor,” Jessica said, managing a weak smile.

“No such thing. I think I’ve discovered the answer.”

“The answer to what, Aunt Susan? There are a good many questions being asked in this world, you know.”

“Yes, but only one that has been plaguing my mind of late,” retorted her aunt.

“A name for Georgie’s baby?” Jessica suggested hopefully.

“Don’t be daft, girl. Attend to me. Did Mr. Hatchard not say that if the matters of slavery could be made to appear more of an English thing and less the business of unknown men on distant islands, the business could be settled in a trice?”

Jessica did not remember that Mr. Hatchard had put the matter in quite such succinct terms as those, but she was not one to haggle. “He did say that the distance between Antigua and England made it more difficult to illustrate the iniquities of that particular situation,” she said carefully.

“I am persuaded he did not intend to define the matter so narrowly,” said Lady Susan with confidence. “He made an excellent point, one that I had not clearly understood before. But now that I have done, the matter is in a way to be settled.”

“How?” Jessica stared at the older woman. “What on earth do you mean to say, Aunt?”

A strand of Lady Susan’s gray-blond hair had slipped out of its coil, and she pushed it back behind her ear with an impatient gesture. “I mean to say that I have done something—really done something, at last—that will make every Englishman face up to the fact that he does indeed allow slavery to exist right here at home.”

“Merciful heavens, Aunt Susan,” Jessica breathed, “what have you done?”

“I’ve freed Albert,” her ladyship replied simply.

Jessica returned a blank look. “You’ve done what?”

“Freed Albert. You know, that despicable Prodmore woman’s little black page. Although,” she amended conscientiously, “he is not so little. Twelve or so, I believe. At any rate, I asked him if he wanted to be free, and he agreed that he did, so I freed him.”

Somewhat distractedly, Jessica found a chair and sat down. “Please, Aunt Susan, I am not following this explanation of yours very well. You say you freed Albert, but since he is not your property, I quite fail to see how that can have been accomplished.”

“Well, perhaps it was a trifle premature to say I’ve freed him, but I mean to assist him to seek his freedom, so it is by way of being the same thing. Still, I daresay it would be more accurate to say that I have rescued him—like Jeremy.”

“Oh, I see.” Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. “You have purchased Albert from Lady Prodmore. Well, that was indeed kind of you, Aunt Susan, but you can very likely be held up on charges of slave trading, you know. It is not quite the same thing as purchasing Jeremy’s apprenticeship.”

“Purchased him?” Lady Susan’s clear voice rose perilously. “I should say not. I’d never traffic in such a business, Jessica, and you should know better than to suggest such a thing of me. Why, I never. To
buy
a slave. Me? When you know how very abhorrent the entire institution is to me. Besides,” she added, recovering some of her customary composure with a little sigh, “I doubt that she would agree to sell him to me, you know. She is a most disobliging woman.”

Managing without much difficulty to stifle the smile stirred by the near-petulant tone of these last words, Jessica tried to bring her relative to the point as gently as possible. “I apologize if I misunderstood you,” she said, “but if you did not purchase Albert, how on earth have you managed to rescue him?”

“Well, I simply told him he need not return home again when he brought me an invitation from that utterly loathsome woman to take tea with her on Wednesday. As if I would. Take tea with her, that is,” she added, her expression daring Jessica to remind her that she had already, upon more than one occasion, done that very thing, in her own home if not in Lady Prodmore’s, and certainly in other homes where they had chanced to meet.

When Jessica wisely said nothing, her ladyship’s expression relaxed. “When she knows, as indeed she must, how I feel about human exploitation—to flaunt Albert under my nose constantly the way she does. It has been more,” she declared, lifting her chin, “than flesh and blood can tolerate. So when I asked Albert if he liked being a slave and he said no, I told him he need not be one any longer, that I would set him free. And I see no reason why he cannot stay here with us and Jeremy until the matter is completely seen to, Jessica. I do not know precisely what must be done in such a case, but I expect Sir Brian can tell us when he returns. He was in such a pucker last time because we did not seek his advice that I am persuaded it will relieve his mind considerably to know that we are learning to depend upon him.”

Jessica could not imagine that anything about the matter at hand would in any way serve to relieve Sir Brian’s mind. He would no doubt be as dismayed as she was herself. The power of speech seemed to have deserted her for the moment, and she could only stare at her aunt. When she was finally able to speak, all she said, weakly, was, “Aunt Susan, you must send the boy back.”

“I shall do no such thing,” declared her ladyship, squaring her shoulders. “I promised him his freedom, and by heaven I mean to see to it, and at the same time to let every civilized man in England know what is going forth. I daresay I can find someone who will know precisely how to get the entire tale printed in the newspapers. Why, there are members of the Africa Institute who do that sort of thing all the time. I shall only have to recall a name or two to mind and the matter will be attended to in a trice.”

“Aunt, you cannot keep Albert here,” Jessica said desperately. “He belongs to Lady Prodmore. You would be guilty of theft.”

“Pooh, nonsense. Oh, one might steal a child from his parents, as you believe to have been the case with dear little Jeremy, but Englishmen, proper homebred Englishmen, do not own people, Jessica. Even that awful Crick, though he may have thought he owned poor Jeremy, only owned some papers entitling him to certain services. You will see, Jessica. A good many of our friends, you know, still think poor Albert is merely an ordinary servant, for she does not puff off the fact of his slavery to everyone the way she does to us, and dear Lady Prodmore will not wish to make a name for herself as a slave owner. To parade about with a decorative little black page is one thing, though even that is not fashionable anymore. Why, I would be hard put to it to name five ladies who sport pages these days, and most of them—like the Countess of Carisbrooke, for example—are quite elderly and their pages are in their teens, at least. Those who were purchased, of course, were purchased quite le…” She broke off, a puzzled expression on her face. “Everyone used to have them. I wonder what became of them all.”

“No doubt they have become properly trained footmen or are quietly earning their keep by occupying various other positions of trust on their masters’ estates in the country,” Jessica said tartly. “One does not know what became of all the little monkeys that ladies of the
beau monde
were leading about on silken leashes a few years ago either. Not,” she added hastily, “that that is by way of being the same thing, of course, or that it is any more to the point than the other, Aunt. The fact of the matter is that Lady Prodmore does own Albert, and she is very unlikely to let him go without a fuss, whether she is keeping him out of some false notion of being fashionable or not.”

“Well, even she must have realized that the passion for trailing pages after one has quite gone off,” Lady Susan insisted stubbornly, “so I believe she took to the notion because, without requiring the exertion of her mind to the slightest originality of thought, it made her feel that she was being unique, while allowing her to puff off her consequence. I cannot think of anyone more odious than a person who comes into money and does not know the proper way to live with it. But that woman must care what others think of her, when all is said and done. Mark my words, she will be as easily convinced to leave the matter alone as Mr. Crick was.”

Jessica didn’t believe for a moment that Lady Prodmore cared a whit what others thought of her, so long as they realized how wealthy she was. In Jessica’s estimation, a woman who cared what others thought was seldom as outspoken as Lady Prodmore had proven to be. Nor would a woman who cared what others thought take such delight in parading a black page before one who was adamantly opposed to the institution of slavery. And Lady Susan, Jessica knew, had not been overstating the case when she had accused the woman of flaunting Albert. Jessica had seen as much with her own eyes. Every time they met her ladyship, the woman made some excuse to bring Albert to Lady Susan’s attention, whether it was by giving the boy some capricious order to carry out or by scolding him and sending him away. Jessica had seen her aunt’s growing irritation and knew that Lady Prodmore could not have helped observing it too. Not if she were twice as oblivious to the feelings of others as Jessica believed her to be.

Jessica was as certain as she could be that this time Lady Susan had bitten off more than she would be able to chew, and she did her utmost to persuade her that she must send Albert back to his mistress. But in answer, Lady Susan sent for the boy, and when Jessica realized that he was as adamantly in favor of remaining in Hanover Square as Lady Susan was of keeping him there, she knew she was fighting a lost cause. Still, she made a last-ditch attempt to convince Albert that he was making a mistake.

“Your mistress will be very angry when you do not return to her,” she said quietly.

“Is true, ma’mselle,” he replied in his careful English. “Me, I have been here two hours now. Mistress say come right back, soon as I give m’lady
le billet doux
. If I go return now, my mistress will punish me. She has a little whip,
n’est-ce pas?
” He raised his dark eyes solemnly to meet hers.

“Good gracious, Jessica, do you hear what the lad is saying? That dreadful woman beats him.”

“Aunt Susan, please, there are still a good many people in England who beat their servants, their wives, and their children. I daresay Lady Prodmore does no more to young Albert here than any schoolmaster does to the boys under his charge. Less, in fact. I doubt she is as strong as a schoolmaster.”

“My mistress very strong,” Albert insisted, his eyes warily upon Jessica, as though he feared she might prevail in her argument.

“Yes, Albert,” she said quietly. “I don’t doubt that you dislike it when she punishes you. But she is still your mistress, and you ought to obey her. If you stay here, you may well cause my aunt a deal of trouble. You would not wish to do that.”

“Pooh, don’t listen to her, Albert,” interjected Lady Susan, straightening her shoulders and glaring at Jessica before returning her attention fully to the boy. “A little trouble won’t daunt us, will it? We shall see this business through together. This country will not tolerate slavery within its very boundaries. We’ll rout your lady between us, I promise you. Not,” she added in a pointed aside to her niece, “that I believe for one moment that there will be any routing to be done. That woman will not pursue the matter. It will be left to us merely to discover the quickest and easiest way to gain the boy his freedom under the law. And I mean to see that every step we have to take is well publicized. It is outrageous that a person can be purchased in another country, then brought here to London and kept in slavery. The very fact that one cannot purchase a slave here proves that England will not stomach such an iniquitous institution.”

Jessica knew that thanks to her easy victory over the chimney sweep, her aunt was well away upon a new crusade and that this time no amount of talking in the world would dissuade her from her course. That Lady Susan so clearly underestimated her opponent was the thing that frightened Jessica the most. If Lady Prodmore were to bring charges, there was no telling what might happen.

For once, she truly wished Sir Brian were present to advise her. Even if he, too, were unable to convince Lady Susan of her folly, at least he would be able to protect her from the consequences. Of that fact Jessica had no doubt. And the consequences could be grave. Remembering how she had feared a scandal over Jeremy’s rescue, Jessica shuddered. This matter was a hundred times worse, and she didn’t have the slightest notion what she should do about it. She
needed
Sir Brian.

But when, with hope but not much optimism, she sent a footman to Charles Street to inquire whether or not Sir Brian had returned to town, it was Andrew, not his uncle, who accompanied the manservant back to Hanover Square.

“What has happened?” Andrew demanded, hurrying into the drawing room without waiting to be properly announced. “I took the liberty of reading that cryptic missive your man brought round, because my uncle has not yet returned to town, and I thought any message from you must be important.”

She explained the matter to him, and he was quite as dismayed as she was herself.

“Hell and the devil confound it!” Andrew exclaimed. “There will be trouble over this, never doubt it. Of all the totty-headed females! Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Jessica,” he added ruefully when he realized his language had gone beyond the line of being pleasing, “but when I consider that you and my uncle caused me to be clapped up in irons because of a mere prank, you can scarcely blame me for suggesting that your aunt deserves to be clapped into Bedlam.”

“Andrew!”

“Oh, very well. I should not say such things, I know. But I hope you don’t expect me to get her out of this scrape, for I tell you frankly, ma’am, I haven’t the least notion how to go about it. Can you not convince her that she is being dashed unwise?” When Jessica favored him with a speaking look, he answered his own question. “No, of course not. I was forgetting how involved she becomes with her causes. That is, I have never really seen it for myself, you know, except a little in the matter of that fellow Hatchard. I say, Miss Jessica, I wish Uncle Brian were here. He’d know now to go to work with her.”