A Marriage of Equals

by Elizabeth Rolls

  The last, Lady Huntercombe, smiled and said, ‘I like your little dog. Did she come with you from Jamaica?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. Nyx was the papa’s dog, but Uncle Theo says she must be mine now.’

  Lady Huntercombe took her cup. ‘Thank you, Psyché. A dog makes a very good friend. They see always with the eyes of love, do they not?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ She was not sure exactly what my lady meant, but it sounded nice and her eyes were friendly.

  ‘Thank you, Psyché.’ Aunt Grace spoke gently. ‘Perhaps you would like to take dear Nyx into the gardens for a time. You may leave your embroidery here.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt.’ Psyché tried not to show the relief she felt and dropped the little curtsy she had been taught before moving decorously to the door.

  Madame Purple Gown spoke. ‘I do think—’

  ‘Such an exhausting venture for you, Mrs Long.’ That was Lady Huntercombe of the smiling eyes, only now her voice had iced over. ‘Should you put yourself to so great an effort?’

  Psyché whisked herself through the door and got it shut before the bubble of laughter burst free.

  * * *

  The grounds stretched, if not quite for ever, at least half that far. She had to stay within sight of the house and not go out on to the Heath. Not that she needed to go out on to the Heath—which sounded so wild and exotic—to have an adventure. There were deer right in the park and, if you moved slowly and quietly, you could get quite close—one big stag lay always in the shade by the outer wall every afternoon, quite hidden in the undergrowth unless you knew where to look. Uncle Theo had shown her. And once at dusk they had seen a fox. She had clutched Uncle Theo’s hand in speechless delight.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ he’d murmured, smiling down at her. ‘I should mention that to the groundsmen, but he is a very fine fellow, is he not? And his ancestors were very likely here long before the house.’

  The fox trotted on unmolested and, Psyché thought now, unreported. Uncle Theo had a kind heart for persecuted, unwanted creatures, human or otherwise.

  She ran on, coming to the spot where the stag might be and peered into the undergrowth. He wasn’t there yet. A glance at the sun and she knew it was too early. What now? Her gaze slid to a great tree—Uncle Theo had called it a scarlet oak, pointing out the convenient lower branches ‘...that two young boys called Jack and Lucius found very useful for climbing.’

  She looked up, considering. It would be easy for boys wearing breeches... But if she tucked her skirts up into her sash, she suited the action to the thought...she was hidden from the house just here by the bottom branches of the tree which dipped nearly to the ground, making a dappled green cave. Nyx couldn’t come up, but she didn’t think the little dog would run off very far and, if she did, then she could always call her back.

  Skirts out of the way, she jumped for the lowest branch and caught it, swinging her leg over. Nyx stared up at her. ‘Sit.’ Nyx sat. ‘Stay.’ Nyx cocked her head to one side, then lay down, curling up with a gusty sigh. Satisfied, Psyché kept climbing.

  Higher and higher she went and the world stretched and fell away beneath her. On the ship the sailors had climbed the rigging like this, even on the wildest days, to set sails. One had perched high in the crow’s nest with a spyglass to watch for land or other ships. She wondered if Uncle Theo might have a spyglass and, if he did, if she might borrow it. And...there—she shaded her eyes—there was Uncle Theo coming in through the gate out on to the Heath.

  She drew breath to call out—and recognised the man with him.

  Uncle Lucius.

  Uncle Lucius didn’t like her and even from up here she could see that he was angry. Still, she should say something in case it was a private conversation. Arguments nearly always were private things. Uncle Theo looked...not angry, but something.

  She didn’t want to call out and let them know she was there, but she should climb down and slip away to give them their privacy.

  Nyx barked. Horrified, Psyché peered down through the spreading green to see the spaniel shake herself and trot out to greet the two men.

  ‘Where did that dog come from?’ demanded Uncle Lucius.

  ‘I dare say she’s been chasing rabbits.’ Uncle Theo bent to pat Nyx.

  ‘There wouldn’t be any rabbits if you’d set a few traps,’ said Uncle Lucius irritably.

  ‘I don’t like trapping creatures.’ Uncle Theo continued to pat Nyx, but Psyché could see he was glancing around. She froze, trying not to breathe. He straightened. ‘We’ll take her back to the house and have this out there.’ He started to walk and Psyché breathed again.

  ‘No, sir. We’ll talk here where there are no damned eavesdropping servants.’

  Psyché’s breath lodged in her throat as Uncle Theo turned back to him.

  ‘Damn it, Uncle! I’ve been cheated!’

  Psyché felt a little sorry for Uncle Lucius. The father had once lost a great deal of money at cards and he’d said some other man had cheated. Cheating, she knew, was very bad. You couldn’t be a gentleman if you cheated.

  ‘How can this be possible? That brat is entitled to nothing by law. Filius nullius—child of no one, in case you are not—’

  ‘Thank you, Lucius.’ She had never heard that tone, hard and angry, from Uncle Theo. ‘I am fully aware of what that term means and what it signifies, but an illegitimate child can inherit if the parent specifically names said child in the will.’

  ‘How can you have persuaded Jack to leave her his fortune? It should have been mine. It was mine!’

  She was shivering now, despite the heat of the day, as if a cloud had blotted out the sun and sucked all the warmth from the world. The fear stalked in with the chill as if it had been awaiting its chance to pounce.

  ‘He cannot have been of sound mind! He was delirious!’

  ‘Part of the time, yes.’ Uncle Theo was crouched down again, petting Nyx. ‘But when the doctor came, and the solicitors, he rallied. They all agreed he was in his right mind and knew what he was saying. Distressed, certainly. But he was of sound mind and could make a new will to provide for the child.’

  Uncle Lucius’s fists clenched and Psyché drew breath to cry out a warning. But Uncle Theo glanced up and Uncle Lucius turned away.

  ‘Why? Why did you persuade him to do it?’

  ‘Because it was the right thing for the child. Lucius, you are my heir now. You cannot begrudge Psyché the relatively small amount Jack could leave her.’

  ‘All London is talking,’ Lucius said bitterly. ‘You know that, do you not?’

  ‘I am aware.’ Uncle Theo continued petting Nyx. ‘I can do nothing about idle gossip, only act in accordance with my conscience.’

  ‘And protecting your family does not accord with your conscience?’

  ‘I was not aware you needed protecting. Lucius—she is my great-niece. My blood.’

  ‘For God’s sake! She’s not even white! She is the spawn of a slave, a slave herself if only Jack had retained the sense not to bring her to England! She is not a member of our family. She should be sent back before it’s too late. Ship her to Freetown, and—’

  ‘No!’

  Uncle Theo’s furious refusal masked her own choked whimper. Even a child in Jamaica knew of Freetown on the west coast of Africa. Freetown, and Bunce Island, the slave fortress a few miles upstream on the Sierra Leone River. Slaves spoke of it in despair and loathing, and Mam had wept when she’d asked.

  ‘Never, Abeni. Never will I speak of that cursed place to you. Don’t ask! Don’t ask!’

  ‘I will do no such thing.’ It sounded as though his teeth were gritted together and his expression was a stone mask. ‘I would not do that to any living soul, let alone a child, and my own blood.’

  Uncle Lucius scowled. ‘I’ll contest the will! There is every chance that the courts would overturn it. A sub
stantial fortune left to an illegitimate Negress? Why, it’s—’

  ‘You may do that.’ Uncle Theo gave Nyx a final pat and rose to face the angry younger man. ‘And if you are successful, then I shall make up the deficit from my own fortune.’

  ‘What? Do you think I wouldn’t—?’

  ‘Challenge my will when the time comes?’ Uncle Theo sounded weary, so weary that even with fear clawing at it her heart broke a little. ‘I am in the process of setting up a trust to safeguard her inheritance when there can be no question of my fitness to do so. She will have use of the income when she reaches her majority, otherwise it will be untouchable until she reaches thirty, and I have been extremely selective in my choice of trustees and in the terms for the appointment of new trustees should the need arise. However, should you contest Jack’s will successfully, I will more than make up that deficit from my own fortune.’

  Lucius snarled a curse.

  ‘You might break a will, boy. You won’t break a trust. Not the way I’ve set it up.’

  The silence burned with rage. ‘And Henrietta, my daughter, is to be raised with this...this child of sin?’

  Uncle Theo’s crack of laughter startled Psyché. ‘So puritanical, Lucius? At last count you were providing for two illegitimate children.’

  This silence echoed with shock. ‘I’m not bringing up my daughter with them, sir.’

  ‘No. You are asking myself and your aunt to bring her up. Henrietta is welcome in our home as long as you understand that she and Psyché will be treated as cousins.’

  ‘Cousins?’ Uncle Lucius spat the word out. ‘Damn it! What choice have I?’

  ‘To bring up Henrietta in your own home, or find another relative to bring her up who won’t expect you to pay board for her.’

  Lucius swung on his heel and stalked away towards the house. Psyché remained frozen on her perch. The swaying crow’s nest had become a refuge above a sea of loathing. There was no slavery in England. Even Lucius had said it and she had heard the servants say so. But there was still hatred and contempt for those who were marked other. As she was marked.

  The ladies in Aunt Grace’s drawing room had been less outspoken than Lucius, but the undertow was as dangerous. And Lucius? No longer did she tag Uncle before his name—he would have seen her sent to the auction block on Bunce Island. He had denied all kinship, so he was not her uncle. Anyway, Mam had always said their relationship with the father was only by spirit, not by blood. She was Mam’s daughter. That was the Akan way. Except Uncle Theo said she was his blood. Apparently things were different here in England. She took a soft, trembling breath. It was all too hard and confusing.

  ‘Are you staying up there much longer, child?’

  He knew she was there.

  She clambered down, shaking. She’d climbed a tree. She’d eavesdropped. She jumped off the bottom branch and stood before him. ‘I’m... I’m sorry I climbed the tree, Uncle.’ Calling him that felt right. She desperately wanted it to be right. And not only because of Bunce Island. Mam was gone and she wanted someone to belong to, someone to love and who cared for her a tiny bit.

  He looked down at her. ‘Are you? Why?’

  ‘I promised myself that I’d be good. Always. That I wouldn’t ever be naughty.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He didn’t sound terribly upset. ‘Your aunt might have something to say about a little girl climbing a tree, but I did show it to you. I even pointed out what an excellent specimen it is for climbing. Why do you imagine I did that?’

  Oh. ‘I eavesdropped.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ This one sounded a great deal more serious. ‘Eavesdropped, to my mind, signifies intent.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He chuckled. ‘My apologies, sweetheart.’ He held out his hand and she took it. ‘Did you climb up there and deliberately hide, intending to listen to that conversation?’ He began walking towards the house.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming!’

  ‘Exactly. You climbed to the top of the mast—was it a ship? It was always a ship when I was a lad and climbed a tree—and then Lucius and I came along and had an argument that I am deeply ashamed you had to hear.’

  ‘I should have called out.’

  ‘Why did you not?’

  Shame flooded her. ‘I was afraid.’

  His hand tightened. ‘Not of me, I hope.’ They had reached a garden bench and Uncle Theo lowered himself to it.

  She stood before him. ‘You might send me to—’ She couldn’t say it. To say it aloud might make it happen. ‘Away,’ she whispered. ‘If I was naughty you might send me away.’ It would be so easy. No one would care, or query a child, a Black child, being taken to a ship.

  He looked as though she had struck him. After a moment he reached out and drew her down beside him. ‘No, Psyché. Never that. One day, when you are a woman, you may perhaps leave my house. To marry, or for some other adventure God has not yet revealed. But you will never be sent away.’ His voice rang clear. ‘For as long as I live, and after, I will protect you.’

  He took out the handkerchief she had made for him and blew his nose. ‘Bone of my bone, blood of my blood. My word on it, child. Even if you’re occasionally naughty.’ He laid his arm along the back of the bench and Psyché felt the last knot of fear unravel and dissolve as she leaned against him in the summer heat.

  She was still going to be a very good girl, but no longer out of fear that she might be sent away. Now love and gratitude burned bright in her heart, banishing fear to a tiny dark corner where it could starve, hidden and unremarked.

  Chapter Eight

  Soho, London—January 1804

  Will spent a very uncomfortable night in the little servant’s sleeping closet next to the downstairs storeroom.

  He blamed Kit for that. If the wretched girl hadn’t asked without a blush what would be a convincing time for him to leave—she’d actually asked what might be a believable period of time for a man to spend in a woman’s bed—and then expressed concern about his safety on the streets so late when Psyché said several hours... Coming from the girl who had escorted herself here from Bloomsbury in a snowstorm—

  But Psyché had agreed and suggested the closet.

  ‘I’m sorry there’s no second bedchamber upstairs,’ she said as he followed her down with a candle, escorted by the orange cat. ‘But the sofa is far too small and Kit and I are sharing my bed.’

  Looking into the sleeping closet, Will was not convinced that the sofa was so very much smaller. But the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea of leaving the two women unprotected at night. And he now had the perfect cover for being here.

  ‘This will be fine,’ he said.

  She frowned at the space. ‘It’s not very big, is it?’

  He smiled. ‘I can always leave the door open. Don’t worry.’

  She smiled back. ‘If you do that, you’ll have Fiddle in with you.’

  He glanced at the cat, who returned his gaze with an unblinking golden stare. ‘I’ll survive.’

  Will settled down with a sheet, a couple of blankets and a spare counterpane. He had to draw his legs up—the space was far too short for his length of leg—but he was comfortable enough. He’d left the door open and, sure enough, a few minutes after he’d blown out the candle a heavy weight landed beside him, purring approval.

  ‘You do know there’s another, probably more comfortable bed upstairs, don’t you?’

  The cat curled up right beside him and continued to purr contentedly.

  * * *

  He woke in utter darkness, but not to utter silence.

  Something was growling.

  After an instant’s confusion he realised it was the cat. He could still feel the creature’s weight beside him, but it felt different somehow. He reached out a cautious hand and discovered that Fiddle was not only standing up, he was f
luffed up and his considerable bulk quivered with the force of his deep-throated annoyance.

  Surely he wouldn’t react like this to a rat or a mouse? What sort of hunter—?

  The faint metallic scrape brought him to his feet with a soft curse. Not a mouse or a rat, but someone picking the lock on the back door. For all the good it would do. Like the front, the back door was not only locked, but secured with bolts top and bottom, as well as a heavy bar. Even if they breached the lock, nothing short of a battering ram would breach the door. He’d slept in his shirt and drawers, but grabbed his breeches and hauled them on.

  Fiercely aware of the chilly stone floor under his bare feet, Will felt his way along the rear wall to the door. Now, with his ear pressed to the timbers, he could hear voices, as he buttoned the falls of his breeches. Three men, he thought, but it was hard to be sure with the scraping of metal and the heavy door muffling other sound. After a moment he heard a distinct click.

  ‘Got the bugger!’

  His breath caught, despite knowing that the bolts and bar would hold them out.

  ‘Ready, boys?’

  More than two, then. He held utterly still, listening. And felt the slight movement as they pushed against the bolts.

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Stuck?’

  ‘Nah. Reckon there’s bolts. Another bar as well likely. Sod it. Better unpick the bloody thing.’

  The scraping sound came again and the click as the door was relocked.

  ‘Right. Let’s get out of this. He won’t like it, but there’s naught else we can do tonight.’

  Who wouldn’t like it?

  Will lingered, hoping for more, but all he heard was the faint sound of footsteps receding. Then silence. The cat’s growling had stopped. He stood for a moment, thinking. The darkness was no longer absolute as his eyes had adjusted to the very faint glow of the kitchen fire.

  The cat wound once around his legs, then trotted off, a silent shadow heading for the stairs.

  Will hesitated only a moment before following.