Veil of Pearls

by Marylu Tyndall

  Adalia watched the horses as they thundered past again. She’d never seen animals so magnificent, so fast!

  “They have one more lap until the end of the first heat,” Morgan said, snapping his fingers at a passing slave and ordering a lemonade. The boy darted off toward the refreshment booths.

  Adalia stared after him. He could be no more than twelve, the age when she’d become a slave. In fact, at the first sight of all the slaves serving the crowd, Adalia had almost spun about and told Morgan she’d find her way back to the doctor’s house alone. But that wouldn’t do anyone any good. The slaves would still be here, and she would have missed out on her last afternoon with Morgan. For, from the disdainful looks Miss Emerald cast her way, Adalia had no doubt that the woman planned to inform Morgan of Adalia’s scars. What was she waiting for? To accuse Adalia in front of all of Charleston society? Yet, unless she were to strip Adalia in public, Emerald could provide no proof of the scars and, even then, no proof of their origin. Though the mere unveiling would ban Adalia from society.

  Adalia sighed. Still it was inevitable. But would Morgan believe Miss Emerald? She had been a loyal friend to him for years. Of course he would. Oh, it was all too much to consider! Adalia clasped her gloved hands in her lap so her trembling would not be obvious. She could handle being ostracized from society. But she doubted she could handle the look of scorn that would surely fill Morgan’s face. A face that now gazed upon her with a depth, a growing bond, an affection that clawed at her heart, knowing its eventual demise.

  Earlier in the day, Adalia had all but resolved that she would not be attending the races—that Morgan had learned of her stripes and come to a conclusion that forbade any further association. So she was surprised and delighted when he appeared in the doorway looking as dapper and handsome as ever! How could she resist one last outing with such a man? One last chance to speak to him of God and the evils of slavery.

  “What is a heat?” she asked him by way of sweeping away the morbid gloom that had consumed her thoughts.

  “A set of specific races in a series.” He pointed with his glass at the horses who darted across the finish line. “These horses are racing two four-mile heats,” he yelled over the din of cheers and curses at the outcome.

  The boy brought Morgan’s lemonade and then stood before Adalia, eyes lowered, as if waiting for her to ask for something. She grabbed his arm, making him jump. “You need get nothing for me that I cannot get myself.” Placing a finger beneath his chin, she raised his gaze to hers and smiled. Eyes darting to Morgan as if expecting punishment, the boy bowed and dashed away.

  When she faced Morgan, he stared at her as if she’d sprouted the wings of an angel. Finally, he stood and held out his hand. “Would you care for a stroll, milady, while they prepare the horses for the next heat?”

  As they wandered through the crowd mobbing the track, Adalia was quite taken in by the variety of entertainments available. Jugglers; a colorful bird that reminded her of those on Barbados that sang hymns perfectly; public auctions; tables filled with all manner of luxury items all for sale: jewelry glittering in the sun, vases, figurines, snuff boxes, canes, even hats and bonnets. Beneath one large tent, magnificent horses were being sold—thoroughbreds recently imported from England, Morgan had told her. Several gentlemen in top hats gathered around to place their bids.

  Adalia stopped at a small corral where a huge pig, aptly named “Learned Pig” performed tricks such as grunting yes and no when asked questions put to him by the audience, tapping out answers to arithmetic problems on a fence post, and rolling over in the mud on cue. She couldn’t contain her giggles as they wandered away.

  “Even a pig delights you.” Morgan placed her arm in his, his eyes aglow with admiration.

  “Why, of course. I’ve never seen such a thing as a learned pig.” She laughed. “What an enjoyable afternoon.”

  Morgan squinted over the track, the crush of people, the wares and refreshments for sale. “I suppose. I have no idea why it hasn’t the same effect on me.”

  “Because you’re accustomed to it. You expect it.”

  “It is all I’ve known, my father’s world.”

  “But is it yours?” Adalia bit her lip. “Is it the world God has for you, the life God has for you?”

  He frowned, his boots stirring up dust with each thump on the ground. “God has for me? Ah, Miss Winston, God has nothing for me. Nor do I believe He notices me at all. If He did, I doubt He’d be too pleased with what He found. But you, on the other hand, you are worthy of His attention.”

  “You do not know Him. He is no respecter of class like …” She hesitated.

  “Like I am?”

  She smiled. “He loves both poor and rich, slave and free, privileged and destitute, and He has a plan for each if they’d but give their lives to Him.”

  “I give no one, man or God, my life, Miss Winston. If I’m going to make a mess of things, I’d rather own up to it myself.”

  “But God is nothing—”

  “Come, the last heat is about to begin.” He tugged on her, cutting off further conversation and leaving Adalia feeling sorrowful, despite the joyous day. At the grandstand, they stepped over a snoring Drayton and took their seats.

  The horses whizzed past, but Adalia could no longer focus on them. She felt time slipping from her, stripping away the fripperies of her charade, sweeping away the opulence and gaiety surrounding her. She glanced at Miss Emerald sitting beside Hadley. The spite in her icy stare sent a shiver down Adalia before the lady pasted on a smile. Adalia faced forward. What had she ever done to her? But then again, what had she ever done to Sir Walter, save be tainted with the blood of a Negro?

  Soon, the race ended. Hadley cursed and stamped off. Drayton woke up from his drunken stupor, and Emerald glared at Adalia before she pranced away.

  Ladies clapped. Men cheered, while others growled. The chink of money and flap of notes filled the tent as the band blasted a jaunty tune. But all the noise faded into the background as Morgan led Adalia down the stairs and onto the track. She smiled and greeted those around her with as much poise and style as she could, trying to enjoy every last minute she had with Morgan—every last minute she played the princess in this fairy-tale charade. Before Miss Emerald revealed her secret and this bourgeois pack turned on her like hungry wolves.

  “Whatever has you in such a foul humor, Emerald?” Hadley sipped his drink. “At least I have a good reason for my despair. I just lost twenty dollars.”

  “You can afford it, Hadley.” Emerald snapped. “What I can’t afford is your brother’s growing infatuation with that bedeviled harridan.” She stared at the couple as they sauntered across the track, arms entwined.

  “I told you he wouldn’t believe you about the scars. Not sure I even believe you.”

  “You Rutledge men. Blinded insensible by a beautiful woman.”

  He kissed her cheek. “If you are referring to yourself, I have indeed lost all reason.”

  She batted him way. “Don’t. People will think we are courting.”

  “An atrocious prospect.”

  Emerald waved her fan about her face, fluttering her curls over her neck and cooling the sudden heat rising on the tide of her anger. She would not lose Morgan to that base strumpet. She would not!

  Hadley sipped his drink then glanced over his shoulder and leaned toward her. “I have the solution to your problem, my dear.”

  Emerald released a sigh, bracing herself for another of Hadley’s amorous proposals. “Unless it’s to rip her gown from her back so everyone can see her scars, I can’t imagine what we could do.”

  “Nothing quite that crude, I assure you.”

  She studied him, noting the malicious glaze covering his eyes. “Why would you help me, anyway? You want me for yourself.”

  “That I do, my dear. It pleases me you have noticed.”

  “I’d be a fool not to, Hadley. But I’ve told you, I’ve set my sights on Morgan. I must have him.” />
  “And I want your happiness, Emerald. It is all I want, even if it means losing you.” He kissed her hand. “Perhaps someday you will see that it is I, not Morgan, who loves you.”

  Emerald met his eyes, shocked by the sincerity in his tone, shocked more by the longing in his eyes. “Hadley Rutledge, putting someone else ahead of his own interest, it is too much to believe.” She tugged her hand from his with a chuckle. “But of course, could it also be that you don’t wish your brother to marry a commoner.”

  “That is true. It would ruin our family name.” Disappointment flattened his voice.

  “Now, what is this scheme of yours?” Emerald prodded, desperate to change the subject.

  “Part of my brother’s foolish attraction to this woman is that he lifts her up as some pristine goddess. If he should discover that she, shall we say, has less than scrupulous morals, or perhaps a sordid past? I have no doubt it would dissuade him from further advances.”

  Emerald’s rising hope crumbled. “And if Morgan should discover that we are prying into her past or meddling in her affairs, he will hate me. Besides, apparently her morals are impeccable. And her past naught but dull and uneventful.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. But I know someone who has connections and who would be happy to find out.” He gestured behind him where Fabian Saville was leaning on a post, glaring after Morgan and Miss Winston with even more malevolence than Emerald had been.

  “I do believe our dainty friend, Fabian, would do just about anything we asked, as long as it did Morgan harm.”

  Emerald felt her first smile of the day begin to creep over her lips.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A breeze whipped up from Charleston Bay, fluttering Adalia’s hat ribbons beneath her chin. They tickled her neck as the scent of fresh fish, salt, and sodden wood filled her lungs. A bell rang, accompanied by the lap of waves against pilings and the clamor of voices: peddlers hawking their wares, dock workers, customs officials, merchants, and servants hustling to purchase supplies before the heat of the day made their errands unpleasant. Halting, Adalia squinted against the rising sun and gazed over the glittering waters of the bay where a ship had just arrived. Joy slipped beside her, carrying the wrapped bundle of fresh cod Doc Willaby had sent them to purchase.

  “Do you know that ship, miss?” the maid asked.

  Adalia shook her head. “No, but it reminds me of a ship I sailed on once.” The ship that had saved her from Sir Walter and brought her to freedom in Charleston. And even though she’d suffered from mal de mer most of the voyage, the sea would always hold a special place in her heart. With its fathomless depths and ever-turbulent waters, it formed a shark-infested moat between her and her past. Between her and Sir Walter. For a brief moment Adalia wondered what the vile man was doing. Had he accepted that she was gone? Was he looking for her, or had he moved on to his next victim?

  Her insides clenched at the thought.

  Commands aboard the ship sent the anchor crashing into the bay as sailors scrambled to lower a boat. A fisherman passed by, tipping his hat in her direction.

  Clutching her reticule, she turned and continued down Bay Street, wishing all her memories of Sir Walter, of her past, would remain on the other side of that moat. A tremble ran through her. From the chilly morning or thoughts of Sir Walter, she didn’t know which.

  Shifting her thoughts to more pleasant things, Adalia allowed her excitement to rise for the coming evening. “I must stop at the tailors before we head home.”

  “Another gown, miss?” Joy’s dark eyes were playful.

  Adalia chuckled. “Yes, apparently, it is quite the breach of etiquette to wear the same gown to more than one event.”

  “Seems a waste to me, havin’ all those gowns.” Joy glanced down at her own gray skirt, the hem of which frayed like jagged teeth.

  Shame struck Adalia. How thoughtless she had been. Only three months ago, she possessed only one gown, not much better than Joy’s. Truly, God had blessed her. Though why, she could not imagine. She wove her arm through her maid’s as they darted across the bustling road and headed down Market Street. “Perhaps we shall have you fitted for a new gown someday.”

  “What do I need a new gown for, miss?” Joy smiled, not an ounce of envy tainting her voice.

  Along Market Street, doors of shops flung open, anticipating the day’s business while vendors set up displays to lure people inside. Soon the cobblestone street grew abuzz with servants, slaves, tradesmen, and workers. High society wouldn’t be out and about for hours. Even though Adalia had spent two months in their company, she still felt more comfortable among these commoners. Joy let out a dreamy sigh. “It must be excitin’ to attend all them parties and balls.”

  “Indeed, it is.” Comfortable or not, Adalia was having the time of her life. “Morgan, I mean Mr. Rutledge, is escorting me to an orchestra concert tonight at Dillon’s Inn.” Last week she’d enjoyed the horse races. This week, she’d already attended dinner at the Sign of Bacchus and a ball at the Rhetts’ estate. Fond memories of each event brought a smile to her lips even as a pinch of unease slithered through her. She’d fully expected never to see Morgan again after the horse races, but apparently Miss Emerald decided not to tell him about Adalia’s scars. Perhaps the woman possessed some kindness after all.

  And of course, Adalia was thrilled to accept all of Morgan’s subsequent invitations. Each moment with him gave her more opportunity to discuss God and slavery, not to mention feed her hope for a possible courtship should his parents agree. Oh, to think it might be possible! Could God perform such a miracle?

  As Adalia allowed her heart to soar at the thought, Joy’s face folded in a frown. The young girl stumbled over the uneven ground. “I thought we were helping at the orphanage tonight.”

  Adalia’s steps grew heavy. They passed the open door of an inn, where the scent of fresh baked bread and buttery grits made her stomach grumble. How could she have forgotten the orphanage? She’d never forgotten those precious children. But she’d promised Morgan. He’d been so gallant and kind and attentive the past week, how could she resist?

  “We shall go to the orphanage tomorrow,” she said curtly, forcing down her guilt.

  Joy gave a weak smile in reply. “I guess I don’t blame you, miss. Mr. Rutledge is a fine-lookin’ man. An’ wealthy too. You must feel like a queen.”

  A wagon filled with sacks of rice clanked over the cobblestones, rattling Adalia’s conscience. Queen? Or intruder? One of the Charleston elite or a black slave? How long could she hide the truth? How long before everyone saw through her disguise? And why did it matter so much what these people thought of her? Taking Joy’s arm, Adalia led the way across the street, side-stepping a fresh pile of horse droppings.

  Covering a yawn, she hurried past the mercantile and boot maker’s shop, turning down Meeting Street. Coming home late on multiple nights this week had not afforded her the rest she needed, particularly when she had to rise early to accompany the doctor on his rounds. She could certainly see why the Charleston gentry did not have time or energy to labor during the day. Their nightly soirées were both time consuming and exhausting. So much so that Adalia found herself longing to be free of employment, longing to have the luxury of time that wealth afforded. But that was ludicrous. She should be thankful for the lodging and position God had provided for her with Dr. Willaby.

  As they approached the Bank of Charleston, a modishly attired gentleman emerged from the door, his back to them, and headed to his right in quite a hurry. A pouch fell from within his black coat, dropping to the cobblestones with a heavy clank. Yet, he continued onward, oblivious that he’d lost something. Stooping, Adalia picked it up, loosened the strings, and peeked inside. Sunlight glinted off more gold coins than she’d seen in a lifetime.

  Joy’s jaw dropped. “Oh, miss. It’s a fortune.”

  “Sir!” Adalia shouted after the man, but he darted across the street without a glance behind him.

  “Th
at would buy a hundred gowns. An’ fine jewelry too.” Joy voiced the thoughts shouting in Adalia’s head. Yet still the man strutted down the street, completely unaware of what he’d lost.

  Joy glanced after him. “He looks to have more ‘an enough, miss.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Joy. It isn’t our money.” Adalia would not entertain another second of dreaming about what these coins would buy her. She had never stolen anything in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “Follow me,” she ordered as she gathered her skirts and wove through the carriages, horses and people now crowding the street. Two blocks away, she spotted the gentleman and made a dash to catch him before he disappeared again. Finally her touch on his arm turned him around.

  “Oh, Mr. Saville. I didn’t realize it was you.” Startled for a moment, Adalia merely stared at him.