Veil of Pearls

by Marylu Tyndall

  Even though the captain insisted he was quite recovered, Adalia intended to ask Doc Willaby if he wouldn’t mind checking on him just to be sure. That was, if the doctor was not too angry at her for leaving so suddenly. Morgan had told Adalia about the note he’d sent in her stead. She hoped the doctor had accepted it without too much angst.

  Oh, what did it matter? She was far too happy to dwell on such things. Leaning over, she breathed in the sweet scent of a rose then gazed across the front yard. Morning sunlight reflected vivid yellows, blues, and pinks off the magnolias, jessamine, and bachelor buttons. Had the garden always been this beautiful? Clutching her skirts, she mounted the stairs then angled around the side of the piazza to the front door.

  She froze when she saw her valise sitting on the porch beside the entrance. But it was the iron band perched beside it that caused her heart to cease pumping. Shock forbade her mind to make sense of the sight. She inched forward. The band was hers. She saw the Miles Plantation crest etched on the side. But what was it doing out here? With her things? Even if the doctor found it, how would he know …

  Adalia’s head spun. She gripped the post. The door swung open. Doc Willaby, his face a maddening twist of disgust and fury, stepped onto the porch. Adalia caught a glimpse of Joy standing in the foyer behind him, her hands clasped together.

  “I see you have returned, Miss Winston.” His voice was as sharp as his eyes.

  Was it her absence that sparked his anger? “I beg your forgiveness, Doctor. The circumstances of my departure forbade me to inform you in person.”

  “Do you think I care a whit about that now!” She’d never heard him yell so loudly.

  Adalia shrank back. Over his shoulder, Joy’s trembling lips and wide eyes did not bode well for Adalia’s future. Inhaling a deep breath, she faced the doctor. “Whatever is the matter, sir?”

  “Whatever is the matter?” He seethed, his eyes sparking fire. His gaze landed on the iron band. “You are a Negro slave. That is what is the matter.”

  Adalia’s heart folded in on itself. Thoughts spun like a tempest in her mind with nowhere to land. This can’t be happening.

  “And a runaway slave at that! Will you deny it?”

  A fire ignited behind Adalia’s eyes—in her throat. Her legs gave way, and she stumbled, gripping the post tighter. Her voice came out in a whisper of defeat. “How did you …?”

  “Humph.” Withdrawing a letter and his glasses from his waistcoat, he unfolded it and read. “‘Runaway five months ago from a Sir Walter Miles of Barbados.’”

  Her blood froze as the implication of his words became all too real. “You contacted him?”

  “No.” A brief glimmer of sorrow crossed his gaze. “Someone else took the liberty. After I found the band to what I presume were your shackles.” He snatched off his glasses. “And here I thought I was protecting you. Keeping you from consorting with those Rutledge miscreants. When all the time, you were deceiving me. Using me.”

  Adalia opened her mouth to say she’d never used him. That she’d never actually lied. But defending herself seemed of little import now in light of the news that Sir Walter knew her whereabouts.

  “Do you know what you have done?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yes! Because of you, I have taken a runaway slave into my home, given her employment. Even”—he looked away—“dare I say, treated her as my own daughter.”

  His sorrow caused Adalia’s heart to sink. She had admired the doctor. Cared for him like a father. Stumbling toward him, she laid a hand on his arm. “I am still the same person.”

  He shrugged her off and backed away as if she had a disease. “I should alert the authorities and have you locked up until your owner arrives. But I have a reputation to uphold.” He grimaced. “I would be the mockery of the entire town and perhaps even lose my patients should they discover I was duped by a mere slave.” He waved her off. “I cannot stand the sight of you. You are to leave my home at once and never return.”

  The cruel command sent tears to Adalia’s eyes. But it was the news that Sir Walter was on his way that threatened to crush her. The revelation dug into her soul, ripping out her recent happiness and putting dread in its place. “When should I expect him?”

  “How should I know? He said he had some business to deal with first and then he would take the first ship to Charleston.”

  Adalia hadn’t much time. She gave the doctor one last pleading gaze, hoping to find some measure of affection. But his eyes were iron. “Thank you for your kindness to me, Doctor.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  He turned on his heels and slammed the door in her face.

  In a stupor, Adalia picked her valise and headed down the steps. Her world spun in a thousand horrifying possibilities. The sound of footsteps turned her around. Perhaps the doctor had changed his mind. But it was Joy who headed for her, arms open. Dropping her case, Adalia swallowed her up and rubbed her back, trying to settle the girl’s sobs.

  “I’ll miss you so much, miss. Where will you go?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Joy.” Adalia released her and wiped tears from the girl’s face. “Do what the doctor says. Don’t make him angry.

  Be safe, dear one.” She kissed her cheek. “Maybe someday we will both be free.”

  “Joy, come here this instant!” the doctor barked.

  Joy gave Adalia one last hug and then darted inside.

  Turning, Adalia dragged herself back down the flagstone path. Everything blurred before her. Even the flowers lost their luster. She should leave Charleston as soon as possible, but without food and very little money, she wouldn’t get far. Country roads were treacherous and unsafe for a woman alone. She would never see Morgan again! She reached the gate and nearly crumbled at the thought. But she mustn’t think of that now. Batting tears from her cheeks, she headed down the street. She must find a place to hide. Perhaps Father Mulligan would take her in and hide her away until she could get the funds necessary to purchase passage on another ship. She would have to find a way to get the money soon. If she didn’t and Sir Walter found her, he would drag her back into a slavery worse than death.

  Morgan met his father’s gaze with equal austerity. He would not cower beneath the man’s bullying anymore. He would not lower his eyes, shift his feet over the woven rug in his father’s study, or leave in a huff of rebellion. This was far too important. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw his mother’s worried look as she stood beside her husband’s desk.

  Franklin rose from his chair to his full, imposing height—a height Morgan nearly equaled. But one he had always found intimidating. Along with his father’s menacing voice.

  “You are what?” that voice now said.

  “Engaged. To Miss Winston,” Morgan repeated.

  His mother gasped and glanced at her husband, no doubt expecting him to explode into one of his berating outbursts or worse, circle the desk and pummel his son.

  Instead, Franklin huffed. “I only agreed to this silly courtship because I was sure you’d grow tired of the chit.”

  “Beware, Father, how you refer to your future daughter-in-law.” Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, drawing from the confidence he’d gained aboard the Seawolf.

  His father must have sensed it in his voice, for his eyes narrowed, and he studied Morgan as if he were seeing him for the first time.

  “She’s a lovely girl, Franklin, is she not?” Morgan’s mother interjected. “Despite that she comes from common descent, she’s intelligent and kind.”

  Without affording his wife a single glance, Franklin kept his hard gaze on Morgan. “She has no name, no dowry.”

  “We already have both, Father. What need do we have of more?”

  “Preposterous. Simply preposterous! What will our friends think? The mayor, the councilmen, society?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Their opinions should be of no account to us. Besides, they already adore her.” A breeze wafted over him, and he glanced out the window at the sundrenched
fields, feeling more in control than he’d ever felt in his father’s presence.

  Moving to the sideboard, Franklin poured himself a drink and tossed it to the back of his throat. The clock atop the mantle ticked away minutes that seemed as long as hours. His father growled. “There will be conditions.”

  Hope took root.

  Conditions, Morgan could handle, expected, in fact. “Such as?”

  “You will spend the majority of your time here on the plantation. You will obey my every command until such a time as I deem”—he pointed his empty glass at Morgan—“and only I deem that you are ready to take over the plantation. You will learn, study, and work hard. No more frittering away your time on frivolous pursuits. I don’t want you drinking and gambling your life away like your brother. Is that clear?”

  Morgan’s jaw tightened. The sentence was passed. The judgment made. Morgan would never sail again. Nor would he command a ship, or even spend time with his friend Captain Bristo. Giving Franklin such power over him caused bile to rise in his throat. But it wouldn’t be forever. There would be an end to his father’s reign. Granted, when Franklin decided it would end. But it would come.

  Adalia was worth it.

  “After you turn over the plantation, I can run it as I please?” Morgan asked.

  Franklin hesitated. “What’s got into you, boy?”

  “I’ve grown up.”

  He snorted as if that were not possible. “We shall see. We have an accord, then?”

  “Oh, this is delightful,” his mother said. “I may yet have some grandchildren.”

  Morgan leaned forward, hand outstretched. “We have a deal.”

  His father eyed his hand, hesitating, then gave it a firm shake.

  And for the first time, Morgan had an inkling of what it felt like to become a slave.

  Unfortunately, his form of slavery began right away. Franklin insisted he stay the week and assist with supervising the implementation of irrigation troughs from the river. Though Morgan found the task laborious and boring, he honored his side of the agreement. He missed Adalia. Time seemed to inch by without her, but soon the week was over and after his father released him, Morgan bathed, donned a clean suit, and headed into town to tell Adalia the good news.

  Willaby studied the man who’d introduced himself as Sir Walter Miles just moments ago at the front door. A tall, imposing figure, dressed in the finery of his class, who seemed to absorb all the fresh air as he entered the sitting room.

  “Won’t you have a seat, sir?” Willaby gestured toward a chair.

  “Ah, yes, thank you. It has been a long journey.” Sir Walter ran a finger through his short-cropped hair, and Willaby wondered if he’d saturate his hand with the grease that slicked through the strands.

  “All the way from Barbados?” Willaby asked.

  “Yes, arrived only moments ago.”

  “I’m wondering how you knew to find me?”

  “Ah, that would be the letter I received from a Mr. Fabian Saville, I believe his name was.” His glance took in the room with a scowl before he slid onto the settee. “He informed me my slave resided at your house.”

  Ah, yes, the pretentious friend of Miss Emerald’s. Yet it was the word slave that set the hairs on the back of Willaby’s neck on end. Even after a week, he’d been having a difficult time thinking of Adalia in that way.

  Joy entered the room and curtseyed.

  “Some tea for our guest,” Willaby ordered, noting the way Sir Walter’s gaze absorbed the young girl. Licentious, lustful. Not until she left did he return his eyes to Willaby.

  Taking his own seat, Willaby asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Why, sir, isn’t it obvious?” The man gave an unbelieving snort. “I’ve come for my runaway, Althea.”

  “Althea?” Willaby flinched, momentarily confused.

  “Ah, that’s right. She’s Adalia Winston to you.” Sir Walter brushed a speck of dirt from the table beside him, then crossed his legs. “If you’ll bring her to me, I’ll be on my way.”

  “I fear I cannot do that, sir. She is not here.”

  Sir Walter’s eyes ignited. “I asked you to detain her.”

  “I found I could not abide by your wishes,” Willaby said. “It would do irreparable damage to my reputation.”

  “So you allowed another man’s slave to go free?” Sir Walter shocked Willaby with his rage, but the man soon calmed himself. “I assumed”—he glanced around the room as if measuring the value of its contents—“after she deceived you, you’d want to see justice served.”

  Willaby forced a smile. “She could not have gone far.”

  Joy entered with a silver tea service and set it on the table. As she leaned to pour the tea, Sir Walter’s eyes shot brazenly to her backend. Willaby was so mortified at the man’s audacity that he was speechless.

  Joy handed him a cup. His hand overtook hers in the exchange, and she leapt back. A smug look claimed his face as he sipped the tea. The girl passed Willaby his cup, and he quickly dismissed her.

  “She’s quite a beauty,” Sir Walter said, his lurid gaze following Joy until she disappeared around the corner.

  Willaby hadn’t noticed. She was a mere slave. And a clumsy one at that. “I suppose.”

  “Just the sort of girl to keep your bed warm at night.” He winked, and his smile reminded Willaby of a rat who’d just found a piece of cheese.

  The tea sped a trail of revulsion down his throat. “I beg your pardon, Sir Walter. I do not consort with slaves. Nor with any woman to whom I am not married.”

  Seemingly unaffected by Willaby’s castigation, the man’s gaze landed on the Bible by Willaby’s side. A slow, mocking grin spread across his mouth. “Ah, a religious man, I perceive. I meant no offense.”

  Willaby’s stomach sank. What had this man done to Adalia? Sweet Adalia. Had he abused her? Taken advantage of her? Slave or not, Negro or not, she didn’t deserve that.

  No one did.

  Sir Walter sipped his tea and set it down with a clank. “Nevertheless, where did Althea go?”

  “I have no idea,” Willaby lied, instantly begging God’s forgiveness. He’d heard she’d gone back to that rat-infested excuse for an orphanage he’d found her in. But now, faced with the lecherous squab before him,

  Willaby vowed to never divulge her whereabouts.

  “You have no idea, sir? It’s not that large of a town. How many places could a runaway Negress hide?”

  Willaby set his own cup down, lest the tea add to the nausea brewing in his stomach. “Perhaps she has left town.” He hoped she had left town.

  A knock on the door brought a welcome interruption. Willaby rose to answer it but heard Mr. Gant’s voice grow rather heated. Moments later, Morgan Rutledge plowed into the room, flowers in hand and a look of outrage on his face. “Why do you continually insist on forcing a wedge between Adalia and me, Willaby? I am her fiancé, and I will not be put off any more. Please inform her I have arrived.”

  Willaby cringed. Sir Walter rose, a blustering, bewildered look on his face. “Gadzooks, fiancé?”

  Ignoring the man, Morgan directed a heated gaze to Willaby. “She didn’t tell you? I am to announce our engagement at the Brewton ball in three days. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Now, please summon her.”

  Sir Walter’s outrage turned to laughter so uproarious he could hardly contain himself.

  Willaby cringed. “She is not here.” He needed to shut the man up before he blurted out where she might be! Facing away from Sir Walter, he gestured with his eyes toward the door. But Morgan only stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

  “Mr. Rutledge.” Sir Walter laid a finger on his chin, his laughter finally abated. “I’ve heard your name before.”

  “No doubt you have, sir. My father owns one of the biggest cotton plantations in Charleston.”

  “Indeed?” Sir Walter grinned and held out his hand toward Morgan. “I am Sir Walter Miles. I have the pleasure to own one of the most s
uccessful sugar plantations on Barbados.”

  “How nice for you, sir.” Morgan shook his hand. “Forgive me, but I am in a hurry.” His eyes met Willaby’s again.

  “As I said, she is not here, Mr. Rutledge.” Willaby forced a look of alarm onto his face while tightening his lips. Perhaps the swaggering fool would take the hint this time.

  Morgan hesitated, studying Willaby for several seconds, before he finally nodded.

  Willaby ushered him into the foyer.

  “If I do not find her, I will be back.” Morgan laid the flowers atop the side table.