by Mia Easton
"I'll take over for her," Eunice said.
"I don't think so," Tidwell replied coldly. "Verity?"
"Yes, ma'am," Verity said from in back of the throng in the kitchen. "I'm here." The group parted and the girl stepped up, flashing a look of empathy to May.
"Go see to Miss Gordon," Tidwell said. "Explain there's been an accident and you'll be filling in until May is back on her feet."
"Yes, ma'am." Verity turned and left.
May chanced another look at Eunice and found her glaring at Tidwell with pure malice.
"Now, let's get you fully up," Tidwell said, moving closer. "I want to make sure nothing is broken."
May noticed Eunice lift her skirt and start back up the stairs, as livid as could be. May had never realized how dangerous she was, but she saw it clearly now. Eunice had some scheme up her sleeve and it somehow involved Elizabeth.
"Eunice," Mrs. Tidwell said sharply without bothering to look at her. "Get that mess cleaned up."
Eunice stopped but didn't move.
"I'll help," Annie offered.
Tidwell looked at her. "Did I ask you to help? Everyone get back to work. Henry, help me get May on her feet."
Everyone obeyed at once, moving briskly, with the exception of Eunice, who moved unhurriedly and with great resentment.
Chapter 24
The kitchen bustled with activity as Maggie packed a hamper with goodies to take to May's family. So far, she'd loaded two bottles of wine, cake, candies, cheese straws and a hunk of baked ham wrapped in paper. Liz watched her, having asked for permission to visit May. Maggie had enthusiastically consented and agreed to accompany her, and then she'd begun packing a get-well basket. "Are you sure you want to take the time for this?" Liz asked. The ball was that evening.
"A diversion is most welcome," Maggie said, shutting the lid. "Otherwise, I'll just fret and second guess myself. Besides, I want to see to May, myself." She hefted the filled hamper to judge its weight. "I'll need your help carrying this. I got it rather heavy."
After bundling up, Maggie and Liz left the house, headed for the quad. The fresh, cold air was exhilarating. "How is the visit with your mother going?"
Maggie shrugged. "Like always. I was glad to see her, but I will be glad to see her go. Truthfully, there is only so much I can take of her."
Having met the lady, Liz understood the sentiment.
"You'll notice John Paul is thoroughly occupied since her arrival," Maggie added. "I practically had to plead with him to join us for dinner last night."
Liz chuckled. "I'm curious what your father was like."
Maggie seemed wistful. "He was adventurous and gregarious. A good man, I think." She grinned. "I know he thought so."
The quad came into view. It was prettier than Liz had expected, a tidy little village.
"He adored entertaining and he was an excellent host. My mother believes herself to be an excellent hostess, but he was brilliant at it."
"Must be where you get it from," Liz replied with a smile.
"I got quite a lot from him, I think, but I don't mean to make him sound perfect. He was not, of course. He was overly lavish. He drank far too much." She paused. "I went to an auction once with him." She glanced at Liz with a pained expression. "A slave auction. It was," she paused again, seeking the right description. "More distressing than I can describe. I believe I was ten at the time. My father saw my reaction and said, 'in this life, there are haves and have nots, and that is the way it is. All we can do is the most we can with what we have. The most for ourselves and for them.' I thought about it, about the way he said them. I remember thinking he could just as well be talking about…chickens or horses, for all the feeling I sensed from him. So, I asked him, in a very challenging tone, what he'd have to say on the matter if we were two of the enslaved, standing there chained and ready to be sold."
"What did he say?"
"He claimed he would say the very same, only he would add that he was sorry not to be a 'Have' for my sake." Maggie suddenly slowed her step. "Let's stop for a moment."
Liz was puzzled by the consternation on her face. They set down the picnic basket.
"I trust you, of course, as you've trusted me," Maggie began.
Liz nodded.
"We do not run Laurelton as other plantations are run." Maggie looked down at her hand as she rubbed the red line caused from the basket handle. "You may or may not know that it is illegal to teach a slave to read and write."
The fact rang a bell with her, so she'd probably seen it in a movie or read it in a book at some time or another.
Maggie looked at her. "But we have certain beliefs, and we think we should be able to run this farm as we see fit. So, if you see anything that seems improper, I ask only that you keep it to yourself."
"Improper?"
"For example a school book or someone reading or—"
"I don't consider that improper."
"It is illegal, and many people have excessively strong feelings on the matter. I know that you would never intentionally cause an issue to arise, but—"
"I understand."
Maggie studied her.
"I do," Liz assured her. "You and John Paul are very progressive, but I am from a time when—" She looked at the quad and the people there who were beginning to notice them. "This doesn't exist." She looked at Maggie, who was intrigued.
"Will the end of it come in our lifetime?" Maggie asked quietly.
Liz shook her head. "No."
"I rather thought not," Maggie replied sadly. "We are so entrenched in our systems." She paused. "So you believe slavery is wrong?"
"Of course. Completely."
Maggie suddenly smiled as she experienced a thought. "Do you know, I just realized I rather agree with my father's views, after all. All we can do is make the most and best of what we've got for ourselves and for them." She glanced at the quad and raised her hand to return the wave of someone.
Liz smiled, too. She adored Maggie. "What would he think if he was here right now?"
Maggie chuckled to herself as she reached for the basket. Liz picked up her side again and they started onward. "He knew me," Maggie said as they walked. "Wilbur, my brother, felt the same as I did. Papa knew. I think he knows. Wherever he is."
"I think he'd be very proud," Liz said.
"Thank you. I hope so."
When they walked into the quad, men, women and children greeted 'Miz Maggie' with warm smiles and affection, and she returned greeting for greeting. The houses were sturdy, whitewashed clapboard structures. They reached a certain house and knocked, and a girl of ten or eleven quickly answered the door and curtsied. She looked like a smaller, younger version of May. She was a gorgeous little thing.
"Hello, Fannie," Maggie said. "We came to see May."
A pretty white woman of forty or so stepped up, opening the door wider. "How kind of you. Come in," she replied with a lyrical Irish accent.
"Thank you." Liz followed Maggie in as Maggie introduced her. "This is my friend, Elizabeth Gordon."
"May's talked about you," the woman said to Liz. "Fondly." The woman had dark hair and delicate features.
"Elizabeth, this is Lorna Dunn," Maggie said.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Dunn."
"We're pleased to meet you, Miss Gordon."
"This is for you," Maggie said, transferring the hamper to her.
"That's so thoughtful, mistress. Thank you. Will you sit?"
"Miss Elizabeth," May said at the same time, coming in from another room, having heard their voices. "Mistress." Her words were muffled because of her injury. May's cheek was bruised, her bottom lip on the right side was grotesquely swollen and she had a bandage around her wrist.
"Oh, May," Liz said.
"Are you all right?" Maggie asked tenderly as she went to her.
May held a hand to her split lip, embarrassed by it. "I will be."
"She's bruised head to toe," Lorna said. "And her wrist is sprained. But she'll so
on heal. The young always do."
Liz felt a dark suspicion that it hadn't been an accident. Had someone attacked her?
"May we offer you tea?" Lorna asked as she put the basket on a worktable against the wall.
"Not me, I'm afraid," Maggie replied. "I want to look in on Silas and then I have to get back. I just wanted to see May and wish her well." She looked at May. "I've instructed that a banister be put up on the stairwell. That would have helped, wouldn't it?" she asked regretfully.
"We so appreciate this kindness," Lorna spoke up, recognizing that May didn't know how to answer. "I hope the party goes well."
"It should," Maggie returned with an easy smile. "It's well in hand."
"Would it be all right if I stayed a bit?" Liz asked, looking from Maggie to Lorna.
"We'd like that," Lorna said with an enthusiastic smile.
"Feel better," Maggie said quietly to May.
May nodded. "I will."
"I'll see you all later, then," Maggie said as she started to the door. "Take care of your sister," she said to Fannie as she left.
Fannie nodded. "I am."
When Maggie was gone, Liz sat cattycorner from May at a kitchen table that seated six. A wood fire burned brightly and there was a thick woven rug on the floor. A large pine cupboard held dishes and a pretty hand-painted vase and teapot. Fannie sat across from her. Lorna hung a kettle on the hook above the fire to boil. "So you're from the eastern seashore?"
"Yes."
"What's the sea like?" Fannie asked with wide eyes.
"It's as big as the eye can see."
"I've told her all about it," Lorna said with an amused smile. "But she can never get enough."
"I want to see it," Fannie said.
"We all want to see it," May said to her younger sister with affection.
"And, one day, we will," Lorna said.
Liz stayed for nearly an hour. They had tea and biscuits, and she met May's other sisters, fourteen-year-old Sara and six-year-old Josephine. The baby, a two-year-old named Michael, slept soundly the entire time. When she said her goodbyes, May bundled up and walked her part of the way back, concealing her lower face with a scarf.
"Perhaps, next time, I'll get to meet your father."
"You're awful kind, Miss Elizabeth."
"I'm not being kind. I enjoyed the visit. I like your family."
May didn't respond for several moments. "Ours is a different world than yours."
Liz shrugged. "I come from a different world than Laurelton."
"Is that why you didn't have clothes of your own when you got here?" May asked curiously.
"Yes."
"There's always been something different about you, Miss Elizabeth. Different in a good way," she quickly added.
Liz slowed and then stopped and turned to May with a worried expression. "You would tell me if you were in danger of any sort. Wouldn't you? Back at the house?" May nodded, but she looked reticent. "Did someone hit you?"
"No," May replied quickly. "No, I fell down the stairs, all right. But—"
"But what?"
"I'll be all right, Miss Elizabeth. I'm bruised up good, but I'll heal. And I won't be falling again. You jes' watch out for you."
"Me?"
May nodded, but she suddenly seemed concerned that she'd said too much. "I should get back. And you should, too. It's a big night," she added with a note of forced cheer. She took a step backwards. "Wish I could see you in your dress."
"I'll tell you all about it when you get back."
"Verity will take care of you."
"She's not you."
They each smiled and then turned to go in opposite directions. Liz couldn't help noticing the many wary stares being directed her way. She felt a little wary herself, because May wasn't telling the whole truth. She hadn't accidentally fallen down the stairs.
Chapter 25
The sun glinted in the windows the next morning as George Lloyd sat at the table in his guestroom attempting to pen a letter. He looked up to see Wes riding in. And here he sat, agonizing over what to write the man in a letter. "Hail the great Hale," he muttered as he rose to go and intercept the man. Talking would be so much better than writing. Had he written, he wouldn't have gotten to see the look on the major's face when he found out how good the ball had been.
The Nordstroms had outdone themselves. The right people had been there; the food and drinks and music and dancing had been fabulous. Elizabeth Gordon had been glorious in a shimmering gold gown that had brought out the beauty of her pale green eyes. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her and he had not been the only one. She honored him with a dance, one dance, during which she'd attempted to keep some distance between them. The foolish woman. Her resistance made him want her all the more. Of course, she didn't know him yet. She'd learn.
It was amusing now to think how frustrated he'd been midway through the evening. He'd been trying to get Elizabeth's attention to no avail when Nordstrom had appeared by his side with a curt, two-word message. "She's taken."
"Whom do you mean?" he'd returned coolly.
Rather than reply, John Paul had merely grinned and strolled on, frustrating him so much that he couldn't keep it off his face. Not wanting to give Nordstrom the satisfaction, he'd left the ballroom. He returned to the room he'd been assigned to cool his head and enjoy a pinch of snuff. He'd been taking a piss before returning to the party when the solution to his dilemma was presented by a silky female voice.
"I know things about her," said the voice.
He turned from the pot, cock still in his hand, to see the housemaid he'd noticed earlier. She had dark expressive eyes and a sensual manner of moving. The gall of the chit, entering his room without permission. "Do you mind?" he asked acidly.
"Not at all."
Instead of leaving, she'd actually had the nerve to close the door behind her. He tucked himself back into his breeches. "What do you want?"
"I know things about Miss Gordon."
George turned to face her. "You're a nervy little bitch," he commented with sneering bemusement.
"I'm Eunice."
"Why would I care what a maid's name is?" He snapped his fingers twice. "That's all I need to know. There's your name right there."
She shrugged. "Fine, then." She turned to leave.
"What things?" he barked. Eunice turned back and surveyed him up and down. It was a look that made him want to lash her until she screamed for mercy. He might just do it, too. "You said you know things about her. What things?"
"About a scar on her body that most people could not possibly know about. It's in a private place," she added in a whisper.
"Where?" he asked, his voice gruff with arousal.
She laughed to herself.
He narrowed his eyes. "You're going to pay for that insolent laugh at my expense."
Her dark eyes gleamed. "So sorry, sir. Insolence does seem to be a problem with me."
"That's what you like, isn't it? You're a little bitch in heat who needs to be beaten by her master."
"Do you want to be my master?" Eunice cooed seductively.
He took off his jacket and set it aside. "Yes, for a while. I think I do. Come here." She obeyed and he began to remove her clothing roughly.
"Don't rip it," she exclaimed, pulling back.
"Then get it off."
He took down his britches and began stroking himself as he watched her undress. "Why tell me about Miss Gordon's scar?" he asked as he yanked on the base of his shaft the way he liked it.
"I thought you might want a way to get her."
"What do you mean get her? How would I get her with the knowledge of a scar?"
"Use it on Major Hale."
His breath caught and comprehension dawned. "You're saying he knows about this scar?"
She nodded. "I am."
He smiled. "Fetch me the grease in that drawer," he said, jutting his chin toward the bedside table.
She went and got it. She offered it
to him.
"Grease me." She did and her hands felt good on him. She knew what she was doing. "You might want to grease your asshole," he warned when she'd finished. He watched for a reaction, preferably fear, but instead, she calmly stuck her forefinger all the way in the grease and handed the jar back to him. She went to the bed and climbed on, assuming the doggie position. Twisting her upper body so she could see him, she reached around and stuck her greased finger up her rectum, moving it in and out. Her lips were open and she moaned softly. The sight of it made him hard and impatient, and he moved forward to give it to her.
He climbed on the bed behind her and, with one hand, he took hold of her shoulder. With the other, he positioned the head of his cock at her anus and shoved it in, pulling her back against him as he did. She cried out and he moaned with satisfaction. He grabbed her hips and thrusted hard for maximum penetration. "Seems you've had some passage down this road," he said brokenly.
She was smart enough not to answer him. She wasn't even whimpering much. It felt good, but he liked unexplored territory better. In fact, there wasn't much that was better in life than a tight, virgin asshole. The kind Elizabeth Gordon would have. He closed his eyes and imagined fucking Elizabeth's ass. She'd cry and beg him to stop. She'd probably scream. He liked when they screamed. His staff knew to ignore any sounds of protest, male or female, they heard after a certain time of evening and in particular rooms of the house. Rooms he would have Elizabeth in.
Perhaps he'd take his time with her. Make her take his thumb, then two fingers. He'd stand her up in front of the looking glass in the black and red room, his playroom, so he could watch her face as he stretched her. "Look up, darling," he'd say to her. "Watch me as I do this." That image did it for him and he came in a series of noisy, shuddering stabs. When the orgasm subsided, he withdrew, breathing hard.
"Eunice," he said, as if testing out her name.