“I believe you actually mean that.”
Helmut lifted a brow. “But of course I do.”
“You hate him so much? Just because he wanted to marry your sister?”
“There are things you don’t know. Things you don’t understand,” Helmut said, grimly, as he gathered up the reins. “It’s time we got back to Roseclay.”
We started back down the river road at a brisk pace, the wheels skimming over the hard-packed earth. His last remark had been curiously enigmatic. What didn’t I know? What had happened in the past that would cause even the sight of Norman to arouse such violent fury? Helmut usually acted with cool premeditation, every move carefully planned with Machiavellian thoroughness, but for a brief instant back there he had actually taken leave of his senses. I had known there was a deep vein of cruelty in him from the first, but I had never seen it take such a violent form.
The incident disturbed me far more than I cared to admit.
Monday was a gloriously beautiful day, the sky, a pale blue, and the sun, a round white ball half-obscured by puffy clouds. It wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been. I stretched lazily. A fresh breeze caught the thin curtains in my bedroom causing them to billow inward like white silk sails. Dressed only in a petticoat with a snug bodice and half a dozen ruffled skirts, I turned as my maid tapped nervously on the opened door and stepped into the room. Lelia, a small, delicately boned creature with skin the color of ebony and dark, luminous eyes, was quite lovely in her blue cotton dress.
“Yes, Lelia?” I asked.
“Th’ mastah, he wanna know effin you feel awright.”
“I feel fine, Lelia. Oh, I suppose he was concerned because I didn’t come down for lunch. Tell him I simply wasn’t hungry. I’ll be downstairs in plenty of time to go with him to meet the boat.”
“Yes’um,” the girl replied and left the room silently.
Though Lelia brought my breakfast tray each morning and was responsible for taking care of my room, she had nervously resisted all my efforts to be friendly. Like all the other slaves, she was silent, efficient, unobtrusive. There was a large household staff, over twenty, and whenever I encountered any of them they seemed to withdraw behind an invisible shield, never speaking unless it was necessary. Helmut had made it clear from the beginning that I was to have no say in the running of Roseclay. He issued his orders to butler, cook, and chief footman every morning, and that seemed to be all that was necessary to keep things running with model efficiency.
How different they were from the slaves back in Carolina, I thought. There was no noise from their quarters out back at night, no music, no vitality. They all seemed cowed, even those who ran the household. But I had never heard Helmut raise his voice to any of them, and there had certainly been no whippings since I had arrived. I just assumed they had been strictly trained. Still, it would be nice to see an occasional smile, hear an occasional rumble of husky laughter.
I moved about the airy room, which was done in shades of white and pale blue, delicate gold gilt patterns on the elegant French furniture. Marie Antoinette herself would have felt at ease amidst all this tasteful splendor, I thought as I sat down at the mirror to brush my hair. However, like all the other rooms at Roseclay, it was undeniably cold. At first, overwhelmed by the beauty, I had hardly noticed the atmosphere of chill that pervaded the mansion, but lately it seemed to have grown worse.
Even if it was cold, I told myself, it was a far cry from a damp brown cell on Bow Street, or a filthy bunk in the hull of a prison ship. I had come a long way indeed, from indentured servant to wife of one of the richest men in America. Hair finally arranged to my satisfaction, I stepped over to the wardrobe to take out the dress I intended to wear. Meg’s arrival might help dispel the chill. Perhaps she would bring the vitality and friendly warmth that would breathe life into the formal, sumptuously beautiful rooms.
I took my time getting ready, for I wanted to make a good first impression on my sister-in-law. My dress, newly arrived from Lucille’s shop, was dark blue with short, narrow sleeves and a high lacy neckline, very snug at the waist. The skirt was adorned with row upon row of black lace ruffles, and my elbow-length gloves were of matching black lace. There was a black lace parasol as well. I had just turned to fetch it when Helmut came into the room.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“Oh. You—you startled me!”
“Did I?”
“I’m not accustomed to your coming into my bedroom.”
“Is that supposed to be a complaint?” he inquired.
“Hardly that,” I replied coldly.
Helmut smiled a humorless smile. He was handsomely attired in dark-gray breeches and frock coat, his white satin waistcoat heavily embroidered with black silk flowers. Adjusting his black silk neckcolth, he asked, “You haven’t felt neglected?”
“Not in the least.”
“I’ve the feeling you didn’t enjoy our first little tussles. Perhaps we should have another go-round soon.”
“Forgive me if I seem less than eager.”
He liked that. He chuckled softly. “Truth to tell, Marietta, you’re a magnificent creature, but a shade too patrician for my taste. I prefer an earthier type.”
“I’m sure there’s no shortage of them in Natchez-under-the hill.”
“You know about that? But of course. You would. I’m pleased to know you haven’t been pining away. You could always take a lover, you know. So long as you did it discreetly, I wouldn’t have the least objection.”
“I’m quite content with things as they are, Helmut. You needn’t concern yourself about my welfare. We have a very nice arrangement.” I picked up my parasol. “Shall we go now?”
He nodded, and we went downstairs and out to the drive where the carriage stood waiting. Larger than the one we had ridden in the day before, it had two richly upholstered seats facing each other. A liveried black driver sat on a high perch in front. A cart had been sent on ahead to accommodate the trunks and baggage.
Helmut handed me up into the carriage and, sitting down on the seat opposite, signaled for the driver to start. I opened the black lace parasol and rested the handle lightly against my shoulder. We were soon on the river road, the horses moving at a steady pace. Helmut sat leaning forward slightly, his palms spread over his knees. My cool demeanor seemed to irritate him.
“You still upset about that little incident with Norman?”
“I’m trying to forget it,” I replied.
“Good. I wouldn’t want Meg to hear about it. She’s extremely sensitive. No need for her to be unnecessarily distressed.”
“I’ve no intention of telling her.”
“Norman’s not likely to come around, not after the sample of the whip I gave him yesterday. He’s not that big a fool.”
“I hope Meg and I can be friends,” I remarked.
Helmut did not reply. We were soon passing through Natchez proper. It was a busy Monday afternoon, people trading at the shops, holding lively conversations on the walks. Before we turned and started down the slope toward the docks, I caught a glimpse of my former shop at the end of the street. Helmut had taken care of all the arrangements, disposing of the goods, leasing the place to a hardware merchant. I had not known it before, but he owned the building, just as he owned so many others.
The docks were alive with activity. Two ships that had just come in this morning were still being unloaded. Meg’s boat wasn’t due for twenty minutes or so, but Helmut had been impatient to arrive. I could sense his tension as he climbed down from the carriage and helped me alight. He peered up the river, scowled, took out his pocket watch and examined it, and then turned to look in the direction of his three warehouses that stood some distance away.
“I might as well take care of some business while I’m waiting,” he informed me. “I’ll be back before the boat arrives. You stay here by the carriage.”
“Very well.”
Moving with all the authority of a lord, he strolled briskly
toward the warehouses. People made way for him, stepping aside quickly. I had the feeling he would have shoved them out of his way had they not done so. He disappeared into one of the warehouses, and I turned my attention to the men unloading heavy wooden crates from one of the ships. They moved swiftly up and down the gangplank, stowing the crates in wagons, hurrying back for more.
Farther along, fisherman were mending nets, and a prostitute in a vivid red dress strolled past boxes and barrels, pausing to chat with sailors who loitered about. There was a cart filled with bunches of bananas, another with baskets of oranges and lemons. Over a dozen ships stood lined up on the water, masts towering, hulls rocking slightly. I could smell hemp and tar and mud. The noise was deafening. Boxes banged. Men shouted. A monkey chattered. Wood scraped against wood. It was all vivid and stimulating, a lively and absorbing scene.
“I’ll be damned! Marietta?”
I turned to see one of the men who had been unloading crates moving toward me. Bronzed, muscular, he had sun-bleached hair and roughhewn features, his wide mouth spread in a merry grin. He wore tight, faded blue breeches and a red-and-black-striped jersey with the sleeves shoved up over his forearms. I didn’t recognize him at first, and drew myself up imperiously, ready to send him on his way with a cutting comment. He stopped a few feet away, his blue eyes filled with delight.
“Don’t ya recognize me?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Jack?”
“Big as life,” he retorted. “I say, this’s a surprise. What’re you doin’ in Natchez? Just passin’ through?”
“I—I live here. I had a dress shop for a while, but I’m married now. I knew you had come to Natchez, but when I didn’t run into you in all these months, I assumed you’d moved on.”
“Never get up to th’ bluff much,” he told me. “Got me a job loadin’ an’ unloadin’. ’Ave me a lean-to behind th’ warehouses I share with a couple uv other chaps. Any free time I ’ave I generally spend at th’ gin shops an’ fancy ’ouses under-th’-’ill. Reckon that explains why we ain’t run into each other.”
“It’s good to see you, Jack. You’re looking well.”
“Oh, I ain’t got nothin’ to complain about. It’s a good life. I work ’ard durin’ th’ day and play ’ard at night. Lotsa gin, lotsa wild women, a good rowdy brawl every now ’n’ then.”
“The life evidently agrees with you.”
“Never been ’appier. Beats swabbin’ decks an’ fightin’ ’urricanes.”
Jack grinned again, folding his arms across his chest. Brawny, amiable, uncomplicated, he glowed with health and vitality. I remembered his kindness to me so many years ago, remembered his curious tenderness, and I was glad he had found his own brand of contentment.
“You’re lovelier’n ever,” he remarked.
“Thank you, Jack.”
“So you left that gamblin’ ’ouse to open a dress shop ’ere in Natchez?”
“That’s right.”
“An’ found yourself a ’usband right away. Judgin’ from them clothes you’re wearin’ and that fancy carriage with th’ nigger in ’is fancy suit, I’d say you got yourself a rich one.”
“I did.”
“One of them wealthy chaps who came to get away from the rebels?”
“No, I married a German.”
Jack looked surprised. “German? You—you don’t mean—” He paused, his blue eyes alarmed. “You ain’t talkin’ about ’elmut Schnieder, are you? I ’eard ’e got ’imself a wife. You ain’t married to ’im?”
“We were married almost three months ago.”
His manner changed abruptly. The breezy amiability vanished. He frowned and looked down at the ground, avoiding my eyes. When he finally looked up, his manner was guarded. He tried to be casual, but he wasn’t able to carry it off.
“You know who he is,” I said.
“Reckon I do. Reckon everyone does. I—I just ’ope you know what you got yourself into.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of th’ things I’ve ’eard—they ain’t pretty. Several of th’ girls—” He cut himself short. “Does he treat you all right?”
“He’s very generous.”
His frown deepened. “I see. Well … uh … look, I gotta get back to work now.”
“It was nice to see you, Jack.”
He nodded and turned away, preparing to leave. Then he hesitated. He turned back around to face me, his mouth tight, his brows pressed together. He seemed to be debating something, and when he finally spoke, his voice was very sober.
“Look, if—if you ever have any kinda trouble, if you ever need help, you just call on Jack Reed. Okay? If you ever need me for anything, you know where to find me.”
Jack hurried away before I could reply, and Helmut joined me almost immediately. He had seen the two of us talking together as he returned from the warehouse and asked me who Jack was. Instinct told me to keep his identity a secret, and I managed to be very casual, replying that he was only a workman I had been questioning about the cargo. Helmut seemed satisfied and asked no further questions. Meg’s ship had come up the river as Jack and I were talking, and the gangplank was being lowered. Helmut led me down the dock to where the passengers would disembark.
A crowd had gathered. There was much shouting and waving, an air of excitement prevailing. Helmut and I stood some distance from the gangplank beside a stack of wooden crates. I had never seen him so tense. His face was like granite, and I noticed that his fists were clenched. He looked as though he wanted to strangle all these shrill, merry people who greeted each other so effusively. He kept his eyes on the gangplank, growing more and more tense at his sister’s failure to appear. Most of the passengers had already disembarked, and men were beginning to bring down trunks and boxes.
The girl finally came to the top of the gangplank, but stepped aside to let one of the men pass. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved down the wooden ramp, as though she were not certain there would be anyone to meet her. She wore a soft gray muslin frock sprigged with lilac and blue forget-me-nots, and her light-brown hair took on a silvery sheen in the sunlight. Even more slender than I remembered, she had a fragile, vulnerable quality that was immediately apparent. Her face was pale, saved from plainness only by those enormous violet-blue eyes that reflected her emotions so openly. She seemed much younger than her twenty years, but perhaps the demure, girlish frock was partly responsible for that. She paused at the foot of the gangplank, looking about nervously. Helmut left my side and strode through the crowd toward her.
They didn’t embrace. Helmut wore a stern expression, and his manner was brusque. They spoke together for a moment, and then Meg turned to look in my direction. Helmut said something else. The girl nodded. He clasped her arm and led her toward me. As they approached, I could see that the girl was fighting to control some powerful emotion. I smiled as Helmut made the introductions. Meg smiled, too, a faint, timorous smile that trembled on her lips and failed to reach her eyes. I saw what the emotion was then. It was fear. Meg Schnieder looked terrified.
XXVI
I was surprised to find Meg in the library. Ever since her arrival, she had kept to her room, having her meals brought up on a tray. The long sea voyage had worn her out, Helmut informed me, and she needed to rest. Not once had she dined with us. I had gone to her room to see if there was anything I could do for her. She had obviously been ill. But she made it quite clear that she didn’t want to talk, nor did she want me to visit her. I had seen her only once since then. She had been standing at the hall window upstairs, looking out at the gardens, and when she heard me approaching she returned quickly to her room.
Meg was examining titles when I entered the library. She gave a start and looked at me with wide, nervous eyes, as though I had caught her in some petty misdemeanor. I smiled warmly, trying to put her at ease, but she didn’t smile back. She stood stiffly, her manner anything but welcoming.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said quietly. “It’s such a lov
ely day I thought I’d select a book and go out into the gardens to read for a while. It’s—it’s nice to see you up and around.”
“Helmut decided it was time I left my room,” she said coldly. “I’m to come down to meals, and I’m to stop acting like a child. When my brother decides something, it’s done.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’m feeling better.”
She was distinctly thorny, but somehow or other I felt that this was merely a kind of defense. There was no reason for her to dislike me—or to like me, either—but I sensed that her antagonism wasn’t directed against me personally, and I was not put off by her manner. She had grown even thinner since her arrival, and her dress seemed to hang on her. Her cheeks were very pale and drawn. Her light-brown hair was pulled back severely and worn in a tight bun on the nape of her neck, a few wispy tendrils escaping to curl over her temples.
“Is my brother around?” she inquired.
“He’s gone out to the plantation this afternoon. There’s some kind of problem he has to attend to. He didn’t tell me any of the details. You used to live at the plantation, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “I hated it.”
“Roseclay is much nicer.”
“I suppose.”
“I really am glad to see you’re feeling better, Meg. I looked forward to your return.”
She seemed surprised. “You did?”
“I was hoping we could be friends. It gets rather lonely without anyone to talk to.”
“I imagine it does.”
Standing directly in a shaft of light, Meg looked like a twelve-year-old child with those thin cheeks and enormous eyes, but there was nothing childish in her manner. I sensed bitter disillusionment and mature depth that she kept carefully hidden.
“You married him for his money, didn’t you?” she asked abruptly.
“Of course I did,” I replied.
The answer seemed to please her. “It couldn’t have been for love. My brother isn’t a very lovable man. At least you’re honest about it. I admire that.”
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