Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

“Cells, that was a long time ago. Don’t—”

  “I knew you were ambitious”—he rubbed his neck, pushing at his thin cravat—“but to bed a man who considers you a dame de couleur, his nickname for island whores, that’s unfortunate.”

  “William wouldn’t. He’d never—”

  “William, is it? He blamed them for his ills when he toured the West Indies.”

  Cells sounded angry and entitled, but he wasn’t entitled to me.

  “Massa, you expected I’d be waiting for you? Was I to put my dreams on the shelf waiting for when it was convenient for you to love me?”

  He rubbed at his mouth. “I’m selfish, Dolly. Always have been. But I’ve never loved anyone but you. The lies that were given to me to uphold made my life hard. I was desperate to keep them, to keep my position. Then I met you and from the beginning you were this light with big, bold dreams. Who wouldn’t be drawn to that?”

  “Then why do you wonder about the prince?” I meant it as a joke, but Cells’s face became bright pink from ear to ear.

  “Is Frances mine? Does Josephy rightly belong to that damned prince who made love to you and then gave speeches in Parliament about how the enslaved wanted to be enslaved? Happy Negroes, he calls us.”

  “Us? Feeling a might free with your words given your party guests are next door. Cells, what are you talking about?”

  He started to chuckle. “You’re better than me, Dolly.”

  “I thought we’d established this before eighty-nine.”

  “You’re better than me at keeping up all the pretenses. How many secrets are in your head? How many men have been drawn into your light until they are too blind to see themselves burning?”

  “That sounds very bitter. I didn’t know I was more powerful than you.”

  “Dolly, I hurt you, and now you’ll never give yourself fully to anyone. That heart in you is hard. You’ll never risk anything for love. Did Thomas just accept that, like he accepted Josephy?”

  Cells had made me the master of his fate, of Thomas’s and the prince’s. It was awful for him to believe that I was cold when I simply found a way to survive. My strong will kept me sane and whole and protected. “You’ve saved these lies for me all these years. I don’t know what to say.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “You could answer my questions.”

  “What’s in it for me, Cells? Dolly, the evil temptress of men, it makes you sound so weak.”

  Cells’s smirk returned. “Or it exposes you as an opportunist. Many island women latch on to the planters to better themselves.”

  “Then I would’ve latched on to Foden, the only man who was a true friend.”

  Cells raised his palm as if to argue my point, but he slapped it against his side. “I was a friend. You know that. You’ve come for my help, but don’t want me. Fine. Give me the truth.”

  “Will this truth give you comfort because you won’t have to reject Frances for not being as pale as Catharina?”

  “I want the truth. You want my laborers, you tell me. Or be content with huckstering and housekeeping. I’ve heard of your difficulties finding labor.”

  I sighed, the frustration churning in my gut. “Why did I expect help from you? You’re one of them, an old man set in his thinking. You’re like the fools who eat at your table, laugh at your jokes, and make you so careful—their opinions matter more than your own blood. Those old men are making sure our daughter’s family suffers. And you’re letting them. Well, you always wanted to be one of them, an old white man.”

  “Catharina chose her path. It’s not what I wanted for her.”

  “And you let her suffer. Your friends who dance on your polished floors persecute Simon because of his faith. Simon is punished because his principles won’t change. But that was never your problem, changing.”

  The look in Cells’s eyes. The hazel had become icy. He wasn’t going to lift a finger to help. He’d have no problems closing his fist to the woman who got away.

  Then I’d be the vision of who he thought I was. A dame de couleur, the harlot.

  I went to Cells and put my arms about his neck.

  “Dolly, what?”

  Like I’d done with Catharina, I hushed him, putting my finger to his nose, his lips. Chased shadows in the cleft of his chin. “Shhhh.”

  “I’m sorry, Dolly. We . . . I can fix things. If we could—”

  One kiss to his right cheek. One to his left.

  Then I put my lips to his and enjoyed his husky breaths. He murmured sorries, whispers of love, and a moan to start again.

  It was good.

  It felt right.

  But this was my good-bye the only way he’d understand. I finished this kiss and went to the door.

  Chin up, turban in place crowning my curls, I left Cells and didn’t look back.

  My driver saw me on the steps. He pulled my carriage in front, and I climbed inside. “Home as fast as you can.”

  I knew what I had to do. I had to beat the old men at their game and do things that sickened me. On Wednesday, I’d take a purse full of coins, and stash clothes and food and blankets in my dray to cover the nakedness of the men and women I purchased.

  Those dreamers would be safe with me. I’d teach them how to make their way in this world and how to dream again. I wouldn’t make their path to manumission hard.

  These were the vows I said as I prepared to sell my soul. If I had to be a full member of the planter class, the slaveholding class, I’d be a better massa than them all.

  Glasgow, Scotland 1810: The Travel

  Glasgow had the best air, fresh and cold. I stepped off the boat with nineteen guests, nineteen pieces of my heart in all—each of Ann’s and Eliza’s children, Catharina’s older ones, and all Lizzy’s children and her children’s children came with me, as well as Charlotte, Crissy, my grandniece Elizabeth, and my son Harry.

  The seven-week passage was easy. The children laughed at the heavier clothes—my girls’ scarlet capes, my boys’ long greatcoats of brown wool—until we hit the chilly air.

  Josephy wouldn’t leave the estate. Even the temptation of seeing the actual Kensington Palace in London didn’t tempt him. I intended to see William this time. Perhaps it was for the best that Josephy didn’t come.

  Charlotte came down the ramp with Lizzy’s youngest, Anna, in her arms. Both sets of topaz eyes beamed. “Thank you, Mama,” she said, “and I must thank Papa Cells too. If he hadn’t encouraged me, I would have missed this.” She hugged her niece.

  “The man knows you deserve to see what stars look like over here.”

  Charlotte giggled. “This is exciting.”

  I knew she had a dream, Lizzy’s Anna in her arms. Hopefully, this visit could encourage Charlotte to grab new ones, ones that would be solely hers, not her husband’s or a want of a baby.

  “Oh, Papa Cells wants to do better. He’s trying.”

  Maybe he was.

  As if our argument had shook something loose in him, Cells fended off Simon’s creditors as long as he could, but Chance Hall was sold off. Before we left, I gave my son-in-law a calabash for his special sand. Then he could carry his worship anywhere.

  “Oh, Mama. Papa Cells gave me a note for you. I’ll read it to you when we get settled.”

  “A note? Yes, save it for London.”

  “Yes, Mama. Come on, Anna.” Charlotte swaddled the fidgeting girl and walked down the gangplank.

  I covered up with my heavy shawl, counting my family as they left the sloop for the dock. “Can you keep up, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Aunt Dorothy.”

  Little Elizabeth Penner wasn’t little anymore, but a lanky twelve-year-old. I made her cape black to honor the passing of my sister Ella. Frances said Mamaí grieved hard. I thought of my Edward and how hard it was to outlive your child.

  Eighteen-year-old Harry took my arm. Big like his pa, he’d become my protector. “My schooling at the Inverness Royal Academy was good, Mama. I enjoyed it, but I’m anxi
ous to see London.”

  “When I filed the papers to quit the colony for our trip, you can’t imagine such noise they made. Me bringing nineteen, not just one or two.”

  “Pa would be proud. He always wanted this.”

  That was true. Godspeed, Thomas darling. Part of the sea we’d passed through had to be stirred by his hand.

  Harry’s chin lifted. My boy was brilliant. He’d use his book learning to become a solicitor. Like Thomas, he made it his job to review my transactions.

  Harry must’ve read my thoughts. He bent and kissed my cheek. “No fretting.”

  “Just thinking of your pa. He wanted all of you to see the world. I wanted us to own it. We were a perfect match.”

  William King, my godson, waved at us from the dock. He’d grown tall, just like my Harry, but his frame was stocky like his father’s.

  “Mrs. Thomas, ma’am,” he said, giving me a hug. “Father sends his regrets, but he’ll meet us in London. Then when all is done, I will return with you to Demerara.”

  “You’re coming back with us?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s been too long since I’ve been. Father is giving me more responsibilities. I wish to be half the man he is.”

  Harry took the hands of two of my Coxall grandsons. “Come along, gentlemen. Let’s make sure our portmanteaus and trunks are transferred to Mr. King’s carriage.”

  “I hope more than one, godson. We are a large and merry party with sharp elbows. We need room.”

  William made a grand show of counting each. He was very much his father’s son, all the good pieces, the humor and loyalty.

  Mr. Thomas King liked to say he turned over a new leaf in his life when we partnered. For my part in that, I was pleased. “William, you and your father will love to see my hotels.”

  “Hotels?”

  “Well, the one at Werk-en-rust is done and booming, but the new house in Cumingsburg, I may turn that into one, too.”

  “But wasn’t it for your particular use? It sounded perfect for you to slow down and enjoy life.”

  “I’ll never slow down, never unless I’m ready for the ground. The house I’m building on Robb Street will be the grandest of all.” My bedroom and that of Crissy’s will face east, the direction of the most stars in Demerara’s sky.

  “Mama,” Crissy said and slipped in between us, batting her eyes a hundred times at William. “I don’t think I should be going away to school, yet. I should return to Demerara and be of more help to you before I settle down with my own household.”

  Not even subtle. She added more lash batting.

  Where was this sense of desperation coming from? Crissy was pretty and smart. I wished she and Elizabeth would bond. They were close enough in age. Maybe some good sense would rub off on one and the joy of living to the other.

  Oh, dear.

  Crissy grinned again at my godson. No boys or men for her yet. She was fourteen and to be enrolled in Kensington House. With an education, she could rule the world or at least run the one I’d built.

  William patted her arm away like the good boy he was. “Oh, Dorothy Christina, you have many years before you need to be thinking that way.”

  Humor stirred in my heart but I dared not let it spill. Crissy had a daring streak in her. She’d lived on Catharina’s tales of compromises and intrigues from her time in London. My Crissy would be bold enough to try to ensnare a prince. I needed her on her best behavior when we met mine in London.

  Prince William. So many years since eighty-nine. So many changes. I’d become a bigger success but at the cost of compromising and ceding to things I never thought I would.

  “Mama?” Crissy tugged my arm. “What’s that faraway look?”

  “Oh. I was thinking of Kensington. Kensington House for young ladies. You’ll be trained in languages and accounting in addition to math and reading. And Henny’s there.”

  “Your mother’s right.” William took my hand. “Her endowment will keep it going.”

  Endowment was fancy talk for investment. I had more money than anyone could count. The risks I took, the bit of my principles and soul I sold, had beaten the men of Demerara.

  They couldn’t stop my rise. I gave penance with endowments to schools for free coloreds, but I could not deny that I had become what I hated: a slaver to best other slavers.

  Dark faces, like mine, passed us to work on the ships in port. Freemen. Each of my enslaved could gain their liberty. Each of mine knew the amount to save for their manumission, forty pounds. I set the path and made sure each was trained. The world was changing. Abolition couldn’t be that far off, not the way white and Black kept mixing.

  Crissy slowed her steps behind a redcoat soldier who tipped his hat.

  Henny and Crissy were close in Demerara. I wished Henny wanted to stay at Kensington House. She’d convinced me to look into Marylebone School. Marylebone was a place that excelled in music studies. Henny’s voice had turned into one of an angel. Kensington House had no dedicated music teacher. I hoped this visit would change Henny’s mind and keep my girls together at Kensington.

  My daughter lingered behind waving her fan at another man in a scarlet uniform.

  “Crissy, come on.”

  She offered me a pout but obeyed.

  Wished she had more sense.

  “William, do we visit Inverness Royal Academy today? I have two Coxalls and a Robertson to enroll.”

  “No, today we get you all settled. Tomorrow, the academy.”

  Harry beamed and tugged on his chocolate lapels. “The boys will love it. King George III gave it a royal charter. You will see, Mama. It is a wonderful place for learning.”

  My life was to be firmly rooted in King George III’s influence, from towns with his namesake, to his son the prince, and to taking my money to educate my blood.

  Prince William, I’d see him at a public dinner. No mole in the shadows this trip. My wealth ensured it. Hundreds of housekeeper contracts, the best artisans, and my land had made me one of the richest women in Demerara.

  When I saw him, the prince, what would touch my heart first—the memories of what we shared or his “happy Negro” talk? Cells wasn’t just jealous about my affair with the son of a king, he’d been truthful. The prince had changed and made pro-slavery speeches that could be voiced by the worst planters.

  How do you speak truth to His Majesty’s son when your hands were also soiled?

  The words would come to me. They always did, wise or not.

  London, England 1810: The Ballroom

  Our carriage slowly entered Bushy Park. It was dusk. The fading sunlight kissed the jade grass that lined the graveled trail. William loved walks. I could see why he chose a place outside of crowded London.

  We passed Kensington Palace on the way here. The daffodils were in bloom by the fence. My cheeks surely flushed thinking of a midnight walk on the arms of a sailor who kissed me after he placed a single yellow flower in my loosed hair.

  The house came into view but not before I saw paths lined with daffodils. My pulse raced and I pushed from the window.

  “Mama.” Crissy’s voice was a whisper. “You’re fidgeting. You’ll tear that fan the way you are jostling it.”

  My hand had the lace thing vibrating. I stuffed it into my reticule and tugged up my slipping satin gloves. I wished Charlotte had come. She had a calming way about her. She remained at my leased house with the rest of the grands and my son. As I dressed, she read me Cells’s letter.

  It was filled with more sorries. This time those words penned by Coseveldt felt sincere. Then she read to me the note he sent after I left his party, when I had intended never to see him again.

  He’d included a clipping of Prince William’s 1799 speech to Parliament. Ten years from our voyage on the Andromeda, our romance in London that changed my world, the prince accepted the happy Negro talk of the planters.

  How could the prince forget our affair of equals? Why did his liberal mind close?

  Maybe he did
go mad as he’d feared.

  I’d know tonight.

  The carriage stopped on the south side of Bushy House.

  It was breathtaking. All brick. Fourteen windows on this face. Prince William’s residence was large. Not since the Nidhe Temple in Barbados had I seen curved walls. Bushy House bore rounded sections that curled and fanned out on either side of the main building like swallows’ wings.

  The similarities—this had to be a sign.

  A footman handed me out of the carriage. My fingers were sweaty even with the chill in the air. The lack of heat did nothing to make my gloves stick less to my palms. My eyes trailed to the green-gray slate tiles of the roof. Stacked tightly together, they looked like Roseau’s reeded housetops. Another mirror? So much of my life’s journey was reflected here.

  When I saw Mr. and Mrs. King coming, I whispered to the Holy Father to give me strength and those right words to change my prince’s mind on his politics.

  “Shall we, ladies,” King said, and we followed him to the doors on the left, the left that had always meant trouble.

  At the entrance, servants took my heavy shawl and the capes of my girls—Crissy, Elizabeth Penner, and my granddaughters, Henny and Dorothea. Dorothea was my namesake among Lizzy’s daughters.

  Inside, my eyes went to the ceilings. Like the wings outside, they were curved above. The trim was the whitest I’d ever seen. Hanging, floating in the air were chandeliers of beeswax candles.

  The scent of the dripping wax possessed the fragrance of vanilla. I thought of Simon’s chandeliers. They were sold off. He and Catharina and their family moved into my hotel at Werk-en-Rust. My heart was heavy for them. I hoped Cells comforted each one as they settled. Holy Father, let all be well and for Simon to have brought his sand.

  Dorothea linked her gloved hand to my arm. “Grama, you stopped. Is this protocol, like the curtsy?”

  “No, dear, just a rest.”

  Her grasp remained strong, the hold was as if she needed to pick me up from a faint. I wiggled a little and freed myself.

  “Mama, this is no town house. It’s a grand mansion.” Crissy’s tone sounded polished, but her eyes were as big as guineas. The child had seen nothing yet. My old friend knew how to give a party.