The Curse at Rose Hill

by Camille Oster

  Turning around she made her way back toward the house and safety. She chuckled at the thought, wondering why she would assume the house was safe and the fields were not. Well, there was the snake issue. That had to be the source of her discomfort, she decided.

  *

  "Come on, Joseph," called Mrs. Thornton tersely. "Let's not dawdle all day. If you are right and the rains will come in the afternoon, then we must hurry. Where is that girl?"

  "I'm here, Mrs. Thornton," Emmeline said.

  "Well get in, then." She walked toward the white barouche which stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The horse looked anxious and Joseph was holding the reins while helping Mrs. Thornton up. "We must get moving."

  Emmeline climbed up, Joseph holding her hand as she ascended into the barouche. The springs groaned slightly as she settled in her seat next to Mrs. Thornton and Joseph secured the small door behind her. They sat high off the ground and the springs creaked again as the horse set off to turn around before reaching the road cutting through the cane fields.

  "It is best that we return before the rain," said Mrs. Thornton. "Or the carriage will soon fill with water if we are unlucky and caught out. It rains fiercely here."

  Emmeline had heard it rain during the night. It had woken her and for a moment she hadn't known what the sharp and relentless pelting was. In Boston, the rain was like light gentle patter on the roof, but here it sounded like a troop full of percussionists banging on drums as the water hit the veranda outside the window of her room.

  The sun was higher now as they reached the edge of the canes and the road she'd been driven down the day before as she'd arrived. They were returning to the township. Mrs. Thornton had insisted on taking her to purchase new material for a gown. Emmeline did see the need for it. Even now, she was heating up within the confines of her dress. The sun shining directly on her as the coverage of the trees gave way wasn't helping either, but they were going to town in order to fix that particular problem.

  “Parasol,” Mrs. Thornton reminded her and Emmeline opened the lacy contraption in her hand. Mrs. Thornton remained quiet during the rest of the carriage ride, apparently lost in thought. For wanting a companion, the woman wasn't of a chatty disposition. Emmeline even felt as if she were imposing on the woman's privacy. Perhaps the loss of her husband still weighed heavily on her.

  Clasping her hands in her lap, Emmeline observed the scenery around them. After some time, small huts and houses appeared more consistently. They had to be close to Plymouth. What was again apparent was that they were too far away from the township to consider walking the route.

  Truthfully, Emmeline remembered little of the town from the previous day. That was to say, nothing looked familiar. Carts and horses navigated the streets, many weighed down with sacks of sugar. By the looks of it, the township was well constructed. There was a main street that Emmeline hadn't seen before. There were taverns, merchants and even banks. Emmeline even thought she saw a school.

  Joseph slowed down as they reached a row of shops, with stretches of small square windows, the wooden lattices painted white. Everything appeared to be dressed in white, including the buildings and people.

  "We are here," Mrs. Thornton said and made to rise from her seat. Joseph helped them both down and Mrs. Thornton led the way down the boardwalk to the store with hats, gloves and a fine gown in the window. The store itself was well-stocked, containing all the finery a lady would need, from shoes to umbrellas, ribbons and gloves. There was even a counter for stockings and other undergarments. Another for hats, fine ones with feathers and lace.

  "We get the best fashion straight from Paris," Mrs. Thornton said proudly. "We have always had good access in that regard, and now that relations with France are calm, our port receives the best France has to offer. There are a great deal of very wealthy ladies in the Caribbean, are there not, Mr. Gerald?" she said loudly, drawing the attention of the smartly dressed man with a neat and thin mustache.

  "Lady Thornton," the man said with affectation. He kissed Mrs. Thornton's hand, bowing deeply. "This is Miss Emmeline Durrant. She needs to update her wardrobe for the climate. Have you got something suitable in stock?”

  "Lady Thornton, for you and your companion, I always have something suitable," the man said with a smile. "Come this way. I have new stock that came in only last week, fresh from Paris. I also have Indian cotton, if that would be needed."

  "Muslin, I think," Mrs. Thornton said. "Miss Durrant needs a dress."

  "Of course, Madame." Mr. Gerald turned his attention to Emmeline and surveyed her blatantly. Then he turned sharply and walked behind a counter and pulled down a roll of fabric. It was white with little circles embroidered into the material. It was a very fine material, dense but also light, well beyond any fabric she'd sewn or worn before.

  "I suppose we will need five yards," Mrs. Thornton said.

  "And for you, my lady?" Mr. Gerald said with the presentation and anticipation of the circus master. "I have the finest Chinese silk we have seen on this island in some thirty years. The color of the ocean, and I immediately thought of you when I saw it. Nothing would suit your eyes better."

  Lady Thornton actually blushed. "You know darker colors suit me best, Mr. Gerald."

  Mr. Gerald gave her a chiding look. "Dark colors waste the beauty you naturally have." He turned and brought down a beautiful fabric that shimmered both blue and green. It really did look like the ocean, almost liquid with its shine. "It is by far the finest fabric in the store, maybe in all of existence."

  "If only I lived in a world where I would be swayed by your charm, Mr. Gerald, perhaps I would be a much happier woman," Mrs. Thornton said.

  Emmeline put her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from chuckling. She hadn’t seen this side to Mrs. Thornton before.

  "The muslin, I think, Mr. Gerald. On my tab, if you please."

  "Of course, Madame," he said, bowing again as he wrapped up the white fabric. "I will have it handed to your boy."

  Mrs. Thornton made her way out of the store. "Mr. Gerald has set himself the task of marrying a rich widow. The Caribbean draws all sorts of scoundrels. You best keep that in mind before you succumb to the likes of one of them. Charm is the stock of their trade. But there are worse men in these parts than Mr. Gerald," she warned. "Where is that stupid man?" She looked around for Joseph. "Did you retrieve any mail for us?"

  "I did, madam, but there was nothing from Percy."

  Mrs. Thornton's mouth tightened in displeasure. "Stop gawking both of you, get us home before the rains come."

  Chapter 5

  The next few days, Emmeline still didn't spend a lot of time with Mrs. Thornton and was busy with her new gown. A couple of maids had been sent to help her, who were both quiet and smiling whenever Emmeline looked up from her sewing. Mrs. Thornton preferred to spend her time in her room, or at times walk around the balcony that surrounded the building.

  Mrs. Thornton called her less for companionship than Emmeline had expected, which left her with time on her hands when her dress was finished. The house had a fine library, which kept her mind occupied during the long, slow days at the plantation.

  Daily walks around the property were also a distraction in the early morning when the sun was still low and the heat of the day had not yet set in. Emmeline had learned to love the freshness in the morning, the cool breezes and the squawking birds in the jungle not far away.

  Today, however, was different from the very start as Mrs. Thornton told her of an invitation she had accepted to a party, and Emmeline was required to accompany her. The new gown was ready just in time for such an occasion. It wasn't as fine as some of the silk gowns Mrs. Thornton wore, but it was respectable and appropriate for a young woman her age, and of her standing.

  Waiting in the vestibule at dusk, Mrs. Thornton had yet to join Emmeline. Joseph was outside bringing the carriage around. Apparently, this event was in town at one of the finest houses on the island.

  Emmeline
was slightly nervous about traveling into the town along the dark roads, but neither Joseph or Mrs. Thornton seem that concerned, so perhaps her worry was pointless.

  With a rustling of skirts, Mrs. Thornton appeared in the hall and made her way over. "There you are," she said. "I am pleased you didn't make me wait for you. Where is Joseph?"

  "I think he's coming with the carriage."

  Stepping out the door, Mrs. Thornton frowned as she stood waiting with her hands on her hips. Her gown was very fine, made of a rose-colored silk. "This should be an entertaining evening," she said. "Mrs. Moorhouse is one of the most respected women on the island and she does throw a decent soirée. I haven't thrown one myself since my Philip passed. I have no reason to, but perhaps when Percy returns we should throw something to welcome him back."

  "That sounds lovely," Emmeline said, not knowing what else to say. Soirées, balls and parties were not something she had a lot of experience with, having been in short supply in the orphanage and subsequent school where she had taught. The odd birthday party had been a solemn affair, usually with a fruitcake and some brandy.

  The crunch of gravel told them that Joseph was coming around the corner. Emmeline recalled Mrs. Thornton didn't like the dark, but she didn't seem concerned now as they walked to the carriage. It was only dusk, so perhaps the woman's fears only surfaced later in the evening. Joseph helped her up and Emmeline followed.

  Two carriage lamps lit up the road ahead of them and vivid dusk skies displayed the silhouette of the landscape around them, the fields of sugarcane and the more distant palm trees. Crickets chirped loudly like an orchestra. It looked absolutely beautiful, like a picture. The noise of the day was dying away and the whole island was quietening—except for the crickets.

  They spoke little on the journey to Plymouth and Emmeline was left to her own thoughts. Nerves made her feel a little uncomfortable as she didn't really know what to expect from this evening, hoping she displayed the right manners. It wouldn't do to embarrass herself or Mrs. Thornton by doing something unacceptable. She wished her relationship with Mrs. Thornton was close enough where she could ask these things, but it wasn't.

  Mrs. Thornton seemed to have very little interest in her as a companion or otherwise. Perhaps Emmeline wasn't performing the job adequately. Swallowing hard, she straightened her back. "Is there something I am not doing sufficiently well?" she asked after a while.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Mrs. Thornton said with annoyance. "Firstly, you shouldn't expect to be mollycoddled all the time."

  Emmeline took the criticism and tried to think through what she had done that deserved such rebuke. "I'm sorry."

  They remained silent after that, Emmeline still trying to understand how her behavior needed to change, but she struggled to see anything specific she had failed to do. In fact, they spent very little time together at all. Perhaps Mrs. Thornton was simply a woman who took a while to warm up to a new person, a stranger. Familiarity would grow over time.

  "I am looking forward to this evening," said Emmeline, breaking the silence.

  "The food should be very nice," Mrs. Thornton answered and after remained silent again. The woman seemed to be lost in her own thoughts and Emmeline got the clear message that she didn't want to talk.

  Lights grew more frequent, appearing in windows and doorways of buildings that were now too dark to see. They had to be approaching the township, which appeared quite suddenly in Emmeline's estimation, but that was perhaps because she didn't know the road well enough to gauge when they were about to arrive.

  They drove through the town which was lively in the early evening, with people walking, a raucous tavern and sedate carriages rolling along the main street. Farther along, a large house was lit up on its slightly elevated position at the far end of town. A row of carriages was slowly approaching, people waiting to disembark.

  Emmeline's nerves grew. This was her first event in the Caribbean, the first time she was really going to meet the other people who lived on this island. Joseph assisted Mrs. Thornton down first and then Emmeline.

  "Come on girl," Mrs. Thornton said and walked ahead of her. A servant stood by the door, assisting anyone who needed help. Emmeline followed Mrs. Thornton into the house that was brightly lit with more candles than she'd ever seen before. A murmur of voices came from one of the larger rooms, where she could see a crowd of people wearing fine dresses and handsome jackets. There was laughter and drinking, and everyone seemed to be having a lovely time.

  "Mrs. Moorhouse," Mrs. Thornton said with affection, holding out her hands to a long, thin woman. "It is so good to see you again. We get so lonely out where we are."

  Mrs. Moorhouse smiled and shifted her gaze to Emmeline, who smiled her greeting. “Of course, poor thing. I am so pleased you could come.”

  "This is my companion Emmeline Durrant," Mrs. Thornton said when she noticed Mrs. Moorhouse's diverted attention. "She's recently arrived from Boston."

  "Oh, how exciting," Mrs. Moorhouse exclaimed. "Welcome to our house, too. I hope you enjoy the party."

  "I'm sure I will. I'm so excited to meet the wonderful people of Montserrat," Emmeline said. "Such a beautiful house, you have. Thank you for the extended invitation." Mrs. Moorhouse nodded, accepting the compliment before smiling and walked away to greet the next guests coming in behind them.

  Mrs. Thornton kept on walking into the large, busy room. It was a bustle of activity with musicians playing a lyrical tune. A group of women roughly the same age as Mrs. Thornton waved to her. "Why don't you go find some diversion," Mrs. Thornton suggested. "There are young people here you can converse with."

  Emmeline felt her discomfort rise. Talking to strangers wasn't exactly something she was comfortable with. It took her some time to feel comfortable in new situations, and she didn't know exactly what to do with herself. For starters, she made her way to the table laden with food and a large punch bowl at the very end. It was the biggest bowl she'd ever come across, made of cut crystal. Little glasses accompanied it and she took one of them as a servant ladled a portion a punch for her.

  Again, Emmeline didn't know what to do with herself, so she slowly wandered, smiling to anyone who noticed her. No one spoke to her, as such, but she did receive some curious glances. Before long, she withdrew to the edge of the party, where she could observe and not attract attention. It seemed a pleasant night for many people, who chatted animatedly.

  Finishing her punch, she gave the glass back to a servant and decided she should probably see what other parts of the house were being utilized for this party. Wandering through a doorway she had seen others use, she found a room where people were dancing, then another where men were playing cards. In between those rooms were a row of chairs and she sat down. It was a good vantage point and she could observe the people dancing.

  Through her education, she knew the most fundamental dancing steps, but the dance she saw here was different from anything she'd been taught. Fashions did apparently come and go with dancing. No doubt, whatever she'd been taught was at least a decade old, if not more. But then the steps weren’t particularly hard and it didn't take her long to garner some understanding.

  Men were playing cards, and drinking in the next room. They all looked like they were having a stupendous time. Perhaps as time wore on, she would get to know some of these people better. Then again, she didn't know how often they would attend soirees like this.

  "Glad you can join us, Cresswell," a man said, seemingly looking in her direction. Emmeline turned her attention to the man who was approaching the doorway where she was sitting. His gaze rested on her for a moment, but his face was expressionless. A statuesque figure, with dark curling hair and a handsome face. So, this was the notorious Lord Cresswell, the man that Mrs. Thornton despised so much.

  Without a word, he walked past her and sat down at the card table. Emmeline could now see his profile. He had fine features and a strong jaw. He was perhaps thirty, and as opposed to some of the other men around th
e table, his form was better than his supposed overindulgent lifestyle suggested. His frame was muscular, his shoulders strong.

  Emmeline watched him for a while. He played with what seemed an experienced hand and drank with the other men around him. For a moment, her expression drew his attention and she quickly looked away.

  "Are you not dancing today?" a voice said, drawing Emmeline's attention away.

  "Oh, not tonight." She smiled at the young man who had taken the seat next to her. "I have recently arrived and haven’t quite acclimatized to the weather." The young man had blonde hair, almost golden in color and generous lips.

  "It does take some time to get used to the heat," he said. "It takes close to a year, I understand. Most can barely move for getting drenched in their own sweat when they first arrive, so I don't blame you for being careful. Have you come straight from England?"

  "No, I've come from Boston."

  "The journey would not have been quite an onerous one for you, then."

  "I admit, it was a pleasant journey."

  "Then you are lucky indeed. Many spend the entire voyage sick as dogs. You must have an iron constitution."

  Emmeline smiled at the man. He had pleasant features and looked a bit bored. "Sometimes it's nice to sit at a party like this and simply watch people. I'm afraid I don't know anyone here, other than Mrs. Thornton."

  "Oh, you know Mrs. Thornton?"

  "I'm her companion. Miss Emmeline Durrant."

  "Mr. Chiswick," he said, twisting himself so he could take her hand and kiss it. "One of the residents on this fine island. Not with any of the plantations, though, more a go-between. I export sugar."

  "Oh, I see. You must be a busy man. Have you been here long?"

  "Since I was young. It feels more like home than England ever does. I love this island. Not all here do. This place attracts all sorts, some stay, some don’t. Which type are you? Have you come to seek your fortune?”