The Fancy

by Mercedes Keyes

  The Fancy

  Written by Mercedes Keyes

  Proofed & Edited by Lawrence James

  © Copyright 2010 Mercedes Keyes. All Rights Reserved

  The Origins® design is a registered trademark of ASPI.

  ® All Rights Reserved

  No Part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the authors.

  Published by Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

  Country of origin, England – United Kingdom.

  Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

  Email: mercedesk@amberswann.com

  http://amberswann.com

  Dedicated to…

  Toni Harper-Dunlap

  There are some people that you cross paths with in your life at just the right moment in time. That moment and time happened for me at Renderosity encountering one of the greatest ladies I’ll ever meet. She has become my closest friend, sister and at times, yes – even my mother – and those times she was right on target! LOL – I dedicate the Fancy to her, because like this story, she conjures up all the things that makes me smile. There are times when I don’t think I could have gotten through 2009 & 2010 without her. This one is for you babe! After it’s all done, I’m going to put on some of your records, and read the Fancy to your legendary voice! We love you…

  James & Keyes

  Author’s Note…

  Okay readers – this note will be short and sweet – I give you, my version of a period, historical romance, light, sweet and lovely – I hope you agree.

  Genre: Historical romance

  Rated: R

  Category: Fiction historically based

  Classification: Interracial - BW/WM

  The Fancy, is an original story written by Mercedes Keyes - exclusive to Amber Swann Publishing Inc. Any names, story situations, content therein if similar to any other is purely coincidental.

  Chapter I

  Weaver Port, Connecticut, 1830

  For once, he was glad that he'd chosen to walk to those needing his care instead of taking his carriage; that day, he needed to breathe, reminding himself why he'd chosen his direction in life, the stroll was to help clear his head, and now concluding his day, the much sought after surgeon, Doctor Quinton Thaddeus Caine, took a deep breath to steel himself; reaching up, he firmly applied the door knocker, giving it three precise raps against the weather worn brass plate. The day could not end soon enough for him; it had started out dreadfully, where bad dreams awoke him; now, coming to the end of it, he wished to put it behind him; all the negatives within him seemed to be reflected in the weather. Grey, dreary, misty, wet and cool - in fact, he hadn't seen the sun all week.

  Shaking his head, he blew air from his nostrils as if to clear it, there was still the odor of unwashed bodies, excrement and blood hanging in his sinuses - such putrid, vile odors; the stench from illnesses was bad enough but, was it compounded by those who seemed to have an aversion to soap and water.

  For such a strong portion of his young life, his dream had been to make a difference in the physical wellbeing of his fellow man.

  Having endured the death of his younger sister as she wasted away to nothing, the life ebbing from her - he'd prayed long into the night that God would send an angel to save her. Standing at her grave proved his prayer unanswered; so many questions plagued his mind, the one that lingered, why? Why would The Creator bring forth humans to live in such an ugly world for a relatively short time only for them to suffer for most of it and then - die? Why bring them forth to be adored by family, admired by acquaintances - only to have their bodies invaded by mysterious plagues that sometimes took them quickly or caused them to suffer day and night until finally, the grim reaper snatched them away?

  So much life, equally matched, by so much death.

  Why?

  The door opened.

  He sighed, concluding his thoughts.

  "Come in sir, all have been awaiting you."

  Quinton nodded with a wan smile, he had a mere few seconds to change his mood into that of someone looking forward to the dinner party given in his honor.

  "Your cloak, sir, your hat."

  He followed protocol handing his garments over, "Dreary day sir, the Lord, is showing his gloom."

  "Em, so it appears." Quinton responded in his proper English accent. He noted the servant was well spoken for a bondsman. Quinton wondered what crimes he'd committed back in England to be sent over and lowered to such a status, filling such a position? He reflected on the servant’s comment, finally answering from deeper thought, "Perhaps he sees the things that I see; men - their activities - are certain to bring any father gloom. Is it any wonder he has not scrapped us all to begin anew."

  "One can wonder sir..." the white, male servant murmured, as if his words sent him into thoughts of that possibility and then, "This way sir."

  Their steps took them a short way into the candle lit parlor where voices of men conversed about the laws that froze and took over those of the Cherokee nation, gleefully discussing how it wouldn't be long before they were removed from Georgia – freeing the land for more “civilized settlers.”

  His welcomed presence interrupted their topic, for which he was glad, with the host relieved that he'd finally arrived.

  Smiling enthusiastically the slave trader and auctioneer, Henry J. Bancmen greeted him, "Ahhh, he's here, the good Dr. Quinton Caine, come in, come in." - Shaking Quinton's hand and patting him on the back, he turned him towards his guests, "I'm sure you've met most here."

  "Yes, I have," Quinton nodded, shaking one man's hand and moving on to another; the banker, Lawrence Carter, whose wife Janet sat in the corner sipping tea with the other wives - a couple of daughters were present as well, smiling at him coquettishly, one or two hoping to gain his attention, perhaps, his admiration. There was also the town merchant, James Armfield and his wife Paulette, and last the livery owner, Richard McKinney and his wife, Grace with their daughter. Quinton was the youngest of all the men present, in his early thirties - the perfect age for a man to marry - the others were in their forties to sixties. Coming from a prestigious family back in England, he'd deserted all that that represented to travel and increase his means of healing, moving extensively from one continent to another, Africa, the Orients, the jungles of Southern continents - learning much as a physician until he settled on the new lands of America. Having arrived on the shores of the South, Quinton had been immediately put off the idea of settling in such a barbaric place - where men of his ilk wallowed in the sinful pleasures of peddling human flesh, giving way to their heinous perversions, forcing upon

  fellow humans their twisted fetishes - simply because there were no laws established to say, that, they could not.

  Thus, as if there was no God they must answer to, they purged themselves upon those with extra pigmentation and coarse hair - declaring them less than human and therefore exploitable as they saw fit. Not long after witnessing a slave auction, where the men as well the women were stripped bare for all to gawk at and to be bid upon - did he conclude such a place was not for him. In the end, he’d settled in much further North, a place called, Connecticut. The deciding factor to settle there happened just as quickly as the decision not to settle in the South. He’d visited the local universities and to his pleasure, saw two Negro men walking along freely, smartly dressed. Later he discovered that they were attending the universities among other Negroes and Indians from various tribes. He then knew, he was where he hoped to remain. Moving further into Connecticut, he’d accepted a place among the people in a small town called Weaver Port which had no physician so the town’s folk we
re overjoyed to receive him.

  Quinton had barely settled into the townhouse provided for him before his skill was urgently called upon. One sort of plague after another, some simple, some not so simple and already, three had died before he could attempt to save them, one, a small child. That all happened within the first week of his arrival, he realized that his choice of residence would command a great deal of his time. A month in, he found himself in attendance to the mother of Henry J. Bancmen - who at the time, had been in the South, bartering, trading, auctioning slaves. While Quinton fully disapproved, he was not God, nor Christ, and for that matter, neither the law nor a judge, his services were to aid in the healing of the flesh, not the morality nor the spirit.

  Amidst the need to attend others, he was summoned urgently by Francis Bancmen, he was needed for her mother-in-law; and remained by the side of Beatrice Bancmen which had been crucial to her survival.

  Thus... the dinner party.

  Quinton was tired, what he most wanted was time alone to rest. Yet, he smiled, answered questions asked of him, such as the one asked by Clarice, the daughter of Richard McKinney, “So, if I may ask, from which hamlet of England have you travelled?” He smiled, politely, trying to enjoy his meal, “My family owns coal mines and ironworks there, and they have holdings bordering those of Sir Fitzallan not far from the area of Riverham, in the village – Stowles.” He informed her with a nod and smile, however, he turned his attention away from her immediately after answering, wishing to give no hope of anything more. He also avoided getting in too deeply with political topics that might bring about hostilities, after all - he was new to the town. He could already see who ran things, his host; he supposed it was a good thing that he'd saved Bancmen’s mother's life; his success put him in an honorable state before Henry Bancmen. Quinton considered that he could almost like the man, almost, that is, if it weren't for his ideas and feelings on the matters of slavery, peddling human beings for financial gain and power. Quinton kept his views light – polite and neutral. He struggled through dinner, especially with Clarice eyeing him throughout, – he simply wasn't looking for a wife at that time considering what he did with his time, there was little room to woo and court - then make a place in his lifestyle for a woman who may end up needing too much of his attention.

  After dinner, the men retired to the smoking room, where discussions of things indecent were kept from the delicate ears of women. Puffing pipes and cigars, sipping scotch and old brandy helped to bring Quinton closer to the end of his endurance.

  Finally, Henry decided to call the evening to a close, realizing how the doctor was struggling to stay alert, he encouraged him to stay behind after seeing his guests to the door. Bancmen, not wishing to drag things out any further, informed his wife that he and Quinton were setting out. Retrieving their cloaks, he went on to share the extent of his gratitude, "My mother's life is obviously of great value to me..." he began, as they made their exit from his home. Due to the weather, they wore their full wraps, hats, scarves and gloves. They went to the waiting carriage and climbed in. Bancmen called to his driver, "To the docks, my ship, the Hawkers Bay." He turned back to Quinton, continuing. "...now, as I was saying, what you've done, cannot be properly compensated for, however, I shall do my best to repay you. You are young yet, with much to see. 'Tis not an easy matter to settle when one is off to the welfare of others. I trust that every man has his moments when his needs must be attended, yours I am certain can be no less."

  Quinton was fighting to focus on his words, "I beg your forgiveness - my needs are simple, for now - a welcoming bed, quiet, a few hours undisturbed - that sir, I assure you would fit the bill."

  "Ah, I would not doubt it. However, something extra will see you off even better, I've no doubt, you will be pleased. This gift, will serve you in many ways - you deserve it - and you shall have her. Come, we've arrived, follow me."

  Quinton was now instantly alert as the coach pulled to a halt with both men alighting from it. Quinton was unsure of what had just transpired. Did he say, her? He couldn't be sure of what was happening as they crossed the docks on route to board his ship. Quinton followed close on Henry’s heels, his mind unsure - trying to sort through it.

  "Evenin' sa' - i'ta'be a chilly night sa' - was hopin' you'd be back soon, like t'get a brew down'me I would, 'fore th'hour stops me, sa'." One of the crewmen forced to stay on board, went on, eagerly wringing his hands at the thought of finally being let off for the night; he grabbed the lantern rushing before them with it held high.

  "At our conclusion you may carry on." Henry returned.

  The man nodded, he was nervous, having much to explain, "T’was a bit of trouble sa'..." Quinton heard the man rambling on, inasmuch as Quinton would have liked to halt his host, there was a certain curiosity within him to see where was leading; instead of questioning the matter on such a dreadful night, he lacked the ability to explain even to himself why he followed without complaint. Foremost, that moment, was to watch his steps upon the docks, wet as they were, a slip could land him in the frigid waters lapping against the ship's hull beneath the gang plank; winds blew in and about them, chilling the night further, hastening their steps onto the ship and then below.

  "What trouble?" Henry asked, also treading carefully.

  "... the crewmen, some returned filled with mead - ale - seekin' the fancy..."

  "What are you saying?!" Henry paused to demand.

  "All is well - she - she is safe," the slave keeper assured his boss, wishing to digress, he carried on saying, "tis a night not fit fo'man'o'beast, I say - mead, a fire, bit o'stew's me plan." He chattered away, to fill the silence as both men followed him down one deck, then another, heading for the bowels of the ship.

  "Aye, sounds a night well spent." Henry commented, although leery of where they were being led.

  Quinton remained silent, noticing a shift in the smells assailing him - smells that made him pause, asking, "Our destination will find me where, exactly?"

  "Come along, you shall see - not much farther." Henry continued, a chuckle in his tone, "...cover your nose if you must." Henry was slightly nervous, unsure of how things were since his leaving, but trusted all was well. Quinton sighed and resumed his onward progress as finally they stopped before a bolted door, which was quickly opened and swung wide for them to enter onto steps leading into a dark room, "Why are we here? Why is there no light?" Henry snapped his displeasure clear. "Was sir, blew out I'm thinkin'."

  "Blew out?! This is not where I left her! Have you not checked on her? What is going on?"

  The man shrugged and stammered trying to find his words, he was tired after all, he’d been guarding her for over a day; he turned to the dark, held the lantern high; the odor almost made Quinton turn to flee; he did not because he realized they were speaking of a possible person, and yet, he still could not be certain of what he was about to encounter. The cavern stank of rottenness and excrement.

  "Here wench! Show yer'self!" The man shouted into the darkness. When nothing happened Henry snapped at him, "She had better be as I left her, you fool! I'll have answers for this! Find the other lantern!" He ordered.

  Right away the man went down the steps, holding his lantern high to find the other when his foot stepped on something soft, yet firm, whatever it was – it squished and mashed beneath his feet, making the most awful sound, gasping, he stepped away, lowering the light to see a slew of dead rats.

  "My God!" Quinton gasped out loud. Neither man could believe his eyes; quickly the man found the other lantern and lit it to shed more light within, only to see a quarter of circle spread of dead rats; various ones with blood stains about their heads.

  There were blood stains dotted along the wall - splats and blotches of it from them as if they'd been thrown against it with great force, the impact causing them to fall where they lay, dead or dying, some still twitching, a few had been stepped upon by the man holding the lantern.

  "My God - what is this place?!" Quinton asked, a
ppalled at what he saw, "So many rats, who killed them? Leaving them here to die, rot and stink!?" He protested, growing angry with what he saw, "Have you any idea of what sickness can come from this?!"

  Henry could not believe what he saw either, he looked up from the rats to the man, asking with brisk anger, "Where is she?!"

  "I sweah t'ya - she was here!"

  "Wench!? Speak up now I say! Say something?!" Henry called out.

  "Surely there is no human here, in such a place as this? Who? What wench?" Quinton asked, stunned.

  "She is only a slave, but a fancy of great costs! This is not how she was to be kept!"

  "A slave? You are carting about slaves, under such conditions; to a state where such a thing has been outlawed?”

  "Not any slave, your - slave. The wench is for you, your gift." Henry pointed out, ignoring his charge surrounding the freedom declaration in that state.

  Quinton's mind spun with this revelation as he charged accusingly "This is how you give gifts?! Wrapped in feces, soiled with vermin, smelling of death, no doubt crawling with pestilence?! Give me that!" He spoke harshly again, snatching one of the lanterns from the slave keeper.

  Stepping down into the stew of filth, he boldly moved forward, bracing himself for what he might find, his shoes sticking to the surface of the floor, stepping into unmentionable goo, thick sludge and filth.

  "This is horrendous - I seriously doubt we shall find a soul alive beyond the light, there can be no way -...." he was silenced by what he saw. First they noted a shaking and then, shiny, oily like, dark skin, much of it – belonging to the poor soul tucked away, as if hiding, with little clothing to cover or protect her from the cold, let alone the filth in which she squatted. Then there was movement, a rat - it's front feet touching her hip to crawl up when suddenly, to Quinton’s astonishment - quick as a blink of an eye, her hand was there, grabbing the creature by its tail, causing it to squeak in fear as she reared back and - pitched it from her with such a force so it hit the wall with a sickening thud - it too leaving it's mark where they'd only just looked and commented upon the others.