The rat lay twitching, dying. “Bloody hell!” Henry gasped. Eyes wide, Quinton glanced back at her, she never looked his way, tucking her face back down between her knees, where she hugged her body in a ball to resume her shaking from the cold.
"By all that's holy! The wench is killin' the rats!" The slave keeper exclaimed in shock, crossing himself as if she had to be possessed to not fear them – to instead kill them.
Ignoring both men and acting without thought, Quinton sat the lantern forward on the floor to keep his eyes on her, he unsnapped his cape coat at his neck, removing it with a hasty swish from around his shoulders and moved in close to the shivering wench, bending low as he went, dropping the heavy cape around her; she smelled horrible, but who wouldn't under such conditions.
"What are you doing?" Henry asked.
"What do you think?! She should not be in such abysmal confinement!" Quinton returned, "You offer me a gift riddled with filth, soaked in shite - freezing to death! Instead of help - you give me more to see to!”
“Let this be the last gift you offer in exchange for a deed in value of your mother!"
"The value of the fancy is sound! I did not give such orders - to keep her in such a state!" Henry argued his case, turning to the slave keeper, "Who placed her here?!" he demanded.
"I did sa', it was hide her, or see her raped by the crew, filled with ale they were, wishin' a bit of skirt." The man babbled nervously, "Three or more were seekin' the wench for - well - sa'... you know." He gulped.
"Let me by!" Quinton snarled, holding his gift high against his body. He had wrapped her as securely as he could in his cape. She now lay curled within, cradled against his chest, shaking, her teeth chattering, eyes closed with no fight against him - her fate now in his hands. Both men moved aside as he carefully took to the steps, up and onward towards the exit, the other two men following behind. "How can you have slaves here?" Quinton asked, holding her close, he could only see the top of her braided head of hair, with her face tucked and hidden while shivering, "I do not condone such inhumane practices."
Not about to answer that charge, the trader stated instead, "Your actions toward the wench falls to you. Set her free for all I care - she is no longer a concern of mine - I would give her under better conditions - how we found her was not my doing. Place her feet upon the cobbled way with a push and be done with her, I have washed my hands." Henry was a bit put off, embarrassed by the way she was found, and being reviled by the doctor, set his face aflame, he turned to the man behind him - "See to that room! I want all trace of rats removed! Immediately! It will be clean enough for repast!" He barked.
It was clear to Quinton the slave trader had, nor, shown any fear for a deed that should not be happening where he'd chosen to live - which proved, that nothing had been established or set firm as of yet concerning slavery and the treatment of those still bound by it.
Obviously, if one could obtain a slave, there was no strict law set yet to bring them before a judge or court. With his jaw set, and his nostrils filling once more with stench, Quinton marched onward with his burden.
As for the man onboard commissioned to watch over her, he stood whimpering in misery - his plans for how he would spend his evening, dashed.
Careful of each step and mindful of the cold slippery deck, Quinton made his way down the plank and walked past the carriage.
"Wait!” Henry shouted to him, “…surely you don't intend to walk all the way with her?"
"My intent is to keep her downwind and the wind at my back. Thank you and good evening!" Quinton called out, each step quick and precise, a couple of times he had to heft her upward against him, she was heavier than she looked, solid in her build while small in stature.
He was strong and had endured much, so to walk with her in his arms was something he had little choice but do, she was too weak to walk after all. Making his way along the docks, heading towards town, he was content with the breeze coming up from behind him, which kept him in clean fresh air, there was no way he would have been able to sit in the carriage with her on his lap in such a tight space - her odor would have filled it in no time. Moving along at a steady and direct clip, he nodded to those in town who turned to look at him and at the bundle held before him. He gave no concern to anyone but to the one in his arms.
"Speak to me, can you talk?" He asked, trying to ascertain how bad a condition she was in. "Are you able to understand what I am saying?" There was no answer, just more shaking and teeth chattering. "Bloody-hell! I haven't a clue of what to do with you, however, it was certain you could not be left in such a state!"
He smiled, "I must admit, I have never seen such an act, slinging rats! In truth, I would confess this to no one, nor shall you repeat it…” He informed her, despite her silence, still grinning at the thought, “… they frighten me, rats!" He shivered, "... while you showed no fear, it was not the place for you, and, well – here we are. No, it would not have gone well for me walking away; I am a man after all, but you, ah - you are something else altogether, tossing rats - and I might add, not a shriek from you, no - not the slightest." This time a chuckle shook his body, the more he revisited the act, the funnier it became, so that he laughed out loud, having seen the shock on Henry and the slave keeper's faces, how wide their eyes had been. He carried his gift for three more blocks away from the docks - down a bit of a road and another block, and then finally up to his door. "Due to your silence, I can't know if you understand me; but if either of us is to get any relief, I have no choice but put you on your feet to gain entry to my home. Do try to keep alert." He went on, leaning her to the corner of the door, lowering her feet and pressing her backward.
"Here now, stand - stand..." He brought his hand away slowly, palm flat to her while holding his breath, praying she was able to remain on her feet. Palm in air, midway between them – he watched her head slowly, suddenly shift upward to reveal her forehead, clearing the opening of his cape and next - a noble full brow and almond shaped cognac colored eyes, looking feverishly at him; the whites a bit of pink, her focus hazy, and up more, as if the head of a turtle was coming out of its shell, her features cleared his cape to show a long narrow nose and then chapped full, dry lips.
His next breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.
"I will...stand." She barely gasped out in her whispered delirium.
Quinton blinked, his hand - palm towards her was still up in the air between them, seemingly frozen there before he pulled it away, his fingers curling inward.
"Yes, well - I will hurry." He stammered, with his ears ringing - he quickly unlocked his door, pushing it open and turning with the intent of taking her up once more, when she stopped him.
"No..." Her voice broke, teeth chattering, fighting the chills that racked her body, "... I - will - walk." She gasped between wheezy gulps of air.
He couldn't speak.
She took one step in, two, three more and suddenly, she was a heap on the floor.
Once more, Quinton had to blink himself awake - he was in possession of a slave girl - albeit a sick, stinky one - but one just the same.
Chapter II
Shivering, trying to draw a breath, shaking her head, water trickling down her face, going into her nose and mouth, she woke struggling to breathe - her body slightly folded upright inside of an old wooden slipper bath, the water was icy cold as it was being poured on the top of her head, over and over rinsing her down. She grabbed for the wrist of the hand that held her up by the back of her neck; she gripped it tightly with both hands, trying to push him away, but that hand had a firm hold of her.
“No!” She cried out, shaking her head.
"Yes, hold still - finally, you're awake. By all means, hang on – wait, one more.” He sighed, glad that she was finally coming to, “Ah, now, finally I have your full attention -ach- calm yourself. All has been fine until this moment, I assure you, I did very well, all on my own – now, this struggle from you only makes the lot of it tiresome. And I am tir
ed I'll have you know, but little else could be done. As a gentleman, you have my word, I've not been improper..." Their eyes met, hers startled, unsure and fearful. It took her a moment, staring at him, and then she realized what was happening as she blew the water from her mouth. She was with the man who had claimed her, the one who had taken her from the ship; her eyes were wide - seeking some type of reassurance that with him - she would be safe.
Quinton could read all of those fears in her stunning eyes; as he'd seen to her, stripping from her what little garb there had been, he could see why she had been so valuable, such a fancy.
Simply put, she was of perfect form from head to feet - her skin, her features, and the coarse wavy texture of her curly, brown hair. Yes, he imagined that she did indeed, define a fancy. To help relax her, he went on speaking to her, clearing his throat to break the lock their eyes held, he remembered what he’d been saying, "...truth of the matter, you're not well and you - no offense - smelled as if you'd been rolled in manure, or, something worse."
He smiled at her to soften his words of truth while she might be of a sensitive nature, "... yes... calm down, see what you've done, a mere moment of wrestling with me has spent all of your energy, you're limp as a kitten again, and I'm right back where I started. No matter, this time - you can hear me and you understand, I know you do. You spoke to me earlier, before you fainted - which is reassuring to know that you're not addle-brained - you made perfectly good sense." He took a breather; his mind racing; the bathing part was done, she was clean, the odor of earlier gone, "Hmmm, now, to our predicament. I haven't a scrap, rag or cloth in which to dress you. I can cover you, but - you are without clothing. If that were not enough, I still haven't a clue of what to do with you. Regardless of how I came to be in possession of you, I can't very well keep you, now can I? I mean you're a human after all - a young girl I imagine; not a dog one brings in off the street and claims ownership, although many would have loved to do such a thing were you the find. I, cannot - it would not be right for me to keep you." He paused, setting the bowl down that he’d used to rinse her; now that she was awake, he could let her go and thus, leaning with his bare arms on the edge of the tub, his sleeves rolled back, he stared at her.
She was cold and her teeth chattered, but she needed the cold bath to help with the fever she had.
"I suppose you're ready to come out now? Yes? No?"
She nodded.
"I have a fire going in the other room, it will warm you." He announced as he stood, taking first the towel to her and then a sheet. "For the time being, this is all I have to cover you, it will suffice for now I suppose. Stand, I can dry you, or you may do so yourself, however you must first promise not to faint, if you feel you may, I will help you, dry you myself, which shall it be?"
She stood, sleek, shivering, covering her small breasts, bent as if she could hide her hairy mound by doing so. "Never mind such modesty, I am a physician, I've seen you - bathed you from the head down, everywhere in fact, needed to be certain you weren't hiding any parasites... it's something I've never done - but we shall all experience most, once, I would think." He aided her from the bath, to stand before him while he took it upon himself to dry her off, starting at the top of her head, "You will need to comb your hair at some point; however, for now, we shall leave it braided until a better time...” - he continued on, drying down her body, trying to keep his mind on the chore and not the glorious form of stunning femininity, or the way it made his heart race at such close administrations.
"That's better, now let's wrap this sheet around you - that's a good girl, not such a bad job if I must say so myself; this way." He led her through the hall, past two doors and into his favorite room. A fire was going strong, the heat of it made her sigh out loud; her pleasure could not be missed with the closing of her eyes. He took her to a seat that he often occupied. "Sit there, I will bring you a bowl of broth, bit of bread; you are fortunate - as my life has taken me on adventures where learning to cook was necessary or else find famine at my door."
He disappeared for his gift to peek out from under the sheet to take in her surroundings. From the room she'd been bathed in and departed, down the hall to this room, most had been bare - to cross the threshold where she now sat in a room fully cluttered and surrounded by books.
Masculine, chunky furniture filled the room, a sofa, a large table; it too, loaded down with books, a cabinet of glass paneled doors and behind them, glass and ceramic vials of various sizes and colors. There were ledgers, a writing table and other objects she could not identify. Sitting forward she moved from the comfortable chair she knew was his, to the foot stool and there she sat instead.
"Ah, this will help, get this down your neck; and I shall have a go in the other room for a bath." He was saying on the way back in, to find her sitting low to the floor on his foot stool, close to the fire. "What are you doing there?" He stopped to ask.
She remained silent, shy, unwell and unsure of where her life would be taking her. Exhaling, Quinton moved forward kneeling before her, instructing, "Hands out, this will warm you." He coaxed staring into her eyes, "Here, take it, I made it for you."
"What - you gone - do wit’ me?" She asked softly, as if speaking with too much volume would get her thrown into the streets.
"For now, feed you, I pray, make you better and tomorrow, we shall see." He moved the soup closer to encourage her into taking the bowl.
Transferring it from his hands, to hers, their fingers brushed, they both became aware of their proximity and the fact that he was a lone man, with a naked woman, who – for all intents and purposes, was his, to do with what he wanted. She took it gently, lowering her eyes, praying that he intended to keep her, he seemed gentle; he also liked to talk, even to her.
That was new, unfamiliar - her original white master had never spoken to her and her mother other than to tell them what to do. She was the last of her mother's daughters, there had been six in all - sent off to masters of their own, or sold away to someone who dealt in fancies. Bred especially to accompany her new owner and warm his bed, taking her to do whatever he saw fit.
Her original purchase had been so she could be auctioned off for a higher price - she had been the best - saved for last from the other eight she'd been collected with. Now it would seem, she might not be auctioned, if this man chose to keep her. "I - I would stay – wit’ – wit’ you masta', not be send away. I'm strong, won't be no burden - promise I won't masta'." Again her voice was soft, timid.
"I am not your master - this state is a free one, you are forced to remain with no one. I especially see no reason to own you - perhaps I will find a better place for you."
She glanced up, panic in her eyes, "Please - ain' no better place - I beg you - put me to any task, I see it through - but don't send me off." She pleaded, she'd heard him, the things he had said to the fancy breeder, to the slave keeper. She remembered the shock of being lifted in his arms, how he’d cradled her close as if he cared for her being. It didn’t seem to her reasoning, that someone capable of beating you, harming you, would care for you the way he did, rebuking others for the way he’d found her. He was different. It was stuck in her mind how he spoke to her every step of the way, bringing her to his home. No grumbles, no threats, no lecherous behavior or leering, no cruelty – nothing of the sort. There was something about him, different from the others. Besides, he was not old; he was in fact pleasing to the eyes, his looks not so offensive she would have to force herself to perform whatever acts he would come to demand.
She knew that her placement could be far worse, and she also knew what it meant to be who and what she was; she knew that she could end up in the hands of someone who had not a care for whatever suffering or pain he might inflict upon her. This man had cared, carried, bathed her, and talked to her as if she were a flesh and blood human with feelings – he showed concern, as if it mattered how he treated her, how she was treated, how she felt.
Thus began her silent prayer, that she be g
ranted the privilege of remaining in his possession.
Quinton backed away from her and stood his height of 6ft. Leaving her for a moment, he returned with a plate of bread, "Eat as I've said, here - bread, fill your belly. Once I've cleaned we can-..."
"No masta please - I'ah clean - not you!" She cried as if in a panic, standing, she had tears in her eyes, "Res', I'ah see to it." She was swaying, and fighting to stay on her feet – she hadn’t eaten in days.
"Don't panic - my God, what have you gone through? What is it that you fear?" He couldn't help it, he found his hand once more there with his fingers caressing her skin, her looks commanded an audience, even if an audience of one, himself, "... I can only imagine." He went on, "... I ask you, do not - whatever things have transpired to bring you here, do not fear me. I would do you no harm - no never. Do as I say - you are barely standing, let alone with strength enough to clean the mess I've made."
"For me though masta', that mess mine." She tried again.
He pushed her back to the stool, "You are not my slave - sit - eat."
"I got - to be somebody slave - rather be yours." She murmured softly, with her head swimming and ears buzzing, with white lights flashing before her eyes, she quieted. He was saying nothing more, simply gazing at her silently, until finally, he turned from her and left the room.
The Fancy Page 2