Ohenewaa remembered the name Wentworth very well. She remembered clearly the people’s celebration when news of Squire Wentworth’s death reached the sugar plantations in Jamaica. But that was before Jasper Hyde’s iron fist had closed around their throats.
At the sound of a knock on the door, she ceased her chanting. The door slowly opened, and a young woman’s face appeared, peering in with uncertainty. “May I come in?”
The blue eyes were large and curious, taking in the articles on the hearth. They turned soft and the lips thinned when she looked at the ragged shift and the blanket covering Ohenewaa. Neither bit of cloth did much to hide the ugly bruises around her collar or her wrists.
“I’m Violet,” the young woman said softly, opening the door a little. Ohenewaa could see the woman was holding a tray in her arms, but she did not enter immediately. “I’m Lady Wentworth’s personal maid. She sent me here to see to your needs until we are ready to leave for Melbury Hall tomorrow morning. May I come in?”
Ohenewaa studied the young woman’s pretty dress, no doubt a hand-me-down from her lady’s wardrobe. The old woman nodded slowly, but did not rise.
“They told me there was some water and bread left here, but I brought you some hot food. My lady said that—good as he is—we shouldn’t put too much faith in an old bachelor like Sir Oliver.” She placed the tray she was carrying on the table beside the narrow bed and glanced around. A pitcher of water and a washbasin were on a small chest by the foot of the bed.
“I am sorry not to have thought of bringing you a dress to change into. But I’ll leave you my cloak, and we’ll be at Melbury Hall by tomorrow afternoon. Once we get there, Lady Wentworth—and Mrs. Page and Amina, of course—will see to it that you have everything you need.”
The girl rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Would you mind if I added some more wood to the fire? ’Tis really quite cold in here.”
Ohenewaa was surprised that the servant asked. The girl was waiting for permission from an old slave.
“Do as you please.”
Rubbing the chafed skin on her wrists, Ohenewaa pushed herself to her feet and went to sit on the edge of the bed. The young woman walked cautiously—perhaps even respectfully, she thought—around the items on the hearth before kneeling down and stacking more wood in the fireplace.
“You were praying,” Violet said. Soft golden curls framed the woman’s pale face when she glanced over her shoulder at Ohenewaa. “I admire that.”
“As a Christian, that does not bother you?”
“No! I admire it. This is an altar, is it not? I know you see the altar as the threshold of heaven, as the ‘face of God’…more or less.”
“How is it that you know as much?”
“I have many African friends at Melbury Hall, and I have the opportunity of spending many hours with them, especially with the women. For some of them, their beliefs are much stronger than mine, even if they aren’t…well, strictly Christian.”
“Is that so?”
“I realized, for one thing, that they believe they are never alone, despite being taken away from their kin, as they were. They believe the spirits of their ancestors are always with them.”
“You do not like to be alone.”
“No. To be honest, I do not.” Violet shook her head and stood up. “And I’m glad you’re coming back with us. I’ll be back in a moment. I need to find a tinderbox.”
Ohenewaa watched the servant leave the room, and she stared at the open door. For the first time in her sixty years of living, she was free.
That knowledge alone, though, brought little joy. She knew how hard a place the world was. She knew what misery it could inflict. She might be free, as the lawyer said, but she had no place to go. No money to buy her bread. No job to earn money. She continued to be a slave in their society.
The one thing they had not asked her about was if she was willing to go with these people to the country. They assumed she would be grateful for the chance. Perhaps she should be. Ohenewaa went to the basin and washed her face and hands. She was finally a free woman, but the world remained the same.
As Violet came in again and bent to the task of lighting the fire, Ohenewaa considered Lady Wentworth’s gesture. The woman had sent her own servant to see to the needs of a slave.
Perhaps going to Melbury Hall would be a new beginning. Or perhaps not. For a slave, nothing but death was a certainty.
CHAPTER 4
“I know this news is quite sudden, so please apologize to our people for the additional burden I am putting on them with all that must be done. But Lord Aytoun could be arriving at any time, and I truly need everyone’s assistance in readying ourselves.”
Millicent stood by the fire in the library, warming herself as she addressed the steward and the housekeeper. The journey up from London had been damp and cold. With her maidservant, Violet, and the old black woman riding in the carriage, Millicent and a groom had ridden behind, and a bitter winter wind had cut into her the entire way. But the physical discomfort of the trip had been nothing compared to the upheaval in her mind. Making a simple country house like Melbury Hall presentable enough to receive an earl was a challenge that Millicent had no confidence in facing. During her brief time in the dowager’s company, she had heard a great deal about Baronsford, the Aytoun castle. She’d even seen a painting of it on one of the walls. And, having seen the magnificence of his town house in London, she could only imagine how grand her new husband’s home was in the Borders of Scotland. Millicent’s mind now reeled from her feelings of inadequacy.
“But really, m’lady!” The steward’s protest cut through her thoughts. “Doing all of this today? What you ask is absolutely impossible. ‘Tis already midafternoon. There is certainly not enough time to—”
“Mr. Draper,” Millicent interrupted, already well acquainted with the man’s querulous nature and finding herself short of patience. “We shall certainly have less time if we dally here and argue over what can or cannot be done. Now, kindly relay my instructions to the grooms in the stables regarding the necessary space for his lordship’s carriage--or carriages--and horses. Then, relay the news to Jonah with my instructions for the rest of the servants regarding the urgency of the situation. Mrs. Page and I need to see to the immediate need for living accommodations.”
The tip of the steward’s thin nose rose a few inches in the air before he turned toward the door. Millicent hoped the man was smart enough to realize that there was also an immediate need for a change in his attitude before he was introduced to Lord Aytoun. She saw Draper pause by the door.
“What about the African woman? She refuses to speak. Even her own people have not been able to convince her to take more than a step into the kitchens. Why, the woman won’t let go of that horrid rag she has wrapped about her, either. Do you wish to have her left where she has situated herself, blocking one of the kitchen doors?”
Millicent silently reproached herself for not seeing that the woman was immediately situated. Violet had mentioned that she had refused the food last night and even declined the offer of wearing a cloak over her rags.
“She is to be treated as a guest in this house, Mr. Draper, but I will go and see to her needs myself as soon as I am finished here with Mrs. Page.”
“Before you uproot and offend everyone in the household, m’lady,” the steward commented sharply, “you should know that there is no space remaining whatsoever on the third floor. With so many of the field hands who were formerly housed in the Grove now cluttering up the household staff’s quarters, there isn’t a spare place for her. Therefore, I recommend once again that you reconsider your decision not to use the Grove shacks. Any of those places would be a castle compared to where she has been.”
Along a bend in the river just beyond the glen lay the cluster of decrepit huts where Wentworth used to house many of the Africans he’d held as slaves at Melbury Hall. It was called the Grove. After his death, one of Millicent’s first projects had been to
move the people from that dark and dismal area of the manor land.
“I told you I will look after her myself, Mr. Draper. You may leave now.”
Neither woman spoke until the steward had left the drawing room.
“You can always house her in one of Mr. Draper’s rooms, m’lady. He is forever complaining that the two rooms he now occupies are unsatisfactory compared with what he was accustomed to with his previous employer.”
“Do you think he would willingly surrender his sitting room to our new guest?”
There was mischief dancing in the housekeeper’s eyes. “I think he’d quit at a mere suggestion of such a thing, m’lady.”
Millicent shook her head. “I’m afraid I cannot allow that to happen right now, Mrs. Page. Though Mr. Draper maintains the record for anyone holding the steward’s position since my husband’s…my previous husband’s death, this would not be a very good time to lose him. Finding and keeping a steward who believes in what we are attempting to do here is a daunting task, it seems.”
“The problem is not with you, m’lady, but with these ignorant men who think that because you have no husband ordering you about, they should be taking over the job.”
“Perhaps, Mary. But the real truth is that you are the one whom I really cannot do without.” She touched the woman appreciatively on the arm. Millicent’s previous worries edged again into her thoughts. “As to the rooms, how difficult would it be to prepare Squire Wentworth’s old chambers for the earl?”
“The rooms have been kept clean. I had the bedding aired while you were in London, and with some fresh sheets and bedclothes, they’ll be ready. I can go up and start right now.”
“I should have arranged for some new furnishings in there before now.”
“You haven’t been in there for some time, m’lady. But they are just fine as they are.”
“You should have a fire prepared to be lit if his lordship should arrive today,” she said resignedly. “We also need to have the small guest room across the way ready for the earl’s doctor. I am not really certain if he will be traveling with his lordship or how long he will be staying, but I want to be ready. Also, the other room by the servants’ stairs. Hopefully, that would be suitable for the earl’s manservant.”
“It should, m’lady. He’ll be able to hear his master call from there, I should think. As for the rest of them, I know that some of the field hands have put the loft in the dairy to rights for their own quarters. They could move out there anytime, now. Then, if need be, I can move two of the girls in with Vi and that will make space for…”
The housekeeper continued her planning, but Millicent’s mind was caught up with the problem she’d been facing for some time now. After moving everyone out of the Grove, she had housed as many as she could in the few empty cottages in the outlying farms, and the rest in the servants’ quarters in the house. But all of that had been temporary and very difficult during the hectic harvest days. With her limited funds, she had not even been able to think about any new buildings or renovations. But now, with her marriage, so many exciting possibilities presented themselves. Perhaps clearing more land along the river and building decent cottages for the field workers. Perhaps draining the marshy lowland and erecting a stone wall to contain the river during the spring. She paused, wondering if the Earl of Aytoun would consider staying at this crowded country manor long enough for her to start any of these projects.
“How many servants will be accompanying his lordship, m’lady?”
“Half a dozen, I should think. Perhaps more.”
“And what should I instruct the kitchen staff as far as the earl’s likes and dislikes?”
“I am not really certain. He is a Scot. What do Scots eat?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, m’lady. Where would you think he’ll be taking his meals?”
Millicent shook her head. “He is confined to a chair or a bed. We shall simply have to wait until he is here before we can make those decisions.”
“And what about the furnishings in this room? Do you believe the earl will be spending his mornings here?”
Millicent glanced about at the old but comfortable chairs of the library and realized she wasn’t sure how her new husband would be spending his days. There was a great deal she didn’t know about him. She had never really thought of Melbury Hall as being small until now. Millicent’s own bedchamber would be on the same floor as his. She would be within hearing if he should call, too. There would be no ignoring his presence.
Doubts about what she had done began to nag at her. “I am afraid he might find this place completely inadequate.”
“You’re worrying about too much right now, I think, m’lady. This is a fine home, and you’re a perfect hostess. There is no use in upsetting yourself by guessing what he might think or do. The good Lord is sure to get everything working properly.”
Mary’s consoling words made Millicent nod in resignation. The two of them started for the door.
Beneath the vaulted ceiling of the entry foyer, four servants stood by the open front door, obviously agitated. At the sight of Millicent, the doorman ran toward her. “In the courtyard, m’lady. A carriage, two wagons, and a half-dozen serving men riding behind. He’s here. His manservant said I should tell ye the Earl of Aytoun has arrived.”
“Run, Mrs. Page! Get a couple of your people to ready the rooms. Also, find Mr. Draper. I need the two of you and everyone else in the yard to greet his lordship.”
Receiving a quick nod from her before the housekeeper scurried off, Millicent rushed past the wide staircase toward the front door. Before she reached it, though, a panicked voice from behind brought her to a sudden stop. Millicent whirled toward the young maidservant hurrying toward her.
“What is it, Violet?”
“She’s dead, m’lady! Ohenewaa! She just went down where she was standing in the kitchen. I don’t think she’s breathing.”
Without hesitation, Millicent turned her steps toward the kitchen. She waved a hand at the doorman. “Tell his lordship’s people I shall greet him in a mo—”
“M’lady!” a groom shouted as he ran in a doorway leading to the gardens. “They’re killin’ each other, for sure.”
“Who is killing whom?”
“Mr. Draper and Jonah, ma’am. Something the steward said. I saw old Moses headin’ that way. Now, you know there’s no stoppin’ him if he thinks someone is hurtin’ Jonah.”
“Oh, no!” Millicent lifted the hem of her skirts and ran toward the door. “Go to the courtyard and help with the Earl of Aytoun’s entourage.”
As she went out, she prayed under her breath that the old woman was still alive and that the earl would not be offended by her tardiness in greeting him. Most of all, though, she prayed that Moses would not do anything that might cause irreparable harm to himself or to anyone else. Not again.
****
The dawn mists hung between the shadowy trees, the dew dripping from dark green leaves. The pistol, silver and pearl, looked to be but an extension of Lyon’s hand. He glanced briefly in the direction of the two men in the distance, their images blurred by the mist enshrouding them.
A somber voice called out, the sound echoing and then dying away. Lyon listened to the far-off burbling of the river, to the waking cry of a startled bird. He inhaled the damp, earthy smell of the park as if this were the last he might have the privilege to breathe.
As his foe raised his pistol, pointing the muzzle at the steel-gray sky, Lyon did the same. How many men must die, he thought. He watched the fop by the tree extend his hand. A kerchief dangled from his lily-colored fingers…and then fluttered to the ground.
Before Lyon could pull the trigger, the mist cleared around the ghostlike face of his opponent.
Pierce stood facing him. David, their youngest brother, stood as his second. And then the shot rang out.
Lyon awoke with a start, sweat drenching his face.
Only another dream, he told himself. Just another nightm
are. He struggled to shake himself free. He had been sleeping for what felt like an eternity. They had given him one of those damned drinks again before they had set out on the road this morning.
The carriage was not moving, he realized. He looked about the confined space and found that his manservant, Gibbs, was not there, either.
The curtain on the far window of the carriage had been tied back. He stared out and all he could see were walls of brick and a high iron gate. He could not rise above the confusion clouding his mind. He could not think clearly. Then, though he fought to contain it, panic began to gnaw at him.
Bedlam. They had told him they were taking him to the woman’s house in the country, but they had lied. He was at Bedlam.
Anger swept away his panic as quickly as a Highland storm sweeps away the sun. One more bloody betrayal. He tore the blanket off his lap with his good hand. He would not be a prisoner in an institution. He was not insane.
Lyon shoved himself away from the seat, away from the images of high iron gates. But even as he tried to escape, his body collapsed under him in a heap of twisted bones and flesh. Jammed painfully between the carriage seats, he stared out through a small opening between the curtains covering the opposite window. All he could see were the tall chimneys of a house.
At that moment, where they had taken him made no difference to Lyon. He was a lonely cripple, less than half a man. His real life was over, and he wanted release. If they would but give him a pistol, he would put a quick end to this accursed existence.
***
“You are dismissed, Mr. Draper.”
Millicent’s voice echoed against the garden walls that bordered the path leading down the hill toward the Grove. She’d heard the steward’s shrill voice as soon as she left the house, proclaiming both her incompetence and her corrupted nature in bringing the infamous Scottish “Lord of Scandal” under her roof as husband. Jonah had stepped forward to defend her, and now violence was clearly imminent.
“You are fired. Dismissed.” She stood short steps from the two men. The steward’s contemptuous gaze never moved from Jonah’s angry face. He didn’t appear to be listening. “Now! You are to get your things and leave Melbury Hall immediately.”
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 4