Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy)

by McGoldrick, May

  “This business has nothing to do with you, m’lady,” he said, still glaring at Jonah. “This is between me and this insolent slave.”

  “There are no slaves at Melbury Hall, Mr. Draper. You are the insolent one here. I heard what you said just now. Jonah, as my servant, has every right to defend me against the disrespectful things you said about me.”

  Millicent glanced at old Moses and thanked the Lord that he had remained a bystander thus far. Beneath his hair of mottled gray, the man’s face showed the scars of innumerable beatings by slavers and by owners like Wentworth. Millicent knew, though, that despite his size and the fierce look born of his mutilated features, Moses was one of the gentlest souls alive…so long as no one tried to hurt Jonah. She turned back to Draper.

  “Now I tell you again, return to the house and pack your belongings this instant.”

  “Not until I am finished with him.” The steward took a step toward Jonah.

  Millicent quickly put herself in the path of Moses as the large black man moved toward the steward. She placed a hand on his arm and shook her head at him.

  She shot a look toward the house, hoping that some of the servants would be coming. She feared that Jonah would not defend himself. After so many years of being beaten and abused as a slave, he could not be expected to assert his rights as a free man. Bright and competent as he was, Jonah was still struggling with his new job as bailiff. The freedman was extremely capable, but lacked confidence.

  Someone was indeed coming down the path, though it took Millicent a moment to realize it was Gibbs, the earl’s personal servant, whom she had met for the briefest of moments yesterday after the marriage service in London.

  “The mistress told you to pack your bag, Mr. Draper,” Jonah ordered.

  “I’ll teach you to open your ugly mouth to your betters.”

  Millicent turned in time to see Jonah being pushed backward off the path.

  “Stop. This instant,” she screamed at the steward as her hands clung desperately to Moses’s arm to keep him from advancing. If Draper struck Jonah, Moses would kill the man. Of that Millicent was certain. She didn’t know if she could hold him much longer. “I ordered you to leave these premises.”

  As the steward lifted his fist, Millicent was shocked to see Gibbs stride past her, grab the back of the attacker’s coat, and throw him to the ground with no more effort than one might expend plucking a bad apple off a tree.

  “Ye have a wee bit of trouble following the mistress’s directions, sir?” He put his silver-buckled shoe on the back of Draper’s neck and shoved the man’s face hard against the frozen ground.

  The earl’s manservant was a tall, barrel-chested Scotsman with thick black hair tied at the collar. In addition to his menacing dark eyes and bushy eyebrows, it was impossible not to notice the size of Gibbs’s huge fists. This was not a man to be trifled with, she realized. Obviously Draper thought so too. It was stunning to see the fight knocked out of the steward so quickly.

  “I heard her ladyship tell ye to leave, ye bloated cur.”

  “I was about to. I am, sir. As soon as you release me.”

  Still not lessening the pressure of his boot, Gibbs nodded politely to Millicent. “If your ladyship would like to go in out of this cold, these men here can help me dispose of this ill-mannered dog on the road to St. Albans.”

  “I believe Jonah and Moses would be happy to assist you, Mr. Gibbs.” She turned her attention to the man on the ground. “Your things will be sent to the Black Swan Inn at Knebworth Village.”

  The look on Draper’s face, beneath the shoe of the Scotsman, was not that of a happy man.

  Millicent glanced up toward the house. “Has his lordship been brought in, Mr. Gibbs?”

  “Nay, m’lady. Lord Aytoun was sleeping, so I left him in the carriage. I thought ye might prefer to greet him yourself before we moved him.”

  “Of course,” she whispered, knowing the importance of such protocol. But Vi’s earlier news about the collapse of Ohenewaa in the kitchen preyed on her mind. Gibbs must have noticed her gaze in the direction of the house.

  “If ye please, m’lady. As I came through the servants’ hall, your wee housekeeper asked me to relay a word to ye about the African woman in the kitchen. The woman is fine and has come about.”

  “Thank you.” Millicent was indeed grateful for Gibbs’s intervention, and Jonah appeared much more at ease as well. She saw him grab Draper by the scruff of his neck and yank him roughly to his feet when the Scotsman removed his boot. “I think I shall go around the house to the courtyard and greet his lordship.”

  Not until she rounded the corner of the manor house did she feel the cold wind penetrating her dress. She started to shiver. For the first time since charging out, Millicent realized that she had on no cloak or shawl.

  At a respectful distance from the carriage, a number of her servants had lined up in greeting. As she went past them, she saw Mrs. Page rush out of the front door and—with a curtsy to Millicent—take her place beside the assembled staff.

  The earl’s servants as well stood waiting by their horses and wagons in the courtyard. Intensely aware of the dozens of eyes on both sides watching her every move, Millicent tried her best to hide her nervousness and approached the carriage with confident steps.

  From the outside, she could not see in clearly through the curtains, but there appeared to be no one sitting in the carriage. At her nod, the footman opened the door.

  He was twisted, helpless, wedged between the seats in the most awkward position. She saw her new husband’s eyes open as the light from behind her poured inside the carriage. Millicent hurriedly stepped over his sprawled boots and climbed in, pulling the door closed behind her. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew this was not the way he would wish to be introduced to his new household.

  “I am so very sorry, m’lord. You have fallen down from the seat.” Trying clumsily to find solid footing in the cramped space, she tried to bend his knees and straighten his boots. “The roads traveling up from London are not in the best condition, and nothing is worse than enduring a long trip like that to a strange place and…”

  Millicent knew she was jabbering, but her embarrassment at not greeting him immediately was compounded by the sharpness of the earl’s glare. She crouched down in the cramped space between the seats and searched for his right arm. It was twisted behind him.

  “If you would be kind enough to place your other arm around my neck, perhaps I could lift you a little, and we could free this arm.”

  The earl did not respond, and she glanced up at his bearded face. His expression was intimidating, but she decided the tenseness she saw in his blue eyes had to be caused in some part by pain. This made her all the more determined.

  “Please, m’lord. If you could just—”

  “Gibbs. Get him.”

  Millicent was relieved to get some response. “He is coming, but—”

  “Get Gibbs,” he said louder.

  “I have no intention of moving you inside by myself. I just thought it would be more comfortable for you to be sitting on the seat, instead of where you are.”

  She stopped, feeling like a liar for not speaking the whole truth. For a moment, she vividly recalled a time when she herself had sat inside the carriage, battered by Wentworth, desperate to hide her face from the prying eyes outside the door. Hiding the truth had always been Millicent’s way of avoiding the embarrassment of her husband’s horrible treatment. But the Earl of Aytoun’s condition was nothing like hers.

  “I am sorry, m’lord. I was acting without thinking.”

  She drew back and sat on the edge of the seat. “Your steward was kind enough to get involved with a problem I had with one of my workers. He should be back momentarily.”

  “Gibbs!”

  The man’s shout in the confined space of the carriage was startling. A vision of Squire Wentworth with the veins bulging in his neck, with his clutching hands reaching for her face, flashed before
Millicent’s mind. She quickly buried the terrifying image in the recesses of her mind. With her heart pounding in her chest, Millicent quelled her impulse to fling open the door and leap out. Through the small window, she could see the curious glances of the servants in the courtyard.

  “I told you that he would be coming back shortly, m’lord,” she said, keeping her tone reasonable.

  “Gibbs!”

  The impotent fury that laced his shout drew Millicent off the edge of the seat. She crouched beside him again.

  “Tell me how I can help you. It is your arm, is it not?” This time she didn’t bother to ask for his cooperation. Instead, looping an arm around his waist, she desperately tried to shift him enough to free the arm. She just could not muster the strength to move him. And the earl was doing nothing to help her. Nonetheless, she continued to try.

  When Gibbs yanked open the carriage door a minute later, Millicent’s hair had already escaped the tight bun on top of her head, her dress was crumpled and twisted, and her body was tangled on the floor with the Earl of Aytoun’s. Out of breath, her face flushed, she looked up at the manservant, who stopped to stare with one eyebrow raised.

  “Pardon me, m’lady, I didna know ye planned to start your honeymoon quite so soon.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “There is no physician traveling with them,” Millicent advised the housekeeper a few minutes later as they were heading toward the kitchen. “But Mr. Gibbs informed me that a Dr. Parker will be coming once a fortnight from London and will remain with us overnight. So for the moment, I should like to put Ohenewaa in the chamber you’ve prepared for the doctor.”

  To Mary’s credit, she never even batted an eye at the suggestion of putting the woman in one of the guest bedchambers.

  “She needs a bath, m’lady, and some clothes. Violet tells me that on the ride up from London, the woman scarcely spoke a word. One of the girls was able to spoon some broth into her when she was just coming around, but as soon as she knew which end was up, the poor dear went back to her place by the kitchen door. Curious thing, though, as quick as word went round that she was here, I’ve had more field hands poking their heads into that kitchen to see her. But still she continues to stare at the wall. If you don’t mind my asking, m’lady, who is she?”

  “I believe she is seen as someone very special. I don’t know her entire history, but I do know she belonged to a physician named Dombey, who traveled on many slave ships and lived in Jamaica between his travels. Before I even went to London, I had heard numerous stories of this woman’s courage. Even as Dr. Dombey’s slave, she was well known for the many ways she helped people on the sugar plantations there, my late husband’s included.”

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Page went off to organize her staff of workers. Millicent was relieved to see Amina already there and speaking quietly with the old woman. Married to Jonah last summer, the younger woman was quickly becoming Mary’s right hand in running the house at Melbury Hall.

  “All of us are grateful to you, m’lady, for bringing her here,” Amina said quietly, joining her mistress in the middle of the kitchen.

  “She looks hungry and weary.” Millicent watched the tall, thin frame of Ohenewaa sway near the door. “Why is she refusing to come inside?”

  “Her pride. Not knowing what is expected of her here.”

  Giving an understanding nod, Millicent walked toward the old woman. Ohenewaa’s dark eyes remained fixed on the wall in front of her. Hers was a face lined by age and disappointment.

  “We’re happy you’re here, Ohenewaa,” Millicent said softly. “There is no need for you to stand by the door. Would you please come in?”

  “I was told I am a free woman.”

  “You are.”

  “Then I do not wish to step inside a slaveholder’s home.” The old woman’s gaze shifted to Millicent’s face and then back to the wall again.

  “I do not hold any slaves, Ohenewaa. I do not believe in owning or abusing innocent people. All the workers you see at Melbury Hall today, regardless of the color of their skin, or where they were born or came from, are here of their own will.”

  “I have seen how Wentworth treated his workers in Jamaica.”

  Millicent could hear the diamond edge of the woman’s voice draw steadily across glass.

  “That was my husband. Not I,” Millicent replied passionately. “And I am trying, Ohenewaa. Since the death of the squire, I am doing my best to mend some of the injustices done to the people. I lost those plantations in Jamaica before anything could be done. But I am trying here.”

  The black woman’s gaze once again moved away from the wall and rested on Millicent’s face. “What do you wish from me? What do I have to do to earn my keep?”

  Millicent paused to answer. The dark, penetrating gaze continued to look into her soul.

  “It would be a lie if I said you have to do nothing. We need help of all kinds. The truth is that I don’t know yet what you can do here.” This time she was the one who fixed her gaze on the cracks running in every direction on the wall. “I came to the auction yesterday because I recognized Dr. Dombey’s name in the notice in the newspaper. I came because I had failed to act effectively when Jasper Hyde took over Wentworth’s plantations. There were so many lives that I did not save. Thoughts about if I were a stronger person, if I had acted quickly enough, continue to plague me. I wonder if, had I traveled there myself, I could have kept the plantations.”

  She turned to face the older woman. “In freeing you, I suppose I hope to lessen my guilt. And in bringing you here, I hoped to remind my people--and myself--that strength and courage like yours are to be aspired to.”

  “I am a healer. Nothing more.”

  “In Jamaica, you were the one person whom they knew they could trust. That was everything to them.” Millicent noticed more than a few of the kitchen helpers and servants had paused in their work. Many eyes were on them, curious as to the outcome. She gentled her voice. “At least for now, until you have the opportunity for employment, will you please stay at Melbury Hall as my guest?”

  “If I step across this threshold, it will not be to ease your conscience, but to ease my hunger.”

  Millicent smiled. “I respect that. We both have a reason. They do not conflict. And that is as good a place as any to start.”

  Ohenewaa looked about the room at the cluster of hopeful faces before stepping through the door and into the house.

  ****

  The air was frigid, the ground frozen. The night was dark, and the woods were threatening. Violet, however, scarcely gave the possible dangers a second thought. She had been passing through this deer park at least twice a week for over a month on her way to him. Lifting the hem of the quilted petticoats she’d been given by her mistress last month, she stepped over a fallen branch. Violet herself had embroidered the long apron she was wearing over the petticoats. And the pleated taffeta around her neck was a gift she’d bought herself when she and her mistress had been in London. She wanted to look pretty for Ned.

  Ned Cranch—tall and broad with muscles as hard as rock—was a stonemason who had come in the fall to Knebworth Village to build the new grange. They had met outside church one Sunday morning. And after that, every time Vi had gone to the village, the handsome green-eyed giant had been there, tipping his hat or making some sweet remark about how good she looked or smelled.

  Mrs. Page had witnessed Ned’s sweet-talking a couple of times and had given Vi an earful about being careful, of course. But Violet was already eighteen, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

  She was getting herself a husband.

  Vi emerged from the woods and ran to the edge of the meadow above the village. He wasn’t there, and Vi looked with concern at the lights in the windows of the cottages below. But before she could worry for long, powerful arms encircled her from behind, and she stifled a gasp as she was turned around in Ned’s embrace.

  He kissed her lips before she could whisper a greeting. His attentio
ns were already becoming an obsession to her, and Vi dug her fingers into his thick, wavy blond hair and opened up to him so he could deepen the kiss the way he’d taught her. At last he tore his mouth away, but his hands continued to press her to him.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Ned,” she whispered while kissing the muscular column of his throat.

  “Aye, lass, I know the feeling.” He tossed his chin in the direction that she had come. “And with all the big doings at Melbury Hall, I didn’t know if ye’d be getting away.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You heard about it already?”

  “Some. Ye know how village folk talk.” His mouth dipped to her neck, and she shivered as his teeth nibbled and his lips brushed over her skin. “I’ve been looking forward to this since I saw ye last.”

  “You are the devil, Ned Cranch.” She sighed.

  “Who told ye?” he said with a laugh. “But tell me, Vi, is it true that yer lady has fetched herself a new husband?”

  “As sure as I’m standing here,” Violet managed to say, almost purring with pleasure as he kneaded her breast through the dress. Ned’s caresses had become more and more intimate with each meeting. At the beginning, it had been only kisses. Over the past couple of weeks, though, Ned had begun touching her in places that made Violet shudder with excitement. But touching had been the extent of it. Vi knew that—in spite of Mrs. Page’s words of warning buzzing in her head—not much could happen if they kept their pleasures at this.

  “And they’re saying she brought herself back a new slave as well.” Ned’s hand moved down over her stomach.

  “An old woman.” Vi closed her eyes and leaned into him as his hand reached the junction of her thighs. “Her name is Ohenewaa, and she is already freed.”

  “Ye can tell me all about it later.” His lips took hers in a dizzying kiss. Suddenly he pulled away and wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Come with me.”