Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “He does not wish to seem too eager. There are no doubt men in crowd whose job is to bid against eager buyers to push price higher.”

  Another man raised his hand for the opening bid and when it seemed as if his would be the only one, Pallet lazily raised his hand and called, “Ici.”

  Jo wanted to poke the Frenchman in the back for scaring her so, but she immediately realized he was acting shrewdly.

  The other bidder viewed Pallet through narrowed eyes, clearly wondering if the Frenchman was simply trying to boost the price.

  When pressed to respond to the new price, the other man shook his head and Pallet nodded as the auctioneer deemed him the winner. The nerve-wracking process was repeated for the next of their men, Thomas, but when Bodega was brought forth, another man began bidding against Pallet.

  Jo could see sweat running down the back of Pallet’s neck and her heart raced in fear.

  “Three hundred twenty,” Odysseus’ voice boomed. Jo looked at him in horror. Why was he raising the price? Already the amount was more than Theo had given her. She would have to use some of Appleton’s money and they had yet to see Ford or Bussa.

  Pallet glanced over his shoulder, a frown on his sallow face. Odysseus glared back at him. Jo looked to the other man who was bidding against Pallet and noted his speculative gaze. The man looked to the auctioneer who gave an inscrutable shake of his head. The bidder raised his hands in mock surrender.

  “He is yours,” he said, and Jo realized that had Odysseus not stepped in, the man would have pushed Pallet’s bids higher and higher.

  At the conclusion of the auction, Jo moved to follow Pallet, but Odysseus stopped her. “Mrs. Captain, please. You wait for us under that tree,” he said, indicating a large pepper tree outside of the auction building. “It will be more comfortable for you while we conclude our business.”

  “But I—” she began.

  “Missus, I ask this favor of you,” he said emphatically, his thickened accent telling her he was concerned about something.

  “All right. Yes,” she agreed. “You’ll ask about Ford and Bussa?”

  Odysseus gave a shallow bow, though he didn’t reply.

  After several long minutes during which Jo had to stop herself from going back in the building, Pallet, Odysseus, and the men came out.

  “What did you find out?” she asked, but Pallet took her arm and ushered her out of the square. When they’d backtracked several streets, Jo pulled her arm free and stopped.

  “Where are they?” she demanded, looking at each of the men in turn. She’d never known what the expression, “one’s heart in one’s throat,” felt like before, but now she could scarcely swallow around the pounding lump blocking her voice. Swallowing with difficulty, she rasped, “Are they dead?”

  “Non, madame! Non!” Pallet said, glancing around quickly.

  “Then where is he? And why are you rushing us away? And what, for heaven’s sake, are you looking for?”

  “Not ‘what,’ madame, ‘who.’”

  “Then, who?”

  “Degroot. It would be best to avoid another run in with him whilst we are few in numbers and unarmed.”

  Odysseus made a derogatory sound Jo could only describe as Russian in nature. “Speak only for yourself, my friend,” he said.

  Pallet rolled his eyes. “Very well: as we are few in numbers and mostly unarmed.”

  “I wish we would run into him,” Jo said with a hiss. “I would borrow Odysseus’ knife and cut his black heart out.”

  A short bark of laughter escaped the big Russian and the other men smiled.

  “Are you laughing at me?” She demanded, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Certainement pas!” Pallet assured her. His own expression was neutral, though his eyes sparkled with humor. “Eet is simply that we learn more every day how you captured the good captaine’s heart. You, madame are fierce and strong. What man would not love you?”

  Slightly mollified, Jo allowed them to resume their long walk back to the Nightingale. “Tell me what you learned,” she demanded as soon as the men were safely on board.

  “According to what I could get out of the clerk at the auction and what Thomas and the other men saw, Degroot took Capitiane Spooner and Bussa directly to a plantation just outside of the city.”

  “To what purpose?”

  Pallet shrugged. “Perhaps he owed the plantation owner. Perhaps he was afraid the captaine would cause too much trouble at an auction. One need only speak to monsieur for a moment to realize he is an educated, free man.

  “Who is this plantation owner?” Jo asked.

  “His name is Ramsey. He has lived here for twenty years.”

  “An Englishman?” Jo said, surprised.

  “If he still uses slaves, that would explain why he is in Brazil instead of an English colony.”

  Jo nodded, distracted. She was thinking furiously. When she’d been trying to escape Thomas Kent last year, she and her friend Lady Howard had concocted quite the elaborate and well-planned deception to throw Kent off her trail. Now that flair for creative deception was compiling a plan to visit this Mr. Ramsey and rescue Ford and Bussa.

  She turned to Pallet. “I’m going to need a new bonnet.”

  “Of course you do, madame.”

  “No, I mean immediately. Something that will improve the appearance of my gown,” she said, gesturing to her rumpled and travel-stained dress in which she’d fled St. Kitts.

  “Ma chere ma—” Jo ignored him and turned to Odysseus.

  “I shall need an iron. And I need to speak with the men we just brought back.”

  “Da,” Odysseus said. Jo turned back to find Pallet still gaping.

  “Quickly, monsieur. I would have thought the prospect of correcting my English sense of fashion incentive enough.”

  Pallet shook himself out of his stunned silence. “As madame wishes.” He turned to leave but Jo stopped him.

  “Oh and I shall need Mr. Ramsey’s direction. I intend to pay him a call first thing in the morning.”

  Comprehension dawned in Pallet’s face and he bowed to Jo before turning to leave.

  The next morning, Jo, accompanied by Odysseus, Pallet, and three other crew members, travelled by hired carriage to Mr. Ramsey’s large plantation west of the city. It took nearly an hour to traverse the crowded streets of Rio and another hour along a wide, rutted road through acres of sugar cane.

  When they finally arrived in front of the Ramsey house—a sprawling, one-story structure with a tile roof—Jo’s legs were cramped and rivulets of sweat were running down her spine beneath her corset.

  She took Odysseus’ hand as she climbed stiffly out of the large hired carriage and drew her shawl about her. Pallet had declared there was no redeeming her dress despite it being cleaned and pressed and he had returned from his shopping expedition with not only a ridiculously elaborate hat, but a heavily embroidered silk shawl to disguise the worn state of her gown. And so, despite the heat, Jo carefully draped the shawl about herself and dabbed at her damp forehead with the end of it.

  Pallet ran lightly up the shallow steps to sound the knocker on the front door. By the time Jo reached the door, it was being opened by a housemaid, her head wrapped in a blue scarf dotted with scarlet.

  “The honorable Miss Howard here to visit with Mr. Ramsey,” Pallet said as officiously as possible. Jo smothered a smile as she considered that for a Frenchman such as Monsieur Pallet, that was an easy task.

  The young housemaid stared at them in wide-eyed wonder, her gaze darting behind them to the three crew members who waited by the carriage, then back to Pallet.

  “Ne pas comprends anglaise?” He ventured. If possible, the girl’s eyes widened further. “Você fala português?”

  “Mistah Ramsey not expecting no visitors today,” the young woman finally managed.

  “Of course not. Miss Howard’s ship was delayed at sea by a hurricane. She was due to arrive a fortnight ago. Now, show my lady to a drawi
ng room and fetch your master and some refreshments, s’il vous plait.”

  The maid stepped back and beckoned them in. Jo glanced around, noting the plaster ceiling and the glossy parquet flooring. They crossed the wide main hall and found themselves in an over-furnished sitting room, whose every surface, from walls to tables and mantle, were covered with paintings of English countrysides.

  Jo crossed the room to study a grouping on the sideboard and found them to be a collection of various flower-strewn fields.

  “My wife painted those,” a hearty male voice said from behind her, and Jo turned to find Mr. Ramsey beaming proudly at the paintings in question. He was perhaps in his fifties, with a paunch beneath his well-tailored waistcoat, iron grey hair, and the red complexion of an Englishman not meant for the searing sun of the tropics.

  “She’s quite talented,” Jo said.

  “Well she was. She’s dead now, the poor dear.”

  “Oh I’m so very sorry I—”

  Mr. Ramsey waved away her condolences. “No way for you to know. I keep them around because they remind me of England. Mrs. Ramsey did so wish to return.”

  “Have you been away terribly long?” Jo asked.

  “Terribly? Terribly,” he said with a laugh.

  “I am Miss Elizabeth Howard,” she said with a small curtsy. “I am sister to Viscount Howard,” she lied without batting an eye.

  Mr. Ramsey bowed correctly over her hand, though he held her grasp a moment longer than politeness allowed.

  “Phineas Ramsey, at your service, Miss Howard. I must confess, your arrival is a bit of a surprise. Did I—er—perhaps miss some correspondence between us?”

  “I bear a letter of introduction from my brother. The viscount,” she emphasized, handing him the note she’d forged the night before. “They were to have been delivered to you by my fiancée, but alas, he was lost in the hurricane we encountered whilst crossing the sea.”

  Mr. Ramsey looked perplexed and a bit embarrassed. “Viscount you say? As I mentioned, it has been such a long time since I visited England. I’m not entirely certain I’m acquainted with—”

  “Oh my brother said you might not remember him,” she improvised. “But he assured me that you were such a man of integrity, you would assist me nonetheless.”

  The folds of Mr. Ramsey’s face quivered with pleasure. “Well of course, of course. I believe I’m beginning to recall the good Viscount. Hampton, you say?” he asked, glancing at the unopened letter in his hand.

  “Howard,” she corrected.

  “Yes, yes. That’s what I meant to say. Tall fellow, fair haired—”

  Jo frowned and Ramsey glanced at her own dark hair which peeped out from her bonnet.

  “Dark haired, of course, like his lovely sister’s.”

  She nodded demurely.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, pleased with himself. “It’s all coming back to me now. Er, tell me Miss Howard, as I don’t recall the exact location, did you and I meet as well?”

  “I should be shocked if I had been there, Mr. Ramsey. You met in my brother’s gentleman’s club, after all. Hardly a place fit for a young lady.” Despite the tense terror at what they were here to do, Jo felt herself getting into her role, the story she was weaving taking on more depth.

  “Oh, how silly of me! Of course. Yes, I remember now.”

  She could see that Ramsey was desperate to recall the fictional event and decided it was time to change the subject.

  “Well, you are a busy and clearly successful man, Mr. Ramsey. No doubt you’ve met any number of peers and other men of influence. I’ve no wish to impose upon your time more than I must. Let me summarize my brother’s letter for you.

  “I am here to oversee the establishment of our own family’s plantation and my brother—Viscount Howard—knew there was no better man to advise me than you.”

  “Forgive me, but you are going to instigate such a plan, Miss Howard? Surely such a strenuous and worrisome task is best handled by—”

  Jo couldn’t contain the annoyance in her voice. Even though she wasn’t overseeing such an endeavor didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of doing so.

  “As I mentioned, my betrothed was traveling with me. He was to handle the business details for my brother, but as he is now dead—” she managed to gasp the word out as if she were truly heartbroken. “Then I must take over until my brother is able to, ah, come here himself.”

  “Of course. I beg your pardon for my, er insensitive, ah, words. It’s been several years since Mrs. Ramsey passed on and I fear I’ve quite forgotten how to talk to a lady of quality. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. A fine lady such as yourself, at the mercy of hired men,” he said with a jerk of his chin to indicate Pallet and Odysseus. He scooted his chair closer to hers and Jo had the uncomfortable sensation that his interest in her had taken a decided turn. “If I may ask, Miss Howard, why did your brother elect to purchase land in Brazil instead of an English colony? One would think with his title, he could do well for himself there, perhaps obtain a governorship or some such position as well.”

  Jo took a breath, thankful the man had unwittingly provided a segue into what she needed to know.

  “How can I put this delicately? My brother has been given to understand that one’s profits may be greater here because of, well, the laborers.”

  “The slaves? Oh yes, yes indeed, Miss Howard. Astute man, the viscount. It is, in fact, why I moved here from Antigua a decade ago. Why, a man’s profits evaporate like rum in the sun when he must pay the blacks who work his land.

  Jo felt her lip curl in disgust and she forced it into a sickly smile. Ramsey beamed back and leaned forward to pat her hand. She quickly pulled it back so he wouldn’t see that her newly acquired gloves were too small for her…and to avoid his touch.

  “Perhaps you can begin by advising me on where to house the, ah, workers.”

  “Eh?” Ramsey said, surprised. He’d been studying Jo’s hat—or perhaps her ear?—and he quickly turned his attention back to her words, quite unperturbed at being caught ogling.

  “That doesn’t really matter. Any hut will do. Slaves don’t require the same level of comfort we do.”

  “You—you speak as if they are not human.”

  “Well they’re not. Not really. Everyone knows that.”

  Jo hid her clenched hands beneath her skirts. She glanced over to where Odysseus and Pallet stood, silent sentries. They were both frowning at her and she read the warnings in their eyes.

  She pulled her mouth into the same sickly smile as before. It seemed to have the same effect on Ramsey as before. She imagined screaming just what she thought of him, and imagining the look on his face made her smile in earnest.

  “Please, Mr. Ramsey, I should very much like to see the quarters.”

  Ramsey chuckled and leaned forward again, this time reaching to chuck her under the chin. She pulled back before he could touch her and he laughed again, completely unapologetic.

  “Getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” He stood and extended a hand to her. “I learned well from the late Mrs. Ramsey that it’s best to give a lady what she wants, no matter how unreasonable.”

  Jo was certain he thought he was being ingratiating. And he clearly thought her clenched grimace was a smile. She forced herself to take his arm and allowed him to lead her through the house and out a rear door. She glanced behind and saw Pallet and Odysseus close on their heels.

  “Your men needn’t join us,” Ramsey said with a sly smile and Jo frowned at him.

  “Indeed they must as they are my, ah, overseers. And guards.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Odysseus frown threateningly at the back of Ramsey’s head.

  “And how often do you need to purchase new slaves, Mr. Ramsey?”

  “Hardly ever. We grow ‘em right here, same as sugarcane.” He laughed at what he thought was a clever joke.

  Jo grimaced again and wondered how to get him to reveal Ford and Bussa’s whereabouts.
<
br />   “It’s only that I was at the Valongo market yesterday and it was so difficult to know who was fit to, ah…purchase.”

  “You were at the Valongo?” He tsked. “Not a fit place for a lady, I must say. Were you my wife, I’d not allow it. You would be spared from the more troublesome aspects of plantation life.”

  They were outside now, walking slowly toward a cluster of low buildings in the distance. Jo was frantic to get information about Ford but Ramsey continued to prattle on about her delicate sensibilities and how he shielded his wife from distressing circumstances.

  “Yes, but when you do need to acquire new workers, how do you go about it?”

  “Well I don’t trouble myself going to those markets. Have to bid against who knows what low account standing next to you, as if he were your equal. I prefer to have my slaves brought to me.”

  Jo had never struck another human before, but she thought in that moment that she could happily punch Ramsey in his rather bulbous nose. Perhaps twice. “Then what do you do, Mr. Ramsey? I implore you to tell me.”

  “Implore me?” Ramsey looked quite pleased. “My dear Miss Howard, how can I refuse you?”

  It was growing increasingly difficult for Jo to force her lips into a smile, but she must have managed enough because Ramsey smiled in return and patted her hand that rested on his arm.

  “The secret to running a farm such as this better than anyone else is to set yourself apart from the crowd. I don’t bother with the inconvenience of a slave market because I have an arrangement with the captain of a slaver. He brings me his best stock thrice per year. I select what I need and he takes the rest off to market.

  The urge to strike Ramsey was growing stronger but Jo reined in her fury. Focus on why you’re here, she reminded herself.

  “How clever you are, Mr. Ramsey. When does your captain come next?”

  “Oh, he was here just this week! I really had no need for more slaves seeing as how it’s not close to harvest season just now, but he had two fine specimens I could not refuse. It’s best to think ahead, you know,” he added, as if he were imparting great wisdom. “Just because you don’t need something right now doesn’t mean you won’t need it in the future. It’s best to snatch up good stock when you can.”