“I would agree to any level of discomfort for myself and the other gentlemen, but I think the ladies . . .” He paused and threw a glance at Zazu and Savina. “Especially the ladies who have been doing such an excellent job providing food for us all, deserve some amenities.”
“I must say, sir, that I do think the ladies should be provided for,” William Barker said timidly.
“I doubt if it is worth all the fuss for the short time we will be on this awful island,” the earl said.
Anthony Heywood sighed. “I, too, hope to be rescued in short order. However, my lord, this is deadly serious, not some game I am playing. Survival requires us all to do our best together, something we have not accomplished. Some are doing too much, and some nothing at all. We need to all exert our abilities to keep us alive and comfortable. I have been thinking, too, that perhaps I ought to show you other gentlemen how I managed to get the fish we had at dinner. If something should happen to me—”
“Now that is enough, Tony,” Gaston-Reade said, standing. “You are taking too much on yourself, thinking you are the only one capable of doing anything.”
“I have proven so far to be the only one capable of getting us dinner!” Heywood said, standing too.
Savina watched the two men confronting each other. It felt to her that there was something else beneath what they were saying. She had many times seen ladies speaking around a subject in the same way, if more slyly, but men usually came right out and said what they were thinking. Perhaps there was something they did not want to admit, even to each other. She exchanged a glance with Zazu, who was watching with intent interest.
“Now you are overstepping it, Tony.”
“But he’s only telling the truth, sir,” Barker said. He shrugged and added, “You sent me out and I had no more notion of how to get a fish than an infant would. I would welcome some instruction. I think Mr. Heywood is saying—”
“I don’t need you to defend him, nor explain his notions to me,” the earl said, pacing forward, his stance rigid and defensive.
“Yes, don’t be an idiot, William,” Lady Venture said, sitting up straighter, her eyes gleaming as she sensed the coming battle. “As usual you don’t know what you are talking about. Bertie is right. Mr. Heywood is being intolerable.”
Savina jumped to her feet. “But he’s only saying we ought to be prepared! Doesn’t that make sense? He has proven to be the only one catching any fish. What would happen if he became incapacitated?”
“Savina, please do not speak,” her fiancé said, holding up one hand. “You are exposing your ignorance . . . uh, innocence, rather.”
She glared at him. At that moment her father came wandering back into the camp, emptying his pockets and mumbling about the marvelous shells he had discovered. When silence greeted him, he looked up and seemed to catch wind of the confrontation.
But his arrival had dispelled the angry mood and the different factions went back to their pastimes, though with a tension that was unresolved. In the treacherous surroundings of a deserted island perhaps amity was too important even when the tension between the two men seemed ready to flame out in open hostility. But Savina burned in anger, the first time she had truly felt that desperate emotion. “He will never see me as other than a helpless ninny,” she muttered, clashing pots together and rattling tin dishes.
“Who are you talking about?” Zazu asked.
With a darted glance, Savina indicated Gaston-Reade, who had already returned to conversation, this time with Savina’s father. He appeared to be recounting the argument, making his own case quite successfully, as the older man shook his head, tut-tutted, and cast worried glances over at Mr. Heywood and his daughter.
“Did you truly expect anything else from him? Has he not always treated you thus?”
Savina put aside the rag she had picked up to rub sand over the bottom of the stewing pot; she had discovered that damp sand removed the black charring from it rather effectively. She wound her arms around her knees and stared across the encampment at her fiancé. “I suppose I thought that in time he would see me as his intellectual equal.”
Zazu laughed.
“What’s so funny?” She stared at her maid, shocked at her levity.
The maid shook her head. “From my observation, his lordship is incapable of admitting that anyone is his equal in any way,” she murmured. “Nor even of giving credit where it is due.”
“Why do you say that?”
At first Zazu shook her head, but then she scuttled closer to Savina and said, “Lord Gaston-Reade seems a very shrewd gentleman, does he not?”
“I have always thought him so. And the ladies of Spanish Town spoke of him so very highly, of his charm, ambition, intelligence. Everyone approved so of the many changes he made to Tanager, and the many more he has planned for the future.”
“Yes, well . . . Nelson told me that Mr. Heywood was the one who truly planned all of those changes for Tanager.”
Savina experienced a sick sensation of disappointment mingled with horror. One of the reasons she had accepted Lord Gaston-Reade’s proposal was that she felt his reform of the formerly corrupt and cruel plantation practices on Tanager spoke well of his heart, his mind, and his possible plans for the future. Though she had never been able to bring him to discuss such things with her, she thought marriage would change all of that, as their relationship would inevitably be closer, more intimate, and he would listen to her. She had been sure she could convince him to give up slave owning, since the reforms on Tanager had already been heading toward making the sugar growing and harvesting more efficient, safer, and sustainable with hired labor.
But now, to learn that her fiancé had no part in those reforms?
“But Gaston-Reade at least agreed to the reforms,” she said with a wistful hope, staring at the earl and her father through the dusk, deeply involved in conversation, two English gentlemen absurdly untouched by their tropical forest surroundings.
Zazu shook her head. “Only when Mr. Heywood proved that it would bring him higher profit. But Nelson said that Mr. Heywood pushed past his employer a few reforms that improved conditions for the slaves, but did nothing to increase sugar production. And when Mr. Heywood found that Nelson knew how to read and write, he took him into his confidence, hoping to be able to sustain changes after the earl and Mr. Heywood left Jamaica.”
“Why did I know nothing of this?” Savina whispered. She covered her eyes and bowed her head for a moment, contemplating a lifetime tied to a man whom she feared she could not respect. When she looked up again, she said, “If I had known it may have changed . . . I might not have . . .”
Zazu, her dark eyes filled with concern, slumped down in the sand. A solitary tear welled in the corner of one eye. “I didn’t know it would make a difference. You never said that your acceptance of Lord Gaston-Reade’s proposal was predicated on his reform at Tanager.”
“Zazu! I thought it was understood between us. How could it not have a part in my decision? Above everyone else, you know how I feel about the . . . the situation in Jamaica, and how I abhor slavery.”
“But everyone was telling you to marry him,” Zazu said, a pleading tone in her voice and worry in her dark tear-filled eyes. “I thought you were doing as you were advised by your father, by the other ladies . . . by everyone.”
“I was, in part, I suppose. But you know me.” She reached out, and in the dim and fading light grabbed for Zazu’s hand. “I could never agree to marry a man unless I believed him to feel as I feel, to want what I want, and to have plans for the future that would coincide with what I believe is right and just. There would be no comfort for me in such an unequal marriage.”
“I’m so sorry,” her maid whispered, squeezing Savina’s hand. “I should have said something, but I didn’t know . . . didn’t think—”
“What have I done, Zazu?” Savina whispered, the sound echoing up off the canopy. “Who is this man I’ve agreed to marry?” She pulled her hand away and turne
d her gaze from her maid’s worried expression. She watched Mr. Heywood for a long minute; when he looked up, their eyes met, his dark and unfathomable in the failing light. He smiled. It was a simple expression, warm, sincere, and it frightened her beyond belief, not for what it said about him, but for the emotion it summoned within her.
She looked away without returning the smile.
Eight
The others had long since laid down on their humble pallets to submit as the deep slumber of the exhausted overwhelmed them. Zazu was curled up sound asleep, Annie near her. The other maid, though older than both Zazu and Savina, looked to Zazu as to one more experienced, stronger, and wiser, and clung to her whenever she was not at her mistress’s side. Though she had been frightened of Zazu at first—the legends of her Maroon forebears were legendary—that fear had turned to hero worship and gratitude.
Lord Gaston-Reade had secluded himself away from the others as much as possible, but Mr. William Barker and Savina’s father were the opposite, keeping their sleep pallets close to the camp, hoping, to no avail, that that would keep away the tiny reptiles and insects that clambered in mysterious processions over their recumbent forms. The irritation of the insects that feasted on them nightly was one of the unsavory facts of their new life that all were dealing with, with varying degrees of success.
Even Lady Venture had claimed to experience great weariness and fallen asleep early, though Savina was of the opinion in her case it was boredom, since the lady did nothing for herself but complain. That she would not delegate, since no one could do it so well as she did.
But Savina still sat by the fire, staring into the embers that glowed and sparked against the backdrop of the dusky palm jungle. At a noise nearby she looked up to find Mr. Heywood watching her from the edge of the palm forest. Seeing her glance up he swiftly made his way to the fire and sat down by her.
Her pulse raced. She had not been able to erase or explain the disturbing attraction she felt for him, but she thought given time to reflect, it would soon assume its proper importance as a fleeting sensation, nothing more. Regardless of her current feelings, she was affianced to a worthy man and it was not an agreement she took lightly. Once she gave her word on anything, it was firm and unshakable.
But it would be so much simpler if she could learn that there was some great good within him, some worthy ambition. And if Lord Gaston-Reade could make her tremble and sigh with his merest touch it would be enough, united with that thread of goodness, to give her hope for their marriage.
“I want to thank you,” he whispered, leaning close to her, “for supporting me in what I was saying earlier.”
“It seems merely common sense to me that more of us should know how to catch fish,” she said with a shrug. “On my little farm in Jamaica, Nancy, the old hen mistress, said it was foolish to place all of one’s eggs into one basket. If you should drop it, all are gone.” Keeping her voice matter-of-fact and even in tone was an effort. She could feel a warmth emanating from Mr. Heywood that enveloped her, and it was tempting to lean into it, to bathe in it and absorb it.
“Regardless, thank you. You went against Lord Gaston-Reade, and I appreciate your daring.”
“Should I not be able to disagree with him from time to time?” She shook back her curls, free from any restraint now she had discarded her bonnet except when the sun was at its zenith and she needed protection. She wore her hair up as much as possible, but tendrils would still escape and drift down over the course of the long day, the heat and dampness coiling them into long ringlets. “Does marriage mean subjugation of my free will and even my ability to think?”
He stared at her. “How could I have been so wrong about you?”
Taken aback, she stared into his dark eyes and said, “I beg your pardon?” Her father, in the encampment a few yards away, stirred in his sleep. “I beg your pardon?” she whispered, reminded to keep her tone hushed.
Mr. Heywood sighed, and the sound whispered up to the trees and disappeared. “You were so quiet, I thought you dull and uninformed. I was very, very wrong. I apologize.”
Savina ruefully thought that if she had opened her mouth and spoke to Anthony Heywood months ago, she might have learned for herself what Zazu had told her that very day. But she had only seen Lord Gaston-Reade formally and with others around, except for the occasional walk in the garden. When Mr. Heywood was there, he was a silent presence looming in the background. She could say much the same about him, that she thought him dull and uninformed. “I have been talking with Zazu about the reforms on Tanager.”
He raised his thick eyebrows. “Oh?”
“She told me that every one that came down on the side of humanity and decency and . . . and fairness emanated from you.”
“And how does Miss Zazu know anything about Tanager?”
“She and Nelson Walker have an understanding . . . or did until we left Jamaica.”
“Ah,” Mr. Heywood said, nodding. “Young Nelson. A bright lad with a good heart. I knew he had a lady friend, but I did not know who she was.” He didn’t go on.
“Well?” Savina stared at him, watching him in the flickering light of the embers, challenging him with her eyes to tell her the truth. When he didn’t answer her challenge, she spoke. “I want to know the truth, Mr. Heywood. I agreed to marry Lord Gaston-Reade, and I will not jilt him easily. It is not in my nature to break an agreement once I have made it. But I went into that agreement, that engagement, thinking one way about him; I believed that beneath his occasionally harsh nature, under the cool façade, there must be a warmth and compassion and general benevolence. I based my surmise on the changes he made at Tanager, changes I foresaw would eventually lead to him abandoning slave labor on the plantation. I would know the truth now, so I may enter marriage with a clear vision.”
Tony stared at the lovely Savina Roxeter in horror. That she had affianced herself to Lord Gaston-Reade on such a premise had never occurred to him, and now, though he would not take back the reforms and could not wish that more people knew they came from him and not his employer, he regretted the bitterness of her future if she remained affianced to a man she would, ultimately, come to disrespect.
“Miss Roxeter, I’m so sorry—”
She held up one hand. “Mr. Heywood,” she said quietly, “I’m not asking for an apology. The consequences of my actions are my own responsibility, and no one else’s. I could as easily bemoan that I allowed my father’s wishes to influence me unduly, or that I failed to examine the earl’s behavior in the right light. I thought him imperious but kindly.” She stared into the fire. “If what I have heard is true, then I must find in him something I can respect and come to appreciate. I fear, too, that the earl will discover he is affianced to a woman with ideas and beliefs he will abhor. For now he thinks that eventually I will bend my will to his, but how will he accept it when he finally understands that I have my own heart and mind, and will subjugate my beliefs to no one?”
Tony couldn’t think of a thing to say. He was numb with regret, and filled with a powerful yearning to hold her and comfort her. She was calm, but distress underlaid her composure; he could feel it in his gut, and it twisted and roiled with bitterness. If he could just reach out, if he could only touch her, hold her . . . but what he wanted was impossible and what he wanted to do unthinkable. He put one hand over hers, where it clutched the sand between them.
“Miss Roxeter . . . Savina . . . I’m sorry but what Zazu told you is true; I did institute the changes on Tanager.”
She took in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Did Gaston-Reade at least agree to them with open eyes?”
Tony thought about evasion, but it wasn’t in his nature except when absolutely necessary, and it would serve her poorly. “I presented every idea I could to him in the light of a measure that would improve production or lower costs. Those that did neither, those measures designed to improve the living conditions in such an abysmal, destructive, despicable practice as slavery, I slipped pa
st him by enlisting the help of certain sympathetic people at Tanager.” He sighed. “Lord Gaston-Reade will never voluntarily agree to free his slaves on the plantation. Like the other owners, he sees no viable alternative. It would mean, he feels, the end of any profit for his Caribbean holdings, and he could be right. But the price being paid for his profit is too high; the cost is human suffering so acute it is unbearable to see at close quarters.”
When he glanced over, it was to see her head down. He thought she was looking at something on the ground, but her shoulders were heaving. “Miss Roxeter . . . Savina, are you all right?”
When she didn’t answer, he put his hand under her chin and raised her face to be visible in the flickering firelight, trails of tears tracking wetly down her cheeks and glittering. She pulled away. Compulsion ripped through him and he took her in his arms and held her against his shoulder, rocking her gently, feeling her slim form heave with muffled sobs. Tenderness trickling through him, he pressed his lips to her forehead, his heart thumping so loud with the anguish he felt for her that he was sure she would hear it.
But she pulled away and dried her eyes on her sleeve. Taking a deep, quivering breath, she shuddered and calmed. “How awful,” she said. “How awful to be so completely wrong about everything one based one’s future on.” She tried to smile, but it was a trembling, tentative expression, her cheeks still wet and her nose dripping.
His handkerchief was stained after so many days in such rough condition, but it was relatively clean. He took it from his pocket and wiped her cheeks. “Here,” he said. “Please use it.”
She dried her eyes and blew her nose. “Do . . . do ladies in England ever change their minds and . . . and disengage themselves?”
As much as he hated it, he had to be honest with her. “Yes. But when the gentleman is a man of such standing as Lord Gaston-Reade, the young lady is sometimes called a jilt, and especially for a young lady as yourself, with no friends in society at all. You might find your reputation in tatters before you can even establish one.”
Lady Savage Page 9
