Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Turning her back to Zeus and Louisa, Jane mouthed, “Please,” and put her finger to her lips. Tears wet her cheeks, which vexed her. Crying would only make things worse: they would ask why, and what could Jane say then?

  “Glamour interesting, nuh?” Watching her for a moment, Nkiruka’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze darted behind Jane to where Louisa and Zeus talked with the children. Nkiruka’s hand moved, slightly, and the conversation became muddied, as if she had done something to the sound. “Me tell you de truth. You can at least watch glamour.”

  Jane remembered her prior sickness with such distinctness that she thought she would be ill right there.

  “Perhaps … perhaps you might come to the great house to discuss glamour? My husband would be very interested to hear about your approach.” Jane’s voice came out too high and breathless.

  “Maybe. They not goin’ want me there.”

  Jane wiped at her cheeks, trying to get her breathing under control again. “Well. I will make it clear that I want you.”

  “Den we talk bout if you can do glamour.”

  Nkiruka knew. She did not merely suspect that Jane might be with child. She knew. Nkiruka’s hand slid through the air and the conversation behind Jane became clear again. Nkiruka raised her voice. “It too warm out here fu you. Zeus! Take her home out of this sun. Get her a coldmonger.”

  In other circumstances, Jane might have protested that she wanted to stay to talk about glamour, but she put her bonnet on and hid in the shadow at its depth. If Nkiruka wished for her to go, then she would go and do nothing to upset the woman. “I trust we will see you at the great house soon.”

  “Madam!” Louisa’s voice sounded indignant. “She cannot come to the great house.”

  “Why not? I want her to speak with Mr. Hamilton about glamour, and he hardly has time to come down here.” A moment of inspiration struck Jane. “Besides, I need help correcting the ledgers, and Frank had suggested that I ask one of the older women for help. If Nkiruka is willing, that is.”

  “I willing.” She shrugged. “But, I tell you, they not goin’ want me there.”

  “But I do.” The fact that Louisa found the older woman an improper choice made Jane only more determined to have her for an assistant.

  Ten

  A Theory of Glamour

  Jane stared at the page before her. She had already crossed out three different attempts to explain what she had seen the giant spider do that afternoon. Whatever she had thought about writing a book was clearly mistaken. Attempting to describe a visual medium in words proved much harder than she had anticipated.

  Hearing Vincent’s footsteps in the long gallery recalled her to herself. He paused in the door. “Muse, you have ink on your nose.”

  “Do I?” Jane set her pen down and wiped at her nose. When had it grown dark outside?

  “Indeed. More, now, I think.” He produced a pocket handkerchief and knelt in front of her. Catching her chin with one hand, Vincent applied the handkerchief to her nose. “What are you working on?”

  “There is a folk glamourist in the slave quarters who used the most interesting technique to create a giant spider. She constructed it outside the visible spectrum and then shifted the colours. At least, I think that is what she did.”

  Vincent pulled the handkerchief away from her nose, his brows contracting a bit. “You were not working glamour, were you?”

  “No.” She gave him a sharp look to signify that she was not simple. “It was quite provoking, actually, because I am afraid to look into the ether. Even that much made me sick—before.”

  He looked down, folding the handkerchief so that the ink spot was inside. “It will not be much longer.”

  “I know.” Jane bit the inside of her lip. They were already skirting too close to the issue. “Shall we retire to our bedchamber? It is nearly time to dress for dinner.”

  The skin around his eyes tightened with concern, but he held his question until they reached their room. Once inside, Vincent shut the door, without taking his eyes from Jane.

  “What happened?”

  “Am I that transparent?” Jane loosened her fichu and pulled the lace shawl from around her neck. “Do not answer that, I know that I am.”

  “Not to others. Except sometimes your cheeks betray you.” He grimaced. “And I was far worse today.”

  She wrapped her hands in the lace, pulling it tight. “My concern … and please understand that it is only a concern, not a rebuke … my concern is that we have been here only three days, and the effects on your sensibilities already seem severe.”

  “I know. It troubles me as well.” Turning a little away, he walked to the balcony door and stared out. He reached back to clasp his hands behind him, and then stopped himself. His hands hung at his side for a moment, as if he did not know what to do with them beyond that posture. With a little sigh, Vincent crossed his arms over his chest. “When I shouted at Louisa … that is never appropriate, and given her circumstances—” He shrugged further into himself. “I left the room, and all I could hear was how much I sounded like my father.”

  “You are nothing like him.”

  “But I was, was I not?” He dared a glance up at her and away. Jane’s heart ached at that brief glimpse of pain, and yet she was grateful that he was able to overcome his training to show her even that much. He cleared his throat, again looking out the window. “You were going to tell me what happened to you today.”

  Jane had to swallow twice before finding her voice. “The glamourist I mentioned, Nkiruka. She guessed. About me. We were talking about glamour, but she does not know the formal terms for what she does, so she was trying to show it to me. I said I could not see it and—and she guessed.”

  He turned his head, almost looking at her. “Do you think she will tell?”

  “I do not think so. I hope. It was so stupid of me.”

  “Truly, it does not sound as though you were anything but curious.”

  “Yes, but so many women hint that they are in a delicate condition by first announcing that they cannot work glamour.” Jane walked away from him to sit on the bed. “Though according to Nkiruka, that is only European women.”

  Now he looked at her, head cocked to the side with the curiosity and interest that discussions of glamour always provoked. “What do you mean?”

  “According to her, working glamour holds no innate danger for a woman while with child.”

  “Jane … I would not put much stock in what a field slave tells you about glamour.”

  She rubbed her forehead, feeling a little like her husband as she did so. “I did not at first. But she pointed out that if it regularly caused miscarriages, then no slave would willingly carry a child to term.”

  He frowned at that. “Mr. Pridmore did say that birthrates were low here.”

  “Yes, but I have spent the past day looking at the records. Births are low, but not completely absent. On top of that, many of the infant deaths are due to failure to thrive after delivery.” Her voice had become strange, too high and too rapid. She tried to slow down and sound calm so that Vincent would not be alarmed. “So what I keep coming around to is that if she is correct, then perhaps my miscarriage was not because I worked glamour, but because of other factors. The carriage, the running … or simply me. That last is the one I cannot shake, because it is the one I cannot guard against. I can avoid glamour. I can avoid running. But what if I have inherited my mother’s troubles? What if I cannot carry a child to term?”

  Vincent crossed to her. He sat, pulling her into his arms. That undid all of her resolve to present a placid countenance. She buried her face in his coat and inhaled the salt and horse scent from his day’s activities.

  “There, now.” He kissed the top of her head. “There, now. Hush.”

  She gave a fragile chuckle. “You sound like Papa.”

  “I was doing my best impression. Did you like it?”

  “Very much.” She was making a mess of his coat. Jane wiped her eyes
with her fichu. “I was wondering if anyone has done a comparative study of the language of glamour. That was one of our chief difficulties today.”

  “I can think of papers that describe the effects, but nothing, off the top of my head, that gets into how the African system of glamour is described and the structure of its use.” He stared into the distance, considering. “It would be interesting to talk to her.”

  “We might invite her to the house.” Jane knew that she had changed the subject from her fears, which they both seemed to be doing too much of late. Still, she was grateful to Vincent for letting her. “I also thought.… She has a daughter who is very near her term. What if we brought Amey to the great house for her lying-in?”

  “As a kindness, you mean. That it might be something to bind Nkiruka to us?”

  “That, and it would allow us to bring in a doctor to examine me as well.”

  “That strikes me as making excellent sense, and I will own that it would provide a great deal of relief. I have been worried that we have not had anyone to consult with.”

  “Then we are agreed? I shall make the offer tomorrow?”

  “Yes. By all means.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “That will be one trouble resolved, which is a blessing.”

  “And how are we doing with our other difficulties?”

  Groaning, Vincent fell backwards on the bed and covered his face with both hands. “I have been staring at record books and examining buildings until my eyes cross and have yet to find anything to make my father weaken his hold on Frank’s family.”

  Jane settled beside him. She rested her free hand on his chest and rubbed circles upon it. “I begin to think that this is a fool’s errand. Nothing will make that man release his hold on anyone.”

  Vincent’s silence agreed with that estimation.

  * * *

  Jane found that she was counting their days in Antigua as a way to remind herself that this was not a permanent situation. On Tuesday, their fourth day on the island, with only ten days remaining in their sentence, Jane went to Frank about her desire to bring Amey to the house to have her baby there.

  He was in the counting house with three young men of colour discussing maintenance to the carriage house. When Jane and Louisa came up the tall stairs, he raised his head, brows rising in surprise.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He rose, coming around the table. “Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband has ridden down to the distillery to oversee an inventory.”

  “Thank you, but I am here to see you.” She glanced past him to the young men. “I do not want to keep you from your business.”

  “No, please. What may I do for you?” He waited, with his hands by his sides, in an attitude of civil attention.

  “Do you know Nkiruka?”

  “Ah—yes. What has she done?” A slight frown bent his mouth down.

  “What? Oh—no. No, she was actually lovely.” Jane wondered if her recollection of the name was mistaken. “Amey’s mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had spoken of having an older woman assist me. I should like it to be Nkiruka.”

  He glanced beside Jane to Louisa, raising his brows slightly. In reply, the maid spread her hands a little with a small shrug. Frank frowned, returning his attention to Jane. “She will most likely not be willing.”

  “Forgive me, but I feel as if we are discussing two different people.” And yet, Jane remembered Zeus’s response to the older woman, and his obvious deference to her. “She is an older glamourist, and we had an interesting talk about the art. I mentioned the possibility of her coming to the great house for both further discussions and to help with the records. She seemed quite willing.”

  “Well. Well, if she is willing, then we can make the arrangements.” He turned over his shoulder and said, “John, will you make a note that I should discuss an alteration of staff with Mr. Pridmore?”

  Jane frowned, trying to understand why the overseer needed to be involved in her project. “Mr. Pridmore?”

  “Nkiruka is a field slave—retired, due to her age, but still. She is under Mr. Pridmore’s direction. I have charge of only those slaves involved in maintenance of the great house.”

  Jane nodded slowly, absorbing this information and altering her picture of how the plantation was run. “So … the safe house. Is that your charge as well?”

  “Ah. No. Mr. Pridmore saw to that himself.” He gave a cold, bitter smile that put her in mind of Vincent. “In any event, I am certain he will have no objection to giving Nkiruka over to my charge.”

  “Perhaps … this is more complicated than I thought. Her daughter, Amey, is very near to her lying-in, and I thought that moving her to the great house would make everything easier. Nkiruka would not need to go between her quarters and here so often, and it would be more comfortable for Amey.”

  Frank’s expression became carefully reserved. “You want to bring Amey to the great house. And for Nkiruka to live here?”

  “There are empty rooms enough.”

  He tucked his chin into his cravat and studied the floor. “And after the birth, you would return them to their own home?”

  She had not thought of after the birth. “I … surely it is safer for Amey to give birth at the house, where there is less dirt and ready access to water.”

  The young men waiting for Frank had become quiet. Their bodies leaned ever so slightly towards the conversation, though their faces all gave the impression of being intent upon their papers. Frank worked his jaw for a moment, then nodded. “I will speak to Mr. Pridmore. Louisa? Please arrange for the yellow bedroom to be made up for two.”

  The maid curtsied. “Yes, sir.”

  He looked back at the young men, whose attention to their paper increased. Compressing his lips, he turned back to Jane. “Will there be anything else, madam?”

  He possessed an unnatural ability to make an entirely civil query into a dismissal. “No, thank you.” Jane took her leave and retreated with as much grace as she could.

  Zeus met the women at the bottom of the counting house stairs. He carried a giant Chinese parasol that cast enough shade for Jane and Louisa both. He fell into step behind them as they began their walk down the hill to the slave quarters. They had entered the orange grove halfway along the route when Louisa cleared her throat.

  “Madam. May I speak to you about a matter of some delicacy?”

  Jane’s heart clenched. A matter of delicacy could only be Jane’s condition. She glanced around to see if anyone besides Zeus were in hearing. “Please, continue.”

  “Mr. Frank’s concerns about Nkiruka. I think that he did not explain fully what those were, out of consideration for your sensibilities.”

  “And you have no such consideration?” Jane almost laughed at the reprieve. Nkiruka? That was a topic she would willingly discuss, so long as it had nothing to do with increasing.

  “It’s part of my job to help you get settled and to keep your name out of people’s mouths … that is, madam, I have been instructed to help you acclimate and to avoid lapses that may expose you to public disapprobation.” Her brows were drawn together. “Please believe that I speak only out of concern for your reputation.”

  “My reputation?” That was the last thing that Jane had expected. “Oh, my dear, you will have to explain yourself bluntly, because I have not the least idea of what you are speaking.”

  “Lord Verbury cannot be pleased that you wish to bring a black woman into the house. It is not the done thing in Antigua. It will reflect poorly on you and, by extension, on Mr. Frank.”

  Jane gaped. She reached for something to say, but could only stare at Louisa with her brown skin, and Zeus who was lighter, but no less brown. Jane tried again, aware that her mouth was opening and closing around half-formed responses. Finding her voice, she finally chose, “It does not seem that we have any scarcity of blacks in the house.”

  Louisa’s eyes snapped up, meeting Jane’s gaze. She so rarely made eye contact with Jane tha
t the moment astonished her, in part because Louisa’s anger was very clear. Then she looked at the ground again, masking the anger with submission. “Madam is under a misapprehension. We have only mulattos in the house. Blacks are not suitable for anything other than field work. I am certain that you will find that Mr. Frank agrees with this determination. He does not wish you to bring Nkiruka to the big house either, but is too gentle to explain the circumstances to you.”

  This was beyond Jane’s understanding. At no point in their dealings with the Worshipful Company of Coldmongers did she notice any difference in the way the variations in their skin tone affected their ability to be employed in using glamour to create cold.… Her thoughts tripped over themselves. No. That was not quite true, was it? The leaders of the group did tend to have lighter skin than not. How had she not noticed that at the time? Or here. She had been all too aware of the number of Hamilton offspring and what that must mean about Lord Verbury’s relations with the slaves, but she had not recognised that all of the house servants were mulattos or quadroons. The nicer houses, the better clothes, the better positions … no wonder Vincent thought that Verbury could command loyalty among the house slaves when being his child here had clear advantages.

  And that difference made securing Nkiruka’s aid all the more important, because she would have no cause to be loyal to Lord Verbury. Jane took a breath, wetting her lips. “Thank you for your counsel, Louisa. As Frank did not make an objection on that point and did on others, I am satisfied that if it had been a concern, he would have mentioned it. We are not likely to entertain, and even if we did, she will not be serving at table.”

  “But you must understand that—”

  “I assure you that I do.” Jane resettled her basket on her arm. “My decision is made.”

  Louisa turned her face forward again so the deep brim of her bonnet hid her face, but her hands were tight on the handle of her basket. “Yes, madam.”