“Your estate?” Vincent only smiled, and yet the room grew colder by degrees. “I was unaware that you and Mr. Pridmore had purchased any land. I must congratulate him.”
“I—oh. That is to say—”
He turned from her to address Mrs. Whitten. “Since it is your ballroom, may I assume that questions about our working hours should be directed to you?”
Mrs. Ransford replied instead, “No, those should be directed to me, since the coordination of the glamural has been my charge in previous years.”
“Ah … did I misunderstand?” Vincent offered a little bow. “I had thought you wished us to create the glamural.”
“Well, yes, but Mrs. Hamilton can hardly work glamour in her state.”
Jane stepped in before Vincent could reply. While he was often irritable with their clients, there was a difference between an eccentric curmudgeonly artist and an arrogant nobleman. His manner in that moment tended towards the latter and made Jane uneasy. “Mrs. Ransford, I am so glad to hear you offer your help. We shall certainly need it, although in truth I had been looking forward to continuing my involvement. I am half mad from want of activity.”
Mrs. Ransford looked frankly at Jane’s stomach. “But you cannot work glamour.”
“I can still do drawings and paint. My husband can work some of the glamour, and when he is occupied, I have found a glamourist of some talent who can assist.”
“Oh?” The pale woman raised her eyebrows. “I thought I knew all of the glamourists of any skill on the island.”
“Her name is Nkiruka. She is a retired field hand.”
Laughing, Mrs. Ransford shook her head. “I quite misunderstood you. When you said you had found a glamourist, I thought you meant someone with training.”
“She does have training, although I will grant that it is not in the European tradition.”
“To be certain.” Though her manner said she was anything but certain. “Still, you must understand my confusion when I thought you were comparing the work of a folk glamourist—and a slave, at that—to what a lady of refinement might produce.”
Vincent looked around the ballroom. “Is this your work?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Good. I am glad to have a measure of your abilities. It is everything I would expect from an accomplished and fashionable lady.”
Jane had to cover her mouth as Mrs. Ransford gloried at the supposed compliment. It was enough to conciliate her and allow them to settle a plan that would allow Jane to oversee the glamural through the use of drawing, which would make coordination easier. Vincent would do the finer, detailed work, and they would have the aid of a number of assistants. Privately, Jane expected that he would also wind up laying some of the larger folds, which required more stamina than she expected Mrs. Ransford was capable. All in all, this endeavour was as much like their lives in London had been as they could expect from Antigua.
Twenty
Drawings and Measurements
The next morning Jane settled in her accustomed spot at the round table in the blue parlour to do some drawings of their proposed ice palace. They had taken measurements of the ballroom, which would allow her to make a scale plan that several glamourists could execute in concert. For clients, they ordinarily did a rendering of what the finished glamural would look like. As much as Jane wished that they could create that representation in glamour, the fact that glamour could not be transported made working on paper rather more practical.
What differed in this instance was a consciousness that having drawings alone of the finished effect would not suffice, since she would not be doing the work. Jane would need to also show the foundations, since those were the most easily assigned to the less accomplished glamourists. Over the course of the next several hours, Jane worked on her rendering of the full effect as it would be seen from the entrance to the ballroom. The curtain of snow across the musicians’ gallery would need to be woven from several extraordinarily long threads. She thought that they were well within Vincent’s abilities but would feel better if she could show it to him before Nkiruka and Amey arrived.
She rang for Louisa. The young maid appeared in the door quickly and curtsied. “Yes, madam?”
Jane straightened, her back cracking audibly from her time hunched over her paper. “Do you know where Mr. Hamilton is?”
“He is in the counting house.”
“Thank you.” Jane made her papers tidy and stood. For a moment, grey spots swam in the edges of her vision, and she had to press her palm against the table to steady herself until it passed. The doctor said that some dizziness was not unusual for expectant mothers, but it still vexed Jane. “Could you ask Cook if we might have some of her delicious Shrewsbury cakes with tea? Nkiruka and Amey are coming to consult on our plans, and Nkiruka especially likes them.”
“I have already done so, madam.” She gave a curtsy. “Shall I help you with your drawings?”
Jane looked at the album of drawings and sighed. Given how easily she became dizzy, it would be best to have both hands free while climbing the stairs to the counting house, so she could manage her gown and hold the rail. Though she felt more like her mother with each passing day, Jane nodded. “Thank you, I think you had better.”
She was finding that the difference between being nearly six months along and actually in her six month was significant. She had begun to feel somewhat ungainly.
She led Louisa down the hall past their bedroom, out the back door of their wing, and to the counting house. A horse was tied up at the rail, eating the flowers planted at the foot of the stairs as if that were its normal fare. Jane frowned, unable to imagine Vincent being so careless, which made it likely that it was someone else’s horse. Lifting the hem of her gown, she started up the stairs, but had achieved only the third when Mr. Pridmore emerged from the counting house.
He was still facing half inward, addressing the occupants, “Thank you for your time and consideration, sir.” Putting on his hat, he turned and saw Jane. He lifted the hat again and greeted her before settling it upon his head. “Mrs. Hamilton, so lovely to see you up and about again. Feeling better, I trust?”
“Much, thank you.” She managed to keep her dislike hidden.
“I am glad. My wife was delighted that you were well enough to help her with the charity ball. It is a favourite project of hers.” He lowered his voice to a confidential aside and took a step closer. “I do know how important it is for ladies to have their favourite projects. In fact, I was just discussing yours with your husband.”
Jane stepped back until the rail pressed against her. “My book, you mean?”
He looked confused. “Pardon? Have you the poetry ailment as well?” Shaking his head, he laughed. “I refer to your engaging that negro ‘doctor’ and promising to build a hospital. I know you mean well, but there are budgets to consider. I should advise, most strongly, to choose another amusement for yourself.”
“I hardly think that the health of the people working for us is a subject of amusement.”
“Then we are agreed.” He smiled and leaned even closer. “Pray, do not amuse yourself in like manner any further.”
“Jane?” Vincent appeared in the door, frowning.
Mr. Pridmore straightened, still all smiles and easy manners. “I was just complimenting your wife on her improved health. Good day, madam.” He stepped around her and continued down the stairs.
Behind her, Louisa gave a sudden startled exclamation. When Jane turned, the girl’s face was flushed and she was smoothing her dress with one hand, clutching Jane’s papers tight to her bosom with the other. Her discomfort was all the more apparent in contrast to her usual composure. Mr. Pridmore was past already, walking to his horse as though nothing had occurred. Jane went back down to stand by Louisa. “Are you all right? What did he do?”
“Nothing, madam.” She looked at the ground and wet her lips. “An insect flew into me. Nothing more.”
“If he touched you in any way, you
must tell me.” No matter where the girl’s loyalties lay, certain things were not acceptable under any circumstances. Jane glared at the man as he rode away, but he took no notice beyond touching his hat in farewell.
Vincent came down the stairs two at a time. “What is the matter?”
“I think he … was impertinent with Louisa.”
This attention seemed to distress the girl more. “Please, madam. Please do not say anything further about it. I was only startled. It was only an insect.”
“Your father is inside.” Vincent gestured to the counting house. “Shall we go to him?”
“No! He will—you mustn’t say anything. Please? Please do not. Is better if Papa don’t—truly, it was nothing.” She looked between them with anxious entreaty, a more open display than Jane was used to seeing from her. She was shaking. “Please?”
Vincent’s scowl darkened as he turned to look after the man. “If … if anything untoward occurs, I should be honoured if you would trust me with your confidence. In certain matters, I have more liberty than your father.”
Louisa managed to give a curtsy, even standing on the stairs as she was. She had composed her features, but her colour remained high. “We should not keep Mrs. Hamilton in the sun, I think.”
Inhaling, Vincent gave a tight nod. “Of course.”
If Louisa came in, red-faced and trembling as she was, Frank would know in an instant that something had occurred, and given the timing of Mr. Pridmore’s departure, no doubt he could make an accurate guess as to what had happened. Jane bent a little to try to peer into Louisa’s face. “Should you like to go back to the great house to … fetch something for me?”
“Yes, madam.” Louisa turned, then turned again in a full circle and held out the album of papers. “Your drawings, madam.”
Vincent relieved her of them. “Thank you, Louisa. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, sir. Madam.” She dipped in another curtsy and hurried off.
Jane let out a heavy sigh. “That odious man.”
“Yes.” Vincent rubbed his hand through his hair and grimaced. “Come inside?” He transferred the drawings to his right hand and offered her his left.
As they entered the relative cool of the counting house, Jane said, “I wanted to ask your opinion about the drawings I have been working on, before Nkiruka and Amey arrive.”
Vincent’s stride checked for a moment. He looked across the room to Frank, who met his expression with some gravity. Pulling out a chair, Vincent guided her towards it. “Sit down, please.”
“You are alarming me a little.” But Jane sank into the chair. She put a hand to her side as the baby kicked in agitation. “What is the matter?”
Vincent set her drawings on the table. Drawing out another chair, he sat in front of Jane, then took both her hands. “I am … I am very sorry to report that Amey has died.”
She could only stare at him. His concern, and the tenderness with which he delivered the news, carried with them a tremor of fear. For a brief moment, his gaze dropped to Jane’s stomach, then out the window where the slave huts were just visible in the softening distance.
Amey had died? It hurt to inhale. “In labour?”
“Yes.”
“And her baby?”
“A stillborn daughter.” Vincent’s hands were warm and strong around hers. “I am so sorry, Muse. I know that you had taken a keen interest in her welfare.”
“I do not understand. Was Dr. Jones there?” Jane looked up sharply. “Mr. Pridmore did not keep her away, did he? He has not called her for months, and was just now wanting me to stop my ‘project’ of worrying about their health.”
“She was there—at least, according to Mr. Pridmore.”
“He must be lying.” Jane withdrew her hands and clenched them together in her lap. It was too awful. Yes, Jane knew women died all too often, but Amey had borne children before. She had been strong and in good health. How could she so simply be dead? And poor Nkiruka, to lose a daughter in such a way.
Frank cleared his throat. “I am afraid not. He came expressly to complain about the expense when, to him, it served no purpose.”
“If there had been a hospital—if she had not given birth in a dark, stuffy, and dirty room.” Jane covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingers against her forehead. He was a terrible man. All his concern had been about the expense, and none for the lives that had been lost. Dropping her hands, Jane lifted her chin. “I told the doctor that I would inquire about having a hospital built, and I have done nothing beyond inquire.”
“Jane…” Vincent shifted in his seat. “There was nothing to be done.”
She stood, clasping her hands in front of her again to hide their shaking. “The doctor made some very sound economic arguments about improved recovery rates and reduced sick days.”
“I know.” Frank nodded. “She has presented the same ones to me, but Mr. Pridmore convinced his lordship that we were spending enough on medical care and that converting land from agriculture to a hospital would be a poor return.”
“So, let us look at land that is not suitable for agriculture.”
“Muse, I do not want you to upset yourself over this.”
“I am already upset!” She swallowed her rising shrillness and took a shuddering breath before she attempted speech again. The doctor had not been enough to keep Amey alive. Would a hospital really have made the difference? Jane turned again to Frank. “Are there maps we might look at?”
He looked past her to Vincent before he answered. Her husband must have nodded, because Frank turned to a set of long flat drawers. On another day, she might have been annoyed that he felt the need to get permission from her husband, but it was a petty concern today.
Pulling open a drawer, Frank said, “I have the plan of the estate, but since there are not enough house slaves to justify more than a sick room inside the house, a hospital will principally relate to the field hands. Its construction is likely to belong to Mr. Pridmore’s budget.”
“If we must, then we make the argument that a hospital is necessary for my health and the health of Lord Verbury’s heir.”
Frank laid the paper out on one of the broad desks. “He will still want to see numbers.”
“Why must we continually indulge that man!” Jane slammed her palms down on the table. “He cares for nothing but profit and power. People are but tokens for him to spend upon whatever he desires and—and … I am sorry, Frank. I know that your family is one of those tokens for him, and at risk. I know why we must indulge him.”
Letting his head drop forward, Frank leaned on the table. “I should acknowledge that my experience with his lordship has been very different from yours. Before the stroke, he was a demanding master, but liberal so long as you met his expectations, and not arbitrary. He could even be generous.” His fingers flexed on the table. “For instance, my wife was a lady’s maid on another plantation. We met in the course of events held around the island and began a doomed courtship. Lord Verbury took note and bought her. She has never been required to work on the estate. So … so it is important for you to understand that I follow his wishes not only because my family is hostage.”
Behind Jane, Vincent said, “And when you did not meet his expectations?”
Frank lifted his head. “As a slave, you expect to be beaten. He is methodical and careful not to cripple or leave scars. It was never without cause.”
Jane could only stare at him in horror. “How can you possibly—”
“Because I cannot say the same for Mr. Pridmore.” Clearing his throat, Frank pushed the map towards Jane. “After the stroke, Lord Verbury has been exceedingly arbitrary, and Mr. Pridmore was given full leave to run the estate as he sees fit. Since your arrival … Lord Verbury has been almost constantly angry. He is in conflict. On the one hand, he wants to punish you both for not acceding to his wishes. On the other, you represent his only hope to preserve his legacy.”
Vincent gave a cold chuckle
and walked a little away from them. “So he will want to deny the hospital simply because we ask for it, but also wants to ingratiate himself in order to be close to the child. How lovely.”
“Just so. Presented with numbers, it might remind him to reply with rationality rather than emotion.”
“I can attend to that, since I am having no success in finding anything to help us against Pridmore.” Vincent crossed to the ledgers. “If you will provide me with the doctor’s notes about the economic benefits of a hospital, then I can compare that to the current cost to the estate.”
Jane studied the map. It would not restore Amey to life, but it might save some other woman. “Frank and I will attempt to find a location for it.”
The map had been clearly drawn, with the neat rectangles of the great house and counting house surrounded by acres and acres of cane fields. They had been broken into smaller plots, each delineated with a careful line. The distillery was closer than she had expected, on the road to St. John’s, but in the opposite direction. Only a few spots were not developed for agriculture. Jane pointed at one of those. “What about here? The land between us and the Whitten estate.”
He answered quickly, “There is a ravine between us.”
“It is barely more than a gulley on this map.”
“Alas, that is one of the places where the surveyors failed in their duty. The ground is quite treacherous there, and erosion has widened and deepened it over the years. Even if we were to build well back from it, I worry that the building would fall.”
Vincent made a humphing sound from where he sat. “There is currently no sickroom?”
“Correct—or, rather, there is one in name, but it is only a room in the basement of the great house with a cot in it. I keep it supplied with some bandages and a few medicines for the use of the house staff.” Frank turned his attention back to the map. “Perhaps something near the distillery? That is where the worst injuries happen.”
Of Noble Family Page 22
