Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  “Lady say the master wan’ move the wounded.”

  “Absolutely not. I cannot spare the labour for that.”

  Looming over him, Vincent said, “You can, and you will. Your treatment of these people is inhumane.”

  “God spare me from Londoners who come crying about humanity. You do not understand the least thing about managing slaves or a plantation.” He flung an arm out towards the hill of wounded. “If those were oxen, you would not hesitate to put them down. The cost to nurse them back to health would not be worth the while. This is—”

  “You are fired.” Vincent’s calm might have been mistaken for indifference.

  Pridmore gaped at him. “You cannot.”

  “It is absolutely clear that your incompetency and refusal to do adequate repairs caused this accident. Your treatment of the slaves—or, in terms you can understand, your neglect of my property—is indefensible. If you press me, I will see you brought up on charges.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Even in Antiguan law, the deliberate death of a slave is murder. If any of those people die, it lies on your head alone.”

  Pridmore turned to the white planters who had followed them over. “Explain to him, gentlemen, the realities of running a plantation.”

  The oldest of the men, face weathered with sun to a rough red, spread his hands and shrugged. “I am not going to presume to tell Mr. Hamilton his business.”

  Swallowing, Pridmore turned back to Vincent and opened his mouth to speak. His lips shaped words, but no sound came out. Grimacing, he finally said, “I will remind you that I was a favourite of your father.”

  Jane clenched her fists. It was as clear a threat for retribution as he could make without saying that Lord Verbury was alive.

  Vincent’s voice went colder still. “I wonder that you claim to be the favourite of a man who committed treason against the Crown. It does nothing to recommend you. You are fired.”

  Pridmore’s face turned red and white by degrees. He stepped closer to Vincent, shaking his finger at him. “You have no idea what you have done.”

  “I assure you, I know exactly what I am doing.” He leaned down. “You have until tomorrow to get off my land.”

  “I—I—I’ll take my quietus payment, then.”

  “Your what?”

  “Louisa. I was promised Louisa.”

  Vincent laughed outright. “By whom?”

  “Your father—”

  “Have you papers? Have you witnesses? No? Unless you can raise him from his grave, then I suggest you stop trying to hide behind his name. It carries no weight here.” Vincent turned his shoulder to Pridmore, delivering the cut direct, and spoke with surprising gentleness to Silas, who stood frozen by the mules. “Please carry on to the hill. He has no power to stop you.”

  While Silas was still gathering the reins on his mules, the heavily scarred black man stepped away from the group and ran to Frank. With a frown, Jane watched him lean down to whisper into Frank’s ear. Eyes narrowing, Frank nodded and directed him to Ellen. Straightening his coat, Frank stood, and then strode quickly across the ground.

  Pridmore fairly frothed, hands opening and closing in fists. “You will regret this!”

  Vincent did not distinguish him with a response. He stepped away and gave a bow to the planters and Captain Caesar, entirely calm in outward appearance save for having his chin tucked into his collar. “My apologies, gentlemen. I thank you for your patience.” He beckoned to Jane. “Have you had the opportunity to meet my wife?”

  The eldest of the men set the precedent. He joined Vincent and closed ranks so that Pridmore stood outside their circle. “Charmed, madam. I believe you know my wife, Mrs. Ransford?”

  “Oh!” Jane had not expected to add this awkwardness to the day. “Yes, she created an absolutely beautiful curtain of snow for us.” It took all her powers to pretend to be unaffected. Jane used her bonnet to block out the horror around them.

  Mr. Ransford smiled, glancing past her to where Pridmore stood, and shifted his position to draw her slightly further away from Pridmore. “She speaks very highly of your ice palace. I cannot wait to see it.”

  Jane could not give him her full attention. A series of curses and footsteps indicated that Pridmore was storming away. Jane swallowed and attempted to remain properly British. “That is very kind. Please give her my regards.” The conversation was intolerable.

  Beside Jane, Vincent had turned to meet Frank. She could not quite make out what Frank murmured to him, but whatever it was caused Vincent to spin and shout, “Pridmore!”

  “What!”

  Snapping his gaze to the captain, Vincent said, “Did you pay him for the cargo already?”

  “Yes, sir.” The captain’s face hardened with sudden understanding. “Yes, I did.”

  This caused angry muttering among the planters. Jane wanted to scream at them. They would let Pridmore do what he wanted to human lives, but God forbid he should steal a purse.

  Vincent strode across the yard to where Pridmore stood by his horse. “I require my funds.”

  Pridmore laughed nervously and took a step back. “The money is in the distillery, in my office. It’s unfortunate that the entrance fell in when the boiler blew.”

  Frank cleared his throat. “The purse is in his pocket.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Vincent stopped in front of him with a palm outstretched. “Sir.”

  “I have a purse, but it is mine. Are you going to take that from me as well as my livelihood?”

  “There is a witness who saw you pocket it.”

  Pridmore glared past Vincent at Frank. “I cannot believe you are going to take the word of that nasty, lying, nig—”

  Vincent punched him hard across the mouth.

  Staggering back, Pridmore collided with his horse. A hand went to the blood trickling from his lip. With a snarl, he flung himself at Vincent, fists swinging. Vincent leaned to the side, dodging the first blow. The second glanced off his cheek.

  With a speed that astonished Jane, Vincent cracked two blows against Pridmore’s chin, then planted a third firmly in Pridmore’s stomach. The man folded forward with a grunt until a fourth blow snapped him upright.

  Pridmore hung for a moment, balanced on his toes, then fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Vincent put a hand on the saddle of Pridmore’s horse and swayed for a moment. Hand tightening, Vincent’s spine straightened by careful degrees. Jane hurried forward and put a hand on his elbow, though she did not think she could stop him if he were to fall again. “Are you all right?”

  He looked down and compressed his lips in his small public smile. “Better than I have been in a long time, I think.” He looked up, past her. “Frank! May I borrow you for a moment?”

  “Sir?” Frank left his place behind the white men and came forward with alacrity.

  The planters stood in a little group, clearly talking about the fisticuffs with great enthusiasm. As far as Jane could tell, the substance of the fight did not matter to them, but Vincent’s performance had somehow left them impressed. The vagaries of men would remain unaccountable to her.

  When he reached them, Frank looked down at Mr. Pridmore. His face remained guarded, but his right hand tightened a little. Looking up, Frank inclined his head. “What may I do for you, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Two things. First—” Vincent looked suddenly and unaccountably bashful. “First … would you—I should take it as an honour if you would call me Vincent.”

  Frank’s mouth hung open a little at the invitation to such familial intimacy. He shut it and turned to look back at the white planters and then at the wagon drivers, his brows drawn a little together. Putting his fist to his mouth, he stood for a moment before saying, “Thank you.”

  In spite of his resemblance to Vincent, Frank’s position as the estate’s steward, the colour of his skin, and his very demeanour had made it too easy for Jane to think of him as only a servant. It was easy to for
get that he was Vincent’s half brother. The fact was, of all of Vincent’s blood relations, Frank was the only one who had never played them false. He had been loyal to his own family first but honest about it, and that was as it should be. Jane held out her hand to him. “I am Jane.”

  He stared at her hand for a moment, then again at the planters. He murmured, “You know they are watching.”

  “Am I mistaken that being claimed as a Hamilton relation will help your role?”

  Frank took Jane’s hand and bowed over it with the precision of any gentleman. “Thank you.”

  Breaking into a smile that looked genuine, Vincent clapped Frank on the shoulder and held out his hand, turning them both so that the handshake was obvious. “Good. I am sorry. I should have offered much sooner than this.”

  Clasping it, Frank shook his head. “You did not know me.”

  “And that is a cause for regret,” Jane replied.

  Frank looked down at Mr. Pridmore. “Yes.… Now, you had two things. What was the second?”

  Sobering, Vincent scrubbed his hand through his hair, staring with distaste at the man who still lay sprawled in the dirt. He bent down and felt in Pridmore’s coat, coming out with a heavy purse. Scowling, he straightened. “Get him off our land.” Vincent looked to the hill. “After we have seen to our wounded.”

  Twenty-five

  Old Scars and New

  The badly burnt woman lost consciousness on the ride to the great house, which was the greatest possible blessing for her. Vincent stayed behind at the rum factory to deal with matters there, while Jane and Frank returned with the wounded.

  When they arrived at the great house, Nkiruka and Dr. Jones met them at the door, faces tight as the first of the wounded was carried from the carriage. There was little for Jane to do. With quiet competence, Nkiruka and Louisa had organised the glamourists as nurses. Together they had prepared the spare rooms to the best of their abilities, assigning the rooms according to the severity of the injuries.

  As the wounded were carried through the door, Dr. Jones took a quick look and told the bearers where to take each patient. Louisa met the pallet bearers at the end of the hall and helped them settle the wounded. They had to be placed two or three to a bed, and on pallets on the floor, but she found space for them all. Jane’s experience in tending to her mother turned out to be of practical use, for though her mother’s ailments were frequently imaginary, the methods which their family doctor had prescribed for treating them were real.

  She soaked torn linens in rainwater and placed them on Sukey’s fevered brow and Julian’s angry, blistered skin. She helped arrange pillows so that Fidelia could rest more comfortably while waiting for Dr. Jones to come to her. She sat by Letitia’s bed and held her hand while she wept. Her husband had been stoking the furnace when the boiler blew, and no one had seen him since. She stayed there until Zachary brought Letitia’s mother, and then moved on to the next bed, and the next, and the next. Through their injuries, Jane met Jos, Bodelia, Thomas, Smart Martin, Jeannette … Jeannette had been one of their glamourists and now had blisters over her forearms.

  As Jane walked across the hall to the next room armed with her linens and rainwater, she saw Frank coming down the passage. Jane waited until he drew near. “Has Sir Ronald arrived?”

  Frank sighed. “I am sorry. I could have saved you the trouble of sending for him. He does not work on Negroes.”

  For a childish moment, Jane wanted to stamp her foot and throw a tantrum. That hateful, odious man. She swallowed her anger, trying to keep her voice low so that that she did not disturb those patients who had managed to find a troubled slumber. “What about Dr. Hartnell? The gentleman who runs the school that we are holding the charity ball for.”

  “The wrong sort of doctor, I am afraid. He is an historian of sorts. Jane—” Frank stumbled over the new familiarity “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Of course…”

  Without a word, Frank relieved her of her bowl and basin. She would have protested, but her back ached from bending over the beds. He led her to the blue parlour, pausing only long enough to set down her supplies, then he held the door to the veranda open for her. Still, he did not speak until the door was shut and Jane seated in one of the cane rocking chairs. The sun had begun to set while she was indoors, and the clouds burnt red over the hazy green hills, which were spotted with flamboyants and century plants.

  Frank leaned against the rail. Lit from behind by the sunset, he looked remarkably like Vincent. “I think we must make plans to hide Lord Verbury. Pridmore will tell in retaliation.”

  She sighed heavily, knowing he was right. What was more, Pridmore would do everything in his power to get his hands on Louisa. Likely, he would make a direct appeal to Lord Verbury and promise silence in exchange for her and who knew what other considerations. Jane chewed her lower lip, thinking. Slowly, she said, “Your mother … she offered to make a deed of transfer for Louisa to Vincent. Do you think she would still be willing?”

  “Yes, but that opens the forgery difficulties again.”

  “I have been thinking on that, but tell me if I am wrong. If she forges papers for Louisa, then we can send her and Zachary to England with messages to friends of ours there. The forgery need only be good enough to get her on the ship and can be abandoned once they are in London. Once there, they will be able to secure help for us.”

  “It will still take two months, at best, before any aid returns.”

  “True. But if we are going to hide Verbury, then he will not be able to cause your family to be sold—that is something he can only do if he appears to be alive. If we keep him hidden, that leaves us only Pridmore to manage.”

  Frank nodded slowly, considering it. While Jane could imagine the course of sending Louisa and Zachary to England, she did not have Frank and Vincent’s experience in imagining all the ways in which Lord Verbury could twist and turn their actions against them. It was both fortunate and not that Frank had long practise in it.

  “Verbury will still have Sir Ronald and others in his pocket.”

  “Am I wrong that that is only a difficulty if he knows that Zachary and Louisa have left? So long as he thinks he is being hidden for his own safety, then he will have no cause to deploy Sir Ronald against us. Indeed, he might even have Sir Ronald act on our behalf if we can convince him that it is for his own good.”

  “If I can speak with my mother privately, I will ask her to try to influence him. The challenge is bringing his lordship around to accepting the need to be hidden … or, rather, more hidden.”

  “And where to put him.”

  Slowly, Frank said, “When my wife and I married, he presented us with a small house. We added rooms on for the children, and it is quite comfortable. My youngest daughters are still at home, and he was fond of them before the stroke.”

  “And Louisa is supposedly sleeping in the room next to ours in order to be at my constant beck and call, so she will not be missed at your house.”

  “Zachary’s absence will be harder to hide. But possible.”

  They stared over the plantation. Even through the glass doors, the moans of the injured filtered out into the night. Jane had not heard Kate, who had screamed so horribly at the factory, in some time. She hoped that it was because Dr. Jones had relieved her pain and not due to darker reasons.

  Frank crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “I wish I could be confident that Louisa would not tell him of our plans.”

  “But … if she understands what is at stake?” Jane sighed, understanding that Frank still had not told her about Pridmore. “You have to tell her.”

  “She will not believe it.” Frank straightened his cuffs, though they were flecked with blood. “She thinks Lord Verbury is her saviour.”

  Jane had no skill or practise at the conniving and scheming that seemed the Hamilton way. The worst that her family had prepared her for was dealing with an invalid.

  A sudden thought occurred to Jane a
s three disparate pieces came together and she sat straight up in her rocking chair. She was good at soothing invalids. Frank had once said that people talked in front of him, forgetting that a servant could even hear them. And, thirdly, Miss Sarah had said that their dinner had been, in part, so his lordship could see Jane—or, more likely, the baby. “What if she heard it from him?”

  Frank grimaced at the thought. “How?”

  “I can take Louisa with me when I tell Lord Verbury about Pridmore being fired and our plans to hide him.”

  “When you tell him?”

  “Yes. It does not seem as if he would hear it from you. I am an unexpected quarter. Also, I am carrying his heir.” Jane pushed herself up from the chair, feeling her fatigue in the swelling at her ankles. “If Vincent returns before I am finished, please attempt to guide him away from the room. I imagine he will be out of humour and … meeting his father in that state never ends well.”

  “I will ask Zachary to catch him.” Frank inclined his head with a small smile. “But I think that Vincent will not forgive me if I allow you to go alone. I will be in the coldmonger’s box in the wall, in case you need … assistance.”

  “Thank you.” Knowing that he would be there relieved her of a fear that she had not recognised until it lifted.

  * * *

  Jane found Louisa cutting bandages in the sickroom. “May I pull you away?”

  “Of course, madam.” On Louisa, the fatigue they all felt had made her youth more apparent. She was so steady that it was often easy to forget she was only nineteen.

  “Thank you. I need to inform his lordship of our arrangements and would like you present to remind me if I forget anything.”

  “Certainly.” Louisa turned and picked up a writing book from the table. “I have the list here.”

  “You are a wonder of efficacy.” Jane did not have to strain to think of compliments. She truly did not know how they would have made it through the day without the young woman’s efforts.