Mrs. Thornton wailed. "He has to be here, has to deal with them. I cannot." She marched into the house and Emmeline found her pacing back and forth in the parlor.
"I will bring some tea," Joseph said quietly. "Cook will make some of the scones. They'll be nice and warm, straight from the oven. Raspberry jam came in the package today. Always special with the raspberry jam." He was speaking in a calm, soothing voice as if pacifying a scared child. Then he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
"They're going to bang those drums tonight, because they know I hate it. They torment me, and they do it on purpose. They came to unnerve me."
By the proud look on some of their faces, Emmeline wouldn't bring herself to argue. They could perhaps be owned in body, but their thoughts were their own.
"Why don't you sit, Mrs. Thornton?" Emmeline said.
"Don't tell me what to do, girl," the woman spat, still pacing back and forth. "Mr. Hart has to be here. He cannot leave."
"He is entitled to a day off."
"But look at what they do. They know he is not here. I only have Joseph to defend me."
Scratching her temple, Emmeline decided it was perhaps best to not mention that Joseph actually belonged with them. He'd grown up here and for all she knew, it was his family members he'd been speaking to. But Mrs. Thornton didn't see that. To her, Joseph's loyalty was assured and complete.
"Perhaps they just needed to be listened to if they have a concern," Emmeline said.
"Ho," Mrs. Thornton said loudly. "Listened to. What concerns do they have? They come to terrify me with their staring, beady eyes. They know exactly what they're doing. My boys. They killed my boys." Mrs. Thornton wailed then cried, leaning on a side table.
This was a new accusation Emmeline hadn't heard before. Mrs. Thornton had just accused them of being responsible for the deaths in her family. Emmeline had to wonder if she was entirely sane. Or was what she was saying possibly true?
"Perhaps we should call the doctor," Emmeline said when Joseph returned with the tea service.
"She will calm down soon," Joseph said quietly with the assurance of someone who had seen this numerous times. "Maybe we put a bit of laudanum in her tea. That will calm her right down." He left and Emmeline's eyes returned to Mrs. Thornton who was intermittently huffing or in frozen, silent wails.
Emmeline didn't know what was more frightening, the visitors in their stoic silence or Mrs. Thornton's reaction to them. Something was terribly wrong.
As Joseph returned, he poured a small measure of clear liquid from a vial into Mrs. Thornton's teacup. "Here you go, madame, a nice cup of tea to steady the nerves." Joseph actually spoke more now than he normally did. If he was at all worried about the visit, he didn't show it, only concern about calming Mrs. Thornton. That did give Emmeline some assurance that nothing was spectacularly and immediately threatening.
This event also showed that the hatred she had observed on Lord Cresswell's plantation wasn't unique. That same hatred existed here as well. And who could blame them? The injustice and hypocrisy weren't justifiable by any means. What happened here went against their own professed values. Money lay at the root of this and always had. Human misery overlooked for the sake of money, power and influence.
Chapter 14
Uncomfortable dreams had chased Emmeline around her slumber the entire night. There had been something dark and unseen, something chasing her, and she had been stuck in a maze of sugarcanes, never able to reach the safety of the house. Still, part of her had ached to be caught, had wanted the threat to overcome her. Dark eyes were there somewhere in the distance, watching her.
She woke with a start, sweat still dampening her nightgown, while sun streamed in through the shutters over the window. Another warm and humid day lay ahead.
Sitting up, Emmeline rubbed her head. An ache had developed during the night and the cloying sense of danger still tensed her shoulders. In the brilliant morning air, it seemed silly to think there was danger. There was no danger. It was only Mrs. Thornton's stretched nerves that had created this pervasive malaise.
What was now clear was how deep her fear ran, and that Mrs. Thornton in some way blamed the slaves for the death of her family members. How could they be responsible? The eldest had fallen off a horse, and the youngest had died in a fever. No, that wasn't right, he had died suddenly; it was her that had automatically assumed it was a fever.
Then again, three family members in such a short space of time. A grieving widow could be tempted to think there was witchcraft involved. Clearly, Mrs. Thornton thought so.
Shaking her head, Emmeline tried to dispel all notions of witchcraft. It was utter nonsense, beliefs harking back to old ways and older times.
Mrs. Thornton obviously had a nervous disposition. Maybe it was this place that put such things in one's mind. Emmeline had to admit that she'd had uncomfortable notions herself since she had arrived here. It was the foreignness of the place, she had concluded. Or maybe it was simply the consequence of subjugation. Wrong acts bred wrong sensibilities.
Emmeline washed and dressed, donning her plainest muslin dress. She suspected Mrs. Thornton would not come out of her room today. Mr. Hart would be back to deal with whatever redress the slaves wanted dealt with.
Walking through the silent house, Emmeline made her way to the dining room. There would be no point waiting for Mrs. Thornton today. It could even be that she was still sedated by laudanum.
Joseph was there waiting for her and she smiled. "Good morning, Joseph.”
"Miss," he responded. "I will bring you a plate." He disappeared and Emmeline waited for him to return. A plate was placed down at her usual spot at the table, but Emmeline didn't feel like sitting just yet.
"What did they want yesterday?" she asked. "The… field hands." She couldn't bring herself to say slaves in front of him. It seemed inconsiderate, although trying to gloss over the situation could also be seen as discourteous. There was no appropriate way of dealing with this. Although it seemed some of the people she had met simply adopted a view that all was as it should be, the social order gravitated to some dominating others.
"Better food," Joseph said, fussing over the table cloth.
Emmeline blinked, trying to understand. It was a concept she could understand. There had been times at the orphanage when the accounts had run low and all they had to eat was porridge. "The food has worsened in quality?"
"It has," Joseph concluded.
"They had circumvented Mr. Hart to tell Mrs. Thornton directly," she said, guessing what was going on. It seemed they didn't trust Mr. Hart to deal with their complaints, or he was ineffective at doing so.
Joseph didn't say anything.
"Because they have already told him and he isn't passing the message on," she surmised.
"He is responsible for managing the plantation and the plantation accounts."
Emmeline bit her cheek. "Food is a basic right."
Mrs. Thornton seemed incapable of dealing with this. As far as Emmeline had seen, Mrs. Thornton and Mr. Hart didn't have any regular conversation about the running of the plantation. If he wasn't feeding the people here, that was an issue that Mrs. Thornton needed to deal with. Surely there had to be some laws against such abuse.
It felt strange to sit down to eat breakfast when just the other night, people had gathered outside the house because there wasn't enough food. Emmeline ate sparingly, conscious of every bite she took. How bad was this situation? If Mr. Hart was abusing the people here, something had to be done.
As expected, Mrs. Thornton didn't emerge from her room and Emmeline paced the veranda as she so often found herself doing. Mr. Hart appeared on the far side of the fields, sitting on his horse in the shade. Was he such a callous man that he would starve people, she wondered. Embezzlement came to mind. Was he lining his own pockets at the expense of others?
Setting off at a brisk pace, she walked around the edge of the field toward where he was. The field was massive so it would tak
e close to several minutes to reach him. He stayed exactly where he was for a while, but as she began to come closer he rode toward her. "Miss Durrant. Off for a long walk this morning?"
"Are you aware that people came to the house last night?"
"I heard something to that effect." His face was impassive. It didn't have the shamed expression that she'd expected. "They should not have done that."
"About food, they said. It seems they feel it is an issue with such gravity they had to address it directly." Her voice was accusatory.
"They're not starving to death if that's what you're insinuating," he said. He shifted in the saddle, then swung his leg over and jumped down in front of her. Compared to her, he was large and Emmeline took a step back. He noticed her hesitation. "Sugar prices are low, Miss Durrant, very low. The crop isn't selling for as much as it used to. All down the coast, Belize and lower, sugar is being grown in such vast quantities, Britain is being drowned in sugar. Less revenue and everyone needs to tighten their belts. That's the nature of things. It is the same for all and there isn't much I can do about it. Yes, the food isn't perhaps as appetizing now, but there is enough. What would you suggest I do? People must be fed. The only other option is fewer mouths to feed, to sell people off, but that means less crop to sell in the future, making the situation worse."
It hadn't been the explanation she'd been expecting, having assumed something much more nefarious, but she also knew he wasn't lying. Mr. Wilkins had said the same thing; she just hadn't connected it to real consequences on the plantations. Just words that seeped in one ear and out another, but here was the consequence.
"Perhaps we can put more effort into growing our own food."
"That would also take away both labor and land from the harvest."
"It might be worth it."
"Not a decision I can make," he admitted. "Mrs. Thornton's edict is to keep things the same."
"I will speak to her."
"Good luck," he said with a snort. "I understand you wish to act as a champion, but I think you will find she prefers to entertain her own fears over any practical matters."
Emmeline threw him a look as she walked away. There was something sharp and uncomfortable about Mr. Hart. He had an answer for everything, that joking manner that suggested everyone was stupid. Granted, Mrs. Thornton's fears ran away with her, but that should garner their sympathy, not their scorn.
The path back ran along the edge of the field where it skirted the thick, impenetrable jungle. A woman was walking toward her, dressed in little more than rags, her gray hair tied back from her weathered face. It was her that had been staring at Emmeline the previous night. A tall stick helped her as she carried a pail with her.
Emmeline smiled tightly as she passed the woman.
"You should leave here," the woman said in a deep voice with a distinct quiver.
"Pardon?"
"You should leave. There is evil here."
Involuntarily, a shiver ran up Emmeline's spine.
"There is nothing for you here, girl. Leave and return to whatever home you have found elsewhere." Turning, the woman kept walking, digging her walking stick into the earth and wincing with the strain on her joints. "No good will come from staying in this cursed place. Only devils live here and they will claim your soul."
Stunned, Emmeline watched the woman. Horrible words slithered through Emmeline's mind. Was this woman trying to terrify her? ‘Cursed’ was another word that came up again and again about this place, but this was the first time anyone had said this curse would in any way be directed at her. Devils. What did that mean? The only devil mentioned repeatedly was Lord Cresswell. More than once, Mrs. Thornton had called him that. Was he the devil the woman was referring to?
Every old sermon that had made her skin crawl with discomfort came back to her. The devil out to claim souls, out to claim hers. As a child, she had believed every word, had thought the devil waited around every corner, waiting for her to put a foot wrong. As an adult, she had tried to dismiss such dark and ominous warnings.
Devils every one of them, the woman had said. From her perspective, they had to be, imposing their will on the liberty and well-being of others—her included by association. Then why the warning? Was the woman trying to scare her? Was this how they had made Mrs. Thornton so fearful—with vicious, ominous words and warnings?
Straightening her back, Emmeline shook the pressing feeling off her. She was not going to bow to such concepts. Fearmongering, that was what it was. Mr. Hart had said they all wished the people of the house ill, cursed misfortunes on them as the price for the evil they did.
Stroking her hand along her throat, Emmeline turned back and walked to the house as fast as she could. Against her own better judgment, she began to see the house as a safe harbor in a storm of ill will. Mrs. Thornton's fears were contagious, it seemed. Dark thoughts wormed inside minds and infected with fear and suspicion, and now she was tainted with it as well.
If only she had somewhere to go, she would be happy to take the old woman's advice. The unhappy truth was that she didn't. Her future would be infinitely worse if she left now, could even result in complete destitution. Only bad things happened to women with no means of supporting themselves. It seemed there was a price to pay no matter what she did.
What she had to do was rein in this fear that was taking root in her heart. She was not a nonsensical and superstitious creature. There were agendas at work here and she needed to understand them so people didn't toy with her wellbeing, enslaving her with fears and worries. Perhaps it was a just price for being party and witness to the things done here.
Chapter 15
The governor's house was brightly lit as their carriage pulled up, the windows shining against the bright colors of dusk. Mrs. Thornton was clearly excited about the evening, while Emmeline was simply conscious of the fact that they would be going home in the dark. Over time, it appeared Mrs. Thornton's fear of the dark had rubbed off on her. It was strange how fear was contagious that way.
Mrs. Thornton's fear seemed to dissipate ahead of a social gathering. The woman was a social butterfly, Emmeline concluded, but then being alone and lonely in that large house, it wasn't perhaps surprising that she craved the company of her peers.
Emmeline walked up the stairs behind Mrs. Thornton. A footman stood at the door, ready to assist, while another had drinks on a silver tray.
The room was brightly lit, the space golden in hue. It was a large reception room with sparse furniture and portraits of the people who had held the post of governor for this island. Changes in fashion and favor showed in those portraits, displaying the passage of time. Potted ferns decorated the edge of the room between cushioned benches.
Women milled in their light gowns, while men spoke in serious tones. Emmeline wore the dress that Lord Cresswell had given her as it was the finest she had and better suited to a party like this. During the day, she felt uncomfortable wearing it around Mrs. Thornton, as if the woman would accuse her of something.
Speak of the devil. That devil himself was there, standing with his back to her, deep in conversation with a man she didn't know. He wore black tonight and they accentuated his form, his broad, straight back, narrow waist. A fine form indeed. For being such a degenerate, he dressed impeccably well, but that was the thing about a devil: they fooled and tempted.
Emmeline watched him for a moment as she sipped her glass of champagne. It was the first time she'd tried it and thought it was nice with a fruity, fresh taste. In all honesty, though, she would probably prefer a glass of cordial, but those were remnants of her childhood when on special days, they were allowed blackcurrant cordial. Most of her fondest memories were related to food.
People were, at times, kind to orphans. Mrs. Becknell had allowed them to finish off her strawberry patch one summer, which still stuck in Emmeline's mind as a wonderful day.
Today was a wondrous day as well. This was as fine a party as she was ever likely to see and she watched the pe
ople attending, their dress and manner. She felt unrefined compared to them.
Moving along slightly, she saw a familiar face, a man sitting along the edge of the room, looking completely uncomfortable. Emmeline knew him. They'd been passengers together on the ship coming here.
"Mr. Wilkins," she said, startling him slightly. Apparently, he had been caught in his own reverie.
"Miss Durrant," he said, rising from his chair. "I had not expected to see you here, but perhaps I should have as you came here to be a companion. How fare you?"
"Well. I reside with Mrs. Thornton on a plantation called Rose Hill."
"I recall you mentioning it in the past. I hope you have found it to your liking."
"It has been a readjustment. The heat particularly. I found I wasn't that well prepared."
"I'm not sure anything can prepare you," he said, bringing out his handkerchief to wipe his beading forehead. "I find the blasted heat trying myself."
"You work here?"
"In this very building."
"That must be exciting."
"It is. More so than you would assume for a small island. I worked in Liverpool previously with its substantial port. I had expected Montserrat to be sleepy, but there are all sorts of problems this office must deal with. Bad business down in Venezuela, of course."
"I am not so familiar with such things, I'm afraid."
"It is trite stuff, believe me. It is a time of great strain, though." Mr. Wilkins eyes traveled across the room. "Gatherings like this bely how bad things are, and they are going to get worse."
Emmeline listened with growing concern. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"See, the sugar prices are down quite substantially. Most are barely breaking even and it's been devastating on taxes. If prices don't recover, things will get bad indeed."
"I hadn't realized." Actually, Mr. Hart had said something similar; she just hadn’t fully believed him until now.
"And of course, Whitehall is making noises, but they have for years. The people here firmly believe that it would be impossible for the crown to make such a substantial change. The empire would suffer too much."
The Curse at Rose Hill Page 9
