by Natasha Boyd
“In da house.” Quash pointed.
I nodded at both Togo and Quash, thanking them for letting me know. “Now go on and get warm and dry. Take shelter. I don’t want anyone outside working in this weather, you hear.”
“Yes’m.”
I pulled my shawl tighter around me, squinting as the first thick drops of rain began to fall and then ran up to the house to avoid getting soaked. Essie clucked at me as I came inside, the door banging shut behind me.
Voices came from my right. A fire roared in the study grate. Mama was already standing at the hearth warming her hands. Cromwell sat in a wing chair. They fell silent as I entered.
Cromwell didn’t meet my eye nor greet me, and my stomach tumbled with dread.
“We have to get out of these damp dresses,” Mama said, grabbing my attention. “Mary Ann is laying things out for us upstairs. Though I believe I’ll repair to bed. My head is entirely too troublesome. Will you send up a plate for supper, dear?”
“Of course,” I responded. The air was oppressive, and it wasn’t from my heavy, damp, wool traveling dress. It was from words unsaid. I’d interrupted their exchange.
She turned and nodded at Cromwell who returned the gesture.
I took her place at the fire. “Well?” I said impatiently. “What happened?”
“Everything went according to plan.”
“What did you do?” I turned and faced him. My body shuddered with a chill, and I told myself it was my iced skin raising gooseflesh as it met the heat from the fireplace. I fixed my gaze upon him.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I waited.
His face betrayed nothing, but he laid his hand on the chair arm and took a step toward me.
I moved away as he approached.
He smirked. “How did you know?”
The confirmation that something was amiss was a blow to my stomach.
“Sweet, little Eliza.” He reached out and took a strand of hair that had been plastered to my cheek. His forwardness was so unexpected I was unable to react, frozen with disbelief. “So trusting. So … naïve. So innocent.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, and his fingers drew around my jaw.
The shock of his touch finally registered and broke through my haze. I swung my hand up, smacking his away from my face. “What is the meaning of this?”
I swiveled my head to the door. It was closed. Mama had closed it behind her. My mouth dropped open in surprise. It occurred to me it was her second attempt to leave me alone with Cromwell. As horrible a thought as that was, the most pressing one was the state of the indigo.
“What did you do to the indigo?” Whatever it was he would tell me, and we would fix it. If he’d taken it or sold it, I’d make him get it back. I set my jaw. “Tell me. This instant. Where is it?”
Cromwell’s eyes widened, and he shrugged. “The indigo is here of course. Where else?”
I breathed out, confused, ignoring his proximity. “It’s here? So you didn’t take it and sell it?”
Now Cromwell looked confused. “Where on earth would you get such an idea? There’s nothing to sell. The solution was too diluted, the indigo never separated from the water.” He shook his head.
“What do you mean ‘diluted’?”
He cocked his head. “Apologies, the way you asked, I assumed you knew. Such a shame. After we worked so hard. It was quite ruined, I’m afraid.”
I gasped.
Cromwell went on, but I could barely hear him as my ears seemed to have a roaring ocean pressing in from all sides. My vision was dark and inky. Needing support, I reached out to hold the mantel.
“I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of what happened,” he finished.
“Ruined?” Forming words was a struggle. “How?”
“Well, it’s a mystery, isn’t it? It’s such a delicate process. If one’s not paying attention it could be turned too soon, too late, so many things can go wrong. Perhaps Ben got distracted with that striking Negress, Sarah.”
He shrugged again while my heart squeezed painfully. I ignored the bolt of alarm at the thought of Ben being anywhere near that conniving viper Sarah. Even though she was recovering, and seemed more docile, I had yet to figure out what to do with her.
I kept looking for a sign that Cromwell was lying to me. The dishonesty purled off him in waves. My chest tightened and breathing became difficult. If what he said was true, the financial ramifications were too much to think about. This venture had to work. It had to. I had to prove I could do this. And if he was lying …
I closed my eyes, praying for strength.
Why would he lie? How could it be ruined? I wobbled where I stood.
“Here,” Cromwell said silkily, and his hand was around my waist leading me to the couch.
I jerked away. “Unhand me. How could this have happened?”
“There is nothing to say.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “The plants were inferior. The batch was poor quality.”
“You said that last time. This time I know the plants were good. They were harvested correctly. Ben said they were perfect.”
Cromwell snorted. “Ben said they were perfect,” he mimicked with a snarl. “You do spend an inordinate amount of time with him, don’t you?” His face grew flushed. “I am the indigo maker, not that black-skinned son of a bitch. Me. Do you hear?”
“Perfectly.” I walked to the door and wrenched it open. “Essie,” I called and startled as she materialized, obviously hovering close by. “Essie, please send someone to get Ben. I need to see him immediately.”
She nodded and scurried back into the shadows. I needed answers, and I wanted both my indigo makers present. I was astonished to find myself on the verge of tears, frustrated anger and worry clearly having no other outlet. I turned back to the room.
“What are you doing sending for him? Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Cromwell snapped, his tone indignant. “How dare you insult me so.”
The lamps did not give much light against the darkness outside. Despite it being afternoon, it felt like dusk, so heavy were the clouds. The quiet roar of gusting wind rumbled the windows. We should have put up the hurricane planks, I thought absently as my mind spun as fast as a water spout.
I sank into a corner of the love seat and tried to modulate my voice. “Pray tell me. We have followed all the directions to the letter.” My voice was pleading. “We’ve done everything you said.” My voice hardened. “Despite your deliberate attempts to thwart my progress.”
“I don’t have to listen to this. Your mother was right. The sooner you are done with this ridiculous essay, the better. You have become far too ambitious. It’s a rather unflattering quality, I’m afraid. Though, with effort, I may be able to overlook it.”
“My mother?” I was outraged. “You will keep her and her opinions out of this.” The rest of his words registered. “Overlook it. What are you talking about?”
“She’s of the opinion you should all return to the islands.” He sat and settled his frame against me, his hand closing over my wrist.
I balked at the close contact. Wedged in and unable to move, alarm raced through me. I arched away as best I could, pulling my wrist back without success.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something. A proposition, if you will.”
A knock sounded on the doorframe. Cromwell slid away, breaking his constraint of me.
I took the opportunity to leap to my feet and swing around to the open door.
Essie, soaked through, bobbed a quick curtsy. Her gaze was fixed to mine. Any guilt I’d normally feel about sending anyone out into a torrential downpour was absent. Thank God they were here.
Ben stepped into the room, rivulets of rain running down his face and off his chin, his clothes dripping upon the floor. I searched his expression, hoping for something to comfort me, but it was blank
, his gaze averted to the fireplace.
I was living a nightmare. No one was acting as they should. “Ben?” I whispered, and my voice shook.
Essie hovered by the door, and I was grateful to have her near me.
“Tell me about the indigo,” I begged him. “Is it ruined?”
Ben glanced at Cromwell, then his eyes finally met mine. “Yes.”
A small cry escaped my throat, and when I felt the slide of moisture on my cheeks I knew my body had given up trying to contain my anguish. “How?”
“Too much lime was added to the solution.” His voice was quiet and sad.
Cromwell tutted. “Now then—”
“Too much lime? I don’t understand.” I glanced between them. Cromwell glared at Ben. “But Cromwell said it was because the crop was inferior quality,” I told him.
“Well,” interjected Cromwell. “What I meant to say was if the crop was good, the lime wouldn’t have been too much. But as it was, it can have a rather diluting effect. No way to know until it’s too late.”
Ben dropped his gaze, and I knew Cromwell was lying.
“But it seems to me, an expert would know that,” I said. “So which of you deliberately ruined my indigo?”
I drew the curtains together to somewhat drown out the dismal scene outside the window of the study and allow myself a moment to regroup. Then looking back and forth between Ben and Cromwell, my two supposed expert indigo dye makers, I tried to make sense of what could possibly have caused either of them to deliberately sabotage my efforts.
Who had done it? And what motive could either of them have had?
Togo said he saw them arguing. The only way I could reconcile that information was to assume that Ben must have been trying to stop Cromwell.
Ben shifted uncomfortably, no doubt waiting for Cromwell to say something. Why hadn’t Ben tried harder to save my indigo? I knew why. Just arguing with Cromwell could have been cause for whipping, or worse. I didn’t blame him. But I did blame him. I did. He had said he would make it all right. He’d promised me.
So, in the end I focused my attention on Cromwell. “Well?” I asked him.
“As I said, I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of what happened.” Cromwell cleared his throat.
I took a deep breath and pressed a fingertip to each of my temples in an attempt to bring myself down to a more peaceable temperament. Because now that the shock was wearing off, I had outrage pulsing through my veins. “Of which would you rather be accused? Deliberately misleading me and sabotaging my attempt? Or that you are not the expert you purport yourself to be? It is rather an explicit mistake for one who claims such expertise.”
Cromwell’s face blotched red. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? You deserve a thrashing. If you were my wife—”
A sharp bark of laughter erupted from my throat. “Your wife?”
Cromwell’s mouth snapped closed. Then he seemed to change tack. “But no matter, I wonder whose hand was the one to perform the ruinous deed?” He raised his eyebrows.
Energy was radiating off Ben, and I turned to him. He flinched as our eyes made contact.
“Why don’t you ask Ben what happened? It was his mistake,” Cromwell purred.
My heart thundered in my ears. My wet dress had kept my body from fully absorbing the heat of the room, and I was chilled through to my bones. But this coldness had nothing to do with temperature.
Not Ben. Surely not. Ben and I, we were beyond such petty connivances. Ben had said he would help me. That he would make it succeed. What mistake could he have made?
I realized Ben and I were staring at each other. His eyes were connected to mine in a way I couldn’t break away from, and I didn’t care that we had an audience. My success would have been Ben’s success. My failure was his failure. Of that I was sure. He might say whatever he needed to in front of Cromwell, but I’d know the truth from his eyes.
Our friendship was the friendship of two connected souls who’d met in the shade of trees on a sugar plantation when our hearts were pure.
“Ben,” I pleaded, stepping even closer to him, desperate to discern any hint of dishonesty that would tell me he was lying to protect his master.
Ben’s eyes flickered.
I pressed on. “Was it your doing?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
Of course it was what he’d say.
Essie had a hand over her mouth as if she believed him.
“Try again.”
“Yes. It was me,” he said. His voice was hard.
“I need to speak with Ben alone,” I said to the room.
Cromwell tutted. “Come now, I don’t see what difference that will make. The surly bastard just admitted it.”
I lurched forward and grabbed Ben’s arm, marching him toward the door of the study. I burst through into the hall slamming the door closed behind me. Ben was maddeningly silent, allowing me to manhandle him. There was no way my diminutive frame would have been any match for him if he had resisted.
There was even less privacy out here if my mother was listening, so I yanked open the front door. It flew back on its hinges, and I dragged Ben with me out into the wild blustering wind. Wind that instantly grabbed the breath from my lungs and pulled my hair loose from its bindings.
“Please,” I managed. “I just need to know if you had anything to do with it. I know you will say anything in front of him.” My words shuddered out as my body was wracked with spasms from the cold. “Just tell me you tried to help me. Please. My heart is aching with the thought you did this to me. I know it can’t be true. Just tell me the truth, just for me to know, and I’ll deal with Cromwell.”
Trying to keep myself together, I breathed heavy and fast. The rain drove sideways under the veranda roof, slapping against us.
“On the soul of your grandmother,” I pressed. “I need you to answer me honestly.”
Ben’s dark chocolate eyes were fastened on mine, and I saw anguish there.
I shook my head. “Oh God, please. Tell me you didn’t betray me also.”
“I—” He swallowed. “I want to be free.”
A sob escaped my throat from the depths of my chest. “So you sabotaged me for a promise of freedom?”
Ben didn’t answer. His arms hung limply at his sides.
“How many times has he made that promise? Answer me? How many times?”
His stony silence enraged me.
“He will never free you!” I screamed in his face. “He needs you. He is nothing without you. You called me a coward once, but the only coward I know is the one I’m looking at right now.”
“I …” Ben spoke through gritted teeth as if he was in pain. As if he was physically swallowing words he should say. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth. His face inches from mine. “I need to be free,” he said.
“Me too,” I choked out and saw my anguish reflected back to me in his eyes. “You were closer to freedom than I ever was. I want to be free too. And you …” My tears were hot knives against my icy wet cheeks. “You, Benoit Fortuné, just took my chance of freedom away from me.”
I couldn’t face Cromwell when I went back inside. I called for Mary Ann to place warming bricks in my bed and sent Essie to change into dry clothes. I changed out of my heavy soaked dress myself, and when Essie returned I had her help me dry my hair. It took hours for the shaking in my body to subside, and I didn’t know whether it was from cold or emotional shock. Essie gave me a draught of herbs to ward off the chill she expected me to catch and brought me a small sprinkling of sugar and told me to let it melt on my tongue.
I wrote in my copy book as soon as my hands were steady and composed a letter to Father to update him. I spoke of the magnificent ball, and I decided at the last minute not to let him know about the indigo. I would, in time, but for now, until I was
sure he wouldn’t reflexively mortgage Garden Hill, I told him the indigo wasn’t quite dry. A half truth at least.
My sleep was dead and dark. There were no dreams to lose myself in. And when I awoke to the bleak landscape, the failed indigo endeavor was a weight upon my chest.
“Miss ’Liza?” Essie’s soft voice came from the door.
I turned my head in the bed.
“Come, chil’. Essie hep you rise.”
“Thank you, Essie.” My heart squeezed. I wanted to ask her to hug me. I wanted to crawl onto her lap, like I had when I was a child.
“That storm be ragin’. An’ there be more comin’.”
She shook her head and clucked, breath huffing in and out. “You got challenges comin’. It’s gone take a fireball from the sky afore things to be gettin’ better.”
“That’s ominous, Essie.” I scowled. “I feel hopeless enough without relying on heavenly portents.” Hopeless was an understatement. I was devastated by the loss of the indigo. It was almost too big a loss with so many repercussions that I thought I might prefer to stay in bed than have to face a day where my dream was over. An urge that was entirely unfamiliar to me and so frightening that I made myself get up immediately.
I dressed, still feeling the chill in my bones. “Let’s get all the fires going today. This house is freezing.” A thought occurred to me. “How are the dwellings? Are they holding up in this weather?”
“Yes’m. Quash done make good fixin’ ’em up when you tol’ him. They’s be warm and dry.”
“Oh, good.”
Something about Cromwell’s wording the day before was bothering me too. I’d have to speak to him again today and get to the bottom of his motive. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d been the instigator behind the sabotage. And that I’d been unfair to Ben expecting him to choose my indigo over his freedom. But I’d been right in pointing out to Ben that his freedom from Cromwell was a mirage. My heart ached when I thought about how my harsh truth must have cut him.
I found Cromwell in the breakfast room. His pompous air made me want to hurl the silver candlestick at his forehead.
