The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2

by Vanessa Riley

  Except for Jonas growing, time stood still in Firelynn. Palmers was still mean. The dust continued to gather. And Eliza was everywhere, making her loss still fresh. Precious turned to her mistress's portrait. "Will you hang her in your residence, in a place of honor? Will it feel like she is there too?"

  He strode close and clasped her hands, stilling her fidgeting and the very breath in her lungs. "You ever lost someone other than Eliza?"

  She couldn't look up into Lord Welling's eyes and just focused on not moving. "Yes, my Grammama. My ma, she was sold a year or two after I was born, so all I ever had was Grammama."

  "What happened to her?"

  "Too much work when she'd become frail. She picked in the fields all that day and then never woke from her sleep." The memory of the woman's wisdom wrapped tightly about Precious's heart, like the stories she told about the fire, or hearing her sing during thunderstorms in their cottage.

  "Isn't she with you, Jewell, in every step you take? But she wouldn't want you to stay stuck in the past, stuck in some cottage in Charleston, where everywhere you turn you see your shortcomings. Everyday, all you feel is loss."

  She nodded. There were other reasons than Grammama 's death that made her anxious to leave America, but he didn't have to know those particulars. "It was good to come away to London."

  "I don't think Eliza wants that either. So, if I need to stay away from Firelynn to be free of the memories-- her pouts, her cheery laughter, her disappointments," He blinked his eyes hard, then opened them wide, "then I choose Port Elizabeth. It's a new beginning. Maybe it's your new beginning too.

  Fingers turning to ice, she broke free of his loose grasp. "You need to be free of this. Then you won't be so drunk. Jonas needs a father more each day."

  He plodded over to his bottles of liquor and topped off a half-filled glass. As if saluting her, he lifted it to his lips. He didn't down it as she'd seen him do in the past. It was almost as if this effort was for show. "Well, I don't drink at sea. You'll have to deal with me with all my faculties working. "

  The door opened and Palmers marched inside. "Miss Jewell, the packing of the dresses needs to be done."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Palmers."

  The baron put down his drink. "Oh, yes, and do allow each of the maids to have one of the late Lady Welling's gowns. Make it a gift from their late mistress."

  Frowning so hard his cheeks looked like they would explode, Palmers made a tsk sound with his teeth. "They are too fine for the help, sir."

  A laugh, short and harsh, fled her employer's mouth. "And charity will have better use? I hadn't seen too many peers in the hospital lines. I'm sure the maids can make something out of the fabric. Jewell, that includes you. Which one of those fine creations would you choose?"

  Without hesitation, her mouth flung open. "The emerald taffeta."

  His gaze swept over her, and she looked away before settling on staring at the jute rug on the floor. It wasn't indecent, his look, but more of what you see a man give at the bakery when fresh baked bread scents the air.

  "Yes, the gown Eliza wore to her second London reception, the house of Lady and Lord Jerrings. Yes, Jonas Hunt, the new Lord Jerrings, was quite taken with her." A grunt left him, as if he'd remembered a bad joke. "Take it with you to Port Elizabeth and make something new from it."

  Hating to agree with the scowl on the butler's face, she lifted her chin to meet Lord Welling's waiting glance. "I couldn't."

  He folded his arms, picking at his brass buttons. "Then you won't. Palmers, have it and more broadcloth and muslin ordered to set sail with. There are no mercantiles in Port Elizabeth. Miss Jewell and the other women going with will want material for a change of dress."

  Palmers’ gaze met hers, as if they both tried to understand the baron's meaning. Then his man finally agreed, almost choking on the words. "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Get to packing, Miss Jewell." The baron pounded past her and shoved his nearly-full glass into Palmers’ mitts. Halting, he half-pivoted and his gaze settled Precious's direction and the painting near her side. "Be careful to follow my orders, Palmers. I'd hate for my plans to be ruined or delayed."

  The door to the study closed behind Lord Welling, but his commanding presence remained. And even stiff Palmers looked shaken.

  Precious pivoted to Eliza's portrait and touched the gilded frame again. This trip to Port Elizabeth would be new and different. But what were Lord Welling's plans? And why did it feel as if his latest directives had to do with Precious as much as the swirls of pigment?

  Chapter Two: Boarding the Margeaux

  One, two, three, four. Precious Jewell counted the tall poles anchored to top of the massive boat roped into the dock. Those beams seemed so high, they punched through the overcast sky.

  Pinching her fingers, she measured the swaying cross beam attached to a middle post. An unfurled snowy white sheet wrapped about it, all spanning several inches betwixt her thumb and index. The distance must be miles wide.

  Scared and excited, her throat dried, even as her toes wiggled in her short boots. Swallowing, she lifted her chin to keep it from gaping. This boat had to be three times bigger than one Lord Welling sent to Charleston to bring his bride and her enslaved maid to London. That one seemed so grand. The day her foot left South Carolina soil was the first day she could breathe. No more evil. Well, none that caused lasting damage.

  Jonas snored. The soft noise tickled her neck. The gingham cloth sling she’d made to carry him kept his little body close to hers while allowing her hands to be free. She shifted her satchel to her other arm. Skivvies, a fresh dress, a nightgown and robe, a few of Jonas's toys, and her indentured servant papers, all her worldly goods sat inside, and she wasn't trusting it to anyone.

  The wind shifted and a ray of solemn light beamed down, warming her tight fingers. Everyone except for Jonas, all the workers and tradesmen and sailing men pounding to and fro, disappeared.

  Staring and tracing the rope lines, her heart raced. Something new and magical would happen, and this boat would lead the way. This beast of cedar and oak had to be larger than Firelynn Hall. Lord Welling probably needed one so big to carry her and all her hopes to this new land.

  With a sigh, and shuffling her feet forward, the world returned. Men, lots of them, stepped all around her. She clutched her bag a little tighter, but most didn't pay her any mind. They had work to do, carrying and loading crates onto the docked boats.

  The hull of Lord Welling’s boat had stamped the letters, M-A-R-G-E-A-U-X, and bobbed up and down with the waves. The bottom of the boat, below the water's edge, must be just as big as the upper. A lot can be ferried in something like that. A lot of crates, trunks… enslaved peoples.

  A gull shrieked overhead, echoing in Precious's ear, sounding like captives crying out.

  She shivered. Thoughts of Granmama pressed her heart. The old woman shed tears, recalling how she bore the weight of the iron chains, the scorn of the white men beating them and yelling in a language she did not know. The tales of being loaded into the dank abyss, the dark bottoms of a vessel such as this were rooted in the dear woman's nightmares.

  Granmama's brother died on the voyage, his body tossed overboard like garbage. How many others had been killed, their freedom stolen on a big boat, one such as this?

  Nausea flooded Precious, her limbs shaking with shame. How could her hopes be high when suffering and stealing still happened?

  On the smaller boat with Eliza, all she could think of was herself and the chance to be away from her oppressors in Charleston. It hadn’t gripped her like now, to think of her shattered family or the stolen futures of her forebears.

  Heavy in spirit, she wiped at her eyes. That was yesterday, and what could one formerly- enslaved girl do to change it? Nothin'.

  Yesterday. She chanted it to her spirit, over and over, trying to recapture her joy.

  Looking at cobbles in the dirt, she bumped into a woman embracing a man about his waist. Her dark walking gown blended i
nto his short cape. Precious backed up, hating that she'd disturbed their moment. “Sorry.”

  The woman ignored her and snuggled closer to her man.

  Precious scooted by, but couldn't help staring. Was it a homecoming or a send-off?

  The couple walked away, hand in hand. Perhaps they had love. That emotion was a strange thing. Eliza and Lord Welling claimed to have it. Her mistress seemed happy, coming to London. What southern girl wouldn't be? Her fiancé was handsome; seemed reasonable and even-tempered. For an arranged marriage, that had to be good. But they quarreled often over his family obligations, until Eliza was gone.

  With this past week of cleaning, she'd been wiped away from Firelynn. Her legacy, little Jonas, was all that was left of their union.

  The boy snuggled next to Precious’s bosom, and she covered his face from the whipping wind. She thought about his mother more and more these days. Poor Eliza, Precious’s long-time protector, would she be happy to see how this boy had grown? Would her heart leap as Precious’s did when the baron began spending more time with him?

  If Eliza had lived, they wouldn't be traveling to Port Elizabeth. She liked the parties of London too well. Entertaining, that was Eliza’s fun. Oh, how she would have reveled in throwing a first ball as Lady Welling. Her friend died, hours before she could even use the title.

  Precious's woolgathering sent her barreling into a thick man who bore saggy cloth bags.

  Tall, and black as pitch, he doffed his hat to her. “Miss, you need to be careful.” His head lowered, and it seemed his gaze seemed to stop near Jonas's mop. “Your mistress about?”

  Precious lifted her chin, a bit of pride buzzing like a lightning bug in her nervous stomach. “His mother is not, by my employer is somewhere.” She stared him in the eye, something she rarely did with men, but she wanted him to know she wasn't enslaved.

  “An American’s tongue.” He tossed the bags on his back. “Betcha you like it here better since you got rights. A slave's got rights here. I got mine.” He adjusted his bundles and went on his way.

  What was he talking about? She tugged her snowy mobcap over her ear. Whether the man believed her or not, she didn't care. Her freedom was true. She nodded, patted her bag with her papers, and kept trudging to the loading area of the M-A-R-G-E-A-U-X.

  Mr. Palmers, the nasty butler, ambled down the wide plank leading from the ship’s deck. The grim lines of his face stayed in a permanent frown. In fact, since Lord Welling announced his plans to take her and Jonas with him, the butler never smiled. He stopped next to her. “Don't disgrace His Lordship on this trip. You may have fooled him into thinking you’re more than a backwoods savage, but we know the truth."

  A thousand responses, all more hateful than the last, sprang to her mind, but she buttoned her lips. She’d save her good breath on someone more worthy.

  “No retort? No drivel about nonsense?” He shook his head and tugged on his grey mantle; such a puffed-up, mean-spirited bird. “Maybe you’ve learned some manners and respect after all.”

  Tongue burning with an apt phrase she’d picked up in London, she couldn't hold it inside any longer. “You bacon-brained fop, it hasn’t been your doing. Go on now. Go play lord and master to the empty house.”

  As if he knew she and the butler would squabble, Lord Welling appeared, standing a few feet away with brows rising and tight lips.

  She stilled her fidgeting fingers. There was no hiding her disgust of the butler, and, in another, hour she wouldn’t have to. Palmers wasn't sailing. If all went well in Port Elizabeth, it could be a year or more before she'd see the troll again.

  The crowd keeping the baron from them parted, and he marched near, with a pretty young woman on his arm.

  Who was she, and why was giggling?

  “Miss Jewel, Palmers,” he said, patting the lady’s fingers, “this is Clara Narvel. She’s joining us on this trip.”

  The fancy woman in a peach-colored cape and bisque bonnet must be a rich woman. "I am so excited, Lord Welling."

  Precious didn't like the feeling stirring inside. A breathless, quiet anger, like somebody stole something, filled her chest. She looked down at Jonas and hoped her face didn't show the contempt brewing.

  She rubbed her temples, and came very close to swatting her foolish self. Lord Welling hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't betraying Eliza. He'd been widowed for two years. The handsome man surely couldn't expect to live as a monk forever.

  Still, unease simmered as he swiveled this stranger with her cape billowing toward his boat.

  “’Tis a good season for traveling,” his voice sounded happy and strong. "You will like The Margeaux."

  The buxom red-haired lady nodded and giggled again. “Captain Conroy, I mean, Lord Welling, I am so excited to be going with you.”

  She'd called him by one of his other names. The lady must know him well. This wasn't good.

  The young lady's buttercup-yellow glove blended into his dark-blue tailcoat. The fluff of his town cravat was gone, replaced with a simple one that allowed the natural square of his jaw and long neck to be seen. He looked well without all the fuss, but Precious didn't like his black moon-shaped hat. Still, it was much nicer than the stuffy top hats that cluttered London.

  Yet, she couldn't quite get over his bringing a woman who wasn't a servant or his wife on the same boat as Jonas. Precious swallowed, the answer stinging her throat. What better way for the boy to get used to a new stepmother?

  Palmers gripped the ash-grey mantle shrouding his stinking bones, and craned his neck as if surveying the busy dock. “I didn't know more women would accompany you.”

  Well, well, the old bird was worth something after all, doing the dirty work of inquiring about all his lordship's guests. She caught Lord Welling's gaze and waited for his response.

  The reticent dimple on the baron’s cheek popped. “She’s the wife of my lieutenant, the man I left in charge in the colony. This is her first trip to Port Elizabeth, too. Jewell, she’ll be your traveling companion.”

  Once he said the ‘Mrs.’ part, Precious felt her lips curling up. She would gladly share a cabin with the lady now.

  Mrs. Narvel smiled bigger, showing a few white teeth. “Oh, and I can help with the little boy. My husband and I will need the practice, God willing.” The lady patted the front of her cape, exposing a rounding stomach. "Soon."

  A woman in love with her husband and with a baby; how very nice. Precious inhaled a little easier. “Jonas is not too much trouble if he gets his nap.”

  Palmers made tsk sound with his teeth. “A pregnant woman? Is it safe? There are dangers to childbirth. More so at sea."

  The woman looked up. A sense of serenity shrouded her like a blanket. "All will be well. I'm but four months, plenty of time to travel and be with my husband to see the birth of his babe."

  Head lowering, as if something had dropped weights on his shoulder, Lord Welling kicked at the cobbles. "It's my duty to get you to Narvel. A man shouldn’t miss such an event if it can be helped."

  The old bird pushed close to the baron. "It’s not too late to allow your son and his nanny to stay. I’m sure you can concentrate on your duties better without them getting into trouble.”

  Chin rising, Lord Welling stared in Precious's direction. Something flickered in his eyes, before he toggled his hat. “No, Palmer. I’d be more worried about the trouble they'd face without me. Go keep Firelynn in order. Come along, Miss Jewel, Mrs. Narvel. Let me show you to your cabin. Good day, old man.”

  Lord Welling, clasping Mrs. Narvel’s hand, led her up the gangplank.

  Waving Palmers good riddance, Precious stroked Jonas in his comfy bundle and followed after the baron. Her short heels clicked on the wood plank leading to the deck of the boat. Stopping midway, she glanced at the frothy water below. It looked cold and sort of brown. Would it be the same in Port Elizabeth? No, it had to be clear and blue to be everything she imagined. Yes, it had to be new, nothing like London and Charleston.


  She started moving again, but stopped at the board's edge. A jump of a few feet to the deck lay ahead. By herself, she’d jump like a rabbit, but not with Jonas. Nothing came before his safety.

  Turning, Lord Welling lifted his arms to her. “Hand me the boy and then I’ll help you.”

  She unhooked him from the cloth sling and handed him to his father’s large hands.

  Jonas had awakened and his large eyes must have caught site of the baron, for he started cooing baby talk and ended with, “Papa.”

  The baron’s serious face softened for a moment. “Mrs. Narvel, hold this precious cargo, while I help another. Right, Miss Precious Jewell?"

  Without giving her any warning, his hands seized her waist. He swung her wide, the surprise of it knocking the air from Precious. She clutched tightly to her bag to keep it from ending up in the water.

  Chuckling, he set her down. "Welcome aboard The Margeaux."

  Panting, she squinted at him, giving him an evil eye. Lucky for her she had a tight hold on her satchel or she’d have dropped it. If Precious could get away with it, she’d box his ears, but she’d have to wait for the world to stop moving. "Marg-geaux, that's the boat's name?"

  "Yes." He lifted his hands and pointed side to side. "She was my uncle's pride and joy. I come from a long line of sailing men. Nothing is better than being at sea. It's one of the few freedoms that I know."

  Precious couldn't respond, too disbelieving that a man born to a title could dare to think he wasn't free. Her fingers coiled tighter around her satchel holding the documents, which ended her enslavement. No. No free-born man could ever understand.

  He stuffed a hand in his jacket, and with the other he swiped at his chin. "You're in my territory, ladies. Now the rules begin. You must stay in your cabin at all times, unless I come and escort you. Being at sea can be a dangerous time. I need to know where you are every minute.”

  Blinking at the sun, which decided to tunnel through the clouds to smite her, she surveyed the big beams she'd spied from shore. Massive, bigger than the girth of several men, they stood all around, with ropes binding them together and to the deck. Her mind’s eye became aware of the big male crew members staring at them, ten in all. "Why? How can you get lost on a boat?”