Island of a Thousand Springs

by Sarah Lark

  Elias nodded. “A good idea, Addy,” he praised. “The girl has been in the house from the start and is properly educated. But naturally, the missis must decide. Kitty …” The girl kept her eyes demurely — or anxiously? — lowered, “I think you should first take the missis to her room and make yourself useful. If she likes you, you can have the position.”

  Addy was beaming across her entire face, but Kitty seemed rather sullen, as Nora noted when she finally looked up. Nevertheless, Nora was fascinated by her beauty. She had always imagined Queen Cleopatra to look just like this girl — aristocratic in an exotic way. Kitty had a finely modeled, high forehead and beautiful, clear facial features.

  Her lips were full, and her eyes very large, almond-shaped, and amazingly bright. Most of the other slaves had dark-brown eyes, but Kitty’s were more of a walnut brown with golden flecks. Her hair was shiny black, hanging almost smoothly down to her hips.

  “Well, get to it, Kitty!” Elias said, impatiently.

  He was likely concerned with ending this welcome parade. Nora felt it was about time to take initiative of her own.

  “Thank you for the welcome!” she said kindly. “And surely I won’t be able to remember all of your names just yet. But introduce yourselves, nonetheless — or maybe Addy will take on the task?”

  She smiled at the cook. She suspected Addy had been managing the house up until now, and Nora had no intentions of changing this. As such, it was better to give no rise to competitiveness among the workers by offering anyone the opportunity to stand out through potential eloquence. It seemed unlikely for the slaves anyway. On the contrary, they were visibly relieved to not have to address the new missis.

  The cook had fewer inhibitions. She proudly presented the servants and boys, chambermaids and kitchen maids. The girl beside Kitty belonged to the latter group and was still a child. Mandy was not more than eight or nine years old. After the introductions, the house servants, Boy and Joe, began carrying Nora and Elias’ traveling bags from the chaise into the house. The cargo wagon with the travel chests had still not arrived, but they could make do with the contents of their bags for the time being; although after the long boat journey, Nora was desperate for the rest of her things. “Will you lead me into the house now, Kitty?” Nora asked her new maid warmly.

  She was happy to take on the girl, though she seemed a bit peculiar to her. It didn’t look as if Kitty felt serving the missis was a privilege.

  Now the girl showed her the way, walking one step behind her as custom dictated. But as the broad entryway closed behind them, she gave up her exemplary restraint. Kitty spoke to her new mistress without having been first addressed — and Nora was surprised that after only two days in this new country, she was already astonished by it. With Nellie, it would seem completely normal, but the slaves seemed to only speak if it could not be avoided.

  “I not Kitty, I Máanu,” she said. “And my mama not Addy — I call Mama Adwe. Or Adwea. My sister Mansah.”

  “That is the girl who was introduced to me as Mandy?” Nora asked, decidedly not commenting on the girl’s outburst. “By why didn’t you just tell me that right away? It would indeed be better that I learn the correct names immediately.”

  “Backra said you can’t pronounce them,” Máanu said, finally overstepping the boundary beyond a doubt with this criticism. “Everything must be English.”

  Nora shrugged. “Well, your master certainly may call you whatever he pleases,” she started by putting the girl in her place. “But I would like to call you by your birth name. Máanu is lovely. Does it have a meaning?”

  Now it was Máanu who shrugged, unsure. “I don’t know, Missis. Ask Mama Adwe. She knows for sure.”

  Nora refrained from asking further questions, but instead made observations. Regardless of which African language the words Adwea, Máanu, and Mansah came from, Máanu clearly didn’t speak it. So Nora had to suppose that she’d been born here.

  But then why the devil did she speak broken English?

  CHAPTER 7

  The rooms of the house through which Máanu was now leading her mistress held no surprises. Even the spacious layout was similar to that of an English manor house: there was a large hall, which connected to a ballroom, smaller parlors, and a broad staircase that led to the bedrooms on the first floor. Nora found the furnishings clunky and awkwardly designed — the Kingston carpenters had not quite succeeded in imitating the finely cut, and often rather playful furniture from the time of the Sun King, which was still largely in fashion. It was characteristic of Elias’s upbringing not to notice details such as these.

  Nora was all the more surprised by the design of her own rooms upstairs. Stunned, she entered a sort of miniature Versailles. There were delicate tables painted with gold leaf, a desk with elegantly curved legs, upholstered ottomans, chairs with dusky pink covers, and a bed with a medallion back, and elaborate flounces. This furniture certainly didn’t come from Kingston — Nora assumed that it must have been sent directly from London or France. Slightly discomforted, she suddenly realized that she had entered the beautifully decorated rooms of the first Mrs. Fortnam, a completely European refuge. For the first time, Nora wondered who this woman really was. Her exquisite taste suggested a lady. Had Elias also brought her to Jamaica as a trophy, when he had finally came into money, and wanted to be a member of the high society?

  Nora would have preferred her rooms a bit more simply furnished, but essentially, it didn’t matter to her. The main thing was that she had her own room — a small parlor and a bedroom with a dressing room. Surely Elias Fortnam would not spend any more time than necessary to fufill his marital duties in this bed decorated with flowers and lace. Nora wondered briefly, and without much interest, how his private chambers looked. She turned to the windows, and then forgot all about the questionable furnishings. She resolutely pulled the ruffled drapes aside, and finally enjoyed the long-anticipated view of the beach and sea. It was not a direct view, as the garden and a bit of forest lay between the house and the coast. But from the first floor of the house, one could see beyond it, and make out a strip of sand, and the endless expanse of ocean behind it.

  “How beautiful!” Nora said, almost reverently. “How wonderful!”

  “Yes, Missis,” Máanu sounded less euphoric, but it was nothing new to her, after all. “Can I do anything for Missis? Change clothes, do hair? I have done before for visitor. Maid from Lady Hollister showed me.”

  Nora reluctantly sat at the delicate dressing table, as Máanu had directed her. She would have actually preferred roaming through the house and garden, but a lady was expected to have to recover after a journey. In the afternoon, she could get back to exploring — after she had inspected the kitchen and cellar, which she also did out of propriety, rather than interest. English servants would expect it of their new mistress.

  “Just do my hair, Máanu, and brush it out. After that, we’ll see if we can find a dressing gown in my bag that isn’t damp and wrinkled. Then you can take the rest and have it washed. That stuff has not been properly aired out for three months. I’ll surely get my travel chests by this afternoon, won’t I?”

  “Yes, Missis,” Máanu replied, and then went to one of the wardrobes, which was pink and light blue with decorative iron elements. She pulled out a silk dressing gown with large flowers on it. “Missis like it?” she asked.

  Nora didn’t quite know what to say. The wardrobe was filled with clothing — but there was certainly nothing inside that had been made for her. Apparently, more possessions left over from her predecessor. Nora was reluctant to be helped into the garment, although it didn’t smell musty as she’d feared, but rather exuded the tantalising scent of orange blossoms.

  “We washed for Missis,” Máanu answered the unspoken question. “Like?”

  Touched by the care of her new servants, Nora gave in, and had no regrets about it. The silk was cool against her skin, and the scent pleased her after the long time on the ship. Nora remembered Elias
’s repulsive odor on the last night. She probably also didn’t smell of roses.

  “Could you run me a bath, Máanu?” she asked, shyly.

  It was still not common in polite society to immerse oneself in water very often, but the notion that it was harmful had slowly been changing. So much so, that Thomas Reed had even installed a copper bathtub in his house in Mayfair. But had the first Mrs. Fortnam considered such a thing luxurious or dangerous?

  Máanu furrowed her brow. “White masters don’t bathe!” she explained, categorically.

  Nora sighed. She would still have to educate them on it. Then again, Máanu’s remark provided a glimmer of hope that the slaves did indeed know places for bathing. Nora decided that in the long run, she could find some pond or river in which to wash herself more thoroughly. The cold surely wouldn’t be an issue here. For now, she asked for a basin with water and washcloths, which Máanu attended to immediately. She watched with interest as Nora rubbed her body with the wet cloth, and then helped her wash her back. Next, she looked back into the former Mrs. Fortnam’s wardrobes and brought out a shirt. Nora reluctantly slipped into it, but Máanu was right: it was much more inviting than the undergarments in her traveling bag.

  “How long ago … did your … did the former missis die?” Nora finally asked Máanu.

  Nora was embarrassed by the question, but it would have been worse to ask Elias.

  Máanu shrugged again. “Don’t know, Missis. But long, long ago. Máanu so small.”

  She gestured the height of toddler. Mrs. Fortnam must have been dead at least fifteen years.

  “You can go now, Máanu,” Nora finally said. “It was all quite satisfactory; I believe you will make a good maid … would you like that, Máanu? Would you like to be my personal maid?”

  Nora knew that the question must have sounded strange to the slave, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking. Máanu’s demeanor was still not completely understandable. The girl clearly thought for herself. She was also skillful with a comb and brush, and seemed to have a bit of experience. But when Elias had put the position in front of her, her expression had been sullen and reluctant.

  “Naturally, Missis,” Máanu answered, but it sounded strangely indifferent. “Máanu does what Missis wants.”

  Nora let it be for the moment. “Lovely. Then go now and tell your mother that I’m pleased with you. And please tell her that I will come to the kitchen this afternoon … so, when it is good for her perhaps she can take me around the utility rooms.”

  Máanu bowed and left as it dawned on Nora that this formulation must have also seemed strange to the girl. Adwea was not a housekeeper like Mrs. Robbins in the Reed household. She was a slave and had expected orders, not requests.

  However, Adwea appeared infinitely kind when Nora later visited her kingdom in the basement. To her surprise, the kitchen opened at the back towards the sea. This way, the kitchen maids could easily dispose of waste, draw water from a clear brook running through the garden — and they probably also liked working outdoors. In any case, this kitchen seemed airier than the utility rooms in London.

  Nora found it regrettable that she could not stop here more frequently, until she spotted a wooden structure over the utility rooms and the adjacent kitchen garden that resembled a terrace. Maybe it was accessible from the main house and led to the lordship’s garden? Nora had already determined that Cascarilla Gardens lay on a hill. The land was terraced to the forest, and then down to the beach. This section of garden was built over and served as an extension of the service rooms. A small distance from the house, Nora discovered huts between the trees. The slave quarters, which could not be seen from the master’s entrance or garden, had easy access to the kitchen entrance.

  “Do you live there?” Nora checked.

  Adwea nodded with a beaming smile. “Yes, want to see, Missis? Everything neat, clean. Like kitchen.”

  The kitchen rooms shone with cleanliness, all the pots and pans were scrubbed, and the copper sparkled. The kitchen was well furnished and equipped — also in the Old English style. Nora wondered what Adwea cooked here. Who had taught the African cook to make English cuisine? On a table, she then found a basket of tropical fruit. With a laugh, Adwea, who didn’t seem the least bit timid, showed her how to peel a banana.

  “Tastes good, Missis?” She asked. Nora had never tasted anything so delicious before.

  When she followed Adwea further through the house, the chef seemed to find it quite natural to show her parlors and receiving rooms, all of which were equally as clean as the service rooms. She felt for the pendant made out of Simon’s ring. She had taken off the necklace before washing, but now wore it again with the silk afternoon dress that Máanu had brought to her room after her midday rest, without having been asked. Some member of the house staff had removed it from her travel chest, aired it out, and ironed it. Máanu had braided orange blossoms into her young mistress’s hair to match the dress. Nora thought of Simon constantly. This was the fulfilment of their dream. Nora wondered if she could make Máanu happy with a small gift, and finally decided on a couple of colorful ribbons. She also took the opportunity to thread a new, pink, silk-satin ribbon through the loop in her pendant. She had spontaneously decided that the time for black velvet ribbons was over. Nora just needed to get the house inspection behind her, so she could then wander through the tropical garden, accompanied by Simon’s spirit. Elias wouldn’t disturb her. He was somewhere on the plantation now, as Máanu had sullenly informed her. Nora noticed that her new maid’s expression always changed when there was talk of Elias, the backra. Apparently, the girl harbored resentment against him, which in some way, explained her reaction at being told to be Nora’s maid.

  The parlors and reception rooms extended at the south end of the house into two wooden terraces, which formed a sort of bridge over the kitchen garden, as Nora had suspected. Adwea had clearly not guessed that the new missis was planning an excursion into the gardens. Nora was determined, however, to end the tour of the original English manor house here.

  “I am going to step out for a bit, Adwea. You needn’t come along, thank you, I will find my way. But I need a bit of fresh air now — otherwise I will still think that I am dreaming.”

  She smiled at the slave, who did not quite understand what her new mistress meant. But Adwea didn’t ask. She had already heard stranger things from white masters than the desire to stroll through the garden in the blazing afternoon heat. After once again kindly inviting Nora to see the slave quarters as soon as possible, she retreated to her kitchen.

  Nora, on the other hand, entered the magical world of their tropical garden. She inhaled the air, full of humidity, but also heavy with floral scents. She saw a variety of shrubs and trees; discovering red, white, and lavender-colored flowers and leaves.

  And here, in the patio and garden area, the architect of Cascarilla Gardens had finally found the Caribbean style. There were colorfully painted balconies and niches adorned with carvings, a pavilion shaped like a pagoda — Nora already knew that this would become her favorite place. In the garden itself, there were ample palm trees, as well as shrubs with golden-yellow flowers, and other, rather plain, heart-shaped leaves. Nora picked one and saw that the bottom had a silvery shimmer — Cascarilla, the plant after which the plantation had been named. According to Elias, they had grown rampant everywhere before he had the land cleared for the sugar cane plantations. Between the shrubs and trees, lay grass borders, if they could even be called that. Actually, the blades of grass here seemed strange — comparable to the English lawn, but somehow meatier and fuller. Nora could hardly get enough of the vast greenery. There were also fountains and water features in the style of European gardens. Elias had been correct — there was no danger of a water shortage in Jamaica. The little stream probably even supplied the kitchen. Clean, clear spring water — there was no comparison to the broth of the Thames. With her heart racing, Nora leaned over one of the springs and drank. It tasted fresh, almost s
weet. Nora could hardly keep from drenching her entire face, and letting her pendant swing right into the water.

  Unfortunately, there was no back exit that led from the garden out into the forest. If she wanted to go to the beach; she would probably have to ride around the house outside. Nora wondered where the stables were. But first she would have a look at the slaves’ accommodations. Adwea seemed proud of her little home, and wanted to show it off to her.

  When she arrived back in the kitchen, however, Adwea was busy — it was almost time for dinner. Nora saw that there would be fish, probably fresh from the sea, and her mouth was already watering. Instead, little Mansah led her to the slave quarters.

  “Here, Missis! Good, Missis?”

  Even Mansah seemed to take Nora’s interest in her home for a kind of inspection in terms of order and cleanliness. As far as that was concerned, there was really nothing to criticize in Adwea’s hut. To Nora, the house seemed rather tiny for a family. There was just enough space for two sleeping mats, a crudely constructed table, and three chairs. There was a hearth in front of them. Nora remembered Elias’s comment about hurricanes and storm tides, and briefly glanced at the construction: wooden pillars, solid, albeit crude, masonry up to about waist height, and then mud walls on top. The bracing between the columns was filled with mud that had dried in the sun. The roof was made of palm fronds, the floor a hard-packed and swept-clean mixture of lime, stones, and clay. Overall, this residence was much more like the hut on the beach of Nora and Simon’s dreams than Elias Fortnam’s house. And it was also unlikely to withstand a hurricane.

  “After hurricane we build again,” Mansah said, impassively, when Nora brought it up.

  It seemed to matter little to her. And, in fact, the quarters had no personal belongings at all, outside of a few simply tailored, colorful dresses, and scarves that the women wound into a sort of turban on their heads. On one shelf lay the ribbons that Nora had given Máanu that afternoon. They were nicely tied together in a bow, so it seemed the girl was happy to have them. But the woman and her two daughters, who shared a cabin here, seemed to have nothing more.