by Sarah Lark
Doug took a big sip, even though he actually thought it was too early. He usually didn’t drink before sunset.
“To my happy return home,” he said.
“As a graduate of law from Oxford!” Elias beamed, and drank, but then paused when he saw Douglas’s face.
“Can I assume that is so?” He asked, sternly.
Doug shrugged. “As a specialist in sea and trade law,” he withheld the entire truth. “Whatever I can do for the planters here in Jamaica, whatever contracts there are to negotiate — you can be sure that Cascarilla Gardens will be well represented.”
Doug sat down and took a sip of rum before the storm came crashing down over him.
“So, you weaseled out of it? You haven’t finished your studies?” Elias turned red, and the vein in his forehead throbbed.
“I know everything that I need to know,” Doug defended himself. “But, to explain in black and white, I would have had to remain at Oxford for another year or two. It wasn’t worth it to me, Father. I wanted to come home!”
“Home!” Elias walked around the room furiously. “You sound like a child. And you ‘know enough’! As if that matters!” “I could run a plantation!” Doug asserted.
Elias snorted. “With experienced overseers, my boy, any child can do that!” he said sternly. “But a trading office in London, representation on the continent now that we have a townhouse there, and the best connections. But the king will not receive a man who leaves his studies and runs back here. A respected lawyer, on the other hand …”
“The king will receive a lord at best,” Doug remarked. He defended himself, but coldness spread within him. His father hadn’t planned on him returning to Jamaica after his studies at all. Instead, he had ambitious plans, undoubtedly concocted by his young wife. Had he not given her the townhouse in Mayfair? As such, Doug would now have to reside there and lobby for the sugar cane planters in Jamaica. Maybe even manage long-distance trade? As far as Doug knew, Thomas Reed had no male heir. Perhaps Doug was supposed to leave the spot free for a child … Was this Nora pregnant? “And we were in agreement that a Fortnam needn’t purchase a rotten borough in order to have pride in his name!”
“You could have even paved the way for a properly earned title! But you had to travel instead!”
Elias did not go on. It was too late now, anyway. He could hardly put his son in chains and force him onto the next ship to England. Besides, it would have been useless, anyway. After all, the boy hadn’t starved on that confounded journey, on the contrary, he seemed to have flourished. Elias remembered his own strong build and wanton laughter as a young seaman with a bit of nostalgia. If he didn’t welcome Doug now, he would try to make his fortune on his own. And on top of that, two carriages had just driven up to the house. Lord Hollister and Christopher Keensley, another neighbor. There was no way he could continue the fight with his son in front of the guests. Elias resigned.
“All right, Doug, go and have a room made up for yourself. I’ll send my servant to help straighten you up. I hope you have suitable clothing on hand.”
Doug nodded, relieved, although he was anything but certain. Most of his things were rather worn. And what did he mean by “straighten up?” Did men here follow the French fashion of wearing makeup and perfume like ladies? No matter, he could deal with that later. At least the necessity of being straightened up explained why he still hadn’t seen the lady of the house. It undoubtedly took hours to prepare a lady for such festivities.
Nora patiently held still while Máanu braided her hair and adorned it with orange blossoms. In the last year, the girl had gained considerable skills after being instructed by Lady Hollister’s specially trained, and outrageously expensive maid. And opportunities to practice were not lacking. Elias had not exaggerated when he spoke of Jamaica’s lively social life. It was stagnant during the harvest, but the entire rest of the year was filled with invitations — from garden parties, to picnics, to large balls. The planters had even been organizing hunts, in which a couple of young slaves played the fox. Nora thought it awful at first, but the boys actually had fun running as long as possible and then boisterously giggling when the dogs finally found them. The merry, and often quite drunken, hunting party would reward good runners with sweets and pennies. Nora was only disillusioned by the whole thing, when Máanu revealed that the game had other uses.
“Now it is a game, Missis, and no one gets hurt. But when the next nigger runs away, the hounds run after him in the same way. And then the hunters bring shotguns, Missis, and the ‘fox’ has nothing to laugh about then.”
Since then, Nora kept away from the hunts, which wasn’t particularly difficult. Elias, who was just as poor of a rider as before, did not jump at the opportunity to participate. However, she had to take part in all of the other social events and she obeyed patiently, even though she found little joy in it. Nora had many acquaintances, but no friends among the planters. She didn’t like the boastful men or the prissy, bored women, who could talk for hours about how they had maintained their pure white complexions despite the Caribbean sun. They badmouthed their “lazy and incompetent” house slaves instead of making any effort to train them. They whined about the heat and the lack of culture on the island. Nora hated their patronizing compliments about her work in the slave quarters: I could never do such a thing, you little darling! The heat and the dirt! These people really perspire! But you really do put up a brave front, even helping the slaves at all. In recent months, calls for help repeatedly came from other plantations. If a man was hurt, or a woman suffered from cramps and bleeding anywhere on the neighboring plantations, the slaves sent messengers to the Fortnam plantation, driven by a courage born of despair. The boys or girls risked being captured as fleeing slaves and then harshly punished. On top of that, Nora had to get permission from the plantation owner before she could follow them into the slave quarters.
Elias had been quite furious, when, once or twice, she hadn’t inquired with the planter in advance. Meanwhile, the issue had sorted itself out. Nora, well-versed in promoting charity,had persuaded Ladies Hollister and Keensley to assist, by receiving desperate friends and relatives of the unwell and then sending them to Nora. It didn’t always work and the patient was often already dead by the time Nora had finally been notified — for example, the ladies did not like their peace to be disturbed in the night. But sometimes it could save a life. She developed particular skill when it came to caring for women after finding out where the frequent bleeding and cramps came from. Almost every patient suffered from complications after a prematurely, and forcibly terminated, pregnancy.
Elias’s cruel remark about the proud Ashanti women preferring to kill their children in the womb, rather than raising them as slaves proved to have truth. Other plantations were also home to only a few children, and the names of the women who carried out these operations were an open secret. However, Nora did not betray the slaves, even though she found the issue loathsome. If she were to step in here, she would lose the trust of the people and ultimately wouldn’t be serving anyone. Without a doubt, the planters would have hanged the angel makers — and the women would have turned to new, less-experienced helpers.
In any case, Nora wrote to Dr. Mason and asked for advice and medical manuals about all of the common ailments and birth complications. Dr. Mason understood. Not every child was welcomed into the world in the East End either. Adwea contributed a few home remedies, and Nora studied, and tried out, and worked her way to a continuously growing knowledge, and a collection of effective remedies. Of course, she could not do much overall, but the sick were often helped by the ladies pushing for their husbands to give them a few days off from work. In such cases, the women in particular often recuperated without any major treatment. Elias had been right about that: the people who had survived the crossing in the slave ship, and several years on the sugar cane plantations, were tough.
In any case, Nora was happy about every recovered patient and the recognition she was gi
ven in the slave quarters warmed her heart. It also contributed to her increased freedom and happiness: none of the stable boys told Elias when Nora rode out alone, no one commented on her trips to the beach. Máanu had almost become a friend in the last few months.
Nora had also found more ways to keep busy. She ordered books from Sir Hans Sloane about Jamaica, and did her own research on the flora and fauna of her new homeland. She had known she would love the island, but was surprised to find that the more time she spent there, the less grief she felt at the thought of Simon. She had by no means forgotten him — she stuck to her promise to be open to his spirit and tried to sense it sometimes. But she drew comfort from the thought of him using her eyes, ears, and nose to take in all of the wonders there, so that he could also become a part of the island. Nora no longer cried at the beach, but enjoyed the sea, sun, and sand with all of her senses.
And Elias no longer disturbed her dreams, or her sleep. As the weeks after the wedding passed, his interest in his young wife had noticeably decreased, and after a half a year of marriage, he didn’t visit Nora at all anymore. Of course, it sometimes occured that he would reach for her after a drunken night — but that was really only when they spent the night following a social gathering with other planters, or in Kingston and were forced to share a bed. On such occasions, Nora eventually began going to the hostess relatively early in the evening and pretending to have a terrible headache. The lady of the house would then usually direct her to a single room where Máanu could take care of her. No one thought anything of it if the slave also slept there, but she was not given a mat or a bed. Máanu had to curl up on the floor. After the first two or three times, she got keen to what was going on, and would bring her sleeping mat along.
There was never a word of protest from Elias, and it also didn’t seem to bother him that their marriage was not blessed with children. He had probably not lied when he told Nora’s father that he mainly wanted to marry for social reasons. Nora was more than happy with that, even if she sometimes wondered where Elias found his satisfaction. But she never looked into it, and in the end, it didn’t matter, as long as there were no slave children with Elias’s facial features running around the plantation.
“Finished!” Máanu announced, and skillfully held the mirror up for Nora to admire the braiding on the back of her head. “Good?”
Nora nodded, and straightened herself up, resigned to having her dress laced up. Máanu had already helped her into elaborate lace stockings. Nora sighed, as she thought about the night stretched before her wearing these tight shoes. She had long grown accustomed to going barefoot like the slaves, even if she had to be very careful not to let anyone see her — Elias had thrown real tantrums the two times he’d caught her shoeless.
Now Máanu was dragging out the oval farthingale, which had additional padding at the hips in keeping with the latest fashion. Nora obediently held her breath; let herself be laced up, helped into the bodice and skirt, and then pulled on the dress.
Seeing herself in the mirror was rewarding to a certain extent. If there were only someone there who was worth the effort! She wore a pearl necklace that night, but she kept her memento of Simon in a small bag, hidden between the folds of her evening gown. Nora was not always happy, but as long as she had the piece of jewelry with her, she never really felt alone.
Doug endured the efforts of Elias’s personal servant, and ignored his lamenting over there not being much he could do for his appearance in such a short time. His best suit hadn’t even proved fine enough for the occasion. He didn’t even have a brocade coat and the lace on his shirt … even Doug had to admit that it looked more like a dead squid than tasteful ruffles. Eventually, the desperate servant engaged an army of seamstresses to quickly resize a justaucorps, waistcoat, and knee breeches from his father’s collection. The makeshift stitching wouldn’t hold long, and Doug hoped that the maids hadn’t cut the items to be too fitted, even if it was what the fashion dictated.
They finished as the last guests arrived, but Doug was almost embarrassed by his appearance in the mirror: a beau in the quilted waistcoat, the jacket had short, open sleeves with elaborate cuffs that were tied at the waist. And, to top it off, in a flashy, wine red!
“Now also a wig, Backra!” Elias’s servant said.
But that is where Doug put his foot down. “I have light hair, Terry, I don’t need to artificially whiten it, or even make it gray. It is also thick — I’m quite far from going bald. So, why wear such a monstrous headdress? And in this heat! In God’s name, braid my hair, Terry. That you can surely do better than I. Apart from that, I will attend this party just as God made me. Then at least the people will recognize me if they see me on the road tomorrow. And no, I will not powder my face! What nonsense to be made up as pale as death! I am not a ghost!”
Terry looked worried, as his master would surely blame him. But now Doug wanted to go out to the guests and was curious to see if he still recognized anyone.
He walked out just as Elias and Nora Fortnam made their entrance. The guests had gathered in the foyer, which was connected to the ballroom and dining room, and the hosts were announced.
“Lords and ladies, mesdames et messieurs — Mr. and Mrs. Fortnam!”
Elias came down the stairs in light-colored breeches and a justaucorps of pale-blue silk. His wig was perfectly groomed and he had his tricorne under his arm. On his arm was a petite woman, who moved quite gracefully, despite her elaborate crinoline. Over her light-green skirt, she wore an open coatdress, which was printed with flowers on the fabric. The sleeves were half-length and fell almost like wings. A bit of lace from her petticoat was visible at the bottom of her dress. Her waist was very slender and the neckline hinted at small, firm breasts. And her face … Doug had to catch his breath as he looked at the powdered face that he had already seen once that day. And the amber-colored hair that had been loose that afternoon now fell along her back in an intricate braid, decorated with flowers. Doug didn’t know when she seemed more perfect — outside in the ocean or now, in all of her splendor.
Nora Fortnam smiled at her guests. His new stepmother was the young woman from the beach … Doug felt like everything was spinning around him, though desperately tried to collect himself before he would be obliged to speak to her. Doug couldn’t take his eyes off of Nora. Her skirts moved around her ankles, while Elias led her in the dance from one guest to another. Until this point, the young man had always considered such movements too contrived. He didn’t know what his friends and fellow students found so sexual about a woman’s legs being visible for a split second. He had preferred to get his fill seeing the peasant girls, who were still graceful as they went through life barefoot and wearing shorter skirts. But now he was enchanted by Nora’s charms. He hoped that his desire was not so clearly visible, as Elias was now leading her to him.
“Nora, I already told you about our … surprise guest,” he said stiffly. “My wife Nora, Doug. Nora, Douglas Fortnam, my son.”
Nora looked up at Doug, and smiled. He now saw that her eyes were green. A heavy, rich green — or were there multiple shades of green? Nora’s eyes reflected the lush colors of the Jamaican jungles and the warmth that they exuded at the sight of Douglas was not feigned.
“What do people call you? Doug? Welcome home!”
CHAPTER 3
“You must tell me all about your travels!” Nora asked Doug cheerfully a little later, as he led her to the table.
She had quickly changed the seating plan when she heard about the arrival of her stepson and placed Doug between herself and her husband as her dinner partner. After all, the young man had a long journey and the ride from Kingston behind him, he had to be tired. And all these new faces, so changed from when he was a boy! Surely he had little interest in making conversation with a neighbor who probably had nothing better to do than to offer her daughter as his future wife.
“You were in Italy and Spain, were you not? They have beautiful coasts, and it’s also warm
there, isn’t it? Is it anything like Jamica? Does sugar cane grow there?” Nora seemed really interested.
Doug smiled at her; at the way she put her small, warm hand on his arm and looked at him with her keen and attentive face. He had never felt so well but was plagued by something else lying under the surface.
“Not like here,” he then said. “Nothing in the old world is like here. But otherwise, you are right — the Mediterranean countries also have their charms. And instead of sugar cane, they plant grapes. I think you probably prefer wine to rum, don’t you?”
He adjusted her chair and then went to reach for the carafe of wine that stood before them on the table. Nora put up her hand and slightly shook her head; Doug got the hint. He waited until a slave approached and served them.
“I am no longer accustomed to parties,” he excused himself.
Nora smiled. “You will get used to it again quickly,” she responded. “You get used to conveniences more quickly than the lack thereof. I still find it a little strange that someone has taken over every one of my daily tasks. But first you should eat — you must be hungry after the ride and the journey not to mention the culinary failings of such travel.”
Doug served himself from the plate of crayfish tails that the servant held out in front of him, and had to be careful not to take them too greedily, or to shovel his food in like a sailor. It was delicious; Adwea’s cooking skills were in no way inferior to those of the French or Italian chefs.
“I remember the salted meat and hardtack during the crossing,” Nora continued chatting. She saw how starved her dinner partner was and happily relieved him of the task of also needing to entertain her. “Even if the cook did his best not to make the stuff taste as such.” Doug briefly looked up from his appetizer. “He didn’t bother with that for us,” he remarked, “since only the states of decay created any differences in taste. The hardtack, for example, became increasingly moldy.”
