He felt Clarissa relax her arms and move slightly away. Then she took his hand and placed it inside her bodice. As Sean touched the soft, warm flesh of her breasts, he felt an unnamable barrier rise between them. He was hungry for a woman, but not this woman. Now, there was only one he desired and she was far away.
Silently, Sean pulled away from her and stood up. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off, and his head was beginning to clear.
“You can’t leave me, Sean—not again!” she cried. “You can’t imagine what this year has been like for me.” He looked down at her with pity, but he was unable to say anything that would not be taken the wrong way.
Her face was a mask of pain “Please,” she went on, “I can hardly look my friends in the eye. Don’t do this to me!”
Sean stood still for a moment, trying to marshal his thoughts. If only he could find a way to explain himself. He didn’t want to hurt her again.
“We are not for each other. Your wants and mine are different. I loved you, Clarissa, but that time has passed. Let it be.” Speaking to her in soft, almost tender tones, he pried her hand loose from his arm.
“No! I know I love you. I chose you for my husband!”
Sean moved toward the door. He turned to her, feeling a sharp tug of guilt as he stared at the pathetic figure in the middle of the room.
“Good night, Clarissa. I will spare you my presence, since I see it pains you so.”
Although the words were not spoken harshly, Clarissa reacted as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes glared. She pulled herself to her full height. Her breasts jutted forward challengingly; her hands balled into tight little fists.
“How dare you spurn me and my love? You are an ignorant fool—an illegitimate one at that. You could have succeeded with me by your side, but now you will remain just as you are—a paltry soldier with pretensions of greatness. Go your way,” she said in an icy tone. “I would not have you now if you begged on bended knee.”
“Clarissa,” Sean said, one hand on the doorknob. “I have never begged for anything in my life, and I am not about to start. I bid you good evening.”
Sean walked out into the dark night towards his carriage, knowing that a chapter of his life had closed. All for the best.
CHAPTER 10
During the next several days, while Sean waited for his appointment with President Madison, he attended to various personal matters and the renewing of past friendships. He had to take advantage of his time at home because it was so infrequent.
Sean had decided that before broaching the next step of his plan to Francine, he would wait until he knew the contents of Jonathan Cornwall’s will. And for that, he would have to see Judge Abner Tulley, the real executor of Jonathan’s estate.
Finally the day came and, arriving for his appointment, he found Abner Tulley’s home to be a stately dwelling, quite modern in its architectural design. The usual grouping of ornate columns had been replaced by a wrought iron fence and gate, with two tall pillars that flanked the main entranceway. The house, of red brick with white trim, was impressive, as was the large plaster eagle carved in relief above the large mahogany door.
Sean was ushered into the judge’s library by the butler. “Judge Tulley will be with you shortly,” the servant murmured before leaving Sean alone in the large, well-appointed room.
His eyes traveled the bookshelves, noting books in Latin, French and Spanish, as well as English. He noted one book on architecture and he went to it and pulled it down from the shelf. Inside was a handwritten dedication to the judge. Sean smiled as he recognized his father’s bold penmanship.
“You’re interested in architecture, as well as testaments?” asked Judge Tulley, entering the library.
Sean turned, acknowledging the older man. “To an extent, sir.”
“He’s an amazing man, isn’t he? Nothing in life seems to be too much for him. You know, he wrote that while he was president,” said the judge.
“Yes sir,” replied Sean, not allowing a knowing smile to pass his lips.
“You really didn’t come here to discuss architecture, did you?” the judge asked with a smile. He pointed to a chair and both men seated themselves. “Let me get right to the point. I’m afraid we have a slight problem, young man. I have made a thorough study of the information you sent me. We could probably overturn the document in James’ possession, but that might take years and there would be nothing left of Jonathan’s estate for Kira to inherit.”
“That’s not very encouraging.” Actually, he greeted this news with some measure of relief. If what the judge said was correct, James Cornwall would not be on guard against Kira, and this was most important for Sean’s own plans.
“But,” continued Judge Tulley, “Jonathan was a good friend of mine, perhaps my closest friend. I will leave nothing undone until this injustice to his daughter is settled. It will take time, but I will succeed!”
Sean studied his host intensely, meeting the older man’s steady gaze. “Sir, I am a member of the war cabinet, on special assignment to the president. Before I go further, I would like to have your word that whatever is spoken of here will be kept in confidence.”
Abner Tulley gave a short laugh. “Mr. Rouger, I have heard of you before and have learned a great deal about you since you appeared here the other day, claiming to be sent by Kira Cornwall. I will set aside the remark you’ve just made and put it down to your impudence, which seems to be the trademark by which you’ve made your reputation.” Judge Tulley paused for a moment. “Now, young man, what do you want?”
“Sir, I’ll speak frankly. I’m working on a special assignment that involves Kira and James Cornwall. Jonathan Cornwall’s death is implicated in this matter as well. If we accomplish what we are trying to do, the validity of the will in your possession will be a proven fact, but if there is a legal battle going on at the same time, both our plan and Kira’s safety will be jeopardized, because James Cornwall will be forewarned.”
Judge Tulley got up and paced the room, digesting this information, seeing all sides of the issue. He went to the window and stared out, his voice quieter now and more thoughtful.
“I would be willing to go along with your plans as long as you can guarantee that Kira Cornwall will recover what is hers. And as long as she will remain safe. James Cornwall must not go unpunished for his greed.”
“Sir.” Sean became more animated as another idea formed in his mind. “Why don’t you start legal proceedings, as quietly as possible? You did say it would take some time to do that? Meanwhile, I’ll go about my own work. Perhaps the combination of both our efforts will serve to keep Kira safe without harming any plans.”
Abner Tulley turned from his place at the window and looked at Sean. “I will consent to that, with this stipulation: the first time I hear of something going awry, I will use every power in my possession to change Kira’s position. And, no matter what you think, young sir, those powers are not insignificant.”
Sean felt a wave of relief course through him. He knew he had another ally in his personal battle for Kira Cornwall.
<><><>
The smell was the first thing that assaulted the senses upon entering the confined areas of the slave pens. The stench of decay, sickness, disease and hopelessness were thick in the hot afternoon air. The memory of another odor rose in Robert Chatham’s mind. He recalled the horrible days, after the fierce battles, as he treated the helplessly wounded and dying who huddled together for comfort in the hold of the ship. He had thought then that nothing could match the odor of death. Now he knew he had been wrong.
The fierce sun overhead caused the sweat to flow freely on the slaves’ faces. A multitude of gawkers looked on, along with the purchasers. The atmosphere at the auction place was like a carnival. This was, after all, the largest slave sale of the year.
Three lots of them, some rumored to be Africans— although there was now a law against the importing of African slaves—were available for purchase as well as the almo
st full complement of slaves from Haven.
“Are you sure?” Chatham murmured to his informant, squinting against the bright sunlight.
“Yes sir. There are only three from the house. The rest are field hands and mechanics.” The speaker, one of Commodore Finch’s agents, was a tall, well-dressed dandy.
Chatham stopped in front of one of the holding pens to look in at the occupants. There were about fifteen men and women in this pen, but they were better clothed and appeared more resigned to their fate than the slaves in the pens to each side of them.
“This is the one,” said the man in a low whisper. Chatham nodded, but did not reply.
The doctor looked over the group and the informant whispered the names of the slaves in question. First was the tall, wiry man called Abraham who stood alone in one corner, looking at the sky but seeing nothing. There was a lost, dejected expression on his face. Next to him was a white-haired older slave. His face was deeply lined, but he seemed in good health. This man, the informant told him, was Mordichia, Jonathan Cornwall’s majordomo. Standing beside him, her hand in his, was Martha, the housekeeper. The large black woman stared straight back at Chatham, her face blank. Her eyes were glassy, uncomprehending of her surroundings or of her future.
Chatham’s informant drew him aside and together they started back to the main auction area.
“'Those three are a goodly lot—the majordomo, housekeeper and family driver...” The man shook his head slowly as he paused. “They’ll fetch a high sum, what with them being fully trained and experienced.”
Chatham did not reply. He knew he was in for some stiff competition in the bidding and that he probably did not have enough funds to purchase all three. He would settle on bidding for Martha or the majordomo, either one of whom might have enough information available to make the purchase worthwhile.
When Chatham and his colleague reached the main area, their attention was diverted to the arrival of new groups of buyers. Chatham almost halted in mid-stride when he saw the face of James Cornwall appear at the head of the group followed by his company manager. Behind them came Kira and her slave, Ruth.
Chatham quickly lost himself in the crowd. James Cornwall did not know him, but still, Chatham felt it would be more prudent to observe him unnoticed. Chatham gave his informant instructions to bid only on Martha, the housekeeper, and then left him. Chatham did not want to arouse any suspicions by calling attention to himself or to the fact that he appeared to be bidding on all of Haven’s household slaves.
Chatham circled around and came up behind James Cornwall and Kira. He stood several feet behind them, but well within earshot. Over the commotion of the crowd, he could hear most of what was being said. “I still don’t understand why you must sell off all the slaves and replace them with untrained ones,” Kira complained to her uncle.
Ruth was holding a parasol over Kira’s head, protecting her from the hot sun as they stood only twenty feet away from the auction block. She seemed anxious and her eyes darted around as though she were searching for someone.
“I’ve told you several times, and this will be the last time that I do!” he said in an agitated voice. “The slaves from Haven are worthless for my plans. I have been entrusted by your father to make sure the plantation will give you and yours a good future. I mean to do this properly.” At this, James Cornwall turned away from Kira and placed his full attention on the auction. Kira bit back the angry words that threatened to burst out and began to watch the auctioneer.
Now on the block were three tall, powerfully built young black men. They looked defiantly at the crowd. The auctioneer pointed proudly at them, his nasal voice carrying easily to the throngs who surrounded the block.
“These three are the pride of Lot Two. They are eighteen years old, have all their teeth and are fully broken.” The auctioneer singled out one and, pulling him roughly forward, forced him to his knees. He pried the man’s mouth open to show the bidders the full mouth of white, shiny teeth. Then he pulled on his chains, yanked him to his feet and, with another quick move, pulled the slave’s pants down.
“A good breeder, this one!” leered the auctioneer. The slave stood silently, his eyes closed to the sight of the hundreds of faces now watching him.
Chatham turned his head slightly and saw Ruth, her back rigid and head averted, embarrassed for her helpless brother slave.
James Cornwall smiled at her contemptuously. “Shall I buy him?” he asked the slave girl. “Shall he share your mat?” Cornwall laughed and then turned away. Ruth cast her eyes to the ground and tears began to fall.
Chatham was disgusted at James Cornwall’s behavior. Why was he doing this to the poor girl? He watched Kira’s reaction, but could barely see her face, as the sun almost obscured her in its brightness. What he did notice was that her normally soft, full lips were now set in a tight, thin line. Then he saw Kira straighten her shoulders and turn to face her uncle.
“I cannot stay here a minute longer!” she declared in a voice filled with rage.
“But my dear,” said Uncle James in a soft, almost conciliatory tone. “I brought you here to help me pick out our new slaves.”
“No! You brought me here to watch my past be sold! You brought Ruth and me here to witness the end of our lives. I am leaving!”
Before James Cornwall could stop her, Kira whirled and walked away, with Ruth a half-step behind. He whispered something to his manager and the man hurried after Kira and her servant. Cornwall’s expression was forbidding, as he scowled at his niece. But then he turned around and concentrated on the slaves.
For the next half hour, the bidding was active and the remaining slaves of the second lot were sold off. Then the auctioneer stepped to the rear of the block, took a drink while consulting a sheet of paper and returned to the rostrum. Unhurriedly, he took a white kerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At last he picked up the sheet of paper and began to read.
“This next lot is the prize of the day. Fifty-three fully trained field-workers, ages twelve through forty-five. Fifteen field hands, ages fifty to fifty-seven. Seven repair men and four mechanics. Also, three fully trained household slaves. All of these slaves faithfully served their master, Jonathan Cornwall of the plantation Haven. Master James Cornwall offers this lot of eighty-two perfect slaves for sale.” The auctioneer paused and surveyed the crowd. There had been a hush as he spoke and now he heard the crowd begin murmuring its approval and interest. Slaves of this quality had been rarely offered in recent years, and he knew that it would be a big sale.
The field hands were bought quickly, and then the mechanics. The repairmen were held back for insufficient bidding, and the three house slaves were brought up.
Chatham felt the adrenaline begin to flow through him, as the auctioneer offered Martha, the housekeeper.
As the bids were called, Chatham listened for his informant’s voice. About every third bid, he was able to distinguish the man’s offer. Then, as the price kept escalating, the bidding centered on Chatham’s agent and another. When Chatham heard the other man’s top bid, he shook his head sadly. The price was too rich for him.
Next on the block was Mordichia, the majordomo. Chatham waited until the bidding went to half his limit before he started. He swiftly calculated how much over his limit he could go and still be able to raise the extra money in time for delivery. Soon the bidding was near his limit, and he was battling against two others.
“Fifteen hundred!” he called loudly. The auctioneer looked at him for a moment, assuring himself of the authenticity of the bidder, and then let his eyes sweep the crowd. They stopped on one of the other two men who were bidding.
“Seventeen!” The auctioneer nodded his head, and then turned to the third bidder.
“Two thousand!”
“Twenty-two,” called Chatham.
“Twenty-six,” said the third man. The auctioneer turned to the second man, who reluctantly declined with a shake of his head.
“Between M
r. Sanders and the gentleman in gray,” said the auctioneer, as he indicated Chatham. Cornwall turned and looked over his shoulder at Chatham.
“Three thousand,” said Chatham in a stronger voice than he thought he could muster. The eyes of the crowd swept to him, startled to hear a bid that high on such an old servant.
“Thirty-five hundred!” shouted his competition. Chatham knew that he could not top the bid and pay within the day. He lifted the brim of his hat at the man who beat him out and then shrugged at the auctioneer.
“Bad luck,” said James Cornwall, as he moved back next to Chatham. “That was a good slave. Allow me to introduce myself. James Cornwall of New Windsor.”
Chatham accepted the offered hand, cursing himself for getting this close to Cornwall. “Doctor Robert Chatham, and yes, it was bad luck.” Chatham looked Cornwall over, deciding exactly how to play this game. He might just be able to turn this meeting to his advantage if he worked it carefully.
“I’ve moved here recently and am having a devil of a time getting a proper staff set up,” said Chatham in a casual tone.
“Yes,” said Cornwall. “I’ve heard mention that a new doctor had settled in town.” Cornwall gave a gruff laugh and added, “Pardon me, sir. But for some strange reason, I thought you would be much older.”
“I will be soon if I don’t find a slave who can run the house.”
“May I make a suggestion?” offered Cornwall.
“Please do.” Chatham was delighted. The game was going well.
“The next slave, the one they are bringing up now—he was the family driver for my late brother. He was also Mordichia’s assistant in training the staff.” Cornwall gave a self-satisfied nod as he continued, “If I didn’t have a young blacky already doing the same, I would have kept him myself.”
“My condolences, Mr. Cornwall, on your recent loss. I didn’t realize…” said Chatham, trying to feign the right amount of anxiety and ignorance. Cornwall waved the apology and condolences away and said, “Buy this one, doctor, I think he’ll be what you want—and lacking all those years of experience, he’ll be cheaper than the old man.”
A Whisper Of Destiny Page 9
