A Whisper Of Destiny

by Monica Barrie

  “No, Kira, it is not poison, but a form of opium sent to me by an acquaintance. It is called morphine.” Kira’s eyes closed at his last words, and her head fell heavily on her chest. She was not asleep; rather, she was in another world, a world where she could not hear the plans that were being made for her future by the two men standing above her.

  CHAPTER 15

  Ruth sat next to the bed, bathing Kira’s forehead with a cool cloth. She had never seen her mistress in such a deep sleep. Occasionally she would moan and make slight aimless movements. Then she would begin to talk. Her speech was slurred but even though Kira’s eyes were half open, Ruth knew she was sleeping. It was like the fevers that would sweep through so many slave quarters, but Kira had no fever.

  Kira alternately raved about her father and her uncle—screaming about murder and deception. Then her voice changed and she whispered softly, calling to a man named Sean, and asking for his help. By the tone of her voice, it was so clear to Ruth that Kira loved the stranger to whom she was reaching out in her delirium—a man Ruth had never seen or heard about.

  It was also clear to Ruth that within Kira, a fierce battle of love and loyalty was raging and somehow while Kira could not admit her love for the man, she had indeed been captured by him.

  Once more, Kira called out for her father and then she fell into a heavy sleep. Ruth stood, stretching her legs. She had been kneeling by Kira’s side for hours. She walked around the room, trying to pull her thoughts together, concentrating for a moment on her own problems. It had taken her the entire day to push away the lingering nightmare of last night.

  Only the sight of James Cornwall throwing an unconscious Kira onto her bed had had the power to obliterate her sense of defeat and shame. She had lost control and started to charge at him, but the angry red furrows on his face stopped her.

  “Do not be as foolish as your mistress,” he snarled. “Remember the power I hold over her, and over you!” He laughed and added calmly, “She will recover by morning… I will return before then.”

  His words evoked a feeling of helplessness and terror. She knew that when he returned, he would take what he wanted.

  If only she were a man…no, she thought bitterly, if only I was white and free! Ruth went back to the bedside and wiped the beads of perspiration from Kira’s forehead. She noticed the even, regular breathing of her young mistress and felt relieved. The worst had passed. With relief came fatigue. Not wanting to sleep in the hall where she might miss a call from Kira, Ruth let her head drop onto the edge of the mattress and quickly fell asleep.

  A sharp pain at the back of her head woke the black slave girl. Before she could scream, a meaty hand clamped over her mouth. The sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach came when she heard James Cornwall’s voice.

  “I told you I would be back and you must learn that what I say, I mean.” Cornwall pulled her to her feet brutally, without releasing her hair. “Come with me.”

  Ruth was helpless to resist. She followed him, meekly looking down at the floor as he led her to the room he had used last night. Once inside, he turned to her with an evil glint in his eye.

  “Undress!” he ordered. Ruth kept her eyes averted as she slowly removed the household livery she’d worn that day. She removed each item slowly, controlling both her rage and her tears, knowing intuitively that any show of emotion would weaken her position with Cornwall.

  She was glad that the uniform of New Windsor was simple. She wore no shoes and only a red dress of rough cotton covered her underclothes. She loosened the drawstrings that held the high collar closed, and then turned her back on Cornwall to remove the restraining band of material that held her breasts against her chest, both to support them and to hide their lushness and fullness. This she had been taught to do by Martha, the housekeeper at Haven, to stop the lustful glances of the plantation’s field hands.

  Now she was completely undressed, but she still refused to face Cornwall. She heard a slithering sound from behind her and then felt a sharp burning on her buttocks, as the metal clasp of Cornwall’s sash bit into her exposed skin.

  “Turn around!” he ordered. Ruth did as she was commanded, fighting back the tears of pain. “That’s better,” sneered Cornwall, devouring her body with his gaze. His eyes clouded over; his breathing turned ragged and excited. Cornwall lifted the hand that held the sash and signaled her to come to him.

  “Undress me!” he commanded. Ruth fumbled with the clasps of his shirt and received a hard slap on the back of her hands for her inefficiency. Then Cornwall shoved her away, not being able to wait for his pleasure, and quickly undressed himself.

  “On the bed!” he ordered. Ruth sat down on the quilt that covered the horsehair mattress of the high, four-poster bed.

  Cornwall finished undressing and walked toward her, his manhood rigid below his huge belly. He pushed Ruth backward and spread her legs apart. As he had done last night, he cruelly forced himself upon her. Ruth bit down on her lower lip, holding back another cry of pain and closed her eyes.

  Her body became as numb as her mind, while Cornwall rode her wildly. Despite his gyrations, he could elicit no response from her unwilling body. Ruth forced herself not to allow a single muscle to move while Cornwall thrashed himself to completion.

  When he was done, he lay on her, panting heavily, his face red with effort. Ruth opened her eyes and saw his face only an inch from hers. His eyes were filling with loathing and his mouth was set cruelly. Cornwall pushed himself off her and stood above her, a flabby specimen of a man. She knew him now, a sad pathetic and ugly creature who needed to abuse others to keep himself going.

  Cornwall saw the pity in her eyes and it enraged him. He lifted his hand, growling in fury. The resounding crack of it against her face echoed in the quiet room.

  “Are all of you from Haven such worthless things? An animal would give me more pleasure than you!” Cornwall came towards her again, his arm held high, readying another slap. Ruth lay there silently and defied him with her eyes and with her stoic silence.

  “Both of you,” he vowed, “will regret the day that you were born! Your precious mistress will suffer as much as you!” Cornwall lowered his arm. “Get out of here.” Ruth grabbed her clothing from the floor and fled the room. She was conscious of his eyes on her nakedness as she ran.

  Letting herself into Kira’s rooms, she walked quietly into the dressing room and used the basin of water to clean herself as best she could. When she had finished, she dressed again and sat down at the dressing table. Suddenly, the tears came. The sadness weighing her down broke through the barriers she had built. As she cried, she thought of Abraham, of a life that could have been and a love that was now lost. She knew by the tone and the words that James Cornwall had used that what he had done to her last night and tonight might be the least of his atrocities.

  Finally, Ruth made herself stop crying. She dried her face and returned to Kira’s side. As she sank to the floor by the bed, she thought again of the words and the tenderness that Kira’s voice held when she spoke of Sean Rouger. She prayed that this mysterious man was not a dream, but somehow help for her mistress and shared the love that Kira seemed to hold for him.

  <><><>

  Robert Chatham checked his medical bag one last time while he thought about the odd request James Cornwall had made. Chatham shrugged as he closed the bag and called to Jeremy.

  “You’ll drive tonight. Abraham will watch the house.”

  “Yass, suh,” said the black servant, turning with a slight smile to his partner who stood beside him. A bit of animosity had developed between Jeremy and Abraham, and nothing Chatham did eased the situation.

  When he started out of the house, Abraham came after them.

  “Sir, I surely would like to drive you to New Windsor,” he said earnestly.

  “I’m sorry, Abraham, but I need Jeremy tonight.” He could not take the chance of Abraham meeting Ruth. The man was too unpredictable, and too much could go wrong. Although Ab
raham tried to hide his disappointment, it showed on his face. Chatham wanted to say more but decided against it, “I’m expecting a visitor. Please make sure he’s taken good care of.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” said Abraham as he closed the front door.

  Chatham seated himself in the carriage, settling himself back on the cushioned seat as Jeremy flicked the horse’s reins. His mind was still on this unexpected call from James Cornwall. Why had Cornwall asked me to bring sedatives for someone there? What was the man be up to? Chatham would have to be on his guard.

  The carriage pulled into the gateway of New Windsor, and Chatham prepared himself for his meeting with Cornwall. When the carriage came to a halt, a black-and-red liveried boy stepped up to assist the doctor. Then the boy led him to the front door, where the majordomo took him directly to Cornwall’s study. The majordomo knocked twice and opened the door.

  “Docta’ Chatam,” announced the majordomo. He stepped aside with a low sweeping bow and let Chatham enter.

  The slave quietly closed the door and left the two men alone.

  “Have a seat,” offered Cornwall as he indicated a large stuffed chair next to his own. Cornwall did not rise to greet his visitor, but Chatham was not exactly surprised by this lack of manners.

  “The patient?” asked Chatham in a concerned voice.

  “She’s resting.”

  “Mrs. Cornwall?” Chatham persisted.

  “No, I’m afraid it’s my niece. It seems she’s had a relapse,” said Cornwall.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” said Cornwall, shaking his head slowly. “When her father died, she took it very badly. We thought she was over it, but last night after dinner she began to carry on. When I tried to soothe her, she attacked me.” Cornwall stood up to let the light fall on his face, showing the angry red scratches that ran along both cheeks.

  “Luckily,” he continued, sitting heavily again, “I remembered some sedative that Dr. Wycuff had left for my wife, and I was able to give her some relief.” Cornwall let out a sigh. “Drink?”

  “Thank you,” said Chatham. “I should look at those scratches. An infection could set in.”

  “No need, I’ve made sure they were cleaned. Just surface scratches,” Cornwall assured him, as he walked to the small table that held the decanters. Two filled glasses stood at the ready, and Cornwall gave one to his guest before sipping from the other. “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes before you see Kira.”

  Chatham nodded his understanding and then sampled his drink. It tasted strange to him, but it was refreshing. “Very good. May I inquire?”

  “A friend of mine from Atlanta introduced it to me. It’s made from whiskey and mint. They call it a ‘julep.’ Just the thing for a hot evening before dinner,” Cornwall explained with a smile. “Now, I wanted to say that I was impressed the other night. Your views seem similar to mine.” Chatham nodded noncommittally at Cornwall. “I have need of bright young men to work for me.”

  “I don’t quite follow, sir,” began Chatham, keeping the proper tone in his voice. “I’m a doctor and I work for my patients and myself.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Cornwall with a dismissing wave of his hand. “That’s not exactly what I meant. Times are changing, Robert. May I call you Robert?”

  “Certainly.”

  “We’re in a very difficult period at present, and the country is in a very dangerous position. Thank God that Jefferson’s gone! At least Madison doesn’t have as strong a voice as he did. Anyway, I’m looking for people who are willing to stand behind me, to take charge of their destinies and those of the country.”

  Chatham couldn’t believe his ears. The man was talking treason. And to someone he’d just met! “Sir…”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Robert. I love this country. I just don’t think things are being run properly.”

  “On that part, I couldn’t agree with you more,” returned Chatham, deciding to let the man dig his grave even deeper.

  “Good.” His smile made his dark eyes almost disappear into the folds of his fleshy face. “We’ll discuss this further after dinner. But now, would you give my niece something to see her through the night? She must have undisturbed rest.”

  “At once,” replied Chatham, as he stood and began to leave the study. He realized he’d passed an important test. If he’d answered differently he would most likely be leaving instead of going up to see Kira.

  “Robert,” called Cornwall, “please disregard her words. She is distraught, nearly out of her head with grief. Why, she even accused me of killing my own brother.”

  “These things have a way of building up in one’s mind, especially after the loss of a close relative,” said Chatham, as he picked up his bag. “I’ve seen reactions like hers many times. I’ll give her something that will relax her and ease her mind.”

  “Good. My intention now is to get her away from all her bad memories. There’s a ship leaving tomorrow afternoon for England, and I’ve decided that it would be best for Kira if she were to stay in the countryside with our British branch of the family. This will give her a chance to recover peacefully, instead of always being around the constant reminders of her unhappiness. Do you not agree, sir?” Cornwall’s words were said with benevolence, but Chatham knew better than to believe a single one of them. As he left the study and followed the majordomo to the second floor, he thought about the possible consequences of Cornwall’s new plan.

  The slave knocked on Kira’s door and announced that the doctor was waiting. Slowly, the door opened to reveal a pretty black face. As Ruth recognized Chatham’s name, she drew her breath in sharply, and he realized that Kira must have told her about Abraham. He walked across the threshold, closed the door, and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Abraham is well,” he confided softly. “We will make some sort of arrangements for you to meet with him. He is among friends.” Before Ruth could respond, Chatham went on. “After I have seen your mistress, we‘ll talk.” Then he let Ruth take him into the next room.

  Kira was sitting in a chair in a darkened corner of the room, her abundant red hair spilling in profusion over her shoulders.

  “Mistress Cornwall, I’ve come to help you,” he stated.

  “By my uncle’s orders,” she retorted angrily, mustering strength she did not feel.

  “How else would I gain entrance?” he asked calmly, as he placed his bag on the dresser. “Would you come over here, please? The light is much better and I must examine you.”

  “Why bother? He only wants me silenced and out of the way by whatever means necessary.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said as he tried gently to coax her from the corner. “He is only concerned about your relapse.”

  “Relapse?” asked Kira suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “About your father. When you attacked your uncle.” Kira’s laughter took Chatham off-guard.

  “He killed my father, and that’s the truth of it. Relapse! He’s trying to protect himself.” Chatham looked at her and then turned back to his bag.

  “Please come over here,” he said in a firm tone.

  “Of course.” Kira resigned herself and walked slowly into the light. “I hope my uncle is paying you handsomely.” There were dark circles under her green eyes. Chatham lifted one of her eyelids, opening it as far as possible. Then, after examining her eyes for several seconds, he released her. He asked her to extend her tongue, and when she had done this, he lifted her arm. He felt her pulse for a long minute before releasing the soft skin from his fingers.

  “Your uncle gave you morphine!” His concern showed deeply on his face.

  “I am aware of that,” she answered. “I still feel strange.”

  “You should. Morphine is an extremely dangerous potion. If he had given you too much you would have died.”

  “And his problems would have been over!”

  “No,” countered Chatham as he once again went into his bag. He asked Ruth to bring a glas
s of water, and she went to the dressing room and poured a glassful from the pitcher that stood by the basin. “No, Kira, try to understand. James Cornwall cannot take the chance of killing you. Not yet!” Ruth handed the glass to Chatham and he poured a white powder from a small vial into the glass. Then he swirled the contents of the glass until they were well mixed.

  “Take this.” He extended the glass to Kira.

  Kira was caught between her feelings of distrust and her desire to believe that this man was the help for which she had prayed. She stood silent before him.

  “Trust me, Kira,” said Chatham. Emotion filled his voice and face, as he tried to convey his feelings to the frightened woman. “Listen carefully. There are several of us who are trying to help you. We are watching out for you.”

  “And being paid for it by my uncle,” she retorted fiercely.

  “No,” denied Chatham, in a quiet but urgent voice. “Kira, please try to believe me. We are on your side. The tonic I am giving you is far weaker than the morphine, although normally it would make you sleep for hours and leave you pliable to Cornwall’s will. But I have diluted it so that its effects will wear off in two hours or so.”

  Still, she did not take the glass. Confusion ran rampant through her mind.

  “Only long enough for your uncle to check on you to make sure that what I’ve given you is working,” Chatham persisted.

  Kira stared at him, a growing sense of intuitive trust shaking her disbelief. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “A friend of yours...and of Sean Rouger’s.”

  Kira’s large eyes widened momentarily as a hundred questions formed on her lips.

  “I can explain no more. We don’t have the time,” said Chatham hurriedly wiping drops of perspiration from his brow. “Please,” he repeated, “you must trust us. Trust us as your father did!” he said urgently, as he thrust the glass into her hand.