Midnight Rose (20 page)

“I’m not surprised, though, are you, Mary Susan?” Carolyn asked her companion in a shrill, nervous voice. She was eager to hurt Erin Sterling, because she was still mad over the way Carl had panted after her at the Rose Ball. She rushed on. “After all, when you aren’t received by Virginia’s prominent families, I suppose you have to rely on any means available to try and get a decent husband, even if it means buying whore’s lingerie.”

Cherise glowered with disapproval as Carolyn and Mary Susan began to giggle almost hysterically, covering their faces with their hands.

Erin opened the door but could not resist a taunt of her own. “Have you looked at your underwear lately, Carolyn? Maybe you should. I don’t see a ring on your finger.” She walked out, chin up in defiance. They could think whatever they wished. She just didn’t give a damn.

Carolyn stared after her, eyes ablaze. “How—how dare she say such a thing?” she sputtered indignantly. “The nerve…”

Mary Susan looked on but remained silent, not sure whether she wanted to endorse her friend’s behavior any longer, due to the way Madame Cherise was glaring at her, along with the other woman who’d come in that she didn’t know.

Enraged, Carolyn cried, “Let’s go. I don’t want to shop where she does.” She bolted toward the door, then saw Corrisa staring at her so obviously with contempt and lashed out, “Well, what are you looking at? I know who you are. You’re one of Estelle’s girls. I’ve seen you lounging around on the steps, trying to entice men off the street. Get out of my way.”

She jerked open the door and rushed out, but Corrisa was suddenly livid with rage. Damn the snotty little bitch, she fumed, following after her. If there was one thing she never did, it was stand outside and lure men off the street, and she wasn’t going to let Carolyn Manning get away with accusing her of doing so. “You listen to me, you arrogant little twit,” she cried, not caring who overheard. “Who the hell do you think you are accusing me of being a—a street whore? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mary Susan, mortified at the scene, dashed away in the opposite direction, not about to be involved.

Madame Cherise, totally disgusted, closed the door after them in curt dismissal.

Erin, across the street and about to mount her waiting horse, paused to listen as the two women squared off.
All around, others were gathering to watch.

Carolyn was oblivious to everything, would later be horrified at her own behavior, but for the moment was too angry to care. “I know what you are,” she screamed at Corrisa. “And I’ll bet you helped her pick out her filthy fine things. Your kind knows what men like, don’t you?”

At that, Corrisa threw her head back and laughed raucously. She could not resist taunting, “Well, I know what Carl likes, for sure.”

A roar went up from the men standing around as the women exchanged shocked murmurs.

Corrisa knew when word spread and Carl heard, she would lose a customer, but so what? It was worth it to see the look on that hateful girl’s face as she turned and ran away.

Heading back to Estelle’s, Corrisa glanced up to see that Erin was watching her from her horse. She also saw the way she was smiling with gratitude, as well as the wink of approval. She smiled back, thinking how Erin was every bit as lovely as she’d heard. Ryan had made a good choice, she decided, continuing on her way, and Erin was a lucky young woman.

Erin stared after her thoughtfully. So, she was one of the women, the prostitutes, who worked at Estelle’s establishment.

And Carolyn had said her kind knew what men liked.

She had not forgotten her vow for revenge after Ryan had humiliated her that day in his study. She found herself suddenly wishing she had the nerve to go after that woman and ask her for a few tips on how to torment him, as he had tormented her.

But she did not dare.

Chapter Thirteen

As
their carriage turned from the main road in to the tree-lined driveway, Arlene felt a bit lightheaded. The day before, Rosa had gone to Tulwah’s shack, deep in the swamp, and brought back the potion he had concocted for her. It smelled terrible and looked worse, thick and dark, with all kinds of ominous things swirled in its depths. But when she had tried it, the result was nothing short of a miracle. Gone was the dry, papery feeling in her throat. And if she began to cough, one sip would take away the hacking. To make sure she would not have a spell during the wedding, she had taken several strong doses before leaving and felt tipsier than she had after the champagne at the engagement party.

Erin noted the glassy look in her mother’s eyes and worriedly asked, “Are you all right? You look…strange.”

“I feel strange,” she confirmed with a dreamy smile. Not about to admit the true reason, she equivocated, “Why shouldn’t I? It’s not every day a mother sees her daughter get married, especially to a man like Ryan Youngblood, and, oh…look!” she cried, pointing out the carriage window as they rounded a curve in the drive.

Roses.

Everywhere, it seemed, there were blood-red roses—pots set under every tree on the lawn, urns filled with the fragrant blossoms on either end of every step going up to the porch, where baskets lined the edges. Even rose petals were strewn on the walkways, across the lawn.

Arlene breathed a sigh and wondered aloud, “I can’t imagine why Ryan would have so many roses. After all, this is Jasmine Hill, known for that particular flower.”

Erin felt smug. He knew red roses were her favorite, and, no doubt, this was his peace offering for having offended with the distasteful lingerie. Maybe one day she would tell him it was not the lingerie that had offended, but the intent. Frankly, she would have liked to wear it for him, but that time would come. First, he had to learn she was not going to be subservient.

Arlene felt compelled to say, “I know this wasn’t the way you would’ve liked things to be, Erin. I know you wanted to fall in love first and have everything all nice and romantic. But it’s for the best. You’ll see. Look around you.” She gestured to the opulent surroundings as the carriage rolled to a stop. “You’re going to have a wonderful life. And I’m impressed, and appreciative, over the way Ryan has tried to make this a memorable day for you both.”

Erin made no comment. All she wanted was to get it over with so she could get on with her plans for the future. Once Rosa confided in her, some of the other slaves had also opened up, eager to inform her of the atrocities they endured. It was with deep fervor that she now felt driven to help them in their cause. So many would not flee and seek freedom, for they were either too frightened or could not bear to leave their families and loved ones. But those who did have the spark to run away and make a better life, these Erin was firmly committed to help in any way possible.

Arlene sensed her tension and mistook it for the moment at hand. “You’re beautiful, darling,” she said, her voice a bit slurred from Tulwah’s potion. “I’m so proud of you.”

Erin gave her a grateful, loving smile. And when she stepped out of the carriage, she knew her mother was not just being kind with her compliments. An impressed ripple went through the crowd gathered in anticipation of her arrival, and she heard whispered exclamations—“So pretty!” “Oh, isn’t she lovely?” “Beautiful, just beautiful!”

Her gown was silver satin, the bodice plain, the neckline high and delicately edged in lace. The sleeves were poufed from shoulder to elbow, then tapered to her fingertips.
The waistline was smooth and tight above the first, thick, bouffant folds of satin that layered almost to the floor. Her black hair, as shiny as a crow’s wing in the midafternoon sun, was first pulled up and held by a cluster of net intertwined with tiny satin bows, then trailed in ringlets down her back.

Arlene was dressed in a simple gown of shimmering blue satin, overlaid with cream-colored lace. As she stepped from the carriage to receive the hand of the uniformed stable boy, the crowd likewise acknowledged her beauty.

Rosa had been sitting opposite them in silence, awed by everything she had seen on the near-hour-long ride. She got out on the other side of the carriage. She knew she was supposed to go to the rear of the enormous house to wait till she was called to assist, if needed, but hesitated to watch everyone’s reaction over seeing Miss Erin. The gown was lovely, Rosa had to admit, but it was silver, and wasn’t that the same as gray? She shook her head, remembering the saying her mamaw had recited about the colors a bride should and shouldn’t wear. That had been a long time ago, when she was a little girl growing up on a big plantation outside Charleston, South Carolina, and her mamaw was loaned out to other families to make wedding dresses for their daughters. Rosa struggled to remember the lines—“Married in white, you have chosen all right. Married in green, ashamed to be seen. Married in red, you will wish yourself dead. Married in blue, you will always be true. Married in black, you will wish yourself back.”

She could not resist an ironic snort to think how Miz Arlene probably wished she had got married in red or black, but what was it about gray? Her brow furrowed as she pressed on to recall the long-ago lines.

From the driver’s seat above, Ben, resplendent in a suit of bright yellow satin, leaned to whisper, “Rosa, you better quit gawkin’ and get on around and outta my way, ’cause I gotta move on. Other wagons is a’comin.”

She obliged, still brooding. Then, just as she started toward the back, she paused to take one more look at Miss Erin. And then she remembered—“Married in gray, you will go far away.”

As the thought struck, an invisible cold mist seemed to descend, showering her with dread. Something, maybe the
obeah
Tulwah said everybody with West African roots had in them, filled her with the chilling awareness that it was so. Miss Erin would indeed be going far away. And not just on the trip with her new husband. There was something else. She could feel it in her bones—and suddenly she was scared and did not know why.

The air was perfumed with the scent of all the roses, and despite everything, Erin was impressed by the ambience Ryan had graciously provided. Glancing about, she was assured he was nowhere about. Her mother had sent Ben with a note a few days earlier, reminding Ryan that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before time for the ceremony. Erin was not superstitious but appreciated his respect for her mother’s request.

She did not know the man who stepped forward to greet them officially. Vaguely she recalled seeing him at the Rose Ball, where he had been dancing with the young woman who had been with Carolyn Manning at Madame Cherise’s. He was wearing wide, brown nankeen trousers with a coffee-colored tailcoat, a short waistcoat of yellow brocade, a top hat, and pumps.

Removing the hat, he bowed with a flourish, then took Arlene’s hand to bestow an obligatory kiss before straightening to say, “Mrs. Tremayne, on behalf of Ryan Youngblood, master of Jasmine Hill, welcome.” He then repeated the ritual for Erin before introducing himself. “I am Keith Roland, and I’m honored to be Ryan’s chief attendant today.”

Erin exchanged expected pleasantries as he proceeded to escort them upstairs and into the house. He seemed nice enough, but still she was able to detect an air of subtle condescension in his manner. He, like some of the others, obviously did not approve of the marriage, but if they would only give her a chance, she intended to do her best to make them like her. But, she silently vowed, they would have to give her that chance. She was determined not to be subjected to derision as she had been in Madame Cherise’s shop.

She noted that the house was even more splendid than she remembered. It was as though every bit of finery had been brought out to add glitter and splendor to the supposedly auspicious day. Everything was shining, sparkling, from the crystal and china laid out in the dining room they passed, to the objets d’art in the foyer.

The guests they passed were almost obsequious in their rush to greet both Erin and her mother. After all, Erin was to be mistress of Jasmine Hill, a position not to be taken lightly.

Keith took them to the foot of the wide, curving stairs that led up to the second floor. Erin saw that the bannister was draped in pink satin ribbons and adorned with yet more roses. She couldn’t help smiling to think of the trouble Ryan had gone to. Taking back the lingerie and exploding as she had to Madam Estelle must have made quite an impression. Perhaps they would have no more problems, now that they understood each other better.

“Miss Erin,” Keith was saying, “if you and your mother will go on upstairs, there will be a servant waiting to escort you to freshen up.” From somewhere outside the open French doors, the sound of violins tuning could be heard. He turned away with an accommodating nod of dismissal. “Should you need anything, there will be someone to serve you. I’ll see you in the gardens in an hour.”

An hour! Erin shuddered involuntarily. In just one more hour she would become Ryan Youngblood’s wife.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Arlene clutched her arm as they made their way. She noticed a tickling in her throat but felt better when she thought of the small flask filled with Tulwah’s potion that lay in her pocket. It didn’t matter that it made her feel intoxicated. That was certainly better than having a coughing spell and spitting up blood in the middle of the wedding ceremony, she grimly decided.

More roses lined the wide hallway upstairs. Four Negro girls of various ages stood in a line on one side. Dressed in neat gray dresses with long white aprons, they each curtsied in turn and spoke their names. The eldest, Annie, instructed them to follow her.