Midnight Rose (41 page)

“This morning? Then—”

“This is your second night here, and I want to go now and get you something to eat. You are weak and need to get your strength back.”

She moved to get up but winced with pain. Dimly, she remembered Zachary had kicked her side as he knocked her to the ground. A rib could be cracked or broken, but she’d just have to move easy.

Tulwah warned, “You shouldn’t try to move around.”

“I have to. Don’t you see?” She looked up at him beseechingly. “The longer I stay here, the farther away Nate Donovan gets with my mother. I’ve got to go after them.”

“That’s already taken care of.
I sent word to Mahalia, and she knew where to find Sam Wade. I’m told he’s already sending messages to trusted contacts in places where she’d likely be taken for auction Donovan, it is said, likes to turn his mulatto women over to traders along the coast. They’re very much in demand as fancy girls on passenger boats, as well as waterfront places of pleasure.”

Erin clenched her fists and cried, “It will kill her. I know it will.”

“If the consumption in her lungs doesn’t take her first. I’m going to get your food now.”

Erin didn’t want to offend him when he brought the soup but was leery of anything he concocted.

He saw her reluctance and couldn’t resist an amused smile. “It’s only chicken and water. No bat wings or eye of newt.”

She took a sip and realized it was, indeed, nothing but chicken soup, as he’d said. “I’m sorry,” she offered, “but I’d heard—”

“That I’m a witch doctor?” he finished for her with a chuckle. “A
tonton macoute?”

She nodded. “One of his overseers told me how Zachary claimed my mother was leading the slaves to use voodoo against him.”

“It was voodoo, but she wasn’t responsible. Neither were any of the others. I was the one, and I won’t give up trying to rid the earth of that devil.”

Erin sipped the soup slowly, thinking as she did how educated Tulwah seemed, how well he spoke English. Finally she yielded to her curiosity and asked how that came to be.

He told her how he’d been born in what the English and French colonies in the Antilles referred to as the Sugar Islands. He never knew his mother. She, no doubt like his father, had been kidnapped from their homeland in Africa and taken to the island of Santo Domingo to work in the sugarcane fields. At birth he had been taken to a central nursery, where babies were tended by slave women too old to toil in the cane fields from daylight to dark. He didn’t know the date of his own birthday but supposed he was only five when declared fit to begin his own life as a laborer.

It had been while he was in the fields that he’d learned of voodoo. It happened that when Negroes were kidnapped down in the Congo or Angola, witch doctors of both sexes were often transported as well. And they brought with them a dark knowledge of obscure and insidious things. They were experts in vegetable poisons, and they found in the florid vegetation of the Sugar Islands appropriate substitutes for the leaves and roots of Africa. They were able to take revenge on those who mistreated them, and others of their own race lived in awe and fear of their power. “They cast spells and created superstition, and when one of them took me under his wing and taught me all he knew, I was an avid pupil.”

Santo Domingo, he went on to explain, was, in 1791, the richest colony of France. But there had been much cruelty to the slaves. “For certain serious crimes, they were nailed to the ground, with crooked sticks strapped to each limb, then slowly burned alive. For lesser crimes, they were castrated, or maybe had half of one foot chopped off with an ax. Sometimes they were whipped till their bodies were raw and then had pepper and salt rubbed into the wounds.”

Erin shuddered at such barbarity.

“The slave uprising,” he said, “was planned by the
hungans
,
or
the priests and priestesses of voodoo. Within two years, the white planters were swept from the island, and the free people of color realized voodoo could also be used to unite and inspire slaves all over the islands.

“The drumbeats”—he paused to smile in the infiltrating glow of the campfire outside—“that people regarded as being used just for dance rhythms, resumed roles they’d played in Africa, sending messages across hundreds of miles of territory and summoning slaves to revolt and fight.

“By that time, however, I’d been taken in to work as a houseboy by the family of a high-ranking officer of one of the French government’s agencies. They took me with them when they fled to Europe. Being somewhat in the other classes of society themselves, they wanted more than an ignorant cane worker to present as a domestic servant, so they sent me to school to be educated.”

“But how did you get here?”

“My master died and left many debts. I was sold, along with the rest of his valuables, at auction by his widow, to settle his estate. Eventually I was brought over on a slave ship, auctioned again. The man who bought me was superstitious, and it was quite easy”—he gave a proud, toothy grin—“to use my knowledge of voodoo to convince him he’d live a much longer and healthier life if he freed me.

“But even with papers stating I’m no longer a slave,” he finished on a bitter note, “I’m still forced to run from the devils, as you must now learn to do yourself.”

Erin shook her head. “I’m not running, Tulwah. I’m going home, to Jasmine Hill, so I can continue to do whatever I can to help the runaways on their way north. Like Ben. Zachary won’t dare come on Ryan’s property to try and hurt me. I’ll be safe there.”

“Unless you get caught,” he grimly reminded her. “A mulatto, married to a white man, helping fugitive slaves, would likely be tarred and feathered.”

Even though a cold chill began to creep along her spine, Erin lifted her chin in a brave gesture and avowed, “That’s the chance I have to take, Tulwah. You said it yourself—injustice won’t end till freedom begins.”

Sadly, she could not help thinking of another injustice, one she’d committed against herself, by attempting to deny her ever-growing love for Ryan.

Now she could only pray it was not too late to let him know that.

Victoria was uncomfortable. She didn’t like being in the dirty, dusty warehouse. During the late summer, it was used to store tobacco, and the air was still thick and heavy with the pungent odor of the golden leaves. On Saturdays, however, as well as many weekdays during the winter months, it was used for slave auctions.

She particularly did not like trying to push her way through the crowd of rough-talking men who’d gathered to bid on the slaves of their choice. Neither did she like the whimpering sounds of those being dragged up onto the platform.

Finally reaching a far corner, away from everyone, she curiously stood on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of what was actually going on. Her pointed nose wrinkled in distaste as she watched the burly auctioneer prying open the mouth of a big buck to prove he had good teeth, which meant he was probably healthy. She winced as she heard how much he sold for—five hundred dollars! Good heavens, she was glad that generations of slaves were bred at Jasmine Hill, for it meant they were amassing a fortune in human flesh. There had been times, and still were, when she felt stricter rule should be enforced over them all, but Ryan, like his father and grandfather, insisted there would be no whipping of slaves.

A Negro girl, hardly more than twelve or thirteen, she guessed, was being dragged up onto the platform. When she saw the auctioneer flash a nasty grin and rip the front of her blouse open to expose her large breasts, Victoria turned away. She could hear the jeers and snickers from the men and knew it was no place for her, a lady of class and breeding. At least that’s how Richmond society would regard the Youngblood family until they found out there was a mulatto now in the fold.

Oh, damn you, Ryan,
she fumed, as she gave a man blocking her path a poke with the tip of her umbrella to get him out of the way,
why did you have to marry the wench?
After all, she knew he’d bedded other women before without feeling honor bound to marry them. She knew that by tales Eliza told her. She even knew he’d sneaked some whore into the house while she was away. Better, she was reluctant to admit, if he’d married her instead. She was probably all white. And it made no difference that she’d figured out Erin was only one-eighth colored. Erin’s children, Victoria’s grandchildren, would be considered one-sixteenth…oh, to hell with brooding about it. She was going to make sure there were no children, by God, not sired by her son, anyway. Why, the main reason she’d chosen Ermine Coley for his wife was due to her royal ancestry, no matter how far removed. The two would produce fine children to carry on the Youngblood name.

She approached a man in faded overalls who was busy picking his teeth with a pocketknife. Trying to hide her disgust, she inquired, “Would you please direct me to Mr. Nate Donovan?”

Hooded, bloodshot eyes flicked over her with contempt. Tightwad blueblood. No doubt she was looking to buy slaves that were smuggled in fresh from Africa, to try and save paying top dollar on the block for legal trade. But no matter. Donovan knew how to deal with her kind and still make a buck. “In there,” he all but snarled, nodding toward the door beyond.

Worthless peasant,
Victoria silently condemned him as she swished by and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. This was not a place, she felt, where courtesy was called for.

Nate glanced up and had the same reaction as the man outside. Impatiently he snapped, “If you want to buy a slave, you’ll have to bid out there like everybody else.” He went back to what he was doing, which was reading the roster for the day’s sale. He’d brought the Negroes in himself, but this time they were all legal, having been consigned to him for sale to pay somebody’s debts. He was hoping for a good price, because his commission on consignment wasn’t much, but reminded himself he wouldn’t even have them if it hadn’t been for being in the right place at the right time. He’d handed Arlene Tremayne, along with two other mulattoes, over to someone specializing in the desirable light-skinned women. It just so happened that this contact was looking for someone to take the others.

Victoria crossed the room and brought her umbrella down across his papers with a loud smack. She met his instant, violent glare with one of her own and cried, “Damn you for your insolence! I’m not here to bid on slaves. I’m here because I know you for the unscrupulous trader you are, and I have a job for you.”

If she were a man, he’d have knocked her on her pompous butt. Since he figured her to be well-to-do, he’d get back in the best way to hurt her kind. “Whatever it is, lady, if I agree to it, it’s gonna cost you plenty.”

Unmoved, she coolly assured him, “I will pay you anything you ask and give you a bonus for a job well done.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If that’s the case, then there might be a bit of a risk involved. What have you got in mind? I’m no hired killer, and—”

“Oh, I don’t want anyone killed, for heaven’s sakes!”

“Then get on with it. I’ve got an auction going on outside, in case you didn’t notice.”

She glanced around the room to make sure there were no other doors and no windows through which they could be overheard. She whispered, “No one must ever know we made this bargain.”

“We haven’t made a bargain.”

“We will. All I want you to do is get rid of someone for me.”

“And I told you I’m not a hired killer.” He was losing his patience.

She drew a sharp breath and decided it was best to just come right out and say it. “I want you to do with my daughter-in-law what you did with her mother.”

He shook his head, bewildered and more than a little annoyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about Arlene Tremayne.”

He licked his lips nervously, not about to admit to anything and wondering how she knew so much. Zachary had promised he’d keep his mouth shut, especially about Donovan’s part in it. But now he knew who the arrogant bitch had to be—Erin Sterling’s mother-in-law. He continued to hedge, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was there, Mr. Donovan,” she said icily, leaning so close he could feel her breath on his face. “I was outside the stable just as Zachary Tremayne started to attack Erin. I heard him tell her about her mother, how he sold her into slavery to be rid of her.”

“That don’t mean I had anything to do with it,” he cried.

“I have a lot of money, Mr. Donovan. When I want something, I pay for it. Without explaining the circumstances, I made some inquiries as to who should be contacted for such an unpleasant task. And your name kept coming up.

“Now then.” She smiled confidently. “What I want you to do is take Erin and reunite her with her mother. Make sure they both go far, far away.”

He watched, wide-eyed, as she opened her bag and took out several large bundles of money. He’d made some big deals in his lifetime, but never so much at one time. “I’m not saying you’re right, but now it’s my turn to ask questions. What about your son? From what I hear, he’s not a man to mess around with. Does he know about this?”

Solemnly, she shook her head and confided he was out of town. “It has to be done before he returns. Ryan can be quite stubborn. He fancies himself in love with her, and I can’t be sure it will make any difference when he hears about all this. We have to move fast.”