Of Noble Family (19 page)

“Hush. I have sleeping to do.” But though Jane closed her eyes, she lay awake, listening to the sound of Vincent's footsteps carry him out of the great house.

*   *   *

As expected, Louisa wanted
to accompany Jane to Nkiruka's. Jane charged her with gathering a basket of provisions from Cook. Some sweets, yes, but Jane also requested cheese, some good bread, and a bit of cured meat to go with the sweets. The bottle of lime juice she added as a neighbourly gesture to enjoy with Nkiruka. Louisa did not seem to think that any of these were out of the ordinary, but the young woman was so good at governing her countenance that Jane could not be certain.

As for herself, Jane carried a blue and white quilt. Held in front of her, it nicely hid her stomach, as well as the spare dress and petticoat tucked inside its folds. Her bonnet had her necessaries hidden up in its high crown.

As they stepped from the porch, Louisa unfurled the parasol. “Are you certain you would not like Zeus to come? With the heat today, it might be good to have the larger parasol.”

“It is not so hot as that.” In truth, the parts of her black dress that peeked out from under the parasol seemed to turn to hot metal in an instant.

As they walked to the slave quarters, the baby kicked against Jane's sides in a mirror of her own agitation. It made her aware of how much he or she must have been confined while she was wearing the long stays. Under the cover of the blanket, Jane pressed a hand against her stomach, wishing she could soothe her child.

They passed through the hedge and carried on down the hill. A grove of orange trees marked the halfway point. The shade, even with the parasol, was a welcome relief, and yet Jane's nerves made her seem hotter still.

Vincent appeared directly in front of them. Louisa shrieked at his sudden appearance, dropping the parasol. He sprang forward and took hold of her arms. “There is a sphere of silence around this spot. No one can hear you.”

That appeared to frighten her more. She twisted in his grasp, turning desperately towards Jane. “Please ma'am. Please. Don't let him.”

“I will not hurt you.” Vincent was a large man, and strong. He held Louisa easily as she squirmed.

“No! No. Please—ma'am, please. I been good. Please don't let him. Please, please—”

Jane took too long to understand that Louisa's fear was not of being tied or whipped. The alternative threat was so far out of character for Vincent that she could not imagine anyone thinking it of him. But he
was
Lord Verbury's son. “Vincent—wait.”

He looked at her, confused, but did not slacken his grip.

“Louisa—he is not going to … do anything to you. We need to leave, and we need for you to not tell anyone.”

Understanding blanched the colour from her husband's face. “Oh. God.” He kept his hold on Louisa's wrists, but stepped away so she was extended at arm's length. “No. No. I swear to you that I am only going to tie you up—which may not seem like the comforting statement that I intended it to be.”

Louisa caught her breath in hiccoughing sobs. Her person and countenance so clearly marked her as Lord Verbury's daughter, yet her mind had leaped so quickly to the expectation that Vincent would—

Jane covered her mouth with one hand to keep from retching.

As gently as if he were speaking to baby Tom, Vincent said, “I will not touch you in any other way. Will you let us tie you up, without fighting? Neither of us wishes to see you hurt.”

“I will not tell anyone.” Her voice still shook.

Jane said, “Am I correct that Lord Verbury wishes you to report upon my movements?”

Louisa bent her head so her bonnet hid her face. After a moment, she nodded.

“Then if you do not tell him, he will punish you, will he not?”

Again, Louisa nodded.

Vincent took a slow breath and let it out. “If you have clearly been overwhelmed by us, it will go better if you can tell him something of our plans. If you escape … he will reward your ingenuity.” He nodded to the side of the road. “Look. I am going to tie you to that tree, with glamour around you to keep you from being seen or heard. I have anchored both with poorfire threads, so you will be discovered before too long.”

The poorfire threads unravelled with notorious speed, within four or five hours. They were of some use for certain parlour tricks, but they were unsuitable for longer works, which was why they had been considered useless for so long.

Used as a sort of fuse, though, they would keep Louisa from being able to report for several hours, but not endanger her by hiding her permanently. Jane explained further. “You will be in the shade, and we have the lime juice for you so you do not suffer from the heat. Will you—will you let Vincent tie you to the tree?”

Head still bent, Louisa gave another nod. Vincent sighed with relief and led her to the tree. She sat when asked, and submitted to having her wrists and ankles tied. As Vincent bound her, Louisa lifted her head a little. “What should I tell the master when he asks where you have gone?”

The question was precise. Not “Where are you going,” but “What should I tell the master?” Jane wondered if she had mistaken the young woman's loyalties. “Tell him that we discussed Falmouth and packet ships.” That could mean either the Falmouth here on the island, or the one in England.

“Will you … will you take me with you? That would be the surest way to be certain I did not say anything.”

Vincent paused as he secured the last knot. He met Jane's gaze and shook his head. Even if she trusted the young woman without reservation, buying passage for two on short notice would be delicate enough. Passage for two and a slave for whom they had no papers was out of the question. “I am sorry, but we cannot.”

“Then, Godspeed, madam. It has been a pleasure serving you.”

Jane had not expected to regret leaving Louisa behind, but as they collected their effects and left the grove, she very much did.

*   *   *

Vincent had brought the
Verres
in his hat. With the perfect Antiguan sun, the glass caught the light and wove the
Sph
è
re Obscurcie
around them. They had left Jane's parasol with Louisa, and Jane missed it almost from the first, but the shade would have interfered with the
Verres
. Beneath her black muslin, every pore emitted sweat. It trickled down the back of her neck and stuck her chemise to her skin.

They had transferred their possessions into the basket, along with the blanket. Jane peered at the slave quarters as they passed but could not see a way to deliver it to Nkiruka without exposing themselves. Far, far more than she regretted leaving Louisa, she regretted going without keeping her promises to Nkiruka and Amey. She could only hope that the doctor would be allowed to continue to tend to Amey.

When they were safely established in Jamaica and had sent word to Richard about the true state of things, perhaps they would be able to make changes. She wiped the sweat from her brow and sighed.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You have been sighing rather a lot.”

“Have I?” Jane adjusted her fichu to try to let in more air.

“Indeed.”

“I will own that I am hot. Truly, I do not understand how gentlemen can wear coats in weather such as this.”

Vincent chuckled. “I made the same argument several times as a child, but have been convinced that propriety requires it. One does become accustomed. Somewhat.”

“I remain dubious.”

“As well you should.” He took her free hand and tucked it over his arm. “There is a grove of palms not far ahead. We can rest there.”

“I am perfectly well.”

He patted her hand. “I remain dubious.”

For all of her protests, Jane found that she leaned upon Vincent's arm more than she had intended. By the time they reached the palm trees, she was deeply grateful for the shade and did not protest that she was well. They stood at the edge of the grove, looking around them for anyone who might notice them appear. The road was thankfully empty. Nevertheless, Vincent wove a
Sph
è
re Obscurcie
around them after they had settled under one of the trees.

Jane abandoned all dignity and lay down with a groan. “I am terribly sorry, but I suspect I shall have to stop more often than I would like.”

Brushing a sweat-damp strand of hair from her cheek, Vincent frowned. “Are you certain you are equal to this?”

“Equal, yes. Pleased, no.” She caught his hand and kissed it. “Only give me a quarter hour to cool myself and we can begin again.”

*   *   *

As promised, a quarter
hour's time restored much of Jane's spirits. When they set off, the sun did not seem as oppressively hot as it had previously. A gentle breeze stirred the air and gave surprising relief. Jane reminded Vincent that she had also been walking with Louisa before they reached the orange grove, so she had really gone farther than he thought before wanting a rest. This seemed to prove true as they continued on. Aside from stepping off the road once when a carriage passed, and a second time to make way for a gang of enslaved Africans on their way from one field to another, they made good time down the hill.

At the base of the hill, however, they lost the breeze. With each step, Jane felt heavier. The air burnt her lungs. She took Vincent's arm when offered and leaned upon him. Her back ached, and her stomach felt uneasy. One part of her consciousness was turned inward, feeling for any signs of distress. Each flutter of movement from the baby assured her, but still her pace lagged as they went, and they had not even reached the Greycroft property line yet.

At last, Vincent stopped and wove a sphere of silence around them. Until the world quieted, Jane did not recognise that she had been hearing voices. Rubbing the sweat from her brow, she lifted her head. Cane fields surrounded them.

On the left side of the road, a group of field slaves worked. Sweat gleamed on the bare shoulders of the men and stuck the dresses of the women to their bodies.

Vincent indicated a tamarind tree by the side of the road. “It is not ideal, but I see no other opportunity for some distance. Shall we stop?”

“Please, yes.”

He pressed her hand where it held his arm, and undid the silence surrounding them.

Vincent directed her to the tree and wove a
Sph
è
re Obscurcie
to mask them in the shade, followed by a silence. Jane dropped heavily to sit in the tree's shadow. Scant though it was, she welcomed the break from the direct sun. Across the road, men and women worked in the full sun. Surely, she could tolerate sitting in the shade.

Vincent stood over her, frowning. “Should we turn back?”

“And climb that hill? Absolutely not.” Jane rubbed her stomach, which seemed to have grown just on their walk. The skin was tight and itched as sweat rolled down it.

“Is anything hurti—”

“I am perfectly well, Vincent.” Her voice was more cutting than she had intended. In truth, he looked to be in little better shape than she. Sweat dotted his brow, and his cravat had wilted into a sad knot. Jane drew her knees up, though she had to spread them wider than was modest to accommodate her stomach. She rested her arms upon her knees and let her head drop forward to rest with a sigh. If she had reckoned on how much hotter it would be without the parasol, Jane would have asked Louisa to bring two bottles of the lime juice. Her stomach was a little uneasy, and some lime juice would have settled it. “I am only hot. Give me a quarter hour and I shall be refreshed.”

“Of course.” The brittle grass crackled as he settled beside her. “Take all the time you need.”

With her eyes closed, Jane could pretend it was cooler. If she could only sit here for a few minutes, then she would be equal to another half hour of walking. Jane concentrated on her heart and her breathing, trying to slow both, as she would if she were working glamour. Slow, deep breaths would cool her quickest.

Beside her, Vincent sucked in a sharp breath. In the glamoured silence, the fabric of his clothing hissed as he rose quickly.

“Vincent?” She lifted her head.

He had stopped on one knee and was staring across the road with his jaw tight. “Just rest, Muse.” Then he flinched, and his breath hissed out in a high, thin keen of protest.

Jane followed his gaze and uttered her own exclamation of horror as one of the gang drivers brought his whip down. It struck a slender young man, leaving a crimson line across his dark shoulders. Blood already flowed from two previous lines. If the youth cried out, Jane could not hear it. The other field workers continued on with their tasks, stooping, twisting, and driving cane shoots into the ground. Their heads stayed bent as they worked.

The driver's hand rose again.

“Stop him!”

“Then they will know we are here.” Vincent's voice was as tightly controlled as she had ever heard it. “Look away, Jane.”

“I have seen a man flogged before.” The scene brought back too-sharp memories of watching through the trees as Napoleon's men flogged her husband. She had been unable to stop them. In the silence, the arc the whip made was almost like a piece of glamour unfurling. Jane could not look away as it painted another bloody line. They could stop this. “We will find another way to leave.”

Vincent needed no further urging. He was on his feet and out of the
Sph
è
re Obscurcie
's influence as if a spring had been released. His chest expanded, and she could see the force of his bellow as all of the people in the field turned to look at him.

One of the drivers, a thickset man with shoe-leather skin beneath a tall straw hat, shouted at the field slaves and they ducked back to their labour. Vincent strode across the dusty road, coattails flaring. Even damp and disordered with heat as he was, his colour and clothing made him an incongruous part of the scene.