The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 (2 page)

Giving Eliza’s things away! Precious nodded, but her heart split in two. Surely, it was good for him to put away the past. That had to lead to healing, and maybe the anniversary of her death wouldn't drive the baron to despair. But to toss away her things? Precious felt some kinda way about that.

"Don't just stand there, girl." Palmers's crusty voice interrupted her woolgathering. "I said help."

When she scurried closer, they went into the connecting room where Eliza's dresses were stored. The door creaked open like unlocking a sealed tomb.

Stuffy, stale air hit her, as did the smell of old lavender, Eliza's lavender. Oh, how Eliza loved the stuff.

Palmers lit a candle on each wall, exposing the shelves of tissue-papered dresses, all shades and colors.

Pushing past her sadness, and the heavy memory of Eliza twirling in the long mirror at the end of the room, Precious went to a close shelf and fingered the emerald taffeta. It was the gown Eliza had let her try on.

Thumbing the puffy sleeves, the soft, cloth-wrapped buttons, she picked up the gown. The temptation to press it against her chest and angle in front of the mirror nearly made her palms tremble.

Suddenly the scent of Eliza, the memories, became overwhelming. She couldn't do it. "Mr. Palmers, I'm not well. I need some air."

He squinted over his nose again, but his thin lips pinched to a circle. "You're not one to shrink from work, are you? But I've no want of you getting sick in here. Go on. But be back to work in five minutes."

She dipped her chin and fled the room. Down the stairs to the main level, she wanted to whip through the kitchen and out into mews, but she could hear Lord Welling's voice. He was down that way.

Not ready to see him in this near-weepy state, she turned and headed for the library. Through there she could access the garden, and fresh air.

Her slippers pattered across the floor even as she tried to tiptoe. Once inside, the typically dark room had all its curtains parted. The sunlight blinded, and it ripped apart the gloom of the study too. Then she almost screamed when she noticed Eliza's portrait sitting on the floor, removed from its place of honor.

Emotion lumping in her throat, she ran forward and touched the frame. "We're really leaving here. How can I do this without you?"

The door behind her swung open. Precious touched her face, making sure that no evidence of weakness remained. She turned to ask Palmers how he wanted the grand painting wrapped, but it wasn't the butler.

Lord Welling closed the door with his foot. His stare didn't leave her or the painting.

His silence made her uneasy, and being in this room with him jumbled up her insides. In his study, he'd been kind to her after saving her from the brute, Jack, but this was also the place he took away all the choices that would have made her fully free.

With folded arms, he came closer. In the bright light he looked younger, like the weight of the world had lifted from his broad shoulders. But his searching eyes, coupled with his closed lips, made her knees knock. Yes, he was her employer and could order her around like Palmers. But Palmers never made her feel this on-edge. Never did she fear the power the butler possessed, not like this.

Slowing her knocking kneecaps, she put a hand to her hip. "A workman must've took it down, but left it here to gather dust. Do you know what you want to do?"

"Yes."

If weren't a picture of Eliza, Precious would tell the baron what to do with it, and his nerve-wracking self. "Would you like to tell me? I don't want to see damage to this picture."

He moved closer to the sofa. High black boots crossed underneath his thick legs as he tucked up his blue-black blazer and perched on the back of the high furnishing. "The workmen will finish with it. It's coming with us to Port Elizabeth."

All of his other trips, he never disturbed a thing. He was here and then he wasn't. Eliza got used to it, and just kept her social calendar full to pass the time. Even with her gone, his routine never changed. Then it hit her, like a punch to the gut. "We... You're not coming back anytime soon."

"With Jonas coming with me, their are no obligations here to have me come to and fro. "

She thought they'd journey for a few months, maybe a year, since he'd pushed her into five years of servitude, but to be away from Firelynn for years? She put a hand to her mouth. "You're never coming back?"

"Never is a long time, Miss Jewell."

"So is five years of servitude."

His dimple showed and, for a moment, his countenance eased, his mouth almost forming a smile. "I don't think you'll miss London. Port Elizabeth, with its forests and close water, it might be like your Charleston."

"Oh, let it be nothing like that." She dipped her head and twisted her fingers within her starched apron.

"Jewell, you will like Port Elizabeth. It's new. Everyone is building. The weight of old things isn't so heavy, with so much new to make you feel alive."

Except for Jonas growing, time stood still in Firelynn. Palmers was still mean. The dust continued to gather. And Eliza was everywhere, making her loss still fresh. Precious turned to her mistress's portrait. "Will you hang her in your residence, in a place of honor? Will it feel like she is there too?"

He strode close and clasped her hands, stilling her fidgeting and the very breath in her lungs. "You ever lost someone other than Eliza?"

She couldn't look up into Lord Welling's eyes and just focused on not moving. "Yes, my Grammama. My ma, she was sold a year or two after I was born, so all I ever had was Grammama."

"What happened to her?"

"Too much work when she'd become frail. She picked in the fields all that day and then never woke from her sleep." The memory of the woman's wisdom wrapped tightly about Precious's heart, like the stories she told about the fire, or hearing her sing during thunderstorms in their cottage.

"Isn't she with you, Jewell, in every step you take? But she wouldn't want you to stay stuck in the past, stuck in some cottage in Charleston, where everywhere you turn you see your shortcomings. Everyday, all you feel is loss."

She nodded. There were other reasons than Grammama 's death that made her anxious to leave America, but he didn't have to know those particulars. "It was good to come away to London."
 

 
"I don't think Eliza wants that either. So, if I need to stay away from Firelynn to be free of the memories-- her pouts, her cheery laughter, her disappointments," He blinked his eyes hard, then opened them wide, "then I choose Port Elizabeth. It's a new beginning. Maybe it's your new beginning too.

Fingers turning to ice, she broke free of his loose grasp. "You need to be free of this. Then you won't be so drunk. Jonas needs a father more each day."

He plodded over to his bottles of liquor and topped off a half-filled glass. As if saluting her, he lifted it to his lips. He didn't down it as she'd seen him do in the past. It was almost as if this effort was for show. "Well, I don't drink at sea. You'll have to deal with me with all my faculties working. "

The door opened and Palmers marched inside. "Miss Jewell, the packing of the dresses needs to be done."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Palmers."

The baron put down his drink. "Oh, yes, and do allow each of the maids to have one of the late Lady Welling's gowns. Make it a gift from their late mistress."

Frowning so hard his cheeks looked like they would explode, Palmers made a tsk sound with his teeth. "They are too fine for the help, sir."

A laugh, short and harsh, fled her employer's mouth. "And charity will have better use? I hadn't seen too many peers in the hospital lines. I'm sure the maids can make something out of the fabric. Jewell, that includes you. Which one of those fine creations would you choose?"

Without hesitation, her mouth flung open. "The emerald taffeta."

His gaze swept over her, and she looked away before settling on staring at the jute rug on the floor. It wasn't indecent, his look, but more of what you see a man give at the bakery when fresh baked bread scents the air.

"Yes, the gown Eliza wore to her second London reception, the house of Lady and Lord Jerrings. Yes, Jonas Hunt, the new Lord Jerrings, was quite taken with her." A grunt left him, as if he'd remembered a bad joke. "Take it with you to Port Elizabeth and make something new from it."

Hating to agree with the scowl on the butler's face, she lifted her chin to meet Lord Welling's waiting glance. "I couldn't."

He folded his arms, picking at his brass buttons. "Then you won't. Palmers, have it and more broadcloth and muslin ordered to set sail with. There are no mercantiles in Port Elizabeth. Miss Jewell and the other women going with will want material for a change of dress."

Palmers’ gaze met hers, as if they both tried to understand the baron's meaning. Then his man finally agreed, almost choking on the words. "Yes, sir."
 

"Good. Get to packing, Miss Jewell." The baron pounded past her and shoved his nearly-full glass into Palmers’ mitts. Halting, he half-pivoted and his gaze settled Precious's direction and the painting near her side. "Be careful to follow my orders, Palmers. I'd hate for my plans to be ruined or delayed."

The door to the study closed behind Lord Welling, but his commanding presence remained. And even stiff Palmers looked shaken.

Precious pivoted to Eliza's portrait and touched the gilded frame again. This trip to Port Elizabeth would be new and different. But what were Lord Welling's plans? And why did it feel as if his latest directives had to do with Precious as much as the swirls of pigment?

One, two, three, four. Precious Jewell counted the tall poles anchored to top of the massive boat roped into the dock. Those beams seemed so high, they punched through the overcast sky.
 

Pinching her fingers, she measured the swaying cross beam attached to a middle post.
 
An unfurled snowy white sheet wrapped about it, all spanning several inches betwixt her thumb and index. The distance must be miles wide.

Scared and excited, her throat dried, even as her toes wiggled in her short boots. Swallowing, she lifted her chin to keep it from gaping. This boat had to be three times bigger than one Lord Welling sent to Charleston to bring his bride and her enslaved maid to London. That one seemed so grand. The day her foot left South Carolina soil was the first day she could breathe. No more evil. Well, none that caused lasting damage.

Jonas snored. The soft noise tickled her neck. The gingham cloth sling she’d made to carry him kept his little body close to hers while allowing her hands to be free. She shifted her satchel to her other arm. Skivvies, a fresh dress, a nightgown and robe, a few of Jonas's toys, and her indentured servant papers, all her worldly goods sat inside, and she wasn't trusting it to anyone.
 

The wind shifted and a ray of solemn light beamed down, warming her tight fingers. Everyone except for Jonas, all the workers and tradesmen and sailing men pounding to and fro, disappeared.
 

Staring and tracing the rope lines, her heart raced. Something new and magical would happen, and this boat would lead the way. This beast of cedar and oak had to be larger than Firelynn Hall. Lord Welling probably needed one so big to carry her and all her hopes to this new land.

With a sigh, and shuffling her feet forward, the world returned. Men, lots of them, stepped all around her. She clutched her bag a little tighter, but most didn't pay her any mind. They had work to do, carrying and loading crates onto the docked boats.

The hull of Lord Welling’s boat had stamped the letters, M-A-R-G-E-A-U-X, and bobbed up and down with the waves. The bottom of the boat, below the water's edge, must be just as big as the upper. A lot can be ferried in something like that. A lot of crates, trunks… enslaved peoples.
 

A gull shrieked overhead, echoing in Precious's ear, sounding like captives crying out.
 

She shivered. Thoughts of Granmama pressed her heart. The old woman shed tears, recalling how she bore the weight of the iron chains, the scorn of the white men beating them and yelling in a language she did not know. The tales of being loaded into the dank abyss, the dark bottoms of a vessel such as this were rooted in the dear woman's nightmares.

Granmama's brother died on the voyage, his body tossed overboard like garbage. How many others had been killed, their freedom stolen on a big boat, one such as this?
 

Nausea flooded Precious, her limbs shaking with shame. How could her hopes be high when suffering and stealing still happened?

On the smaller boat with Eliza, all she could think of was herself and the chance to be away from her oppressors in Charleston. It hadn’t gripped her like now, to think of her shattered family or the stolen futures of her forebears.

Heavy in spirit, she wiped at her eyes. That was yesterday, and what could one formerly- enslaved girl do to change it? Nothin'.

Yesterday.
She chanted it to her spirit, over and over, trying to recapture her joy.
 

Looking at cobbles in the dirt, she bumped into a woman embracing a man about his waist. Her dark walking gown blended into his short cape. Precious backed up, hating that she'd disturbed their moment. “Sorry.”

The woman ignored her and snuggled closer to her man.
 

Precious scooted by, but couldn't help staring. Was it a homecoming or a send-off?

The couple walked away, hand in hand. Perhaps they had love. That emotion was a strange thing. Eliza and Lord Welling claimed to have it. Her mistress seemed happy, coming to London. What southern girl wouldn't be? Her fiancé was handsome; seemed reasonable and even-tempered. For an arranged marriage, that had to be good. But they quarreled often over his family obligations, until Eliza was gone.
 

With this past week of cleaning, she'd been wiped away from Firelynn. Her legacy, little Jonas, was all that was left of their union.