I held out my hand as I’d been taught and said, “Lola Blaise, sir. I’ve been sent to nurse the master.”
He gave the tips of my fingers a quick, limp shake as he inquired, “And Mistress Anne?”
I looked down at my dirty knuckles and murmured, “She’s . . . she’s too busy harvesting . . . with the hurricane and all. . . .” Mr. Steiner gave an almost imperceptible snort and then told me to unpack my belongings. A few minutes later the lieutenant brushed past us both and went outside to stable the horses.
Master William was in bad shape. He’d got over the fever right enough but his usually ruddy face was darkened and gaunt. His sandy hair clumped in matted snags and his deep, dark eyes had sunk to blackened specks. One of the town’s overworked surgeons had improvised broom handles as splints to immobilize the broken limbs, and now he lay in much discomfort in the bedchamber above the shop. Most of the merchandise had been damaged by the waves that left the lower streets in ruins so Joshua, anxious to see what could be salvaged, was only too glad to hand over the invalid to me. The master had also lost his cook in the storm—she’d had to return to help out her own family—but the neighbors gallantly rallied round to provide food for the two stranded men (although no one had thought to change the bedding and neither house nor patient had been cleaned in ages). I immediately set to work, and later that afternoon Joshua showed me how to prepare the tincture of opium left by the surgeon. The master sure enjoyed this particular medicine because he thereafter took the laudanum every day, even when his legs had fully recovered.
The next couple of months I quickly adjusted to city life. Charles Towne resembled the posh end of London, with its ballast-stone streets and tall, packed buildings (except it was wider, newer, brighter, and the people there feigned a more genteel politeness). I was amazed how quickly the folks recovered in the wake of disaster, but as all of the workmen were involved in the cleanup all progress halted above the master’s shop. Still, there was plenty enough time to have the third and fourth floors ready by the fall of 1716, in time for Annie’s debut. Eventually Joshua would live at the top of the house and the bedrooms would be moved up to the third floor. Then the second floor would be finished as an elegant reception room large enough for dancing or dining, adjoined by a formal parlor and gentleman’s study. The kitchen was a large single-story building set behind the house in the walled backyard, and next to that stood the stable. At the current time there wasn’t much house to be keeping, so after the patient was shaved and fed he would fall into dizzy slumber and I got a chance to explore this new damp place.
In the evenings me and Joshua would try to muddle together something that was edible. He was a strange fellow, who reminded me of a squirrel, startled and flustered by every loud noise. And the only thing he knew how to cook was soup. But as I’d spent enough afternoons in Joy’s kitchen preparing vegetables, we’d often roast a chunk of meat and live on that and greens until there was just enough left for pottage. As he became more accustomed to me, Joshua relaxed a bit, and eventually I discovered he’d had to leave London when his beloved (Elizabeth) fell pregnant—which would have been all right except she was his boss’s daughter. So she’d been hurriedly married off to some goldsmith in Covent Garden and had borne a daughter called Sara. Joshua and Elizabeth still kept in touch through secret missives and the young associate was hoping to save enough money for passage so she could someday run off and join him in Charles Towne. Now, I ain’t never been much of a romantic but the way he told his tale struck a chord in my heart. And I never did find out whether Elizabeth and Sara made it, but I hope so for all of their sakes.
When Master William was starting to feel better he grew bored and wanted entertaining. At first I had to read to him but I wasn’t very good at the strange long words so after a while he gave up asking and we took to playing games instead. Joshua found a water-damaged compendium in the storeroom and managed to repaint the washed-out wooden pieces. Bristol had taught me Nine Man’s Morris on the
Argyll
so I was pretty good at that, and I always found checkers and dominoes amusing. Then the master decided to teach me chess—and from then on that’s all I really wanted to play until I became proficient. At first my opponent would let me win, but later I think I managed to beat him fair and square. But I couldn’t never interest Joshua in any form of pastime because when he wasn’t busy restoring items or selling them in the shop he wanted to immerse himself in the faraway world of Elizabeth.
So things slid into a haphazard routine until one awkward day when I was giving Master William a bed bath and spotted his hardened wood. I instantly pulled away, stuttering, and for some silly reason I started apologizing. A strange look glazed the usually jovial face and his eyes had set in stone. His voice turned deeper as he croaked, “Be a good girl and wash me, Lola. And I’ll give you a little extra something for your kindness.” He grasped my soapy hands and showed me how he wanted the rub.
And that was the day I became his mistress. I’m sure Joshua must have known what was happening on account of the bumping he heard day and night, and the fact that I suddenly had pretty new frocks and could afford to buy myself boots and ribbons. He never said anything untoward but I did sometimes see him glance sadly from the corner of his eye when the cane rapped the floorboards overhead, demanding my instant attention. And I didn’t see nothing wrong with being paid for my services when other men would have just taken them anyway. One thing I did delight on, though—money buys folks more freedom. For now, whenever shopping the cobbled streets, I could purchase nice things all on my own account. Toffee and candy and fancy cakes. Lavender water and powder. I spent long sessions in the Ravenell and Haskell Apothecary Shop watching the leeches swimming in a big clear glass jar and observing Dr. Haskell’s skill as an apothecary-surgeon. And I’d listen to the stream of customer complaints, watch how a suitable remedy was prepared, then purchase any missing ingredients for my own collection. Mistress Haskell was always ready with a friendly word and she didn’t never complain that I was being a bother. She joked one day that her husband should take me on as his apprentice, and everyone in the place roared with laughter at the thought of a female surgeon! But I did eventually learn from her the most valuable treatment of all—the recipe to prevent unwanted babies. Thereafter I made pessaries from beeswax and ground acacia bark, and learnt to syringe a herbal douche of tobacco, lemon juice, vinegar, and seaweed (and there were other ingredients too but I can’t never be giving away all of my secrets).
Meanwhile, the Black River Plantation was still struggling to harvest and sell whatever rice could be marketed. Each Friday Lieutenant Ellyott would arrive to collect a letter or package to deliver to Mistress Anne. And each Sunday he would return with her reply, sometimes carrying the requested books or papers or brandy or preserves. Then one breezy Sunday just before Christmas he failed to show up. And shortly, thereafter, all hell broke loose.
In the first gray hours of Monday morning we were roused from our slumber by a furious knocking at the shop door. I knew Joshua wouldn’t never be brave enough to answer so I shot out of Willie’s bed and slipped a cloak over my lacy shift. I was terrified to see Anne crumpled on the arm of a frantic Mrs. Drayton. Gibby had tied up the reins of the cart and was ferreting around in the back. He slung a large bulky shape over one shoulder and was the first to find his tongue. He said, “Young master’s badly hurt. . . .”
The moment I realized he was holding Lieutenant Ellyott I ushered him into the shop alongside the women. Mrs. Drayton finally explained, “He needs a surgeon.” She helped Anne to prop herself against the flour sacks and then pointed to where Gibby should deposit his burden. I scuttled to the young man’s side. His crown was a huge scab of blood and deep scratches scored his face. Both eyes were hidden in puffy black hollows. His complexion was bruised as an overblown apple but the breath whimpered ragged and furtive.
“What happened?” I asked, as I pulled aside the blanket he was wrapped in. The whole of his torso was covered in muddy hay, and whatever flesh was visible was turning a mixture of purple and blue. His eyes remained swollen shut and lifeless. A trickle of blood from a damaged gum crusted on his chin and I thought that at any moment he might slip on the dew into death.
There was a series of loud bumps, and when I looked over to the bottom of the staircase I saw the master had made it down on his cane, wrapped only in a nightshirt and the shawl from his bed. “What is going on here?” he demanded to know. And then he saw Anne slumped on the floor and hobbled to her side. At sight of her father Annie dissolved into hysteria and none of us could make out a word she gabbled. So she finally lifted the hem of her dress and showed us her torn bloody petticoat. Her father instantly understood. He stumbled over to the unconscious officer, poked apart his floppy legs, and brought the tip of his cane down smartly on the lieutenant’s privates. The body elicited a gurgle of pain before sinking back into the flooring. “Take this thing home!” Master Cormac commanded. So Joshua was sent for, and told to direct Gibby and the lieutenant back to the Ellyott Estate somewhere downriver. Mrs. Drayton was given Joshua’s room to rest in, while I made up a sickbed for Annie in my room. I had a vague idea what had happened but I was much more worried that someone would notice my lacy nightgown or that I hadn’t been sleeping in my own bed. Fortunately, though, Anne was too upset, and it took all of her concentration to let me clean her up, gently administer the syringe, and finally put her to rest.
After things settled down a bit we heard what had taken place. Apparently Lieutenant Ellyott had tried to woo Anne but she didn’t want anything to do with him—or any other beau for that matter—until her official debut, for fear she’d ruin her father’s carefully laid plans for a society match. But the young militia man was besotted and, hoping to score an early advantage over the rest of the pack, he’d taken to staying longer and longer during his weekly visits. At first Annie was flattered by the attention, but when his passion became more physical she realized she’d have to speak sharply and put him to rights. Well, this particular Sunday morning Ellyott caught Annie in the stables as she came in from her morning ride. He tried seducing her with poetry but when she told him to run along home he suddenly displayed the dark side of his desire. Cut furious by the rejection he pushed Annie back onto the hay bales—and by sheer, brute force and ardor—succeeded in fulfilling his wicked intent. Annie told us she went totally numb (like she was frozen in a winter pond) and that her vision wavered out of her skin and hovered above his thrusting haunches. When he eventually withdrew she felt a flutter on her thigh and stared in disbelief at the blood oozing down her leg. Shaking in fear that he’d hurt her some more she tried to cover herself up. That was when he tried to push something into her mouth and a rush of anger flooded her head to toe. Annie bit wildly at the lump of flesh, eliciting a screech of surprise followed by a sadistic punch to the forehead. The next thing she knew a pistol was pressed to her ear and vicious fingers were groping her breasts. He rolled her over, pressing her face into the dung-stained straw, and made her scream a second time. Finally sated, he left her sobbing in the hay and hurried to make himself decent. But just as he was exiting the stable Annie came up from behind with a wooden spade. She hefted a vengeful blow that knocked the young man to his knees, then she continued hitting and hitting and hitting, roaring like an Indian brave in the throes of ancient battle. Eventually the lieutenant stopped moving and Annie ran to the house to lock herself safe. Mr. Higgins found the injured man a short time later and set the journey in motion that led to our door. The furious father sat with his daughter throughout the next morning until the vigor returned to her body. Annie’s first words were, “Did I kill him?”
Her father shook his head and said, “Fortunately not. I think he will survive.”
Annie looked deep to the corner of her soul and spat, “More is the pity. . . .”
That very afternoon Master William rode out to the Ellyott Estate to confront the lieutenant’s family, and he eventually returned after dark overdoused in whiskey. We were all sat round the kitchen table going over and over the potential outcomes and nervously awaiting the vengeance of a mightier power. Annie had beaten the young heir half to death. So now she risked being ostracized from their set as the wayward slut who’d led him on and then cried wolf. Her reputation would be ruined, and no respectable beau would wish to marry her. And if that foolish man should happen to die from his injuries Annie might even stand trial for murder. We went over the terrible, again and again, preparing ourselves for all consequences. But the master sat down at the table, took off his boots, and called for a bottle of port. Then in a rather husky voice he finally belched and laughed at the alien drama he’d just partaken of. Anne looked at her father and asked, “What happened, Papa?” I took away the boots, returned with glass goblets, and watched the ruby liquid slide into place as Annie poured us all a good tot.
The master winked, squeezed her hand as she passed, and said, “It has all been sorted.” Then he raised his stem in a wobbly toast and yelled, “To negotiation!” We didn’t have no idea what he meant but we dutifully raised our drinks and swallowed them down.
But what I could never get my head round was the irony of William’s righteousness. So it was acceptable for a man—almost four times older—to seduce me each day whenever he chose to—but not for a reputable, marriageable young man to bed his own virgin daughter? Why was her body more precious than mine? I was apparently supposed to feel some kind of fury on behalf of my brutalized mistress, yet it seemed to me that Annie had got the better of her abuser. But then again—given the circumstances—so perhaps had I.