Authors: Monica Barrie
“Will I be as strong and fair as my father?” she asked the night air. She didn’t know the answer; she could only pray she would have the strength.
What she did know is, with Charles Denham’s help, she would make it. Charles had worked for her father for many years before she was born. He had been loyal to Harlan Louden during life and after his death.
It was an amazing story, Charles Denham and her father; it had been the basis for a scandal both here and in England. She remembered the way Aunt Elizabeth had ranted on at every chance she had, upon her father’s death, about allowing a convict to administer her brother’s estate in Jamaica. However, as hard as Elizabeth Sorrel had tried to break the will, it remained firmly in place.
“Thank the Lord,” Elyse whispered aloud. Charles had been more than her father’s employee; he had been a friend. Elyse felt with the certainty of her father’s trust that Charles Denham had run Devonairre just as Harlan would have, had he not died.
“I am safe here,” Elyse told herself, taking in a long, deep, sigh-like breath. She felt tiredness reaching out to her again, but this time it was a gentle feeling. As she was about to turn from the balcony, she caught a glimpse of a figure walking through the garden.
Her breath caught when she recognized the tall silhouette of Brace Denham. She watched, unseen by him, as his long, graceful steps carried him across the courtyard to the east wing, where he lived in one of the bachelor apartments. Just as he reached the entrance, she saw him pause. His shoulders straightened. He turned slowly.
Before she could step back, his face turned upwards and his eyes swept across her face. She stood, frozen in time, until she forced her legs to move her back from the balcony. Closing the glass doors, she returned to the security of her bedroom.
Elyse’s first week back in Jamaica sped by at an alarming rate. Upon waking on her first morning, she’d looked out the window at the new day, breathing deeply of the sweet air of her home. She’d made up her mind to put the past behind her, burying her shame, promising herself never to speak of those terrible years to anyone.
Each morning thereafter, she rose with the sun to gaze at the blue ocean. Birds flew everywhere, their cries heralding the day; the trees swayed in the same ocean breeze that carried to her scents of the tropical mornings.
After watching the day turn bright, Elyse dressed. Every day brought a new dress. Although they were far from what England considered high fashion, they were lovely in themselves. Cory, Devonairre’s seamstress, was a large black woman who, as she measured Elyse, told her of her childhood, speaking in the melodious dialect prevalent among the black people on the island.
“You was a sweet little girl child, I do tell! You never be still for more’n a minute, you had so much life in ya. An my o’ my, child, you come back all growed up so pretty-like,” she had said on the first morning.
That night, Elyse had her first dress. It was simple, cut smoothly across her bosom, and not overly tight at her waist. Its skirt was light, and she wore only one petticoat beneath it.
As the days passed, and her wardrobe grew, she found herself following a schedule, of sorts. She’d eat breakfast on the rear veranda, gazing at the gardens while enjoying succulent fruits. Usually Ann joined her for a few minutes, and they’d drink a cup of tea together.
After breakfast, Ann would go about her duties while Elyse went into Charles’s office in the west wing, near his apartment, to sit with him for several hours as he explained the accounts to her.
In the afternoon, she’d accompany Charles on tours of the estate. Because of the size of the plantation, they only saw one small section each afternoon.
In the evening, she and the Denhams would dine in the formal dining room, served by the household servants who appeared to be extremely happy.
“Are they always this cheerful?” Elyse asked one night.
Ann smiled. “Wouldn’t you be, if for ten years you had cared for a house that no one lived in, and finally there was life in it again? Now that you’re here, they find themselves doing something for a living person, not for the ghosts of the past.”
Each night she learned something new about her home, whether it was about the voodoo superstition that so many of the people believed in, or about one of the nearby plantation owners who had done something noteworthy or scandalous.
Elyse was very much aware that Brace Denham was never around. She had heard him, on several occasions, come in very late at night. He always left before she woke and she knew he was doing his best to avoid her.
“Why?” she asked Ann one night when they sat in the salon.
“What do you remember about Brace?” Ann asked.
Elyse closed her eyes and concentrated, willing the memories of early childhood to come back to her. “I seem to remember that he was always with me, wherever I went.”
“Yes, he was. He watched over you, helped you, and was at your beck and call.”
“I remember his patience, too,” she said as a particular memory flashed. “I was trying to climb a tree to get a coconut. Brace told me not to, but I tried anyway. I fell down and cried, and he picked me up, smiled, and took me back to the tree. Then he showed me how to climb. I didn’t get very far, but he was there, under me, just in case I fell.”
Ann sighed. “Brace is a good person.”
“Then why is he avoiding me?”
Ann closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Elyse saw sadness. “Because neither of you is a child anymore. He is trying to come to terms with who he is, and who you are.”
“I don’t understand,” Elyse admitted truthfully.
“When the time is right, you will.”
Three days after that conversation was the start of Elyse’s second week back at Devonairre. As she had done each day, except Sunday, she went into Charles’s office after breakfast for her next lesson. But Charles did not open any of the ledgers; instead, he gazed intently at Elyse.
“It’s time to go into Montego Bay. We must see your attorney. You are past your twenty-first birthday, and we must file your inheritance legally. You need to sign the papers that make you the owner of Devonairre.”
“But I have so much to learn…I’m not ready yet,” Elyse protested. “Do you want to leave the plantation now? Is that why?” she asked, fear suddenly rising within her.
Charles laughed. “Where would I go? Surely you know my story,” Charles said, his face growing taut as he spoke.
Elyse knew only that which her aunt and uncle had told her, and she had never believed them. “I was told that you were a convict…”
Charles nodded his head. “And it is time for you to learn my history, and the reason why I will never leave Devonairre willingly.”
He gazed at her, his face was calm, his voice level. “Thirty years ago, when I was twenty and lived in England I was arrested and sent to prison. Because of certain friends, I managed to be placed in debtor’s prison, rather than Newgate. It was there that your father’s agents found me, along with several others, and paid our obligation. In turn, I was required to serve him in whatever capacity he required until I repaid my debt through my labors.
“I came to Jamaica as a field laborer, working hard, long hours. Thankfully, your father was a fair man who did not work his people to their deaths as many other planters did.
“The work was hard, but, unlike most of the other debtors, I found myself thriving in the tropical climate. As I worked, happy to pay off my debt so I could gain my freedom, I began to dream of starting a new life.”
“In many ways, I was a lucky man, for I had caught your father’s eye. In my first three years, I rose through the ranks of the slaves and debtors, and became your father’s assistant overseer.
“Our relationship evolved over the next few years as your father and I became friends. I respected him highly, and learned that he held me in the same esteem.
“By then I was beginning to feel that Devonairre was my home. I met Ann—she was called Ann Little, then—and we were married. Your father had appointed me manager of Devonairre. My education helped a great deal, and I began to handle the accounts for him.
“When Brace was born, six years before your own birth, your father insisted that Ann and I move from our small outbuilding into the apartment in the west wing, next to my office.
“Ann was installed as the housekeeper in charge of the household slaves while I continued as manager of the plantation.” Charles paused for a moment, trying to maintain a hold on his emotions as the memories of the past rushed through his thoughts.
“For thirty years, I have been a happy man. I asked nothing of your father, only to do my job in the best way I could. Your father understood that and more, and as the years passed, our friendship grew stronger.
“He knew he could trust me with Devonairre until you returned. He knew that I considered this my home, and that I would let nothing harm it. No, Elyse, there is no other place I would go unless you wanted us to leave.” Elyse swallowed several times and shook her head slowly. “I need you here.”
“Good!” Charles declared with a smile. “You do know that when your father died, he left Ann and me a rather large inheritance—enough to keep us comfortable for the rest of our lives.”
“Yes, I do know.”
“So there is nothing to worry about.”
There is much to worry about
. “Then there is no rush to go to Montego Bay.”
“It must be done, and the sooner it is, the better it will be for you. I sent word to Sir Alec that you would call on him tomorrow.”
Elyse knew there was no fighting Charles on this. Her only defense would be to tell him what had happened in England and that if her presence here became known, word might reach her greedy relatives and she would have to relive the very things she wanted most to forget.
“All right,” she replied.
“Good. Ann will be joining us so she can do some shopping.”
*****
Brace stood on the hill overlooking the main house, staring at it while the sun beat upon his shoulders. For the eight days that Elyse Louden had been here, he had avoided all contact with her.
In that moment when he first saw her standing in the cemetery, the hummingbird resting on her outstretched fingers, he’d realized that a maelstrom of emotions erupted within him.
Elyse was the little girl with whom he’d grown up. During the years she had been gone, he had never forgotten her. Her eyes were the same. Since she was three, they had been the deep green they were now. They had been large and inquisitive, and because he was tall, even as a boy, he had felt himself to be her guardian, her protector.
He’d thought about her often, hoping that she fared well in her new home, but at the same time sensing that as she was gone from his life, their relationship would never be the same. Whenever Harlan Louden had returned from one of his trips to England, Brace had stayed within earshot, waiting to hear anything about his Elyse.
After Harlan had told everyone about how much Elyse had grown, and how lovely she was becoming, Brace had left to walk through the plantation by himself, lost in the memories of his only real childhood friend.
That had been childhood. She had returned to Jamaica a grown woman, and a titled one at that. For Brace, the barriers separating them were immeasurable. However, no matter what those barriers were, Brace had also seen, with his first glimpse of the child grown to womanhood, no other woman would ever affect him as she had. No other would be able to bring forth the desire that had burst within him eight days ago.
Which was the very reason Brace had pushed himself to the very limits of his strength. He’d leave his room before the sun rose to go directly to the stables, saddle his horse and ride to the sugar plant, which consisted of several buildings, each serving its own special purpose. The first building was the sugar processing plant; the second, the molasses refining and storage factory, and the third was the rum and distillation building. Currently, everything was prepared for the upcoming sugar cane harvest. Brace went into the distillery and checked on the rum stills, making sure that everything was as it should be. As he did this, the first workers arrived to begin the day’s efforts.
By nine, he was mounted and riding into the fields, checking on the progress of the cane, and seeing that the workers were doing their jobs.
Each day he’d ride to the vegetable gardens, where workers tilled the five hundred acres that fed both the main house and the people who tended the fields and the factories.
Occasionally he’d go to the higher elevations, tracing one of the aqueducts to make sure that the irrigation systems, fed by the mountain streams, were in good repair. When evening came, he’d go to the beach to swim in the warm ocean before returning to the worker’s village to spend an hour listening to their reports.
Sometimes he’d eat dinner with them; more often, he wouldn’t eat until the main house was dark. He’d then go to the rear kitchen and take a plate to his room, where he’d eat and then fall into a fitful sleep in which dreams haunted him with visions of the beautiful woman he could never have.
If Elyse had not spent the last sixteen years in England, she would not have been as disappointed in Montego Bay as she was, but as the carriage drove along Queen’s Drive, which descended along the mountain before passing the elegant homes of the affluent, she caught a glimpse of the center of town.
Although it was second in size to Kingston, no one would call Montego Bay a city. Yet Montego Bay was the most prosperous of the island’s ports, for almost all of the island’s sugar, rum, and molasses trade happened there.
The town’s center was a square with a large courthouse on the western side. Across from the stone courthouse was a medium-sized inn. On the north side of the square was the ‘new’ jail, rebuilt after the slave uprising and named ‘The Cage’. The building was small, and did not seem large enough to hold those for whom it was intended—runaway slaves, drunken sailors, and other riffraff.
Leading away from the square was Market Street, lined with stalls and people hawking their wares. The other streets that radiated from the town square all had even rows of small but elegant town house residences of the wealthy plantation owners.
A hundred yards behind the courthouse was Montego Bay itself, and as Elyse looked upon the almost perfect U-shape of the bay, another memory rose. She had been on this same road as a child, riding in a carriage with her father. He had pointed out several ships in the bay, calling each of them by name. Today only one ship rested at anchor.
Fifteen minutes after her first sight of Montego Bay, Elyse stepped down from the carriage in front of a moderate-sized townhouse. A wooden shingle hung from two brass chains in the entranceway, and proclaimed the owner of the house to be Sir Alec Melrose, Barrister.
While Ann stayed in the carriage, which would take her to the market and the shops, Charles knocked on the door. A household servant liveried in white and red opened it.
“Good morning, Joseph,” Charles said in greeting.
“’Morning, Mista Denham. Mistress,” he added with a slight bow. “Please to come this way,” he added, motioning with his arm to a doorway at the end of the hall. Once inside the large, book-lined office, a tall, thin man in his late fifties rose from behind a large oak desk. He had a full head of graying hair and sharp, piercing eyes.
When Elyse and Charles entered the office, Sir Alec paused to stare at Elyse for several long seconds before he moved again. “Pardon me, Lady Louden,” he said with a half-smile, “but I must admit to be taken aback by your beauty. You have grown into a lovely woman.” As he finished talking, he reached her and took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and grazed its back. When he released it, he looked directly into her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to find some memory of knowing him as a child, until she realized what he had called her—Lady Louden. It was the first time someone had addressed her by that title.
“Please,” Sir Alec said, pointing to two curved-back chairs, “Sit. Charles,” he said with a smile, “I trust everything is going well?”
“Very well, thank you,” Charles replied before he sat in the chair next to Elyse.
When Sir Alec returned to his seat behind the desk, he was silent for a moment as he studied Elyse. “I was surprised to hear of your arrival. How did you manage to return home without anyone learning of it?”
“I wanted it to be that way,” she told him. “I did not come into Montego Bay.”
“I see,” the lawyer said, in evident, if misunderstood, acceptance of her words. “After so long, I’m sure you wanted no fanfare. But,” he said, his voice rising emphatically, “now that you are here, I’m sure you’re anxious to have your father’s estate settled.”
Elyse nodded her head, but only after glancing at Charles.
“And I am extremely glad to see that you have recovered from the illness your aunt wrote us about. We were very worried about you.”
Elyse almost said something, but held herself back. As soon as Sir Alec had spoken, she knew what her aunt had done. It was the same as she’d done in England.
“Thank you,” were her only words. From the corner of her eye, she saw Charles’s startled, puzzled look.
“Now that you’ve returned to us, will you be staying on in Jamaica, or is your intention to return to England?”
Elyse gazed at the barrister, looking for some clue as to why he’d asked the question, but could read nothing by the set of his features.
“Devonairre is my home,” she told him. She saw Charles smile.
“I believe your father thought you would say that,” Sir Alec stated as he lifted a sheet of paper from the small stack on his desk. “His will was very specific. He knew you would be returning to take control of your lands.”
For the next half hour, Sir Alec read from the will, detailing all the things her father had set down years before. When he finished, he removed his spectacles and gazed at Elyse.
“And so today you will be legally declared the owner of Devonairre, a plantation twenty-two kilometers east of Montego Bay, with holdings of eleven thousand, three hundred acres of prime land. Please sign these,” he said as he turned three sheets of white paper toward her and handed her a dipped quill.
Elyse looked at the papers and then signed each one. When she had finished, she handed the quill back to Sir Alec.
“I trust you will have the same confidence in me that your father did?” he asked her.
Elyse looked into his open, honest eyes and saw reassurance within them. “Of course.”
“What of your lands in England? Have you taken control of them also?”
Elyse held her breath for a moment. “Not yet,” she whispered.
Sir Alec’s raised eyebrows were a more than eloquent response. Elyse felt words of defense building within her, but Charles spoke before she could.
“It was very difficult for her to do so; after all, it is her father’s sister who lives on the Chatsworth estate.”
“Naturally, but still, as the attorney for the estate, and as Lady Louden’s legal advisor, I feel that everything should be done according to her father’s wishes.”
Elyse gazed at the lawyer. “You will take care of the legalities?”
“If you wish. However, it will take some months. Papers must be readied and then sent to England.”
“I understand.”
“Lady Louden,” Sir Alec began, a smile making the pattern of lines on his face deepen into full creases, “I would be pleased if you would find one evening soon to dine with my family and me.”
“Thank you, I would like that very much.”
“Wonderful. Until then.” Standing, he came around the desk to take her hand once again.
Ten minutes later, Charles was giving Elyse a tour of Montego Bay while they waited for Ann to return from her shopping. As they walked along the streets, Elyse was very much aware of the glances thrown in her direction. She knew word would spread quickly of her presence in Jamaica.
It was nightfall when they returned to Devonairre. Elyse had been strangely silent on the ride back, and Charles and Ann, sensing her mood, did not try to break into her thoughts. Once they reached the house, Elyse declined dinner and went straight to her room, where she changed into a more comfortable dress. Afterward, she went downstairs and sat on a cane chair on the front veranda to gaze out at the beautiful star-filled sky. Letting the peacefulness and beauty calm her, she thought about the day that had just ended.
They had eaten a light lunch at the inn after Ann had returned from her shopping. Elyse had again become aware of the stares directed at her; but she realized, too, that the stares were not meant only for her.
“Why is everyone looking at us?” she asked Ann.
Ann flushed and shook her head. Charles covered his wife’s hand with his and said, “They don’t know who you are yet, but they know us very well. These people are your peers, if you want to call them that. The man to our left is Jason Greenly, whose father owns Claremont Plantation, just east of Montego.”
Elyse glanced at the man. He had tight, pinched features, and an air of disdain seemed to float around him.
“The man seated with his wife, to your left, near the window, is Sir Adrainne Hartwell. He owns five plantations spread over the island.”
Elyse saw that the man was obese, with heavy jowls covered by a neatly trimmed beard. His wife was as thin as a rail, with birdlike features: her mouth was small and tight, her nose sharp and beaklike.
“They look at us with disdain because of who Ann and I are.”
Elyse shook her head, not comprehending what he meant.
“We’re debtors. We are the lower class.”
“That’s ridiculous. You haven’t been a debtor for twenty-seven years.”
“In their minds, we arrived as debtors; therefore, we are debtors.”
“Then they have small minds!” After that, Elyse felt eager to leave the inn, to be far away from the speculative glances of the people who stared down at them.
Now, at home and alone in the large house, she tried to straighten her thoughts. Burning in her mind was the fact that her aunt had written to Sir Alec and told him of the illness—an illness manufactured by her aunt; just as she’d spread the word in England that Elyse’s mental faculties were weak, she had tried to do the same in Jamaica. How many people knew of that letter? Perhaps it would be best if all her inheritance was returned. Then her aunt would not be able to lay claim to any of it. Yet, she wondered if her aunt was even at this moment planning some fiendish way to stop Elyse from claiming what was hers by right.
Inside the house, the clock struck eleven and, stifling a yawn, she decided it was time to go to bed and put her troubled thoughts and her tired body to sleep.
Rising from the veranda chair, she started toward the door but stopped at a sensation of being watched. She turned to peer into the darkness, but saw nothing.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
There was no response, yet the feeling turned into certainty. With the certainty came knowledge.
“Brace?”
Before his name died on her lips, she heard footfalls on the stone stairs. An instant later Brace stood before her.
In the low light cast through the windows of the house, she saw his broad shoulders and long dark hair. Although he had stopped five feet from her, she could feel his presence as if he were holding her in his arms.
Her stomach churned and her heart beat faster. Dampness spread on her palms, and she willed her breathing to slow down, but her body would not listen as her eyes swept over his magnificent form.
“You called, m’lady?” he asked in a jeering voice.
“What have I done to you, to be treated this way?” Her voice was husky, and she was not sure why she had asked the question.
“Don’t you know?” His whispered words were ice, sending a chill through her body.
“This is my home.”
“Is it? Or is it just another of your possessions, Lady Louden?”
“Oh, Brace,” she whispered, taking a hesitant step forward, her hand outstretched to him. “We were friends—”
“A long time ago, in another world.”
“In this world!” Her voice rose as she took another step closer to him. “Don’t throw away what we once had,” she pleaded, staring into the endless depths of his eyes. Only an inch separated them, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“That was sixteen years ago,” he said bitterly as his eyes drank in the forbidden beauty that stood before him, shimmering radiantly, torturing him to his very soul.
“No!” Elyse denied, knowing that she cared nothing for what his words meant.
His eyes softened; his hand reached out and touched her cheek. Fire burned where his fingertips met her flesh. Her stomach fluttered and her knees threatened to buckle.
“Go back to England. Go back where you belong.”
Then his hand was gone and he was walking away from her, his broad back reflecting starlight. In that instant, Elyse knew she was in love with him.
Her hand rose to her cheek, covering the place where his fingers had rested. “I belong here, Brace Denham,” she whispered to the night.
*****
The merchantman, Gladiator, was a week out of Portsmouth, and six weeks from its destination. Although it was not unusual for the ship to carry passengers on its island run, rarely, if ever, did it accommodate the wealthy and titled. This voyage was different.
Captain Joshua Fenmore stood on the bridge, gazing down at the lower deck where his three passengers stood in huddled conversation.
He had thought them an odd lot from the moment they had booked their passage with him. The older couple conveyed an air of arrogance and disdain, while the younger man stood mutely by, listening and agreeing with whatever the others said.
Nor were they an overly handsome lot, Fenmore thought. The woman was dour-looking, with pinched features, as if she found life itself sour. Her husband, in direct opposition to her wiriness, was paunchy, with heavy jowls, and mean eyes. His skin was tinged with a sickly, yellow pallor that Fenmore knew came from too much drinking and too little caring.
Captain Fenmore sensed the third man was not a relative, for there was not the least resemblance to the man and woman. He wore his nobility like a cloak for all to see; and, typical of his type, he had a mean-eyed look and the wasted features and body of the gamblers and dilettantes who populated London these days.