Captive Innocence (10 page)

Royall gasped and said nothing, her mind in a whirl. Regaining her composure, she said hotly, “But what has that to do with me? Surely Sebastian can't blame me for his differences with the Baron! And as for how the slaves are treated, that is none of my doing!”

“I know, dear. It's most unfair. But you must understand; Sebastian has been at odds with Reino Brazilia for as long as he can remember.” Then Mrs. Quince sniffed and cheerfully stated, “Men are as difficult to understand as women, if not more so!”

Sometime shortly after midday a note was delivered to Mrs. Quince, stating that Sebastian had left the riverboat when the paddlewheeler stopped at a riverport for water. The note was short and clipped. Mrs. Quince and her traveling companion were to have the use of his table in the dining room since he would have no further need for it. His signature was a large scrawled
S
.

The hastily scrawled note set Royall's teeth on edge. The rejection and hurt she felt prior to the delivery of the note was now replaced with searing hot anger. If this was the way he wanted it, then so be it. There would be another time and another place, and at that time and at that place she would be the one who had the final word.

Royall looked out over the calm water. The bright sunshine that had warmed her, brought life to her, now seemed clouded, and a chill clutched her heart. She would not admit to herself that the sun had dimmed for her, that the emerald green of the Amazon had turned dark and murky. She would wait for her time and her place. And then, as gamblers said, the odds would be in her favor.

Royall thought she could not endure another moment of the drive to Reino Brazilia. The rough, corded roads caused the wagon to lurch first to one side and then to the other, leaving her body bruised and battered.

She sat in the back of the wagon, surrounded by luggage and carryalls. Too exhausted even for sleep, she peered through the darkness, trying to acquaint herself with their position. At last, giving up all hope of recognizing the dark shadows and resigning herself to the total blackness, she settled against one of the trunks and concentrated on the pool of yellow light that haloed through the thick humidity, throwing a feeble circlet of illumination upon the dry, caked roads.

Mentally she counted the trunks and valises and carryalls that surrounded her. Her eyes came to rest on the largest of the trunks, and she envisioned its contents. She saw herself, in her mind's eye, packing the simple gown she had worn on the riverboat, the gown that she had worn that last evening with Sebastian. Self-disgust washed over her. Why should I think about him? Why should I care? Mrs. Quince, knowing the hardship of the journey for Royall, silently cursed the fact that the comfortable coach that was to meet them had broken a wheel, forcing them to ride the baggage wagon Alonzo sent to meet them at the dock.

Royall had been so quiet the last hour that at times Mrs. Quince was certain the child had fallen asleep. Lifting the lamp high, allowing the yellowish light to fall on the girl, Mrs. Quince saw Royall seated among the luggage, wide awake, eyes staring into nothingness, a tight expression on her full mouth.

Damn you, Sebastian, for being the pig-headed fool you are, she thought. And damn you, Rosalie Quince, for trying to put your nose in where it doesn't belong! It would have taken a fool not to recognize the attraction the two young people held for each other. Whatever made you think you could play matchmaker. You old, foolish woman!

Determined not to allow Royall to sit and brood, Mrs. Quince started a spate of patter and succeeded in prying a few half-hearted replies from Royall.

“We're almost here now, child,” Mrs. Quince announced as the wagon suddenly veered to the right. “A few yards more and you'll be home.”

Mrs. Quince tapped Royall on the arm. “We're here, my dear. Come now, and the wagon master will help you down. One of the servants will fetch your baggage.”

Royall nodded wearily as the kindly lady embraced her and kissed her good-bye. Mrs. Quince was going on to her own plantation several miles away.

“I'll send you a note in a few days' time. Best get a good night's rest now.” She gave Royall an affectionate embrace.

“But aren't you staying here for the night?” Royall heard herself ask. The weariness in her own voice surprised her.

“No, dear. Since I'm this close to home, I want to go on. I long for the sight of my husband, Alonzo, and I confess a great desire to rest these old bones in my own bed.”

Strong arms helped Royall alight from the wagon. She swayed momentarily as she tried to stand erect. She could feel the blood coursing through her still cramped legs. Unobtrusively, she stamped her feet to hasten the return of circulation. While doing so, she peered through the darkness to observe her surroundings.

A full moon shone upon the clearing around the house. It was one story high, a sprawling affair, quite different from the neat brownstone buildings found in New England.

The veranda seemed to encircle the house; white arched columns supported the porch roof and appeared luminescent in the moonlight. Dark shadowy shapes graced the foundation, and a fresh scent emanated from them. Tall trees leaned toward the house and rustled in the warm, soft, tropical breeze.

Gentle arms helped her up the stone steps to the veranda of the dark, silent house. The figures pulled a chain and a bell pealed somewhere within. Moments later, the door was opened by a tall, light-skinned figure holding an oil lamp. Royall felt, rather than saw, the dark figure of the servant leave her side. The tall form with the lamp beckoned her into the house.

Royall struggled to look alert, but the effort was too great; she didn't care at that moment what kind of an appearance she made. She was bone tired; all she longed for was a bed and oblivion. In the morning she would look at her new home. For the moment she had all she could do to remain awake long enough to follow the tall silhouette to her room.

“I am Elena, the housekeeper,” the silhouette announced. She made a motion for Royall to follow her as she held the lamp high to light the way down the dark passageway. Royall needed no second urging. She followed quickly behind the regal back of the housekeeper. The woman opened a door and held up her hand for Royall. She supposed Elena meant for her to wait until the room was lighted. Suddenly, the room was ablaze with a bright yellow glow. Royall squinted against the glare. She hadn't known what she expected in the way of furnishings, but this light Regency furniture was not it.

It was clearly a woman's room, done in pale beiges and warm rose tones. The creamy lace bed hangings wafted gently in the warm breeze from the open French doors, which were screened with nettings.

Feeling eyes upon her, Royall turned to face the closed expression of Elena. “I'm Royall Banner,” she announced in a friendly, weary tone.

“I have prepared for your arrival for many weeks, Senora Banner. I know who you are!”

Royall was surprised at the cultured, musical voice. She did not miss the coldness of the words, however. She looked into the dark eyes and felt instinctively that the housekeeper did not like her, but she was too tired to care. She thanked Elena for the obvious care taken with her room and proceeded to the edge of the tester bed.

Elena watched the beautiful girl through inscrutable eyes, then turned on her heel and left.

Royall reached down to undo her shoes and removed them. The small task wearied her, and she lay back on the bed.

The next thing she knew, there was soft sunlight streaming into the room. Glancing toward the windows, she noticed that during the early hours of the morning someone must have entered her room and closed the doors to ward off the morning heat. The sheer bed hangings were drawn against the bright light, giving the room a soft, muted atmosphere.

A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Royall bade the unknown visitor to enter. Elena strode through the door carrying a tray. Delicious aromas tantalized her appetite. Coffee! Royall sighed as she thought how good it would taste. She uncovered the plates and looked with interest at the thin, pink slices of ham, an egg, a small pot of marmalade, and fresh rolls crowned with a mound of yellow butter.

Elena looked at the tousled girl on the bed and let a smirk of rejection touch her lips. She spoke, however, in a quiet, civilized manner. “The
ninas
will be here shortly with your bath water and to unpack your baggage.” Finishing her brief statement, she let her cold eyes linger a moment longer and left the room as quickly and as quietly as she had left it the night before.

Royall was bewildered by the coldness in the housekeeper's tone. As she ate her breakfast, she reviewed in her mind a conversation she had had with Mrs. Quince on the riverboat concerning the mysterious Elena. They had been sitting on deck enjoying the breeze blowing over the water. She had known that Mrs. Quince was trying to divert Royall's mind from thoughts of Sebastian. The talk had come around to the servants on Reino Brazilia and, of course, Elena.

“This is only gossip, of course, but no one seems to know exactly where she came from. Oh, there have been many stories, but who knows the truth?” Mrs. Quince shrugged. “One story goes that she was born in Haiti, that her mother was a Negress, a slave on some estate. Her father was a white man. This would explain her coloring, although to be as light-skinned as she is, it would seem likely that her mother was at least a quadroon, and I suspect there is native Indian blood in her somewhere. Elena is not at all black. In fact, she has a beautiful tawny complexion, large green eyes, and long silky hair, which she wears in two coils over her ears. She is truly a beautiful woman, and she appears to have breeding. She carries herself like a duchess. She was a servant before the Baron's wife died, and since that lady passed on with the fever, Elena has managed the household for the Newsome family. At one time it was whispered that she was the Baron's paramour.”

Royall fell back against the pillows, chewing on the tender ham and thinking about that conversation. Mrs. Quince had certainly been correct in saying Elena was a beautiful woman. And now, in retrospect, Royall was surprised that the housekeeper was so young. She appeared to be in her thirties. She must have been little more than a girl when she came here to the Reino.

From thoughts of Elena her mind wandered to Sebastian. Where was he and what was he doing? What was he thinking, feeling? Did he really put her from his mind. How could he forget her? Tears stung Royall's eyes as she stared around the room. If she couldn't forget him, how could he possibly forget her? He had no right to be so angry. She had done nothing except to say she was part owner of Reino Brazilia. All she had been guilty of was loving him and giving herself to him. It was so difficult to believe that Sebastian Rivera would hold her responsible for circumstances at the Reino. Still, Mrs. Quince had told her about the bad blood between Sebastian and the Newsomes. And it was apparently well known that he abhorred slavery. It made no sense at all that he held her responsible, no sense at all! Damn Sebastian Rivera!

Her train of thought was broken by the entry of four little Indian girls,
ninas,
carrying pails of steaming hot water. One of the girls removed a screen from the far corner of the room and pulled out a large tin tub. The little girls poured the steaming water carefully into the tub and left the room. In a few moments they were back again with more water.

“Very good,
ninas,”
Royall said approvingly as she rummaged in her carryall for the decanter of bath salts and poured in a generous amount. As she started to undo the bodice of her dress, four solemn pairs of eyes watched her. Royall looked at the little girls and felt momentarily unsure of what she was to do next. Surely, they didn't mean to help her!

“All right,
ninas,
you may leave. I'll call if I need you.” No one moved. Evidently they didn't understand English. Now what do I do? she wondered. No one was going to watch her bathe, little girls or not!

She took the girl closest to her by the arm and ushered her to the door. The other three stood rooted to the floor. The child by the door had tears in her great black eyes. “What did I do?” Royall wailed.

Solemn eyes looked at her. One plump little girl raised a fat finger and pointed to the girl by the door. “You no like?”

Royall was shocked. “Of course I like her. I just want to take my bath in private!”

“We help,” the plump little girl giggled.

“But I don't need any help.”

“We help,” the girl repeated stubbornly. The children advanced toward the frustrated Royall. The child by the door stood mute, tears streaming down her face.

“All right, come here,” Royall smiled. “You can help too.” The child rewarded her with a bright, toothy smile.

Before she knew it, Royall's clothes were stripped off and she was submerged in the water. She was soaped and scrubbed till her skin tingled. The plump little girl attacked the golden tresses. “Pretty,” she stated, the others nodding happily as they continued their vigorous scrubbing.

Royall wondered how long the bath ritual was to continue. “Lord a mercy!” she muttered, parroting Mrs. Quince's favorite expression.

Her exclamation made the girls giggle; evidently they were familiar with the lady.

The first little girl held up her hand and said, “You wait; we bring more water.” Royall sighed; where could she go in this condition? She smiled wanly at the girls as they trotted from the room. Fervently, she hoped the water was for rinsing and not more soaping. She looked at her rosy skin and winced. “I must manage to get a softer bath brush!”

The door opened, and giggling
ninas
carried the pails into the room. They looked at Royall sitting in the tub, covered with soap lather, their bright, dark eyes glittering in merriment. Apparently this is the part they enjoy best! Royall thought.

One of the children made a motion for Royall to get onto her knees so that they could pour the water over her. “When in Rome, et cetera,” Royall muttered. She did as instructed, and as she felt the first torrent of water, she heard one of the girls giggle at her repeated exclamation, “Lord a mercy!”

Royall choked on her laughter at her own expense. Soon she was toweled dry, her long hair wrapped in a turban. Her skin felt tingly and renewed. Suddenly, the plump little girl had a jar in her hands, and she watched in fascination as each girl helped herself to a portion of the thick, fragrant lotion.

“Oh, no!” Royall cried. What was the use, they would have their way. She let the girls rub her legs and arms. When they made a motion to remove the towel, she clutched it like a lifeline.

The plump little girl looked at Royall, her dark eyes dancing. “Lord a mercy,” she chanted. Evidently this was her battle cry. Royall gave in gracefully.

Soon the girls had her dressed in a light, yellow-sprigged dimity that somehow was miraculously free of wrinkles. She was then ushered out to the wide veranda and gently placed in a rattan chair. The turban was removed from her head, and the girls stood like bright, precocious squirrels. They cocked their heads first to one side and then to the other. They appeared to reach some sort of agreement, for the plump child took the brush and started to brush out Royall's damp hair.

As soon as it was free from tangles, they sat down at Royall's feet and looked at her expectantly. Royall felt perplexed as she looked at the children helplessly. The plump one seemed adroit at reading her mind. She looked up at the sun and then pointed to Royall's hair.