Captive Innocence (27 page)

The two women trudged wearily to the lowlands and immediately started their small fires. Royall watched as myriads of mosquitoes swirled in the air. As they slapped the voracious insects away, the smoke billowed and swirled and seemed to devour the thick swarms of pests.

“The fire won't spread, and if it should, where would it go? Only into the jungle.” Royall stumbled over a low-slung vine. Gasping for breath, she lay for a minute, stunned from her sudden fall. Mrs. Quince helped her back to the clearing, fetched a small stool for her, and helped her to rest for a moment. “Let me see your feet, child. God in heaven, what have you done to yourself?” She looked at the cuts and the welts and the deep scabs that were cracked and oozing blood. “Wait here, and don't move.”

She was back in minutes, Elena in tow. She pointed to Royall's feet and the housekeeper gently inspected one. Horror danced across her face. “Why didn't you tell me of this?” she asked quietly.

“We had enough problems without my feet being added to the list.” Royall smiled. “They don't hurt much now. I've been so busy I haven't had time to think of the pain. Please don't worry. I'm all right. The others need your help. How are the old lady and her daughter?”

“Both gone, this past hour.”

Royall rose to her feet and grasped the handle of the shovel. “If you and Mrs. Quince can carry the bodies, I'll do the digging. You know we can't let the bodies stay in this abysmal heat.”

Royall felt each shovelful of earth would be her last. But somehow, from somewhere, she garnered the strength. She thought of all the finery that money from this plantation had bought her. At each new item on the list, she felt her strength renewed. She would shovel till it killed her, and it probably would, she thought grimly. She would pay for it all. She didn't stop to think, nor did she care that the suffering was not her doing. She only knew that she had to make up for the sins of Carlyle Newsome, and this was the only way she could do it.

When the bodies were lowered into the shallow grave, Royall rested a moment before she tackled the mound of earth. She swayed and prayed for the strength to finish the task before her. As she looked at the mound of earth in front of her, it took on gigantic proportions in her eyes. She must do something. She couldn't faint now. She grasped the handle of the shovel in her bleeding hands, and muttering under her breath, she dug the shovel into the soft, rancid-smelling earth.

This is for the costly dancing lessons, and the filigree comb, and the yellow satin ballgown that I nagged father to buy me, and for the matched set of pearls—they alone would be good for many shovelsful, she thought viciously, a pearl for a shovelful of earth. It seemed a fair settlement. How many pearls were there on the strand? For the life of her she couldn't remember. The strand was quite long . . . fifty at least. She would never wear those pearls again. Shovel, don't think; shovel, shovel, pearl, pearl, shovel, pearl. Lord, she thought, she must have shoveled fifty pearls by now. She wiped the perspiration from her face with a dirty, grimy arm. Streaks of blood from her torn and battered hands appeared on her creamy skin. She looked down at the mound of earth at her feet. It had diminished slightly. Mrs. Quince was helping her and so was Elena. Just keep shoveling, remember the pearls. If you stop, you can never atone for the pearls. Just shovel.

When the last shovelful of earth was thrown, Royall tried to straighten her cramped and stooped back. She felt a million years old. She grasped the shovel in the crook of her arm and hobbled behind Elena and Mrs. Quince. Her numbed brain and eyes watched the form of Mrs. Quince falter and stagger. She couldn't have reached out to her if her life depended on it.

Back at the clearing, Elena offered a bowl of broth to the two women. Satisfied that they would drink it, she returned to her nursing. Royall tried to hold the bowl, but couldn't make her hands obey her commands. Peering at their raw flesh with interest, she marveled at the fact that she was experiencing no pain. She grasped the bowl with her wrists, which was a feat in itself, and drank thirstily. The bowl slipped. She made no effort to retrieve it. Looking down at her tattered, bedraggled gown, she saw that it was nothing more than strips of rags. It was in shreds up to her knees. She was so weary she could barely keep her eyes open, wishing she could sink into merciful oblivion and suddenly wake to find this whole thing had been nothing more than a bad dream.

“I must do something about my hands, Mrs. Quince. What do you think?” she asked, rising from the small stool she had been resting on. The bright sun beat down on her head and she swayed, sickened by the heat. She turned at the sounds of approaching horses. She tried to shade her eyes from the sun, but the effort was too great. She stood silently till the riders came into view. Mrs. Quince at her side was equally silent.

There was a hoarse shout and what seemed like a roar from a bull elephant. Royall had the impression of a dark form standing in front of her. She tried to raise her eyes, but the strong sun beat down unmercifully.

“Sebastian! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here?” Mrs. Quince gasped.

“I saw the smoke from my plantation. I knew things must be bad over here if you had resorted to fires. Tell me, what is there for me to do?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid, Sebastian. It's too late for anything more to be done. Royall and Elena have done it all. I just arrived yesterday.”

Why is she babbling like that? Royall wondered wearily. Why doesn't she just be quiet and let him see for himself?

Well, he had been right. Now all he had to do was say I told you so. She waited for the stinging words. Finally, she raised exhausted eyes and looked at the tall man before her. Tired as she was, she was again struck by his dark handsomeness. She made a vain effort to squelch the stirring of her pulses. Of all the times in the whole wide world to have him see her, he had to pick today. White-hot anger spewed from her in a torrent of emotion.

“Go back where you came from; you're after the fact, Sebastian! We've done it all; look around you. Get on your horse and go back where you belong. This is all my fault and I'll make it right if it kills me. And I don't need your help, either,” she rasped as she shrugged off his arm. “Just where in the hell were you when I needed you? Back in that townhouse with that sloe-eyed beauty, that's where. Go back to her, see if I care. I don't need you; Elena doesn't need you; Mrs. Quince doesn't need you.” She swayed on her feet. She couldn't faint, not here, not now! She would make it on her own or not at all.

“Far be it from me to interrupt a lady, but in my own defense, I would have come if you sent for me. You know that. You're a fool, Royall. Look at you!” Christ, what was that lump in his throat, and why couldn't he breathe normally?

Again Royall swayed, only this time she didn't have the strength to right herself. Suddenly, she was enfolded in strong arms and held close to a warm, hard body. She couldn't ever remember feeling so safe and secure in her entire life. With her last ounce of strength she forced her eyes open and gazed into the jet black pools of Sebastian Rivera's eyes. I love him, she thought. I love this man. And he loves me. Wishful thinking, Royall, she sighed as her eyes closed. She couldn't ward off the badly needed sleep and rest her body now demanded. What better place to succumb than in the arms of the man she loved.

As though in a dream, she felt herself being lifted gently. From somewhere outside her consciousness she heard muttered curses of outrage. She didn't know who was doing the angry cursing, nor did she care. All she knew was that she was safe and secure. “I'm so afraid. I have to sleep, I must rest for a while. I can't dig anymore,” she whispered over and over. They paid no attention to her, these nameless voices and hands ministering to her body. What had she been dreaming about? A love, that was it. A love that knew no bounds.

Royall tried to open her eyes to see who was speaking to her. She succeeded in opening the golden eyes to mere slits. Sebastian Rivera gazed down at her. His smile was so gentle, she was sure she must be dreaming. It had been such a long time since she had seen him smile. Not since the riverboat.

 

Prior to his thunderous ride into the Reino, Sebastian had paced on the tile floor of his casa. White hot anger had gripped his chest as he watched the billowing smoke rise above the trees. It enraged him: to think that one imbecile could wreak such havoc and still expect the other plantation owners to condone it.

Sebastian had looked across at the grim face of his foreman, Jesus, and again felt a pang of pity for the man. He had lived through the fever and lost everything he held dear. To ride into it on someone else's plantation and see the death and the suffering must be causing him untold sorrow. There was no excuse for it. Neglect and filth contributed to the situation.

So far they had been lucky. There were only a few cases on the other plantations. The owners had followed his advice and cleaned up the lowlands and the marshes. They had also listened to him when he explained about the sanitary conditions. And today they weren't sorry. Many of the owners had thanked him in the past few days—all, in fact, but Carlyle Newsome. A poor excuse for a man if there ever was one. His son Carl would have long before now stood on his own feet and become a man if the Baron had not pulled the purse strings.

Sebastian winced as he recalled the day he had offered Carl a job managing his affairs in Rio. The offer had been tempting; Carl admitted that he much preferred the business life to that of working on the plantation. He had thanked Sebastian for the offer, his face lighting with joyous hope and a mixture of friendliness. He also remembered the look that replaced it so quickly. Carl could not leave the Reino, his roots, his inheritance. But if the time ever came when he could leave . . . The rest had been left unsaid, an unspoken agreement between the two men that, should conditions at the Reino become intolerable, Carl would take Sebastian up on his offer. Sebastian had understood, and reminded Carl that all he had to do was ask and the position would be his.

The jungle was so silent that Sebastian felt uneasy. Gone were the raucous cries of the birds. Not a leaf stirred. It was ominous. Great black columns of smoke whirled upward. As they rode into the clearing, Sebastian took in the scene in one swift glance.

It couldn't be. That beautiful golden angel from New England was no more. In her place he saw a filthy, tattered, soot-blackened witch. Hair once golden was now dirty and gray and hung in limp, bedraggled strands, along with part of a dried vine over one bare, grimy shoulder. Rage boiled up in him once more as he watched the dirty creature raise a torn, bloody hand to shade her eyes. A sound roared from him as he leaped from his mount to catch her as she swayed. He held her soft, pliant form and felt a wave of pity engulf him. The equally grimy Rosalie Quince took matters into her own efficient hands and immediately gave him a brief description of the past days and of the accomplishments of Royall and Elena.

Sebastian looked at the soft face of the girl he held in his arms. As he inspected her bleeding hands and cut, oozing feet, Sebastian swore viciously. Quickly he issued a terse command to Jesus, and the man rode from the clearing as if the demons of hell were at his heels. Within an hour Sebastian's own housekeeper and several strong Indians appeared. Sebastian, holding Royall in his arms, issued commands like a general. All listened quietly, then sped to obey him. Royall was lowered gently into a wagon. Rosalie Quince and Elena wearily climbed in with the help of Jesus. Sebastian himself took the reins and started for his plantation. He would kill someone, he was sure of it. His mind and body held such an alien feeling he couldn't put a name to it. He remembered his mother telling him once that when one fell in love there was no other feeling in the world like it. Sebastian would have staked his life on the fact that he had experienced every emotion there was. If so, what was this crawling, creeping feeling that threatened to engulf him? He wanted to kill, to make love, to fill his belly, but he could do none of these things. All he could do was drive the damn wagon and let his mind have its way. Helpless, that's what he was. In his entire life he had never been rendered helpless. His agile mind flitted like a bird as he risked glances behind him at the girl on the wagon floor. Again he thought of his mother and her wise sayings. He tried to force the thoughts from his mind, not wanting to think of love and its ties and bindings. He didn't want to give his soul to anyone. He wanted to own himself. What was it his mother had said? To love is to consume the other, or words to that effect. He cursed under his breath and began to drive the wagon even harder over the rutted ground, but the moans from the golden girl as she rolled from side to side made him slow down.

The moment he reined in the horses, women came. Sebastian was pushed gently out of the way while Royall was carried inside and the doors were closed to him.

“Go, Sebastian. You'll just be in the way,” Rosalie Quince shrilled. “This is women's work. Go smoke a cheroot or something.”

“A cheroot,” Sebastian said stupidly.

“Good Lord, Sebastian. Must I tell you again, or should I draw you a picture?” she shouted briskly. “If we should find ourselves in need of your presence, we'll call you. You have my word.”

Sebastian nodded briskly as he obeyed the sharp-tongued Mrs. Quince. He felt like a small boy again at his mother's knee.

The endless days crawled by on tortoise legs and slowly became weeks as Royall lay in a fever, delirious. Sebastian felt both mentally and physically exhausted. He had walked innumerable miles, pacing the wide veranda. His throat felt white-hot from the countless cheroots he had smoked during his frantic pacing. From time to time his eyes smarted—no doubt from the thick cigar smoke, he told himself. Food, he found to his disgust, would not go down past the lump in his throat.

He flung himself wearily onto one of the rattan chairs and absently stroked the silky ears of the dog that lay at his feet. His touch was gentle and soft. The animal whined in pleasure. Suddenly, Sebastian's gentle caresses ceased as he looked up and saw Rosalie Quince towering over him. In his haste to get to his feet his movements were clumsy and he stepped on the dog's paw, eliciting a yelp of pain. Rosalie Quince found it hard not to smile at this awkwardness. She had never seen the debonair Sebastian anything but graceful and completely at ease.

“The child is out of the woods, Sebastian. The fever has finally broken. I tell you now that if she had contracted yellow jack, she would no longer be with us. How she escaped it is beyond me. The poor thing was just worn out. She's on the mend, Sebastian, so you may go about your business.” Shrewdly, she watched the tall, tired man fling the cheroot over the railing.

“That is good news, Mrs. Quince.” Jet black eyes looked questioningly at the old woman, but no words were spoken. Mrs. Quince also remained silent. Their eyes locked in a stare. Would he ask to see the girl, she wondered, or would he be a stubborn mule and remain silent.

Should I ask to see her, Sebastian wondered. No, she was out of danger, and he'd been absent from his many duties on the plantation for too long. Sensing Mrs. Quince's thoughts, he smiled crookedly and strode from the veranda. Tonight he would leave for town; he would return by mid-morning of the following day. One couldn't fool oneself for long. And if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was not being a fool. He contemplated the tearful Aloni when he would tell her, as gently as possible, that their relationship must come to an end. He would soften the blow with a generous settlement. He wouldn't fool himself. Aloni, he knew, was more interested in the comforts he could afford to give her than she was in Sebastian.

 

Royall's recovery was rapid, with Mrs. Quince spoon-feeding her till she regained her strength. Within ten days she was up and about and feeling stronger by the day. She had not seen Sebastian once since her fever broke, and did not ask for him. She accepted the hospitality he extended and wished only to thank him. Something always prevented her from asking for him. Mrs. Quince herself was careful not to mention his name. Royall thought she would go mad wondering why.

It was the eve of her departure for the Reino; Sebastian's foreman, Jesus, was to drive her in the wagon and then go on, taking Mrs. Quince home.

Royall dressed carefully for dinner in the hopes that Sebastian would arrive, taking extra pains with her toilet. She still looked pale, but she felt she could pass muster if one didn't look too closely. Rosalie Quince watched her in amusement as she self-consciously patted her own springy gray curls.

As the dinner hour approached and there was no sign of Sebastian, Royall felt almost sick. Not to show up for dinner! He was making a fool of her. He was going to ignore her last evening in his house, and his absence would be all the proof she needed that he didn't care, that he was still holding her personally responsible for the conditions on the Reino. It was also painfully evident that he had been spending all of his free time in the arms of his black-eyed beauty in town.

“It appears we dine alone again, Mrs. Quince,” Royall forced herself to smile brightly. She didn't want Rosalie to know how deeply hurt she was by Sebastian's action. “I'm positively ravenous. I'm looking forward to returning home to the Reino tomorrow morning. I can hardly wait to leave. I want to see how everyone is. Especially Elena, the poor woman must have been exhausted from tending the sick.” On and on she rambled.

The usually articulate Mrs. Quince found she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

She merely nodded from time to time at the brightly chattering girl, but she didn't miss the fact that the supposedly ravenous Royall only pushed at the food on her plate. If she ate two bites, Mrs. Quince would have been surprised. The meal over, Royall suddenly felt deflated. As she pushed back her chair, she heard footsteps approach the dining room. A warm flush stole up her neck and stained her face. So! He arrives now! Well, let him arrive now. I'm leaving! Royall looked up and felt her pulses begin to pound at the mere sight of the tall, dark man in front of her.

Royall took the initiative. She spoke first. “Good evening, Senor Rivera. I'm happy to see you this evening. I did want to thank you personally for the hospitality you've shown me during my illness. I'll always be grateful,” she said, her tone cool, formal. She tilted her head in a brief nod and walked gracefully from the room.

Back in the small room that had been hers for the stay, she collapsed on the bed and let her tears flow freely. You will not, Sebastian Rivera, make a fool of me. It shall be the other way around. How dare he show up after dinner and behave as though she were some stranger who had just dropped in! It was a small wonder he didn't offer me one of those odious cheroots he smokes. She had never been so insulted in her life. Insulted and wounded to her very soul.

And Mrs. Quince, silent for the second time in her life, had stood by silently, like a wart on a frog. Suddenly, Royall laughed at the thought. There was poor Mrs. Quince with a large wart on the end of her nose, gracefully smoking one of the foul cheroots. And Sebastian, what was he doing? Why, he was just standing with his mouth hanging open and looking like a horse's ass. Royall broke into fresh laughter, doubling over on the bed.

As Mrs. Quince and Sebastian walked down the corridor, they heard the happy laughter. They looked silently at each other, each busy with his own thoughts.

“Sebastian, I have only one thing to say to you. You're a fool,” she said sourly.

Sebastian raised startled eyes and frowned at Mrs. Quince's sharp words.

“Spare me from foolish men in love. You're all jackasses,” the good lady snarled.

“Who's in love?” Sebastian barked.

“Who? Who? You ask me who? Get on with you! If I have to tell you that, then there's no hope for the likes of you. Go! I don't want to see you again for now. I can't abide a fool, in either long or short pants.”

“What have short pants to do with it?” Sebastian snapped.

“When you were a small boy in short pants, that was time enough for acting the fool. Now that you wear long pants you should behave like a man!” Turning sharply on her heel, Rosalie stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

As Sebastian stood there, a look of astonishment on his face, he looked down at his legs and wouldn't have been surprised to find them naked.

Sebastian made his nightly rounds of the house before retiring, as was his custom. He was pouring himself a last glass of brandy when he noticed a shadow in the lamplight. He waited, the glass halfway to his lips.

“Sebastian, it's me, Carl. I'm sorry to be visiting you so late, but I need to talk to someone. I just returned today. The plantation . . . My God, what happened? Have you seen my father? Sebastian, have you seen or heard from Alicia? I'm almost out of my mind. What has been going on in my absence?”

His mind raced. What was Carl Newsome doing here at this hour? His first instinct was to toss him out on his ear, but he knew he couldn't do that, for Alicia's sake. He had sworn to Alicia that he would do whatever he could for Carl, and he wouldn't go back on his word. If Alicia loved him, then there had to be good in Carl somewhere. You never kicked a dog when it was down, and Sebastian couldn't ever remember seeing a more wounded, tortured man than Carl.

Sebastian walked over to the bar in the corner of the room. He poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass and held it out. “Drink this. I have much to tell you. Sit down, relax, you can't go anywhere or do anything at this hour.” Quickly, he briefed Carl on conditions at the Reino. He ended his tale with Royall's illness and her complete recovery.