The Fancy (3 page)

happening where he'd chosen to live - which proved,

that nothing had been established or set firm as of

yet concerning slavery and the treatment of those stil

bound by it.

Obviously, if one could obtain a slave, there

was no strict law set yet to bring them before a judge

or court. With his jaw set, and his nostrils fil ing once

more with stench, Quinton marched onward with his

burden.

burden.

As for the man onboard commissioned to

watch over her, he stood whimpering in misery - his

plans for how he would spend his evening, dashed.

Careful of each step and mindful of the cold

slippery deck, Quinton made his way down the plank

and walked past the carriage.

"Wait!” Henry shouted to him, “…surely you

don't intend to walk al the way with her?"

"My intent is to keep her downwind and the

wind at my back. Thank you and good evening!"

Quinton cal ed out, each step quick and precise, a

couple of times he had to heft her upward against

him, she was heavier than she looked, solid in her

build while smal in stature.

He was strong and had endured much, so to

walk with her in his arms was something he had little

choice but do, she was too weak to walk after al .

Making his way along the docks, heading towards

town, he was content with the breeze coming up from

behind him, which kept him in clean fresh air, there

was no way he would have been able to sit in the

carriage with her on his lap in such a tight space -

her odor would have fil ed it in no time. Moving along

at a steady and direct clip, he nodded to those in

town who turned to look at him and at the bundle held

before him. He gave no concern to anyone but to the

one in his arms.

"Speak to me, can you talk?" He asked, trying

to ascertain how bad a condition she was in. "Are

you able to understand what I am saying?" There

was no answer, just more shaking and teeth

chattering. "Bloody-hel ! I haven't a clue of what to do

with you, however, it was certain you could not be left

in such a state!"

He smiled, "I must admit, I have never seen

such an act, slinging rats! In truth, I would confess

this to no one, nor shal you repeat it…” He informed

her, despite her silence, stil grinning at the thought,

“… they frighten me, rats!" He shivered, "... while you

showed no fear, it was not the place for you, and,

wel – here we are. No, it would not have gone wel

for me walking away; I am a man after al , but you, ah

- you are something else altogether, tossing rats -

and I might add, not a shriek from you, no - not the

slightest." This time a chuckle shook his body, the

more he revisited the act, the funnier it became, so

that he laughed out loud, having seen the shock on

Henry and the slave keeper's faces, how wide their

eyes had been. He carried his gift for three more

blocks away from the docks - down a bit of a road

and another block, and then final y up to his door.

"Due to your silence, I can't know if you understand

me; but if either of us is to get any relief, I have no

choice but put you on your feet to gain entry to my

home. Do try to keep alert." He went on, leaning her

to the corner of the door, lowering her feet and

pressing her backward.

"Here now, stand - stand..." He brought his

hand away slowly, palm flat to her while holding his

breath, praying she was able to remain on her feet.

Palm in air, midway between them – he watched her

head slowly, suddenly shift upward to reveal her

forehead, clearing the opening of his cape and next -

a noble ful brow and almond shaped cognac

colored eyes, looking feverishly at him; the whites a

bit of pink, her focus hazy, and up more, as if the

head of a turtle was coming out of its shel , her

features cleared his cape to show a long narrow

nose and then chapped ful , dry lips.

His next breath caught in his throat at the sight

of her.

"I wil ...stand." She barely gasped out in her

whispered delirium.

Quinton blinked, his hand - palm towards her

was stil up in the air between them, seemingly

frozen there before he pul ed it away, his fingers

curling inward.

"Yes, wel - I wil hurry." He stammered, with his

ears ringing - he quickly unlocked his door, pushing

it open and turning with the intent of taking her up

once more, when she stopped him.

"No..." Her voice broke, teeth chattering,

fighting the chil s that racked her body, "... I - wil -

walk." She gasped between wheezy gulps of air.

He couldn't speak.

She took one step in, two, three more and

suddenly, she was a heap on the floor.

Once more, Quinton had to blink himself awake

- he was in possession of a slave girl - albeit a sick,

stinky one - but one just the same.

Shivering, trying to draw a breath, shaking her

head, water trickling down her face, going into her

nose and mouth, she woke struggling to breathe -

her body slightly folded upright inside of an old

wooden slipper bath, the water was icy cold as it

was being poured on the top of her head, over and

over rinsing her down. She grabbed for the wrist of

the hand that held her up by the back of her neck;

she gripped it tightly with both hands, trying to push

him away, but that hand had a firm hold of her.

“No!” She cried out, shaking her head.

"Yes, hold stil - final y, you're awake. By al

means, hang on – wait, one more.” He sighed, glad

that she was final y coming to, “Ah, now, final y I have

your ful attention
-ach-
calm yourself. Al has been

fine until this moment, I assure you, I did very wel , al

on my own – now, this struggle from you only makes

the lot of it tiresome. And I am tired I'l have you

know, but little else could be done. As a gentleman,

you have my word, I've not been improper..." Their

eyes met, hers startled, unsure and fearful. It took her

a moment, staring at him, and then she realized what

was happening as she blew the water from her

mouth. She was with the man who had claimed her,

the one who had taken her from the ship; her eyes

were wide - seeking some type of reassurance that

with him - she would be safe.

Quinton could read al of those fears in her

stunning eyes; as he'd seen to her, stripping from her

what little garb there had been, he could see why she

had been so valuable, such a fancy.

Simply put, she was of perfect form from head

to feet - her skin, her features, and the coarse wavy

texture of her curly, brown hair. Yes, he imagined that

she did indeed, define a fancy. To help relax her, he

went on speaking to her, clearing his throat to break

the lock their eyes held, he remembered what he’d

been saying, "...truth of the matter, you're not wel

and you - no offense - smel ed as if you'd been rol ed

in manure, or, something worse."

He smiled at her to soften his words of truth

while she might be of a sensitive nature, "... yes...

calm down, see what you've done, a mere moment

of wrestling with me has spent al of your energy,

you're limp as a kitten again, and I'm right back

where I started. No matter, this time - you can hear

me and you understand, I know you do. You spoke to

me earlier, before you fainted - which is reassuring

to know that you're not addle-brained - you made

perfectly good sense." He took a breather; his mind

racing; the bathing part was done, she was clean,

the odor of earlier gone, "Hmmm, now, to our

predicament. I haven't a scrap, rag or cloth in which

to dress you. I can cover you, but - you are without

clothing. If that were not enough, I stil haven't a clue

of what to do with you. Regardless of how I came to

be in possession of you, I can't very wel keep you,

now can I? I mean you're a human after al - a young

girl I imagine; not a dog one brings in off the street

and claims ownership, although many would have

loved to do such a thing were you the find. I, cannot -

it would not be right for me to keep you." He paused,

setting the bowl down that he’d used to rinse her;

now that she was awake, he could let her go and

thus, leaning with his bare arms on the edge of the

tub, his sleeves rol ed back, he stared at her.

She was cold and her teeth chattered, but she

needed the cold bath to help with the fever she had.

"I suppose you're ready to come out now?

Yes? No?"

She nodded.

"I have a fire going in the other room, it wil

warm you." He announced as he stood, taking first

the towel to her and then a sheet. "For the time

being, this is al I have to cover you, it wil suffice for

now I suppose. Stand, I can dry you, or you may do

so yourself, however you must first promise not to

faint, if you feel you may, I wil help you, dry you

myself, which shal it be?"

She stood, sleek, shivering, covering her smal

breasts, bent as if she could hide her hairy mound by

doing so. "Never mind such modesty, I
am
a

physician, I've seen you - bathed you from the head

down, everywhere in fact, needed to be certain you

weren't hiding any parasites... it's something I've

never done - but we shal al experience most, once, I

would think." He aided her from the bath, to stand

before him while he took it upon himself to dry her

off, starting at the top of her head, "You wil need to

comb your hair at some point; however, for now, we

shal leave it braided until a better time...” - he

continued on, drying down her body, trying to keep

his mind on the chore and not the glorious form of

stunning femininity, or the way it made his heart race

at such close administrations.

"That's better, now let's wrap this sheet around

you - that's a good girl, not such a bad job if I must

say so myself; this way." He led her through the hal ,

past two doors and into his favorite room. A fire was

going strong, the heat of it made her sigh out loud;

her pleasure could not be missed with the closing of

her eyes. He took her to a seat that he often

occupied. "Sit there, I wil bring you a bowl of broth,

bit of bread; you are fortunate - as my life has taken

me on adventures where learning to cook was

necessary or else find famine at my door."

He disappeared for his
gift
to peek out from

under the sheet to take in her surroundings. From the

room she'd been bathed in and departed, down the

hal to this room, most had been bare - to cross the

threshold where she now sat in a room ful y cluttered

and surrounded by books.

Masculine, chunky furniture fil ed the room, a

sofa, a large table; it too, loaded down with books, a

cabinet of glass paneled doors and behind them,

glass and ceramic vials of various sizes and colors.

There were ledgers, a writing table and other objects

she could not identify. Sitting forward she moved

from the comfortable chair she knew was his, to the

foot stool and there she sat instead.

"Ah, this wil help, get this down your neck; and I

shal have a go in the other room for a bath." He was

saying on the way back in, to find her sitting low to

the floor on his foot stool, close to the fire. "What are

you doing there?" He stopped to ask.

She remained silent, shy, unwel and unsure of

where her life would be taking her. Exhaling, Quinton

moved forward kneeling before her, instructing,

"Hands out, this wil warm you." He coaxed staring

into her eyes, "Here, take it, I made it for you."

"What - you gone - do wit’ me?" She asked

softly, as if speaking with too much volume would get

her thrown into the streets.

"For now, feed you, I pray, make you better and

tomorrow, we shal see." He moved the soup closer

to encourage her into taking the bowl.

Transferring it from his hands, to hers, their

fingers brushed, they both became aware of their

proximity and the fact that he was a lone man, with a

naked woman, who – for al intents and purposes,

was his, to do with what he wanted. She took it