The Triumph of Grace (12 page)

T
he action brazenly taken by that pitiful association of people who so pretentiously call themselves an abolition group was a personal affront on you, Your Lordship," Lord Reginald Witherham impassioned to Lord Judge Aaron North. "It is the reputation of the Crown that causes me so grave a concern.When such a one as your esteemed self passes a sentence on a criminal, no person—indeed, no group of persons—should be allowed to follow along behind and overturn the ruling of the Crown. With Grace Winslow on her way out of the country, I fear that you have been shown such great disrespect that the citizens of London shall henceforth hold you up to ridicule.This situation should not, and must not, be tolerated, Your Lordship!"

Lord Judge Aaron North extracted a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and mopped it across his squat face. He sighed wearily. While he appreciated so great a concern for himself and the Crown, he told Lord Reginald, he most assuredly avowed his supreme confidence that both could manage quite well without any further assistance.

Lord Reginald opened his mouth to plead further, but Lord Judge North had heard quite enough. He rose to his feet and hurried out of his own chambers.

"England, as you well know, is a country of laws," Lord Reginald informed Simon Johnson when he finally managed to corner him outside the House of Commons. "It is a country of justice. As a member of Parliament, you are most assuredly particularly aware of this fact. It must not be permissible for individuals to circumvent the law simply to satisfy their own personal sentiments. While Sir Geoffrey Phillips remains a friend of both yours and mine, and while he most definitely has a right to subject himself to his own conscience—however misguided that conscience may be—I am certain you will agree that he does not have the right to overturn rulings of the Crown."

Simon Johnson drew a watch from his pocket and checked the time. "My, but you do go on, Witherham," he said. A pressing engagement awaited him, he insisted, and he really must be on his way.

Lord Reginald had more to say, so he positioned himself directly in front of his old friend and opened his mouth. But Simon Johnson stepped deftly around him and was off before the next word was out.

"It does not please me to be so blunt, but the fact is that Grace Winslow made a complete fool of you," Lord Reginald pointed out to Jasper Hathaway, who had made the mistake of accepting an invitation to take tea at Larkspur Estate. "Can it be that you are not aware that all of London knows you were tossed aside by a
slave?
Can it be that you truly do not understand what a laughingstock she made of you? Of all people, Jasper, I would think you would want to see her brought to justice.Oh, Grace Winslow is a clever one, I will give you that.But we must see that she is not allowed to escape her rightful fate. You and I, Jasper . . . we must see to that. And that is why we must pursue the demand for justice."

In a gesture now automatic, Jasper Hathaway held his hand over his mouth.

"Make a demand for justice, my lord?" he asked. "Perhaps that would not be so wise. Perhaps too many questions would be asked. Perhaps a demand for justice would exact a most unwelcome toll from all of us."

"You forget yourself, Mister Hathaway," Lord Reginald said, a most disagreeable edge to his voice. "I am a person of extreme power and influence."

"Past is past," Jasper Hathaway said. "Perhaps the wiser course would be to let it rest."

"I shall not punish you, Charlotte, because I am a most patient man," Lord Reginald said to his wife. "I understand that you are but a woman. And taking that frailty into full consideration, I regret deeply that you were ever thrust into a position that required you to determine a point of law and justice. I only ask that you acknowledge your lapse in judgment.You need not ask my forgiveness, for I willingly and generously extend it to you. But Sir Geoffrey Phillips is most likely so humiliated by having been led astray by your show of female emotion that he has not the least idea how to begin to mend the damage he has caused. It is to him I would have you go. Let him know you have repented of your actions, and urge him to do the same."

Lady Charlotte stared at her husband. Could it be that even now he understood so little about her? She had no desire to explain herself to him yet again. She had no time, either. The others were waiting for her at Heath and Rebekah Patterson's barn.

"As I stated in my message when I sent my carriage around, Mister Winslow, I believe I can be of great assistance to you," Lord Reginald said.

Joseph Winslow sat uneasily on the edge of the Queen Anne chair, his hat in his hands, and eyed Lord Reginald with suspicion.

"I am truly sorry that your daughter turned out to be the criminal sort. It must have been difficult for one in your position to raise a child properly. I have brought you here as an act of Christian charity, and—"

Joseph Winslow leapt to his feet. "I 'as seen yer Christian charity, and I wants none of it!" he said.

"That is to say, I have brought you to here to offer you a chance to set things to right," Lord Reginald said with coddling patience.

Joseph spat on the marble floor. He turned his back on Lord Reginald and walked out of his house.

"I will not forget!" Lord Reginald Witherham vowed through clenched teeth. This he said to no one in particular, for no one was left to help him chase down Grace.

T
he night was fresh, and a warm breeze rustled through the palm fronds overhead. Grace smiled in the twilight of her sleep. She nestled against the softness of little Kwate, who breathed sleeping-baby breaths in the crook of her arm. Oh, that sweet child-smell. Love and happiness filled Grace's heart to bursting. She bent her head to press her lips against the tender face of her little one . . .

Grace's eyes opened with a start. There was no fresh air, no warm breeze, no rustling palm fronds. No soft toddler lay waiting to be kissed.

Tears filled Grace's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She tugged at the bindings that seemed to squeeze ever more tightly around her, like an African snake crushing the life out of its prey. Gasping in the airless mustiness of the below deck, Grace stumbled from her hammock and silently made her way between the rows of snoring men, up the ladder and out onto the darkened deck.

The night was incredibly black. No moon shone and not one star broke through the thick layer of clouds. Struggling to breathe, Grace stumbled to the rail and stared over the side.In the darkness, she couldn't even make out the water below.With a desperate gasp, she yanked the sailor shirt over her head. She grabbed hold of the ends of the tight cloth that bound her chest and pulled free.

The strips hung loose, away from her soft figure. Just for a few minutes. Just so she could breathe.

For a long moment, Grace gulped in the night air. Actually, for many long moments, because she was suddenly startled to see faint rays of light at the edges of the horizon. Quickly Grace tugged the binding back around her chest and pulled the sailor shirt over her head. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned away from the rail.

"Who
is
you?"

Grace froze. It was Jackie's voice, flat and hard. She stared, but she couldn't see him.

"Who
is
you!" This time it was not a question so much as a command.

"Jackie . . . It's me," Grace stammered. "Ashok. Your best mate."

A glorious sunrise began to splash majestic hues across the horizon, and in the budding light of dawn, Grace saw Jackie in the shadow of the bulkhead.

"Please, Jackie, I have something to explain to you," Grace began.

But as she stepped toward the boy, Jackie stepped back.

"Who
is
you!" he demanded again. This time his voice was icy.

Grace sagged. She could hardly stay on her feet.

"No one else has to know, Jackie," she pleaded. "I only want to go to South Carolina. All I ask is a chance to find my Cabeto."

"A slave!" Jackie spat. "A Negro slave, that's what you is! You lied to me. I trusted you, and you tricked me!"

"I couldn't tell you the truth. I couldn't tell anyone."

Jackie said nothing.

"You don't have to help me," Grace said. "I won't ask you to do that. I only ask you to let me be. Let me continue to work on the ship. Please, Jackie. Give me a chance."

Jackie stared at her in silence. Then he turned and walked away.

As the ship's bell sounded the change of the watch, Jackie trotted toward the galley and Grace hurried to her post on the deck. Her crew had already finished sanding, and the timbers felt smooth as polish.

"Today you be paintin' the first finish," Bart commanded."Straight and even, that's what it's to be."

A steaming pot of foul-smelling liquid had been lugged up to the deck and the work was ready to begin when Captain Hallam and first mate Archie Rhodes strolled up. The two stopped directly in front of Grace.

"Is it true that Indian faces cannot grow beards?" Captain Hallam asked Archie.

"No, sir, it is not," replied Archie. A grin nudged at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you certain of that, Mister Rhodes?" asked the captain.

"Yes, sir," replied Archie. "With me own two eyes, I once saw an Indian wearin' a great bushy mustache, and a full beard, too."

"That is interesting, indeed," replied Captain Hallam.

The blood drained from Grace's face and a cold terror crept up her back. She could see Bart staring at her, and several of the other seamen, as well. Others simply cast puzzled looks from one to another.

"But if that be the case, Mister Rhodes," continued the captain, "how is it that Mister Ashok Iravan, who tells us he is from India, has not so much as the bare beginnings of either a mustache or a beard?"

"I cannot say, sir," replied Archie. "Unless it be that he is not really from India, after all."

"Or, perhaps, that he is not really a he?" replied the captain.

Curiosity drove even the best of the seamen from their duties. Men had already begun to drift away from their posts and join the crowd that gathered to gawk. Now, with this new revelation, their eyes popped and their mouths fell open.

Grace laid her polishing rags aside. She stood straight and unapologetic before Captain Hallam and looked him in the eye. "You and Mister Rhodes are both right, sir," she said. "I am not from India and I am not a he."

In a sudden fury, Captain Hallam grabbed Grace by the arm and yanked the red rumal turban off her head. Her hair fell around her shoulders in auburn coils. The captain grabbed her shirt and tried to pull it off her, but Grace kicked at him and scratched.

"Stop!" Marcus Slade ordered.

Captain Hallam stared at him.

"Captain, sir! We must not forget ourselves," Mister Slade said. "We are civilized men, after all. Should we not allow him . . . her . . . to explain herself?"

As Captain Hallam regained control of himself, he loosened his grip on Grace. "By all means, do explain," he ordered.

So Grace poured out the story of her capture in Africa, of her husband's enslavement, of the injustices she had suffered in London.

When she finished, Captain Hallam said, "You must be a sorry lot to warrant a sentence of transportation. So you are a convicted thief? Maybe, in truth, something far worse?"

"Lord Witherham invented the accusations," Grace insisted. "None of them were true, sir. I have a sealed letter from Sir Geoffrey explaining—."

"Pshaw," sneered the captain. "Every convict claims innocence.And a goodly number have letters or documents to back up their claims."

"As you well know, sir, many convicts are indeed the unfortunate victims of circumstance," Marcus Slade pointed out.

"Mister Slade, are you a navigator or are you a barrister?" asked Captain Hallam.

"Sir, the English penal code is chock-full of capital crimes," the navigator insisted. "It is a well-known fact that many men with influence have used it unfairly to dispose of those they find inconvenient. You, sir, are more aware than I of the fact that of the thousands of convicts dumped in the colonies by London authorities, more than a few were convicted unjustly."

"Is you English or is you African?" Archie Rhodes demanded of Grace. "Is you colored or is you white?"

Without the slightest pause, Grace answered, "I, sir, am African."

"You are a slave!" said Captain Hallam.

"No, sir," Grace replied. "I am not a slave."

"You will be when you get to America," said James Talbot."In America, that's what Africans are."

"Till then, you be our gal," chortled Mickey.

A whole new look spread over the captain's countenance."Not one man will lay a hand on her unless I give the word," he said. "This ship is still under my command. I order you to stay clear of her, under pain of fifty hard lashes."

Tucked away in his cabin, Captain Hallam had a box with a pink silk frock folded inside. He had bought the dress in port with the intention of making it a gift to his wife.

"Fetch a large pitcher of water and a cloth," Captain Hallam said to Archie. "And bring it to my quarters."

That's where the captain took Grace. He pulled out his wife's dress and handed it to Grace. "Wash yourself first," he told her. "Your hair, too. Put on this frock and show yourself to me."

Grace stretched out her preparations so they would last as long as possible. The dress was too large and hung on her, but the silk flowed nicely and was soft and smooth against her skin. She ran her fingers through her wet hair and allowed it to curl down her shoulders.

"I am so sorry, Cabeto!" Grace whispered. "If only I were dressing up for you!"

A sharp knock startled her just before the door flew open.Captain Hallam stood in the doorway and stared. The dirty brown-skinned boy from India was no more. In his place was a lovely young woman of the most unique coloring and features.Captain Hallam could not believe that he had been so easily fooled. Was it the oversized shirt and baggy pantaloons? The rumal-wrapped hair and head? Or was it simply that Abraham Hallam had never actually looked at the boy from India who sailed on his ship?

Captain Hallam's eyes shone in a whole new way, but the glint was not one of desire. No, it was the gleam of greed.

Once the ship arrived in Charleston harbor, the load of horses and fine furniture in the hold would be unloaded for the pleasure of the wealthy men in that city. Captain Hallam would collect his pay as usual, of course, but that would be that. He would not get so much more as a "Thank you, sir."But if he also had a comely wench to sell—one as desirable as this silky mixed breed with all the refinements of an English girl—well, the profit he could garner from such a one could be substantial. And it would be his alone.

"Very good," Captain Hallam said to Grace. "You will, I think, do very well for me on the slave auction block."

That night, when the officers of the
Ocean Steed
gathered for dinner, Captain Hallam informed them of his decision in regards to Grace.

"She is my personal property, and she carries a great value," the captain said bluntly. "She is not to be touched by anyone, neither officer nor seaman. She will remain under my protection in my quarters both day and night. I will see that she is fattened up and softened."

As though he forgot the others were still there, he added quietly, "It is not likely that another slave like her will ever again be available to me."

The other officers focused their attention on the soup and chicken.

Except Marcus Slade.

Mister Slade ventured his opinion that slavery was a most cruel system, and the sooner America was free of it, the better everyone would be. Why, even their own president, George Washington—a slave owner himself—had said as much.

"You would do well to keep your opinions to yourself," Captain Hallam snapped. "Just as I do well to keep the slave girl to myself."

Jackie lay in his hammock, swaying with the rock of the ship and glowering into the dark. It had taken every bit of courage he could muster, but he had done it. He knew something important, he had told Archie Rhodes, something no one knew but him. He would tell his secret, Jackie had said, but only for a price. Mister Rhodes must first promise to see that Jackie was moved out of the galley and into a different job. A much better job.

"I want to be a real sailor," Jackie said. "I want to go aloft in the rigging and the shrouds. I want to go to the top of the mast, to be the lookout in the crow's nest."

"Oh, yes," Archie Rhodes had promised. "I kin make that deal with you."

But it didn't happen that way. Archie listened to Jackie's secret. But before he headed for the captain's cabin, he ordered Jackie right back to the galley. Right back to the same job he hated.

"It ain't fair," Jackie mumbled into the dark. "No more Ashok by me side, and I didn't even git the job Mister Rhodes promised to me!"