Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE PT3, Ch.11: Tristan
Every finger in the room is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces
Then I get afraid of what that would bring
I got a bowling ball in my stomach
I got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in
Just what God needs, one more victim
Why do we crucify ourselves
Everyday, I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself, every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains
-lines from 'Crucify' by Tori Amos
Yet again she had to slam down her impatience and disguise herself behind a mask of emotionless indifference so that she could get through the afternoon; a feat she did not have to work at much since she was very aware she had been given the powders in her breakfast, apparently. The familiar drowsiness and slight headache told her Reginald did not trust her enough to cease administering them. Her movements and reactions were still slowed and and delayed, but yet...she had grown accustomed to it in her own strange way.
Around noon, she was presented to these relatives on the arm of Reginald himself. He had personally chosen the gown she was wearing: a full sack-style dress of deep auburn brocade with black lace trimmings that made her feel as of she were attending a fancy funeral, and that is precisely what she repeated to herself mentally in preparation as Forsythe escorted her down the grand staircase and into the manor's largest parlor, where his kin had gathered. All those who were sitting stood slowly.
Though a chill eddied through her, Felicity held herself as stiffly and formally as possible. Dozens of eyes locked onto her; scrutinizing, judging, comparing her to God only knew who or what, Felicity assumed. No one smiled, therefore she did not smile. When the women curtsied and the men bowed reluctantly, she too curtsied just as rigidly.
"May I present to you all my beautiful bride," Reginald beamed, sounding as if he had just won a magnificent wager. "Lady Felicity Forsythe!"
The title made felicity want to gag openly. Had her level of nausea gone up another inch, she would have done so without attempting to control it. Still no one broke a smile or came forward to greet her, but she was not the least bit offended: she had been prepared for such a cold reception. She held each gaze undauntingly, her green eyes going from face to face in formal, reserved acknowledgment, reflecting the unspoken criticism found in each face with her own.
As Reginald introduced her to each person, so blithely absorbed in showing her off like some sort of hunting trophy that he seemed not to notice everyone's coolness, Felicity merely reflected back whatever insensitivity and remoteness she was shown. The Forsythe blood-relations varied in appearance for the most, but all of them had small eyes. In essence, she could tell who was related by blood and who was family by marriage. No one seemed to be the least bit friendly or even attempted to fake civility. Therefore, Felicity resolved to be the same way. 'Twas very clear that to survive being in a room full of Forsythes, one had to act as one of them.
After the introductions, Reginald summoned Esmerelda for refreshments, and the men lapsed into terse conversations about highwaymen, unfair tolls, the latest diversions to be found in the town of nearby Bath, and the state of the roads. Reginald kept Felicity on his arm as he engaged his Uncle Lester in a lively discussion concerning having to replace an ungodly number of shoe heels after they had been sucked down into the mud during rainy-season. The wives and nieces had clustered beside the room's grand spinet, but they were not so far away from where Felicity was standing with Reginald that she could not hear snippets of their conversations:
"Just like a skinny broom stick, isn't she?"
"And that red hair! *sigh!* All of his poor children will be red-headed, too, the Lord help them."
"She greatly favors that governess of his that died when he was a boy; the one he'd taken quite a fancy to."
"Well that explains it, then."
"So he married her for-Hrumph!-obvious reasons. I assume she married him for his wealth!"
"Do you think she is already expecting?"
"Doesn't appear to be. But then her kind probably know the ways of aborting."
Felicity's teeth clenched in raw fury. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to whirl around to the coven of witches and slap the snot out of them. It would be so easy since the main three women, Lila, Sophie, and the daughter of Aunt Dorcas, Jane Ambrose, were standing side-by-side-by-side. Felicity felt that she could strike all three with one fast sweep of her hand.
"But he hardly has any money left!" oneof the biddies said in a giddy near-whisper. "D'ye suppose she knows that?"
"Apparently not," assumed another biddie.
Guess again, witch, Felicity thought viciously.
"Tristan would never have let the company fall into such a disgrace!" put in the third and younger biddie. "He may be a notorious cad, but his business sensibility is unmatched!' The other two whispered their immediate agreement.
Now who in God's name is this 'Tristan'? Felicity frowned heavily. A 'he' from the sound of it...but a notorious 'cad?' Some family this is!
Reginald himself excused Felicity from the room so that she could freshen up before dinner. Felicity got the impression that he did not want her left alone with the women (any more than Felicity herself did), and definately not the men, for from the men she had been getting looks of lust and wonderment now that they had gotten past staring at her with disapproval and annoyance.
As Forsythe brought her to her room, with Lettie close behind, he muttered to her tightly, "I must appologize, my dear, I did not want you removed from my sight today. But I must-" He struggled here "-have words with my uncles as well my aunts. I do not want you to be any more exposed to their leering and hostile judgments! When I wrote to tell them of you, I expected- nay, I demanded they accept you as my wife, but instead I get harsh critisism and argument. For that, I truly appologize, my angel. They do not know you as I do."
Want to wager on it? Felicity thought wryly. The only thing that kept her from expressing irritation was the expression on Reginald's face, which was one of a spoiled little boy who did not get the approval he so desperately sought, and was therefore on the verge of bursting into tears. 'Twas almost comical.
As they came to the jib-door, he sighed again, stressfully, and said "Lettie will keep you in your room until just before dinner with the door locked. This is more for your own protection than anything else. If even one of my uncles-by-marriage feel it harmless to come and proposition you, I want them to understand that you are not that sort of wife."
"Why thank you, Reggie. How dear of you," Felicity oozed, making herself sicker and sicker with every word she had to force out of her mouth. She stiffened yet again, held in her stomach as he stepped forward, kissed her, then nodded to Lettie to work the door. 'Twas a miracle he did not see Felicity's chin quiver with the extreme effort it took for her not to retch.
Once inside the room with the door locked under Lettie's control, Felicity strode to the porcelain wash basin, spitting and spewing until she rinsed her mouth out quite vigorously. Then she made an angry, disgusted sound in her throat and said, "Oh I cannot take much more of this or of him!" She turned about to Lettie, who stood close by, arms at her sides. "Did you hear him say 'not that sort of wife'? I overheard that coven of hags downstairs speak of me as if they believed I was a-a-a-" She couldn't even bring herself to say it now. Whore. Like a swift stab of a blade to her soul she recalled Ben calling her that to her face. Oh, it hurt! Tears sprung to her eyes and her fists balled.
"Prostitute?" Lettie completed for her, in that smooth, exotic accent. "Even among my people, women who spoke out and behaved independently were accused of being either bewitched or...sensual. There is always a price to pay for having fire in your soul. But why should you care what they think?"
"I don't!" Felicity retorted, taking up a fast pacing before the quiet dark girl. " 'Tis just that never in my life have I been accused of being...that kind of woman! Do they not see at all that I do not want to be here? Do they not see that I was taken by force from my home? I'll wager everything that he did not even tell them how he got me here. Not that they would care even if he did!"
"Imagine, then, being a slave," Lettie suggested flatly.
This statement halted Felicity in her frustrated tracks, immediately turning her ferocious frown into a look of guilt and sympathy. "Oh, Lord, I'm so sorry, Lettie. I'm just so..."
"Angry?"
"Aye!" Felicity flailed her arms helplessly. "Believe me, I understand now how horrible it feels to be trapped somewhere you do not want to be, to be forced to live a life you never, ever wanted! I understand that now more than you know!" She took up her pacing again. "And here we both are, all alone in this cursed room, him having entrusted you with the key, and we cannot escape!"
"But tonight we will." Lettie's dark eyes met Felicity's green ones with steady, undeniable affirmation. "Late tonight, after the dinner when they have become full of the wines and ales crowding up the kitchen, and after they all have retired to their rooms, we will venture out into the garden to the gnarled tree closest to the fencing. We will climb up halfway and out onto the branch that reaches out over the fence. Then we will drop to the ground like panthers."
"What is a panther?" Felicity asked, enthralled.
"It is what the white men call the great black cat that is a rarity where I come from. Like the small cats you whites keep, only much larger and much more fierce." There was pride in Lettie's voice.
Felicity was as awestruck as she was excited. "Oh I wish I could see a panther! I would love so very much to see the land you come from."
Lettie nearly smiled. After a moment she asked, "I know that he still gives you the medicine. Will you be well enough to climb?"
Indeed the fire in Felicity's soul was burning as much as the dark flames in Lettie's mysterious eyes. "Oh you can count upon it! Were I bleeding out my life's blood I would climb. No amount of those vile powders will keep me from it!"
Lettie raised her tapered chin in absolute approval.
"One question, Lettie...Why have you not tried to escape before now yourself?"
The dark girl looked unaffected. "I would not have got very far without a white to speak for me. I would have been captured again, and that I could not live with. With you I have hope."
Felicity grinned the widest yet, a flash of her old self. "It is mutual, Lettie. With you, I have hope."
Felicity was glad to not have to make any more appearances before dinner. But when she did, she had to partake in the tedious, elaborate ritual of upper-class dining. Reginald escorted his eldest Aunt (Dorcas) into the dining room (which appeared only slightly less morbid this evening due to extra candles in the wall sconces, a larger fire in the black fireplace, and extra tapers in the candelabras placed strategically on the long table). Dorcas was brought to the chair nearest the table's head, where Felicity was to sit, according to the rules of etiquette. Reginald was to sit at the foot, nearest to the dining room's main entrance.
Felicity didn't know which was worse: sitting with Forsythe as he droned on about his magnificent material possessions and the King or siting near Lila, Sophie and Jane, who droned on about their magnificent material possessions and the Queen. but for all of Reginald's boasting and his disdain for the colonies and the lower classes, he could not match the elegant maliciousness of the women. Upper-class ladies, Elizabeth had told her once, may dress and speak and move with the utmost grace and refinement, but they were meaner than spiders.
Felicity found this to be agonizingly true.
They took it in turns: Lila seemed to go out of her way to speak ill of the 'uncivilized colonies,' Sophie expressed overly-exaggerated shock in hearing how unfashionable the women of the continent were, and Jane dramatized her fear of being invaded by General Washington. There were many comebacks Felicity had whirling about in her brain, a thousand and one itches to reach out and whap their snow white wigs, but silent she remained. Silent and cool, pretending to be immensely fascinated with her veal. Only briefly did she glance down the long table at Forsythe, who she caught staring at her steadily.
Making sure I do not say anything unapproved, she thought irately to herself. He will not look so smug and controlling this time tomorrow, ha ha, for Lettie and I will be long gone from here!
She looked over at Pompey, who had resumed his stiff stance near Forsythe against the wall to await summoning. He must have sensed someone's eyes upon him, for he turned his head and met her gaze with his kindly aging eyes. She gave him a small, sad smile, which he returned in complete understanding. She wished heavy heartedly that she could take Pompey with her.
After two of the most tedious hours Felicity had ever spent sitting down (and squirming restlessly), dinner was finally beginning to come to a close, with Pompey filling the wine glasses quietly and patiently. The men would remain in the dining room drinking and gabbing. The women were to go to the drawing room and do only the Lord knew what. Felicity was not looking forward to that. Of the older women, only Aunt Dorcas was tolerable: indeed, the only thing she seemed to want to talk about was the theatre and the various actors she had met in her life. But she seemed out of her head for the most. Part of Felicity actually wished that Forsythe would come to escort her back to her room so that she would not have to endure these people.
Tonight she and Lettie were going to get out of here! Finally! After nearly four entire months of being in Lord Forsythe's keeping she was going to get away! The thrill of excitement made her squirm anxiously.
Forsythe rose, wine glass held at arm's length at his guests to give the closing toast. "My aunts, Uncles, cousins, i would like to again express my gratitude in gracing my new wife and myself with with the pleasure of your presence-"
"Why, cousin." drawled a silky male voice from the dining room doorway, "you really expected me to not accept your invitation?"
Heads turned as gasps were emitted, and Reginald fluttered his eyelids shut as if his most dreaded worry had come true. His three giggly, teenaged cousins giggled anew: one of them uncontrollably cried out "Tristan! Tristan is here!' This was followed by beaming smiles from Lila and Sophie. Felicity frowned. But as this 'Tristan' strolled into the room with a swagger that oozed over-confidence, glass of brandy already in hand, Felicity's eyes widened.
Tristan Forsythe was young, perhaps a year older older than his cousin Reginald at the most, but unlike the foppish Forsythe, he was astonishingly, mind-blowingly handsome. He had a head of golden blonde hair tied back in a curled queue, a build like the famed statue of Apollo, and eyes that were piercingly, icily grey. The aura he brought with him into the room all but screamed that this was a wealthy young man who got what he wanted, whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He was smooth, he was cocky, he turned heads and made women swoon. He was a young god and he knew it. He downed the half glass of brandy as he strolled over to his clearly uncomfortable, frowning cousin and said, "Have you ever known me to pass up a party, cousin?"
Reginald had lowered his glass, sighed tightly and replied, 'We last heard you were in Paris. I would think my marriage too trivial for you to care to make an appearance."
"Oh come now, Reg!" Tristan Forsythe grinned provokingly, showing perfect teeth. "When I heard that you, of all people, were getting married, I just had to come and see for myself if it was true! So where is the unfortunate little thing?"
Felicity gulped, feeling as though ice-water had just been poured over her head. Right away she felt immensely uncomfortable, small and cornered. She had already gotten the feeling that his presence was not a good thing, and she had begun to feel nervous for reasons she could not clearly describe. This was a young man who carried power and wore it like a cape. This was a man people did not say no to.
The type of man who would not take no for an answer.
Felicity wanted to shrink down into her chair, but it was impossible. Tristan Forsythe's steely grey eyes found and locked onto her. She stared back at him, just as uncomfortably as Reginald looked, as a crooked grin spread across the strong face of the cousin one of the ladies had referred to as a 'notorious cad.'
After an extremely tense uncomfortable moment for Felicity, who quickly dropped her gaze to the table top, Tristan Forsythe marvelled suavely, "Well! So this is your bride! The Lady Forsythe."
"Join us, Dear Tristan!" bubbled Aunt Sophie, who beamed proudly. "We were all convinced that you had prior engagements! You've no idea how glad we are to see you!"
"I'm pleased you were able to come after all," said Fletcher Forsythe, who was his father and brother of the late Lord Maxim Alastair Forsythe. He rose and gestured generously to the empty seat beside him. "Do have a seat, son!"
"Thank you, Father," Tristan said casually, his piercing, exploratory eyes still locked on Felicity. "I dined in the city already...But I could, however, be tempted with dessert."
And good God, he was heading towards her.
Felicity gulped again, her heart racing warningly despite having a bloodstream full of powders attempting to keep her responses subdued. Tristan Forsythe strolled like a predator. His slantwise smile as he came to the head of the table was equally predatory. This was not good, oh no, not good at all. Not good the way he he did not look away from her even as he spoke to the others. The way he had just seen her and immediately became interested. Not good.
In one hand the wealthy young Adonis had been swirling the amber-colored drink in its crystal glass. His other hand picked up Felicity's nearest one, and with a firm, no-nonsense grip, brought the back of it up to his lips as he bowed over. He kissed it quite firmly. In a matter of fleeting seconds, Felicity got the goosebump-raising impression that this was a man very well familiar with women, familiar in a way that chilled Felicity to the bone with apprehension.
Also not good.
" 'Tis an honor to meet you, Lady Forsythe," he spoke, his voice velvety with an almost seductive tinge to it. He completely unnerved her, and it was obvious he was aware of it. "I did not know my quirky cousin was capable of luring in a bride...especially one of such exquisite beauty. Lord Tristan Forsythe of Halworth, my lady, at your service."
She knew every eye in the room was on her, whether in disapproval or not, waiting for her to respond, to react, so that she could be judged even further. She was aware of that, but what chilled her so thoroughly was this powerful young god before her, gripping her hand tightly, stormy grey eyes drilling into hers with interest Felicity had no doubt was wholly carnal. The phrase notorious cad passed through her mind, making her stiffen defenseively.
"P-Pleased to meet you, my Lord," she heard herself say, in a voice much smaller than she ever intended.
Swift footsteps on the polished hardwood floor meant Reginald was coming, having had enough of watching this unsettling exchange. He snatched Felicity's hand away from his chuckling, smirking cousin and inhaled deeply. "since you have decided to grace the manor with your presence, you may have a seat by your father. The ladies were just about to remove to the drawing room." 'Twas quite obvious that reginald did not care for his cousin at all. He had been relieved that none of his male cousins were coming, but this unexpected arrival had put him back into an aggitated, tightened-up state once again.
Tristan straightened, looked about at the gushing, blushing ladies (some of whom had withdrawn fans in which to waft themselves), but brought his gaze back to Felicity, who felt some unaccustomingly vulnerable sitting there being the object of desire of two cousins who clearly did not have much regard for one another. "What a pity," he said. " 'Tis the ladies who make conversations worthwhile." He grinned, showing dazzlingly perfect teeth.
"My wife needs her rest," Re3ginald inserted, sounding irate and tense. "She takes medicinal powders for her nerves. Come my dar, allow me to escort you back to your room." He held Felicity's chair as she slowly rose.
" 'Your' room?" Tristan raised a well-groomed dark eyebrow, amused. "What sort of wife has a room outside of her husband's? Already having a matrimonial spat, cousin?"
Reginald glared at his relative menacingly. "A lady always has many rooms to call her own. When Felicity has had her medicine she prefers to have a lie-down in one of the smaller rooms."
Felicity was quick to take notice of Reginald's reluctance to let it be known that she did not share his bed. He did not want to be humiliated, no doubt. But they way Tristan smiled crookedly at him suggested that the visiting cousin already had suspicions about this so-called 'marriage.'
Reginald turned to his relatives. "Ladies, gentlemen, if you will accept my apologies yet again in removing my Felicity from you for the evening; I regret she cannot partake in our after-dinner pleasantries. tomorrow, perhaps, we shall all enjoy one another's company better...after a peaceful night's rest."
Felicity doubted that his kin felt any disappointment in her exiting the room.
The men and women rose to bow and curtsy, as did Reginald and Felicity. Tristan merely gave his head a nod, gazing at Felicity with a miscevious glint in his eyes. she did not smile back. She had not smiled at any of these relatives, but the unsettling presence of Tristan Forsythe had her feeling particularly frozen with worry. Reginald seemed to be escorting her from the room with extra haste, tugging her arm underneath his almost urgently.
As soon as he had her out of the room and heading for the stairs, Reginald muttered, "That loathsome scoundrel...daring to show himself here at my house. To be looking at you the way he did...Utterly despicable."
Had felicity not been shaken by tristan's immediate and unwelcome interest, she would have been amused by Reginald's anger. "Why is he here?" she asked, her throat tense and dry.
"To taunt me, as he has always done." Forsythe glared hard at the steps as they ascended the staircase. "He has always been the successful one, the acheiver, the one my very own father believed would have been the better successor to his business."
He was definately bitter.
"But your father apparently chose you," Felicity pointed out.
"So he did. According to may father's barrister he intended for me to take over the company, even though his brother's son Tristan showed more business savvy, or so believed. To my father I was merely some fey little boy who cried too much."
Hmph! Felicity thought sarcastically. Imagine that!
"But Father maintained the hope that I would grow into his manner of thinking, as all fathers trust of their sons. Tristan made friends easily as a lad, and the young ladies adored him. I assume there is not an innocent girl left in the whole of west England. But Father had a rivalry with his brother, my Uncle fletcher, as to who's business would be the most successful. they were rivals anywhere money was concerned, which is yet another reason why Father lost so much in his Fletcher warned my father that Tristan would be a better heir to the slaving company, but Father would rather be damned thrice over before he would yield an entire company to his brother's family. Even if he believed his own son was incapable," he added resentfully.
"But getting back to your question my dear, Tristan is here to hold over my head the fact that he knows the business is in danger. That he and his father could buy the company and take it over for themselves. Part of the conditions in which I was to inherit the company included my getting married before the age of twenty-five...yet another important part of life my father believed I was incapable of. I know Tristan and Uncle Fletcher came to see if it was true, that I indeed gotten married."
The unspoken truth that it was not a real marriage because it had not been consumated hung in the air ominously. Felicity swallowed nervously and tried to change the subject's course by saying, "Why would any rational human being wish to own a slaving company in the first place?"
They had come to the jib-door of Felicity's room. "Ah, Felicity, 'tis not your place to worry about the slavers. Look, these Negroes do not have to be paid. But they do get clothing, food, shelter and civilized religion."
Felicity's temper had been reaching a boiling point once again. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to launch a bitter argument with him right then and there, but she had been eager to get to Lettie. Diving into a verbal fight with him would ruin everything. Let his foul business rot! she thought angrily. Tonight Lettie and i will get away and he will be sorry one way or the other!
He bid her a reluctant goodnight, adding a kiss on her mouth, ans he hurried inside her room to spit, spew and rinse. Lettie locked the door from the inside, where she had been working on the 'time-consuming nightgown' by the crackiling fire. The dark girl waited patiently until Felicity was finished with her violent mouth-cleaning ritual, then commented flatly, "You look whiter than usual."
Felicity sank into one of the white chairs by the fire. "Yes, well, you would look white, too, if you had to spend an evening with that bunch of witches and warlocks. And yet another one of his foul family members arrived unexpectedly."
Lettie was immediately curious, almost apprehensive, even. "Who was it? Who arrived?"
Felicity sighed heavily, rubbed her tired green eyes with both hands. "Oh it was his 'notorious cad' of-a-cousin. The one named Tristan. Ugh! He reminds me of a hawk; an evil hawk, one that enjoys preying upon women. Lettie, is something wrong?"
The slave girl had turned away from her, moving to one of the tall windows, where she leaned upon the sill on braced hands. Her turbaned head shook back and forth slowly.
"What is the matter?" Felicity got up and moved over to her. "Is there something about this Tristan that I should know? I suspect that there is a lot to know about the entire wretched lot, but I mention him in particular, and for the first time since I've met you, you seem afraid."
She had laid a concerned hand upon the girl's closest shoulder, but Lettie suddenly slapped it away and turned away as well, striding back to the fire, not allowing Felicity to see her face.
Then Felicity, naturally, felt a warning worry come over her, something that told her this was bad. She did not conceal the worry from her voice as she said, "You have to tell me, Lettie, so that I can understand you. And don't you dare give me that 'you are white, so you are dumb' business, either. I may be white and I may be dumb about some things, but even you yourself said I was not like the others, remember? I am not, and you know that. Now talk to me!"
A few tense moments passed where neither young woman said anything. Felicity waited, arms folded tightly, jaw set, ready to take anything Lettie came out with. Finally, Lettie turned around, her dark eyes full of simmering hatred and raw fury. In her exotic accent she asked with suspicion, "Why should a white like you care about what happens to a slave?"
"For the reasons I just stated," Felicity tossed back evenly, her gaze just as steady and unblinking as Lettie's. "Because I told you I will not leave here without you and I hold fast to that. Because I have not, since the moment I met you, treated you like an you say that I have? No, you cannot. And have I not held fast to your advice, your counsel, choosing to follow as you have led me? I am your friend, Lettie, whether you like it or not. Friends care about each other. Now tell me about this toad Tristan Forsythe has such an effect on you. I am listening." To further emphasize that statement, she plunked down in her chair, arms still folded, eyes unblinking.
Lettie's breathing was tense. She had to allow herself to inhale fully as she slowly turned to the crackling fire once more, and when she spoke her voice was lower and tighter. "He is the worst of white men. He...abuses women."
Felicity's arms slowly uncrossed. She stared at Lettie with half uncertainty and half fearfulness. "What- what do mean by that...'abused'?"
Lettie was silent a moment. "You know what I mean."
Felicity gulped, her mouth growing dry with dawning horror. "Lettie, has he..."
The dark girl turned her head to gaze at Felicity with well-controlled rage in her ebony eyes. She was absolutely simmering with fury inside. "Yes."
"Oh...Oh my God." One of Felicity's hands popped over her open, 'O' shaped mouth.
"Twice he has used me," Lettie continued, putting her burning gaze back to the fire. slowly she too sank into a chair a couple of feet apart from Felicity's, and gripped the arms with cold hands. "And twice I have had to abort his white man's seed."
The strangled sound of shock emitted from Felicity's horror-tightened throat was uncontrollable, as were the tears that filled her widened green eyes. "Oh...that evil bastard! That whoreson! Oh! I just want to claw his damnable eyes out!" She jumped up, her fingers clenched in raw fury. "The whole lot of them, they are all monsters! And he is the worst of monsters! I am going to-!
"You are not!" Lettie hissed, reaching up to grab Felicity's nearest wrist. Her voice was deadly serious. "You will not bring shame and trouble upon yourself because of a slave!"
"You are no slave!" Felicity defied, trembling with outrage. "You are a human being!"
"Not to them!" Lettie pulled her back down forcefully and said in a hushed tone, "They took me from my home and forced me into this life of slavery. If a soul is not partial to that act of terror, then no one will be concerned with an act of physical violence on a slave! The one called Tristan does what he does because he can. Because he is a 'lord' and deems himself a powerful white man who even has dominion over other whites. And he is beloved of his family because his crelty gains them wealth."
Felicity gestured wildly. "He is insane, Lettie! He must be stopped! I will not stand for this injustice!"
'And if you do, you will be locked away and abused to no end! Is that what you wish?"
Felicity clenched her teeth in frustration, tears running down both cheeks. "C-Could he not just visit a b-brothel like other wicked men do? Why d-does he have to..."
"Because I am a slave. A slave can be replaced by another slave. A slave cannot speak out against a white. They can be tortured to death for such a thing."
"That might be the Forsythe-way of doing things, but I overheard Reginald say to one of his foul realtions that the groups of white protestors who are against slavery are causing difficulties with the slave merchants in Bristol. Not all whites are evil, Lettie. Believe it or not, there are whites who abhor this treatment!"
"They cannot help us now," Lettie said quietly.
Felicity wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. "True. But you and I can help ourselves. Tonight we leave!"
Lettie inhaled deeply, her troubled gaze slipping. "No. We cannot."
"What?" This second shock had Felicity's panic-level soaring. "Lettie, we have planned this! There is a manor full of people to keep Reginald distracted now! This is the perfect night!"
"No," Lettie repeated, reluctantly. "Lord reginald will be distracted. Lord Tristan will not."
Her heart sank fast, like treasure thrown overboard into the depths of the mighty Atlantic. "How do you know?"
"He drinks late. If he does not render himself unconscious, he prowls about for...women." She met Felicity's eyes briefly.
"Good God. That demon..."
"It would be in both of our best interests that we not leave this room tonight. we are locked in, he cannot get to us. We must think of another way- perhaps they will all leave soon. But as long as he is here, we must not be out at night."
Felicity's arms flailed helplessly. "He is but one man! We are fighters, Lettie! Look at all the hell that you have endured; you are still here, alive and fighting. We can scream, hit, scratch, bite and be menaces!"
"And that will in turn create suspicion as to why we were out of this room in the first place. Lord reginald is still not wholly convinced that you are reliable, and he has never looked upon me with any decent regard. Lord Reginald knows his evil cousin very well: he knows what his realtive seeks with a woman, as do all of the Forsythes. But no one speaks openly of it, nor do the other white men think it wrong. After all, a slave must do what a white tells them to, regardless of what it is."
A heavy silence followed for a moment. Felicity was able to find her voice again and say, "I know you tried to fight him, Lettie. I know you did."
"Yes. He is strong, even when he is full of the white man's drink."
Felicity rubbed her eyes tiredly. Lord, was she ever sick of being frightened, defensive and imprisoned! "Lettie, couldn't we try?"
"No," the dark girl repeated right away. "He will be about the house. And you have expressed that he has taken an interest in you, is that not so?"
"Yes," Felicity replied with a involuntary cold shudder.
"Then we will wait. Freedom will be worth it."
Felicity could not help but understand. Being in Tristan's presence during the day was chilling enough! She could not begin to fathom what he was like at night. But Lettie knew, and if the tortured slave girl advised against risking encountering him, then it truly was for the best that they wait out his visit.
God willing, it was only a visit.
They prepared for bed. Lettie slept on a slender cot that was pulled out from under the absurdly large bed that Felicity slept in, although Felicity would repeatedly ask if she would like to sleep in the more comfortable bed, too. Lettie would decline, but Felicity swore she would see a crooked little smile on the girl's face. On the cot Lettie had private space, albeit narrow, and Felicity assumed the girl preferred that. Slaves got little privacy enough as it was.
However, Felicity did toss her a fat fluffly pillow, and Lettie accepted it with a nod.
Felicity slept even more uneasily than usual, feeling the day's powders wearing off and an aggravating headache coming on. Peculiar, thought she, I used to get the headaches when I consumed the powders. Now i get them when I have not! How queer! But somehow she managed to drift off, worried about the presence of Tristan Forsythe, impatient to leave here, but determined to nontheless.
She decided she would leave, with Lettie, and at any cost.
That evening, a sea-world away, a lone figure stood upon the broad, white-washed porch of a two-story building called The Black Bird Inn, leaning upon two braced hands on the porch's railing. Shadowed, sleep-deprived brown eyes gazed out at the bit of sea-shore just visible through pine trees half a mile away.
She's out there, he thought self-torturingly. Across that vast expanse of salty deep water, she is out there. And it is all my fault.
A hand came to rest upon Ben Davidson's left shoulder, yet he did not jump. The voice of his long-time friend Walter Wheaton said worriedly, "You need sleep."
Ben shrugged Walter's hand away and straightened, moved over to one of the porch's white posts to lean and stare out at the water. "I need Felicity."
Tawny-headed Walter sighed sympathetically. "We know, Ben. Haverty and I are doing the best we can to help. But you will not be helping Felicity any by running yourself into the ground."
Ben was silent, absorbed in his own hell.
"Now, according to the old inn-keeper, if we keep on this road south, we will reach the York river in three days, then we can be back in Williamsburg by-"
"I'm not going back to Williamsburg," Ben interjected firmly.
"What?"
"I am not going back. I am taking the nearest ship to England come morning." He sounded decided, determined.
"Ben, you can't! Mr. Merriman's message said to return at once- he is expecting you to return before you set off!"
Ben's gaze out at the ocean did not falter. "I can't. We have wasted nearly three months searching every sea-port between Virginia and New York. He has taken her to England. We know that. I will not waste another day."
Walter pursed his lips in thought. "You cannot go alone."
"Felicity did."
Walter squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself that Ben was hurting and that no amount of sound reasoning was going to sink into ben's brain while this whole situation remained extreme. But walter determined to himself that he was not going to let Ben act on any rash notions he felt sure was going to lead to disaster. "Look, Ben, Mr. Merriman is already negotiating a passage fro you upon a British merchant ship going back to england. There is only so much he can do by letter. As weak as he is he needs you there to do what he cannot do in person."
"It will be faster this way," was all Ben had to say in reply to that.
"Ben, faster does not always mean better! If you buy a passage onto just any old ship you could find yourself taken prisoner, forced into the British navy, or even robbed, killed and tossed overboard! What good would any of that do Felicity?"
"She's worth any risk."
"Good God, man, how can you help her if you're dead?"
Ben finally turned his head and glared at Walter. Some of their argument must have sunk into the ex-apprentice's hot headed skull, for Ben's frown reluctantly eased up, replaced by the look of weariness and fear-induced misery Walter had been more familiar with for the past three months. "Fine," Ben mumbled at length. His shadowed gaze turned back to the sea shore not too far off.
Walter released a sigh of immense relief. "Fine, then. Haverty's accustomed to rising well before sun-up; we'll be up and out of here before you know it, with fresh horses, too. I'll wager we're back in Williamsburg before three days is up!" He tried to sound positive and encouraging, but it didn't seem to have any effect on the miserable young cavalry captain.
And why should it? Walter thought worriedly. If it were my Jenny being taken away like that, I would have been willing to take on the whole British Navy myself just to get to England and find her! If there is truly a God in Heaven he will find Felicity and they will be together again soon!
"Let's turn in now, Ben, I'm sure Haverty already has," suggested Walter kindly. "Sleep will help pass the night quicker, and then we will be off again."
Ben swallowed with difficulty, seeing as how his throat was tight with a lump of fearfulness for his beloved's life. He allowed Walter to clap a hand upon his shoulder and steer him toward the front doors of the inn. Letting someone else take charge was an actual relief, for it gave him more mental room to dwell on Felicity. as if one hundred percent of his brain wasn't already intensely focused on her. He didn't want to think of anything else. She was all he lived for.
It hurt- actually, physically hurt-to be without her. Never in his life did he feel such aching and emptiness! It was not like when he had been gone to war and his missing her was not so empty, for he had known that she was home in Wiliamsburg, protected by family and friends. This was absolute soul-shaking fear that spawned insanity. She was in England, in the hands of a mad-man who wanted to...
She would rather be dead than marry Forsythe! Nan Merriman had said. And now, thanks to you, she just might be!
Everytime those horrible words passed through his mind, the invisible, emotional knife-in-the-heart twisted more. So he prayed, mentally and in privacy, that God would either damn him for his lack of faith or guide him to his love so that he could have her in his arms again and forever. If he could never have her back, then he preferred death, for there was just no life for him, no joy, no peace, no anything without Felicity.
He only slept because his body's need for sleep had to take over and force his mind to be quiet. His sleep was not peaceful, for if he dreamt at all, he dreamed that Felicity was in constant danger, being tortured somehow, or dead. His own guilt was merciless. So he vowed he would find her, if the Lord would allow him that mercy, and love her such as man had never before loved woman. It didn't matter what the two of them would have to endure while they were apart, not in the way that it would ever, ever affect his love for her. He would marry her, see to it that no day would pass that she was not assured of his love and faith.
He would win her back.
But first he had to get to her, find her, and that he swore he would do no matter how long it took, or where on God's earth he had to go. He would find the love of his life and never, ever be apart from her again.
Is it my turn, to wish you were lying here
I tend to dream you when I'm not sleeping
Is it my turn to fictionalize my world
Or even imagine your emotions to tell myself anything
Is it my turn to hold you by your hands, tell you I love you and you not hear me
Is it my turn to totally understand
To watch you walk out of my life and not do a damn thing
If I have to give away, The feeling that I feel
If I have to sacrifice oh whatever babe, whatever baby
If I have to take apart all that I am
Is there anything that I would not do
'Cause inside, I'd die without you
Oh, I apologize for all the things I've done
Now I'm under water and I'm drowning
Is it my turn to be the one to cry
Isn't it amazing how somethings just completely turn around?
So take every little piece of my heart
So take every little piece of my soul
So take every little peice of my mind
'Cause if you're gone...inside...I'd die without you
- lines from 'Die Without You' by P.M. Dawn
CHAPTER FINISHED