Captured

  “I know,” he responded. “And we will.”

  His heart was breaking. Having to leave her there was the hardest and most difficult thing he’d ever done. The memories of the fun they’d had together, although precious to him, would not be enough to sustain him through this. He was honest enough to admit that anything could happen in the few days until they planned to sail again, none of it good. What if she’d returned only to find she’d been sold? He had no idea how the Sullivans would treat her. From the stories Clare told him about Violet, he doubted there would be a celebration, more than likely she’d be put right back to work. It took all he had not to turn the wagon around, go back, and grab her and the children and sail away, but he had to wait. Not knowing how she was faring was going to be the worst part.

  “Are you all right, mon frere?” Gaspar asked.

  “No.”

  At about midday, Teddy, dressed in her breeches, waistcoat, and stockings, drove Clare to the house owned by Violet and Victor Sullivan. Because women were not allowed to own property, Victor’s name was on the deed of the house in town, but he lived on the Sullivan rice plantation in a house that he also used as his medical office.

  A young woman who appeared to be no older than Richmond answered the door. She was dressed in the plain black gown and full white apron of service. She curtsied to Teddy. “Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan.”

  Although Teddy’s married name was Marks, she refused to use it, just as she’d refused to live under the same roof with the English husband her parents had arranged for her to marry in exchange for four hundred-odd acres of land when she was fifteen. He now lived in England and had for many years. “Hello, Dot. Is your mistress at home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Come in. I’ll fetch her.”

  Clare took a deep breath to steady herself and followed Teddy inside. The familiarity of the interior washed over her like waves on the sea. Her eyes took in the staircase that led to the second floor as they passed it on their way to the parlor. The furnishings were in the exact position they’d been in when she and the Sullivans sailed off to England. As far as the house was concerned, nothing had transpired between that day last spring and the present. Her adventures with Dominic could have easily been a fever dream.

  Teddy took a seat on the settee and lit up her pipe, but Clare knew to remain standing.

  Violet entered the parlor, and upon seeing Clare, stopped short and looked her up and down silently. “You’re back.” Her face was an unreadable mask. If she was pleased to see Clare again, it didn’t show. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”

  Teddy said, “We’re grateful to have her with us again.”

  “Yes we are. Now I have someone competent to lay out my gowns and keep them clean.”

  Clare shot Dot a quick glance just in time to see anger flicker in the young woman’s eyes before she lowered her gaze to the floor. No, Clare thought, nothing had changed.

  “How did you get back?” Violet asked Clare.

  Teddy answered, “Why, that scoundrel walked her right up to my door.”

  Violet’s eyes narrowed, “He’s here?”

  “He most certainly was. Said to tell Clare’s mistress he was returning her property, then he turned on his heel, got back on his wagon, and was driven away.”

  Violet studied Clare. “Why did he bring you back?”

  “He was tired of me, I suppose.”

  “Then why not just drop you off at the nearest port?”

  Teddy waved her pipe, “Who knows the mind of a man like that? When you add in that he’s French, one’s surprised he can think at all.”

  “Has he sailed?”

  Clare shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “If he hasn’t, I’m having Victor notify the authorities. I want him arrested.”

  “He’s French, dear,” Teddy explained. “Since Louis XVI signed the treaty with the Continental Congress the French are the rebels’ darlings and mine. They’ll not detain him, he’s an ally. Besides, what crime are you accusing him of?”

  “Slave theft, of course.”

  Teddy sighed loudly. “He’s returned her, Violet. I doubt your case will go very far once that’s learned.”

  Teddy had cut down all Violet’s arguments, and it was plain to see that she wasn’t happy. “Why are you still standing there?” she asked Clare. “Go change clothes and put that necklace and those ear bobs back in my chest. The gowns in need of pressing are hanging in my armoire. You’ll know them when you see them. Take that one with you and train her,” she added, indicating Dot. “Now that you’re here, I won’t be needing her. If she can master being a good lady’s maid, she’ll bring a better price at the market in Charleston.”

  Clare kept her face blank when she met Dot’s eyes. “Come with me.”

  The servants’ quarters, kitchen, and laundry were located in the basement of the house. Although the Sullivans employed two hundred captives in their rice fields, only Clare, Birgit the cook, and now Dot worked in Violet’s house in town.

  “How long have you been here?” Clare asked, opening the armoire in Violet’s room and going through the gowns. She’d changed into the servant uniform of black and white that matched Dot’s.

  “A fortnight.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Virginia.”

  Clare gave one armload of the gowns to Dot and took the rest herself. Downstairs, Birgit greeted Clare with a strong hug and tears in her eyes. “Oh, miss. I’m so glad you’re home. When Miss Sullivan said you’d been taken by pirates I was so upset I didn’t know what to do.”

  Birgit was an indentured servant from England. She’d been sentenced to London’s Newgate prison for petty theft and given the option of serving her seven-year sentence in the colony. She’d been with the Sullivans for the past three years after having her contract bought out by Victor from a family that had left Savannah to return to England. “It’s so good to have you home. Dot’s been doing her best to fill your shoes, but we all know how impatient Miss Violet can be.”

  Clare knew, so she went straight to work. It took them most of the day to properly press Violet’s many gowns, stomachers, and lace insets. She showed Dot how to heat the two flatirons in the fire Birgit kept burning day and night and then test the temperature. “Some people spit on the plate,” she explained. “But I hold it close to my cheek and can tell the right temperature in that manner. Over time, you’ll find a method that works best for you. And make sure there are no ashes on the plate when you begin. You don’t want to iron ashes into the gown.”

  Dot watched the process closely and saw how Clare used the metal smoothers to do the linen insets.

  The cellar had no windows and therefore very little air circulation. Between the kitchen stove and the fire, the heat rose to almost unbearable levels, but they had no choice but to work on. When the last gown was finally done, Clare wiped at the perspiration on her brow, and she and Dot carried the garments back up to Violet’s room.

  There were shoes to clean and linens to gather for the wash next week. Some of the shifts Violet had worn during her courses had spots of blood, so they needed to be soaked in lye to remove them. Using one of the kettles she’d designated for that purpose, Clare poured in the lye and put the shifts in. “Never ever run out of lye.” The garments would need to soak for twenty-four hours, then rinsed, and if the spots remained, soaked again.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t want to be forced to use chamber lye.”

  “What’s chamber lye?”

  “Urine.”

  Dot’s eyes widened and then her nose wrinkled.

  “It works well, believe it or not, but collecting it from the chamber pots…” Her voice trailed off and she shuddered.

  The two women shared a smile.

  They beat rugs, swept floors, and did everything else Violet wanted done. By the time Clare finally found a moment to eat supper and catch her breath, night had fallen, and for the first time in weeks,
the sun had set without her.

  Dominic spent the day thinking of Clare and passing himself off as smuggler François deMille to the good citizens of Savannah. He met with the local rebel commander and negotiated a price for the guns, then with a town merchant who purchased much of the fabric in the sloop’s hold. Mr. Calhoun let Dominic set up shop in the back of his livery, and by evening word had spread about him and his goods. Upon hearing that he had items like fine ladies’ stockings and French colognes, women began coming around to investigate.

  That afternoon, Theodora Sullivan entered the livery. With her was the beautiful young woman he knew to be named Meg. Teddy was dressed in a pair of men’s breeches, a jacket, and hose. Her arrival surprised him, but he hid it as he stood. “Good afternoon, Mistress Sullivan.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. deMille. Meg and I are here because you are rumored to be selling quality goods.”

  Meg was looking through some of the items displayed on the trestle tables spread out around the small room.

  “The rumors are true.” He wondered if she had another purpose for coming.

  Meg stopped at the ladies’ stockings and held up a pair. “How much for a pair of these, sir?” She was a handsome woman with a good figure, dark hair, and green eyes, but couldn’t hold a candle to Clare.

  Dominic quoted the price.

  “So much?”

  “I’m a smuggler, mademoiselle. Our prices are always dear.”

  She smiled. “I suppose when one puts it that way…”

  She resumed her perusing.

  Teddy was eyeing him closely. “So, you tired of our Clare.” She voiced the words as fact and not a question.

  “I did, and returned her none the worse for wear as you witnessed,” he responded as if the subject bored him.

  “We are grateful.”

  “Did you come to buy, Mistress Sullivan, or simply to quiz me?”

  “A bit of both, I’m thinking.”

  Meg was eyeing a tortoiseshell hairbrush and comb.

  Teddy asked her, “Would you like those, Meg?”

  “I would.”

  “Bring them here.”

  Dominic quoted the price, and Teddy took the coin from a change purse she withdrew from an inner pocket of her waistcoat. “Thank you, Mr. deMille.”

  “Thank you, mistress.” He thought she and her companion made an odd but intriguing couple and wondered what the rumors were surrounding the relationship.

  Teddy asked, “How long will you be in Savannah, Mr. deMille?”

  “A fortnight. Maybe longer, maybe less.”

  “I am having a dinner tomorrow evening to celebrate the French and American alliance. I’d be honored if you and your companions would be my guests.”

  Dominic knew from speaking earlier with the rebel commander that news of the alliance had been cause for much celebration. Although Louis XVI had signed the treaty in February, the news didn’t reach the colonies until May, after which General Washington had called for parties, parades, and prayer to mark the event. “What time and where?”

  She gave him the particulars. “Clare may be there.”

  “Clare is no longer of interest to me.”

  “I see. I will see you there then?”

  “Of course.” And he bowed.

  That said, Teddy and Meg departed.

  Gaspar, who’d looked on silently during Teddy and Meg’s visit, studied Dominic with seriousness in his eyes. “Are you really going to attend?”

  “I am. It may help us learn more about the lay of the land, and I’ll see Clare.” The prospect somewhat lifted the black cloud that had encased his heart since returning her to her owners. He needed to see with his own eyes how she was faring. They’d been apart less than two days’ time, but it felt like an eternity. He’d not be truly content until they were back out at sea and sailing home.

  “We’ll get her out of this,” Gaspar promised.

  “I know.”

  They counted up their sizable profits and were about to take the unsold merchandise back to the ship when a man Dominic vaguely recognized stormed in.

  “So it is you?” the visitor voiced angrily.

  “Good evening to you, too, sir. Have we met?”

  “Yes, in the middle of the Atlantic. I’m Victor Sullivan.”

  “Ah yes, the slave owner,” Dominic replied. “Have you come to buy some of my merchandise, too?”

  “No, I’ve come to tell you that you are a French cad, and that Savannah doesn’t want your sordid business.”

  “Really?” Dominic responded drolly. “Your neighbors seem to think otherwise. I made quite a profit today and hope to do the same tomorrow. And besides, I fail to see why you are so upset. I returned her safe and sound.”

  “You had no business taking her from the outset.” Sullivan was almost Dominic’s height but lacked his muscle and bearing.

  “It’s what we pirates do, and she is just a slave, after all.”

  “She’s not just a slave,” he spat back in reply.

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  “She has feelings. She’s intelligent.”

  “If she possesses so many sterling qualities, why is she being kept captive against her will? Why hasn’t your family freed such a diamond of the first water?”

  Sullivan snapped his mouth shut, and his eyes blazed. Without another word he stormed out.

  “Too hard of a question, you think, mon frere?” Gaspar asked.

  “Apparently.” Dominic wanted to drag the slave owner back and beat him to a pulp, but knew that wouldn’t help rescue Clare or her children. He’d been in a surly mood all day because of where Clare was, and he didn’t need his morals flayed by the likes of Sullivan. “Let’s get these items packed away and go find something to eat.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  After helping Violet prepare for bed, Clare changed into her nightclothes and waited for Violet to get into bed so she could douse the lights. Dot slept in the cellar with Birgit.

  “Did he ravish you?” Violet asked.

  Clare kept her face neutral. “Yes, Violet, he did.”

  “Are you breeding?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you are, it goes on the block in Charleston as soon as it’s weaned. I’ll not have pirate get in my house. You may douse the light now.”

  Clare extinguished the lamp and lay down on her pallet at the foot of the bed. In the darkness she wondered if she could be carrying Dominic’s child. The answer was yes, of course. The idea of giving birth to a free child would be something to celebrate, if she herself were free, but because she wasn’t, Violet’s warning sent a chill through her blood.

  Chapter 13

  W

  hile Violet lay sleeping, Clare got up at dawn, dressed, and went down to the cellar to begin the day. Birgit was awake and stoking the fire for its own long day of work, while Dot was nursing a cup of tea. Grabbing two large buckets Clare walked hastily out to the pump and filled them. Dot ran out to help.

  “You get that one,” Clare instructed her.

  Dot struggled with the heavy bucket, but managed to get it back to the kitchen without sloshing too much of the water away on the journey.

  The water was poured into the big black kettles and set on the fire. The household would use it for its morning chores, like washing up and the cleaning of the china and cutlery after breakfast. The kettles would be refilled as needed, but one was kept full, hot, and at the ready all day.

  Leaving Birgit to begin breakfast, Clare and Dot went outdoors and swept the porch and the brick path that led to the house. With that done, it was time for chamber pots to be emptied and replenished with fresh water. It was not Clare’s favorite task.

  After a thorough washing of their hands, they set the table for breakfast. According to Birgit, Victor would be joining his twin sister for the morning meal, so Clare and Dot set out plates and cutlery for them both. Once that was accomplished, Clare sent Dot down to the kitchen to e
at and she went up to awaken Violet and help her dress. Clare and Violet had never been friends; Clare was her slave, after all, but in their early days together, she’d been kinder. Being left at the church’s altar on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of a woman’s life, with all of Savannah’s society looking on, had changed her. She became bitter, self-centered, and mean; no one else mattered, and the Ancestors forbid anyone be happy in her presence. Growing up, Clare also got the impression that Violet was jealous of Clare’s quick mind. The wager that resulted in the two of them being educated together showed that Clare was not only bright, but considerably brighter than Violet.

  Their morning routine rarely varied. Clare would wait for Violet to wash her face and such, then help her with her stays and then the gown. Hair would be done next, and after that Violet’s day would officially begin.

  Violet had just taken a seat at the head of the table when her brother arrived at the front door. Clare ushered him in.

  “Good morning, Clare. We’re pleased to have you back with us. Are you well?”

  “I am.”

  He greeted Violet with a kiss on her cheek and took his seat at the other end of the long table. Clare returned from the kitchen with a tray holding hominy, bacon, eggs, and biscuits. She set everything down as quietly and as quickly as she could.

  “Clare, what would you do if you were free?” Victor asked.

  She stopped.

  Violet said dismissively, “Victor, what a ridiculous question.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’d like to know if she’s ever thought about it.”

  Violet, adding butter to her serving of hominy, scoffed. “Why would she think about something that will never happen?”

  He looked at Clare. “Have you ever thought about it, Clare?”

  “No,” she lied. “Your sister is correct. Why think on something that will never be? May I get you anything else?”

  They both shook their heads. As she turned to go she could feel Victor’s eyes on her back but she didn’t acknowledge him as she exited.