Chapter 9

Elizabeth stood flat against the wall as she watched the seamstress draping, pulling, tucking, and pinning the exquisite white silk across Paulette’s voluptuous body.  Her amazing hands magically worked it into an evening gown for the Simpson ball the following week. Elizabeth posed many times while having dresses and gowns fitted to her slight body, but never had her seamstress been as adept as the middle aged woman serving Paulette proved to be. Yet, Paulette seemed not to notice the woman’s exquisite talent as she moaned, groaned, and occasionally slapped at the poor seamstress over something Elizabeth thought incredibly trivial.

Witnessing such a scene outraged Elizabeth, but she knew better than to show it. She still stung from the beating she received the night before as a result of moving too slow for Paulette’s liking. In fact, she questioned how badly one of her ribs was injured. Each breath she took caused a pain deep beneath the gash from the buckle on the thick strap Paulette unmercifully wielded. The buxom black woman -who ran the kitchen and everyone called Ole Sookie- put a poultice on her ribs during the night to help draw out some of the pain, stop infection, and help to keep any scarring to a minimum. Elizabeth was so grateful for the old woman’s kindness she vowed that, if she ever got out of this mess, she would buy all the slaves owned by this horrid woman and set them free. In fact, she might just buy the plantation and personally usher this vile she-creature down the road on foot!

She was so deeply engrossed in her musing of Paulette’s demise, Arthur’s entry went unnoticed until he stood next to the beautiful southern belle and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

“You look lovely, dearest, simply lovely,” Arthur said softly.

“I do believe I must agree with you,” Paulette chuckled. “Mrs. Jones certainly does have a way with a needle and thread, does she not?”

A slight squeak of shock escaped Elizabeth’s lips at the sound of an actual compliment coming from Paulette’s lips toward the poor woman who she spent almost three hours verbally torturing. Immediately after exhuming it, Elizabeth wanted to kick herself for not having greater control.

The silence in the room was deafening as both brother and sister stopped their conversation and turned in her direction.

“Well, well, who might we have here?” Arthur murmured as he stepped closer toward Elizabeth. “Paulette, could this be the little minx I purchased for you last week in Charles Town?” He walked closer toward Elizabeth to get a better look. “Why, I believe it is.” Elizabeth did her best to shrink away and become invisible when Arthur stood before her and lifted her chin. “Yes, I remember those eyes. They are like something I have never seen. They pull at you. I forgot about her. Why have you kept her hidden?”

Paulette snarled possessively as she watched her brother stare deep into Elizabeth’s exotic violet eyes while he continued to caress her silken, porcelain chin. She kept the wench hidden from her brother after the chit was presented to her cleaned up and she realized how lovely a woman she actually was.

“I knew what would happen if I presented her to you,” she stated jealously.

“What might that be?” Arthur chuckled.

“You know exactly what that might be,” Paulette said with exasperation. “Really, you can be such a philanderer,”

She despised being taunted in this way.

“She is far prettier than I remember,” Arthur mused; more to himself than to his sister.

“You bought her for me, remember?” Paulette snapped.

“Yes, dearest, I remember,” Arthur replied as he dropped Elizabeth’s chin and stepped back. “She looks to be a bit of a frail thing. She appears very tired and extremely white for a mulatto.  Clearly she is in poor health. Had I realized this at auction, I might not have paid so dearly for her. I swear... the sun can indeed play tricks on the eyes, can it not?” he murmured. Arthur focused on Elizabeth’s pale face as he walked, slowly, back, and forth in front of her frozen body while he studied her more closely. “Are you certain she is up to task?”

“That is my business!” Paulette’s words were so forceful they resembled a bark.

“Now, now, we shall have none of that. Do you hear me? Let us not forget that I have not yet gotten around to signing the papers that turn her over to you. Therefore, technically she is still mine. Thus, it is my business,” Arthur stated in a tone that was soft, but firm. He moved back to Paulette’s side and kissed her softly on the nape of her neck. “Send her to me in an hour.” At Paulette’s jealous snort, he reiterated in his still gentle, but firm voice, “In an hour, I say.”

“What do you want to see her for?” Paulette’s whine bordered on shrill.

“Just send her to me,” he responded as he walked stealthily out of the room.

Elizabeth shuddered as Arthur passed dangerously close by her without as much as a look. He was a ruggedly handsome man, but he was an unreadable man who, through a twist of fate, now owned her. Her mind reeled with the possible reasons he could have for wanting her sent to him.  None of them were good. She closed her eyes and moaned inwardly with despair.

Arthur barely left the room before Paulette escaped the ministering of Mrs. Jones and positioned herself threateningly in front of Elizabeth.

Being of small height herself, Paulette was but an inch or two taller than Elizabeth. Even so, her bone structure was as such that the gorgeous southern bell felt large, clumsy, and frumpy next to the petite and delicate English beauty. For this, Elizabeth suffered daily.

“I am sorry he ever bought you for me. You are a mulatto she-wolf!” Paulette hissed so vehemently that her saliva spattered into Elizabeth’s eye.

Taken aback, Elizabeth quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“What are you doing? Did I say you could do that?” Paulette screeched.

Having been on the receiving end of her hand, belt, or a stick more than once since her arrival, and being fully aware of what would happen if she fought back, Elizabeth cowered. By now she was all too familiar with the woman’s outbursts and was able to discern which ones would simply entail shouting and which ones foretold of a beating to follow. This one reeked of beating and, since she had not yet divulged the fact she was with child, she wanted to avoid any physical abuse that might well cause a miscarriage. Whenever she thought about divulging her delicate condition to Paulette, Elizabeth feared the knowledge might bring even more wrath upon her than what she already endured.

Before Elizabeth could protect herself, Paulette slapped her face with full force, causing the English aristocrat to spin on her heels before falling to the floor.

Paulette grabbed the thick braid that rested the length of Elizabeth’s back.  It was the only hairstyle she was allowed to wear.  She pulled on the ebony braid with all her might. Elizabeth could not contain her scream from the sheer agony of it while she did her best to ease the excruciating pull against her scalp by standing up and closing the space between them.

Arthur was not far enough away from Paulette’s quarters to have Elizabeth’s screaming go unnoticed by him. He hurried back to the room and arrived in time to witness the cruelty his sister was delivering to his fragile, exquisite looking, and rather expensive slave.

“Here, here, now,” he roared, “stop this at once!”

Stunned by the fact that she was caught displaying a side of her nature she reserved for the servants only, Paulette was mortified and speechless.

The brief reprieve was all Elizabeth needed to regain her composure and stand as proud and erect as she could. Arthur gently, but firmly, moved his sister aside and, with equal gentleness, extended his hand for Elizabeth to take. She looked from Paulette to Arthur and then back again while she debated what to do. The look in Arthur’s eyes told her he was the better choice for the moment. She accepted his offering, allowing him to pull her from the room. It really did not matter what he planned on doing with her at this point. Anything was better than having to endure one more beating from that vile, spoiled, jealousy crazed woman.

Arthur handed Elizabeth a crisp linen handkerchief to wipe the blood from the corner of her mouth. He stood for a moment and watched her with silent interest before he guided her into his private suite. Knowing she was at his mercy, the London aristocrat steeled herself for the inevitable. To her surprise, he reached for a decanter of port and filled two crystal glasses before handing her one. Elizabeth accepted it gratefully.

Arthur watched the porcelain beauty for which he paid a pretty price with curiosity. Although beaten, bruised, and dressed in coarse rags, she carried herself with a regal air. The way she daintily dabbled at the blood with his handkerchief as well as the way she held her glass of wine denoted refinement and education. Her actions were smooth and automatic. It was clear she was exposed to the finer things all of her life. To his surprise and mild delight, her body language and actions even hinted of her expectation to be treated as the genteel ladies she so competently emulated. His dear Paulette would do well to take schooling from this wench.

He could not help being curious about what type of owners promoted such education and behavior in a slave girl. Her papers stated they were world travelers who met their demise at sea. That was a real shame. He was certain he would have enjoyed meeting people of such unusual character, providing they even existed. It was no secret that mystery owners would sometimes be concocted to camouflage the fact that the slave was stolen or purchased from the Indians.

Arthur pursed his lips. At closer look, Elizabeth’s skin resembled rich white porcelain. It was far whiter than the creamy color a normal mulatto might have. The auctioneer stated she was purchased in Europe and brought to Charles Town along with other slaves acquired along the Mediterranean coastal cities. Looking at her more closely, he questioned if she was in fact mulatto. He heard of cases where women found themselves in prison for one reason or another. They either chose slavery over prison life or they were sold by their wardens for a pretty price into slavery. It was a way to keep the prison population down that no one bothered to challenge, since these women were commonly ladies of ill repute to begin with.

His curiosity was aroused.

“Please sit,” he said in a manner reserved for the gentile.

The corners of Arthur’s mouth hinted a smile as he watched Elizabeth take her seat with the grace and air of a woman of the finest of society. This was surely an unusual slave woman. Not only was she refined, but she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman, next to Paulette, he had ever laid eyes on. He did well with this purchase, very well indeed.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked quietly.

Not sure what the handsome master of the house was up to, Elizabeth nodded timidly. It had been several months since she had been treated like a lady, tasted good port, or felt the softness of an upholstered seat beneath her. It was all she could do to hold back the tears that threatened to flood the room at any moment.

“My sister named you Lizzy. Am I correct?” Arthur asked gently.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied softly.

“Sir,” Arthur added.

“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth asked with confusion.

“When you address me, you shall call me sir,” Arthur stated as he settled back in his chair.

“I beg your pardon, sir. So much has happened over the last few months. I fear I have forgotten my manners. Please forgive me,” she said as she pulled herself up as straight as she could.

She wanted to add ‘And you can address me as Lady Elizabeth... sir!’, but thought better of it.

“I shall excuse you this time but, should it happen again, I promise you shall feel my whip. Do you understand?” Arthur said.

His voice never rose above a gentle coo, but his words stung with their strength of meaning. He owned a large plantation that required an enormous number of slaves to keep it running smoothly and efficiently, not to mention profitably. In order to maintain obedience, he held a firm hand on them and required they act accordingly. He would allow no exceptions.

Elizabeth hung her head while she spoke her apologies. With the exception of viewing him from a distance, this was her first encounter with Arthur Moore since he purchased her from that nightmarish auction block in Charles Town. She had no idea if he was as crazy as his sister and she had no desire to find out.

“Turn around for me. I should like to view you better,” Arthur said as he twirled his finger in the air to emphasize his meaning.

Elizabeth obliged without taking her eyes off her new master.

“Hmm,” Arthur murmured. “I should like to see more.”

Elizabeth sucked in her breath, remembering Paulette’s accusation of her brother being a philanderer.

That was a term used to describe men who went with many women, was it not?

“Lift your skirts. I should like to see your ankles,” he demanded.

Arthur adjusted himself in his seat while he watched Elizabeth slowly pull at the hem of her coarsely woven muslin skirt. At the sight of her soiled bare and swollen feet his face went scarlet. “What is this? You have no shoes?”

“Nay sir,” she replied.

Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the floor and tried to huddle her body as tightly as she could in preparation for his blow. If his sister could pack such a powerful punch, she could only image what he might produce.

“Come closer!” he barked.

Aware that her feet were not a comely sight and thinking him angry with her for it, Elizabeth dropped her skirts and moved slowly toward him. She was not eager to be within his reach.

“Keep your skirts up,” Arthur urged, in a gentler tone.

When Elizabeth was just a few feet away from him he raised his hands for her to stop and looked closer at her bare feet. Although the sliver was removed and the infection thwarted, her foot was clearly not healing. He reached forward and pressed on her swollen flesh, causing her to wince.

She was certain she had earned herself a beating. Thick, salty tears slid freely down her cheeks while she cried openly. She was tired of being hit, tired of being mistreated and tired of being on her raw and swollen feet. Most of all, she was tired of being pregnant. Maybe it would be for the best if she did miscarry. At least that would be one less burden for her to suffer. Plus, from the way things were happening, she doubted if she would ever see her handsome husband again. The opportunity to beg his forgiveness and present him with the heir his family so desired was lost to her. Her child would be born a slave instead of the aristocrat he or she rightly deserved because of her folly. If she miscarried now, would it really matter?

A sudden wave of motherly protectiveness swept over Elizabeth and a new found strength emerged. Yes, it would matter if she miscarried. It would matter very much. She may have lost her chance to be happy with Stephen, but she still had a part of him inside of her. Even though her married life with him was ever so brief, she felt a bond with him through the child she carried and the love in her heart. Her baby was her tie to what she so foolishly tossed away. It was a tie she was not willing to relinquish. She wanted this baby. She would give the love that she had denied showing Stephen to his child. Who knows, perhaps one day she would find a way to give it back its freedom as well.

Feeling it was time to push the issue she prepared herself for the blow she was sure would come and blurted out, “Sir, I am with child.”

To her relief and surprise, Arthur sat back in his chair and chuckled.

“What good fortune. I purchased one slave and received two,” he said. “Well, well, ‘tis mighty fine; ‘tis mighty fine indeed. I paid a very dear price for you. This makes up for it.”