Kitty only turned to look at the touch when she felt July’s small hand do the same. ‘It’s the work on the cane pieces, they are absolutely made for it. This one will be in the first gang—cutting cane, holing, manuring, tasks that take a bit of strength. Although with a child . . . nursing mothers usually labour with the weaklings in the second gang. It’s lighter work—feeding the mill, picking up trash from the ground, that sort of thing.’
As Caroline straightened up she asked, ‘And does this little girl work?’
‘Weeding,’ he replied, ‘bringing water to the field slaves with the third gang. Nothing much. For children it’s more like a game. But this one,’ John said whilst slapping Kitty’s thighs, ‘just look at her. The overseer, Dewar, says that when negro women bend over in the field their breasts droop and dangle so much they look to be a beast with six limbs.’
John began to laugh until his sister said, ‘Oh, please do not be so vulgar.’
‘Can you imagine putting silk stockings over these, Caroline. Some in England would say it should be done,’ he said.
Kitty drew away from his touch, but he pulled her back to stand where he had placed her. He let the fabric of her skirt drop, still smiling with the mirth of it all. As John Howarth climbed back into the gig to recommence their journey, he flicked his hand at Kitty saying, ‘Go on, you can go now.’ But Kitty did not move, for she could see that her child, July, was still captured in the thrall of Mrs Caroline Mortimer; her hand still grasped her, her eyes still fixed upon her.
‘Go on, off with you,’ John Howarth said once more.
Kitty called to July, beckoning her with an urgency that cracked in her throat. But her child paid no heed, too busy was she with her new playmate. She skipped at Caroline’s feet, sprinkling the picked flowers upon the floor before her.
‘Oh, she’s adorable,’ Caroline said again.
Her brother, impatient to finish the journey around the estate, called out to Caroline, ‘Well, bring her then.’
Kitty turned to face her master.
‘Come along, Caroline. Hurry. We need to get out of the sun.’
‘Can I take her?’ she asked.
Kitty tried to seize air enough to breathe.
‘Yes, if she’ll amuse you. She would be taken soon enough anyway. It will encourage her to have another. They are dreadful mothers, these negroes.’
‘She’ll be my companion here,’ Caroline said. ‘I could train her for the house, or to be my lady’s maid.’
‘Well, you could try,’ her brother said. ‘But hurry—this heat is getting fierce.’
Kitty stepped to snatch July from Caroline’s grasp. But Caroline slapped at Kitty’s hands shouting, ‘What’s she doing?’
John Howarth raised his whip at Kitty, his face fiercely showing his intent, ‘Be on your way,’ he said, ‘leave the child to your mistress.’
Kitty, letting go of her child, just said, ‘But she go Unity Pen, massa. We have pass.’
‘Be quiet,’ John Howarth shouted, ‘Your mistress here will take her now. She will be up at the big house. Now, go about your business.’
Caroline struggled to get into the carriage for she had July tight in her grasp and the child still carried the stench of negroes; it was hard to lift the child whilst averting her nose from her pungency. As she settled them both upon the seat of the gig, Caroline asked her brother, ‘Don’t you think Agnes will think she’s adorable?’
And he replied, ‘Little niggers no longer make my wife smile,’ as the gig rode briskly away from Kitty.
CHAPTER 5
READER, COME WITH ME to peer through a window of the great house. But let me place you upon the inside of this fine dwelling, in a room caressed by a cooling night breeze. Rest there upon a chair cushioned in silken fabric smooth to your touch, within the shadowy gleam of several of the finest beeswax candles that perfume the air with a sweet scent.
Idle awhile. Muse, if you will, on whether to begin a game of solitaire upon the open card table. Or perhaps you may desire a refreshing drink. Yawn wide and stretch, for it is late into the evening. Do as you would. All I ask is that when this waste-wiling is done, you turn your head once more to that window.
Do not worry yourself with the openings of slatted wood which allow the breeze to carry in the raucous rattle of croaking night creatures. Nor that high-arched window on the farthest