‘Good day to you, Miss Clara,’ July said with the hope of moving quickly on.
But Miss Clara caught July’s arm to bind her in conversation. July did not notice the four gold rings upon Miss Clara’s fingers. Four! Two with green stones that clicked together—big as swollen knuckles, yet July did not see them. Nor did she regard the delicate ruby beads mounted like pin pricks of blood within a striking gold chain which laced about her throat.
‘You have no parasol this day, Miss July? You be get very dark,’ Miss Clara said.
July did have a parasol—a hand-down from her missus—but Molly did recently sit upon it and bust two spokes, so it hung like a broken bird wing. When she returned to Amity she must remember to once more punch Molly for the nuisance of that misdeed.
‘So, Miss July, you still working ’pon Amity for that broad missus?’ Miss Clara asked from upon high.
‘It be so, Miss Clara, although me missus be no longer so broad,’ July responded.
‘Not what I have heard,’ Miss Clara said before carrying on, ‘I could not abide to still be upon a plantation. Me upon a plantation!’ And how Miss Clara did laugh. She raised her hand to cover her mouth as little puffs of mirth were discharged within it. Then, composing herself, she gravely shook her head to say, ‘The wife of a white man upon a plantation,’ before a sweet titter again escaped her at such a ludicrous affront. ‘Me husband would never allow it.’
Husband! Oh yes, July had heard the chat-chat of Miss Clara’s husband. Come, the whole parish knew how Mr William Walker the attorney at Friendship plantation had paid for her dance and bought her hand. Her husband! That fat-bellied, peel-headed, ugly old white man had a wife and five children in England. There was never any marriage ceremony—at least none that a crowd could stand within a church to witness. Miss Clara just clasped this rich Englishman’s shrivelled private parts and now led him around by them.
‘He buy me a lodging house, me husband,’ Miss Clara carried on. ‘You know it? It be the big white house ’pon the corner of Trelawny Street, near to me shop.’ She airily waved her hand around in the general direction of that nearby corner before turning her devilish green eyes full upon July to glory delightedly within her envy.
But July would let not a muscle, nor a hair, stir to admit jealousy of Miss Clara. Come, a gutted fish upon a slab did speak its thoughts more tellingly.
‘You did not know of me lodging house?’ Miss Clara went on, ‘I believed everyone did hear of it. But wait.’ She felt within a small, white satin pouch that dangled from her wrist and produced a calling card. She held out the card to July. But just as July inclined to take it, Miss Clara withdrew it saying, ‘Oh, but me forget plantation slaves cannot read.’
July soon snatched it from her saying, ‘We be slaves no more, Miss Clara. Me nor you.’ And holding up the card to her eye, July began loud and clear to read, ‘Miss Clara’s boarding house, for the con . . . the con . . .’ July stumbled over the word convenience for she had never before seen it. So many letters, but none made the sound of sense within her head.
‘Oh, your missus let you read a little now,’ Miss Clara said.
There was something upon this card written about military men and families, gentlemen and ladies’ finest, clean lodging house etc., which July could read at a glance—but, to her vexation, she was still struggling with that word convenience, when a cart rode into the street. Both women stepped away to let pony and cart pass at a distance, for they required no more dust to churn up and choke them. But then a man’s voice, shouting, ‘Hello there, hello there,’ made them both turn their heads to find the caller.
And there, sitting alone atop the cart, dressed in a brown cutaway jacket with a panama hat upon his head was Robert Goodwin. The spirited smile that excited the overseer’s eyes as he said, ‘Good day to you,’ had the gladness of someone addressing a dear old friend. July turned to observe Miss Clara’s response, for she felt sure this white man must be greeting her. But then he said, ‘Are you on an errand for your mistress today, Miss July?’ And even though Miss