The Virgin of Greenbrier: The Greenbrier Trilogy, Book One

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Mary’s room was much smaller than Lucretia’s. The bed was crammed into a corner. There was no dressing table, no chairs, and only a small washstand under a narrow window that looked out into the back yard. As soon as her bedroom door was shut and their privacy assured, Mary went to the closet and flung it open. “It’s probably not as interesting as yours, but do come look.”

Lucretia moved closer. The wardrobe was split in two sections. The area to the right was reserved for Mary’s clothes, her hoops and chemise, corset and drawers all hung neatly pressed next to a light blue day dress. Her bonnet, gloves, stockings, and parasol rested together on a shelf above, and a single pair of high-button shoes waited for their return trip home in less than a month’s time. The left side was something very different. Here were the shackles, floggers, and gags Lucretia had expected. “Do you like it when he uses these things on you?” Lucy touched the leather strips of the nearest instrument of pain, feeling a tingle move through her.

Her friend took a deep breath before answering. “I don’t know as I do.”

“Will your husband have such things?” She pulled her hand back, studying Mary’s perplexed expression.

She smiled. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s not like Master Beau. He’s not rich, and he doesn’t own a single slave.”

“He’s not a Yankee, is he?” Lucretia didn’t like Northerners, though most of her relations were from the North. “I mean, he’s a nice, Southern gentleman, at least?” Lucretia’s gaze wandered back to the wardrobe.

“Yes, he’s Southern. What about you?” Mary asked.

Lucy’s stomach twisted and sank. “I haven’t got a suitor. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” She drew back and turned away from the closet. The sight of as well as the smell that came from the items within was making her tremble inside.

Mary took her hand. “Do you?”

It was a sin to enjoy these pleasures of the flesh, but it was also a sin to lie as well. Her Grandmother Borgia had always said it was better to tell the truth about a thing than to let the lie of it sit in your heart because it was where God looked first. Lucy’s free hand covered her churning stomach, trying to hold tight to the knot that formed there. “I think,” she said, “I think that maybe, sometimes, I do like it.” She needed to sit down. The air suddenly felt too warm and her breath too tight in her chest. “I just wish…” The room seemed to grow dim though sunlight streamed in.

“Lucy?”

“Mary.” Her friend’s face swam before her eyes. “I do believe I am going to faint.”

Lucretia opened her eyes and was staring at the ceiling over Mary’s bed. There was a cool cloth on her head. “You want a drink?” Mary, who sat beside her, asked. Lucretia nodded, sending a quiver of dizziness through her so she had to shut her eyes again. “Can you sit?” Mary held a glass of water and lifted Lucy’s head until she was able to take a few sips. “Are you all right? Are you ill?”

“I’ll be fine. Just need to lie still for a spell.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” She gave Mary’s hand a squeeze. “Just happens sometimes. Why don’t you go see about that baby for us? I only need a minute.”

Mary’s eyes brightened. “I will. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a baby to tend to?”

As soon as Mary was gone Lucretia pulled herself to sitting. Most of the dizziness was fading. I do like it, don’t I? she realized. Her hand gripped the low bedpost as the room threatened to tip again. It was too closed up in here. The room was suffocating her. Lucretia struggled to her feet and staggered to the door.

It was cooler in the hallway. Lucretia leaned against the wall, filling her lungs, trying to slow her heart that pounded so rapidly in her chest. She slid down the wall, crying before her bare bottom reached the floor.

“You’re pathetic.” Elizabeth was suddenly pulling Lucy to her feet from one side. “Get up and quit your tears. I never seen anyone who cries so much as you.”

Mary had hold of Lucretia’s other arm. “She’s sick, Lizzy, that’s all.”

“She’s sick. That’s for certain.”

Lucy didn’t want Elizabeth to hold her, but couldn’t find the mind to pull away. “Let’s go to the back parlor. It’s cool and dark there.” She half walked between the two of them until they reached the parlor and lay her down on the fainting sofa.

With her hands on her hips, Elizabeth looked down at Lucy in disgust. “What he sees in you is beyond me. You’re weak, one of those frail, little women who faints at the swatting of a fly.”

“Lizzy, stop it,” Mary protested. “She is not.”

“How would you know? You’re one of them, too,” Elizabeth sneered. “The Master doesn’t want some weak, little doormat, but he sure as hell wants you, Lucy. I can’t figure it out, but he does. Maybe all the embalming fluid has gone to his head or he’s as crazy as everyone outside these walls says he is.” She huffed a sigh. “You tend to her, Mary. I have better things to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy whispered as the cool and dark eased some of the stress from her.

“For what?”

“Lizzy. She hates me. Now she hates you.”

“Isn’t any love lost between Lizzy and me. Don’t be sorry. She’s mean to everyone who takes Master Beau’s attention from her. She wants him to marry her and he just isn’t the marrying type. Unless he’s fixin’ to marry you.” She gave Lucy an impish smile.

Lucretia failed to find the humor in Mary’s words. “He doesn’t like me, Mary.”

“Sure he does.”

Mary had not been there yesterday morning. Mary had not felt the cold of the air that paled to the icy emotions he’d expressed to her. Mary didn’t know, and Lucy could not believe he cared one bit for her. “Lizzy is right. I’m pathetic and weak.”

“You’re nothing of the sort. I seen you stand up to him. Maybe not on your feet, but in your eyes. I seen it and I dare say Master Beau seen it. That’s why he likes you.”

“Stop saying that! He doesn’t!” Lucy sat up, frustrated. “There is nothing between us.” Lucretia straightened her shoulders and gave Mary a steady stare.

Giggles erupted from Mary. “Pathetic and weak, you ain’t.”

Lucretia realized how she now stood and acted. A smile touched her lips.

“Come on, we should finish our chores before Lizzy reports that we’re in here napping or, worse yet, treating each other to female pleasures without the Master’s permission.”

Lucretia had relaxed a little, “What of the baby?”

Mary’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes. Come see. He’s adorable and brown as chocolate.”

“But Rose isn’t colored.”

“And likely why she ended up here.” They headed down the hall hand in hand. “Abby said the baby will be fine. She’s sent word to the wet nurse down the road just in case. We’ll have to see what Master wants to do when he gets back tonight.”

The infirmary was too quiet. “What about Rose?” Lucretia had only to look at the mother to get her answer. She was alive but her skin was white and waxy. Her eyes, half-shut, clearly saw nothing. Her swaddled newborn son nuzzled hungrily against her breast, held in place more by pillows and blankets than the arms that had been wrapped around him in a false embrace.

“She won’t last the night,” someone outside Lucy’s focus said.

All Lucretia’s attention was on the mother. Lucy sat and covered Rose’s frozen fingers with her warm ones. She remembered her own mother very much like this once. It was a gray, fuzzy memory, and there had been no baby, just blood. There was blood on the sheets every day and someone came to pack the wound, she was told. Lucretia could not have been more than five years old at the time. After that, her father had become the man she had grown to fear more than love. She thought of Dr. Addams in that moment and realized that maybe he, too, had lost more than a wife. Maybe that is what made him so harsh and unfeeling now. She had tried desperately as a little girl to reach her father’s tender side. But her father had never been the same. It didn’t matter he had a daughter. He’d lost his boy.

“We need to get to work on Mistress Vivianne’s tea set,” Mary’s voice spoke barely above a whisper.

The two of them were busy polishing on the back stoop of the kitchen when Dr. Addams returned from town. The day had warmed considerably leaving the evening just right. With lanterns hung high, it made for an almost pleasant task outdoors. Dinner simmered just inside and bread baked in the oven. Rose had died late that afternoon without ever really seeing or acknowledging her son. As soon as he had arrived home, Dr. Addams had been told the news.

It was a quiet evening in the house. Although none of them really knew Rose, feelings of sadness and respect for the dead lingered over the house and its occupants. She would be buried in the slave’s cemetery in the morning, and the baby had already been sold to the neighbor. Melissa would tend to the child throughout the night and take it away first thing in the morning. “This is no place for a child,” Lucy heard Master Beau say.

“You see,” Lucretia pointed out as nightfall settled over the Addams house. “He never spoke to me once tonight. Not once.”

“If he means so little to you, why do you care? I’d think you’d want him to pay you no mind and leave you alone.”

“I do.”

Mary muttered an unconvinced sound and rolled to her back. “Go to sleep, Lucy. Tomorrow Miss Vivianne will arrive. We’re going to need a good night’s sleep.” Lucy turned her back to Mary and closed her eyes.

After breakfast, Mary and Lucy were sent upstairs to clean the front windows. With hot water and rags, they scrubbed, both keeping a watchful eye on the long, stone driveway. They could see nearly the full length of it from up here. Finally, it came, a dark spot at the end of the road that grew more defined as their cleaning rags moved ever slower against the glass. Soon they could hear the rumble of the carriage wheels and the clomping of the horse’s hooves.

The two girls peeked out the window, drawing back the velvet drapes to see the massive, black coach turn the final bend in the front drive. Clinging to the sides were four men, each dressed in black and red uniforms, like royal footmen for a queen. The driver, a black man, was dressed just the same as the white footmen but with the added touch of a top hat and white gloves. The top of the carriage was heaped with luggage, and two steamer trunks had been tied to the back. Even before the coach stopped, two of the men leaped off. The first one waited by the stone step. The second man placed himself in front of this same step, face down on the ground.

“What is he doing?” Lucy whispered.

“That’s her head footman,” Mary explained. “That’s how he serves her.”

Lucretia was too fascinated by the scene to ask more and continued to stare out the window. As soon as the carriage stopped, the two remaining men dismounted and stood on either side of the door, allowing the first to lower the front steps of the coach and open the door. The second two each held out a hand, waiting for their Mistress to emerge. Lucretia held her breath. She could see the movements of skirts within the dark coach then a white-gloved hand. Next, she spotted the white, fur trim of a dark green cloak. Each man took a hand and, with her head held down, Mistress Vivianne emerged. She stepped squarely on the footman’s back, said something to him and then looked up at the house.

Lucretia gasped. “She’s…”

Mary nodded. “Yes.”

“…gorgeous…”

Vivianne’s hair blazed red in the autumn light, nearly matching the orange-red glow of the surrounding maple trees. A massive amount of hair was tucked up under a small green hat that crowned her head and a spray of colorful bird plumes fluttered from the hat’s side. Some of her red hair had come loose and wisps of it brushed over her porcelain skin. When she glanced up, Lucretia was taken aback by the child-like sweetness of the face that was most definitely on a woman’s body. This could not possibly be the same woman everyone was talking about. Her dimpled smile revealed delicate, white teeth, and the emerald eyes revealed nothing but warmth and charm.

“But she doesn’t look wicked at all,” Lucretia confided. “Look how pretty she is.”

Mary could not help but giggle. “Oh, she’s wicked. You’ll find out. Come on!” Mary drew away from the drape, “Let’s hurry to see her come in.” She took Lucy by the hand, and together they ran down the hall and to the back stairs just as fast as they could. As they reached the spot behind the front staircase, but not in sight of the front door itself, they heard Vivianne enter.

“Beauregard! Beauregard, my dear, I’ve arrived!” The voice was loud and strong and as sure of itself as any voice, male or female, that Lucretia had heard. “Go fetch your Master, child. And someone help my boys with the luggage. I do hope my bath is ready. The roads are absolutely wretched and don’t even get me started on the condition of that train station you all have. Beauregard!” she called again. “Where is that sweet man? Did you make sure to use the lavender oil? Ah, darling!”

“Vivianne!” The doctor’s voice burst from somewhere near the top of the stairs. Mary and Lucretia peered carefully around the corner to see what was happening.

Vivianne had removed her gloves and was reaching out to kiss Dr. Addams on each cheek then gave him a hug, holding his hands as she stepped back to look at him. “You are just as handsome and wicked looking as ever, dearest.” She kissed him again, obviously delighted to be in his company.

“Not nearly as wicked as you,” he said with a grin and kissed her bare hand.

“Flattery will get you almost anything.”

“I keep trying.” He took her arm in his, and together they mounted the stairs.

Vivianne’s entourage followed, loaded down with luggage. Gay laughter echoed down the stairs. “And I keep turning you down.”

“I thought you said she traveled light?” Lucy asked.

“Isn’t she something?” Mary stepped back. Lucretia remained just as she was with the most unpleasant expression on her face. “What’s the matter? Why, Lucy, you’re jealous!” Mary practically beamed.

“I am no such thing! She can have him and his whips.” She stood. “I don’t care if they are lovers.”

“They aren’t. Though rumor is they were years ago. They’s too much alike. Mistress would never let Master dominate her though they do tease each other about it. You’ll see.” She clasped Lucy’s hand, “We should hurry back upstairs and finish the windows before we get caught.”