She might have been desperate enough to believe them, if they’d managed to look her in the eye while making these claims. And if the assurances weren’t identical, down to the word.
They all advised her to go home and stop worrying, and genuinely seemed to believe there was no cause for concern.
Despite their assurances, Viv’s anxiety ratcheted higher with each failed interview. If Quentin were fine, he would have communicated with her by now. Something was wrong. She knew it.
Viv would stop worrying when she found him.
After there were no more friends to interview, she resorted to acquaintances, then prior haunts. Each stop was less enlightening than the last. When she found herself knocking on the door of the barber who’d helped pull one of Quentin’s milk teeth after an infection nine years ago, Viv finally conceded defeat.
Despite how thoroughly she’dthoughtshe had chronicled his life, neither her brain nor her book were leading her to Quentin.
At home, the little leaf was right where she’d left it.
Full-on panic set in.
Annoyed or not, Quentin wouldn’t do this to her. Viv’s affectionate puppy of a cousin was either horribly injured, or in mortal danger… or dead.
The worst part was, she wasn’t overreacting. She’d seen firsthand the lethal consequences to rule-breaking and good intentions.
Life on the Demerara sugar plantation had been a living hell. Ofcourseall of the enslaved residents wanted to rise up against their supposed masters and fight for independence. They also knew exactly what would happen if a momentary flicker of defiance accidentally flashed across their face.
Viv’s mother knew the rules and believed breaking them was a risk worth dying for. At eleven years old, Viv hadn’t truly comprehended that such an unthinkable outcome could really come to pass.
Until it did.
Her brave, desperate mother was hopeful until the very end. She whispered, schemed, planned. A coordinated uprising in three weeks at dawn. Yes, the aristocratic landowners and the cruel overseers who controlled their plantations had guns, but there were dozens of slaves and only a handful of guards. Rifles must be reloaded between shots, which meant they couldn’talldie. Some lucky percentage would get away. Escape to much-deserved freedom.
They never got the chance to try.
The head overseer caught wind of the wrong whisper. He didn’t ask questions. He dragged Viv’s mother by the hair into a clearing in the sugar field and shot her in front of everyone.
Viv couldn’t even say goodbye. One minute, she was working at her mother’s side, humming a favorite song in harmony… and the next minute, her mother’s blood was splattered over her clothes.
They didn’t even let her clean up.Back to work, all of you, lestyou wish to be next to die.
Part of herdidwant to. Eleven years old, no mother or any hope for a better future. If things went “well,” she’d have blistered feet and bleeding hands for decades to come. Mother was right. It was no sort of life to live.
As Viv grew older, the desire for revenge increased within her. Along with an unquenchable yearning for freedom. She kept hoping that one of the adults might pick up her mother’s thread, but no one wished to be made an example of. Mother’s death had been quick, but the overseer promised the next one would not be. Weeks of slow, merciless torture for as long as the rule-breaker’s body still gasped for breath.
When Viv turned eighteen, she was willing to chance it. She’d been born into a life of hell and could not continue. If they all worked together, if they were very, very careful,thistime the rebellion—
Was likewise cut off at the source. Viv was tied to a tree to be publicly tortured until she named her co-conspirators. There was no sense confessing. Her captors would kill her regardless. The only thing to gain was a marginally quicker death—assuming they could be trusted to show mercy. Viv knew better than to trust her “betters.”
If the summons to Lord Ayleswick’s English residence had arrived even a few days later, Viv would not be out of her mind today with worry about Quentin.
She’d be in an unmarked grave, just like her mother. That was what happened when the unprivileged dared to break rules.
From that day forth she swore never to lose another family member to the careless whims of those in power ever again, no matter what sacrifices that might entail. When she became Quentin’s guardian, she vowed to his dying mother to protect her orphaned cousin at all costs.
And if she couldn’t do it on her own, it was time for reinforcements.
Bow Street it was.
She donned her best dress, taking extra special care with her hair. Not out of vanity but because if she wished for an authority figure to take her seriously, she needed every possible advantage.
It didn’t help.
The first Bow Street Runner she’d ever seen in her life shut the door in her face before she’d even finished giving her name.
