“Whatever do you mean, my love?” he chuckled, pretending innocence, but Claire grew sickened when she viewed the lustful excitement in his eyes. “Remember−” he leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Lily and Cookie’s lives depend on your cooperation.”
After several days of torment, Teakle ordered their route to be altered. Around midday, the sun rose to its zenith, the wind had quit and the air grew horribly oppressive. They pulled up to a remote structure where several half-naked men toiled in a swamp, digging an irrigation channel. Puzzled, Claire shaded her eyes against the sun’s brightness and looked about. They were gaunt, filthy and sunburned from their heavy labors. Of a sudden, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. A black creature, barely discernible as human was covered in mire. Her heart pounded.
Devon.
His dark hair lay matted to his brow. He was kneeling next to a slave when his gaze fell on her. He froze mid-motion and received the crack of the whip from an overzealous guard. Devon rose and spun around, taking two steps toward the guard, an ugly welt of fresh blood oozed from the mud coating his shirt. Trembling, Claire stared, the blood drained from her face.
“My dear, you look so pale.” Sir Teakle spoke, his wonder dripped with benign charity.
She sat paralyzed as Devon was struck down by two guards, forcing him back to work. “Please, can we leave now?” To say anything in Devon’s defense would bring his death as threatened by her uncle. She had heard of Jarvis’s floggings. Many had not survived.
“Even though the governor is none too particular about the company he keeps, I find it despicable to have rebels at my dinner table,” said Sir Teakle. “Are you ill?”
“No not really, Sir Teakle,” Claire said aghast to see Devon in this condition. Gone was the well-bred gentleman and in his place was a wretched creature, filthy and degraded.
“Good. Because I don’t intend to allow you to escape me any longer. Our betrothal will be announced soon, my dear, don’t you think? Perhaps next month. We’ll make grand wedding plans for next August, I think.”
“August?” Claire barely recognized her own voice.
With his fleshy fingers, he pinched her chin cruelly and pulled her face to his. She shrank away, but he held her firmly, his drooling lips lingered over hers.
“Please don’t do this in front of these men.”
He leaned closer, making it look like they were lovers ready to embrace. Claire closed her eyes nauseated as he whispered to her. “Remember my dear−Lily and Cookie’s lives depend on your complete cooperation. Are we to forget them?”
He released her and laughed. She saw that all the laborers had stopped, an audience to a sadistic play. Devon froze into a stone statue, his green eyes blazing his hatred toward her.
Disaster clutched the island in its hideous dark talons...the cold breath of the grave wreaking its vocation. A yellow flag flew over Port Royale. The governor hailed the cataclysm a catastrophe. Mary cried the tragedy an evil. The clergy heralded the debacle, the end to the world. The townspeople shuttered their doors. The harbor closed. All commerce and visitation halted. Everyone crossed themselves, hoping to evade the Grim Reaper. For Claire, the calamity produced a miracle.
The plague. Smallpox. Rich, poor, young, old, it did not discriminate. The priest used his bully-pulpit, calling everyone forth to give aid where possible. The church evolved into a hospital, flowing with the sick. Since Claire, Cookie and Lily experienced the pox when they were young, they offered their services, working to mend those in need. Some of the healthier islanders retreated inland, isolating themselves while others chose to leave the island. The first to sail out was Sir Teakle.
To Claire’s joy, Sir Teakle’s departure came sweet as the rain at noon. She met him at the door of the great-house, wiping her hands on her apron. She gazed innocently at him. He grew stressed to see her dressed like a common woman.
“I have just come back from doing my Christian duty at the church,” she informed him.
“Good God. You have been working in the house of plague? Are you mad?”
Claire touched his sleeve, congratulating herself on her cunning. His eyes had grown round with horror. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. “It is a terrible contagion, is it not?” She coughed twice to add emphasis.
He backed away from her. “I am departing for England. I had planned to take you with me. I-I’ll return for you as soon as possible.”
“Do not tarry. This illness is bad business. Dreadful, I assure you, one never knows where the pox will strike next.” She looked pointedly at him. “What’s more, the lasting effects stay in the air for an indefinite time. Years some say.”
Her ploy turned him on his heel, fleeing in his carriage in direction of the harbor. The satin coat she touched, torn off and tossed onto the road. That was the last she hoped to see of him.
Claire, Lily and Cookie expended ungodly hours fighting the plague. There were times, Claire thought, as she scanned the ocean of bodies, the hospital would close in on them, eating them all up. A welcomed sight brought relief. A small group of slaves from different plantations, supplied to aid assistance, filed into the hospital, blinking at the virulent devastation before them.
In strode Devon.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He gave her a scorching look.
She refused to let him bother her. But he did. The dreadful things he must think of her. Would he suffer from the pox? Without Jarvis, or any other authority about, he took over the hospital operations.
He did not attempt to address her. Never a, “Good Morning” or “Good Evening” as he was inclined to do with everyone else, disregarding Claire’s inquiries with off-hand nods or short, terse directions. What would it be like to hear him say, “Claire”? He remained determined to disregard her. Why wouldn’t he? She had insulted him, intimating he was not fit for her. Sir Teakle created a monster of an impression. An impression, a man like Devon could never forgive.
Claire shrugged. The damage was done. Besides she could not allow herself to get close to Devon. The unfortunate path would lead to her ruin.
