He followed her with his eyes.
They had gone into the little garden aside the church. Slaves had dropped off foodstuffs at the rectory donated by islanders for the sick and those who cared for them. Claire and Johnnie broke fast on salt-breads and fruits laid out on a table. Rich sweet papaya juice flowed down her chin. She patted it with a clean cloth and laughed at her indiscretion, a secret joke to share with an infatuated young Johnnie. Claire used that same cloth to wipe the crumbs off Johnnie’s face. He sat there grinning like a foolish child. She weaved her spells around every man. Devon felt a dull pain in his hand and looked down to see his nails digging into the palm of his closed fist.
Two weeks into the plague, Claire had overslept arriving at the hospital later than everyone else. She observed Lily quietly working with the blond-haired slave named Ames, the one she had been so taken with that day on the docks. Ames whispered something to Lily. To Claire’s complete consternation, the look on her cousin’s face entirely transformed. As Ames’s steady gaze appraised her cousin in silent expectation, Lily beamed. Gone was the austere, non-indulgent, practical Lily. Claire did not know what to think. In the corner she saw Cookie unleash orders with that hefty Bloodsmythe fellow. He followed her around all dewy-eyed like a great big hulking puppy. What on earth was going on beneath her nose?
At last, her eyes fell on her quarry, exactly where she knew he would be at this hour. He sat reviewing a list next to the altar, making adjustments with his quill. She bit her tongue, putting up with Devon’s snubbing and innuendos long enough. She stood prepared to do battle. In fuming silence, she stalked past Lily and Cookie, stopping inches from him.
“What is it?” Devon leaned back on a cane chair, his black hair rumpled and falling over his forehead in an untidy fashion. He looked tired, his eyes had lines beneath them, and his mouth formed an impatient scowl. “What is it?” he repeated and glared at her.
Claire put her hands on her hips.
“Are you feeling well, doctor? Perhaps you are exhausted?” she said sweetly. His struggles were not lost on her. He did not know how to react.
“Thank you for your concern, Madame Hamilton.” He clearly enunciated each word, and in doing so lost some of the musicality of his Irish lilt. He regarded her with a deceptively lazy stare.
She let out a satisfied sigh. “I wanted to make sure your health is fine, whatever it takes to protect my investment.”
Claire heard his indrawn breath, saw his dark lashes sweep down to veil his glittering eyes. But when he straightened his demeanor was formal. “Good day, Madame.” He rose and left her.
When he was gone, Lily set down a bucket of water. “You shouldn’t toy with him. Your baiting him could come to a bad end.”
Claire folded clean linens, surprised to find that she was smiling. “I’m well aware of that. But the rewards far outweigh the risks. To provoke him is to repay him for his lack of civility.”
Lily gave her a hard look. “Do you dare taunt a caged lion? Do you see the way he looks at you, Claire?”
“He looks at me?” Claire asked. “I haven’t noticed him looking at me. He’s barely spoken a word to me.”
“He looks at you. He watches you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lily.” Claire moved across the room and knelt on the floor next to Johnnie. Working together, Claire had built an easy friendship with the young slave. She shook her head, realizing the circumstances of disease and death, vanished social mores. Strange to feel at home with Johnnie’s company.
“Johnnie,” she said, “Isn’t it strange that Dr. Blackmon should show kindness to most but others he seems to−” She did not want to say it aloud, nor did she desire to admit how Devon brought out the worst in her.
Johnnie stood up with the bucket in hand. “Dr. Blackmon? He’s always going out his way for people. You don’t believe it? Madame Hamilton, I could tell you stories...and I know, too, seeing as I’ve known him for the past year. You’ll never meet a better a man. I have to fetch some fresh water.”
Claire was silent, digesting Johnnie’s words. “I’ll go with you.” She held out her hand and Johnnie pulled her to her feet. They were high praises from a young man like Johnnie who wouldn’t be afraid to speak his disapproval to her. “Really? He seems otherwise to me.”
“Well you just don’t know him real well. He took care of us in the gaol, then during the crossing, even a couple weeks back, he saved me from a whipping by your uncle, taking on the master’s wrath to earn a whipping himself. It was last minute orders from the governor that saved him from harm. But he saved me nonetheless, and I won’t forget him for it.”
Claire mulled over that bit of information. Devon had sacrificed himself?
He had complete respect of the rebel-convicts. He had emerged as their leader. That could be menacing and dangerous if they collaborated. They walked outside and pumped fresh water into the bucket from an open well. Johnnie jerked the bucket. Water spilled over the rim onto the stone walk at the exact spot where Claire set her foot. With a cry, she skidded and would have fallen, but Johnnie caught her arm and held her erect, upsetting the bucket and dumping all of the water. Claire, supported by Johnnie’s solid arm, turned to meet his eyes, a combination of surprise and laughter widening her own. They stared at each other for an instant and then amusement defeated dismay. They started to giggle, then laugh, Johnnie still supporting her, each lost in the merriment of the moment encouraged by their absurd position.
All but the ill, stopped and stared. In the middle of this exuberant scene, Devon looked up from his labors. He scrutinized the pair, his annoyance increased as he advanced toward them. When he spoke, his voice was laced with sarcasm.
“This is a charming little scene. Claire, I had no idea you would find a slave’s life so amusing.” Claire stood immobilized. Johnnie removed his hand from her arm.
“We had a little accident, is all, Doctor Blackmon,” he explained. “Madame Hamilton slipped on the water.”
“That is amusing,” Devon replied with bitter irony.
Claire stared at him. “There is nothing of it and nothing improper to find a little humor in this terrible devastation.” She kept her voice confident, asserting the objection in her reply. Bitterness and anger rested in his voice, a dramatic departure from the frigid formality of the past few days.
Claire lifted her nose in the air. “I think you presume too much.” She dared him, intimating he was getting above himself. She walked past him. “You’ve taken command of the whole hospital. Has your new kingdom gone to your head?”
Startling her, he grabbed her arm and propelled her into the sacristy, closing the door behind them. Claire attempted to wrench away from his impossible grip. Her heart thundered at the anger she provoked in him. The silence grew oppressive. Light spilled from a stain-glassed window, heating the stone floor with a golden iridescence, back-lighting his powerful frame. Devon lifted his gaze, coolly regarding her. “You have a problem, Madam. You maintain a predilection for collecting men.”
“You twist and distort, perverting everything with your own foul mind. I can see it is no use to go any further. If you’ll excuse me.”
