To England, With Love

Preamble

Kingston, Jamaica ~ August 1818

"Bella, my dear, I'm sorry. Alas, this was no way to tell you, but we must move with the utmost speed to catch the Thalia," Edmond whispered very quietly to her.

They both faced the opposite sides of each other in the hallway; of course they had to be very careful. Someone was out for her life and the life of her family.

Tears streamed down her face in rivulets, her day dress suffocating her more than usual, however she quickly bit down on her slender cheek to keep a sob from escaping her strangled throat noisily; partly because of training, partly because of the caution times deemed necessary.

She nodded, "Must I pack, Edmond?" Before quickly adding, "For the night of course."

She couldn't risk the dreaded ears and eyes that she was sure roamed the vast halls of the Wilton Plantation; those same pair of ears and eyes, she was sure, had her father plucked from his study early in the tropical morn, carried to the magistrate for treason (albeit in his early years as a privateer) and murdered.
At the recollection, a fresh batch of tears brimmed Bella's eyes.

She had only known the man for a little over nine years, but he was a kind man; a brave man. No coward would willingly own up to a black child and take a black wife.

Not willing to waste another useless moment after Edmond's affirmation and snappy bow to her in salutation, Bella scurried down the plethoric number of halls in the Wilton Plantation until she arrived at her chambers.

"Afua, Ashanti, please, attend me. Please," Bella rushed out in one breath along with a straggled sob as soon as she had gripped the door of her boudoir. Immediately, two African women rushed from their adjoining quarters to attend Bella. From her desperate plea, they knew their Mistress was distressed.

"Milady, what is 'di matter?" Afua implored in broken English, her quiet marron eyes gently probing Bella; obviously her frantic behaviour, questioned; especially after the hardcore drilling of acceptable English ladylike manners and attitude that her father had ensured she received from the best: ballet, speech, literature, music, Latin, French, math and manners tutors in all of the Caribbean within the space of nine years and some.

"Oh Afua!" She cried out in African tongue, "Wamewaua Papa! Asubuhi hii. Bila Ulinzi wake, hakika, wao kuua Mama na I." <<"They have killed Papa! This morning. Without his protection, surely, they will kill Mama and I.">>

Ashanti rebuked her soundly, "Upuuzi wa watoto, kwa nini kusema uchungu ni kweli? Je, unajua?" <<"Nonsense child, why do you speak horrors so? How do you know?">>

"Edmond aliniambia mchana huu baada ya chai. Kuna Liza katika kaya yetu, ambayo imeonyesha hakimu ushahidi kuwa Papa alifanya baadhi biashara haramu na Kihispania Pwani Guard na Uholanzi katika siku yake mdogo Privateer!" <<"Edmond told me this afternoon after tea. There is a Liza in our household, that has shown the magistrate evidence that Papa did some illegal trade with the Spanish Coastal Guard and the Dutch in his younger privateer days!">>

Even though she was a proper quasi-British lady now, Bella was no alien to the Swahili tongue or tales; the use of "Liza" being a woman in African folklore, who spoke too much and was often told to kibba yu mout'.

Both slave maids widen their eyes to the certain horrors that were to come. Lord Wilton was the kindest plantation owner Jamaica had ever seen, and beyond his death, there will be no other, only wicked tyrants who would beat and starve slaves daily.

Nonetheless, Afua's steady gaze held Bella's. "What yu want us fi do, Milady?"

Bella took a cleansing breath, "I was instructed to pack all of my belongings to arrive at one of Papa's ships near to the Port Royal docks; his last vocal was for me to be sent to England to stay with his friend, the Duke of Devonshire, I believe it is."