Chapter Eleven
The inside of the house was even grander than the outside. The foyer was a grand atrium, open to every room on the ground floor and the top floor wrapped around the atrium in a square. The fine furnishings were all either white, sky blue or wicker. The house was so bright and airy. It was difficult to believe that it was winter. In England, it would be dark, the fires would be lit in every room and the temperature would be lower than freezing.
A Negro woman exited one of the rooms carrying a broom. She wore a maid’s uniform and her ebony coloured hair was covered by a white cap. She had a small smile on her face which quickly disappeared when she saw her ropable mistress gasp.
“Nora, how many times must I tell you to stay out of the front rooms between the hours of eight and six?” she asked exasperatedly. “The same rule applies for all of you!”
Maggie was puzzled. How could a maid possibly clean a house if she wasn’t able to be in the room during the day? Montrose’s housemaids were very discreet and cleaned rooms when they were not occupied.
“Begging your pardon, Mistress,” Nora said apologetically.
Joanna merely sighed and frowned, letting all who were witnessing the conflict know how seriously displeased she was. “Don’t let it happen again. Just remember that Mr Lavelle feeds your two bastards.”
Maggie’s eyes widened as Nora’s bottom lip trembled before she nodded once. Nora clearly had children and Joanna had just threatened them. Did she mean that if Nora did not comply with the rules her children would not be fed?
“Ah, Nora.” Isaac arrived beside them, pulling one of the trunks behind him. Max immediately retreated to fetch another. “How are you? How are the boys?”
Maggie couldn’t help but feel relieved at Isaac’s kind approach to Nora. He seemed genuinely interested in her and her children.
“Good, sir,” Nora replied to Isaac, speaking warmly. “The boys are good as well.”
“Glad to hear it,” Isaac replied. “Now, let me introduce you to my daughter, Miss Maggie.” He held his arm out to Maggie, motioning for her to come forward. “You will be attending to her for the duration of her stay.”
“Hello, Miss Maggie,” Nora said politely.
“Good day,” Maggie replied, smiling.
“I’m going to help Max carry the rest of the trunks in. Jo, perhaps you’d like to show Maggie to her room?” Isaac urged, giving his wife a look that told Maggie that he wanted to two of them to get along.
Joanna obliged. “Nora, collect Miss Maggie’s trunks once they’re inside. Miss Maggie, follow me, please.”
Joanna led Maggie up the stairs and onto the landing. She selected one of the first doors and led Maggie inside a tastefully decorated bedroom. It was not as large as her bedroom in England, but it was a very beautiful room. Her white bed was positioned in between two open windows which led out onto a balcony. Sheer white curtains hung in front of the windows and a soft white rug was positioned on top of the timber floor. There was a white fire place on the right wall and a plush settee sat in front of it. It was quaint, homely and comfortable.
“Will it do?” Joanna asked, standing beside her bed.
“Yes, it is wonderful,” Maggie replied sincerely. She took a deep breath and decided to make peace with Joanna. They had only known each other for a few minutes but it was clear that Joanna felt uneasy about Maggie’s presence in her home. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here, Mrs Lavelle,” she said gratefully.
Joanna arched one perfect brow. “Oh, I’m not allowing you to stay here,” she snapped. “My husband is allowing you to stay here.”
Maggie was quite taken aback and Joanna’s abrasive retort. “Your husband is my father,” she said slowly.
Joanna smiled as if she pitied her. “Maggie, only a quart of your blood is pure. The rest belongs to a foreign whore who seduced a silly boy. Do not behave as if we are family. You will just be embarrassing yourself.”
For the next few minutes Maggie willingly forgot her governess taught manners and let her mouth run. “Now, you listen, lady,” she retorted angrily. “I belong to one of the wealthiest families in England, I was a debutante before the Queen last summer and I have been properly educated. I am not some sort of child that you can order around.” Maggie wanted to say ‘slave’ but she would not have felt right saying it. “I understand that having your husband’s child in your house is difficult and I understand that this is not your idea of a happy Christmas but do not ever speak of my mother like that again!” Her chest was heaving and she was shaking with anger.
Maggie was suddenly filled with regret. She did not regret defending her mother’s memory but everything else could have been worded more politely. She braced herself for Joanna to announce that she was returning to England on the next available ship.
But Joanna didn’t say that. Instead, she smiled coyly. “You have a spine,” she murmured. “Good, I don’t like dealing with brownnosers.”
Maggie was utterly confused.
“I don’t like the idea of you, child,” she admitted, “and I certainly don’t like the idea of presenting my husband’s bastard into Southern society but what can I do?”
She could stop calling Maggie a bastard for one. Maggie kept that thought to herself.
“I suggest that you keep your mouth shut, child,” she continued. “Keep your head down and your opinions to yourself. The people we socialise with can make you sweat like a sinner in church.”
Maggie would have a hard time following those rules as Joanna had just witnessed. “I did not ask for Mr Lavelle to find me, Mrs Lavelle,” she said, sounding calmer this time.
“Neither did I,” muttered Joanna, “but some things can’t be helped.” Joanna subtly touched her stomach, alluding to her inability to have a child. “Our Christmas party is this evening. Wear whatever you’ve brought that’s most appropriate. Nora will assist you. Smile and speak only when spoken to. Isaac may believe that this is a good idea, Maggie, but I’m not so ignorant. There is every chance that you will be laughed off the plantation.”
Maggie couldn’t help but feel that this was what Joanna wanted. She would show her. Maggie wasn’t one to give up. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ever been laughed or sneered at because of her appearance.
“And for God’s sake, do not do any of the aforementioned things in front of my nephew,” she added just as she was leaving.
She was not allowed to speak to her nephew or express an opinion? Were such evils offensive to the man? He did not sound like someone that Maggie wanted to be associated with anyway!
Just as Joanna was about to leave, Nora appeared. “Pardon me, Mistress,” she said politely, making way for Joanna. Joanna merely huffed and passed Nora rudely. Nora stood beside Maggie’s two trunks and she looked quite exhausted.
Maggie felt incredibly guilty for allowing the poor woman to lug the trunks up the stairs. She immediately rushed over to assist Nora in pulling the trunks inside the room. Nora looked very grateful for the help. Together, they set the trunks at the end of the bed.
“Ignore the mistress,” Nora said quietly, smiling subtly, “for she has her nose so high in the air she could drown in a rainstorm.” She chuckled quietly to herself.
“I do not often make a good impression,” Maggie admitted sheepishly.
“Well, neither does she,” mused Nora, “as you well know. The mistress could start an argument in an empty house. Besides, I like you already, Miss Maggie,” Nora said, winking, “and I ain’t never said that to a white woman before.” Again, she chuckled to herself.
“I’m not white, though,” Maggie corrected, unsure if she was being rude or not. She had never conversed with anyone darker than her before, not including her mother, of course.
“Between you and me, I’d take cinnamon over sugar in my coffee any day,” she whispered comically.
Maggie realised she was referring to her skin colour. She’d never been compared to a cinnamon stick before, and she quite liked it. She thought it quite humorous. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Maggie Swift.” She then realised that she was supposed to be calling herself Lavelle. “Lavelle,” she added quickly, “Maggie Swift Lavelle.”
“I know exactly who you are, Maggie Swift.” She grinned. “We all do. We’re all excited to meet the new mistress if the plantation, the heiress to us all.”
Nora was a slave. That saddened Maggie greatly. But her spirits were high, that had to mean that she was well treated. “But I’m Nora Easton. It’s a pleasure to meet you, honeybee.”
“Do you enjoy –” Maggie was going to say working but she was not being paid, “– residing here at the Lavelle Cotton Plantation, Miss Easton?”
“It’s just Nora, sweetheart, and yes I do. Your daddy is a good master and he takes care of us well. Much better than his old man did.” She frowned angrily and shook her head. “I was only a girl then but I saw some horrible things. Thank the Lord his son grew up good.”
Maggie remembered Joanna mentioning Nora’s bastards. “And you have children?” she prompted carefully.
“Oh, yes I do,” she said proudly. “Two boys. Anthony is seven and Albert is six. They’re not old enough to work yet so they just play around the grounds. There’s a beautiful oak tree down by the fields that they adore climbing.” Maggie thought that the tree sounded like fun. She would have to journey down there and meet the boys. “Come along. Let’s get you unpacked and see if there’s anything in these trunks that you can wear to the party tonight.”
Together, they put away all of Maggie’s clothing. Maggie assembled the miniatures of her family on her bedside table and explained to Nora just who they were.
She also found her stationary and decided to write her parents to let them know that she had arrived safely. She would also provide her mother with a description of Joanna just as she’d requested.
December 23, 1840.
Dear Daddy, Mama, Edward, Georgie & Lizzie,
I have arrived in Georgia and the house and weather are very lovely. It does not snow and it is a welcome change to be able to venture outdoors at Christmastime.
Happy Christmas! I hope you all have a wonderful day and you enjoy Aunt Bess’ cooking. I am sorry I am not there to enjoy her toffee so perhaps you might save me a piece?
Maggie chuckled to herself, knowing that even if a piece was saved, one of her siblings would no doubt find themselves famished one day.
Now to describe Joanna …
Mrs Lavelle is a very dedicated mistress. She seems to be very passionate about the estate and I am sure I will learn several of my future responsibilities from her. She is not at all pretty like you, Mama.
The last part was to appease her mother. While Joanna was, indeed, very attractive, Maggie had always thought from a very young age that her mother was the prettiest lady in the world.
I also have a wonderful maid attending me. Her name is Nora and we have quickly become fast friends.
I miss and love you all dearly. Pass on Max’s love to Uncle Derek, Aunt Rose, Rebecca and Grace.
I am thinking of you always.
Much love,
Maggie.
Maggie folded the letter in half and stashed it in a drawer. She would mail it later when she found some wax and a seal. Even though she and Joanna were somewhat allies, Joanna seemed like the type of person to read her letters as a way of learning necessary information.
Maggie and Nora chatted merrily while Nora fixed Maggie’s hair as best she could. Because she hadn’t slept in rags, her hair was not curly. Apparently, it was fashionable for young women to wear their hair in thick tendrils around their shoulders. Nora pulled Maggie’s hair away from her face and parted her hair down the middle. She fixed it in a neat, yet intricate bun and promised that she would fix her hair in rags ready for the following day.
The bell shaped skirts were very fashionable among Southern society, and the shape was achieved through masses of starched petticoats, at least double the amount that Maggie wore already. Her own gowns were suitable enough and Nora added the necessary petticoats needed to create the proper shape. Nora pulled Maggie’s sleeves down to expose her shoulders and collar bones. Apparently that was fashionable as well. Maggie selected an emerald pendant from the jewellery she had brought with her and she was ready to go downstairs.
“Oh, honeybee, you look finer than a frog’s hair split three times,” Nora gushed, “and don’t you know there’s nothing finer than a frog’s hair.”
Maggie had no idea what she was talking about but she took it as a compliment. “Thank you, Nora,” she said gratefully.
“Go on now,” she encouraged, “I have to go and feed my boys now anyway.”
As Maggie ventured out onto the landing, she encountered Max who had been dressed in an American suit and tie. She still much preferred an English cravat but he did look very dapper. Maggie was sure the clothing had belonged to her Uncle Derek.
“I never thought I would say this but I think I miss my cravat,” he said, laughing lightly. He stopped when he saw Maggie and a wide smile spread across his face. “You look stunning,” he said simply.
Maggie smiled awkwardly. “My hair isn’t right and my dress –”
“Maggie,” he interrupted, “for the love of God, take the compliment.”
Maggie blushed. “Alright, thank you.”
“Good,” he said, sounding satisfied, “now take my arm.” He held out his elbow and grinned devilishly.
Maggie obliged while rolling her eyes. “I shouted at my step mother,” she confessed as they descended the stairs.
“I heard. My room is next to yours and my windows were open as well. I thought your retort was very clever,” he commended.
Maggie groaned. “Clever, maybe, but certainly not mature.”
“And when did a little think like maturity ever plague you,” Max teased.
“Never,” Maggie admitted, “but I do not want Mrs Lavelle to loathe me.”
“Maggie, one can try, but it is simply impossible to loathe someone like you. Impossible.”
The Christmas party was not what Maggie was expecting. It was not a ball like she had expected, but a laissez-faire evening with an abundance of champagne. The doors between rooms were all opened so that there was a wonderful flow between rooms. Around fifty well-dressed Southern Belles and gentlemen were scattered between rooms with glasses of expensive champagne in their hands. There was a violinist in the corner of the sitting room playing soft mood music.
Maggie spied Isaac and Joanna merrily conversing with a couple near the violinist. Not long after Maggie and Max had finished descending the stairs, Isaac had spotted them. He immediately made his way over to her and cleared his throat, capturing the attention of the guests.
“Dear friends, thank you all for being here tonight. We are, of course, celebrating the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we are also gathered to welcome a very special guest to Georgia. Our arrival on time was not guaranteed, but luckily enough we arrived just in time. Friends, she’s travelled a long way to be here with us, from Derbyshire, England, may I present my daughter, and the heiress to the Lavelle Cotton Plantation, Miss Maggie Lavelle.”
To Maggie’s surprise, she received a round of applause from Isaac’s guests. A happy smile spread across her face and she felt very welcomed into a room that she was sure would be hostile.
Isaac took Maggie and Max around to introduce them to several of his friends who were all very kind to Maggie. They were interested in how she came to be in England and they found her accent “adorable”. After twenty minutes, Joanna led Max away as she wanted to introduce him to a young lady.
Maggie was distracted as she watched Joanna bring Max and a young woman together. She smiled at him sweetly and batted her eyelashes in a rather obvious way. She was very small and petite and pretty. She looked like a miniature version of Joanna. Her hair was pale blonde and her eyes were a brilliant blue. Her dress looked very expensive and her extensive petticoats only emphasised her tiny waist. Much to Maggie’s vexation, her skin was also as white as the furniture in Isaac and Joanna’s house.
Was Isaac right? Would Joanna have Max engaged within a week? The small girl would only be interested in Max’s fortune. Nobody could fall in love in a mere week.
That woman was a fortune hunter, the kind her parents had always warned her about. Maggie would have to warn Max, right after she took her dainty hands off of his forearm. She started to grind her teeth in anger. “Who is she?” Maggie asked herself bitterly.
Not knowing that someone had overhead her, she jumped when a masculine voice answered her question. “Miss Janna Sunderland.”
Maggie looked up to the tall man that had appeared beside her. He was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He was large, lean and broad, with a head of thick auburn hair and dark brown eyes. He had a strong, chiselled jaw and an intoxicating gaze.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Janna Sunderland.”
“No, that’s her name. I want to know yours,” he replied teasingly. His smile revealed two very sweet dimples in his cheeks.
Had he only just arrived? He had to have done as Maggie had not seen him in the rooms when she had come downstairs. “Maggie,” she replied. “My name is Maggie.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Maggie,” he said smoothly, taking her hand and placing a suave kiss on her knuckles. “Zachary Kincaid at your service.”
So he was Joanna’s famous nephew. “You as well, Mr Kincaid,” she replied, smiling.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Maggie?” he asked confidently, flashing her a dimpled smile.
Maggie pursed her lips. “There are no dancers,” she pointed out. The guests were only talking amongst each other and enjoying the Lavelle’s champagne supply. There was room in the atrium for dancing but she did not want to stand out.
“So?”
“So I don’t want to give your aunt another reason to dislike me,” she replied.
“Just leave Aunt Jo to me,” he assured her. “Dance with me.” It was not a question. It was an instruction and Maggie felt obligated, and a little excited, to accept.
As Zachary led Maggie into the atrium, she noticed Janna Sunderland whispering something in Max’s ear, something that caused him to laugh. She would speak to Max later. Their rooms were next to each other, after all, perhaps they could speak on the balcony. She would put an end to any Janna Sunderland nonsense … after she danced with Zachary Kincaid, of course.
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And thus, the love square ;) Maggie, Max, Zachary and Janna. And no, Janna and Zachary will not end up together - I'm not going for the obvious fix :P
So the reason this chapter was a few days in the making was because on Saturday I jarred my thumb in the most awkward way. My hand was in my pocket and I pulled it out really quickly and my thumb got caught and it dislocated. My thumb dislocates really easily - it's one of those weird body tricks people can do lol - so if my thumb couldn't dislocate I reckon I would have broken it. Anyway so my hand now has all this bruising in my palm and up my wrist. And to make matters worse, I jarred it again about half an hour ago :P I was getting up off the coach and my thumb jarred again. And my family laughed. Me getting hurt is a source of entertainment in my family. Don't think they're mean. They were sympathetic the first few times but when I walk into a wall or trip over something daily it gets kinda funny. I once cut my hand on something and I was sitting on our couch and my mum goes "DON'T GET BLOOD ON MY COUCH!!" and then a few days later, a new injury and a newly painted wall "DON'T GET BLOOD ON MY WALL!!", and then the same with the rug.
But in the words of Claire Beauchamp, "Jesus H Roosevelt Christ" my thumb hurts lol. By the way, Outlander, get on it! Best TV series :) This week's episode is Claire and Jamie's wedding. It goes live on the internet at 1200 hours this Sunday and I'm counting down the days!!
But I got asked to coach another netball team today so yay! These girls are Grade 3, a year younger than my other girls and I can't wait to start :)
Vote and comment!!