Deceived

'Actually, treating our people humanely works to our advantage,' George told the duke. 'They are used to working together, have made themselves into several field crews, and for their own amusement compete against one another. When the harvest is in, we reward them all, the lion's share going to the most productive crew. It's certainly better than working them to death and then having to teach and break in new men. I have four black foremen, a and each of them has trained an assistant. And my clerks are all black men. And another advantage to our way is that since at least three generations of our slaves have been born on St. Timothy, there is no incentive to rebel, and there is no longing for Africa, from whence their ancestors came. St. Timothy is our home, all of us, black and white.'

'How many hours a day do your field slaves labor?' Valerian asked George as they stopped a moment to look over a field that was already half cleared.

'We are in the fields by six o'clock in the morning, and toil until noon when the sun is so vicious. They return to the fields about two o'clock, and stay until sunset.'

'Is there much malingering?'

George shook his head. 'When a field hand goes to the doctor, it is because they are genuinely injured or ill. These are honest people, and their families would not allow them to feign illness.'

'Do many run away?'

'Where would they go?' Aurora said. 'British law says a slave has absolutely no rights. If a black cannot show papers of manumission, it is assumed they are runaways. They are jailed until their owners can be found, and if they are not, they are resold. No one has run from St. Timothy in my memory, for they are safer here, and better treated than anywhere else in the colonies.'

They rode into the fields toward a group of centrally located buildings. The field hands greeted them as they passed them by.

'These buildings house the cane mill as well as the boiling and refining houses,' George explained. 'The cane is cut as close to the ground as possible, the leaves stripped, and then the cane is cut into three- to four-foot lengths, bundled up, and brought to the mill. Within the mill the slaves crush the cane to extract its juices. We then boil the juice, clarify it, and it crystallizes into sugar. We take a little of the molasses, which is what is left after we clarify the cane, and make our rum with it. It's a long, tedious, hot process. Only the strongest men can work here.'

'You make enough rum only for your personal use?'

George nodded.

'Would it be possible to make more rum?' Valerian asked.

'I always wanted to do that!' George said enthusiastically. 'There is a good market for rum outside the islands. We would need to build a facility to bottle it. Papa never wanted to do it, but I think we need to diversify, and build up our resources. If we lost a crop to a hurricane, we would have the means to plant again, and to survive. Papa said we would have to borrow to build, and he wanted no part of the island endangered by moneylenders.'

'Do you have enough slaves to start such a process?' the older man queried the younger. 'Or would it be necessary to buy new slaves?'

'We can train men to oversee the process, but we can use the younger women to do the bottling, Valerian,' George responded. 'Bringing new slaves to the island could cause trouble.'

'I am completely unnecessary to this conversation,' Aurora said suddenly. 'George, you do not really need me now. I am going for a swim before the sun is too high.'

'You swim?' the duke was astounded.

'In the sea,' she told him pertly, and then, turning her horse away, she moved off back through the fields.

'She can really swim?' Valerian asked George.

'Like a fish,' he said. 'Even better than I can, much to my embarrassment. She's a bonny girl, Valerian, and a wonderful companion, if a brother might brag a bit. She can shoot a pistol too.'

'Good Lord!' the duke exclaimed. 'And is Calandra like her?'

George laughed. 'Nay, she is not. Cally dislikes swimming almost as much as she dislikes riding, and the sight of a pistol renders her faint. Yet she is a game girl, and has kept up with the two of us for years. Cally, however, can play the pianoforte, and she sings like an angel. She has a wonderful eye, and paints the most exquisite landscape miniatures. These are talents much more suited to being a duchess, I would assume. They are both wonderful sisters!'

'I had a sister once,' Valerian said as they resumed their ride. 'She was drowned with my parents returning from France. My mother was half French. After her father died, and she was married to my father, my French grandmother returned to her girlhood home. My parents had taken Sophia for a visit. A wicked storm blew up in the Channel even as they were in sight of England. Their ship went down, and all aboard her were lost. Sophia was eight.' He smiled softly. 'I yet remember her, but were it not for her portrait in the family gallery, her face would elude me today. She was a pretty child, and, as I recall, very mischievous. She once drove all the chickens on the home farm out into the fields to free them because she said she could not bear to know they would be eventually eaten. She had a kind heart, my sister.'

George nodded his understanding. 'Cally and Aurora once freed a turtle that was to be used for soup for the same reason,' he said.

The two men rode on, George taking his companion to the top of the gentle hills that divided the island lengthwise. He pointed out the fields, and the old Meredith plantation house that would now belong to Aurora. From their vantage point Valerian could view the entire island, and the sea in which it sat.

'What is that island?' the duke asked. 'It looks quite wild.'

'It's St. Vincent, and is inhabited by the Carib Indians. They do not bother us, nor we them,' George answered. 'They have lost so much to the British, French, and the Spanish, even the Dutch, that they are content to live peaceably as long as they are left to themselves.'

'And where is Barbados?'

George turned. 'You can just make it out today, for it's a bit hazy. St. Timothy is between the two islands.'

Valerian Hawkesworth gazed out over the island. It was like an emerald set on an aquamarine cloth. Above them the bright sun glittered in an azure sky. It was absolutely beautiful in a way he had never known, or even imagined. In a nearby tree he spotted several medium-sized birds. They were teal green with sapphire-blue tails and wing tips. Each had a cap of bright orange, and bone-colored hooked beaks. He pointed toward the small flock, asking George, 'What are they?'

'Tiomoids, a variety of parrot native to this island' was the reply. 'Pretty, aren't they?'

'I've never seen anything like them. Oh, I've seen parrots in England, but usually they're blue and gold, or white. I've never seen any like these.'

'They don't seem to be anywhere else but here,' George said. 'They're harmless. They don't ravage the cane, so we leave them be.'

They returned down the hills, but when they had reached the fields again, a tall, neatly garbed black man came running, calling out to George Spencer-Kimberly.

'What is it, Isaac?'

'You are needed in the counting house, sir. I was sent to find you. Will you come?'

George turned to Valerian. 'I must go. If you would like, tomorrow we can go over the books.'

'Can we not do it this afternoon?' the duke asked.