giddy with relief. This was the best news I’d had since I left Heaven.
You see Mel, I told myself, the simple approach is often the best!
Suddenly aAteeny worm of doubt crept in. “I expect she lives a long way away, doesn’t she?”
“If we’re talking about the same person, she lives here at Fruitful Vale. But I don’t think it can be the same Lola.” Brice sounded really cagey but this clue passed me by.
“No, it is. It has to be,” I burbled. “Can you take me to her?”
“I don’t think I can, no,” he said, to my dismay. “In any case, I don’t think Lola would want visitors.”
“Why ever not?”
He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Before you arrived from England, Lola was accused of stealing from the kitchen. My uncle has strong opinions about stealing. The overseer gave her a beating.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “No, no, sorry, we’re getting our wires crossed. This Lola’s an - a - very proud person.” I was so completely freaked by Brice’s words that I’d almost said “angel”! “Lola doesn’t steal from kitchens,” I added firmly.
Brice swallowed. “To my uncle she is just another thieving slave.”
There was a sudden humming in my ears. The dusty mill yard, with its feverish activity, wobbled like a mirage. “She can’t be a slave!” I whispered. “Lola’s not even African!”
I immediately wanted to bite my tongue off. What a dumb thing to say. Like, if she’d been pure African it would be perfectly OK to beat her like a dog.
Brice gave his painful laugh. “One drop of African blood is enough to condemn someone to a life of slavery. I heard an entertaining debate between my uncle and an English vicar who’d recently arrived in Jamaica. They were trying to decide whether Africans have souls. I suggested it would be more educational to find out whether plantation owners have souls.”
“I have to see her,” I told him shakily. “It’s vitally important!” Horror was pulsing through me in waves. While I’d been lolling around convalescing, my friend had been suffering the worst humiliation Planet Earth had to offer.
Brice sounded despairing. “Lola was sold a few days ago.”
My heart almost stopped with fright. “She’s GONE! But you said—”
“I meant there’s absolutely no point you going to see her. Lovey is driving her over to St Mary’s first thing tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes in relief. She was still here. I’d just got here in time.
I caught hold of Brice’s seventeenth century sleeve. “Take me to her. Take me now !” I must have sounded mad.
“I can’t. My uncle could come back at any moment. He would be extremely displeased if—”
“I don’t CARE!”
Bruce looked suspicious. “Forgive me, but what exactly is so important about this piece of sewing?”
I grabbed at the first excuse that came into my head. “I, um, lost heaps of weight while I was ill. I’ve got this gorgeous dress for the Christmas party and now it totally won’t fit. I need Lola to alter it before she goes.”
Brice looked disgusted and I didn’t blame him. He must have thought I was turning into one of those ugly Europeans before his eyes. But he nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”
The slave huts had been built as far as possible from the main house, behind a natural screen of coconut palms. The huts were thatched with palm leaves, and looked - and smelled - completely squalid. Garbage lay rotting everywhere. Probably the inhabitants didn’t have the heart to clean up.
There was unexpected beauty though, even in this depressing little village. The garden plots where slaves grew their own fruits and vegetables glowed with life and colour. I could literally feel the love and care that went into them.
An old man crouched outside his hut, tying up a flowering vine that had come away from its stake. “Massa,” he mumbled.
His eyes followed us resentfully as we walked past. I could feel other pairs of eyes watching from the dark, strong-smelling
You see Mel, I told myself, the simple approach is often the best!
Suddenly aAteeny worm of doubt crept in. “I expect she lives a long way away, doesn’t she?”
“If we’re talking about the same person, she lives here at Fruitful Vale. But I don’t think it can be the same Lola.” Brice sounded really cagey but this clue passed me by.
“No, it is. It has to be,” I burbled. “Can you take me to her?”
“I don’t think I can, no,” he said, to my dismay. “In any case, I don’t think Lola would want visitors.”
“Why ever not?”
He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Before you arrived from England, Lola was accused of stealing from the kitchen. My uncle has strong opinions about stealing. The overseer gave her a beating.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “No, no, sorry, we’re getting our wires crossed. This Lola’s an - a - very proud person.” I was so completely freaked by Brice’s words that I’d almost said “angel”! “Lola doesn’t steal from kitchens,” I added firmly.
Brice swallowed. “To my uncle she is just another thieving slave.”
There was a sudden humming in my ears. The dusty mill yard, with its feverish activity, wobbled like a mirage. “She can’t be a slave!” I whispered. “Lola’s not even African!”
I immediately wanted to bite my tongue off. What a dumb thing to say. Like, if she’d been pure African it would be perfectly OK to beat her like a dog.
Brice gave his painful laugh. “One drop of African blood is enough to condemn someone to a life of slavery. I heard an entertaining debate between my uncle and an English vicar who’d recently arrived in Jamaica. They were trying to decide whether Africans have souls. I suggested it would be more educational to find out whether plantation owners have souls.”
“I have to see her,” I told him shakily. “It’s vitally important!” Horror was pulsing through me in waves. While I’d been lolling around convalescing, my friend had been suffering the worst humiliation Planet Earth had to offer.
Brice sounded despairing. “Lola was sold a few days ago.”
My heart almost stopped with fright. “She’s GONE! But you said—”
“I meant there’s absolutely no point you going to see her. Lovey is driving her over to St Mary’s first thing tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes in relief. She was still here. I’d just got here in time.
I caught hold of Brice’s seventeenth century sleeve. “Take me to her. Take me now !” I must have sounded mad.
“I can’t. My uncle could come back at any moment. He would be extremely displeased if—”
“I don’t CARE!”
Bruce looked suspicious. “Forgive me, but what exactly is so important about this piece of sewing?”
I grabbed at the first excuse that came into my head. “I, um, lost heaps of weight while I was ill. I’ve got this gorgeous dress for the Christmas party and now it totally won’t fit. I need Lola to alter it before she goes.”
Brice looked disgusted and I didn’t blame him. He must have thought I was turning into one of those ugly Europeans before his eyes. But he nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”
The slave huts had been built as far as possible from the main house, behind a natural screen of coconut palms. The huts were thatched with palm leaves, and looked - and smelled - completely squalid. Garbage lay rotting everywhere. Probably the inhabitants didn’t have the heart to clean up.
There was unexpected beauty though, even in this depressing little village. The garden plots where slaves grew their own fruits and vegetables glowed with life and colour. I could literally feel the love and care that went into them.
An old man crouched outside his hut, tying up a flowering vine that had come away from its stake. “Massa,” he mumbled.
His eyes followed us resentfully as we walked past. I could feel other pairs of eyes watching from the dark, strong-smelling
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