They laboured to roll one of the massive barrels down a long, gradual ramp. At the foot of the ramp, a line of five low, open wagons waited to be loaded. Other men stood by the wagons, soothing the mules or oxen harnessed to them. At the foot of the ramp, a thickset man with freckles upon his deep brown skin directed the loading of barrels.
In the other direction, Frank knelt, consulting a woman of colour in her middle years. The woman’s ragged calico dress had bloodstains at the waist, but Jane did not think the stains were hers.
She swallowed and smoothed the folds of her dress. “Jove? Can your outrider manage the horses without you?”
“Yes, madam.”
Pointing to the woman who staggered in circles, Jane said, “Help her into the carriage and then follow me.” Clenching her jaw, Jane strode towards the hill.
Doing so required her to pass close to Mr. Pridmore’s group. He had turned to meet Vincent and seemed to be smiling at him. “Of course, but we have to save the stock first.”
“The rum does not have precedence here.” Vincent’s hands were clenched behind him.
“Your liberality is to be honoured, but there are practical matters to running an estate. If Captain Caesar is to sail with the tide, we need to get the stock to his ship quickly. Let me do my job without interference.”
“You forget whose estate this is. My apologies, Captain Caesar, but we have wounded people.” The man he addressed was a black African with a long narrow nose that put Jane a little in mind of Ibrahim from the ship.
The part of her mind that was desperate to think of anything except the gruesome details of the scene wondered if the captain was Somalian and if his ship was bound for Africa or somewhere else.
Pridmore cut in before Captain Caesar could answer. “We’ll send them back to their homes as soon as we’re done here. Everybody will get the day off tomorrow, but we have to get the rum out before we lose it.”
Then Jane was past them, and the screaming drowned out Vincent’s reply. Frank looked up as she approached. His cravat was missing, and blood flecked the cuffs of his shirt. For a moment he did not seem to recognise her, then his face cleared and he looked past her to Vincent. “Thank God.”
The person he knelt by was identifiable as a woman only by her dress. The skin on the right side of her body was raw and weeping and her ear was completely gone. Jane had to cover her mouth to keep from being sick on the spot. Swallowing heavily, she gestured to the carriage. “I thought you could put the worst of the wounded in the carriage and send them to the great house directly.”
“Good.” He turned to the woman beside him. “Ellen, help me get Kate into the carriage.”
Ellen moved to the woman’s feet, which were bare and swollen with blisters. “It goin’ hurt her more.”
He nodded grimly and slid his hands under Kate’s shoulders, provoking fresh cries of anguish.
Jane took an involuntary step back; then she braced herself and stepped forward again. “What should I do?”
“Secure some wagons for us. While Mr. Hamilton has Pridmore occupied, you can cow the wagon driver into obeying.” He looked across to Ellen. “On three.”
Together they lifted the shrieking woman from the ground. Jane followed, feeling utterly useless, but she had to acknowledge that in her state, she could not carry anyone. The sound dragged the attention of one of the wagon drivers towards them, and he stared at Frank and Ellen as they carried the woman to the carriage. He did not see Jane until she cleared her throat.
The freckled man stared at her in some surprise and jerked his hat off his head, revealing a frizz of black hair around a bald brown pate. “Ma’am?”
“We need to transfer the wounded to the great house. Bring your wagon around to the hill.”
“I—um.” He glanced to the cluster of men. “I have orders from Mr. Pridmore.”
“And I am the master’s wife, on an errand from him. I am afraid that his orders overturn Mr. Pridmore’s.”
“I goin’ need to ask him.”
If he asked, Pridmore would say “no” at best. Jane bit the inside of her cheek in vexation. “You must see the desperate need these people are in. Surely your compassion alone tells you what is right.”
“Compassion don’t nothing to do with it. Ah have orders.”
Jane turned her face away so the frame of her bonnet would hide her distress. The view of the thickset man was replaced by the smoke-covered yard, and across it, the carriage. Frank and Ellen had help from Jove now to load the wounded, but the carriage could hold no more than four. Why had Frank thought she could sway this man when he could not?
Because she was white. Jane swallowed and lifted her chin. Then she would be white. She turned back to the man. “What is your name?”
“My—um. Silas.”
“Silas.” She thrust her stomach at him like the prow of a ship-of-the-line, using every weapon at her disposal. “You will release these wagons or I promise that I will let the master know who left me standing in the heat and argued with me.”