“They tried rebellion in 1736, before my time.” Nkiruka shook her head. “No white blood was shed, so the British only executed nine-and-eighty of us. Now, we keep as many children safe as we can. They grow up in Picknee Town. Some stay there. Others slip out and join the free population, or leave Antigua.”
Though Jane had dozens of questions, another bearing pain gripped her. She clung to Vincent and tried not to make a sound. It was not so bad. No worse than a cramp in the leg, really.
He looked down, face tight with worry. “Are you all right?”
“Please do not ask me that with every bearing pain.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Set me down and let me walk. It eases the discomfort.”
“But you are supposed to be on bed rest.”
“That was to stop labour. We are a bit past that now.”
Frank glanced over his shoulder. “As the father of five, allow me to offer this piece of advice: do whatever she tells you.”
“Of course.” Vincent set her down with exaggerated care.
Nkiruka nudged Jane. “Take his arm, though. You don’t want to fall.”
As they walked along the rough path, Jane was grateful for Vincent’s arm. Looking back at the great house, Jane could now see that the fire near there was separate from the ones in the cane fields. Mr. Pridmore had clearly been busy.
Walking did help with the pains, but her back still felt tight and unpleasant. After two weeks in bed, Jane became quickly fatigued walking on the uneven ground. She disliked requiring help, but if she fell, Vincent would wind up blaming himself somehow. Jane sighed and leaned on Vincent more heavily. She kept her vision on the ground directly in front of her.
So when Vincent stopped dead in his path, she almost stumbled.
In the dark and the smoke, it was hard to make out why they had stopped. Frank knelt in the tall grass next to a cart that had been upset. He lifted his head and his face was terrible. “He is still alive.”
With that, Jane’s vision resolved, and she understood that she was looking at Lord Verbury’s wheeled chair. “What is he doing here?”
“I have no idea. Pridmore must have been bringing him from my house.”
Nkiruka stepped forward and peered over Frank’s shoulder. She gave a startled gasp. “He alive?” She stabbed Frank in the shoulder with a finger. “You knew!”
His shoulders sagged. “Yes … yes, I was aware he was not dead. I am surprised the news had not made its way to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because—because the more people who knew, the more likely the secret was to get out.” Frank shifted the cloth mask. “Can you tell me that you would not have used the information?”
“Of course I would have.”
“And he would have sold my family.”
Vincent looked behind them at the fire. It had gained ground and would overtake this spot. “Can you carry him?”
“Leave him.” Nkiruka spat on the ground. “He poison.”
Vincent and Frank shared a look that was indecipherable, even to Jane. Then Frank sighed heavily and tugged off his cravat. He tied it over Lord Verbury’s eyes in a crude blindfold, then stood, hauling the unconscious man over his shoulder. “Yes. He is poison, but as simple as it would be, we cannot leave him.”
Jane wished it were otherwise. If they had not seen him lying there, and discovered the next day that he had expired in the fire, she would not have mourned. Finding him and leaving him to die in the fire, though, would be murder as surely as if they had used a gun. She did not like it, but she agreed that they could not leave him.
Nkiruka glared at him. “You know what he did to Amey.”
“And to my mother.” Frank shifted the burden higher on his shoulder. “If leaving him were in my nature, he would have been poisoned long ago.”
With no more words, Frank led them off the path to the slave quarters and headed straight across the plateau towards the ravine that divided Greycroft from the Whitten estate. Leaning on Vincent as she was, Jane could feel the horrible tension in his body.
As Frank had said, it was not far from the slave quarters. They had been walking for no more than twenty minutes when the ground in front of them dropped away into a craggy ravine. The land twisted along a graceful curve, showing raw, crumbling earth that fell a good fifty feet or more to a winding stream. The erosion from that stream had clearly widened unsteady soil so that the ravine was on its way to becoming a canyon. No one could view it and think of trying to climb down those soft walls.
It looked utterly real. Nkiruka stopped and glanced at them with a mixture of pride and amusement.
Vincent’s gaze went vacant as he stared into the ether. He shook his head. Then shook it again.
Jane squeezed his arm. “What are you seeing?”
He shook his head a third time and returned to seeing the corporeal world. “Nothing. There is no glamour visible. How is there no glamour visible?”