A shout awakened her. Jane sat up, for a moment thinking she was still on board the ship. She rubbed confusion from her eyes as Vincent stirred awake beside her. Their carriage continued its way up a winding slope. Outside the window, the tall fronds had been cut away in a long stretch of churned dirt. Beside a wall of canes, a group of enslaved Africans worked cutting down the thick stalks. Their machetes rose and fell with a double whick as they cut the top and bottom of the cane.
Near the road, a light brown man held a whip. A darker man knelt, shirtless, in front of him. A line of red trickled from his mouth.
Then they were past the scene and the heavy canes masked the view. Jane turned towards Vincent, but he was yawning and scrubbing his eyes. It was clear he had not seen anything.
The view out his side of the carriage was entirely different. The side of the road opposite the canes dropped down towards the valley floor. More wattle and daub houses clung to the side of the road, smaller and even meaner than the ones in St. John’s. A gang of very young children played in the dirt in front of one of the houses without a stitch of clothing on. Jane blushed for them and turned her gaze away.
Vincent pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and peered at it. “Getting on near six o’clock. I think we must be on my father’s land now.”
“Do you see these—I hesitate to call them houses.”
He frowned and sat forward. Rubbing his mouth, he stared out the window at the crude sheds. “I shall speak with the overseer about them. Surely we can do better. I would not keep a horse in such conditions, much less a person.”
The carriage rounded a bend in the road and the final stretch of their journey lay clear before them. Atop a rounded hill, surrounded by a level plateau of cane fields, stood the Greycroft great house. It had a high, peaked roof of cedar shingles, with a broad veranda wrapping around the building to provide shade. Tall windows, with shutters thrown back, gave the whole an inviting prospect. Tidy gardens and groves of orange trees surrounded the house, which stood in marked contrast to the conditions they had just ridden through.
As the road wound up the hill to the great house, the cane fields dropped away and the wattle houses almost began to look like thatched-roof cottages in the distance. An invigorating scent of jasmine and orange filled the air as they turned around the last bend to the great house’s front sweep. The sound of the carriage seemed to provoke activity in the house, for as they drew near, liveried servants came out to arrange themselves by the double staircase that led up to the veranda.
The carriage stopped precisely in front of the entrance. Zeus jumped down as another servant—no, a slave; Jane must learn to remember that the circumstances were different here—a slave ran forward to hold the horses’ heads as another set a step by the carriage door. Vincent climbed out, stretching, then turned back to hand Jane down. In an instant, Zeus had her parasol open above her.
One of the slaves, an older man of Vincent’s height, stepped forward to meet them. He gave a stiffly correct bow. “Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton. I am Frank, the house steward for Greycroft.”
As Frank straightened, Jane could not quite contain a gasp. He looked like Vincent. Though older and cast in a deeper hue, the unmistakable stamp of the Hamilton family was visible through his brow and strong jaw. Jane turned to where Zeus stood at her side and understood why he had looked familiar. He, too, had the Hamilton brow.
“Thank you.” Vincent shifted his weight as if seeing the same thing that Jane had. “It was considerate of you to send the carriage to fetch us.”
“I trust that Zeus and Jove took adequate care?” Frank stepped back, welcoming them to the house.
“Indeed.” Vincent followed him up the stairs and into the welcome cool of the veranda. “Is the overseer present? I saw some things en route I should like to discuss.”
A bare hesitation preceded Frank’s answer, which Jane might not have noticed were she not looking for additional similarities between him and Vincent. “Mr. Pridmore is indisposed. But you must be tired. Allow me to show you to your rooms.”
“That is most kind.” Jane murmured, wondering what brand of indisposition the overseer was afflicted with.
The entry of the great house opened onto a long gallery that spanned the width of the house, lit by tall windows overlooking the veranda. At either end of the gallery, broad doors opened onto parlours, through which yet more windows showed views of the valley below. The house had a fortune in glass alone, to say nothing of the furniture filling the rooms. They were led to the left into a charming blue parlour whose tall ceiling was open to the roof. A door at the back of the parlour opened to a short hall, where they found their rooms.
The apartment was well appointed and had more elegance than Jane would have expected. The tall bed was hung with thin lawn curtains, drawn back presently. The mirrors were still hung with crape, and not a scrap of glamour appeared anywhere.
Jane pulled off her bonnet and set it on a small table beside their bed. From the door, Frank said, “When you are settled, I will take you to your father.”