“Truly, it does not sound as though you were anything but curious.”
“Yes, but so many women hint that they are in a delicate condition by first announcing that they cannot work glamour.” Jane walked away from him to sit on the bed. “Though according to Nkiruka, that is only European women.”
Now he looked at her, head cocked to the side with the curiosity and interest that discussions of glamour always provoked. “What do you mean?”
“According to her, working glamour holds no innate danger for a woman while with child.”
“Jane … I would not put much stock in what a field slave tells you about glamour.”
She rubbed her forehead, feeling a little like her husband as she did so. “I did not at first. But she pointed out that if it regularly caused miscarriages, then no slave would willingly carry a child to term.”
He frowned at that. “Mr. Pridmore did say that birthrates were low here.”
“Yes, but I have spent the past day looking at the records. Births are low, but not completely absent. On top of that, many of the infant deaths are due to failure to thrive after delivery.” Her voice had become strange, too high and too rapid. She tried to slow down and sound calm so that Vincent would not be alarmed. “So what I keep coming around to is that if she is correct, then perhaps my miscarriage was not because I worked glamour, but because of other factors. The carriage, the running … or simply me. That last is the one I cannot shake, because it is the one I cannot guard against. I can avoid glamour. I can avoid running. But what if I have inherited my mother’s troubles? What if I cannot carry a child to term?”
Vincent crossed to her. He sat, pulling her into his arms. That undid all of her resolve to present a placid countenance. She buried her face in his coat and inhaled the salt and horse scent from his day’s activities.
“There, now.” He kissed the top of her head. “There, now. Hush.”
She gave a fragile chuckle. “You sound like Papa.”
“I was doing my best impression. Did you like it?”
“Very much.” She was making a mess of his coat. Jane wiped her eyes with her fichu. “I was wondering if anyone has done a comparative study of the language of glamour. That was one of our chief difficulties today.”
“I can think of papers that describe the effects, but nothing, off the top of my head, that gets into how the African system of glamour is described and the structure of its use.” He stared into the distance, considering. “It would be interesting to talk to her.”
“We might invite her to the house.” Jane knew that she had changed the subject from her fears, which they both seemed to be doing too much of late. Still, she was grateful to Vincent for letting her. “I also thought.… She has a daughter who is very near her term. What if we brought Amey to the great house for her lying-in?”
“As a kindness, you mean. That it might be something to bind Nkiruka to us?”
“That, and it would allow us to bring in a doctor to examine me as well.”
“That strikes me as making excellent sense, and I will own that it would provide a great deal of relief. I have been worried that we have not had anyone to consult with.”
“Then we are agreed? I shall make the offer tomorrow?”
“Yes. By all means.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “That will be one trouble resolved, which is a blessing.”
“And how are we doing with our other difficulties?”
Groaning, Vincent fell backwards on the bed and covered his face with both hands. “I have been staring at record books and examining buildings until my eyes cross and have yet to find anything to make my father weaken his hold on Frank’s family.”
Jane settled beside him. She rested her free hand on his chest and rubbed circles upon it. “I begin to think that this is a fool’s errand. Nothing will make that man release his hold on anyone.”
Vincent’s silence agreed with that estimation.
*
Jane found that she was counting their days in Antigua as a way to remind herself that this was not a permanent situation. On Tuesday, their fourth day on the island, with only ten days remaining in their sentence, Jane went to Frank about her desire to bring Amey to the house to have her baby there.
He was in the counting house with three young men of colour discussing maintenance to the carriage house. When Jane and Louisa came up the tall stairs, he raised his head, brows rising in surprise.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He rose, coming around the table. “Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband has ridden down to the distillery to oversee an inventory.”
“Thank you, but I am here to see you.” She glanced past him to the young men. “I do not want to keep you from your business.”
“No, please. What may I do for you?” He waited, with his hands by his sides, in an attitude of civil attention.
“Do you know Nkiruka?”