“Here is my sixpence,” I said. “I insist you give me my girl.”
Wallace stormed, “No, by God, the wench is not for sale.”
Serenity grasped the coin from my fingers. “Sold! Take that tripe from my floor and never let me see her again.” She kicked the woman again and the poor thing curled more into a ball. “Baggage! Slut!” She turned toward Wallace, her lower jaw extended. “Thank you very much. Now I have been made a fool before a new acquaintance, Mistress Gage. What is it about Boston that makes you into such a lusting baboon? I repent the day I married you, you cur!”
Wallace made a smile that was more a sneer and turned to us. “I believe I have enjoyed quite enough female company this afternoon. Mistress MacLammond, please take your purchase and excuse me. Mistress Gage? A pleasure, I am sure. Good day.”
Serenity screamed at him. “Where are you going?”
“Out the door. You will hear from my lawyer in the future.”
Serenity dropped the riding crop and pulled herself to a chair, falling into it. “I hope a carriage runs over him.” After a while, she looked at us. “Get out,” she hissed.
I went to the woman still curled on the floor and touched her shoulder. “Come with me,” I said, motioning. “Come on, dear. Serenity? Give me a bill of sale.”
“Why don’t I throw rotted fruit at you instead?”
I picked up the riding crop and pointed at the desk with it. Her eyes widened and I saw fear in them. “There is paper and a quill before you on that table. Write it. Purchased, this date, for sixpence, one African woman named, what is your name, Miss?”
“Tassie,” Serenity said, curling her lips. “Her name is Tassie.” She scribbled, dipping the quill, dropping blots everywhere and blackening her fingers. “Take this. Take that blackamoor and never let me see her again.”
Margaret and I took Tassie’s arms as if we were three friends, and we led her from the room. At the front door, Margaret asked her, “Do you have anything to get? Combs or stockings? Anything that is yours?”
“No. No, Mistress.”
Margaret looked at me behind Tassie’s head, and motioned with her eyes to the carriage out front. When we had gotten in it, Tassie held her head down without looking around. Margaret said, “Well, Resolute, dear. I meant to meet this Mistress Spencer for some jolly entertainment and I believe this afternoon you have given me enough to fill a shocking novel. At any time if you know some other woman who is even half as frolicsome as Mistress Spencer, do include me in your visitation.” She smiled so it brought dimples to her cheeks.
“I was astounded at what just occurred,” I said.
Margaret giggled. “I loved it!” We drove to her house, then she asked her driver to take me home.
As the coach turned, I feared the girl had fallen asleep. I touched her hand. She jumped. I remembered the goat-whacking stick, that shape and size of a riding crop, and how I would often be so tired after a beating. She sat there in sullen quiet, expecting every touch to be more of the same. “Tassie?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Is that your name, the name you were born with?”
“You call me anyt’ing you wants, Mistress.”
“I want to call you the name you choose.” I felt stunned. I had bought a slave. I owned her. My ears made a noise as if waves from the ocean washed through them. I continued, “And, I want to set you free. I do not know how to do it yet. It must be done legally but I know a lawyer who will help us. Do you feel able to speak to him now?” I reached out and with my finger touched a red, welted line across her cheek. “If you would rather rest a few days, I will understand.”
I felt more than saw a mosaic of suspicion and joy playing upon her face. “No, Mistress. Now be plenty a good time.”
“I thought so.” I pulled the bell chain beside the coach’s window. The driver pulled the horses to a halt, and I sent him down a corner toward Daniel Charlesworth’s office. “Where will you go?” I asked.
“Don’ know, Mistress. Home?”
“Jamaica?”
“How did you know?”
“Wallace Spencer got all his slaves from Jamaica. Aren’t you the girl who dropped the wineglass?”
“If you please, I never dropped a glass, Mistress.”
“Oh. I thought I remembered you. You were but a child then. I pretended I had dropped the goblet.”
“I did not break a glass, Mistress.”
“Very well. Do you have any means to get home to Jamaica? Do you have the passage money? Do you have aught to do once you arrive? You must think on those things. You have been a slave. Once you are free, there will be no roof over your head, no matter how miserable. You will have to make your own way. The ways for a woman are few. I could arrange to pay passage for you, but I cannot protect you on the ship or ever again once you arrived there.”
“I need to t’ink on that, Mistress. You mean to let me free?”
“I do.”
“Why would you do that, Mistress?”