"There's only one place it could be. The fancy ball Master Briggs is
holdin' for the Council. In his grand new estate house. It's the reason
there's not a scrap of taffeta left in the whole of Bridgetown. I was
trying to buy some all yesterday for the girls."
"I have to go. It's the perfect time to see them all together."
"And I suppose Miss Katherine Bedford'll be there as well?" Her voice
had acquired an unmistakable edge. "In her official capacity as 'First
Lady'?"
"Oddly enough, I neglected to enquire on that point."
"Did you now?" She sniffed. "Aye, her highness'll be in attendance, and
probably wearin' half the taffeta I wanted to buy. Not that it'll be
made up properly. She'll be there, the strumpet, on my honor. . . ."
"What if she is? It's no matter to me." He drank again. "I just want my
sight bills paid, in coin as agreed, not in bales of their damned
worthless tobacco."
She seemed not to hear. ". . . when she's too busy ridin' that mare of
hers to so much as nod her bonnet to an honest woman who might have
need to make a living. . . ."
"All right." He set down his tankard. "I'll take you."
"Pardon?"
"I said _I'll take you_."
"Now you've gone totally daft." She stared at him, secretly overjoyed
he'd consider asking. "Can you fancy the scene? Me, in amongst all
those dowdy Puritan sluts! Stuffing their fat faces whilst arguing over
whether to starve their indentures completely to death. Not to mention
there'd be general heart seizure in the ranks of the Council, the half
of which keep open accounts here on the sly. Only I'm lucky to get paid
in musty tobacco, let alone the coin you 're dreaming of." She laughed.
"And I warrant you'll be paid with the same, love. That's assuming
you're ever paid at all."
"As you will." He took a sip of sack. "But since you're so worried
about the women, don't forget who else'll probably be there."
"Who do you mean?"
"Remember what the Portugals say: '_E a mulata que e Mulher'_."
"'It's the mulatto who's the real woman.'" She translated the famous
Pernambuco expression, then frowned. "I suppose you mean that
Portuguese mulatto Master Briggs bought for himself when you took them
all down to Brazil. The one named Serina."
"The very one. I caught a glimpse of her again last night."
"I know her, you rogue. Probably better than you do. Briggs is always
sending her down here for bottles of kill-devil, sayin' he doesn't
trust his indentures to get them home. She's a fine-featured woman of
the kind, if I say it myself."
"Finer than Briggs deserves."
"Did you know that amongst the Council she's known as his 'pumpkin-
colored whore'? Those hypocritical Puritan whoremasters. I always ask
her to stay a bit when she comes. I think she's probably lonely, poor
creature. But I can tell you one thing for certain--she takes no great
satisfaction in her new owner. Or in Barbados either, come to that,
after the fine plantation she lived on in Brazil." She laughed.
"Something not hard to understand. I'm always amazed to remember she's
a slave. Probably one of the very first on this island." She looked
away reflectively. "Though now she's got much company."
"Too much."
"You may be right for once. It's a new day, on my faith, and I don't
mind telling you it troubles me a bit. There're apt to be thousands of
these Africans here soon. There'll be nothing like it anywhere in the
Americas." She sighed. "But the Council's all saying the slaves'll
change everything, make them all rich." Her voice quickened as she
turned back. "Do you suppose it's true?"
"Probably. That's why I plan to try and change a few things too." He
looked out at the bay, where a line of brown pelicans glided single
file across the tips of waves. The horizon beyond was lost in mist. "My
own way."