Unconsciously, she shrank inside the rough serge cloak.
“Mr. Sewell!” the woman trilled brightly as she trailed along on her husband’s arm. “Mr. Sewell, I’ve a mind to buy a new serving girl.”
“You’ve Tansy and Queen,” he countered agreeably. “And Noah, my dear.”
She made a face.
“Africans, Mr. Sewell!” She pouted, flirting up at her husband through a thick fringe of eyelashes. “How can Sewell Hall become known for its genteel entertaining if bush slaves oversee the serving? You’ll recall what happened last July, Mr. Sewell. When the kitchens grew too hot.” She paused for effect. “Tansy simply shucked petticoats, bodice and stays. She carried the roast meats to the dining table in her shift.”
“And Noah trooped in wearing only his shirt-tails.” He chuckled. “I thought it funny.”
Mrs. Sewell drew herself up.
“I, Mr. Sewell, did not. I daresay Lord and Lady Carlisle still grow faint when they remember.”
“I daresay they’ve forgot,” he said pleasantly.
She shifted her tactics.
“If I bought an English girl who could read, write and cipher, I could use her as my secretary. She would supervise serving too, of course. She could assist me with my accounts. She could pen invitations to our dancing assemblies, and I could dictate my correspondence.” She paused. In a burst of fresh inspiration she added, “In her spare time she could assist the tutor, spelling the little ones.”
He laughed merrily.
“You would work her to death in six months, my dear.”
Her eyes narrowed. As Flavia watched, fascinated, Mrs. Sewell arranged her lovely features in the manner of an innocent who’s been wrongly accused.
“I do believe, Mr. Sewell, you have no appreciation of how hard I toil for Sewell Hall. Merely assigning the slaves’ tasks employs the shank of my day. Some evenings, Mr. Sewell, I am faint with weariness. Though far be it from me to let one word of complaint escape my lips. I am your dutiful wife, Mr. Sewell. Your happiness is my sole concern.”
He sighed.
“Very well, my dear. Buy your girl.”
She swung around with glee, the lovely long fur of hat and muff shivering like wheat in a field.
“This one,Mr. Sewell.”
Flavia jerked, finding herself at the end of a pointing gloved finger.
“Do you suppose she reads, Mr. Sewell? Has she lice? Oh, dear, do you suppose she had a promiscuous life and carries the French disease?”
Flavia flushed. She looked down at her feet. It was humiliating to be examined by a woman so clearly her inferior. The duchess in Flavia flared. She lifted her head high.
“I can read,” she snapped, deliberately ignoring the other queries and omitting the obligatory “ma’am.”
“Write and cipher?”
Flavia bit back her anger.
“Yes.”
The woman swung her head to her husband. She gave him a flirtatious, helpless glance.
“Bondslaves will tell you anything, of course, Mr. Sewell. They are every bit as bad as Africans,” she said, contradicting the argument she’d used just moments earlier. “Test her, Mr. Sewell.”
The man reddened.
“If you want her, my dear, you test her.”
There was a flurry on deck, as the woman sent a half-dozen tars scrambling for slate and chalk. When the materials were brought, she thrust them at Flavia.
Flavia seethed. How dare this common, ill-bred American treat her so! Shaking with fury, she squeezed the chalk. She paused. A quotation from Obadiah’s Bible flew into her mind. Swiftly she penned:
Proverbs 9:13: A foolish woman is clamorous; she is simple, and knoweth nothing.
For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Sewell burst into hearty laughter. His eyes twinkled.
“By God, wife, she’ll do. She’ll do.” Mrs. Sewell pursed her lips, waiting for her husband’s laughter to abate. She was not intelligent enough to know she’d been insulted, but the expression on her face was one of confused displeasure.
“I think,Mr. Sewell, she will not do.” Without another
“Mr. Sewell!” the woman trilled brightly as she trailed along on her husband’s arm. “Mr. Sewell, I’ve a mind to buy a new serving girl.”
“You’ve Tansy and Queen,” he countered agreeably. “And Noah, my dear.”
She made a face.
“Africans, Mr. Sewell!” She pouted, flirting up at her husband through a thick fringe of eyelashes. “How can Sewell Hall become known for its genteel entertaining if bush slaves oversee the serving? You’ll recall what happened last July, Mr. Sewell. When the kitchens grew too hot.” She paused for effect. “Tansy simply shucked petticoats, bodice and stays. She carried the roast meats to the dining table in her shift.”
“And Noah trooped in wearing only his shirt-tails.” He chuckled. “I thought it funny.”
Mrs. Sewell drew herself up.
“I, Mr. Sewell, did not. I daresay Lord and Lady Carlisle still grow faint when they remember.”
“I daresay they’ve forgot,” he said pleasantly.
She shifted her tactics.
“If I bought an English girl who could read, write and cipher, I could use her as my secretary. She would supervise serving too, of course. She could assist me with my accounts. She could pen invitations to our dancing assemblies, and I could dictate my correspondence.” She paused. In a burst of fresh inspiration she added, “In her spare time she could assist the tutor, spelling the little ones.”
He laughed merrily.
“You would work her to death in six months, my dear.”
Her eyes narrowed. As Flavia watched, fascinated, Mrs. Sewell arranged her lovely features in the manner of an innocent who’s been wrongly accused.
“I do believe, Mr. Sewell, you have no appreciation of how hard I toil for Sewell Hall. Merely assigning the slaves’ tasks employs the shank of my day. Some evenings, Mr. Sewell, I am faint with weariness. Though far be it from me to let one word of complaint escape my lips. I am your dutiful wife, Mr. Sewell. Your happiness is my sole concern.”
He sighed.
“Very well, my dear. Buy your girl.”
She swung around with glee, the lovely long fur of hat and muff shivering like wheat in a field.
“This one,Mr. Sewell.”
Flavia jerked, finding herself at the end of a pointing gloved finger.
“Do you suppose she reads, Mr. Sewell? Has she lice? Oh, dear, do you suppose she had a promiscuous life and carries the French disease?”
Flavia flushed. She looked down at her feet. It was humiliating to be examined by a woman so clearly her inferior. The duchess in Flavia flared. She lifted her head high.
“I can read,” she snapped, deliberately ignoring the other queries and omitting the obligatory “ma’am.”
“Write and cipher?”
Flavia bit back her anger.
“Yes.”
The woman swung her head to her husband. She gave him a flirtatious, helpless glance.
“Bondslaves will tell you anything, of course, Mr. Sewell. They are every bit as bad as Africans,” she said, contradicting the argument she’d used just moments earlier. “Test her, Mr. Sewell.”
The man reddened.
“If you want her, my dear, you test her.”
There was a flurry on deck, as the woman sent a half-dozen tars scrambling for slate and chalk. When the materials were brought, she thrust them at Flavia.
Flavia seethed. How dare this common, ill-bred American treat her so! Shaking with fury, she squeezed the chalk. She paused. A quotation from Obadiah’s Bible flew into her mind. Swiftly she penned:
Proverbs 9:13: A foolish woman is clamorous; she is simple, and knoweth nothing.
For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Sewell burst into hearty laughter. His eyes twinkled.
“By God, wife, she’ll do. She’ll do.” Mrs. Sewell pursed her lips, waiting for her husband’s laughter to abate. She was not intelligent enough to know she’d been insulted, but the expression on her face was one of confused displeasure.
“I think,Mr. Sewell, she will not do.” Without another
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