Chapter 1
July 1816, St. Thomas, Danish West Indies
Miss Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse followed Gunna, an old black slave, down a narrow backstreet lined with long houses in Crown Prince’s Quarter. Her maid, Marisole, stood watch as Eugénie and the woman entered the building.
“He be here, miss.”
A baby, not older than one year, sat in the corner of the room playing with a rag doll. His only clothing was a clout, which, by the strong scent of urine, needed to be changed.
She and Gunna and the boy were the only occupants of the cramped, dark room. She crouched down next to the child. “What happened to his mother?”
“Sold.”
Naturally; why did she even bother to ask? It was cruel to separate a mother and child, but there was no law against it here.
“When?”
“A few days ago.” Gunna glanced at the child. “He be gone to a plantation soon.”
Even worse. He’d likely die before he was grown. Eugénie placed the small bag she carried on the floor. “Help me change him. He can’t go outside like this.”
A few minutes later the baby’s face and hands were clean, his linen was changed, and he wore a fresh gown.
She handed the woman two gold coins. “Thank you for calling me.” Gunna tried to give the money back, but Eugénie shook her head. “Use it to help someone else. Our fight is not finished until everyone is free.”
One tear made its way down the woman’s withered cheek. “You go now, before the wrong person sees you.”
Eugénie pulled a thin blanket around the babe’s head, thankful her wide-brimmed hat would help hide his face as well as hers, and stepped out into the bright sunshine.
“That’s her!” a male voice shouted.
She shoved the babe at Marisole. “Take him and run! I’ll catch up.”
Eugénie quickly drew out her dagger, concealing it in the gray of her skirts, and turned, crouching. A large man stood hidden in the shadow of a building, while a wiry boy, she guessed to be in his late teens, came at her. She waited until he reached out to grab her arm, then sliced the blade across his hands. Before he started to scream, she dashed down an alley between the long houses. Doors swung open, and several women stepped into the street behind her. That wouldn’t help for long, but it would delay the pursuit.
Perspiration poured down her face as Eugénie pounded up the hill, using the step streets to cross over to Queen’s Quarter. Ducking behind a large Flamboyant tree, she waited for several moments, listening for sounds of men running, but there was nothing and no one other than a few going about their business.
She took out a scrap of cloth and cleaned the blade before returning it to her leg sheath. Then Eugénie removed her bonnet and turned toward the breeze, drawing in great gulps of air as she fanned herself with the hat.
A several minutes later she caught up to her maid as Marisole descended another step street on the way to the house. “How is the babe?”
Marisole smiled. “Look for yourself. He is fine.”
Wide green eyes stared up at Eugénie, and the child blew a bubble and smiled. “Come,mon petit. Not long now and you will have a family.”
The front door of a well-kept house in Queen’s Quarter opened as they approached.
Once in the short hall, she smiled. “Mrs. Rordan, thank you for agreeing to care for him. It will only be for a few days.”
“As if I wouldn’t.” Mrs. Rordan grinned as she took the babe. “Captain Henriksen’s already been in touch. There is a good family on Tortola who will adopt him.” She handed Eugénie a bouquet of flowers. “For your mother, perhaps they’ll help cheer her. You’d better get home, now.”
“Merci beaucoup. She will love them.” She kissed the little boy on the cheek. “Safe passage and a good life.”
As Eugénie and her maid walked back to Wivenly House, Marisole said, “You were almost captured.”
That was the closest she had ever been to getting caught. She drew her brows together. If they were after the child, why didn’t the men follow? Did they know who she was? Yet, even with Papa gone, she had to continue. “Yes, but it is better not to question fate.”
July 1816, England
