Page 83 of The Most Eligible Lord in London
Just then, the door opened and the butler bowed. “My lord, my lady, Mrs. Rymer.”
Mrs. Rymer was tall, with skin the same light brown color as her son’s. Her hair was reddish-blond and curled loosely, framing her face. She wore a snowy white mobcap and a simple black gown. She was a beautiful woman. Although she returned Eugénie’s smile, hers was tight, and her fear was palpable.
“My lady.” Mrs. Rymer curtseyed.
They all rose, but only Eugénie went to meet the woman. “Welcome to our home. Have you seen your son?”
“Yes.” The woman’s smile loosened at bit. “He is having a wonderful time. He said there are children like him.”
Children who looked like him, but were free. “Please”—Eugénie motioned to a comfortable chair—“sit and we will have tea.”
As if the butler had just been waiting for the words to be said, he entered with the tea tray and set it down in front of Eugénie. Once everyone had a cup, there was no roundaboutation or small talk. “For whom are you afraid?”
The question startled Adeline. She would have been—oh—more subtle, she supposed. Still, she did not understand how her sister-in-law knew the right question to ask. Then again, Eugénie had a great deal of experience dating to before she had met and married Will.
“My husband. He is still on Tortola.” Mrs. Rymer’s hands shook as she set her cup down. “Before we left, I was told that if I tried to escape with Peter, he would no longer be allowed to work as a shipwright, but would be sent back to the fields.”
She obviously knew that once she and her son reached England they were free and only that threat would keep her enslaved.
Eugénie’s lips formed a moue. “What if we brought him here?”
The woman’s amber eyes widened. “But can you do that without Mr. Lettsome discovering it?”
“Indeed we can.” Eugénie took a sip of tea. “We have done it before.”
Sitting next to Adeline, Frits had taken her hand in his as they resumed their seats and watched the discussion. He’d met people—mostly men—from different parts of the West Indies, but Mrs. Rymer’s diction was so good, no one would think she was from anywhere but England. She reminded him of his mother’s and sisters’ ladies’ maids.
He had been happy to be on the periphery of the conversation until she said that her husband was a shipwright. “If you can bring him here, I have a position for him.”
Adeline squeezed his hand and smiled. He’d offer a dozen men jobs, more, to keep both her hand and her smile.
“But how?” Mrs. Rymer appeared fascinated and a bit doubtful.
“That is not too difficult,” Lady Wivenly replied. “There are several ships in the Canary Islands that will be sailing soon for the West Indies. I shall send word that we need to free your husband.”
Adeline gave a confused shake of her head. “But could Lettsome not do the same thing to imprison”—she frowned—“make matters worse for Mr. Rymer?”
“He would have to send a ship or a letter from here to either Tortola or to a ship leaving from here heading to the West Indies.” Lady Wivenly’s lips tilted into a sly smile. “I will use birds.”
Frits didn’t understand how that was possible. Yes, pigeons had been known to fly a little over one thousand miles on a journey, but the West Indies was three times that far at least. Still, Lady Wivenly was no fool, so he had to believe that if she said it was possible, it must be. “Can you explain how you do that?”
“As I said, we have a group. Our members live in,” she raised one shoulder, “shall we say, various places. The bird I send will fly to one place, then another bird will be sent. Eventually, one will land in the Canary Islands, and my message will be taken to a ship.”
Frits calculated the distance and factored in that the birds did not fly at night. “That would take about one week to arrive in the Canaries.” And they would not have to worry about the wind being in the right quarter. “Whereas a ship leaving from London would take at least twice that long.”
“Exactement.” Lady Wivenly smiled approvingly. “Once our ship reaches its first stop in the West Indies”—he noticed she was being very uninformative about exactly where the members of the group were located—“another bird will be sent to Tortola.” She glanced at Mrs. Rymer, who appeared to be as engrossed in the plan as were he and Adeline. Probably more, considering it was her husband at risk.
Wivenly, lounging back against the sofa next to his wife, had obviously heard it before. “If your husband is working in the shipyard, I assume he earns a salary, most of which is paid to Lettsome?”
“Yes. He is allowed to keep about a quarter of what he earns. He is saving to buy our freedom.”
From what Frits had heard, before England had outlawed new slaves being brought onto their islands, that was fairly common. It was less so now. Completely mistrusting the man, he wondered if Lettsome would ever allow the family to buy their freedom.
It would, though, be easy for a man to be called to a ship for repairs, and for the ship to depart before the man was taken ashore. “He knows you and your son are here. What is keeping him from making his way here?”
Mrs. Rymer had taken out a handkerchief and was wringing it. “They threatened to sell Peter to the Danes.”
Adeline glanced at Frits. “They might be successful in putting him on a boat for St. Thomas here.”
