A white tablecloth with the corners starched and squared lay before me. With the looks these women passed each other, I could’ve been right back at Pa’s cistern. The gossips in Montserrat looked down on me because of my dark skin.
A fashionable woman holding a glass of wine extended her free hand to me. “Miss Dolly Kirwan, please join us.”
“Mrs. Dorothy Thomas—is my name.”
The head woman, a lovely brown-skinned lady, pointed to the open chair. “But you have family here. They claim you as Kirwan.”
Full raked back, the chair was spindled but had strong-looking legs—it would hold me, even if I fidgeted. I sat and tried hard not to let the feet squeak on the bare floor. “It’s Thomas. Ladies, you invited me.”
“Consider us the welcoming committee of Demerara. Some call us the Entertainment Society. I’m Rebecca Ritchie. This is Elizabeth Ross and Mary Ostrehan Brett.”
This head woman seemed younger than me and wore her hair in pinned curls like I had long ago. Miss Ross was older, olive in complexion with dark topaz eyes. She dressed well and wore a dazzling sea-blue turban covering her fine graying hair.
Miss Brett, I’d seen in Stabroek. Another freewoman, very light in coloring like Catharina and Lizzy.
Silent, not paying attention to anything but the lace shawl that hung about her shoulders, she seemed annoyed to be here.
Freewomen, all lighter than me. Funny. No matter how old you were, there was something about rejection that slipped past everything and etched hate on your insides.
After a sip of the flat champagne, I put down my goblet. “We now know each other’s names. Now what?”
Miss Ritchie wiped at crumbs settling into the embroidered satin of her bodice. Her lean fingers tapped the sides of her crystal. “I’m very curious about you. You’re trying to set up businesses here in the colony?”
“I’m already in business. I want to expand but keep running into trouble.”
Miss Ross giggled, shimmying her smooth silk jacket with its innocent ribbon bow tied about her sly neck. Then she sobered.
My troubles must have been done on purpose. Trying not to stab the fruit, I picked at sliced mangoes and yellow governor’s plums on the platter near me. “Tell me, what would make my path easier?”
After clearing her throat, Miss Ross said, “Demerara is like Jamaica and Barbados. We have enough hotels to cater to sailors. They pay for entertainment. We don’t need anyone else in that line of work.”
The math of competition was not hard to understand, but they didn’t know me, didn’t know my strength or the size of my dreams. These were the cistern women, merely clothed in better fabrics. “I’m not trying to build a brothel. I’m building a legacy, a luxury hotel, fine enough for a prince. More visitors, important ones, will come. That’s the business I want.”
Miss Ritchie’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
I adjusted the brim of my fine bisque bonnet, delaying just a bit to whet their appetite. “I’ve seen the boom in Roseau and St. George’s. I understand what visitors need. They will spend money and tell their friends.”
“No mulatto balls for you?”
“I’m more interested in accommodations than entertainment.”
Miss Ross shook her head and frowned like she’d bitten three lemons. “Is that a no?”
“I make my money huckstering the finest goods and offering the finest housekeeping, all on par of what is expected in England. I do not peddle flesh, but I know flesh gets peddled.”
Convincing people with their minds made up against me was useless. I took a sip from my glass. The flat champagne puckered my lips. Prince William would never approve. Barely any bubbles kissed the glass. “Remind me to get you better champagne the next time we talk.”
“A bribe? How fun.” Miss Ritchie laughed.
Then I did too. My problems weren’t solved, but I’d found my humor.
Miss Ross refilled her plate with mangoes. “Mrs. Thomas, I know you’ve met with resistance. The sooner you become established, the better. We need the men in government to see us freewomen as a part of the community, not as threats or exotic fantasies they can’t speak about to their European mamas. Demerara can’t become Grenada, where they use laws to terrorize us.”
No, it couldn’t. “The abuses against the free coloreds led to rebellion. I’ve seen enough of those. I’ll do anything in my power to prevent that. And I assume you want to help me since you sent for me, unless this champagne is punishment for dreamers.”
“It’s good champagne.” The previously silent Miss Brett sounded angered, her tone firm and blunt. “You don’t know of what you speak.”
“If this were Sourire de Reims Rosé and left long enough in the barrel before bottling, it would have bubbles, lots of bubbles. You’d smell the berries before you drank. Champagne is a celebration of music and the tongue. You’re poorly served, Miss Brett.”
Sopping up her grins, the laughing Miss Ross popped bread in her mouth. “I like her, Rebecca. Mary, let’s give her a chance.”
“Sourire de Reims Rosé? Kitty Hunter Clarke said she’d met a Negress on a royal boat off the coast of Jamaica. You wouldn’t know—”
“Mrs. Clarke was a good woman. She lived a life of shame and beauty. But I only saw the beauty.”
Today on the beach, Mr. King had told me of Kitty’s passing. How could I explain the simple joy of receiving letters from her?
I wasn’t about to get teary-eyed in front of strangers or rivals or whoever these women would be to me. Instead, I toasted memories.
Lifting my goblet high, I watched the fine crystal sparkle in the light. “To Kitty Clarke.”
Miss Ritchie clinked hers with mine. “I can’t wait to see what you think is better than this.”
“So, ladies, have I suffered through this glass for naught, or did I pass your test?”
Miss Ritchie’s smile pursed. “Not a test per se.”
I stabbed my last piece of the tart plum. “Friends, foes, or friendly rivals?”
“Not quite rivals or foes,” she said. “That leaves friends, I think. I think we’ll grow to be good friends.”
The stewing Miss Brett patted her fingers on a crisp white napkin. “You should look at the Werk-en-Rust area for land. Most of the area was an old cemetery. It’s close to the Demerara River, the main waterway. It can have as much traffic as the Ritchie Royal Hotel.”
Miss Ritchie put down her glass. “Bite your tongue.”
“I’ll look into that area. Thank you.”
The ladies chattered among themselves, the latest gossip and politics of the colony. I sat observing them, marveling at the width and depth of their talk.
Except for Kitty Clarke and my family, I hadn’t seen many friendly women who knew smart things. I had to admire women helping women. It felt right.
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Thomas? Besides this champagne.”
“All my life, I’ve been singled out as that one woman, that one different from the rest. Now I’m sitting with women, good powerful women. And you want to help me. That’s different. I like this kind of different.”
Miss Brett smiled. “My mother’s my hero, but even she had never seen something like this till Demerara.”
“To the Entertainment Society.” Miss Ross raised her glass.
I gladly drank the bubbleless champagne, but my heart saw this and memorized their faces, the sound of their bold voices. I hoped this fellowship of smart women could outwit the men trying to stop me.