I whirled around and around in the large dining room of my Cumingsburg’s hotel. The heavenly scent of coq au vin filled the air. That was what my French chef, Louis Le Plat, named this dish of old tough roosters stewed tender in claret with yams and onions. His Provençal fish stew of lobster and scallops and mussels had such a silky taste in the mouth. Once Lord Combermere, the new governor of Barbados, tasted it, he would believe he’d died and gone to heaven.
He surely would croak knowing colored girls had made his week in Demerara a success. This would be a win for the Entertainment Society.
Mrs. Ostrehan Brett’s assembly rooms held a festive tea. Rebecca’s Royal Hotel hosted a subscription ball with the finest crystal I’d ever seen. Tonight, my dinner would be the crowning jewel.
Every table in my ballroom held a starched white cloth and a perfect vase, ones my sister Kitty made. Shiny clay vessels of red and purple painted with happy dancing women made me feel her presence. I lifted my glass and offered her a toast.
I wobbled and fastened my hand to the back of a chair. The fine spindles shone with sweet orange oil. I swayed. I was in a fog like Mount Qua Qua’s.
This night was important. I, Dorothy Kirwan Thomas, was implored by Demerara’s lieutenant governor John Murray to organize this week. It was sort of funny, Irish Murray picking me. My Irish Montserratian roots felt particularly proud. I lifted my half-empty glass for a béaláiste. “Well done, Dolly.”
Toasting alone seemed hollow, but I’d been by myself a long time.
Harry came from my cellar with a notepad. The checklist in his palms almost made me weep.
“Mama, we have plenty of champagne. Plenty of Sourire de Reims Rosé.”
“Lord Combermere is part of that British world of princes and kings. He’ll appreciate my selection.”
I’d sent a barrel to Bushy House as a wedding present. Prince William married a princess. He’d gone through a series of wealthy mistresses after he and Miss Bland parted. The papers mocked him badly about how empty his pockets were. It was good he’d found someone to marry, someone nice so he wouldn’t have to dance alone.
“Harry, you are a dear. Will your widow friend be coming tonight?”
“Mama, I have no time for friends and to be choosy.”
At twenty-seven and a man, this was true.
Plucking my glass, the low ding sounded like a black curassow’s call. In my window open to the stars, the bird sang its love songs. “Here’s to time.”
“Mama, are you well?”
“Go check on your grandma and your sisters. They’ve all come from Grenada for tonight’s festivities.”
Polk’s son went and got them. My old friend himself was in my kitchen helping Chef Plat, eating what the fiddler called extras—things that Polk judged would go to waste.
My son held my hand. “Tonight is going to go well. Don’t be nervous.” He kissed my cheek and went out of my ballroom.
Tonight would go well.
I put my glass on the stand the servers would use for empties. I truly had no worries. My Charlotte had everyone in order. Eliza, too, but she’d be with Polk in the kitchen. Catharina wouldn’t be coming. She was with child again and wanted nothing more than to sit on her sofa with Simon massaging her feet. They still lived at Werk-en-Rust.
They didn’t have much, but their love had been made stronger. It appeared that she was right about them. For this, I was glad.
My simple gray frock and headscarf wouldn’t do. The pale green gown with beading at the bodice and hem hung in my room. The matching turban when placed on my silver curls would make me a viscountess or princess. No, an island queen, for this silk crown had the colors of Montserrat, Dominica, and Grenada, their sea-green and coral pinks about the banding.
Walking from the ballroom, I saw Cells crouching at the lion’s cage. The young cat had a shaggy mane but Kitty’s topaz eyes. The white-chested animal with streaks of tan and brown in his coat growled at Cells.
“Good cat.”
Cells stood up, slowly. “You trained the beast well, Dolly. You’ve done so well. Beyond my expectations.”
He walked toward me with his swagger. For an old man in his seventies, he looked good. Fully gray, even in his mustache, he’d aged well.
My lips smacked and I covered a giggle. “If I weren’t fretful that either he or I would break a hip, we’d be in the hall rolling in passion on the purple silk tapestry.”
He blinked at me and then coughed. “Dolly, you know you said that out loud.”
Oops. “Must be the champagne. Forget what I said.”
He stopped in front of me. “That’s a little hard. Once a thing is said, it’s truly hard to ignore.”
“No, we can ignore it. That’s how we work, how we’ve learned to live.”
The musicians I’d hired started to play—a flute, a fiddle, and drums. The rhythm took my breath as Cells touched me. With his palm at my waist, I was transported to the time he taught me to dance. “This is not the allemande.”
The man was still tall, still able to crowd me. His arms had strength. He pulled me to his chest, spinning us. “It’s called the waltz. Maybe you and I had to wait until the dance was right.”
He kissed me.
I backed him against the wall with my hands along his shoulders. The smell of the fresh paper treatment hung above the molding filled my nose as much as his bay rum cologne.
Cells held me, my face burrowing into his cravat. His lips again fell on my brow. “If I’d known that a little champagne was all it took to get to you, I’d have ordered barrels years ago. What is this brew?”
“Sourire de Reims Rosé is what I love. But this is Rosé de Saignée. You taste the berries and the grapes. It stays longer on the tongue.”
“Let me taste the blend again.” He kissed me deeper this time.
My heart pounded and knocked against his ribs.
Maybe Coseveldt wasn’t that old and maybe I wasn’t either. And maybe I’d been a fool to think that I could be alone forever.
“Tarn it. I’m Crissy.”
“What?”
“I haven’t told you yet. Fool girl has run off with another man, Major Gordon, to Scotland.”
“Sorry, Dolly. I know you’ve tried.”
“Oh, kiss me, Cells, before my head clears. Before I start fretting about that girl or this dinner, or any stupid reason that I put between us.”
With his wicked smile, he did. His hands warmed places I thought dead, and I reached for a man who’d always been there at the right time, in spite of our worst selves.
“This isn’t what the leaders of Demerara and Barbados need to see, two ready-to-be-naked bodies entwined next to my lion.”
“Marry me, Dorothy.”
“No.”
I put my arms about his neck and kissed him quiet.
“Marry me, Dorothy.”
“Will you stop talking if I agree?”
“Yes, after you say yes.”
I was drunk and crazy and tired of running. “Maybe.”
“Close enough.”
His lips pressed against mine made them curl. He tried to lift me, but that groan said his back would give out. That wouldn’t do for either of us.
Clasping his jacket, I led him down the hall. “This way.”
“I should be good and say you have a very important dinner, but I was only ever good when I was with you.”
A scream loud and earth shattering seared my soul.
Cells ran to it, tugging me with him.
Down the hall, I saw my mother screaming. Charlotte looked like she’d pass out.
“What has happened, Mamaí?”
“L-Lizz-y and Co-Coxall.” Charlotte’s voice shook and cried.
That rhythm. The stuttered breath, the way a person could barely breathe, barely say a word when the worst came.
Cells took the paper from Charlotte. “They drowned. Their ship went down. I’m sorry, Dolly.”
My strength disappeared when he confirmed disaster.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t lift my head and sank to the floor with Mamaí. Lizzy was both our babies. We sobbed like fools.
Cells had his hands on my back. “I’ll send word to Lieutenant Governor Murray. I’ll let him know tonight is canceled.”
“No.” I pulled away and found the strength to stand. “No.
Charlotte wiped her eyes. “Mama, it is for the best.”
“No.”
They didn’t seem to hear me. “Nooooo!” I shouted. “I will wear my hat and force a smile.”
My mother nodded and put on her classic smile. “I’ll be ready, too.”
Charlotte cried and ran down the hall.
“I’m going to dress.” I stumbled forward.
Cells followed. “You can’t possibly go through with this, Dolly. No one expects you to do this. You’re human. Take a moment to grieve.”
“Grief doesn’t let you choose. It comes for you. This evening has to go on. It’s bigger than me, Cells. It’s bigger. Colored girls don’t get second chances to shine. You have to take the moments when they come.”
“Then I’ll be with you. But I think—”
“I said what I’m going to do.” I left him and went to my room.
“Dolly, we can have supper. You and I, we can grieve. Dolly?”
I closed and locked the door.
Then I fell against it and let my tears flow. I had to get them all out, or I wouldn’t get through this dinner with dry eyes. Then I’d have to tell my namesake, Dorothea, and all my grands here or away in school that their parents were never coming back from across the sea.
The heavy knock on my door had to be Cells, but I couldn’t move. No one would see me again until dinner. Then I would be dressed and proudly wear Mamaí’s smile and my turban.
Rop tú mo baile. Rop tú mo baile.
That was Cells singing my hymn through the door. I sang, too, then stood and washed my face. The world of governors, of princes, even Cells would only see strong Dorothy Thomas, not Dolly who’d again become broken glass.