Chapter Twenty-Nine

Barbados, July 1840

The heat of midday slowed Hannah’s steps as she made her way through the crowded landing area at the city of Bridgetown, Barbados. Her goal was to find a cabriolet to take her to an inn, but first she must push her way through a throng of black men and women who were seeking work as porters. Dressed in colorful cotton robes, they had appeared as soon as the Hellebore had anchored in Carlisle Bay, and they all seemed to be shouting and calling at once.

The long journey and the hot sun of the Caribbean had given Hannah a headache, and she longed for a tall glass of cold tea and the seclusion of an inn. Clutching her valise tightly against her body, she pushed her way to a less crowded area and paused to rest.

The landing area for skiffs rowed from the ships was a sandy beach lined by coconut palms. Hannah leaned against one of the stately trees, grateful for the shade afforded by the fronds far above her. As she rested, a breeze from the sea sprang up and the palm fronds clicked delightfully, making a rhythmic song as the sea wind played through them.

After resting a few minutes with her aching head against the trunk of the palm, Hannah roused herself and looked across the sand toward the town. The land was very flat, and ahead was a straight main street lined with shops. A distance away, a lush tropical garden fronted a large stucco building. A pool of water gleamed amongst the foliage with bright pink bougainvillea blossoms draping its brick wall.

A young black woman approached her and gestured at her valise.

“Carry for you, madame!” she called.

“No, but I’ll pay you to guide me to an inn,” Hannah rejoined.

The woman looked at her appraisingly and then nodded. “Follow, please.”

Hannah held tight to her valise for it contained all her savings. She knew she must count her money and try to determine how long she could remain in Barbados, but first she needed a rest, a change of clothing, and a tall, cool drink.

They trudged across the main street, the black woman dodging carriages, groups of men carrying loads of sugar cane, and a herd of goats being driven by two children. When Hannah hesitated, she beckoned sharply.

“Come!”

Hannah’s guide led her down a side street to a high, narrow wooden house. A small sign attached to a pillar announced that this was the Ladies’ Shady Rest. Several white women reclined in wicker rocking chairs on the front porch, fanning themselves and sipping cold drinks. A magnificent poinciana tree shaded the porch, its scarlet blossoms reaching into the sky.

Hannah looked closely at the scene. She was aware a young woman on her own might well be directed to a house of ill repute. Her guide might be employed by the madam of the establishment to find and bring young ladies to her.

Seeing her hesitation, one of the women stepped from the porch and extended her hand. “Are you looking for a place to stay, miss? You’ll be quite safe here, I assure you.”

Hannah thanked her. “Is the landlady about?”

“Yes, come, I’ll take you to her.”

Hannah whispered, “How much should I pay the woman who led me here? I’m new to the island.”

“A few pence will do,” replied the other.

Hannah gave five pence to her guide and thanked her. She turned once again to the woman from the porch.

“I’m Hannah Winstead,” she said with a smile.

“Gertrude Percy.”

“Are you new to Barbados also?”

“No. I’ve been twice before. My brother’s plantation is a few hours’ ride away, so when I arrive, I send a message by way of an overseer or whoever I can find going into St. Thomas Parish. My brother then comes with his carriage to fetch me.”

“I see. And you’re comfortable here in this establishment while you wait for him?”

“Yes, it’s very respectable. The landlady is a Spanish woman, a widow.”

The two young ladies entered the parlor as they spoke. Hannah looked about, perceiving the details of the room. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to indicate a crude taste. The furniture was simple and comfortable. A vase of tropical flowers adorned a table in the center of the room, and a gray parrot sat on a perch in a corner, holding an almond in one claw.

Gertrude indicated the parrot. “That is Geraldo. Señora Carbena named him after her husband.”

“He’s lovely!” Hannah cried.

“He talks,” Gertrude continued, “but only when he chooses.”

She approached the bird. “Geraldo, will you talk to Gertrude today?”

The parrot eyed her and then began cracking its nut with its sharp curved beak. Gertrude shrugged.

“Geraldo!” came a voice. “Speak, please!”

A woman entered. She was in her middle years but stately and fine-looking. Her black hair was pulled straight back tightly, and she wore a carved shell barrette round the knot. She was clad in a light muslin frock of a deep brown color, matching the brown of her eyes.

“Señora,” said Gertrude. “This is Miss Hannah Winstead, and I believe she’s seeking a room.”

Hannah curtsied. “I’m pleased to meet you, señora.”

At her words, Geraldo intoned, “I’m pleased to meet you, señora. I’m pleased to meet you, señora.”

The women laughed. Señora Carbena took Hannah’s hand and led her to a settee.

“Geraldo likes you, señorita,” said the landlady, “and that means I like you also! I cannot offer you a large room for my house is rather full at this time. However, I have a small room on the third level, if that would suit you.”

Hannah was accustomed to business dealings after running her dress-designing business in Boston for well over a year. She did not hesitate to ask questions regarding terms.

The prices having been given, the señora offered to show the room to her. Gertrude went along, and the three climbed two flights of steep narrow stairs. Hannah looked about carefully as she climbed, noting the general cleanliness and quiet of the establishment.

The room was small and tidy. The one window looked out toward the sea, displaying a fine view of the Hellebore at anchor in the bay. The room was warm, but a breeze drifted in from the water. The bed was clean and well made, with white mosquito netting draped round it. A small bureau and portmanteau were the only additional furniture.

It would do, Hannah realized immediately, and the price was very reasonable. She agreed to take the room for a week, but she did not immediately pay the señora. Later, when she was alone, she would remove funds from her valise, but not now, in front of strangers.

She smiled at her own caution for it reminded her of Mr. Wilson. It was one of the many things he had taught her.

“Breakfast is at nine, señorita, and dinner at eight. In between, guests may order fruit and cheese from the pantry, but a small charge will be incurred for each order. I serve an English-style tea at five, as well.”

“That will do very nicely,” Hannah replied.

“I will be in my study on the first floor. Perhaps you would like to wash and change before settling monetary matters.”

“Yes, I’ll be down shortly.”

The women left, and Hannah unbuttoned her dress, pulled it off, and sank gratefully onto the bed. She stared at the ceiling, musing on the amazing fact that she was in Barbados! Somewhere on this island was a house with a courtyard, the actual place of her birth. And somewhere near that house, two gravestones marked the resting place of her mother and father.

Hannah’s first task the following morning was to attempt to locate Mr. James Smythe, the attorney for her father’s estate. Accordingly, she dressed carefully, tied up her hair in a neat knot and placed her money in a drawer hidden under her linen handkerchiefs. She had no parasol, so she took a few guineas with her, intending to purchase one at a shop.

Once on the main street of Bridgetown, Hannah could not help but dawdle amongst the shops. It occurred to her that her mother must have entered these places during her visits to town. Some of the shopkeepers had perhaps known her.

She was rather surprised at the plentitude of goods for sale. Barbados was isolated in its position at the far western end of the Caribbean, but items of all sorts had made their way to the shops. There were porcelain tea sets from England, beautiful fans and feather boas from Spain, silks from the Orient, books, pictures, wooden toys, saddlery, and tools. Hannah located a boutique called Ladies’ Gowns and Sundries and entered to seek a parasol.

The brightly hued fabrics arrayed inside caught her eye immediately. It had already occurred to her she might perhaps need to replenish her money through dressmaking during her stay on the island, and she had no dread of it. She would enjoy it, and the sight of fabrics, trims, laces, buttons, and ribbons made her eager to begin.

An elderly lady came forward to wait upon her. After choosing a parasol, Hannah asked her if she knew the location of Mr. James Smythe.

“Mr. James Smythe, the elder, is deceased, miss. But his son has rooms p’haps a half mile straight on. There’s a little bit of a sign announcing the place, and the building is green.”

Hannah was very happy to have her parasol as she continued walking through the town. When she reached the large building with the pool in front, which proved to be the island’s administrative offices, she paused and gazed out toward Carlisle Bay.

The sun was spackling the turquoise water of the bay, and the sight was so beautiful, Hannah settled on the wall surrounding the pool and simply gazed seaward. A merchant vessel, tiny in the distance, grew closer, furled its sails, and anchored. Skiffs and longboats went back and forth between the anchored ships and the shore, and a crowd of black men sitting next to a hut under the coconut palms beat homemade drums and sang a soft, strange, repetitive song. A fishing boat made from a hollowed-out tree slipped onto the shore, and two men jumped out carrying several large fish. Women bearing baskets and jugs on their heads walked along the shore, their babies swaddled in cotton cloths against their arrow-straight backs.

Hannah had read how tropical places could weave a spell over visitors, and here was proof indeed! The colors, the soft, rhythmic sounds of the voices and drums accompanied by the steady rhythm of the surf, the warmth of the sea-scented breeze—the entire scene enchanted her. She thought of her parents and what they must have felt when they arrived in Barbados. Perhaps they had sat on this very wall and looked out upon the bay.

Unwillingly, Hannah finally rose and went on her way. She had no difficulty finding Mr. Smythe’s rooms and, upon knocking, was ushered into a sitting room by a stiffly attired Englishwoman. The furniture in the room reminded her of Mr. Godder’s study, for it was all dark and heavy with no flowers or wicker pieces to remind one of the tropics.

After a lengthy wait, Hannah was informed that “Mr. Smythe will see you now, miss,” and the stiff woman held a door open for her. Hannah entered a small study furnished exactly like the sitting room with heavy leather chairs and a dark polished desk.

A young man sat behind the desk, writing rapidly in a notebook. He did not look up but waved his hand to indicate a chair and kept writing. Hannah, affronted by his rudeness, did not seat herself. She stood before him straight and firm, and because she would not sit, he was forced to stop writing and look up.

At the sight of a well-attired young woman, he rose, and the two faced each other. Smythe saw a pretty copper-haired girl wearing a simple but elegant frock of pale yellow, with an expression of displeasure on her face, and Hannah saw a round-faced, heavy young man with his mouth drawn down in what appeared to be a perpetual frown.

“I am James Smythe,” he said. “You wanted to see me, miss?”

“I wanted to see your father,” Hannah replied, “but I understand he’s deceased.”

“Yes, that’s true, but I undertook his law practice several years ago. So you will please be so kind as to inform me of the nature of your business.”

Hannah then deigned to seat herself, and Smythe followed suit.

“I am Hannah Winstead,” she said. “Your father was my father’s solicitor. He was the executor of my father’s will.”

Smythe’s eyebrows went up. For a few moments he was silent, his eyes taking in Hannah’s brightly hued hair and refined appearance. Then he went to a cabinet and after a search of several minutes, pulled forth a file. As Hannah waited, he scanned its contents.

“The will was executed in 1823. According to its terms, you—if you are indeed Hannah Winstead—received payments of five thousand pounds per annum until you were eighteen years of age. Have you brought any proof of the receipt of the payments?”

“No,” Hannah replied forthrightly. “Until six months ago, I did not even know about the annuity. My guardians did not inform me of it.”

Smythe stared at her. Then he lowered his head to the file and continued perusing the contents.

“According to the will, in order to claim the estate of Edward Winstead, his daughter must present a sealed letter along with…another item…what on earth did Winstead mean by that?”

“I’ve no idea. I was only three years old when he died.”

“Do you have the letter?”

“No. I believe my guardian has it, and I don’t know where he can be found.”

Smythe closed the file and looked at her.

“Miss…uh…miss…”

“Winstead.”

“Miss Winstead—if that’s truly your name—I don’t know why you’re here today, but I can assure you, without the proof named in Edward Winstead’s will, no part of his estate will be turned over to you.”

Hannah pulled forth Molly’s letters. “Mr. Smythe, I was three years old when my parents died. My father entrusted me to the care of two people whom he had known for only a short while. These guardians did not inform me of the annuity when I became old enough to be told; in fact, they lied to me regarding the place of my birth. They tried to force me into marriage to further a scheme formed with another for obtaining my parents’ plantation, and—”

“Miss Winstead, none of this is relevant.”

“Hear me out, please. The reason I’m here is the woman who reared me died recently, and in order to atone for her and her husband’s deceptions, she wrote a series of letters explaining the circumstances of my father’s death.”

“And you have these letters?”

“Yes.”

Smythe opened his hand to receive the packet of papers from Hannah, but Hannah did not offer them.

“I will be pleased to have you read these letters,” Hannah said, returning the packet to her reticule, “in the presence of my own representative. I have not yet engaged someone to represent me in the matter of my father’s estate, but I will contact you as soon as I have done so.”

He nodded, watching her face.

“Also, when my representative and I have the pleasure of meeting with you again, we will take the opportunity of reading my father’s will—in your presence of course. Meanwhile, I would appreciate it if you would have your clerk copy it for us.”

He nodded.

“Thank you. One other matter; I would like to see the house where I was born. Can you give me information as to the location of Highland Plantation?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”

Hannah rose. “Then I have no further business with you at this time. Thank you for seeing me this morning.”

Smythe bowed and hastily scurried to the door to open it for her. Hannah stepped from the dark rooms into the brilliant light of the tropical morning. She breathed deeply and considered what her next move should be.

Then she had a thought—Gertrude.

Hannah hurried back to the Ladies’ Shady Rest, hoping Gertrude had not already departed with her brother. She found her new acquaintance eating a bowl of fruit in the breakfast room.

Gertrude looked up and smiled when Hannah entered. “You look much fresher this morning, Miss Winstead. Yesterday, one could see your headache etched on your face. It’s the same with everyone who first comes to Barbados.”

Hannah nodded. “It’s shockingly warm on the shore when one lands. I’m very grateful for your assistance yesterday. I was far too tired to thank you properly, I’m sure.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Gertrude. “If there’s any other help you need, simply ask.”

“Thank you! I do need more help, in the form of information. If you yourself are unable to answer my question, your brother might be able to.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to, Miss Winstead, but you’ve raised my curiosity as to the information you need. I sense a mystery of some sort, and I adore mysteries!”

Hannah laughed. “May I call you Gertrude? In order to explain, I must tell you my life story, so perhaps we could use our Christian names.”

“Indeed yes. And now, Hannah, I await your story!”

“Here’s a very abbreviated version: I was born on this island, but my parents died when I was three, and I was taken to England. I recently learned I might perhaps have some property here—”

Gertrude sat back and stared at Hannah. “Good lord!” she cried. “Could it be you’re the heiress of Highland Plantation?”

Hannah was stunned into silence.

“I knew the name Winstead was familiar,” Gertrude continued excitedly, “but I couldn’t recall where I heard it!”

“You know of Highland Plantation?” Hannah asked breathlessly.

“Certainly, it’s the stuff of legend among the planters. The Highland homestead was built by Spanish settlers in the last century, but it’s now deserted because of the untimely death of the last proprietors—oh dear, the last proprietors would be…your parents…”

“Yes, Cassandra and Edward Winstead.”

“My brother has spoken of the estate. He said some people claim the child perished, and others say she’ll return someday and claim her inheritance. Also…” Gertrude looked into Hannah’s wide-eyed face. “Also, pray forgive me for telling tales that might not be true…”

“Please, Gertrude, tell me everything you know!”

“There are rumors among the overseers that Edward Winstead was murdered.”

Hannah was silent for a moment while Gertrude waited breathlessly for her reaction.

“Gertrude, I can’t at this time tell you all I know on the subject of my father’s death. However…”

Gertrude leaned forward, not in the least put off by Hannah’s words. “Then it’s true?”

“I honestly don’t know. I have the word of one person that it’s true, but that’s not proof in the legal sense.”

Gertrude leaned back, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Gertrude,” Hannah continued, “do you know where Highland Plantation is located?”

“I’m not quite certain,” the other replied. “But my brother will know, and I’ll be happy to inquire of him. Do you plan to go there?”

“Yes, I want to see the house where I was born and visit my parents’ graves.”

“Of course. I’ll ask my brother the moment he arrives.”

The young ladies were interrupted then by the entrance of other members of the household. After a few minutes of chat, Hannah went to her room to write letters. That done, she washed her face and hands, took up her parasol, and walked out to search for a postal station.

When she descended the porch, she saw a barouche drawn up under the shade of the poinciana. Two chestnut horses were flicking their tails and stamping in the traces, while the driver stretched himself out on the front seat and read a news journal.

Hannah approached the vehicle. “Excuse me, sir. Are you by any chance Mr. Percy?”

“No, ma’am,” the man replied, sitting up and doffing his hat. “Me name is Roy Carlton, and I’m head overseer for Mr. Percy.”

Hannah could see now Mr. Carlton was in his middle years, rather beyond the age one would expect Gertrude’s brother to have attained.

“Mr. Carlton, I’m interested in seeing Highland Plantation. Can you tell me what road to take to get there?”

“Aye, miss, I can, but the best way to get there is to send a note to the overseer, and he’ll fetch you. ’Tis too far to walk.”

“I’ve written him a note to ask permission to visit. Perhaps—”

At that moment, Gertrude bounced down the steps from the porch.

“Heyo, Mr. Carlton! My lazy brother sent you to fetch me, did he?”

Carlton jumped from the barouche and took Gertrude’s luggage. “That he did, Miss Gertrude. But that was after I begged him for the privilege!”

Gertrude laughed and stepped into the carriage. “I see that you’ve met my new friend, Miss Hannah Winstead!”