The Curse at Rose Hill Read online

  The Curse at Rose Hill

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright @2017 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Camille Oster – Author

  www.camilleoster.com

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  @Camille_Oster

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Montserrat, Caribbean, 1832

  Emmeline Durrant stood on the deck of the Mary's Hope and looked out at the approaching emerald island in the distance. It sparkled in the sun, an oasis of green in the endless blue ocean.

  Turning to face the sea breeze, she wished she could unbutton her dress to let it cool her. The heat was oppressive; she'd never felt anything like it in all her life. Having grown up in a convent orphanage in Boston, she was used to cold winters and pleasant summers, but this heat was unbearable. She'd had to divest her jacket, but her wool dress was not made for this climate.

  As a result, she had to stay out of the sun as much as possible, but now that they were finally reaching their destination, she was too curious to stay below deck.

  The letter of employment had reached her shortly after her twenty-first birthday. She had been teaching at a school nearby in Boston. Her education had been relatively good, her time at the orphanage having included lessons at one of the schools run by the church. But her teaching position had not been permanent and she'd been seeking something to turn herself to. Something with future prospects. Fortuitously, this opportunity had appeared just as she had needed it.

  In truth, her prospects weren't admirable, but she was making the best with what she had, which was a good education and a willingness to explore opportunities—even in far-flung places such as Montserrat.

  This offer of a position as a companion to a fine English lady had arrived. A little out of the blue, come to think of it. She'd been recommended by the headmistress of the orphanage the letter had said and she felt honored at having been chosen for such a prestigious position. All the way in the Caribbean, as well. She had never left Boston before; hadn't really gone anywhere, so this voyage across the sea was an adventure she'd never anticipated.

  Footsteps approached her and she turned to see John Wilkins, one of her fellow passengers. He was a tidy young man with a brown suit and neatly combed hair—a clerk assigned by the British Government to assist the governor in Plymouth, the main city in Montserrat. By the look of him, he was as excited about his new venture as she was about hers. Unfortunately, he could tell her very little about the place and even less about the family she had a been engaged by. Of them, she knew nothing other than their name—Thornton.

  It was a Mrs. Thornton that she was to be a companion to, and she had no idea if this was a young or an elderly woman. Obviously, by her title, Emmeline knew she was married.

  The island grew closer and closer and the whole of it looked inordinately lush and green.

  "That is a volcano in the center there," John said, pointing to the mountain. "I’ve heard it said it can blow at any time, spew lava down across the island, but I'm sure that's not true. They go dormant, you know. Although I read that there were natives here before the Spanish came and no doubt they worshiped some volcanic God or other, I expect. It is fascinating these old, distant cultures that we know nothing about. Lost to time. Perhaps we will be such as well at some point. It's funny to think one would be forgotten, erased by history and forgotten."

  "I'm sure that will not happen anytime soon, Mr. Wilkins," Emmeline said.

  "No, perhaps not.”

  The sailors became very busy, and orders were shouted by the captain who stood up on the quarterdeck. There were three other passengers onboard and they had all come out on deck to watch their arrival at their destination. They were close enough now that Emmeline could see the township through the vegetation. White roofs could be seen sticking out over the trees—palms, they were.

  Plymouth wasn't by any means a large town, but it looked as though it had a few roads, perhaps two dozen buildings, but that was all.

  It looked busy down by the port. Carts filled with sacks were waiting for the ship’s arrival. From what she understood, sugar was the main crop on this island. Most of the sugar in the world was produced here in the Caribbean, from islands like this one.

  She wasn't exactly sure what would happen when she arrived, if there would be someone to meet her. Surely, in a place like this it wouldn't be hard to find Mrs. Thornton. The population of the island couldn't be that large.

  "Well," John said, "we're here and the voyage has been largely uneventful. I'm glad. I'm not the best seafarer around. Not my thing, really."

  "Is this your first time outside of England?" Emmeline asked.

  "Well, I went to Holland once. Not as long a crossing as this."

  They stood by as the ship sailed closer, the buildings becoming more visible. A wooden jetty served the town and there was already a ship docked there, goods being loaded to carry away to America, then back to Europe.

  They were pulling up to the jetty and the crew were busily working to slow the ship by lowering the sails. Emmeline smoothed any stray strands of her brown hair and tucked it into where one of the pins were. It was time to get off soon and excitement coursed through her body. Her trunk was packed and there wasn't much else for her to do other than wait.

  A plank was extended and Mr. Wilkins waited for her to go ahead of him. Gingerly, she stepped across to the jetty. It felt strange to be on solid land again; she had gotten used to the constant swaying of the ship on the two-week voyage from Boston. The sun beat down and she felt the heat press on her almost as if it had force. As she walked toward the township, a neatly dressed negro man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching her as she walked down the jetty. "Miss Durrant?" he asked.

  "Yes," she responded. "I am Emmeline Durrant."

  "It seems you have arrived safely. I am Joseph Rosehill, Mrs. Thornton's aid. You can call me Joseph. Please," he said, indicating with his hand, "the carriage is over here."

  He walked toward the carriage and waited for her to join him, helping her to ascend the open carriage and closed a small door when she was seated.

  "I will attend to your trunk," he said and disappeared into the crowd that had suddenly appeared. As she watched, goods were being unloaded from the ship and people were milling around waiting for things to carry. It took a little while, but Joseph returned, with two men carrying the trunk and loading it on the back. The springs of the carriage shifted as the weight came down and Joseph walked around the front to take his place in the driver's seat.

  "Mrs. Thornton's house is not in town?" she asked.

  "No, Miss," he said. "The lady is at Rose Hill plantation. It is some way out of town. It will take us half an hour to get there."

  Emmeline hadn't known she would be staying on a plantation. The letter she had received hadn't mentioned this, only that she was needed as a companion for a Mrs. Thornton, and that her presence would be appreciated at the earliest opportunity.

  Sitting back, Emmeline watched the township as the carriage took off. Most of the buildings were white and made of stone and plaster. The township itself looked very neat. She saw some fine gentlemen and merchants, and the slaves that were apparently common in this part of the world. Slaves had not been common in Boston, and hadn’t for some time from what she understood.

  Everything seemed so very foreign, so different from everythin
g she knew. The dresses were different on the ladies she saw, typically white and made of light material. She imagined the dresses were a lot more comfortable than the wool one she wore. With her small salary, Emmeline would have to invest in a better dress. Although she wasn't sure how much she would be paid and how often. The letter hadn't stated that, either. She hoped it would be soon, because her dresses were going to leave her uncomfortable.

  They quickly left town and drove down the road to the right of the island. The vegetation was thick and difficult to see through; it grew across the road on top of them—thick, green leaves unlike anything she had ever seen before. And the flowers she saw were vibrant and bright, colored like jewels.

  She knew about tropical plants, of course, but she had never seen any. She was particularly looking forward to seeing which plants bore some of the fruit that at times came into Boston's port from the Caribbean. They had only been able to speculate for some of them, while others they had found depictions of in a botany book.

  She was going live on a plantation, it seemed. Most likely, it would have a sugar crop. She'd read that sugar was made from canes, but she had a hard time imagining the process of turning canes into sugar. It wouldn't perhaps be long until she found out.

  There were so many things to learn here, a whole new society to understand. She had no idea what her duties would be, didn't know anyone who'd worked as a lady's companion before, but she hoped it wasn't too onerous. From her estimation, Mrs. Thornton was probably older than her, but she could be wrong. It was rude to query this man in front of her about her new employer, so she quelled her curiosity and decided to study the environment around her.

  This was jungle, she realized. Never in her life had she anticipated that she would live in the middle of a jungle, but here she was, heading away from town and into a part of an island that seemed quite sparse and unpopulated. But it wasn't long before she saw fields of what she assumed was sugar cane. They didn't look as she'd imagined they would, were much larger.

  They had to be very sweet plants, she concluded. One thing was dawning on her, and that was that the township was too far away to walk to, and she wondered if she would have ample opportunities to visit. Perhaps not. It wasn't her choice now as the activities she would entertain would be at Mrs. Thornton's bequest. Hopefully the woman was kind.

  Chapter 2

  After driving past vast fields of sugarcane, they turned off onto a smaller road and followed it through yet more fields, eventually reaching a manor house in the distance. It was two stories, painted completely white, with crisscrossing railings around the exterior of both stories.

  Emmeline could see a lush garden, with large-leaved plants in the deepest green she could imagine, many species she hadn't seen before. Bright, large flowers dotted bushes, so different from the cold climate flowers she was used to seeing, but there were also roses. The orphanage where she'd grown up had been proud of its garden and Emmeline had always enjoyed spending time in it.

  This must be where she'd be living for the near future. She was excited about the chance to explore those gardens, learn about the varied and colorful botanicals—even fauna. For all she knew, there could be monkeys here.

  The carriage pulled out in front of the flaring set of stairs leading up to the second story of the house, and Joseph helped her down.

  "Here you are, Miss," he said. "Mrs. Thornton will be waiting for you in the parlor. Let me show you the way." He handed the reins over to a younger man and waited for her to walk up the stairs and through the main doors.

  It was immediately cooler inside, the floors made of dark wood. White walls surrounded her and the large windows were open to let in the breeze. Although cooler, it was still hot and Emmeline felt hot and clammy in her wool dress. The open carriage had been difficult as she'd had no parasol to keep the sun off her, and dampness had seeped into her dress now. Although she expected a closed carriage would have been stifling and uncomfortable.

  Joseph disappeared and she stood waiting in the hall, looking around at the paintings on the walls. Ornaments were scattered around on fine furniture, colorful ceramics and cut glasses. In her life, she had never been in such a fine house before.

  Wringing her hands with nervousness, she waited for Joseph to return from speaking to Mrs. Thornton. She was curious what this woman would be like. The pictures on the wall reflected a fine family—sons by the look of it. But in some way the house seemed untouched, as if much of it had been undisturbed. There were few signs of anyone living there—no jackets, or shoes, or anything else someone would've dropped off in the vestibule on their way in. It was a ridiculous notion and Emmeline mentally shook it away.

  What did she know of a fine house? It could be like this all the time, everything in its place and all ordered, servants to put everything away. Granted, most of the family dwellings she had been inside had been too small to hide anything away. This house was on another scale. It probably had rooms in which to hide things away.

  To her relief, Joseph returned and urged her to follow as he led her down the hall and through a set of double doors leading to a parlor. A woman in a white dress sat at a seating arrangement by the window, her hands neatly folded in her lap, apparently waiting for Emmeline to join her. "Madame," Joseph said. "I present Miss Emmeline." Emmeline curtseyed as the woman looked her over. Was that a look of reprove in her eyes? It seemed so, but for what cause? She must be mistaken.

  "And there you are. We have been expecting you," the woman finally said, cracking a measured smile. She was in her fifties by the look of her, her hair graying and elaborately dressed, pearls draped around her neck. The smile didn't last, but she was clearly curious, although a little standoffish. "I trust your journey went well."

  "The voyage went perfectly," Emmeline said. "There were no incidences, so I take that as a good journey. I'm not well-traveled. It is the first time I have left Boston, so it's a great adventure. Luckily, I found my sea legs so sickness didn't trouble me overmuch."

  "You certainly like to talk," Mrs. Thornton said with a hint of disapproval.

  Emmeline blushed. "I apologize. I suppose I have been cooped up in a cabin for a while." Her voice trailed off.

  "Perfectly understandable. I'm sure Joseph told you, but you have arrived at Rose Hill, a plantation of twenty-seven acres. We grow sugarcane exclusively, as do most plantations on the island."

  "It is magnificent," Emmeline stated. "The fields certainly appeared to be vast." Perhaps she should stop commenting, but she was nervous and tended to babble when she felt uncertain.

  "They are. It is a productive plantation."

  Mrs. Thornton indicated the seat on the other side of the small table for her to sit down and Emmeline did.

  "Would you like some tea?" Mrs. Thornton asked. "Joseph," she said turning to the man standing by. "Could you fetch us some tea? I'm sure Miss Durrant is parched from her journey. No doubt you will want to rest soon," Mrs. Thornton said turning her attention back to Emmeline.

  "I should perhaps refresh myself for a while," Emmeline said. "The journey hasn't exhausted me, though. Surprisingly, I slept well on the ship.

  "I cannot sleep on water at all," Mrs. Thornton stated with a shiver. "Perhaps I am so reticent leaving this place. It is home," she said after a while. "Such as it is." Mrs. Thornton turned her attention to Emmeline and studied her.

  "You have very green eyes," she said. Emmeline blushed under the scrutiny. "Your skin is quite dark, as well."

  "It seems to take the sun with vigor," Emmeline replied, accepting the cup of tea Joseph was serving her. "There's not so much sun in Boston normally."

  "No, I suppose not. You will have to use a parasol here. The sun is unrelenting." There was silence for a while as they waited for Joseph to finish with the tea service.

  Mrs. Thornton seemed a curious woman, not overtly friendly. Although she could understand that the woman needed a companion, even if her tolerance for company appeared short. This was only Emmeline's
estimation and could be far from true. Perhaps the woman simply didn't like meeting strangers. There were many who didn't, although Emmeline expected they would soon become friends. Well, she hoped so anyway.

  "It is just me here right now," Mrs. Thornton continued. "My son, Percy, is doing his studies at Oxford. He has been gone almost three years now. It is soon time for him to return and take over the running of the plantation."

  "Studying at Oxford? That sounds exciting," Emmeline said. In the Americas, young British men invariably returned to England to attend studies at Oxford.

  "Yes. Thornton men have always been Oxford men."

  Emmeline hadn't realized there was loyalty in families to universities, but she supposed it made sense that there was.

  "And what do you know of Montserrat?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

  "Very little," Emmeline had to admit. "Naturally, I looked up anything we had in our library before coming, but we had woefully little."

  "The island is under British domain, of course," Mrs. Thornton said, "but the vast majority of people here are Irish. They run most of the business, work as supervisors, etcetera. There are the slaves of course; they vastly outnumber anyone else."

  Emmeline blushed slightly, not entirely sure how to take the idea of slaves. It was a concept that was frowned upon in Boston, but she knew full well that it was common practice in the Caribbean, or anywhere else dependent on vast agriculture.

  "Our land stretches for miles," Mrs. Thornton said proudly. "As far as the eye can see."

  Emmeline's tea was sweetened with sugar beyond what she was used to. Sugar was perhaps not in short supply around these parts, but at the orphanage, they rarely had any at all, a luxury reserved for special occasions like Christmas and Easter.

  "Once you've had your tea, Joseph should perhaps take you to your room so you can settle in. We dine at seven on the dot. Tardiness will not be appreciated."