A Place Called Freedom (1995)

She became obsessed with the idea that he was having an affair. The only person she could think of was Suzy Delahaye. She was young and pretty, and her husband was always going away—like many Virginians he was obsessed with horse races and would travel two days to see one. Was Jay sneaking out of the house after supper and riding over to the Delahaye place and getting into bed with Suzy?

She told herself she was being fanciful, but the thought would not go away.

On the seventh night she looked out of her bedroom window and saw the flicker of a candle lamp moving across the dark lawn.

She decided to follow.

It was cold and dark, but she did not delay to dress. She picked up a shawl and drew it around her shoulders as she ran down the stairs.

She slipped out of the house. The two deerhounds, who slept on the porch, looked up at her curiously. “Come, Roy, come, Rex!” she said. She ran across the grass, following the spark of the lantern, with the dogs at her heels. Soon the light disappeared into the woods, but by then she was close enough to discern that Jay—if it was he—had taken the path that led to the tobacco sheds and the overseer’s quarters.

Perhaps Lennox had a horse saddled ready for Jay to ride to the Delahaye place. Lennox was deep in this somehow, Lizzie felt: that man was involved whenever Jay went wrong.

She did not see the lantern again, but she found the cottages easily. There were two. Lennox occupied one. The other had been Sowerby’s and was now vacant.

But there was someone inside it.

The windows were shuttered against the cold, but light shone through the cracks.

Lizzie paused, hoping that her heart would slow down, but it was fear, not exertion, that made it beat so fast. She was scared of what she would see inside. The idea of Jay taking Suzy Delahaye in his arms the way he had embraced Lizzie, and kissing her with the lips Lizzie had kissed, made her sick with rage. She even thought about turning back. But not knowing would be the worst of all.

She tried the door. It was not locked. She opened it and went inside.

The house had two rooms. The kitchen, at the front, was empty, but she could hear a low voice coming from the bedroom at the back. Were they in bed already? She tiptoed to the door, grasped the handle, took a deep breath, and flung it open.

Suzy Delahaye was not in the room.

Jay was. He lay on the bed in his shirt and breeches, barefoot and coatless.

At the end of the bed stood a slave.

Lizzie did not know the girl’s name: she was one of the four Jay had bought in Williamsburg. She was about Lizzie’s age, slim and very beautiful, with soft brown eyes. She was completely naked, and Lizzie could see her proud brown-tipped breasts and the tightly curled black hair at her groin.

As Lizzie stared, the girl threw her a look that Lizzie would never forget: a haughty, contemptuous, triumphant look. You may be the mistress of the house, the look said, but he comes to my bed every night, not yours.

Jay’s voice came to her as if from a great distance: “Lizzie, oh my God!”

She turned her face to him and saw him flinch at her look. But his fear gave her no satisfaction: she had known for a long time that he was weak.

She found her voice. “Go to hell, Jay,” she said quietly, and she turned and left the room.

She went to her room, got her keys from the drawer, then went down to the gun room.

Her Griffin rifles were in the rack with Jay’s guns, but she left them and picked up a pair of pocket pistols in a leather case. Checking the contents of the case she found a full powder horn, plenty of linen wadding, and some spare flints, but no balls. She searched the room but there was no shot, just a small stack of lead ingots. She took one of the ingots and a bullet mold—a small tool like a pair of pincers—then she left the room, relocking the door.

In the kitchen, Sarah and Mildred stared at her with big frightened eyes as she walked in carrying the pistol case under her arm. Without speaking she went to the cupboard and took out a stout knife and a small, heavy iron saucepan with a spout. Then she went to her bedroom and locked the door.

She built up the fire until it blazed so hot she could not stay near it for more than a few seconds. Then she put the lead ingot in the pan and the pan on the fire.

She remembered Jay coming home from Williamsburg with four young girl slaves. She had asked why he had not bought men, and he said girls were cheaper and more obedient. At the time she had thought no more about it: she had been more concerned about the extravagance of his new carriage. Now, bitterly, she understood.

There was a knock at the door and Jay’s voice said: “Lizzie?” The handle was turned and the door tried. Finding it locked he said: “Lizzie—will you let me in?”

She ignored him. At the moment he was cowed and guilty. Later he would find a way to convince himself he had done nothing wrong, and then he would become angry, but for the moment he was harmless.