All of this I conveyed to Stella in the hope that she might be persuaded to share her knowledge with me, but I succeeded only in arousing her ire. It appeared that she took offence at the manner in which I portrayed the ambitions of black womanhood, but she manifested her rage not by overt onslaught, but by covert smouldering. I asked her if it were not true that young black wenches are inclined to lay themselves out for white lovers, and hence bring forth a spurious and degenerate breed, neither fit for the field nor for any work that the true-bred negro would relish. She would not answer. I asked her if it was not entirely understandable that such women would become licentious and insolent past all bearing because of their privileged position? Again, she would say nothing in response. I informed her that I have even heard intelligence that if a mulatto child threatens to interrupt a black woman's pleasure, or become a troublesome heir, there are certain herbs and medicines, including the juice of the cassava plant, which seldom fail to free the mother from this inconvenience. At this point Stella seemed ready to quit my chamber. Her insolence fired me, and I resolved to cast my accusatory stone where it properly belonged. I demanded that Stella immediately conduct me to Mr Brown. At this Stella protested that it was the height of the afternoon, and that I should not be exposed to the vertical rays from on high, but I insisted. The arrogance of the inky wench, who had dared publicly to preside at my table, still burned within me. I wished to quiz Mr Brown as to her status.
Indeed the sun was high. I had but stepped ten paces from the Great House before I knew that I ought not to be so exposed. Stella was correct. We were attended by Hazard and Androcles, two inferior lackeys who carried our parasols and sauntered along with an air which belongs to creatures unfettered by those responsibilities which are the familiar burden of rational humanity. Stella carried herself with comical self-assurance, quite as if she were a white. I can remember little of the walk to the fields, where according to fair Stella our Mr Brown was supervising his drivers, but I do recall that on more than one occasion I felt sure that I should expire before we reached our destination. Inwardly I cursed myself for even attempting such a journey, but after what seemed an eternity Stella finally pointed out Mr Brown. As we approached, a flight of birds rose in the air and cast a shadow like that of a cloud, causing the sun to darken for a few seconds. I found new resolution, and stormed ingloriously across the field, leaving instructions that Stella was not to follow.
The slaves ceased their Sisyphean labours and inclined their heads towards the wild Englishwoman charging across the denuded cane-piece. Noticing this, Mr Brown understood that something was amiss. He too turned and watched, waiting, hands upon hips and whip in hand, for my approach. 'Mr Brown,' I demanded, 'what is the meaning of this black woman sharing my dining table?' Mr Brown stared at me as though I had finally taken leave of my senses in this inhospitable climate. 'I will not tolerate such a vile and offensive perversion of good taste,' I cried. 'I demand your assurance that she will never again be allowed to disgrace my table.' Mr Brown raised a hand to block the sun from his face. He seemed rather confused by my performance, and he nodded as though uncertain of why he was doing so. For some time we stood, toe to toe, two solitary white people under the powerful sun, casting off our garments of white decorum before the black hordes, each vying for supremacy over the other.
I played my final card. 'Mr Brown, if you do not display more consideration for my position, immediately upon my return I shall have you replaced.' Mr Brown, with no discernible movement of his body, and certainly without taking his eyes from my face, called to his trustee, Fox. He ordered this black man to bear me back to the Great House. Fox, a somewhat docile but evidently sturdy negro, positioned himself before me. I repeated my threat, but Mr Brown simply uttered the word 'Fox', at which point the nigger laid his black hands upon my body, at which I screamed and felt my stomach turn in revulsion, at which its contents emptied upon the ground. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a cold shudder through my body, and I tried desperately to keep back a sob of distress. Thereafter, I have to confess that my memory remains blank until I regained consciousness in the coolness of my chamber with my Stella in attendance on me.
I judged from the sounds of nature without, and the darkness within, that the later hours of the evening were upon us. I was pleased to see the loyal Stella hover over me with concern writ large and bold across her sooty face. How far she has come in matching the loyalty of the dearly departed Isabella! Although sadly lacking the natural advantages of my former companion, and incapable of mastering even the most elementary intellectual science of the alphabet, my sable companion has virtue still. Her smiling ebon face and broadly grinning lips, which display to good advantage her two rows of ivory, offer a greeting that has helped make tolerable my sojourn on this small island in the Americas. I have been thinking seriously of taking her back with me to England, but my fear is that she may be mocked as an exotic, as are the other blacks who congregate about the parish of St Giles and in divers parts of our kingdom. However, when the time is ripe I will suggest to her that she might wish to meet with her master in his own country, the prospect of which, I am sure, will delight her. I cannot believe that any West Indian negro would spurn the opportunity of serving their master a quart of ale and a tossed tea-cake on a wintry English night.
On my regaining fuller awareness, my first enquiry of Stella brought forth the much feared response. Indeed there was much to regret. It would appear that Fox carried me bodily back to the Great House, and Stella has sat with me since. Stella informed me that Mr McDonald was summoned to attend, and that having done so he has stayed on in the hope that he might be present once I had recovered my senses. I instructed Stella to send him away, which she proceeded to do. She returned within the minute, a light smile etched upon her sable countenance. It seems that she is no longer fond of our physician, having detected a certain warmth in his passions towards me which she is happy to see dowsed by my new coolness. Stella served me yet another glass of the medicinal sangaree and began to inform me of Mr Brown's concern for my condition. I said nothing, thus giving her the chance to release from within whatever was troubling her mind. She paused, and then seized the opportunity. Stella suggested that Mr Brown is in a difficult situation, having neither wife, nor children, and he has been upon this plantation for many years, first as book-keeper, lately as assistant, and now as overseer and manager. I let her continue. Stella added that nobody knows the plantation as Mr Brown does and that although he is hard, and perhaps a little coarse and unconventional, he is generally known to be a fair man, the implication behind the black woman's peroration being that my conduct had been somehow improper to interfere in his smooth running of the estate. I sighed. What this sooty illiterate could never hope to understand is that by coming to visit I was far exceeding the duties that most proprietors set for themselves. And without a visit, I could never have discovered that my father's deputed authority was being abused and his property, including dear Stella, exploited. I held my tongue and let her continue. Her final words on the subject were poignant, if somewhat offensive, although I took it that they were not meant to be interpreted as being disrespectful. 'Here is no place for missy. Missy have a better life in she own country.' I smiled at Stella, even as I felt my eyelids grow heavy with sleep's ever-increasing burden. So missy have a better life in her own country? Perhaps Stella thinks that missy ought to hurry back to Mr Thomas Lockwood? Perhaps Stella thinks missy is jealous of Christiania and her obeah? Who knows what she thinks. I asked Stella to sit with me, worried as I was that my dreams might become over-populated with dark incubae. She turned down the light, folded her hands into a comfortable bundle, and dropped them into her dark lap. I knew she would not desert me, not this evening.