A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [128]
She turned away and started back toward the house. But before she was out of earshot she heard a cry and turned back.
The hand working next to Mack had collapsed. It was Bess, an adolescent girl about fifteen years old, tall and thin: Lizzie’s mother would have said she had outgrown her strength.
Lizzie hurried toward the prone figure, but Mack was nearer. He put down his basket and knelt beside Bess. He touched her forehead and her hands. “I think she’s just fainted,” he said.
Lennox came up and kicked the girl in the ribs with a heavily booted foot.
Her body jerked with the impact but her eyes did not open.
Lizzie cried out: “Stop it, don’t kick her!”
“Lazy black bitch, I’ll teach her a lesson,” Lennox said, and he drew back the arm that held the whip.
“Don’t you dare!” Lizzie said furiously.
He brought the whip down on the back of the unconscious girl.
Mack sprang to his feet.
“Stop!” Lizzie cried.
Lennox lifted the whip again.
Mack stood between Lennox and Bess.
“Your mistress told you to stop,” Mack said.
Lennox changed his grip and slashed Mack across the face.
Mack staggered sideways and his hand flew to his face. A purplish weal appeared immediately on his cheek and blood trickled between his lips.
Lennox raised his whip hand again, but the blow never fell.
Lizzie hardly saw what happened, it was so quick, but in a moment Lennox was flat on the ground, groaning, and Mack had the whip. He took it in both hands and snapped it over his knee, then contemptuously threw it at Lennox.
Lizzie felt a surge of triumph. The bully was broken.
Everyone stood around staring for a long moment.
Then Lizzie said: “Get on with your work, everyone!”
The hands turned away and recommenced sowing seed. Lennox got to his feet, staring at Mack evilly.
“Can you carry Bess to the house?” Lizzie asked Mack.
“Of course.” He picked her up in his arms.
They walked back across the fields to the house and took her into the kitchen, which was an outbuilding at the back. By the time Mack put her in a chair she had recovered consciousness.
Sarah, the cook, was a middle-aged black woman always in a sweat. Lizzie sent her to fetch some of Jay’s brandy. After a sip Bess declared she felt all right except for bruised ribs, and she could not understand why she had fainted. Lizzie told her to have something to eat and rest until tomorrow.
Leaving the kitchen, she noticed that Mack looked solemn. “What is it?” she said.
“I must have been mad,” he said.
“How can you say that?” she protested. “Lennox disobeyed a direct order from me!”
“He’s a vengeful man. I shouldn’t have humiliated him.”
“How can he take revenge on you?”
“Easily. He’s the overseer.”
“I won’t allow it,” Lizzie said decisively.
“You can’t watch over me all day.”
“Curse it.” She could not allow Mack to suffer for what he had done.
“I’d run away if I knew where to go. Have you ever seen a map of Virginia?”
“Don’t run away.” She frowned, thinking, then she was struck by an idea. “I know what to do—you can work in the house.”
He smiled. “I’d love to. I might not be much of a butler, though.”
“No, no—not a servant. You could be in charge of repairs. I have to have the nursery painted and fixed up.”
He looked suspicious. “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course!”
“It would be … just wonderful to get away from Lennox.”
“Then you shall.”
“You can’t possibly understand what good news this is.”
“For me, too—I’ll feel safer with you close by. I’m frightened of Lennox.”
“With reason.”
“You’ll have to have a new shirt and a waistcoat, and house shoes.” She would enjoy dressing him in good clothes.
“Such luxury,” he said, grinning.
“That’s settled,” she said decisively. “You can start right away.”
The house slaves were a little grumpy about the party at first. They looked down on the field hands. Sarah, in particular, resented