Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [315]
“Yes?”
“You—you are requiring a servant, ma’am?”
She dropped her aloofness, realizing that he must be one of the crowd of indentures.
“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t say I require one, exactly, but it looks as though I’m going to get one anyway.” She glanced at Young Jamie, who was now interrogating a squat, beetle-browed individual with shoulders like the Village Blacksmith. Young Jamie’s notion of the ideal servant seemed to be limited to muscle. She looked back at the small man in front of her; he wasn’t much by Young Jamie’s standards, but by hers …
“Are you interested?” she asked.
The expression of haggard nervousness didn’t leave his face, but a fugitive gleam of hope showed in his eyes.
“It—I—that is—not me, no. But will you think—perhaps consider—will you take my daughter?” he said abruptly. “Please!”
“Your daughter?” Brianna looked down at him, startled, her half-eaten bridie forgotten.
“I beg you, ma’am!” To her surprise, tears stood in the man’s eyes. “Ye cannot think how urgently I pray you, or what gratitude I must bear ye!”
“But—ah—” Brianna brushed crumbs from the corner of her mouth, feeling desperately awkward.
“She is a strong girl in spite of her appearance, and most willing! She will be content to do any service whatever for ye, ma’am, and ye’ll buy her contract!”
“But why should—look, what’s the trouble?” she said, moved past awkwardness by curiosity and pity for his obvious distress. She took him by the arm and drew him into the shelter of a corner, where the racket was slightly diminished.
“Now, why are you so anxious that I should hire your daughter?”
She could see the muscles move in his throat as he swallowed convulsively.
“There is a man. He—he desires her. Not as a servant. As a—as a—concubine.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper, and a flood of ugly crimson stained his face.
“Mmphm,” said Brianna, discovering all at once the utility of this ambiguous expression. “I see. But you needn’t let your daughter go to him, surely?”
“I have no choice.” His agony was patent. “Her contract has been bought by Mr. Ransom—the broker.” He jerked his head backward, indicating a tough-looking gentleman in a tie-wig, who was talking to Young Jamie. “He can dispose of it to whom he will—and he will sell her without a moment’s hesitation to this … this …” He choked, overcome by despair.
“Here, take this.” She hastily untucked the wide kerchief from her bodice, took it off her neck, and handed it to him. It left her slightly less than modest, but this seemed like an emergency.
Clearly it was, to him. He swabbed blindly at his face, then dropped the cloth and seized her free hand in both of his.
“He is a drover; he has gone to the cattle market to sell his beasts. When he has done so, he will return with the money for her contract, and take her away to his house in Aberdeen. When I heard him say so to Ransom, I was thrown into the most violent despair. I prayed most urgently to the Lord for her deliverance. And then—” He gulped.
“I saw you—so proud and noble and kind-seeming—and it did come to me as my prayers were answered. Oh, ma’am, I pray ye, do not disdain a father’s plea. Take her!”
“But I’m going to America! You’d never—” She bit her lip. “I mean, you wouldn’t see her—for a very long time.”
The desperate father went quite white at this. He closed his eyes, and seemed to sway slightly, giving at the knees.
“The Colonies?” he whispered. Then he opened his eyes once more and set his jaw.
“Better she should be gone from me forever to a wild place, than to meet dishonor before my eyes.”
Brianna had no idea what to say to this. She glanced helplessly over the man’s head at the sea of bobbing heads.
“Er … your daughter … which one …?”
The flicker of hope in his eyes sprang into sudden flame, shocking in its intensity.
“Bless ye, lady! I will fetch her to ye directly!”
He pressed her hand fervently, then darted away into the crowd, leaving her staring after him. After