Free The Pull Of Freedom by Brenda Barrett Page B

Braithwaite’s house. Hilga was once again acting like her sister’s shadow. Her eyes were downcast over her meal as if today she hadn’t, with boldness, held a whip with the sole purpose of whipping a slave—anticipation alight in her eyes.
    Hilma spoke non-stop about her upcoming nuptials. She had never met the man she was going to marry but he was well placed in the society and that alone was enough for her.
    “Did you know my intended is related to the Duke of Edinburgh?”
    “He is?” Kes looked suitably impressed as he chewed his soup. The slightly thick liquid was rapidly congealing, making sipping an impossibility.
    “Did you know that my intended is cousin to an Earl?”
    Kes shook his head, he was wondering what Nanny and the others were doing. Did they think it was a good idea for him to spend the three days? What were they planning next? He was missing the maroon way of life already though he was in the house for just a day.
    “Did you know … ” Hilma was twirling her blonde hair around her finger her eyes dreamy.
    “No he doesn’t know.” Hilga snapped. Her face looked more colourful in the flickering lights of the candles, some of the spots standing out in sharp relief. “He doesn’t care and neither do I.”
    “If I never,” Hilma huffed, “you are being rude, we have a distinguished guest you know.”
    Hilga ignored her, the parents acted as if nothing happened.
    “So tell us more about you and your family Sir Floyd Kesington.”  Paul Braithwaite asked him in the silence.
    He suddenly missed the self-centred prattling of Hilma. What was his story? The true one was that his mother an English lady fell in love with his father an African slave. After secretly meeting each other for years and planning to run off together and live on another island where people would believe she was the mistress of the house and the black man was her slave.  Her cruel husband found out about their affair. His mother in a fit of passion admitted that her son was not his child. At the age of twelve he was sold into slavery, ill treated by blacks and whites alike because of his mixed heritage until he finally met people who accepted him for who he was. And now he was a maroon plotting to take whatever is needed from the plantations.
    He missed his mother though, her gentle smile, her unconditional love. He never understood why she was carted from the house in the night kicking and screaming. Her lover, the African slave called Kojo who had always been kind to him, who used to tell him stories about Africa and his adventures in the bushes had been castrated and hanged in the front yard. The man he had believed to be his father had ordered him to be sold the next day and there he had been separated from all that was familiar.
    “Sir Kesington?” Paul asked.
    Kes looked around, they were all looking at him, while he mused about his real story. What could he tell them?
    “Well, I grew up in London. My father died when I was small, I can’t remember him. My mother was the only child of a rich man so I pursued scholarly endeavours and became a barrister.”
    He paused and looked at them, Hilga was the first to smile, she was the sceptic so he relaxed.
    Serena leaned closer to him, “so that is why we couldn’t tempt you with half the money from Garfield. You are already rich.” She was smiling smugly and looking at Hilga.
    Warning bells went off in his head.
    He could see that they were already planning to marry him off to Satan’s spawn, as the slave girl had called her earlier today. Maybe he should have made up a story where he sounded a little poorer.
    Serena nudged Hilga confirming his fears.
    Hilma started to pout. He was suddenly more attractive to her and suddenly she was not the centre of attention in her own house.
    “I don’t think he likes us having slaves mother,” Hilga said smugly, “I wonder why.”
    Paul looked at him his thin eyebrows rising. Kes had the fleeting thought that he