Though but two chairs were placed by the table – and the disposition of the plates, knives, and forks indicated that it had been set for only that number of guests – the profusion of dishes, thickly covering the snow-white damask cloth, might have led to the belief that a large party was expected.
It was emphatically a déjeuner à la fourchette. There were cutlets plain, and with sauce piquante, cavished fish, entrées of devilled fowl and duck, broiled salmon, and the like. These hors d’oeuvres were placed around the table, while a cold ham on one dish, and a tongue on another, occupied the centre.
Of “bread kind” there were mealy yams – some mashed with milk and butter, and dished up in shapes – roast plantains, hot rolls, toast, cassada cakes, and sweet potatoes.
But that a splendid silver tea-service, and a large glittering urn were conspicuous, the spread might have been mistaken for a dinner, rather than the matutinal meal. The hour – nine o’clock a.m. – also precluded the idea of its being dinner.
Whoever were to be the guests at this table, it was intended they should fair sumptuously. So did they every day of their lives; for there was nothing occasional in that morning’s meal. Both the style and the profuseness were of diurnal occurrence – the mode of Jamaica.
Soon after the tones of the bell had ceased to vibrate through the hall, they for whom the summons was intended made their appearance – entering from opposite sides, not together, but one coming in a little before the other.
The first was a gentleman of somewhat over middle age, of a hale complexion, and fall, portly form.
He was dressed in a suit of nankeens – jacket and trousers, both of ample make – the former open in front, and displaying a shirt bosom of finest white linen, the broad plaits of which were uncovered by any vest. A wide turn-down collar was folded back, exhibiting a full development of throat – which, with the broad jaws of ruddy hue, appeared clean and freshly shaven.
From a fob in the waistband of his trousers hung a massive gold chain, with a bunch of seals and watch-keys at one end; while at the other was an immense chronometer watch of the old-fashioned “guinea gold,” with white dial, upon which the black figures were conspicuously painted. The watch itself could be seen; as, on entering, the wearer had drawn it out of its fob with a view of ascertaining whether his servants were punctual to the minute: for the gentleman in question was a very martinet in such matters.
Loftus Vaughan, Esquire, proprietor of Mount Welcome, – Justice of the Peace, and Custos Rotulorum, – was the man thus characterised.
After casting a scrutinising glance at the display of viands, and apparently satisfied with what he saw, the master of Mount Welcome seated himself before the table, his face beaming with a smile of pleasant anticipation.
He had scarce taken his seat when a fair apparition appeared entering from the further end of the hall – a young virgin-like creature, looking as fresh and roseate as the first rays of the Aurora.
She was habited in a dress, or rather an undress, of purest white: a morning wrapper of fine lawn, that, fitting closely behind, displayed the waving contour of her back. In front, the dress fell in loose folds – scarce, however, concealing the full, bold outlines of her bosom; and then draped gracefully downward, so low as to leave nothing visible but the tips of a pair of tiny satin slippers, alternately showing themselves like white mice as the young girl glided over the polished surface of the floor.
Her throat, full and finely rounded, was encircled with a string of amber beads; and a crimson blossom – the beautiful bell of the Quamoclit – glittered amidst the ample folds of her hair. This, of a rich chestnut colour, was parted on her forehead, and carried in a curving sweep over cheeks that rivalled the radiance of the flower.
It would have required an experienced eye – one well acquainted with the physiological characteristics of race – to have told that that young girl was not of the purest Caucasian blood. And yet the slight undulation of the hair; a rotund rather than an oval face; eyes of darkest umber, with a light gleaming perpetually in the pupils; a singular picturelike expression in the colouring of the cheeks – were all characteristics, that proclaimed the presence of the sang-mêlée.
Slight indeed was the taint; and it seems like profanation to employ the phrase, when speaking of a creature so beautifully fair – for beautifully fair was the daughter of Loftus Vaughan. She was his only daughter – the only member of his family: for the proprietor of Mount Welcome was a widower.
On entering the hall, the young girl did not proceed directly to seat herself; but, gliding behind the chair occupied by her father, she flung her arms around his neck, and imprinted a kiss upon his forehead.
It was her usual matutinal salute; and proved that, on that morning they had met for the first time.
Not that it was the first appearance of either: for both had been much earlier abroad – up with the sun, indeed, as is the universal custom in Jamaica.
Mr Vaughan had entered the hall from the front door, and the broad-brimmed Leghorn hat, and cane carried in his hand, told that he had been out for a walk – perhaps to inspect the labour going on at the “works,” or ascertain the progress made in the cultivation of his extensive cane-fields.
His daughter, on the contrary, might have been seen entering the house some half-hour before, in riding costume – hat, habit, and whip – proving that her morning exercise had been taken on horseback.
After saluting her father as described, the young girl took her seat in front of the coffee urn, and commenced performing the duties of the table.
In this she was assisted by a girl apparently of her own age, but of widely-different appearance. Her waiting-maid it was, who, having entered at the same time, had taken her station behind the chair of her mistress.
There was something strikingly peculiar in the aspect of this personage – as well in her figure as in the colour of her skin. She was of that slender classic shape which we find in antique sculptures – like the forms of the Hindoo women known in England as “ayahs” and differing altogether from the negro outline. Her complexion, too, was not that of a negress – still less of a mulatta or quadroon. It was an admixture of black and red, resulting in a chestnut or mahogany colour; which, with the deep damask tincture upon her cheeks, produced an impression not unpleasing.
Nor were the features at all of a negro type. On the contrary, far removed from it. The lips were thin, the face oval, and the nose of an aquiline shape – such features as may be traced on Egyptian sculptured stones, or may be seen in living forms in the lands of the Arab.
Her hair was not woolly, though it differed altogether from the hair of a European. It was straight, and jet-black, yet scarcely reaching to her shoulders. Not that it had been shortened by the scissors: for it appeared to be at its fullest growth; and, hanging, as it did, loosely over her ears, it imparted a youthful appearance to the brown-skinned damsel.
The girl was far from ill-looking; and, to an eye accustomed to her “style,” she may have appeared even handsome. Her elegant shape, exposed by the extreme scantiness of her costume – a sleeveless robe, with a Madras kerchief worn à la toque upon her head – her graceful attitudes, which seemed natural to her, either when in motion or standing poised behind the chair of her mistress; the quick glance of her fine, fiery eyes; and the pearl-like whiteness of her teeth; all contributed to make up a picture that was far from commonplace.
This young girl was a slave – the slave Yola.
Volume One – Chapter Four
Two Letters
Instead of standing in the middle of the floor, the breakfast table had been placed close to the front window – in order that, with the jalousies thrown open, the fresh air might be more freely felt, while at the same time a view could be obtained