He turned back to Marjorie. “It's a recipe from her aunt. From the Indies, of course. There they distill the most decadent spirits. Rumbullion, it's called, and I daresay it tastes as dark and as dangerous as the tropics themselves. ”
An elegant, black-haired woman floated up to his elbow, the cobalt-blue feathers in her hair a perfect match to her low-cut gown. She was more exotic than beautiful, with a prominent nose and a small, pursed mouth.
“Ah, but here is my dearest Adele now. ” The bailie put his arm at his wife's back.
The woman sketched them a flirtatious curtsy. “You were speaking of Aunt Sesane's punch? Or by 'dark and dangerous' did you mean me?” Her laughter trilled over the din. She spoke in a peculiar accent, and Marjorie wondered if she was the most appealing or most unappealing creature she'd ever met.
She eyed Adele, and suddenly the prospect of sampling a forbidden drink lifted her mood considerably.
“Your
husband spoke to me of your aunt's rumbullion, and dare I say, it sounds lovely. ” Cormac shot her a warning glance, but Marjorie only smiled. She was no stranger to the occasional brandy; surely she could handle a taste of some tropical concoction. And besides, she'd likely get more information from a roomful of punch-drunk ladies than Cormac ever would from the bailie and his cronies.
“Fine, fine,” Forbes said at once, clearly eager to be done with the wives. “Come, Lord Brodie, I know just the men you need to meet. Tell me, how are you at the billiard table?” Adele linked arms with Marjorie, sweeping her from the room. It was a promising start, and Marjorie estimated she had approximately one hour and no more than two of these rumbullions to wrest as much information from the woman as possible.
“Adele,” she mused. “It's such a lovely name. French, is it?”
“Well reckoned, Lady Brodie. ” The woman bowed her head, a kittenish smile curving her thin lips. “My mother was French, the daughter of a well-to-do plantation owner. She met my father in Barbados. He hailed from Edinburgh, a worker from one of the more… how to say mal fame?… from one of its dodgier neighborhoods. A servant dallying with his master's daughter? It was quite the affaire. ”
It seemed owning slaves was routine practice. Aidan popped into mind, and Marjorie wondered if Adele's father had been transported by force or had gone to Barbados willingly.
The bailie's wife flicked open her fan, its mother-of-pearl handle glittering in the candlelight. A wicked smile lit her eyes. “But who could blame my mother, non? A sheltered girl, but with Parisian blood in her veins, meets a handsome field worker with thick arms and an equally thick… “ Her laughter chimed like crystal bells. “Bien sur que oui! A healthy dowry, a generous inducement to shut the mouths of the other workers, et voila, I appear seven months later. ”
Marjorie hung on her every word. At first she'd found Adele vaguely unattractive, but charisma alone was transforming the woman into something fascinating and oddly beautiful.
She swept them down a marble-tiled hall into a small room. Thick, smoky scents and the chatter of a dozen women assailed her. Gold-embroidered pillows in dusky colors littered the place, a patchwork of rugs and animal skins underfoot. The wives all lounged on sofas, reclining informally, despite the elegance of their gowns.
Marjorie couldn't stop her gasp.
Adele laughed her peculiar, harmonious laugh. “Perhaps my husband warned you, my lady. In the Indies, you shall find a world quite unlike any you've known before. ”
“Indeed,” she responded, and before she knew it, a cool pewter tankard was placed in her hands. It was large and heavy with drink, its contents smelling of sugar and sin. She sipped, and a shiver ran up her spine.
“Come,” Adele said, leading her to one of the sofas. “I insist you tell me where you are from, where you are going. ”
Marjorie sank into the feather-stuffed silk upholstery. Concerned she was in over her head, she took a fortifying sip
of her drink. The rumbullion tasted of exotic fruits, and it went down surprisingly easily. She sipped again, this time for the flavor of it.
She decided to be as vague as she could. Though, with her luck, Malcolm and Adele Forbes owned a summer home on the banks of the Clyde.
“Hugh and I hail from the south, near the Clyde. ” She drank again, and the alcohol buzzed up the backs of her legs, rendering them warm and loose. She eased back into the pillows. “But we are very excited to be embarking on this new chapter in our lives. Jamaica. The name alone is magical. ”
“Ah, off to our corner of the world?” another woman chimed in.
Marjorie nodded her response, judiciously sipping rather than speaking.
“And you've never been?”
“No. ” Marjorie shook her head, and it set a little wheel spinning deep in her skull. She took another sip of her drink in an effort to quiet her mind. “This will be our first trip. ” A chorus of exclamations went round the room, the women chattering all at once about the heat, the help, the sun, Scotland, and everything in between.
“This is my first trip back to Scotland in twenty years,” one said.
“Imagine!” a few exclaimed in harmony.
“We needed help,” another began, “and I'd almost forgotten what strapping lads there are to be found here. My Arthur has become a bit… doughy in his later years. ”
“My husband, too. ”