Back to Ann's Letter

As I reached womanhood, I became aware that Stoney Grove was at once a haven and a prison for me. Ned, always my charge, began to gain an enviable independence. Whilst my father insisted upon my diligent study and my seclusion from society, he gradually freed Ned from the classroom and set him to work as an apprentice to Mr. Iverson, a business associate who operated warehouses at St. George's Bay and in Charlestown.

My world continued to be populated by the same companions of my childhood; my father, my grandmother, Sawney, Miss Craighill, Miss Stewart and the others that operated the household and laboured on the estate. Whilst I met young women and their families at church, I was never invited to join them for tea or for outings organized by social-minded matrons endeavoring to promote the interests of their daughters. The sons of these same matrons often tried to engage me in conversation in the churchyard after services, or during chance meetings in the market, but my father forbade me to speak more to them than was considered civil, and their mothers ushered them hastily away if they evinced the slightest enthusiasm for my acquaintance.

My father conveyed every reluctance to engage in conversation upon the topic of my introduction to society, and so I turned to Miss Stewart to solve this puzzle. In spite of the efforts that he had made to shelter me from knowledge of the world, my father had not kept me in complete ignorance of Nevisian society, nor my part within it. Having grown up in so masculine a household, for example, I had not failed to learn that there were women within the community, who, like my mother, entertained male companions, and sometimes bore them children. These children, I knew, were of lesser standing than those born to the wives of married men, and were customarily unrecognized as their offspring. In this respect Ned and I were fortunate. My father, who took great pride in us, had given us his name and promised us a portion of his fortune upon his death. I was also no stranger to the term bastard, as on several occasions Mr. Grindle's children had addressed Ned and me by this pejorative. I did not, however, foresee the social consequences of such an identity in a society as conscious of wealth, rank, and birth as that of Nevis.

In clear terms, Miss Stewart laid out my future for me. I was a quadroon, she explained, one-quarter African. Neither my father's wealth and standing in society, nor my own beauty and accomplishments, could eradicate this essential taint in my blood. It was impossible that any Englishman, familiar with my circumstances, would marry me and elevate me to the station of lady. Indeed, no young men of respectable Nevisian families would woo me for a wife. By heritage, I was suited only to the role of mistress. Most of my kind, she stated, were kept by wealthy, dissolute planters who tired of their plain wives and noisy children. A few fortunate young women, of which she hoped I would be one, lived pure, solitary lives in the protection of fathers, brothers or uncles.

I related this conversation to my father, and to Ned, who grew angry and swore he would find me a reputable husband. My father was likewise angered by Miss Stewart's appraisal of my situation but had no ready answer in my defense. He had written to his sons in England, he admitted, apprising them of my existence and urging their assistance in the procurement of an eligible spouse. The shock of the discovery had proved beyond them, however, and he had not yet received an answer, though the query had been put forward nearly a year earlier. Had his health permitted, he would have sailed for England that very day and done the deed himself, but he had been afflicted by the gout in recent years and was not well enough to travel.

My father's health worsened, and within six months of this conversation, an attack of the bilious fever carried him off. We buried him in the churchyard at St. John's. The fever spread throughout estate, and three weeks hence, we returned to the churchyard, this time bearing the coffin of my beloved brother Ned. He was just fourteen years old.

I was truly alone in the world, with neither father nor brother to protect me. My father's solicitor advised me that I was in the possession of a small fortune, but that the estate itself had passed to my brother George in England. As I had not yet reached my majority, my future disposition was in his hands.

George Rawlins arrived on Nevis in November of 1780, a few days before my seventeenth birthday, impatient to settle the estate and return to Essex. He considered both the house and myself as great impositions thrust upon him by an unfeeling father. The facts of my parentage were repugnant to him, and he could not bring himself to utter a civil word in my company. I was a living stain on the good name of his family, a burden that must be shed as expeditiously as possible. Ironically, to be rid of me he entered into a bargain that was to result in my father's great ambition; he procured for me an English gentleman as husband, and, in so doing, made me an English lady.

Here then, was the bargain. A certain acquaintance, Mr. William Blake, had failed in a business transaction with George and his partners, and was indebted to them for a not inconsiderable sum. Upon learning of the death of his father, on the heels of the odious intelligence that he had in existence a negro sibling (for in this my father had not been honest, and did not burden his sons with Ned's history), my brother contacted the aforementioned Blake with the following proposal. If Blake were to agree to marry me, and to never introduce me to any of Rawlins's social circle, George would forgive his debt. This concession, in addition to my inheritance, could not be dismissed, and Blake readily agreed to the bargain. Whilst suspicious that his bride came to him tainted by some scandal, he was willing to accept the risk on the aforementioned terms. I was later to learn that my brother had not revealed the details of my parentage, but the telling of this part of the story must await its proper opportunity.

Upon leaving Nevis, I was allowed to remove a trunk of clothes, a few books, and the jewelry that my father had presented to me on my sixteenth birthday. From the time of my brother's arrival at the estate I was forbidden all connection with my grandmother, and so I quitted the place without the opportunity to bid her farewell, or the hope of ever seeing her again. I was also forbidden a final visit to Ned's grave, or that of my father. For these cruel acts, and others that followed, I have never forgiven my brother.

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