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Nathan looked up from his newspaper when Robert dashed trough the door to his sitting room with a shocked expression. He raised his eyebrows. The young man was prone to certain, annoying, melodramatic mannerisms, but he did seem more shook up than usual.
“Did you hear?” Robert exclaimed. “William Wills is dead!”
Nathan let the paper sink into his lap. This was unexpected news. He had talked to the man only a few days ago, and he had seemed a perfect picture of health.
“Oh?”
Young Robert was, as usual, upset over his lack of the same kind of exaggerated manners. “Oh? Is that all you can say? The man is dead!”
“It’s most unexpected, I agree. What happened?”
“He was murdered, Nathan. Can you believe it? He was murdered by his own slave. She stabbed him, right in the heart… in his bed.”
“Oh. I can’t say I’m surprised then. Any girl William Wills owned would, I’m sure, have more reason to hate him than most other slaves.”
“Reason... to...?” Robert closed the door forcefully and stomped into the room. “Are you actually suggesting any slave could ever be justified in doing such a thing? Should we now all fear for our very lives in our own homes? That the ones we feed and clothe will so ungratefully turn on us at any minute and murder us in our sleep? Father says he will make sure, by all means necessary, our slaves are loyal, and will harshly deal with the ones he thinks are not. There will have to be examples set, beyond the execution of this murderous slave. You should do the same, Nathan.”
There was a gasp behind him where his own body slave was clearing the table from the meal which had preceded his, sadly interrupted, daily peaceful moment with the newspaper. Nathan didn’t need to look behind him to imagine the fear on the boy’s face.
“Ah, yes, punish the innocent for what others have done, that is honorable and just,” he remarked.
“It’s not what it’s about,” Robert protested. “It’s only to remind them of their place, and, as I said, weed out the ones with malicious thoughts and hatred in their hearts.”
Nathan couldn’t help the dry laugh. “They all hate us, Robert. Do you really think any of them have a reason to love their masters? Your father will only ‘weed out’ the ones who are less talented in hiding it, that’s all.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” Robert protested again. “Nana, my wet nurse, who my mother has owned since they were both children… You’d claim she hates me? Me? She, who gave me of her milk when her own baby died from the fevers, and have comforted me all my days. You think she would hate me? You’re wrong, Nathan.”
Nathan temporarily lifted the newspaper to his face again so he could discreetly sneer behind it. He was of a good mind to tell Robert it was very likely Nana’s baby hadn’t at all ‘died from the fevers’, but been ripped out of her arms and either sold, or put out into the woods, so she could save her mistress’ breasts from the horrible fate of sagging, by feeding her spawn in her stead. He pitied Nana for having been forced to comfort Robert all these years. He should be so lucky she obviously wasn’t as suicidal as the poor girl who had killed William Wills, and hadn’t strangled her mistress’ spoiled brat a long time ago.
However, he wouldn’t tell Robert all this. He supposed the young man was not ready for this kind of truth. Besides, he would rather not spite Robert’s father so openly. He was a powerful man.
“Well then… I am wrong,” he said.
“You are, Nathan. Look at your own boy over there. Are you telling me he hates you?”
“Most probably,” Nathan answered, shrugging his shoulders.
There was another gasp behind him.
Robert didn’t seem to believe what he was hearing. “Goodness gracious, Nathan, if you truly think he does, why are you letting him sleep at your feet? He handles your food, he shaves you… Do you have a death wish? Get rid of him!”
Nathan sighed and shook his head. “You are, as usual, overreacting.”
“Overreacting? Tell that to William Wills!”
“I would have told William Wills not to be so overly harsh on his slave girls. In fact, I actually think I did, on a few occasions. Obviously, he didn’t listen.”
Robert breathed through his nose. “There are no reasoning with you sometimes, Nathan Brands. I will tell father you think poor William Wills is to blame for his own untimely and horrible death.”
Nathan sighed again. “I will tell your father myself, if he doesn’t withdraw my dinner invitation for next Saturday, at your request, dear Robert. Not that I think he would.”
“Well, we shall see about that, shan’t we?” Robert said. He strode out of the sitting room and closed the door hard behind him with an angry huff.
Nathan smiled as he raised the paper again, trying to find the spot where he had left off at the interruption. He wasn’t particularly worried about his dinner invitation. Lord Robert Bambury senior had been very interested in his latest business proposals and had been eager to hear more about them. He might be disinvited for shattering Lord Robert Bambury the younger’s illusions concerning his wet nurse, but hardly for simply disagreeing with him regarding the recently late William Wills. Lord Robert Bambury, the elder, preferred dealing with men who weren’t afraid to speak their minds.
It wasn’t until Nathan had finished the article he was reading that he noticed his slave was still about. The boy would have had plenty of time to clear the table by now, and would normally have left as soon as he was done, so he could finish his paper in peace. Again, he let it sink down into his lap.
“Is there something on your mind, Jamie?” he asked patiently, not turning his head.
The boy tentatively rounded his chair and fell to his knees before him, his closely shorn head downcast; his long-fingered hands trembling in his lap. “If I may speak… I… I- I do not hate you, Master,” he said.
Nathan smiled. This assurance really didn’t tell him much. Jamie obviously had no desire to be ‘weeded out’ and would tell his owner anything at this point, in hope he would consider not to.
He leaned over slightly. “Do you really think it would matter to me if you did, boy?” he said.
Jamie had no answer, and nervously twisted his fingers into his shirt hem. It was clear he didn’t know if his master’s words were good or bad for him.
“Perhaps I’m wrong,” Nathan said. “But I think I’m treating you sufficiently well the risk of you slitting my throat the next time I need a shave is vanishingly small. Am I correct?”
“I- I would never…” the boy stammered, looking up in abject horror.
Nathan nodded. “Good! Then let’s have an understanding between us. You will not murder me in my sleep, and I will not demand of you to harbor any warmer feelings for me. Think of me as you wish. I will not impose my will on your mind, the way I do on your body.”
“I… really do not think… such things…” the boy said, twisting his hands in his desperation to be believed.
Nathan raised an eyebrow. He had already told the boy it didn’t matter, why was he persisting?
“You-you have always been good to me, Master.”
Nathan watched his slave, bemused. He supposed, in a trivial sort of sense, it was true. Jamie wasn’t overworked, didn’t lack of sleep, decent clothing, or food – though nothing seemed to stick to the boy’s meager frame anyway. He was as woefully skinny now as he had been the day Nathan had taken him home from the market two years ago. Jamie might also, he suspected, enjoy the fact that Nathan as good as never found a reason to yell or scream at his slave, or beat him. Jamie was a cautious and obedient slave, and Nathan was a restrained and collected master.
Why upset the calm of his house if it wasn’t necessary?
Nathan had no desire to waste his time on yelling and flogging and similar unpleasant things. A slave that would require such annoying attention he would get rid of. He had been picky that way when acquiring the downstairs slaves, and he had been particularly careful in choosing his body slave. Jamie might not be the prettiest, quickest or smartest boy around, but he never intentionally made trouble, and for that, Nathan might just keep him into old age without ever finding a reason to treat the slave harshly.
So, yes, it was entirely possible he actually was ‘good’ to the boy, though he would never choose that particular word himself. If Nathan had been in Jamie’s place he certainly wouldn’t have thought of any master as ‘good’ no matter how well he might be treated. He would have hated all free people, simply for the loss of his freedom. Nathan could see no reason why Jamie wouldn’t feel the same.
He peered down at Jamie who was still looking up at him with a pair of wide eyes, which, in this moment, seemed the perfect representation of complete and utter honesty. Nathan was a tiny bit perplexed. However, he supposed it was possible the boy was enough of a simpleton he did, in fact, not hate his master. Maybe the concept of freedom was so beyond Jamie’s mental capacities, born a slave as he was, that he actually didn’t feel resentment toward the one who kept him in this state, and took advantage of his utter lack of power.
Nathan thought he should maybe feel contempt before such a dimwitted view of one’s own situation, but surprisingly enough found himself unable to. He had meant it when he said he had no desire to impose his will on the boy’s mind, and, so, he supposed he would have to respect such a peculiar lack of hate, as well as he would have respected the presence of it.
He leaned over and did something he had never done before; he patted Jamie affectionally on the head. “You are quite easy to be good to, boy,” he answered. “You have no reason to worry; there will be no ‘weeding’ in this house.”
There had been no mistaking the relief on Jamie’s face as he had been dismissed with the order to bring this message to the other slaves as well, in case they worried. With that, peace and harmony was again restored to his home – now, maybe, Nathan could finally finish his damn newspaper.