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victoriansecret · 10 months

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Indentured Servitude, Convict Servitude, and Slavery

Before I start, I want to be extremely clear that this is focused on 18th century Britain and British America. Other cultures, and other time periods, have different forms of all of these, but this is my primary period and place of study. I am going to break each section into its own post because I've had issues with long posts, I ask that you reblog the last post so the whole thread is accessible. Content warning for slavery, abuse, rape I am writing this because it is a subject I have focused much of my own research on, and in my career I have discovered that many people are confused about what these are all in general, and particularly how they differ from one another. That is the main thing I am attempting to explain, while giving general brief overviews of each. I don't generally do "heavy history" stuff here, and I didn't go out of my way to do specific research for this: it's based on my preexisting knowledge, and it's not heavily footnoted, though I did look up a few specific things to cite. Feel free to ask questions or add insight of your own!

Indentured Service The biggest thing that differentiates indentured servitude from the other forms I will discuss is in the name itself: “indenture” means contract. The person being indentured would sign a contract, which could be purchased by somebody to own their labour for a period of time. This is vital, because at least ostensibly it was entered into willingly. This is not to say that it was not rife with abuse: it was. Even setting aside times people were outright coerced or fooled into indenturing themselves, it was often done by people who were desperate. Still, it provided more agency than the other two forms. But perhaps even more importantly, the indenture gave them legal protection in the eyes of the law. If their master was not abiding by the contract, they could be sued at court, and while I have no doubt that servants had the odds against them, I can document many cases of them successfully winning their suits and being paid out hefty sums in damages. The opposite is true as well, of course - generally, if a servant runs away and is returned, they can be brought to court by their master, and typically the punishment is to have time added to their contract (usually, the time they were away plus additional time). And for what it's worth, I have even seen servants go to court to extend their own contract, or sign a new one, because they were unable to support themselves on their own. This is exceedingly rare, but I have seen it.

In the broadest sense, people who entered an indenture typically did so to pay off some kind of debt. This might be a preexisting debt, or it might be one that they incurred in the process of signing the indenture itself: for many Europeans, the possibilities promised in America were alluring enough (or their present lives difficult enough) that many were willing to indenture themselves explicitly to have their passage to America paid, and then spend years working off that debt in hopes of establishing themselves new lives in America. It's important to note that Britain, and much of Europe, was already rather densely populated at this time. And because it had been so urbanized there was in many places little land to be found, and what there was tended to be owned by the wealthy elite already. In America, the exact opposite was true: there was seemingly endless land, and relatively few people. For some frame of reference, in the 1770s the most populated city in North America is Philadelphia, with somewhere around 30-40 thousand people living there. By contrast, London at the same time had well over a million people. So the hope that many people had was that they could come to America, acquire land of their own, and at the very least subsist off of their own work, and ideally maybe even succeed well enough to improve their lives. And not merely monetarily, but also in status: owning land conferred benefits in society such as being able to vote, hold office, etc.

This was, of course, part of the much broader issue of Europeans encroaching on lands held by Native people and the displacement and genocide perpetrated against them. And especially in colonies where tobacco was the primary cash crop, it had a devastating effect on the land itself: unless done with proper and careful crop rotation, tobacco ruins the soil it's planted in within a few years, and you are unable to plant anything there for upwards of 20 years. Generally, the Europeans in America were practicing what we might call "slash and burn" planting, where they cared only about quick profits and would raze the ground, constantly wanting to replace the lands they had spoiled and stealing increasingly more and more land from Native nations and tribes in their avarice. And while this was exponentially more of an issue with the wealthiest of planters - people like the Washingtons, who had hundreds of thousands if not millions of acres of land and were always looking for more - the sheer number of small farms still had a cumulative effect.

Anyway, the point being this was an alluring prospect for many poor labourers and tradespeople in Europe who were in hyper-competitive job markets where they could expect extremely exploitative, low wages for exceptionally high quality, production, and specialized labour. Even tradespeople in America made much higher wages on average (often for poorer quality work) than England, for example, although many people who performed trades in their homeland were keen to drop their tools and pick up a hoe in America. This was in fact sometimes such a big problem that there are instances of colonial governments essentially subsidizing tradespeople, paying them to continue doing their trade so that they have people doing that sort of work. Over time this became less common, especially as the number of enslaved labourers outpaced indentured servants: with so much of the field work being done by enslaved people, it became more common for indentured servants to be put to work at their trade, although it was still common for them to cease their trade and acquire land of their own at the conclusion of their contract. As for the contracts themselves, there were standard forms that could be used, but there was flexibility in the some of the language, and especially the length of the contract. One of the more common misconceptions I hear and see about indentures is that they typically lasted seven years, and I will explain in a moment why I think that misunderstanding happens. When I have looked at indentures, most often they're for somewhere between 3-5 years, although they can be longer or shorter as well. It's not particularly uncommon to see even 1-2 years, I've even seen some that are just for months at a time. There are also occasionally some interesting clauses written into contracts. Sometimes it will stipulate what role or duties the servant will perform: whether it's to keep performing their skilled trade, or to act as a domestic servant, for example, because the default is so often, at least in America, that they are going to be working in the fields. A somewhat common turn of phrase you see is "will not be put to work at the plow", i.e. that they will not be doing farm work. Which, having done some 18th century farm work in the Virginia summer, I can wholly understand.

As an aside, if you want to read a diary of an indentured servant, the account of John Harrower is interesting. He was a Scottish man who indentured himself for America in the early 1770s. He’s kind of an exceptional case, because it appears he had been a somewhat successful merchant who had fallen on hard times: he is clearly more educated than most, and he is hired specifically to be a schoolteacher for his wealthy master’s children (and eventually, for other children in the nearby plantations, for which his master charged fees and paid Harrower a portion of them). Still, there’s some fascinating details in there, particularly about the ship journey over, but also just every day life in Virginia. I think the most fascinating passage in the whole thing is also the most harrowing (no pun intended), where he describes how he and the other servants are to be sold:

You can read his journal here: https://archive.org/details/jstor-1834690

#history #indentured servitude #convict servitude #slavery #cw: slavery #cw: rape

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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

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In League — Delirium

Masterlist

Summary: (A handful of days after being saved but a fortnight before his escape.) The rest of the Boys have mixed feelings about the wrongly-accused spy's extended stay — to say nothing of their leader's preoccupation with him. Unfortunately, before the matter can be resolved, their "guest" succumbs to a fever... Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, fever, sickfic, implied past noncon, vague mention of an infected wound, indentured servitude, skewed power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper.

He rapped on the door softly with one knuckle. “Wyatt? Doc’s here.” No response. He wasn’t about to go in uninvited, not now.

Three days ago, Theo had come home to a house divided. He’d been downriver only a few nights, making sure the right men would be on duty whenever their shipments passed through the port, but apparently he’d missed quite a drama. The beggar-revealed-enemy spy hunted, captured, and tortured for his crimes, only to be whisked away by Wyatt who believed his claims of innocence. They’d been holed up in his room ever since, leaving the rest of the house to stew in their wake.

Half thought the boy’s association with Keats was reason enough for punishment, even if they had been mistaken about his exact role. The rest cared more about Wyatt’s total absence, questioning if there was more going on than they fully realised. Of course, no one was taking any action aside from apparently whinging on about it from dusk til dawn.

In some ways, it was amusing to Theo.

They may play as a democracy but they’d all had a hand in dealing Wyatt the trump card. Their reasons were their own but universally, they all preferred Wyatt be the one to ultimately set things right. Whether he was the hero or the villain at the end of the day to achieve it, didn’t matter. The point was, he took care of it and none of them had to.

You have to talk to him, they’d said. From the moment Theo had returned, they’d all been at his heels. Make him see reason. As though Wyatt ever listened to anyone. The truth was the reverse: Theo was the one who listened, between the two of them. But from the outside, all the others saw was a closeness that made them think Theo had Wyatt’s ear.

“In time,” Theo had told them all. In Wyatt’s own time, was what it would really be.

And sure enough, on his second night home, he turned over in the wee hours of the morning to find Wyatt haunting his door.

“Ah, come for confession?” Theo teased, pushing himself up.

Wyatt chuckled, ghosting across the dark room to reappear in the moonlight coming through the window. “You should fuckin' hope not.” He flicked open the latch and leaned out, pulling in a deep breath like he hadn’t been getting enough air. “Grab a jacket,” was all he said before swinging a leg over the sill and disappearing into the night.

Theo needed more than a fucking jacket, seeing as he’d just been sleeping, and seeing as it was bloody freezing outside in the middle of the damn night but eventually he heaved himself out onto the roof to join Wyatt. The slate tiles were cold beneath his hands and slick beneath his feet. In the daylight, they’d have spiderwebbing frost crosshatched over their surface, sparkling in the sun.

“Now that you’ve dragged me out of bed to risk falling to my death…”

Wyatt snorted, producing a second cigarette. He lit it by the end of his and passed it to Theo.

He took a drag. And then a second, watching Wyatt’s profile and waiting for him to break the silence. “Well, it better be for something or I’m going back to bed. I slept fuck all at the port.”

“I know how you hate a moving bed.”

“Exactly, so out with it already. What’s gotten into you? This isn’t how you do things.”

“No. It’s not.” He wasn’t smoking anymore, instead staring at the lit cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke curl away, the shadowy rooftops beyond. He took another deep breath like something was stopping the air from reaching the bottom of his lungs.

“What is it about this one?”

“I don’t know.”

Theo waited.

Nothing but sullen silence.

So, it was going to be like that. He bumped Wyatt’s shoulder with his. “Piss off, yes you do.”

Wyatt sighed, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “It’s—it’s the way he looks at you. Begging you to be different, to—” He cleared his throat and took another pull from his cigarette.

“Begging you to save him?”

“This is different,” Wyatt said, a little too quickly.

“I don’t see how. One way or another you always play the rescuer.”

“Well, then he’s different.”

“All right. Apparently so.” He’d get nowhere with this, not if Wyatt couldn’t see it for himself. Maybe he was wrong anyway. He took a slow drag, waiting for Wyatt to do the same. “What about the rest of the boys? They’re not happy.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Are you? Alfred says they haven’t seen you since they brought the boy here, thinks you’re holding a grudge.”

“Maybe I am,” he grumbled.

“If you are then you’re being a fool. There’s no need to choose him over the rest. Talk to them, they’ll come round.”

Wyatt said nothing. There was a tension in his shoulders mirroring that in his brow. Unrest in the house always weighed heaviest on him.

“They all deserve to be given the chance.”

Wyatt chuckled at having his own convictions parroted back at him. But he knew Theo believed them just as much as he did. They’d found many of them together, the runaways and cast-offs, thieves and beggars. Each had only needed one chance. “After all, isn’t that what this is about? August’s chance?”

But Wyatt never found the opportunity because just a few hours later, before the sun had finished rising and the frost was still thick from the night, he sent Theo for the doctor.

The very same who now cleared his throat as he stood behind Theo in the hallway, waiting. Theo raised his fist to knock again just as Wyatt pulled open the door. Wyatt raked a hand through his flaxen hair, looking more disheveled than he did after most rows. Theo raised his eyebrows.

Wyatt ushered the doctor in wordlessly, taking a moment to meet Theo’s eyes with a grim expression before he followed. It was about as much a request to stay as he knew Wyatt capable of so he did, leaning against the doorframe to keep out of the way. The doctor sat on the desk chair beside the bed, leaving Wyatt to hover, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking anything but at ease.

His unrest was apparently not unfounded as the doctor wasn’t able to rouse August. Theo hadn’t yet met him properly. It was difficult to regard him as a young man, practically their peer from what Wyatt had said. One wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, especially not today. He was prone on the bed, swallowed by the pillows and bedcovers. His only colour came from the smattering of bruises across his face and the blueish-green of his veins crisscrossing the backs of his hands, which Theo could make out even across the room.

“His fever is quite high,” Doc confirmed. “Any injuries?”

Wyatt grunted in confirmation, sitting down on the bed. August whimpered as Wyatt lifted him to sit upright, though his eyes stayed closed.

“I know it hurts,” he murmured, lips at the other boy’s ear.

August was limp as a rag so Wyatt held him against his chest while the doctor inspected the healing lashes on his back. Wyatt’s thumb stroked the nape of his neck under his damp, tangled hair.

“These look relatively superficial. Anywhere else?” Doc was on payroll exactly because he was all business and no stupid questions.

The boy whined again when he was replaced on the pillow, eyelids fluttering as he tossed his head to the side, chasing the hand that had just left him. Wyatt indulged him, smoothing the backs of his fingers across the boy’s cheek and shushing him until his breath calmed.

He led the doctor through a full inspection, unbuttoning, uncovering, unwinding bandages. There were burns dotting his chest and upper arms, the undersides of his knees, the soles of his feet.

If Theo had been present that night, while this was going on, he wouldn’t have stayed. More likely would have appealed to Wyatt himself to put an end to it sooner. It wasn’t fair to submit someone to punishment just for doing their job. And if he was an indenture, it hadn’t even been his choice to begin with, poor soul.

“No,” the doctor was saying. “Nothing I’ve seen is cause for a fever so high.”

The other boys liked to jest—in truth making light of their own uncertainty—that one couldn’t tell by looking if Wyatt was returning from a funeral or from winning at the track. Theo could admit that their leader played his hand close to his chest but he still had his tells, just like any of them.

And Theo was looking right at it.

Wyatt had no qualms spending double the resources just to eliminate the possibility that there might be an easier or more efficient means to their end. It wasn’t optimism or dumb luck but a thoroughness that meant going about things more thoughtfully, patiently. Sometimes there was an upper-level window always left unlocked that could save the spectacle of barging in the front, it just needed to be found first.

So, Theo wasn’t surprised that Wyatt had saved the worst for last – and apparently it was just that. No sooner had he lifted the hem of his nightshirt than August’s eyes flew open and he kicked away.

Wyatt had to lean away to avoid a heel to his face.

The boy’s eyes were unfocused when he righted himself but he glared in Wyatt’s direction as he tried to catch his breath.

Wyatt held up both hands in surrender. “It’s all right, lad. We’re trying to help. You’re unwell. The doctor is here to make you feel better.”

“No, please,” he begged hoarsely. Speaking sent him into a coughing fit. When it finally stopped, he had to lean into the wall, squeezing his eyes shut like he was fighting off unconsciousness. “Please, no more.”

Theo frowned. Wyatt had failed to mention this particular piece of information though now it was clear that it was central to this puzzle.

“Of course not. You’re safe from that here.” Wyatt reached for him but he recoiled. “Please, August, ‘tis only I.”

August blinked at him looking confused and began shaking his head. “It hurts…”

“I know, lamb.” Theo had only heard such a gentle tone from Wyatt on a handful of occasions. He ought to look away but found he couldn’t. “Let me help you, please.” Wyatt kept his hand outstretched, waiting.

The younger boy reached for him, fingers hesitating just shy of touching his hand. “Sir?”

“Yes,” Wyatt said, as though it were distinguishing enough it could only mean him. “Come here, August. It’s all right.”

They all waited, though August seemed unaware the others were even there. His eyes never left Wyatt’s. He finally gave him his hand and let himself be reeled in, collapsing into Wyatt’s arms with a whimper.

Wyatt hushed him, soothing his whines until the boy went limp in his arms. He waited another moment before slowly lifting the too-big nightshirt that hung off his frame, passing it to Doc to hold out of the way while his fingers found the waistband of his—

August cried out, eyes flying open as he twisted in Wyatt’s arms. “Please, please. Master, I beg of you, no more. I can’t—” He tried to lash out, to get away but this time Wyatt held him fast. He yelped, struggles growing more urgent as he found himself trapped.

Wyatt continued to shush him, expression betraying just how much he hated to use such force. He finally organised the boy in his arms at the right angle to pull away the last layer of fabric, revealing a wound the size of Theo’s whole hand. Just under the crest of his hipbone, so large it barely fit on his skinny side, the skin all around it bright and angry. Theo couldn’t look too closely at the rest, his stomach already starting to turn on him.

“How long has it been like that?”

Wyatt didn’t answer. He was too occupied settling the younger boy now that he was covered again. And perhaps trying to recover what graces he had lost. His voice was too low to hear though his tenderness was plain as he brushed August’s hair from his face and cradled him in his arms.

Theo wanted to reassure him that it was unlikely August would remember many details of this anyway, fevered as he was.

“What can you do for him?” Wyatt finally asked once August had returned to some fevered semblance of rest.

“I’ll need to clean away the infection. We can’t do it here, he needs to remain still. Else, I can administer chloroform.”

“I’ve known people to die from that,” Wyatt snapped. Theo wondered if he was aware that he’d pulled August closer to his chest. “It’s not safe in the best cases, let alone when he can’t follow instruction.”

Theo knew not of whom he spoke but from his tone could tell the matter was closed.

“But I measure the—”

“I’ll not risk it.” Wyatt didn’t even spare him a second glance.

“It won’t be pretty,” Doc warned. “We shall need at least two others to hold him down.”

The muscles in Wyatt’s jaw visibly tightened. He looked down at August, whose cheeks were now flushed after struggling. “But he’ll live?”

Theo could hear the guilt laced through his tone, see the weight of responsibility in the downturn of his expression. But he’d seen worse survived by worse off, and from what he could see, August had plenty going in his favour.

To be continued...

@whumpy-writings , @writer-reader-24 , @deluxewhump , @no-whump-on-main , @maracujatangerine , @painsandconfusion , @wolfeyedwitch , @briars7 , @gala1981 , @redwingedwhump , @whumpflash , @peachy-panic , @hold-him-down , @poeticagony , @annablogsposts , @fleur-alise , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @crystalquartzwhump , @magziemakeswhatever , @neverthelass

#whump writing #whumpblr #sickfic #sick fic #fever whump #fever fic #historical whump #implied past noncon tw #indentured servitude #power dynamics #carewhumper #sympathetic whumper #captivity whump #team whump #spy whump #self-indulgent timeline hopping is the name of this game #don't worry #he will have to be held down #carewhump at its finest

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feline17ff · 3 months

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Me: Oh that's so cool! My language has Caribbean dialects! I wonder how tho

*looks it up*

Slavery by any other name 🥲

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slowlyhardgoatee · 6 months

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‘You delivering or collecting? Collecting? Alright, just park up right here.

What’s on your collection report? Let’s see… you’re here to get three eight-inch props and a pump? Yeah, we can help you with that. Turn the ignition off and step down from the cab, son. I’ll get my yard foreman down here in a few with everything you’re gonna need.

Hey, aren’t you Stevie Hamilton’s kid? …Nephew, sorry. Yeah, I thought I recognised you. You were working in his yard a couple years back, right, fixing his trucks and stuff? I remember. You must be what, eighteen or nineteen now? …Eighteen last week? Happy birthday, haha. So, your uncle got you working for him full time now? Good.

Listen, you hang out here for a second, let me just make a quick call up to the foreman.

Yeah, Bill? Listen, I got Stevie Hamilton’s nephew here… yeah, that’s the one. …Yeah, I know, hehe. Listen, he’s here to get three eight-inch props and a good pump. …Yeah, exactly. You and the guys come on down here, will you? Oh, and Bill - I think you’d better bring some paperwork. …Yeah. Alright, see you in a few.

Well, they’ll be down here in a minute, son. There’ll be some paperwork for you to sign, then we’ll get you good and loaded. Sound good? Alright. Trust me, son, the trucking life may be hard to start with, but the next year of your life is gonna be educational, intense and informative, and you’ll come out the other side with a few marks and bruises, but you’ll learn to love it.

Here comes Bill with your paperwork, anyway. Derek and John will be along in a moment, and then you’ll get your eight-inch props and a pump. Just sign here… and here… and here. Great. That copy goes back to your uncle, and the rest we keep on file here.

And here come John and Derek. Why don’t you open up the back of your truck and climb up inside, son? That’s it. And we’ll all come in with you.

Now, let’s just take a second, shall we? I said I recognised you from a couple years back, and I did. I distinctly remember you because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me and Bill, and I actually caught you playing with yourself when you thought I wasn’t looking at you. You like big, older men, don’t you boy? Yeah. Well, this paperwork you’ve signed is… heh, it’s a contract of indentured servitude. You didn’t even read it, did you?

Let’s read it together, shall we? It says, ‘I, the undersigned, solemnly and completely give myself in servitude to these witnesses here present, for no less than one year, starting from today’s date. Any and all pay I was due to receive for my employment will still be paid to my account, on the understanding that said funds are solely and explicitly used to purchase goods which will enhance my servitude’ - so we’re talking dildos, ball gags, riding crops, a sling, Vaseline, paddles, leather harnesses, rope, blindfolds and nipple clamps, boy. That’s just to start with - ‘and I willingly accept my place as my Superiors’ fuck toy.’

So, there you have it, boy. Now. You’re gonna strip, nice and slowly. Really put on a fucking show for the four blokes that are gonna be owning and controlling your holes for the next year. You asked for three eight-inch props, boy. Well, Derek, John and Bill are all ex-rugby players - you’ll see for yourself in a minute where the eight inches comes into it.

Good boy, everything off. Now bend over, and grab your ankles. Hold still while Derek and Bill tie your wrists to your ankles with their belts… good boy.

Now it’s time to take my cock. No condom, no lube. Ready, faggot? Oh, FUCK yeah that’s a tight cunt. You’re a virgin, ain’t ya, boy? Yeah? Not any more you’re fucking not. Get that fucking cock up there, faggot. Yeah, fucking ride it, you slut. Good boy. Wrists tied to your fucking ankles, taking a fat fucking granddad cock like the faggot slut you really are. And just think, boy. We’ve got full ownership of your cunt for at least the next year. Think of all the cock and cum you’re gonna be taking. Yeah, you like the sound of that, boy? What was that? Did you just say ‘Yes, Sir?’ Fuck yeah, boy, I like an inferior faggot who really knows his place.

Hold on, boy, here comes my fucking nut. Here it comes, faggot, you ready…? Yeah, beg for Sir’s nut up your faggot cunt, boy, here it fuuuuuucking comes, you SLUT. FUCK. You diiiiirty fucking faggot.

Right. I’ll let Derek, John and Bill gang-breed you now, boy. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, and I’ll have both my big hairy arms greased up from fingertips to elbows. I’m gonna spend the rest of the afternoon turning you into a fucking fist pig, faggot. By closing time, you’ll be begging for my fist.

In the meantime, fellas, rape this faggot good and hard. You know he needs it. Make sure you eight-inch props give him a fucking good pump. After all, it’s what he’s fucking here for.’

#pigboy #faggot slave #slave boy #daddybear #breedpig #sirsslave #indentured servitude

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uuuhshiny · 2 years

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Jeremy Allen White in Homecoming

Are they treating you well here? Yes, Sir

#by uuuhshiny #jeremy allen white #homecoming #uuuhshiny's gifs #whumpedit #power #as I see it #indentured servitude #fear #flinching #a man looking down...#just for me #buyer's choice...

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zoomar · 8 months

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"Wages! Pay you wages! Didn't I take you in when you were a poor miserable outcast?"

#toy #toys #toymaker #wages #stingy #urchin #waif #labor #indentured servitude

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cryptidwritings · 2 months

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Dark Water

Chapter 37 : The Day

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cw: emotional whump, emotional manipulation, bad news, breakup, threat at the end of a gun, talk of hanging and thinking of death.

"Theodora?" Anne called from downstairs. "Ye awake?"

Theodora took a breath, "Aye!" She called. "I was just comin' down!"

She emerged at the top of the stairs, looking down upon her friend, who had taken a seat at the bar. Her hair was a mess; her dress, also. She was pretty sure that was the same one Anne had been wearing before she had gone to bed.

Her foot hit the landing. "Ye 'ungry?"

Anne nodded with a smile. Theodora didn't return it as she walked behind the bar and got to work.

"Where were ye?" She prepped the stove. "I don't remember ye talkin' about town."

"I got up the other day and 'ad a thought," Anne leaned on her elbows. "What if Reid tried ta bad-talk ye? So I went to town, spoke to Burke to see if we could get ahead of it."

Theodora tossed the kindling. "Good thinkin'." She grabbed the matchbox.

Anne's brows raised, "ye okay? Did ye sleep alright?"

Her hand stilled. There was no use in pretending when the pit of hell was rising up to meet her. Maybe the matches were really meant for her, because she was burning.

"I know what ye did, Anne."

She pushed her hair, "I'm not sure what ye-"

"Don't lie to me." Theodora's hands trembled at her sides as she closed her eyes. "Just- don't. Please." She took a deep breath in to alleviate the pressure in her chest before she turned around.

"I know what ye did."

The moment Anne looked away, she could feel the tingling over her brow.

"I'm makin' it right..."

Her heart sunk. "Please leave."

Anne looked at her. There was a slight tremble crawling over her.

"It's not a big deal." She pointed to the door. "They were never a part 'a this pub, an ye never should'a made the trade in the first place! The most good they could'a done ye is ta be worked over, but instead ye work ye'self to the bone and go to bed without a decent meal." She softened, and stood.

"Ye work so 'ard," she blinked back tears, stepping towards her friend with pleading eyes. "Clawed ye way back from the brink time and time again. I'd 'ate ta see ye throw it away. Ye too strong for that, Theodora."

"Too strong?" Theodora sneered. "I'm tired, Anne."

She nodded, reaching into her pocket. "Then let me 'elp ye-"

"Not of the pub, ye dimwit!" Theodora took a deep breath to calm herself as Anne stilled. "I can work this pub 'til I'm dead. I'm tired of- I don't know... puffin' out my chest for bottom-barrel pirates who think dealing out sufferin' is a show of fortune... it didn't used to be that way," she reflected. "Or 'ave ye forgotten?"

Anne recoiled. "And ye be the beacon of memory? So easily glossin' over ye past dirty deeds. And who stuck by ye all the way?" Her brows furrowed. "Ye weren't so ashamed of us bottom-barrel pirates, then, aye?"

Anne leaned forward, over the counter, her eye gleaming. "And 'ere ye are, actn' a saint, not even realizin' what ye done."

"What are ye talkin' about?"

"Ye let a mole on the island- nay, not a mole..." she watched Theodora's face; savoring the look of confusion that blossomed beneath her stoic eyes before she delivered the punch:

"An assassin."

Theodora felt it and, worse of all, Anne saw it. Like a small splinter along a strained mast that had rolled in from one storm, unknowingly being blown straight into another. Her resolve cracked just enough for her face to twitch, and her deep brown eyes began to swim.

"Who?" She asked, though she already knew.

She thought of the past, watching Anne in her blurred periphery while she ran through the memories of his absolute obedience despite her heated reprove and the general unpleasantness of the situation. An act. Of course. How had she been so utterly stupid.

Theodora felt a familiar weight fall upon her shoulders, making her whole body tense and her toes dig into the boots.

"Duncan..." she muttered.

Anne nodded, taking a seat again. "Aye. Sad, but 'ow could ye 'ave known? Lucky for ye, there's a way this blows over. If I can get enough money fer the lad, and let Reid take care of the scoundrel, then all 'a this goes away. Good, aye?"

By all accounts, it should have been good. Any other way, and Theodora would be at the end of a noose, but she had Anne, and Anne had Reid and, by the looks of it, Burke, too. She should've felt relieved—no, she should have been grateful to have a friend like her.

She leaned on the counter. "I feel sick."

"Don't worry. No one will know, ye 'ave my word. And the lad can fetch a larg sum, too..."

Her voice faded into the background. An assassin in her pub, among her clientele. She was ruined. Her hands clenched over the bar top as pressure built at her eyes. Everything she had worked for was gone... no, who was she kidding? It wasn't really hers. It hadn't been hers for a long time.

"...Maybe I could be ye partner after all 'a this? Maybe we could expand. I've got ideas about barterin' fer mo-"

Theodora remembered the sailor's face when she pulled him from the barn, or his unending respect even after she had stupidly hit him. There was no ire in his eyes like in Moss', though she deserved it.

The pressure kept building as she recalled looking out of the back door and watching him with the horses; completely unaware of her gaze as if he was lost in another world, talking to them, giving them too many apples... why would an assassin do that?

And, when he accepted the clothes that night, why was his voice wound so tight and his face pale and lost?

She clenched her fist, and her head snapped to Anne.

"Get out."

Anne rolled her eyes, "Theodora, we-"

She was cut off by Theodora pulling the gun and pointing at her.

"We are done. Get out of my pub."

Anne's jaw clenched, and she pointed a finger, "I know that's not loaded. I looked at it before I left."

"I loaded it in case Reid came back," Theodora adjusted her hold as she motioned Anne out of her seat. "Though, now I know ye would be the one bringin' that dog to my doorstep."

"They said they would stop makin' ye life miserable," she raised her hands and moved away. "I'd be a terrible friend if I didn't make the deal!"

“No,” Theodora forced Anne to the door, “what makes ye a terrible friend is that ye assumed I'd be okay with it.”

She shook her head, “Ye don' mean it-”

“I do,” Theodora held the gun firm.

Anne stared at Theodora and grimaced as she blinked back tears.

“Ye will 'ang. Ye both will!”

“Then our blood is on yer 'ands! Now Get. Out.”

Anne grimaced and spat, then kicked the bucket over, sending the dirty water and mop clattering to the ground as her tears turned to rage, “I'll be tha first ta bid when ye dead!”

The door slammed, and Theodora waited a few moments before she lowered the gun and looked up at the ceiling, pressing her eyes closed and letting out a loud, shaking breath.

Then she took the bucket outside to refill it. Horse hooves tracked around the yard, circumventing the start of the garden where the shovel still lay, abandoned in the hot sun. She pulled water from the well, then slapped the freshly cleaned mop onto the floor to soak up the mess. An hour went by; the robotic movements comforted her mind. Then she discarded the dirty water and opened both doors to allow the breeze in.

There were no ships at her harbor; she didn’t expect any for another couple weeks or so. She took a deep breath, wondering if she would be there in the fall; feeling guilty from the relief that maybe she wouldn’t be.

Her mind traveled to the gallows, wondering what she would do when the rope touched her neck. Would she allow herself to cry?

Would she have a choice?

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

let me know if you would like on or off the taglist

#pirate whump #emotional whump #whump #whump series #whump community #whump writing #indentured servitude #dark water by jovi #gun tw #angst

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bossymarmalade · 1 year

Text

Before my father died, he read an autobiography by another Trinidadian man in his peer group about what life was like on the sugar cane estates. My dad lived in the labourer barracks on Golconda Estate with his grandparents when he was little, so he was very disparaging of this other man’s account and started noting down his own experiences out of spite XD

We found a bunch of his notes after he passed, all in his draftsman’s block capitals (a little shaky in his 80s) and I’ve been very slowly going through them. Sometimes it’s hard to conceive of the change that my dad saw in his lifetime. The indentured East Indian workers arriving in the Caribbean seem so long ago to me, but he still saw the direct legacy of all that shit.

[ TRANSCRIPT ]

DUTIES:

1) The Gen. Manager (white English) was the head of the estate & reported to a head manager delegated by [to] owners (”Tate & Lyle”) of England.

2) The overseers also white were mostly bachelors sharing a multi-room bungalow. They dressed in [kakhi] short sleeved shirt, khaki short pants, khaki tall socks, boots & khaki cork hats & supervise all top personnel.

He used to talk about seeing those overseers ride up and down the estate roads on horses, in their cork hats, with whips. In another section of his notes he remarks that all the white English had servants, too.

“In 1937 Kielberg sold his Liverpool sugar refinery to Tate & Lyle and in return was invited to become a co-investor in the company’s new West Indies raw sugar venture.“ <--- this is all that the Tate & Lyle website has to say about its history of exploitation in the canefields. We were nothing more than the living machinery of its venture.

#chromatic voice #west indies #trinidad and tobago #sugar plantations #colonialism #indentured servitude #commonwealth #witness testimony #indian diaspora #indo-caribbean #blood sugar #says miss maggie

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hummussexual · 1 year

Video

youtube

How Britain Used India To Replace Slave Labor

Jan 18, 2023

After abolishing slavery, Britain looked to India to replace the labor on its plantations. The British Empire has since gone to great lengths for history to forget how it created the world’s largest diaspora.

#UK #Britain #British empire #europe #india #indentured servitude #indian disapora #colonialism

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sjsmith56 · 5 months

Text

Setting Things Right - Chapter 15, Lord Buchanan

Summary: The attraction between Lady Yelena and Silas Brenson is noticed. After learning that Silas’ mother has been kept in indentured servitude for more than 20 years, Buchanan is tasked with investigating the brother owner and rectifying the situation.

Length: 5.3 K

Characters: Lord Buchanan, Lady Yelena, Silas Brenson, Bren, Amanda (Silas’ mother), Arnim Zola, Jarvis.

Warnings: Frank talk about sexuality, birth control, illegal indentured servitude (slavery).

Author note: Bucky Barnes image in banner by Instagram artist Nixakimbo.

<<Chapter 14

🏞️ 🪙

In the aftermath of the battles at Falcon's Eden Vale and Buchanan's Rocky Woodlands, the King gathered his closest advisors and made some decisions regarding the disposition of Dreykov's and Pierce's lands. He assigned the administration of Dreykov's lands temporarily to his younger daughter, Yelena, with the assistance of her older sister Lady Falcon. Knowing that Yelena would refuse a title because of how the marriage laws were written the King made known his intent to change the laws so that Yelena would be Baroness of the Ancient Mountains in her own right. At first he was unsure of what to do about Pierce's lands until the Sorceress informed him that the young woman who had refused to be married to Dreykov, then had asked for asylum in the Queen's Guards was Pierce's own daughter, Isabella.

"Your Majesty, Pierce's man Coulson, who assumed the rank of Commander, promised to make sure the lands are run well until a new lord is named," said Buchanan. "He can do so for a while longer. If the young lady was of a mind to escape to the Queen's Guard I trust she is of a different nature to her father. Under the new laws she may be suitable to assume control of the lands, with the assistance of a trusted advisor. Since my lands abut Pierce's I would be willing to mentor her."

"That is a generous offer," said the King. "Until I have the opportunity to speak with her I will delay any permanent decision. Coulson may continue to administer the lands until then. As for yourself, what are your intentions? Do you return to your lands or come back with me to escort your lady to your estate?"

"I will send most of my men back," he replied, "and accompany you to the palace. It is time I took my lady wife to our home. I would like some time as a husband before we, as a kingdom, begin to tackle the problem that threatens our world."

"I agree," said the King. "Sam, I trust you wish the same for you and your lady wife?"

"Yes, your Majesty," replied Falcon. "We haven't had a full night together as husband and wife yet though it has been weeks since our marriage."

"Very well," said the King, then to all the Lords gathered he spoke. "For the next month, tend to your lands and your people. Heal your injured. Four weeks from today I charge you all to attend to the palace where I will present the changes to the laws allowing Lady Yelena and the young Lady Isabella the opportunity to govern themselves as men do. We will also begin to plan how we will prepare for the future threat to our kingdom. Until then I bid you all well."

The King rose from his chair and all rose in deference to him as he left the room in Lord Falcon's castle. Other Lords were ready to leave immediately and bade the assembled company farewell. Buchanan and Stark stood before the latter left with his full company.

"You are a born leader," said Stark to Buchanan. "Your suggestions have merit and you do your title honour. It is evident why the King named you his Right Hand. Whatever doubts I may have had to your suitability as a ruler have been swept aside by your conduct since then. I am honoured to call you friend, if you would give me the same privilege."

Buchanan offered his arm to Stark. "I feel the same Anthony," he replied. "Soon, I will come to see you and your scientific endeavours. Until then, my friend."

They shook each other's sword arms and Stark mounted his horse, next to his commander. Both men tipped their hands to their heads and the older Lord rode off with his company. Buchanan returned to his encampment and ordered most of his men to return to the estate. He advised his assistant commander, Wallis, that he would ride to the palace to escort Lady Buchanan back, expecting to arrive in three days. Wallis nodded and signalled one of the men to bring a white mare forward.

"Here is the mare you purchased for Lady Buchanan," he said. "I rode her myself in the battle and she handled the fighting well. Her saddle is in your tent and I trust your lady wife will enjoy riding her."

Buchanan took the reins, thanking Wallis for testing the mare in battle. The other man tipped his hand then signalled to Buchanan's army to depart. As they left a groom came to take the mare from Buchanan and prepare her to leave on the morrow. As Buchanan returned to the castle he noticed Yelena walking with the young soldier Silas. His tall height and dark looks contrasted with her smaller stature and fair features but Buchanan had no doubt she could probably best the young man in combat. The young noblewoman saw him and hailed him so he waited for the young couple to approach.

"I have a question for you," she said. "Silas' mother has long been indentured to a brothel owner. How do I go about freeing her from that debt?"

"What are the particulars of her debt?" he asked Silas. "By the laws of the land all debts are declared fully paid after a maximum of twenty years service."

Silas' face reddened as he became angry. "That liar," said the young man. "My mother was indentured well before my birth and I am 23. She has never signed another contract to my knowledge but every year when she asks him for her release he refuses, claiming her debt is still outstanding."

Buchanan felt the young man's anger and placed his hand on the warrior's arm. "That brothel owner has broken the law then," he said, "and will be punished if I have to go and arrest him myself. Did you never go to Lord Dreykov and file an appeal on her behalf?"

"Aye, my father and I both did, several times," said Silas, his eyes burning as he fought the tears of anger that threatened to overwhelm him. "He said the brothel owner was well within his rights to demand full payment. My father tried to buy her debt more than once and was told it was more money than he was worth."

"Has he kept her as a pleasure woman that whole time?" asked Buchanan, as diplomatically as he could.

"No, she only bedded with my father and worked in the kitchens after that," he said. "She and my father loved each other too much to be with anyone else."

"Silas, I pledge to you that we will free your mother and any others that brothel owner has control over," said Buchanan. "It sounds like he wished to keep your mother in servitude for her whole life. I am supposed to go with the King to the palace but I will see him immediately and convince him to ride with you two back to the Ancient Mountains. Together we will deal with the man."

While Buchanan searched for the King, Yelena comforted Silas and they sat on a bench overlooking the courtyard. Her fingertips brushed away the errant tears that had made their ways down his cheeks.

"Silas, Lord Buchanan is a man of great honour," she said. "If he says he will free your mother and others, then he will do so."

"It's not that," he replied. "I believed Lord Dreykov and the brothel owner when they said the debt was justified. How did I not know it was against the laws of the kingdom? I can read and write but I know so little. I feel such an ignorant fool."

"If it is any comfort I did not know the law either," she said, clutching his hand. "I wish I had as I would have had your mother flee with us two years ago."

"Thank you," he said, looking her in the eyes, trying not to look at her lips. "If I am to serve you when you become Baroness perhaps I should learn the laws of the kingdom so that this injustice never happens again."

"Then we shall learn together Silas," said Yelena, also trying not to take her eyes from his.

While they comforted each other Buchanan found the King in his tent with King Thorn, who mysteriously had not been at the battle. Before Buchanan could bring it up Thorn brought it up himself when he saw his friend.

"Before you say anything I am sorry I did not arrive in time to take part in the battle," he said. "A most unusual incident befell my company on our way here. I was just explaining to Steven."

"What could keep a King from fulfilling his obligations to help in an insurrection?" said Buchanan, still irritated.

"A tidal bore," said Thorn. "We went to cross the East River short cut at Greenpoint where it is shallow but were stopped by a large tidal bore. According to your archivist Jarvis here a tidal bore hasn't been seen on that river for over eight hundred years since our forefathers built the double breakwater across the delta where that river empties into the ocean."

"Does that mean the breakwater is gone?" asked Buchanan, concerned.

"I don't know," said Thorn. "I sent a company of men to the delta to find out while the rest of my company had to back track and go further upstream past the influence of the ocean. It delayed us for almost two days. I regret I was unable to assist in the battle but I am happy you came out victorious."

"If the breakwater is gone, that is going to cause problems with travel between our kingdoms," said King Steven, running his hand through his hair. "Another problem for us to tackle."

"I came to ask if you would delay our return to the palace," said Buchanan. "But, if it is true about the breakwater that would be your priority."

"The reason for the delay?" asked the King.

"Young Silas has revealed his mother has been an indentured servant for longer than his 23 years," said Buchanan. "Do not all indentured contracts end after twenty years of service, regardless if the debt is fully paid or not?"

"That is correct," said the King. "Would you go as my Right Hand on that matter? You may take Jarvis with you as his knowledge of the laws is better than my own. Did Dreykov know of this?"

"Silas said his father attempted to buy her debt but was refused and Dreykov upheld the rights of the owner of the debt," said Buchanan.

King Stephen's lip curled as did King Thorn's at this display of abuse against a subject. "Take a half dozen of my men and Jarvis with you," he said. "Shut the owner of the debt down and arrest him. Free the young man's mother and any other servant who has been abused in this manner. By heavens we will restore justice to this kingdom if it is the last thing we do."

As Buchanan left the room to assemble his party, King Steven called after him. "I will tell Ileana you are delayed for a day or two!"

Buchanan went to the commander of the King's men and asked for six to accompany him on the morrow on a matter of justice. Then he sought out Lady Yelena and young Silas. They were walking hand in hand in the garden but immediately dropped hands when they heard his call.

"My lady Yelena, Silas," said Buchanan, with a smile. "The King is unable to attend personally to rectify the miscarriage of justice imposed on your mother. However he has charged me to take six of his men and his archivist to arrest the brothel owner and free all of those he holds illegally. We leave in the morning."

"My Lord, you are a man of honour," said Lady Yelena. She spoke quickly as her face reddened. "Please don't say anything to my sister about what you saw."

"I saw a young couple in the beginning of love," said Buchanan. "That is nothing to hide. As a Queen's Guard you are responsible for your own happiness. I say take it where you find it."

She and Silas both smiled shyly and the young warrior took her hand again. They left to find his father and give him the news. That evening Buchanan stayed in his tent going over the laws of the land. He wanted to be certain that he knew them when he confronted the brothel owner.

"You won't grace my table so I have brought you some food," said a voice.

Turning he saw Lord Falcon, carrying a bowl and spoon.

"Sorry, brother," Buchanan replied. "I wanted to be sure I knew the relevant laws before I left for the Ancient Mountains. Tell your lady wife I did not mean to disparage her table."

"She knows why you're here," said Falcon. "It was her who told me to come out and feed you. She always thought her father was ignoring the laws. Young Silas' charge is proof of it. The two young ones...will you keep an eye on them?"

"Worried that Silas may break her maiden?" asked Buchanan as he reached for the bowl and spoon.

"Natasha isn't," said Falcon, "but I see myself as an older brother to the girl. He is an honourable man but they are both young and may be unable to resist their desires."

"His father tells me Silas is unsullied as well," said Buchanan. "He refused to go to the brothel knowing his mother worked there. He just spent four years in the frontier, with no women, then three years before that in a monastery learning to read and write, again with no exposure to the pleasures of a woman. I will do what I can but I believe what they have begun is true. If they join in the way of men and women he will protect her honour, of that I am sure."

Falcon sighed and sat on a chair across from Buchanan. "I thought you would say that," he said. "Make sure he knows to pull out early then. It's unfair for women but she will be judged if she bears a child before marriage."

"Is the Sorceress still here?" asked Buchanan. "She can cast a spell."

"Nay, she has returned to the palace with the Kings," he replied, then was silent for a time. "That tidal bore business is troubling. It will add days to the travelling time between the two kingdoms. Didn't the ancients have bridges?"

"Aye and roads to those bridges," said Buchanan. "The roads are still visible in some places as are some bridge supports in others. Makes me wonder what happened that all of that was destroyed. It was long before the Mad Titan's time, I know that."

"Perhaps we should be looking at rebuilding the roads and bridges," said Falcon. "A better surface to transport horses and there could be more wheeled carts to transport goods. While we were besieged I had the opportunity to go through Zemo's books. The man spent little on maintaining his lands and much on his pleasure. There is so much in this area that can be useful to other parts of the kingdom. I just have to get the goods out there."

Buchanan smiled. Weeks before his friend was concerned about his birds, horse and sword, in that order. Now he had the concerns of hundreds of people to deal with as their lord. A light appeared high in the castle behind Falcon which drew the other's attention.

"I believe your lady wife is ready for bed," said Buchanan, motioning to the lamp placed in the window. "I don't want to keep you from your pleasure. We won't wait for you to see us off in the morning. Enjoy the quiet morning moments with your lady wife instead."

Falcon smiled and stood up, patting Buchanan on the shoulder in the way that good friends did. Soon after Buchanan finished his bowl of stew and pulled his curtains closed. Undressing, he then pulled on his nightshirt, blew out the candles and crawled into his bed where sleep overtook him quickly.

As predicted neither Lord nor Lady Falcon came out to say goodbye to the party. Buchanan assured the others that Falcon had indicated this the evening before, so none were offended. As his remaining two men packed up his tent to return to his lands Buchanan left with six of the King's men, Bren and his company of 27 men, including young Silas and the Lady Yelena. Bren rode so that Yelena was protected on the one side while Silas rode behind her and Buchanan on the other side. It gave her an excuse to turn her head often and smile at the young warrior as they rode, a movement not unnoticed by Bren who eventually had his son take his place while he rode behind the lady keeping his eye on both. Several hours later they arrived in the land of the Ancient Mountains, which were actually more like rocky hills.

"I often wondered at the name of my father's lands," said Yelena shortly after they found one of the ancient roads that led to the estate. "Do you think they were mountains once?"

"I am sure they were," replied Buchanan. "I believe there were mines of copper, gold and silver all throughout these lands. Did your father not extract the precious metals?"

"If he did it was in secret," said Yelena.

Ahead at a cross roads a rather large building came into view. Two stories tall there was laughter and music coming out of it. Scantily clad women sat in the windows looking out for travellers and spied the company. At first they began to call out to Buchanan and the others but when they saw the Lady Yelena they stopped. Several smiled knowing smiles at that point, while others ran inside to tell the brothel owner that a large company had approached the building. Buchanan directed Bren to order his men to surround the building while he, the six King's men, Silas and Lady Yelena dismounted.

"You shouldn't go in there," said Silas, his hand on Yelena's arm.

"As the one responsible for the welfare of the people in these lands I have the right and the responsibility to go in there," she said, drawing herself up to her full height.

He nodded and stood with her. "Then I will go with you," he said, "to bear witness for my mother."

Before they could enter a small man with glasses came out and peered at the assembly.

"Go away," he said. "You are not welcome in my establishment."

"We will enter, Arnim," said Silas firmly. "Lord Buchanan has been sent by the King himself to arrest you."

"Arrest me?" laughed the man. "I think not. Lord Dreykov will have something to say about this."

"Lord Dreykov is in custody, little man," said Yelena. "I am to be the next ruler of the Ancient Mountains and I say we are closing your establishment."

She attempted to push past him and he grasped her wrist harshly then raised his hand to hit her. Silas immediately raised Arnim up by his shirt so that their faces were level.

"You do not have the right to touch Lady Yelena," said Silas, with menace. "You do not have the right to touch any woman, ever again."

"Put me down!" he screeched, struggling against the hold the young warrior had on him. "What is this about?"

"Arnim Zola, proprietor of this brothel," said Buchanan formally. "It has been brought to our attention that you have at least one employee who has been kept under indenture past the legal limit of 20 years. That is grounds enough for your arrest. We will now question every one of your employees to find out if there are others. Robbins, please hold the man in custody while we investigate inside."

Robbins, one of the King's men took Zola from Silas' outstretched arm and firmly kept his hand on the little man's shoulder as the other King's men, Buchanan, Bren, Silas, Yelena and Jarvis entered. Whatever frivolity had been happening inside stopped the moment the group entered. Many of the assorted women stood up and gathered together. The men, customers, were either outraged or terrified of their wives finding out.

"Where does Zola keep his books?" asked Buchanan to no response. "I ask again, where does Zola keep his books?"

A voice sounded from the kitchen and a woman with greying hair strode out from the heat of that room.

"He has an office behind the kitchen," she said, then noticing Bren and Silas she smiled broadly. "Everything you need to put him away for good is there."

"Amanda, beloved," said Bren, putting his arms out. "At last, we have the means to free you."

She went to his side and he enclosed her protectively. Jarvis and one of the King's men went in search of the office. "Who among you is here freely as a worker?" asked Buchanan.

Two women held up their hands and one man. "So the rest of you are indentured. How many of you have terms of longer than 20 years?"

Most of the remaining women raised their hands. Buchanan wanted to vomit to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

"By law all indentured contracts must end at 20 years," announced Yelena. "If you have been here longer than that he owes you wages for your work. We can calculate what is owed you and pay you before you leave for all of you women are free to go. You are also free to stay and run this establishment yourself, if that is your choice but there are no indentured contracts anymore. If you stay you get a wage that is yours."

"Who are you exactly to be telling us this?" asked one woman.

"I am Lady Yelena Dreykov," said Yelena. "When I accept my title, and responsibility for these lands and its peoples I will be Baroness Romanoff, as I will take my mother's name rather than live another day with the shame of my father's."

There were several smiles amongst the women at this information and one of them, who had been held on the lap of a rather florid man pushed herself off of him with distaste.

"What of those of us just started in our contracts?" she said. "I had no choice in this. My family put me here."

"You may go to the King's palace and join the Queen's Guard, become a woman warrior," said Yelena. "It is what I and my sister did. You will be free to make your own decisions. You may even choose to stay and serve in my castle for I am sure you have other skills. Most women do. Before you leave here you will be paid."

"Those that choose to serve in the Queen's Guard may meet here on the morrow," said Buchanan, "as I return there then. You will need a horse. No doubt Zola has some which you may take as pay in lieu. You may go on foot now but it is a long journey. It is your choice, completely your choice as all contracts are now declared null and void."

Jarvis came out of the kitchen holding a ledger and carrying a box that was heavy with coins.

"My Lord?" he said. "I have the list of those who have exceeded the 20 year limit as an indentured servant. There is more than sufficient money to pay them what they are owed. The first is the cook, Amanda."

Amanda left the security of Bren's arms and stood in front of Jarvis. He counted out 20 gold pieces into her hands which she deposited into her pockets. She stood back with Bren and watched as a dozen more women also received their payouts ranging from 10 to 20 gold pieces. Upon receipt of their money they went upstairs to the bedrooms and came down moments later fully dressed then left, never to return. The other younger women went up and also, down fully dressed. Four indicated they would ride back to the King's palace to join the Queen's Guard. Another four stepped in front of Yelena and asked to work at the castle, acknowledged as Jarvis paid them their due. Buchanan looked at the two women and the man who said they worked there freely.

"What are your intentions?" he asked.

"I don't mind the work," said the one woman, while the other nodded. "May we run the establishment ourselves? We promise not to have indentured servants and will pay the women a living wage. I never liked how that little rat ran the place."

"I will be keeping an eye on you," said Yelena. "Run it honestly and cleanly. If there are any of these men you wish to ban from ever showing their face again say their names now."

Both women looked at each other and pointed out several men. The King's men grasped them by their collars and tossed them out the door. To those remaining Buchanan had stern words.

"Whether you are married or not is not my concern," he said. "If you come here you treat the women with respect. They provide a service and you pay them what they are worth."

The man who had said he worked there freely stood up. "My Lord, I am here by my choice and I do the same work as these women," he said without shame. "Am I to be given the same considerations as them?"

"If this is your choice, then yes," said Buchanan. "Are there enough customers to keep you employed?"

"You have no idea," said one of the women rolling her eyes. "We could do with a couple more like him. He's like our brother as well."

"Very well," said Buchanan. "Continue on here then. Jarvis, has Zola paid his taxes?"

"No my Lord," replied the bureaucrat. "There is also enough to pay those remaining a wage and a stipend to keep the business running. I would suggest that anything left be given in alms to the poor."

Buchanan directed that Jarvis do exactly that and the business was transferred from Zola to the two women and one man who liked the work. Outside a horse had been brought for the brothel owner and he sat on the sorry beast with his hands tied to the saddle. Bren helped Amanda onto his saddle then mounted behind her. She looked at him with love and Yelena vowed to have them married by the next day. Silas sat taller in the saddle as if that were possible considering his height already. He made eye contact with the Baroness and smiled, then nodded his head at her in thanks. Amanda noticed the interaction and murmured something to Bren. He lowered his mouth to her ear and told her about the budding romance. She smiled, saying she needed something from the brothel before she left. Bren dismounted and helped her off. A few minutes later she came back with a satchel and Bren helped her up onto the horse again, then mounted behind her. Together the company proceeded on to the castle where Yelena would live as the Baroness of the lands.

When they arrived the servants assembled out in the courtyard to greet the return of the Lady Yelena. Word had already reached them of the change and the feeling amongst them was one of optimism. As Bren helped Amanda down Silas proudly brought his mother to meet their new mistress.

"Lady Yelena, may I present my mother Amanda," said Silas proudly. "Although she was unable to raise me she always stayed a part of my life."

Amanda curtsied to the young woman. "M’Lady, I cannot thank you enough for ending that nightmare," she said in gratitude. "Bren told me of your friendship with our son and how you helped him learn about the laws. I offer my services to you as cook, whether for yourself or for the garrison is of no concern to me for I cook the same for all who taste my food. It is likely why Zola kept me captive past my term."

"You are welcome dear lady," said Yelena. "For now you have earned some rest. Bren, do you have suitable quarters for a wife in the garrison?"

"No M’Lady," replied the seasoned warrior. "It is poorly designed for married soldiers. Your father thought having a family nearby weakened the men. I hope we may remedy that."

"By all means," she said. "As the new commander of the garrison I will leave that in your charge. Until then you and your wife, for she is in almost all incarnations that, may reside in the castle. I am sure there are empty servant quarters you may use. I will call for a priest to make you legally husband and wife as soon as you wish, as it is long overdue."

As they walked into the castle many servants came up to greet the young mistress, expressing their joy at her return. Buchanan and his men were directed to quarters as were the Kings men. Zola was taken to the dungeon. Amanda asked where the kitchens were, accompanying Yelena who took her by the arm. As they walked out of earshot of the men the older woman stopped and looked at the young woman with motherly concern.

"M’Lady, you are in love with my son, aren't you?" she asked softly.

"Is it that obvious?" asked Yelena. "I remember him watching me learn the battle arts from your husband. He has been in my heart and mind since I became a young woman. He left for the monastery seven years ago, then went straight to the frontier after that. He returned shortly after my sister and I escaped here. The other day was the first I had seen him in all that time, and I could not believe the man he has grown into."

"Forgive my boldness," said Amanda. "In the brothel we have ways to prevent a child from forming in your belly. I have brought them with me for you both have the look of lovers before their first coupling. As a fine lady a child before marriage can bring dishonour and I don't wish my son to dishonour you with his desires. There are sheaths he can put on before entry that will protect you, as well as a cap you may insert, or he can pull out before he spills his seed. The sheath works best. I implore you to use that if you find you cannot resist your desires any longer."

"The king is changing the laws so that when I marry I don't give up my rights to my husband," said Yelena. "In a way it frees me to marry who I want. Right now I want Silas to be my consort. He could have status but not the power to rule if anything happened to me. Our children would have the right to inherit the title. Do you think he would agree to that type of marriage?"

"If he loves you enough he will," said Amanda. "He is a good man, like his father."

"On that we agree," said Yelena.

The two women embraced and made their way down to the kitchens where Amanda turned her critical eye to the setup and vowed that after a day of rest she would turn that kitchen into something to be proud of.

Chapter 16>>

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Please comment or reblog if you liked this chapter.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #yelena belova #medieval bucky #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes au #indentured servitude

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distinctlywhumpthing · 9 months

Text

In League — Nightmare

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Summary: August still feels out of place in the house after trying to escape run away but a nightmare has him seeking Wyatt's comfort...

(This was in the Google Drive Black Hole until @peachy-panic's This Could Be The Moment and @hold-him-down's Not Ideal inspired me to polish it in the spirit of Bad Nights. If you haven't read these pieces (& entire series) yet, you should plan on getting zero work done this week because you now have more important things to do.)

CW: Late-19th century, indentured servitude/classism, explicit language, past-noncon implied, power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

August didn’t like sleeping alone.

He missed being allowed to sleep in the chair, knowing all night that Wyatt was near, working at the desk or asleep in the bed. He would’ve kept to the chair forever if it had meant he didn’t have to be alone at night, in the dark where Keats could still find him.

The nightmare hadn’t been anything novel. He was always struggling to regain some ground, all the while only digging himself deeper. Sometimes Fionn was there, hurting. Keats would lay a trap and August would walk right into it. Without fail. Hopeless, thoughtless, thankless. He was too slow, too dim-witted not to fall for the tricks every time, even in his own dreams.

He’d awoken to his heart beating like a drum between his ribs. Chest both gnawingly hollow and achingly tight. The room was pitch-dark, with no moon or stars shining through the window. Even the fire had died in the hearth like the night was snuffing out all light. He’d played the unwitting accomplice, banishing any chance of warmth by casting all the blankets and even the pillows to the floor in sleep. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, shivering.

There were still many things he didn’t understand or trust about his place here and the older boy who had given it to him. But Wyatt had a way of making Keats feel like a small, distant memory and that was exactly what August needed right now.

When he’d asked to stay—or rather, accepted Wyatt’s invitation to stay by way of needlessly asking his permission, Wyatt had insisted August take his bed. A laughable stipulation, considering how much worse he’d had than an armchair by a warm fire, but Wyatt had insisted. So, August had Wyatt’s room and bed to himself at night while Wyatt slept in the spare bed in Theo’s room down the end of the hall.

August paused at Theo’s door, leaning around the frame, the corner of the wood pressing into his collarbone. Wyatt was alone, sleeping with his back to the open door. Theo’s was probably among the voices that occasionally rose from downstairs, a sliver of bright electric light seeping from under the parlour door and trying to climb to light the stairs. It was just enough brightness that August had been able to avoid the creakier of the floorboards in the old house. After hovering in the doorway uneasily for five full minutes to confirm Theo wasn’t coming upstairs, he tiptoed in, chilly air nipping at the strip of bare skin between his stockings and underbreeches. The rest of the house was always freezing in comparison to Wyatt’s room. August had eventually learned that none of the others ever bothered with fires, a realisation that had made heat spread through his chest like the very warmth Wyatt kept him in.

It was hard to distinguish Wyatt himself from the bedcovers, fabric from skin, where one stopped and the other began, in the darkness. The bed itself and the man on it a single unbroken silhouette, carved from shadow marble. His even breath the only sign he wasn’t stone. August felt even more obtrusive standing over him. He crouched instead, not sure if he should sit on the edge of the bed without being invited and reluctant to kneel on the cold floor.

He hesitated countless times, hand hovering in the open space between them, heart sprinting in his chest. What if he was given more than a hand to hold, the warm embrace he sought? Even in the face of the vows Wyatt made during the day, August had never met a promise that didn’t have a trap door. And coming to Wyatt’s bed like this in the middle of the night was as good a reason to use it as any. His nerves rose steadily until it was like his heart beat between his ears and it was all he could hear or feel, swaying in the darkness to the tide of his own pulse.

A clatter from downstairs almost had him bolting back to his borrowed bed, ill dreams or not, lest someone else catch him out of it. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d rather it be Wyatt than anyone else, when the tables finally turned.

Now or never.

He reached out, brushing his fingertips over Wyatt’s bare shoulder. As faint as the hope he clung to that this would be no different than any other time Wyatt had comforted him. “Wyatt?”

Wyatt grumbled, turning onto his side to face August but not opening his eyes. He let his arm fall open, extended out toward August.

His heart hammered on in his chest as he held his breath waiting for more of an indication from Wyatt. More of an invitation or a dismissal.

Was that space meant for August? Or was Wyatt only reaching out his hand?

They’d never lain side by side before but Wyatt was always looping an arm around his shoulders during the day, swift to pull him into an embrace in those embarrassing moments when he lost his composure.

Or was Wyatt simply fast asleep?

August twisted his fingers in the fabric of the nightshirt Wyatt had given him, knees starting to ache from crouching. He’d disturbed Wyatt enough thusfar. He ought to leave him in peace. But the thought of leaving had him swallowing a lump in his throat and blinking away tears, as though Wyatt were truly sending him away, rejecting him. An unwarranted, invented ache.

It was for the best that he hadn’t roused Wyatt fully. He should feel lucky that he hadn’t gotten more than he bargained for. That Wyatt wasn’t the sort to thrash him simply for the disturbance. At least, he hadn’t shown himself to be that sort yet. August uncurled his fingers, pulse throbbing in his fingertips from how tightly he’d bound them in the fabric in his fists. He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand and rose.

Wyatt sighed, fingers at the end of his open arm curling away from August, beckoning him closer.

August’s heart faltered in his chest and against all reason, his tears fell with renewed urgency. He sniffled and fruitlessly wiped at them again before ever so gently, lying down at Wyatt’s side.

He settled on top of the bedcovers since Wyatt hadn’t lifted them. It wouldn’t matter anyway once he was closer to Wyatt, in his arms. His heart still felt like it was beating too heavily in his chest. As though he were stealing something he didn’t deserve, hadn’t earned. He took a deep breath, forcing the air in past his galloping heart and chased away the memories of his nightmares and of Keats. Wyatt was nothing like him, had only ever welcomed him with open arms.

August inched closer, resting his forehead against the older boy’s shoulder, hands tucked up between them. Wyatt’s breath tickled through his hair, in and out. If August flattened his hand, he could feel Wyatt’s steady heartbeat, its comforting metronome. He—

Wyatt drew in a sharp breath and shoved August back. He crashed to the floor, yelping as his head cracked against the corner of the solid bedside table.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, scrambling off his back as Wyatt’s shadow sat up in the bed, looming over him.

Wyatt didn’t move, didn’t dignify his feeble apology with a response. But he had to be furious for how hard and fast he was breathing, for how rigid his shadow was, as though he truly was stone.

August’s heart carried on beating erratically in his chest. It didn’t feel right. It felt like it would swallow him, end him from the inside out, compounding his fear with each consuming beat. “I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely, voice shaking. He didn’t know what else to say. When Wyatt still didn’t acknowledge him, he inched forward, reaching out—

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Wyatt stood and August cowered back with a whine, hands coming up to protect his head. He couldn’t do anything right, perpetually reduced to crawling back like a puppy who’d been kicked but was too stupid to learn its place.

It was all he was, broken, desperate. Exactly as Keats had made him. “Please, sir. I beg your pardon.” He hadn’t called Wyatt that in weeks, had been able to rise just a little bit in his esteem, and even his own. Until now. He started crying in earnest, the tension from his uncontrolled heart and the open fall of failure overtaking him. “I’m sorry, sir. Please—”

Wyatt skirted away from him, bringing his hands up to his head in his rage. As far as possible from the pathetic mess of a boy who’d overstepped his welcome. He would have run if Wyatt hadn't been blocking his way to the door. Sobs halted his apologies so he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited, never taking his eyes off Wyatt.

But crying would not constitute an apology, hiding from punishment even worse, and he needed to fix this. If he wasn’t dead in a day on the streets, Keats would find him. To remain in this house, even chained in the basement, was preferable. He would offer anything, surrender any part of himself, to stay with Wyatt. Make himself smaller, bend, break to counterbalance this fault, to regain what standing he’d had. He had brought this on himself and he would face the consequences. Prove––

A light in the doorway silenced his undeserved tears and he held his breath.

“Wyatt?” It was Theo. And no one behind him, which was a small mercy, though it didn’t promise anything about what was coming for August. Theo lifted the candle, scanning the room until his gaze fell on August.

A whimper escaped his lips and before he could sort himself to make some attempt at apology, Theo was moving. He couldn’t help himself, he covered his head again.

Only Theo paid him no mind, just went to the chair at the foot of the bed and gathered Wyatt’s clothes in his free arm. He thrust them at Wyatt with enough force that August heard the impact, pushing them at the unmoving statue that used to be Wyatt until he was forced to take a step back and finally brought his arms up to cradle the clothes.

“Go on,” Theo said, keeping his voice low.

Wyatt didn’t move. August couldn’t see his face from this angle but after a moment it became clear that something was transpiring. Something excluding August.

“Get some air. Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

His stomach dropped. He didn’t want Wyatt to leave when things were like this, when he hadn’t told him that he hadn’t meant to be so much trouble and that he would face the consequences well. But he couldn’t find his voice.

With one more moment’s hesitation but not a second glance in his direction, Wyatt left and August was alone with Theo.

First thing he did was set the candle on one of the posts of his bed. A precarious placement that had once lost August the privilege of candles for an entire month –of bruised shins and stubbed toes– at Elmwood. But Theo didn’t have to worry about things like that. None of the other boys here did. At least, August didn’t think so; even if they didn’t have much, they were all equal. Theo bent down a few paces away, resting his forearms on his knees.

“August, you all right down here?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he could say much of anything without just crying some more. He swallowed, to see if his throat was clear enough for words. It wasn’t.

“I know you’re frightened,” Theo said gently.

That only made the lump in August’s throat worse, sobs closer to escaping his lips.

Theo watched him carefully, as was his wont. August fought shy of meeting his gaze. It made him nervous, how heedful Theo always was. What might he observe and, worse, what might he tell Wyatt?

“You’re not in any trouble.” August couldn’t help but look straight into his eyes now. Watchful as they were, he didn’t find them deceitful. “I promise, everything will right.”

He hoped Wyatt would agree.

“Why don’t you let me help you up? We’ll sort you out, too.” He held out one of his hands. “It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you.”

When August reached out, his palm shone crimson in the candlelight.

To be continued...

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