Chapter Nine
Bourbon County, Kentucky: 1846 – 1858

Pamela Carr seldom spoke of her mother, and when she did, it was with a note of disdain. Often ill, seldom kind, Cynthia Hunt Carr’s death left barely a shadow on Pamela’s young life.

Unlike Daisy, Pamela remembered when the house had been filled with beautiful things, and how most of them had disappeared over time. The remains, while fine, were merely serviceable, and although well taken care of, the rugs were never replaced and the furniture grew shabby with age over the years.

But she little cared. All she wanted was someone to love, and to love her. Her father’s frequent absences left a much larger hole in her life than her mother’s death, so she used all her budding feminine wiles to obtain the child of her nurse when her nurse had been sold.

She poured all her maternal care into her ‘Itty Bitty.’ Although surrounded by slaves, she had no concept of slavery until she was in her teens. She clung to Daisy as a drowning man clings to flotsam.

She was incensed when her father sold Daisy’s paintings without her leave. Incensed enough to beard him in his den, which sanctum she had never before violated.

“It’s not fair, Daddy,” she said. “She’s worked so hard.”

“So do the men work hard when I hire out their labor,” her father said. “It’s no different.”

Pamela considered this. “Do they get paid, or does it all go into your pocket?”

“They get a share,” Lucian conceded. “I intend Bitty to get a share, too. Everyone works better if there’s some reward.”

Pamela’s eyes narrowed. “How much reward?”

“I give the men ten percent.”

“Twenty percent,” Pamela haggled.

“Are you her agent?” Lucian smiled.

“Does she need one?” Pamela countered.

“I thought I was acting in that capacity,” Lucian said. “Very well, but don’t bruit it about. It’s a small enough sum at this point, and I concede that her work will probably become more valuable as she progresses. I’m willing to pay her a bit more for it.”

This victory had been all too easy – perhaps she should have asked for more. Perhaps she had been too afraid of her father up until now. “Are we poor?” She blurted the question that had been nagging her for some time.

“Nothing to worry yourself about, dear,” Lucian said, reddening. He glanced up at Mr. Butler, who was playing at dusting.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Pamela pointed out.

“We’ve had some. . .setbacks. But everything is well in hand. Believe me.”

She crossed her arms. “If that’s so, then I want something for my eighteenth birthday.”

“What would that be, my dear?” Lucian asked warily.

“Bitty. I want her freed.” Pamela’s heart pounded with fear. Mr. Butler paused in his dusting, her father stared at her. The room was silent except for the loud ticking of the clock.

Lucian leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hands. “I wish I could, dear, but I can’t.”

“You can,” Pamela argued. “All you have to do is write out a piece of paper. I checked.”

“I can’t,” Lucian sighed. “She’s mortgaged.”

“Mortgaged?” Pamela reeled with horror. “Why would you mortgage her?”

“Everything’s mortgaged, all right!” Lucian exclaimed bitterly. “You asked, I’ve answered. Are you satisfied?”

“What did you do with all of Grandfather’s money, Daddy?” she asked, stunned.

“Nothing,” Lucian said, hiding his face. “I was never cut out to be a manager.”

Pamela touched his arm. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything nefarious, Daddy,” she apologized. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

Lucian lifted his face and looked at her. “I was hoping you’d never have to know,” he whispered.

“What can I do?” Pamela asked.

Lucian smiled and patted her hand. “Please don’t trouble yourself – I’ll pay everything off, I promise you. Eventually.”

Pamela wrinkled her forehead. “Everything?” She looked at Mr. Butler. “Everyone?”

“Yes,” Lucian admitted. “But keep it to yourself, Pammy. None of the servants must know. Consider their feelings, please.”

“Mr. Butler knows,” she said.

“Butler,” Lucian looked over at him, “is my good right hand. We would be in much direr straits without him. He has a sounder business head than mine.”

Pamela looked at the old servant with new eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Butler,” she said sincerely.

Mr. Butler smiled. “You’re welcome, Missy.”

She turned back to her father. “If I can find a way to pay Bitty’s mortgage, may I have her?”

“What do you have in mind, Pammy?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I need to think about it. How much is it?”

“Eight hundred dollars,” her father said.

“Eight hundred. . .” she blanched. “So much?”

“Yes, dear,” her father said sadly.

“Shouldn’t the price of her art go toward her mortgage?”

“It does, and every cent I can scrape together, believe me,” Lucian said. “But most of that goes toward interest. Paying down the principal is a long, torturous process.”

“We’re making some headway,” Mr. Butler said, coming to stand by Lucian and giving up on the dusting.

Pamela frowned. “Well, then, give her ten percent, and give the other ten percent to me. It’s a start.”

Lucian smiled. “It seems my daughter is a better businessman than I am, Butler.” He opened the desk drawer and took out a ten dollar gold piece. “Here’s your agent’s share, then, Pamela. It’s a long way to eight hundred dollars.”

She clasped the gold piece in her fist. “Thank you, Daddy.” She stood, walked around the desk and kissed his cheek. She stroked his head affectionately. “Now I understand why you work so hard. Forgive me for being such a demanding little miss. I promise never to be again.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re hardly that, dearest. On the contrary, I’ve always found you the most amiable of daughters.”

“I’m not, but thank you,” she laughed. “Will you speak to Bitty? I want her to feel encouraged – she’s taken the loss of her paintings much to heart.”

“Of course, my dear. Please send her in.”


When Daisy emerged from the study, Pamela could see her disappointment, for all she tried to hide it. So that night, Pamela invited her into bed and spun her a pretty tale of the future, knowing it could not be true, but wishing herself it were so.

As Daisy slept by her side, Pamela pondered. Even though she was now aware that everything she knew, everyone she loved, was in peril, she felt no fear, only frustration. If only she had some marketable talent, like Daisy did. There was her music, of course, but a woman performing in public was considered shameful. It was different in Europe, she had heard, but she could hardly run off to France and leave everyone behind.

She had a tenderness for her father she had never felt before – she had never known the burdens he bore, and she was glad he had finally confided in her. Well, if she could not earn money, at least not yet, she could endeavor to practice better economy. No new dresses, she resolved. She and Daisy could make over, let out, or otherwise alter anything she already owned. And she would apply herself to her crocheting and her knitting. With this good resolution, she snuggled next to the girl lying beside her. Poor Daisy. Pamela also resolved that, no matter what befell, they should never be parted.

She felt so maternal – toward Daisy, toward her father, toward all the servants. She began to regret her decision not to marry, if this was how a mother felt. Marriage. . .

She pondered. Perhaps an alliance with one of the Bluegrass’s wealthy families might solve all her problems. Marriage might not be such a bad thing if it rescued her father and provided her with children.


She began to cultivate the young men of her acquaintance, and also the young men of their acquaintance. When Harold Pike began to press his suit, she encouraged him, especially when she discovered that his father was one of her father’s creditors.

She felt nothing for him, but she did not expect to, nor did she think that he did, either. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until that awful day.

She was not sorry when Harold’s horse threw a shoe and he returned to the farm – she much preferred Belinda’s company, anyway – but she had no apprehension of anything untoward. It was with great surprise and alarm that she returned home and found him being administered to by Mr. Butler, his face still red, bleeding and angry.

In a near panic at the almost certain failure of her plans, she dealt with Daisy in a high-handed manner, which she later much regretted. Pleading a headache, she sought refuge in the drawing room until her father came home.

Apprised of the situation by Mr. Butler, Lucian Carr parked Harold in the study with a whiskey while he went upstairs to deal with Daisy.

When he came downstairs afterward, he found Harold, Belinda and Pamela assembled in the front hall, attended by Mr. Butler. “I hope you’ll have her whipped,” Harold said venomously. Three long red welts marred his face, although they no longer bled.

Lucian frowned. “She’ll be dealt with,” he said, covering Pamela’s gasp. He turned to Belinda. “My apologies, Miss Pike, but I think it is best if you and your brother terminate your visit. You’ll understand, I’m sure. Pamela will help you prepare for your departure.”

Belinda nodded and offered her hand. “I know my brother will not apologize for his boorish behavior, but I do hope you’ll accept my apologies in his stead.”

“Bel. . .” Harold said warningly.

Belinda flipped her hair disdainfully and started to climb the stairs.

“Another drink, Mr. Pike,” Lucian said, ushering him into the study. “Butler will summon your carriage.”

As the study door closed and Mr. Butler left, Pamela stopped on the stairs. “Do you mind awfully packing by yourself, Belinda?”

“Going to listen at keyholes?” Belinda laughed as Pamela blushed. “I would, if I were you.” She held out her hand. “I do hope that we can remain friends after this, Pam.”

“Well, of course we will,” Pamela said. “You’ll be my sister-in-law.”

“Will I?” Belinda said doubtfully. “I know I wouldn’t marry Harold for a million dollars.”

Pamela frowned. “Wouldn’t you?”

“No, dear, I wouldn’t. Now scurry along. Be sure to tell me later what you hear. I know Harold will lie manfully. Don’t let him get away with it.”

“All right.” Pamela gave her friend a quick hug and scurried down the stairs to the study door. She carefully turned the knob and opened the door the tiniest crack, only enough to hear what was said inside.

“The little minx enticed me,” Harold was saying. Pamela could almost hear him pout. “It wasn’t my fault. This is what comes of coddling niggers.”

It was all Pamela could do to keep quiet. That word had never been uttered in this house, though she had often heard it in town. Hearing it from the lips she had once kissed made her stomach churn.

Lucian’s voice was tight with controlled fury. “That’s not the tale my butler tells me.”

“You gonna take a nigger’s word over mine?” Harold said belligerently.

“Even if your tale were true,” Lucian said, side-stepping, “it was most unchivalrous for you to enter my daughter’s bedroom before your marriage.”

“Why are you berating me?” Harold asked. “It’s that that little quadroon you should be berating.” Pamela heard him shift in his chair. “And don’t be getting on your high horse with me. Everyone does it, even you.”

Pamela heard her father’s sharp intake of breath and decided this was the moment to make her entrance. She rattled the doorknob to announce herself, then opened the door. “Daddy?” she said.

Harold came unsteadily to his feet. It was obvious that he had been making free with his host’s whiskey even before Lucian had returned home.

“Come on in, Pamela,” Lucian said. “Mr. Pike is just about to make his apologies.”

“Am not,” Harold mumbled under his breath, but Pamela overrode him.

“No need.” She pulled the ring off her finger. “I’m sorry, Harold, but I’m calling off our engagement.”

Harold stood stupefied a moment, looking down at the ring she put in his hand. “My father will have something to say about this,” he said.

Lucian opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.

“This is between you and me, Harold,” Pamela said. “I don’t believe you show me the respect due your fiancée. I doubt you’ll show me the respect due your wife.”

Harold clutched the ring in his hand, and stormed toward the door. He turned and said, “You’ll be sorry, Pamela.”

“No doubt,” she replied. “I’ll probably die an old maid.”

He slammed the door behind him. Pamela sighed and turned toward her father.

“Are you sure about this, Pammy?” Lucian asked.

Pamela nodded. “I thought I could go through with it, but I can’t. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry, dearest,” Lucian said. “I would have tried to talk you out of it.”

“Will Mr. Pike call in your note, do you think?” she asked worriedly.

“Probably,” Lucian said. “He’s a spiteful old cuss. But you’re well out of it, my dear. I’m sorry I encouraged you in the first place.”

Mr. Butler came in then. “They’re gone, sir,” he announced.

“Stop calling me ‘sir’,” Lucian said, wearily, as though not for the first time.

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Butler said, a vague smile on his lips.

Pamela looked from one to the other at this byplay. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “If Mr. Pike calls in your note, are we ruined?”

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Butler intoned.

“I hate to do it,” Lucian said. “You know I do.”

“Do what?” Pamela asked.

“Your mother’s cousin Morgan wants me to go partners in a whiskey distillery,” Lucian said. “There’s certainly money in it, but I hate to profit from vice.”

“Cousin John?” Pamela asked.

“Or ‘Captain Morgan’ as he styles himself these days,” Lucian said. “Playing with his private rifle regiment down there in Lexington.”

“I think he’s very dashing,” Pamela said, eyes brightening.

“So does he, more’s the pity,” Lucian said.

“How can we go partners if we haven’t any money?”

“Mortgage the hemp crop to Morgan,” Lucian explained. “That’s his offer.”

“He does own a hemp factory, so that would make sense,” Pamela said thoughtfully. “What choice do we have?”

Lucian looked from her to Mr. Butler. “None,” he conceded. “It’s the lesser of two evils again. Just once, I’d like to be able to choose a positive good, instead.”

Pamela gazed at him, her eyes full of sympathy. She shook herself. “I’d better go let Bitty out. She’s probably cried herself to sleep by now, poor dear.”

“Of course,” Lucian said, reaching into his pocket and handing her the key. “Let her know she has nothing to fear.”

“I’m sure she knows that,” Pamela said, taking the key. She left, but returned a few minutes later, looking suddenly frazzled. “She’s gone!” she said. “I don’t know how she got out, but she’s not there!”

The three of them pounded up the stairs to Pamela’s bedroom. A hurried search was made, in the wardrobe and under the beds, but no Daisy was to be found.

“The window’s closed, and the door was locked.” Pamela said. “How could she have gotten out?”

Lucian opened the window and examined the sill. His lips grew tight. “There’s the mark of a ladder here. See? It’s all scuffed.”

“Who. . . ?” Pamela began, but was interrupted by Mr. Butler leaving the room in a hurry.

He returned a few minutes later. “He’s gone, too.”

“Benjamin?” Pamela said. “Of course. But, then again, why? I know I was unkind to her, but not enough to make her want to leave, I’m sure.”

Lucian hung his head. “Not you, my dear. Me. I struck her.”

“You!” Pamela’s eyes filled with shock. “You couldn’t have – you’ve never – I mean. . .” Her voice trailed off. “Why?”

“She was. . .saucy,” Lucian said, shamefaced. “I was sorry as soon as I’d done it. I should have said so, it seems.” He pounded his fist on the sill. “Rash, young, romantic fools! What do they think they’re playing at? Don’t they know what happens to runaways?”

Mr. Butler had collapsed on the edge of Pamela’s bed. Always upright and dignified, he looked now like a rag doll with half its stuffing missing. Pamela put an arm around him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Butler. They can’t have gone far. We’ll find them, won’t we, Daddy?”

“It’s raining, and it’s dark,” Lucian pointed out. “Unless you have some idea where they would go, we’ll have to wait until morning.”

“I don’t,” Pamela said. “I can’t imagine either one of them wanting to leave. But to let them stay out all night, in the cold. . .”

“It’s not cold,” Lucian said, “only wet. They’ll suffer no hurt, and they might learn a lesson.”

“Please don’t call out the slave catchers,” Mr. Butler pleaded.

“Of course not, Butler,” Lucian said. “What do you take me for? We’ll have the men search in the morning. Pammy’s right – they can’t have gone far, even if they walk all night. I’d better go down and make sure none of the horses are missing, now that I think of it.”

No horse was missing, but search as they might next day, no sign of the fugitives could be found. Pamela hoped that in a day or so the two of them might straggle in, but two days passed without a sign.

“What do we do, Daddy?” she pleaded. “We can’t call the slave catchers, we can’t advertise a reward – I won’t have bounty hunters after my Bitty, not to mention Benjamin.”

“I don’t know, dear,” Lucian said. “I’m as worried as you are, and Butler’s practically prostrated.”

Pamela thought. “Perhaps Pinkerton’s? Finding people is what they do, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” Lucian said. “But, Pamela, if they wanted to come home, they already would have. And how would we pay for it, anyway?”

“Wait a moment.” Pamela ran upstairs to her bedroom and returned bearing a hinged box. “We can sell the jewelry Harold gave me.”

“A proper young lady would return those,” Lucian said.

“He cost us two perfectly good servants,” Pamela said firmly. “He can pay for their recovery.”

“And how will a detective convince them to come home? If you’re expecting him to bring them against their wills, you might as well hire a slave catcher.”

Pamela shuddered. “Never. I’ll write a letter – I’ll apologize for the things I said, and for you striking her, and promise her all will be as it was. She’ll come home,” she said confidently.

Lucian grimaced. “Sit down, Pammy,” he said. “There’s something you have to know – the real reason Bitty ran away, and why Benjamin would feel the need to rescue her.”

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Pamela said, taking the proffered chair. “I thought there must be – she wouldn’t run away because of one blow.”

Lucian nodded, seating himself across from her. “You’re a woman now, Pamela. There’s some family history you need to be made aware of, for all that it shows me in a horrible light.”

“Go on,” Pamela said, warily.

Lucian leaned back. “Well. First of all, Bitty is your sister. Your half-sister.”

“I knew that,” Pamela said.

Lucian’s eyebrows flew up. “You did? How? When?”

“Azalea told me, practically the day Daisy was born.”

“Daisy?” Lucian said, stunned.

“Benjamin gave her that name, years ago. It fits her better, don’t you agree?”

“Daisy it is then,” Lucian agreed. “You knew?” he asked again, not quite grasping it. “You never told me.”

“I was sure you knew,” Pamela said. “And I didn’t grasp at the time what it all meant. Why else did you think I begged you for her when you sold Azalea? And why did you sell her, anyway?”

“Your mother begged me to, on her deathbed,” Lucian explained.

“I see,” Pamela said tersely. “She would.”

“Don’t be unkind to your mother’s memory, Pamela,” Lucian warned. “She suffered terribly because of me. And then there was the child – it was a slap in her face.”

Pamela frowned. “All right, maybe I do see, a little. But this is ancient history – what does it have to do with Daisy running away?”

“Because it looked like history was about to repeat itself, dear, don’t you see? You, and Harold, and Daisy? I couldn’t let you suffer the things your mother suffered, so I told Daisy I would have to sell her.”

“Sell her? Daddy, you didn’t!” Pamela’s chair rocked from the force of her shock.

“I did,” Lucian said in a rush, “and she begged me not to, and she called me ‘Father’ and I was so filled with the shame of it all, that I struck her.” He turned his head away. “And there you have it. All of it.”

Pamela sat quietly for several minutes. “I want to understand, Daddy, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

Lucian sighed. “And I hope you never do, dearest. I would hate for you to have to sink to that level, to understand what sort of man I was. Am.”

She reached out and touched him. “I don’t have to understand to know that you’re a good, honorable man, Daddy. I loved Azalea – I’m sure you must have, too. She was sweet, and warm. . .”

“And the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” Lucian said, distantly. “But that doesn’t excuse me, Pammy. I’ve made a mess of things, as you see.”

“Then let me help you clean it up,” Pamela said. “Let me borrow your desk to write that letter to Daisy. I’ll explain it all – if she can be found, she’ll come home, you’ll see.” Her eyes darkened. “And you will free her?”

“As soon as I’m able,” Lucian promised. “But you realize that if I try to before her mortgage is paid, she’ll be seized and sold.”

Pamela nodded. “Society might not acknowledge that she’s our family, but we do. Won’t you, Daddy?”

“If that’s what it takes to make this right, then yes, dear. At least to you,” Lucian promised.

He rose to leave her alone, and she sat down at the desk, taking pen in hand and began to write.

“My dearest Daisy. . . ,