Like A Charm

The nègre has the gall to put her hand out, cupped for her reward.

'You may go now,' I tell her, stepping into my shoes.

Next morning, I wake up in a foul temper. My head starts hammering as soon as I lift it off the pillow. Maman is expected back from New Orleans today. I reach for my bracelet on the little table beside my bed and it's gone.

'Millie?' But she's not there, on the pallet at the foot of my bed; she's up already. She's taken my bracelet. I never mentioned giving her more than one little trinket; she couldn't have misunderstood me. Damn her for a thieving little nègre.

I could track her down in the kitchen behind the house, or in the sewing room with Tante Marcelite working on the slave clothes, or wherever she may be, but no. For once, I'll see to it that the girl gets punished for her outrageous impudence.

I bide my time; I do my lessons with Tante Fa

When the boat arrives I don't rush down to the pier; my mother hates such displays. I sit in the shady gallery and wait. When Maman comes to find me, I kiss her on both cheeks. 'Perfectly well,' I reply. (She doesn't like to hear of symptoms, unless one is seriously ill.) 'But that dreadful brat Millie has stolen a bracelet from my room.' As I say it I feel a pang, but only a little one. Such an awful story for her to make up, calling my aunt and uncle murderers of their own flesh! The least the girl deserves is a whipping.

'Which bracelet?'

'A… a gold chain, with trinkets on it,' I say, with only a small hesitation. 'I found it.'

'Found it?' she repeats, her eyebrows soaring.

I'm sweating. 'It was stoppered up in a bottle,' I improvise; 'it washed up on the levee.'

'How peculiar.'

'But it's mine,' I repeat. 'And Millie took it off my table, while I was sleeping!'

Maman nods judiciously, and turns away. 'Do tidy yourself up before di

We often have a guest to di

After di

'Certainly, Maman.'

'Here's your bracelet. A charming thing, if eccentric. Don't make a habit of fishing things out of the river, will you?'

'No, Maman.' Gleeful, I fiddle with the catch, fitting it round my wrist.

'The girl claimed you'd given it to her as a present.'

Guilt, like a lump of gristle in my throat.

'They always claim that, strangely enough,' remarks my mother, walking away. 'One would think they might come up with something more plausible.'

The next day I'm in Tante Fa

'Do sit down, child.'

'Just a minute, Tante-'

'Aimée, come back here!'

But I'm thudding along the gallery, down the stairs. I trip over my hem, and catch the railing. I'm in the yard, and the sun is piercing my eyes. 'Maman!'

She turns, frowning. 'Where is your sunhat, Aimée?'

I ignore that. 'But Millie – what's happening?'

'I suggest you use your powers of deduction.'

I throw a desperate look at the girl, bundled up on the last mule, her mute face striped with tears. 'Have you sold her? She didn't do anything so very bad. I have the bracelet back safe. Maybe she only meant to borrow it.'

My mother sighs. 'I won't stand for thieving or back-answers, and Millie has been guilty of both.'

'But Pa Philippe, and her mother – you can't part her from them-'

Maman draws me aside, her arm like a cage round my back. 'Aimée, I won't stoop to dispute my methods with an impudent and sentimental girl, especially in front of strangers. Go back to your lesson.'

I open my mouth to tell her that Millie didn't steal the bracelet, exactly; that she thought I had promised it to her. But that would call for too much explanation, and what if Maman found out that I've been interrogating the nègres about private family business? I shut my mouth again. I don't look at Millie; I can't bear it. The trader whistles to his mules to start walking. I go back into the house. My head's bursting from the sun; I have to keep my eyes squeezed shut.

'What is it, child?' asks Tante Fa

'I feel… weak.'

'Sit down on this sofa, then. Shall I ring for a glass of wine?'

Next thing I know I'm flat on my back, choking. I feel so sick. I push Tante Fa

'What…'

'You fainted.'

I feel oddly disappointed. I always thought it would be a luxuriant feeling – a surrendering of the spirit – but it turns out that fainting is just a sick sensation, and then you wake up.

'It's very natural,' she says, with the ghost of a smile. 'I believe you have become a woman today.'

I stare down at myself, but my shape hasn't changed.

'Your petticoat's a little stained,' she whispers, showing me the spots – some brown, some fresh scarlet – and suddenly I understand. 'You should go to your room and ask Millie to show you what to do.'

At the mention of Millie I put my hands over my face.

'Where did you get that?' asks Tante Fa

'It was in a trunk, in the attic,' I confess. 'I know it was Eliza's. Can I ask you, how did she die?' My words astonish me as they spill out.

My aunt's face contorts. I think perhaps she's going to strike me. After a long minute, she says 'We killed her. Your uncle and I.'

My God. So Millie told the truth, and in return I've had her sold, banished from the sight of every face she knows in the world.

'Your cousin died for our pride, for our greed.' Tante Fa

What is she talking about?

'You see, Aimée, when my darling daughter was about your age she developed some boutons.'

Pimples? What can pimples have to do with anything?