Savannah 04

"Please Missus Williams sit here on the chaise," he said, pointing to a long, low couch. It was always preferable for a lady to sit on such a seat, as opposed to chair, due to her hoops and wide skirts.

"Thank you Mister Strand," she replied, surprised at his thoughtfulness.

"Oliver please. Remember Missus Williams?"

"Yes, of course, so please call me Amanda," she said, beaming a broad smile at him and realising that despite the feelings inside her, it was important to remain on friendly terms.

He again took her hand as he stood over her, bent forward and kissed the back of it. Looking right into her eyes, and then her cleavage, he murmured, "Thank you Amanda that is very noble of you."

"Not at all," Amanda replied not struggling to remove the hand he held onto as he stood straight.

They held each other's glances for a few moments; certainly longer than etiquette required. Similar thoughts were going through each of their minds although there was a slightly different emphasise on each of them. They were both thinking that later they would have sex. The difference being that Strand relished it whilst Amanda was revolted by the idea of being fucked by the overweight toad of a man.

Amanda was dragged out of her reveries by Strand's voice.

"Perhaps, Amanda, you would do me the honour of having dinner with me?" he asked, wanting to engineer a situation when they would be alone together.

Ever since they had last met he had hardly gone any time without thinking of her. He frequently envisaged her naked and fantasised about the pair of them writhing on his bed as they prepared to have sex,

Her initial reaction was to reject the suggestion and she almost said no thank you. But she realised that she had to play up to Strand not only because of the sale of the plantation, but also because of what Fairfax had requested. She wasn't too sure which she found more objectionable, giving her body to sell the plantation or having sex to be a spy on her 'homelands.'

"Yes Oliver, that would be nice," Amanda replied, feeling a strange and unexpected surge of adrenalin from the game she was playing.

"Wonderful, but now to business, my dear" he said sharply, suddenly thrusting his hand out. Amanda recoiled a little, momentarily thinking he intended to grab her breast. Instead it was her hand, he took. "Come, let me show you to my office," he continued. We can discuss the meetings I have planned."

As it transpired, the meetings took most of the day.

The first was with Thomas Kettel, a newspaper editor. He explained how slavery was integral to the South's prosperity. He told her how rich the South really was, but how the North and the British were trying to take that away from them. He seemed to be so knowledgeable and so full of facts and economic information that Amanda's head was a whirl when he left.

"He's a mine of information, Amanda," her host explained. "But he does go over the top sometimes. Nevertheless, I wanted you to get his view on things."

"Why? I only wish to sell my plantation, Mister Strand."

"Oliver, please" he corrected her, determined to maintain the intimacy of first name terms.

"Yes, sorry Oliver, but please explain. Why did you want me to meet him?"

"Look Amanda," he said, walking round his desk and propping himself on the edge of it right in front of the large armed carver chair where she was seated. "As I know you are aware, we are in a difficult position with the North."

"What the slavery issue and secession?"

"Yes that," he agreed. "And more there's free trade, protectionism, raising capital, industrialisation trading with Europe, taxation, the role of the national government. There are so many things we are at loggerheads over."

"What about them? I do read the newspapers and travel Oliver" Amanda retorted, a little sharply.

"Yes, yes, of course I know you do, my dear," he assured her. "But I wanted you to understand the complete situation so you can fully appreciate the difficulties with selling Selby and which are confronting our beloved South."

"Yes, I understand," she smiled feeling confused. "But I thought, Oliver that you were going to try to help me sell it for the best price?"

"I am and I will! But first, I want you to be absolutely sure that you really want to sell. The South, the Confederacy as we are now calling it has a massive fight on its hands and I want you to be part of it Amanda."

"How?"

"Be with us in resisting the North's demands. Help us preserve our way of life, Amanda, help us fight the oppressive northern Yankee bastards. Sorry, for my profanity, my dear, but I feel so strongly! Look let's have a light lunch only we don't want to spoil our appetite for dinner tonight do we?"

Damn! Amanda hadn't realised that he had meant dinner tonight. She was supposed to be dining with Fairfax, and though he would understand, especially as she would be seeing Strand, she would need to get a message to him to stop him turning up at the guesthouse for dinner. She could do that as Strand's carriage waited while she changed.

The afternoon meeting was arranged with William Lowneds Yancy. An influential journalist and politician, Yancy was also a powerful orator, and one of the leading lights in what was becoming known as the 'Secession Movement.' His speeches, she knew, drew huge crowds throughout the South, which he whipped into a frenzy of support for the 'Southern way of life', in other words slavery, as well as the possibility of leaving the union and inciting hatred in their fellow countrymen 'the Yankees.'

He had many of the mannerisms of both a zealot and a bigot, much like Strand himself. Amanda formed an instant dislike for him, exacerbated when he launched into a diatribe about the way that the North and the British were poking their noses into the South's affairs and how they had to be stopped.

"And Oliver, my friend, it will be us, 'the Fire-Eaters,' who will be at the forefront of doing that won't we?" He ended, causing Amanda's ears to prick up as she registered the information in her mind.

The second afternoon meeting was with another journalist, James Dunwoody Brownson de Bow. The famous man was also a publisher, owning the highly influential Southern propaganda magazine, de Bow's Review, a journal that Amanda had occasionally read. He was a far more reasonable and intelligent a man than Strand and Yancy and Amanda liked him.

"Perhaps, Missus Williams, the next time you are in New Orleans I could have the honour of showing you how the magazine is assembled?" he asked, as he was leaving. The glint in his eye, the slight excess of pressure holding her hand, and his lingering look at her breasts suggested that his motives were more than simply showing Amanda his printing press. The fact that in addition to his clear intelligence and obvious charisma, James was also devilishly good looking, made the prospect of looking at printing presses quite attractive to her, she smiled.

"That would be perfect Mister de Bow" she replied. "But I have no plans to visit the area."

"Then maybe you could be persuaded to change your plans Missus Williams?" He asked his dark eyes almost boring into hers as he smiled and added. "I would be delighted to show you my city."

"We will see Mister de Bow, we will see."

"Yancy has a wonderful brain," Strand said as they waited for the next meeting. "He can be a little intense, but by God, how he drives the movement! He may well be our saviour, you know?"

"Hmmm, yes maybe," Amanda replied, trying hard not to show her distaste for the odious, arrogant and bigoted man. Her preference was for the much more affable, James de Bow.

"And Mister de Bow?" she asked

Strand smiled arrogantly from his position behind Amanda. The way her chestnut hair was piled up on top of her head, the ringlets tumbling down onto her bare shoulders and her slim back, looked adorable. 'Fuck how I want this woman' he said to himself as he moved closer and rested his hand lightly on her shoulders.

Amanda stiffened at his touch. Turning her head to look at the short, podgy fingers of Strand's left hand, she noticed the fraternity ring and his beautifully manicured nails. He seemed to take the glance as approval to slowly rub his hand along the muscle connecting her neck and shoulder. She wanted to push his revolting touch away, but somehow resisted. The thought of those fingers on her breasts or between her thighs, as she knew was becoming more and more inevitable, made her shudder in disgust.

"As for Mister de Bow" he went on edging two of his fingers just slightly under the silk of the armband of her dark blue dress. "I think that gentleman should wait his time before propositioning the most eligible divorcee in the South, don't you?"

"Do you think he was doing that, Mr Strand?" she asked, turning her head further towards him so that she could look up into his eyes.

"Oh yes, undoubtedly. de Bow has an eye for the ladies, married though he is for the fourth time. But then who can blame him where you are concerned Amanda?" He asked, holding her gaze and pressing a little more firmly with his fingers now on both her shoulders.

"Well, thank you kind sir, for the compliment," she said, reaching up to place her hand on his. "I will bear your concern in mind should I visit New Orleans. But pray remember sir, I am not yet a divorcee, simply parted from Mister Williams."
"Surely madam, that's simply a semantic, is it not?" He all but sneered.

"That is as maybe, but I prefer to keep the record straight, Mister Strand. I am still a married woman" Amanda said, standing up to face the smiling man.

"Yes, my dear," he retorted. "But not one that is 'spoken for' as it were are you?"

That made Amanda smile. "Well, not in America no" she admitted.

He nodded, satisfied with her answer. "I take your point about still being married, Amanda. It may not have escaped your notice that I have a similar problem."

"Problem, Mister Strand?" she frowned. "Surely being married to the charming Missus Strand is not a problem, sir?"

"Yes..." he paused, as if undecided as to whether to continue with such a delicate subject. "I am sorry, forgive me, it is not a problem that I cannot handle. But it is an issue."

"Pray sir, what do you mean?"

The arrogant man took his hands from Amanda's shoulders and walked around to stand in front of her. "Missus Strand and I have not been married, as such, if you get my drift ma'am, for many years."

"I see."

"Do you? Do you really see, Amanda?"

She looked away for a second. Was he about to proposition her? "I think so yes" she finally answered.

Strand moved a little closer so that they were looking at each other from less than three feet apart. The toes of his shoes slid slightly under her widely hooped skirt.

"Pray forgive me for possibly being assumptive Missus Williams, Amanda," he said, tilting his head. "But are we not in the same situation?"

"I do not follow you at all Mister Strand," she replied, understanding him perfectly, but playing for time. "Please elucidate for me."

Strand's face broke into a look that was part way between a smile and a leer as he leaned forward and took her hand in his.

"In our situations and with our positions in society, Amanda, it is difficult to find the comfort we sometimes need, isn't it?"

So that was it, he was becoming bolder! Don't respond, she told herself. Let him continue.

"Without causing unnecessary scandal and upset, of course."

"Of course Mister Strand."

"You appreciate madam what I am saying I assume?"

"Yes I now fully understand you" Amanda said, as he raised his eyebrows and awaited a response. She used her fan as a cover to hide her face.

"I am pleased and flattered that you do Amanda and that we can talk this way," he smiled, as a knowing look came across his face. Lifting her hand, he bent forward to stare into her eyes. "And hopefully Amanda, we can talk further on this topic at dinner this evening?"

"At your choice sir, after all I will at your table." she replied in a non-committed way as he bent closer to kiss her hand.

"Indeed you will madam and I thank for accepting my meagre invitation."

Holding his gaze and smiling, Amanda gently extricated her hand from his. "So, our next appointment Oliver?" she asked in what she hoped was a purposeful tone.

Spinning away from her to hide his annoyance at the way she'd rejected his hand and changed the subject, he said over his shoulder, "We have a tea meeting with a group of people, influential and important of course."

"Will they be able to help with Selby Bluff?" she asked bluntly.

"Patience my dear," he answered, spinning back around to face her. "They need to get to know you and trust you first."

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course."

The look on his face changed to a sly smile. "As, indeed, I do Amanda. I need to get to know you very well if we are to do what you wish and gain the highest price available."

Amanda felt a shiver run through her. "That is what we are doing, is it not sir?" she politely replied, attempting to head off where he was certainly going. "Getting to know each other better?"

"Yes ma'am, we've made a start, of course. And hopefully at dinner tonight, we will take that further. I have arranged for us to eat here. Missus Calthorpe will prepare a cold meal that we can serve ourselves."

"Why is that?" she asked, only too well aware of his intentions.

"Just discretion, my dear. It's always best, for both parties, to avoid giving tongues things to wag about!"

Although Strand had immense influence and power and really did know people in very high places, he was starting to worry about his ability to assist Amanda in such difficult times. The new laws were even more restrictive than he had envisaged when he had signed the original legislative orders and he was not at all sure that he could get the sort of price he had suggested was possible. The thought of being seen by Amanda as a failure irritated him and made him resolve to have her as soon as possible, just in case he couldn't keep his part of the arrangement.

***

The tea meeting lasted from four until six. She tried hard to remember as many names as possible to report to Fairfax, but only Nathaniel Beverly Tucker, John A. Quitman, Thomas C. Hindman and William Porcher Miles remained in her memory. The others who joined and left became only faces without names in her memory.

The discussions revolved around trade, the recession, cotton and grain prices, the French, Prussians and British sympathies and the worsening situation with the North. Several times she heard the term 'Fire-Eaters' and noted a strange sort of handshake, which she took to be a secret sign of acknowledgement, possibly a sort of gesture indicating membership of that group. As Fairfax was aware of them they couldn't be a secret society like the Freemasons, but she wondered just how much they kept themselves to themselves.

"I need to go and change," she told Strand after the last meeting.

"Yes that's fine. Good idea," he replied, his hungry looking her up and down.

"Wear a more evening dinner type of dress," he suggested, as if the dark green silk dress was too modest for their evening together. "Perhaps a European fashion?"

"Yes, of course," Amanda replied, realising his meaning immediately.

"Take my carriage. Use it as if it is your own, my dear. Shall we say seven thirty for pre-dinner drinks?"

"It's just after five thirty now, so that will be fine" she smiled, anxious to be on her way. "I bid you good afternoon then Mister Strand."

"Oliver, please," he reminded her, taking the opportunity to move closer and place his hands on her bare arms. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek.

Despite her repulsion, Amanda didn't flinch.

"Until then my dear, I am so looking forward to dinner."

"Yes, Oliver thank you," she responded showing little enthusiasm as she wondered how on earth she was going to cope. "And then, Amanda, we can talk more about all the issues!"

Waiting until she was secure in the carriage, Amanda wrote a short note to Fairfax. It told him that she would be dining with Strand tonight and gave brief details of the events of the day. Stopping at one of the recently introduced telegraph and messaging offices, she asked the footman to arrange for the message to be delivered as soon as possible to Fairfax's office.

Another ten minutes saw them reach the guesthouse and Milly ran out to greet Amanda.

"Welcome home ma'am" she curtsied, as the footman helped Amanda out of the open top carriage. "I was asked to hand this message to you the moment you arrived."

"Thank you, Milly," Amanda replied, tearing the envelope open. As she hoped, it was from Fairfax.

My dearest Amanda
Of course I will miss you this evening and my thoughts will be with you for its entirety.
The Fire-Eaters are of enormous interest to us and anything, and I must emphasise anything, you can find out will be of considerable importance. Please try your hardest. Whatever it takes!
All my love
F.

So typical Amanda thought, as she saw the initial, rather than his name; she knew he was protecting himself by making it impossible to prove the message was from him should it fall into the wrong hands. Also the almost callous way he accepted that she would be sleeping with Strand was hurtful, but in the circumstances, just about understandable, so, naturally, Amanda forgave him.

As Amanda took tea on her balcony, Milly prepared her bath. The addition of salts produced a wonderful aroma and foam that she knew her mistress loved. Amanda walked into the dressing room and allowed Milly to undo the small buttons on her bodice. Shrugging that off, she stood with her hands on her hips as the maid began to undo the laces on the corset. Eventually, they had removed her hoop cage, the enormously flared skirt and the single petticoat and finally the corset.

"Oooo, that's better Milly," Amanda muttered rubbing her sides where there were some red marks from the tightness of the restricting garment that she removed. "It feels lovely to release myself."

Her breasts sagged a little from where the made to measure corset had been pushing her already substantial bosom upwards. Amanda rubbed the undersides of each breast, to ease the slight irritation that the firm whalebone caused, and then slid the chemise off. Milly knelt down, offering her mistress her knee as a rest for her foot so that the maid could undo and remove the fashionable laced ankle boots.

Amanda slipped the 'beneath the knee' length, cotton and broderie anglais pantalets down her legs to enable Milly to help her with her, white, silk stockings.

After her luxurious bath, she told Milly what she would be wearing that evening. Milly, a nineteen-year-old country girl from southern Georgia, enjoyed towelling her mistress dry, but then she took pleasure in most aspects of working for Amanda.

Clean, dry, powdered and perfumed, Amanda felt wonderful, despite her trepidation as to what lay ahead this evening. Although she had remained non-committal, and had done her best to leave Strand with the impression that she did not really understand his references to 'the comforts we need,' she knew they were both only too well aware of his meaning. Tonight, he wanted her body!

Strangely, Amanda was becoming more resigned to that. And in her own curious way, she came to the conclusion that if he was to have her, then she was going to be the best he had ever experienced!

Thus, she wore black, silk stockings, the same she had worn for Richard on the sea voyage and which she had not used since that wonderful time. God that seemed such an age ago now!