"It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight." Vladimir Nabokov

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XXXI.

"Susanna is here?" Alex gasped in utter disbelief as the impossibility of this realisation rushed over him.

She came for me.

For how long had he believed, known, that Susanna would never forgive him? That did not mean that he had not intended to return and try, but it was a truth he had acknowledged. Women like Susanna did not come along every day, and they deserved men of quality. What chance, whatever miniscule chance he might have had with Susanna was lost.

Or so he had thought.

But Alex could not lose himself in his thoughts, his hopes, his fears, for long. Adam had claimed that Susanna needed Alex's help, and a panic began to settle into his chest. Susanna was nowhere to be seen, and something serious must have happened to separate her from her brother's side.

"Where is she?" he demanded to know. "What happened to her?"

How had they made it onto the island? Captain Whitfield had made Alex swim to shore with a wounded Belle as he would not dock in Port-au-Prince. It was not safe for white men to roam Haiti. What could have possibly made the captain set foot on this island?

But for white women ...

"She used herself as a distraction in town so that we might secure the horses to find you," Adam explained, the panic that he shared with Alex evident in his voice. Alex could also see that this had not been Adam's idea.

Alex's blood ran cold as the very image of Susanna walking through the city by herself filled his mind. She had made herself vulnerable, had put herself in danger, in mortal peril to give her brother and Captain Whitfield the chance to find him. What would possess her to do something so foolish?

She would not have been allowed to walk free. As soon as Susanna was noticed in town, she would have been corralled and captured by men who believed that all whites were the same. Susanna would be tarred by the same brush that belonged to the grand blancs.

Alex's mind was racing so quickly that he could not find the words in English.

"Où est-elle?" he cried.

"De forgeron," replied Captain Whitfield in a calm voice, holding out his hand, almost hesitantly, before he touched it on Alex's shoulder.

Alex did not have a moment to even wonder at the captain's odd behaviour as he shook off the hand and seized the reins of one of the horses. The blacksmith. That was where he was going, and by God he would burn the forge to the ground if one single hair on her head was out of place.

"Hide," was all he managed to say to the two men before he launched himself onto the stallion's back and kicked in his heels to take off.

***

It was mid-afternoon by the time Alex rode into Port-au-Prince, and the sun was high in the sky and beating down with an assault of heat and humidity. Alex felt that the shirt he was wearing might have been transparent for all his perspiration, though he knew he could not blame the sun for all of it.

There were a handful of competing forges in the city, and Alex instantly regretted not waiting for more information from Adam and Captain Whitfield before racing off. But logically, he knew that Susanna would not have been able to walk far through the city before being intercepted. She had to be at the forge closest to the port.

Alex rode for the smoke, pushing his poor animal hard to take him to the forge as quickly as his four legs could carry them. The streets were busy and there was definitely an air of commotion is how people were whispering and talking to each other. Alex had ridden past them before he could hear anything specific.

As Alex arrived at the forge, he could see the smith beating away at his anvil. A quick glance behind him proved fruitless and locating Susanna. The sound of horse hooves alerted the blacksmith, however, and a dark scowl formed on his face as he looked at the horse Alex was riding.

Alex needed to think quickly as he jumped down from the horse's back. This expression of recognition proved to him that this horse belonged to this blacksmith, and Susanna had to have been here at some point. The very thought that she was so near about killed him.

"I have found your horse!" cried Alex, taking the reins of the horse and leading him over to the blacksmith.

The blacksmith had abandoned his work as he marched out of his shop to take back possession of the horse. "Where did you find it? Where's the other one? I had two stolen!"

"I only found one," replied Alex, who kept hold of the reins. "And as payment for my efforts to return your horse, I must ask you for information. The white woman, where is she?" Alex hoped his voice didn't sound desperate, so as not to trigger suspicion, but he knew it was quite impossible to appear calm now.

The blacksmith's frown deepened. "Oh, you heard about her, did you? News travels fast. The Guard were alerted, of course. She was taken to the Palais du Gouvernement."

Alex's head snapped back in the direction of the seat of the President, and the house where the French governor had once lived. Though he could not see the house from where he was, everyone knew its location, and it was about a mile from where he was standing.

The reins were snatched from Alex's hand as the next panicked thought crossed his mind.

How on earth was he going to get her out of the Palais du Gouvernement?

***

The Palais du Gouvernement was the grandest building in Port-au-Prince, though from what Alex had seen of London, he wagered the English would not agree with the local opinion. The structure was built entirely of painted wood and was situated at the front of the parade to the south-east of town. Leading up to the entrance of the house was a fine set of stairs which were secured by two members of the Haitian military.

Alex was entirely out of breath. Having surrendered the horse to its rightful owner, Alex had run the mile between the forge and the Palais du Gouvernement at a swift pace.

While running, Alex had come up with a plan. A whim, really. There was only one possible way to get inside that building.

Alex would have to lie through his teeth.

Alex paused, sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to settle his heartrate. He then straightened his posture, and began his approach, praying that he appeared as though he was someone important enough to be visiting this house.

The first of the guards, a young man who rivalled even Alex for height, held up his hand to stop him, and placed his hand on the sabre at his hip. "Stop!" he commanded. "What is your business?"

Alex willed his voice to steady. "My wife was brought here today," he lied. "The white woman, where is she? I demand that she is returned to me."

"Your wife?" exclaimed the other.

Alex nodded stiffly. "Bring her to me," he ordered. "Now." When they didn't move, Alex found it quite easy to sound angry. For he was. The fear that pulsed through him fuelled his anger. Every moment where he did not know that Susanna was safe was ammunition. "She is my wife, and therefore my property, and she has been stolen from me," he growled. "If you will not return her to me, then I shall go inside and fetch her myself."

The guards exchanged a glance, before the shorter one nodded in approval. The taller guard motioned for Alex to follow him, and Alex couldn't believe that his charade worked. He followed the guard up the grand steps and into the large foyer, which, to Alex's surprise, was decorated with black panelling and white marble. The furnishings were tasteful and comfortable without being costly, and the artwork and sculptures that were featured in this area alone were a nod to Haiti's young history.

"Wait here," the guard instructed.

Alex nodded stiffly, resisting the urge to call out to Susanna. After so many months and an ocean between them, they were finally but a few rooms apart. Alex wanted to hug her, yet shake her, kiss her, yet scold her. But most of all, he just wanted her safe and out of harm's way.

Alex was not left alone for very long. The guard returned with a man dressed in perhaps the finest suit that Alex had ever seen on a man of colour. Alex had never before seen the President. Was this man the President? Was he meant to bow?

Alex was looked over with scrutiny, which only made him stand up straighter. This was another man whom he needed to convince of the lie.

"Forgive my intrusion, Monsieur," Alex began politely.

"General Julien Rochambeau," corrected the guard stiffly.

"General," added Alex. "There has been a terrible mistake. My wife was brought here, and I have come to collect her."

"Blanche is your wife?" queried the general, arching an eyebrow.

Blanche? Was that what they were calling Susanna? How terribly original.

"Her name is Susanna Whitfield," continued Alex falsely, "and yes, she is my wife. I am her husband, Alexander Whitfield. I must insist that she be returned to me immediately."

The general waved the guard away, and he complied immediately. He folded his arms across his chest. "She was to be married tomorrow, to one of the soldiers. I hadn't yet decided whom."

Alex's teeth clenched. How could this happen? How could such things be forced? Hadn't they endured enough to know that no man or woman should ever be forced into an unwanted life? "On your immortal soul, General, to subject an already married woman to another marriage is bigamy and is a mortal sin."

To Alex's surprise, the general chuckled, flashing his yellow smile. "How did you lose her in the first place? Did she run away?"

"We got separated," murmured Alex quickly. "And the moment I learned where she was, I came for her. Please," he urged. "Show me to her."

"Very well, Monsieur," the general nodded. "Follow me."

Alex was led through the large house to a closed door. His heart thundered in his chest, so loudly that Alex was certain the general would turn around and call his bluff. But he didn't. Instead, the general inserted a key in the lock and pushed the door open.

Alex heard a scrambling from inside, the sounds of footsteps scurrying across the floor and away from the door. He practically pushed past the general to get into the comfortable reception room.

There, leaning against the farthest wall, making herself as flat as possible, was Susanna. And she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Her hair was more golden, lightened by the sun, and she wore it loose and curly, save for a few tendrils that were fixed away from her face. Her face, which had always been so fair under the English sky, was now sun kissed and ever so slightly freckled after her journey. Her blue eyes were wide and fearful, her brow was furrowed, and her teeth were biting down on her lower lip in angst. She wore a plain, sturdy travelling dress, complete with sensible short sleeves for the Caribbean weather.

Alex stared at her, and in that moment, he couldn't care whether he looked as though he were a husband after his runaway wife, or a lovesick boy who had never thought he'd see the object of his affection again. He couldn't fathom that she was here, that she had come all this way. He didn't dare to hope for fear that this would all disappear.

"Alex," breathed Susanna, her frightened eyes settling on him, and warming in a way he thought he would never experience again.

Susanna's recognition of him seemed to assuage any remaining doubts had by the general. "Is this man your husband?" he asked Susanna in French.

Susanna's gaze did not leave Alex. "Yes," she replied.

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Hope you enjoyed it!! 

Don't ya just love a reunion :) 

The Palais du Gouvernement eventually became the National Palace in Port-au-Prince, but it was destroyed in the 2010 earthquake. But I found this journal online when I was researching for this chapter to get an accurate description of what it was like. It was written by a Frenchman in the 1830s (so a little after this time but it was as close as I could get!) and good golly Europeans could be snobby when it came to architecture!! 

Alright, it's 2:10am. VERY past my bedtime! 

Vote and comment xxx