An unexpected visitor

Dear Diary, (May 21st)

I had an unexpected visit today. I still don't know if this will amount to anything, but the visit and the offer that came with it has left me with a lot to think about.

I was sitting in my father's library reading through the plantation ledger trying to make sense of my inheritance when Old Will knocked politely to let me know I had a caller. Perhaps I should have asked Mr. Kyleson to go over the journal with me, as he could explain in five minutes as much as I gleaned from reading the accounts, but I had forgotten neither his cool welcome nor disdainful attitude. That was only part of my stubbornness; it is becoming abundantly clear that, with the possible exception of Mr. Thornton, I could expect little or no help from anyone associated with Havenhall.

“Beggin your pardon, Mistress.” Ol' Will had been my father's **** for over fifty years, and, stoic as he was, he seemed to accept me. “You have a caller, ma'am.”

I had my father's negro doorman bring my visitor to me without thinking to ask who it was and so when Priscilla Manton walked gracefully into through the library doors, I was both startled and confused.

“Surprised, cousin?” Priscilla's voice had the same southern accent as her brother, but without the condescension. All the same, I had not forgotten what Mr. Thornton had told me about their abrupt departure. Miss Manton must have discerned my skepticism because she continued as easily as if she were discussing the weather. “I told Miles that he was over-reacting, but the poor man was so disappointed; surely you can understand that?” I remember my mind flailing to make sense of all this ... what did this woman want?

“Have you come about your palfrey?” It was a wild guess, but the only plausible explanation I could come up with.

“Oh no, you little dear.” Priscilla's laughter was light and gay, “There'll be time enough for that later, I'm here to help you.” I remember feeling both distrust and hope simultaneously. I fully expected my cousins to hate what my father had done, not only were they robbed of their inheritance, but Havenhall had been given to their mulatto cousin.

“Why?” The word slipped out before I could stop myself.

“Because, dear Bianca, I love Havenhall and I don't want to see it in ruins.” Miss Manton's tone carried equal parts condescension and pity, as if it were a foregone conclusion that there was no way a young, mixed-blood Yankee could possibly be successful in running an establishment as complex and far-reaching as my father's estate. Priscilla rested her hand on mine gently as she continued. “Surely, even you must realize that no one in Charlston will deal with you. It will be impossible for you to buy or sell even the most basic supplies.”

_I found myself nodding in understanding even though I hated the situation I found myself in. Miss Manton was not unlike _my mother, who for as long as I can remember has seemingly effortlessly managed multiple lovers like a skilled juggler at a county fair. My cousin had somehow remained independent in a world where a woman's worth is measured by the status on her husband. I have far less experience in handling men and bending them to my will than either her or my mother. I could learn much from her, if I could trust her.

“I can help, you my dear.” Priscilla smiled sweetly, “I'm not saying it will be easy, but if I live here, I can be the face of Havenhall. It won't fool anyone, but it will be enough that they continue dealing with us.”

I didn't know what to say. Was this the answer to my untenable situation, or would I be inviting a snake into my bed?