Mr. Thornton is skeptical of my plan.

Mr. Thornton is polite, but dismissive of my ideas. "I don't wish to be unkind, but this is business, and a great deal of money is at stake, so at the very least I need to be honest. It is clear that, as a Yankee, you can't possibly understand our peculiar institution. And as a woman, you don't understand business. Putting a hood on two negroes and watching 'em hump isn't difficult. Heck, that's the easy part. But where on earth would you get the capital to buy a flock of fair skin breeding bitches, young enough to drop pups and white enough to produce mulattos? And how are you going to support yourself for nearly two decades while you wait for the pups to grow up, so you can sell them on the block?"

Taking a sip of tea, I ignore his patronizing tone, and his insults about my background, and mental capabilities, and calmly answer his questions.

"It is common wisdom that Yankee abolitionists must have black blood in them. For why else would they have such sympathy for negroes, unless their blood lines were polluted, which caused them to feel sympathy for the beasts?"

"That is the widely held view among our finest citizens," Mr. Thornton acknowledged.

"There is an abolitionist group in Boston which calls themselves 'The Daughters of Liberty.' It is staffed by female agitators who attend a few of the so called "colleges for women" in the Boston area. These are young, unmarried women, 18, 19, or 20, with too much time on their dainty hands, who have stuffed their heads with all sorts of nonsense about racial equality and the wickedness of the South. I know them well, for I was a member, and can assure you that, like me, they are quite well spoken and assertive. More importantly for our purposes, they are also quite nubile. I propose to invite them to visit me here at Havenhall, and bring their outrageous pamphlets and books, that call for abolition and **** rebellions, where the negroes rise up and **** the women and **** the men in their beds. I will tell them that we will use Havenhall as our haven to spread the word, and cause an uprising in the south."

"That's outrageous. Having them here would bring down the fury of all of Charleston down upon you!" he warned.

I smiled and patted his hand, as if I were explaining something to a child. "Indeed, I fear these wretched girls' seditious materials would be a violation of the law. Regrettably, the Sheriff would need to arrest them. At the County Assessors office we could strip them quite naked, and through close examination of their persons determine if they had any negro characteristics -- large breasts, puffy lips, moles, or such. And of course, we would need to check their responsiveness."

I smiled at his puzzled look, and paused for another sip of my tea. Good stuff. 'The Daughters of Liberty' takes a tremendous interest in the plight of female slaves. They spend countless hours pouring over the details of how black wenches are auctioned naked, and made to pose on the block, perform in their master's beds, and are mated like farm animals. I propose that if you had one of these fine daughters of Boston naked on an examination table, and rubbed her between the legs as if she were a **** girl, she'd lather up quite quickly."

"Thus proving her African blood!" Mr. Thornton said, finally catching on. "Bianca that's brilliant. Are you sure they would lather up?"

"Quite sure. I know these girls well." HOW well I knew them, and how I knew which ones would lather when treated like **** girls, I did not explain. Women in a society without men often get up to mischief that men cannot imagine. The "moral" societies, like convents and reform movements, are the worst of all.

"Once we established the girls black blood, we will enslave them, and after paying a small commission to the assessor and the Judge for their services, take them to Havenhall, where they will form the basis for our inventory... at practically no expense. We would brand their bottoms, and affix permanent shackles to their wrists and ankles, thus ending any nonsense about them being white. As for how we would support them during gestation, and the maturation of their pickaninnies, we could charge the finer gentleman of Charleston a fee for the novelty of watching the daughters of Boston's finest abolitionists being put to stud. For an additional fee, these same girls might kneel before the men of Charleston, and prove that their dainty mouths have a better use than spouting Yankee lies. If one of them displeases us, or refuses to cooperate, we will send them to New Orleans, or South America, where they can be sold into a bondage from which there will be no escape."

"Brilliant. Positively brilliant. We'll make a fortune! Men will come from all over the South to see these rich Yankee bitches put in their places. And if we sold just a few of them to Brazil, we could make more than enough to cover our expenses."

Mr. Thornton's brow furrowed. "Alas, their parents are quite powerful. I'm afraid we would become quite entangled with the law if we thought of such a thing."

"We would have the girls write their parents, and tell them they are well, and have decided to to spend the fall at Havenhall, converting the sinners to repentance. A **** paddle can be very persuasive. After 4 or 5 months, we will send one of the girls back to Boston, with shackle scars on her wrists and ankles, an "H" branded on her backside, and a black bastard in her belly. For all their talk of racial equality, I think the gentleman and ladies of Boston will quickly lose interest in daughters who provide them with nothing but shame, scandal, and a black grandchild for the neighbors to gawk at."

Smiling pleasantly I took another sip of tea. "Of course, there can be no delay. The girls must be branded, shackled, and put to stud immediately. We need to keep them humping for the plan to work. Of course, the more sessions, and the more men who pay us to watch, the greater our revenue."

"How many girls are in this society?" Mr. Thornton asked.

"About 100." Mr. Thornton whistled.

"Go big, or go home, Robert," I said, smiling. "Now, can you find me a friendly Judge, and see if the assessor approves of my idea?" I asked.