Chapter 12: Apple Tart

[August, 1678]
Oxford, Oxfordshire

SANDRINE WAS EXPECTED, but her blackness clearly surprised Heathcoate and Mistress Geraldine. The latter was, initially, plainly skeptical and uneasy about Sandrine’s presence, but she was superficially welcoming. Even as Sandrine and Amélie began their work in the shop Geraldine remained withdrawn and circumspect in the presence of Sandrine. For her part Sandrine kept an open and pleasant attitude around the printer’s wife. She was used to being the object of stares and speculation and she had experience in winning over those around her. When circumstances warranted. That wasn’t always the case.

“Mistress Heathcoate, may I assist you?” Sandrine stepped quickly to gather up the apples that had escaped the basket Geraldine was maneuvering to put on the counter. “Please, allow me.” Geraldine watched without saying anything, a sign Sandrine noted. Nevertheless Sandrine smiled at her as she returned the apples to their basket.

“Master Merle has given my sister Amélie and me time to become acquainted with the household and with Oxford. If I observe perhaps I could be useful to you in kitchen preparation. May I remain?”

Geraldine smiled. It was a tentative smile, certainly, but if this Negress were willing to shoulder some of the burden of kitchen work Geraldine would be a fool to turn her down. Her assistant, Marguerite, dutiful and a steady worker, never volunteered to take on additional duties. There was always something extra to be done.

“Thank you, Sandrine. I accept.”

By the end of the afternoon, the two women worked easily together. Sandrine was a quick learner, observant, and asked questions when she needed to. For her part, Geraldine welcomed the attentions of an eager student. They were not friends, that would be asking too much of a relationship that had barely begun, a relationship between a native of Oxford, white, and a former slave, born in the Caribbean and black, but it was a first step.

That night in bed Sandrine and Amélie traded stories about what they had learned. Amélie had been to the markets to see what produce, no matter how limited in variety, was good where and had a full report for Sandrine. For Sandrine’s part, the four of them, Heathcoate and his wife and the two women, consumed entirely the apple tart Sandrine and Geraldine had prepared during the afternoon.

“She welcomes us, Amélie, I’m sure of it,” said Sandrine as she combed her fingers through Amélie’s hair. “I wasn’t sure at first. After all, I’m pretty strange to her.”

“Yes, you are,” Amélie replied, “being black and all.” As she spoke Amélie drew her hand down Sandrine’s flank under her shift. Sandrine chuckled. Her chuckle turned to a murmur of approval as Amélie’s hand passed across her bottom and lingered for a moment.

“Yes, I am,” said Sandrine. “Definitely black.”

Amélie kissed her and the two were silent as they prolonged the contact. There was no need for fancy gestures or energetic ones. They were experienced lovers who knew each other’s desires. It was easy for them to raise the temperature little by little in small steps. They parted for a moment to relieve themselves of their shifts. Amélie reveled in the smoothness of Sandrine’s skin. She thought she detected a lingering scent of apples after Sandrine’s afternoon in the kitchen with Geraldine. In her nostrils, with her palms filled with Sandrine’s breasts, the apple aroma was its own aphrodisiac to Amélie and she felt herself moisten.

Sandrine confirmed this when her palm gently inserted itself between Amélie’s thighs. “Oh, yes, Sandrine,” Amélie whispered. “Oh, yes.” Sandrine heard Amélie’s words turn to pants and grunts as her touches spurred Amélie to greater heights. Amélie’s own hands fell away as she let herself be taken by Sandrine’s lips and fingers.

When Amélie let out a subdued shriek and clamped Sandrine’s fingers with her sex Sandrine knew she had reached her goal. She giggled as quietly as she could and kissed Amélie gently to help her down slowly from her peak. When it was Amélie’s turn Sandrine responded with her accustomed enthusiasm, her wriggles and gasps the evidence anyone would need to know Amélie’s efforts were equally successful.