Rachel did not doubt, in that moment, as she watched a vein throbbing in his temple, that Mr. Beaumont would beat her. That he would fabricate some charge out of spite and have the Georgetown police arrest her and throw her in jail. That he would send word to Barbados and seek out her old master. There were no limits to his malice—and yet, though her heart was racing, Rachel stood tall. Her hands gripped the bar behind her, and she refused to blink. “No,” she said. Whatever Mr. Beaumont had been expecting, this was clearly not it.
Good for you, Rachel!
