“Come on, little nigga!” The second son of the Castor household called out from a distance. Benjamin Castor was tall for his thirteen years, with deep blue eyes and raven black hair that swept across his bright, fair face. “My daddy didn’t keep you to sit around and do nothing!” He raced on ahead of the three children behind him. “Wait up, Ben!” Steven Dornette called after him. He was Ben’s best friend, with forest green eyes and wild, fiery red hair. His face was laden with freckles, and, although he was fourteen, he was plump, and relatively shorter than Ben, reaching just a few centimetres taller than Elizabeth Castor, Ben’s younger sister. As both boys raced ahead, Elizabeth angrily trudged after them, her boots half covered in mud from yester night’s rain. “She’s not a little nigga!” she yelled after the boys, who obviously were no longer paying attention to her. Elizabeth was eleven years old, with glossy black hair and blue eyes that were just a shade paler than her brother. She was the talk of the household, and had been told many a time by her father’s guests that she would undoubtedly grow to be a most desirable beauty.
In her hurry to catch up to the boys, she tripped on her sky blue redingote dress and would have landed on her face had it not been for Darian, her best friend. Darian was also eleven years old, an African child born of two white parents, with skin that was noticeably fairer than that of any of the other Negroes in the town, but black all the same. Her parents were Joseph and Adriane Smith, childhood friends of William Castor, the head of the Castor household. When she had been born, the rumours of her skin colour had caused such an uproar in the little town that her mother had fallen sick because of it, and, with the help of lupus, she had died when Darian was five. Her father, Joseph, had returned home around that time, and he had loved her like any father would, but when she turned nine, he had been called back to the field, so William Castor had taken her in for him.
“She looks like a nigga,” Benjamin taunted. “All the servants say so. Even some of papa’s friends say so.” “They do not!!” Darian yelled. “Yes they do!” Benjamin snapped back, ceasing his running to turn around. “I’ve heard them. So did Steven. They say you’re just like every other no good Negro. They say that Mr Smith isn’t your real father, and while he was away, your mother just felt lonely and went whoring with some Neg-” A little black fist filled with rage and momentum collided with his face. “Dari!!” Elizabeth yelled as her brother fell to the ground. Gripping unto her dress and pulling it higher, she ran towards where the three children were. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother like that!” Darian exclaimed, her knuckles clutched so tightly they paled. Benjamin looked up at her in disbelief, his hand slowly raising to the little bruise on his pale lips. “You… hit me,” he gasped, his eyes glancing down at the blood on his fingers.
“You hit Benjamin!” Steven proclaimed. “I’m gonna tell Lord Castor on you!” The little redhead then went running to the direction of the mansion. “Stop him!” Elizabeth yelled after him. She turned back to her brother. “You’ve got to stop him! Dari didn’t mean to hit you,” she looked at her friend with pleading eyes, “didn’t you?” If her parents found out that Darian had hit their son, then her mother, Samantha Castor, would finally find ample reason to send the little black girl off to a boarding school somewhere in London, where her father’s friendship with the Castor Household could offer no protection to the colour of her skin. Furthermore, her mother’s actions would render Elizabeth lacking a dearest friend. All this Darian read in the eyes of her companion. To be left in London at the mercy of foreign xenophobes was one thing, but to be forced to end a friendship with her dear Elizabeth was unfathomable.
“She’s right,” Dari agreed, turning from her friend to her brother, who was still on the ground. “I didn’t mean it. I was just so overcome by anger at your accusation that I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Benny. Please forgive me, and stop Steven before he gets to your father. If he is informed about this I would surely be sent away.” She had called him Benny. It was a name that she used on him only when she was truly affectionate about something. Benjamin got to his feet, dusting off the dirt from his trousers. “I can’t stop him,” he said. “But-” Elizabeth and Darian began, before he cut them off. “He’s already reached the estate. I can, however, stop father from sending Darian away, but it’ll cost you.” Elizabeth scowled, but Darian released a sigh of relief. “What do you mean it will cost us?!” Elizabeth demanded. “For heaven’s sake, Ben, I’m your sister!” “Name your price,” Darian said. Benjamin smirked, before swooping in and planting a quick kiss on the dark girl’s lips. When he pulled back she was positively red.
“There’s my price. Now let’s go!” He broke off into a run before she could recollect herself. “Ben!!” Darian yelled, anger and embarrassment taking over her previous numbness. She chased after him to the estate, but could not catch up as not only her sunflower yellow dress, but also her much slower and more prone to falling friend Elizabeth kept getting in the way. By the time the three children finally arrived at the manor, Steven, Mister Castor and Misses Castor were already waiting for them near the entrance, alongside the Castor’s eldest son Harold, and Mister Edward James, an old friend of the family. “There she is!” huffed Samantha Castor. “How dare you lash out on my child!? This is it! I will not have this indolent child endangering my own any longer! And look at the bruise on poor Benjamin’s lip!” Darian and Elizabeth looked towards Benjamin with hopeful eyes.
“She didn’t hit me,” the thirteen year old countered, cool and collected. “I ran into a tree.” The older males raised their eyebrows. “You… ran into a tree?” Harold asked, sceptically. All three children nodded. “And how exactly did you manage to do that?” William Castor inquired, unable to hide the slight amusement in his voice. He was a tall man, with black hair and hazel brown eyes. His wife, Samantha, was slightly shorter than him, and one of the older beauties in the countryside, having strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “I… I was looking back while I ran,” the young Castor lied, “and when I turned forward, the tree was there.” The two friends stared at Benjamin in disbelief. He had just straight up lied to his parents! Steven also stared at him, but said nothing. “Is that so?” William questioned. “Yes, sir.” He turned to his friend, Edward James. “Edward,” he said, with a smile on his face, “my son ran into a tree.” So it would seem,” the handsome smirking raven haired man beside him replied.
“What do you mean, you ran into a tree!?” Samantha exclaimed. “Are you lying for this little negro wretch?” “Samantha!” William rebuked, his voice now void of all humour. “This little negro wretch is the legitimate daughter of my best friend, and a guest at our household. We will treat her as such.” His tone left no room for argument. “This has all proven to be nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. Children, you may return to your frolicking. Harold,” he regarded his oldest son, “come with me. Mr. James and I have a matter to discuss with you concerning your future.”
