Devil Water (75 page)

“But we didn’t know
that
when
we
sailed o’course,” said Alec with a heavy sigh. “All we’d heard of was victories.”

Alec went on to tell his silent listeners that four years ago Charles Radcliffe and his family had moved back to France, to St. Germain, where Charles could be more active as agent for the Cause, and that he then took a commission as a colonel in the French army.

All the summer of Prince Charlie’s successes in Scotland, Charles Radcliffe had been mustering arms, money, and men to follow the Prince on a privateer called
L’Esperance.
There had been delays, and they were held up by weather, but they finally sailed from Dunkirk in November, bound for Montrose. “His lordship,” said Alec, “was happy as a lark, gay like I hadn’t seen him in years. He’d been fretting in Rome and St. Germain -- waiting, waiting while our Cause never seemed to ripen. The day we sailed he laughed that hearty rippling laugh o’ his, like when he was young.”

“I know well,” said Willy quietly. “Then what went wrong?”

Alec hurried over the account of what had brought them to such misery and humiliation. They’d been sailing off the Dogger Bank almost to their goal when King George’s man-o’-war
Sheerness
had caught them and fired a cannon across their bow. The privateer’s little French captain was a coward; he wouldn’t fight, though in truth they were not equipped to battle a man-o’-war. All the passengers had been transferred to the
Sheerness
and carried down the coast and landed at Deal in Admiral Vernon’s custody. Charles Radcliffe and his son, Lord Kinnaird, were treated very roughly, kept in fetters all the way to London, and pelted by the mobs. That was because, Alec explained, a rumor’d got about that young Kinnaird was really Prince Henry Stuart, King James’s younger son. “On account o’ his fingers growing together,” said Alec. “The Stuart sign. They both have it.”

Jenny pulled herself in tight and glanced towards the live-oak and the little tombstone beneath.

So Charles was imprisoned in the Tower, Alec went on -- a concession to his rank. Lord Kinnaird too, but he had later been released and shipped back to France, on parole, since he had been born abroad and was technically an alien. Clement McDermott, Charles’s equerry -- “that mingy long-faced Scot,” said Alec -- he had been jailed in Newgate and then released, as had Alec himself and others captured on the
L’Esperance.

“Ye see -- ” Alec said, “we wasn’t caught fighting, and they couldna prove we weren’t bound for Ostend or The Hague on private business. So ‘tis only his lordship that bears the brunt.”

“On what charge then?” asked Willy.

“The old one of thirty years agone. High Treason, and the death sentence already passed.”

“Could he not profit from the Act of Pardon?”

“It seems not, because he escaped. His lawyer, Mr. Garvan, says the best plea would be to make them
prove
he’s the same man as that Charles Radcliffe who was condemned, and the lawyer’s done his best to confuse the matter by calling his lordship ‘le Comte de Derwent’ and claiming he’s a French citizen, and colonel in the French army, which is true.”

“There’s been no trial yet?” said Willy.

“No, and there won’t be yet awhile because the bloody bastards are so busy wi’ the Scottish lords they captured at Culloden. The Duke of Cumberland, God rot his soul, he’s the butcher who cut Prince Charlie’s Highlanders to ribbons, and he was still at it when I left.”

“Is my father defeated too?” said Jenny speaking for the first time.

“He wilna admit it,” answered Alec with another sigh. “Yet there’s a sad change in him, he’s not like himself -- ‘tis all these months imprisoned -- and nobody nigh to help or comfort him. Her ladyship’s at Saint Germain wi’ the children.”

“What about Lady Betty?” asked Jenny. “She helped him before.”

Alec leaned forward in astonishment to peer through the gathering dusk at Jenny, who sat on the step, her head leaning back against the porch pillar. “Lady Betty’s dead!” said Alec. “She has been this five years or so. Didn’t you
know,
m’lady?”

There was a silence before Jenny said, “No. Nobody writes to me from England any more.”

There was another silence, then Alec burst out with vehemence, “Oh, my lady! He longs bitterly to see you again! It’s become an obsession o’ late. He talks of the time we went to Dilston, the time i’ the chapel when we opened the blessed Earl’s coffin--” Alec crossed himself quickly, “and of how you were wi’ him then, and he said, ‘If I’m to follow my martyred brother, I want to see Jenny again, for she’s the only person except my brother that I’ve loved -- and she promised me that if I wanted her, she’d come!’ “

“I didn’t -- quite -- promise,” Jenny said very slowly. Still she leaned her head against the post, and her eyes rested on the dim outline of the hills across the river. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my strength. My strength is from the Lord.” But there was no strength as yet -- and no certainty.

“He doesn’t think that you might help him,” went on Alec in some desperation. So accustomed was he to obeying Radcliffe orders that it had never occurred to him she might refuse. “No, he doesn’t think o’ that, but
I
do. No one need know you’re his daughter. As Mrs. Wilson ye could slip unnoticed about London, ye can maybe gain influence in high places if need be. Ye’re a beautiful woman, Miss Jenny, there’s a lot such a one can do.”

She turned then, and asked in a low, steady voice, “In how much danger do you think my father is, Alec?”

He hesitated; he put his hand over the little wooden crucifix which was hidden beneath his shirt. “Blessed Virgin, we must have faith!” he said thickly. “Aye, one must have faith. Yet I fear -- fear that he is in the greatest danger o’ being hanged, drawn, and quarters at Tyburn on his original sentence.” Alec’s voice broke, he bowed his head.

Jenny turned her somber gaze back towards the hills. One star trembled above them. The storm was not coming, she thought. Not the thunderstorm.

Willy blew his nose violently on his shirtsleeve. “Ma’am?” he whispered into the darkness. “Ma’am? Ye’ve
got
to go, he needs ye and ye must go.”

Jenny got up off the step, she looked towards the two men who were the only beings in Virginia who would understand.

“Yes . . .” she said. “Yes, I’ve got to go.”

“Thank God, my lady!” Alec cried. “And I’ve passage for both of us on the
Elizabeth
for London. She leaves next week.”

Jenny went back to her house, she saw Rob through the door, sunk in his chair in the parlor holding a mug, and Spot was with him, curled up against his boots. This was the first time the dog had not followed her when she left the house, and though Spot raised his head at her return and wagged his tail, he did not rush to greet her, nor did Rob move. Jenny tightened her lips and went upstairs, where she pulled her old saddlebag from a cupboard and began to pack.

In ten minutes she heard Rob’s unsteady footsteps coming up the stairs. He stumbled into their bedroom, and shut the door against the dog, which whined and pattered away.

“What are you doing?” said Rob. He stood in the center of the drugget rug, a great lowering man who reeked of apple brandy.

She made a helpless gesture towards the saddlebag. “You see what I’m doing, Rob. But ‘tis not for aye. It need only be a while. I beg of you, try to understand.”

He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed to tigerish slits of yellow, yet he spoke with some control. “I ever knew ‘twould come to this. I knew that naught I could ever do would satisfy ye long. And so, your ladyship, y’re going back to the fine lords and ladies ye were reared with. Ye’d leave me for that mawk-ing sprig o’ royal bastardy -- for a man who ne’er earned a penny in his life -- whose very bread is paid for by his wife!”

She shoved aside the bag and her eyes flashed. “That last’s a very odd taunt for
you
to hurl at my father!”

“What do ye mean by that?” he cried. He swayed and caught himself. “What d’ye
mean?’“

Jenny’s throat constricted as she saw the sudden dilation of his pupils, and she saw too the long scar left by the iron collar on his neck.

“I mean nothing,” she said. “I don’t know what I said. But you’re so bitterly unfair, Rob. And you make a god of your pride. I think it no worse to make a god of loyalty as my father has. Rob, my dear husband, we’re both fair distraught. Please don’t let’s quarrel now. I couldn’t bear to go like this.”

He scarcely heard her, red mists swirled in his head, he forgot what they had said as his blurred eyes focused on something else.

“You’re wearing the Radcliffe ring, I see! Forbye, no doubt ye always wear it when m’back is turned!”

“No, Rob, you know better than that. Yet I should have worn the ring as I had promised. There’s no hurt to you in that!”

“Ye can tak’ mine off, then! ‘Twas never grand enow for ye!”

“Robbie, Robbie,” she said, trembling and afraid of the look in his face. “You’re somewhat drunk, dear -- you can’t throw twenty years of marriage off like that -- of good and loving marriage . . .”

“A sham!” he shouted.
“You
can throw it off in a trice, if Charles Radcliffe lifts his little finger towards ye! Bah! Ours is a barren marriage!”

She stiffened and stepped back. “That’s true.” Her gray eyes had gone hard. “You wish to hurt and you’re succeeding.”

He threw back his head and gave a furious, hollow laugh. “Aye, I wish to hurt, and, your ladyship, afore ye go I’ll gi’ ye something to remember me by!” Quick as a cat he lowered his hand, and struck her across the mouth and cheek. Even while she staggered and cried out, he grabbed her around the waist, lifted and threw her onto the bed.

He tore her blue dress off in one vicious motion. Still stunned from his blow, she struggled and screamed, while he pinioned her with frenzied strength.

He raped her violently.

When he had finished, he tossed her aside, got off the bed, stamped to the door, and went out banging it behind him.

She moaned and lay as he had left her, her whole body bruised, blackness in her heart.

She did not see Rob again. He did not come back to the house that night, nor had he come when she left with Alec in the morning.

Willy said that he’d still been up, talking to Alec on his porch, when Mr. Wilson streaked by him like a whirlwind. He’d gone to the stable and must’ve saddled a horse, for they heard the thuds of galloping later until the sounds disappeared down towards the Slate Mountains.

With horrified sympathy Willy stared at her swollen lips and the red marks which disfigured her cheek. And Peg spoke up, “Oh mum, did he hit ye? I niver thought Mr. Wilson’d do that!”

Jenny did not answer. She looked towards the little tombstone, and then towards the tobacco fields, where Nero, Shena, and their entire family were already at work. “Say goodbye to them for me,” she said to the Turners. “You need tell them only that I’ve been summoned to my father.”

Bridey, who had been standing awed and frightened beside her parents, gave a gasp and cried, “Oh, ma’am, ye’re coming back, aren’t ye?”

Jenny tried to smile at the child, but her lips were swollen stiff. And Rob’s blow had loosened a front tooth which ached.

“I’m afraid not,” she said with difficulty. “I had meant to, but it seems I’d not be welcome. Bridey, take care of Spot.” She reached down to pat the dog, which she had found whining outside the bedroom door at dawn. “You’ll be all right,” she whispered to the dog. “You’re fond of him, and he has no cause to hate
you.”
Spot thumped his tail and looked up at her mournfully.

She hugged Bridey, and Peg quickly, shook hands with Willy. All three were in tears. Jenny was not. Her eyes were fixed, stony. She mounted the other horse Alec had brought. The lad who had been his guide would go down the river again on some flatboat, and Jenny knew the landway, which simply followed the James.

The horses started off; at a turn in the road Jenny looked behind. She waved to the Turners, and saw that Bridey was on her knees holding Spot and sobbing. She looked beyond the child to the house standing foursquare and solid beneath the great oaks. The morning sunlight glinted off the windowpanes, the rosy bricks, the white clapboards. Her heart was steeled against it. Farewell, Snowdon, she thought. Farewell to all the side of her Snowdon represented, back and back to that early childhood in a crumbling peel tower in Northumberland. She twisted around in her saddle, and nicked the horse, which broke into a trot and carried her past the bend into the forest beside Alec.

Jenny and Alec made a fast trip down to Yorktown, where they arrived on the fourth night, having covered some fifty miles a day. Along the way there were settlers now, who were invariably hospitable and eager to provide food and a night’s lodging, for which some of them even refused payment. Charles had furnished Alec with a hundred guineas for the journey, though to do this he had had to make sacrifices. “A day or two afore I left,” said Alec, “his lordship requested from that blackguard Williamson who governs the Tower, that he might live wi’out suppers, and save two guineas a week board there.”

“Oh, poor Father!” Jenny cried, encouraging every mention of Charles, casting her mind constantly forward into what awaited her, so as to preclude other thoughts. “Is he then so short of money?”

Alec shrugged sadly. “He had to pay seven guineas a week i’ the Tower, wine, tea, and warder’s fees extra. An’ he’s been there months. And there’s the lawyers. We didna expect expenses o’ this sort when we started out. Her ladyship’ll send him funds from Saint Germain when she can and mebbe his niece, my Lady Petre’ll help, though she hadn’t when I left. ‘Tis risky for the Petres -- being Catholics -- in times like these. Besides, there’s spies all o’er the Tower, and if his lordship’s relation to the Petres was known, that’s the end o’ pretending he’s not Charles Radcliffe.”

“I see,” said Jenny, trying not to be disheartened about her father’s situation.
There
at least she was needed, and she talked incessantly with Alec as to what they’d do when they got to London. Both of them always ignored the fact that it might be too late.