War (9 page)

“It is your friendship with Roger,” she continued in answer to an unasked question, “and how you greeted each other yesterday, that led me to think that perhaps I was wrong to want to leave. You, and he, and his being in the army, and why he is here — they all led me to think that perhaps I was mistaken, that perhaps some meeting of the ways was possible.” She added with some bitterness, “But then I saw the both of you just now at Morland, with all those weapons at the ready, and I realized that I was deluding myself.”

Hugh shook his head. “What you were afraid would happen, did not. If that incident were emulated all over, on larger scales, throughout the colonies, then what you are afraid of, will not — cannot happen. The Crown’s determination must be doubly matched by our own, and then there will be no tragedies.”

“By your
own
determination,” said Reverdy in the manner of a mild accusation. “And I am certain that some day, some time, in such a circumstance as you describe, someone will be angry enough to fire his musket, a friend or an adversary, and you will be there, and that will be the end…. ”

“Or perhaps the beginning…. ” remarked Hugh wistfully.

“Must you turn round everything I say?”

“You know that is my style. It has usually amused you.” Hugh allowed himself a smile. “Perhaps the present unpleasantness can be turned round, as well.” He paused. “I wish you to stay to see that, my dear…to help me accomplish it.”

“You will not accomplish it, Hugh. You will only bring…retribution, and grief, to us, to everyone we know, and ruin to everything we hold dear.”

Hugh reached over and took one of her hands. “I may well not accomplish it, if you…are not here. That would be my grief.”

“You will not accomplish it, whether or not I am here.”

“Such prophetic gloom,” he sighed, “and such an intimate reproach.”

Reverdy winced, as though hurt. “It is not a reproach, Hugh! It is…
caring
!”

Hugh took Reverdy by the shoulders and held her. “My dear, you applauded me in the past, when I composed and signed petitions against
the Crown, and when I spoke in the House against the Crown, and advocated boycotts of the Crown’s merchants, and assailed the Crown in seditious pamphlets. You have even regaled visitors with the story of how I led the obstruction of the stamps at Caxton pier years ago. What is the difference between all that, and now? How can you care the less?”

Reverdy shook her head. “I care the
more
, Hugh. And, if one is so certain of the fate of a particular thing, is it so wrong to express a natural prophetic gloom?”

Hugh let her go. “No, perhaps not, my dear. But, for my part, such certainty is the better part of resolution. I have been gloomy over events for many years, but I have always managed to turn the gloom into glory. You know that.”

Reverdy bowed her head in defeat. “So many words to compose an epitaph! My fear is that you will oblige me to order a stonemason to carve them into a tombstone — yours!”

Hugh frowned, and replied, partly in defiance, partly in anger with her bitterness, “Or, in an epigraph, etched in gold letters on the finest mahogany, to affix above my study door, at Meum Hall!”

Reverdy glanced up at him, hurt in her eyes, and tears. Then she fell against him, resting her head on his chest, her sight locked on the menacing
Fowey
growing smaller on the river. “The simple explanation, Hugh, is that…I am a coward!”

Hugh’s arms encircled her, and he crushed her to him. He buried his face in her hair, and whispered into her ear, “What courage it took to confess
that
!” After a moment, he held her away from him, but grasped her shoulders. “Reverdy, you shall go to England. To rest from me, from the circumstances here, to recover the balance of your spirit. And then you shall return here to me, to Meum Hall, your true home, renewed and reinvigorated from the perspective of distance, and encouraged to stand with me again.”

Reverdy sobbed once, and embraced him with passionate gratitude.

Hugh held her close, thinking suddenly of the time he was last in London, and was wandering through Vauxhall Gardens when he chanced upon a concert. He remembered standing in a crowd, listening to an opera singer in a box above them, performing with an orchestra behind her Scarlatti’s “Christmas Cantata.” Reverdy had sung it for him years ago, and shamelessly told him afterwards that the cantata more suited him than its original subject. He remembered being enthralled by the singer’s performance,
but thinking also that Reverdy sang it so much more convincingly than that opera singer. He remembered how hearing the cantata then struck him with a wrenching homesickness.

That was the Reverdy he wanted back. He was certain that some time in England would cause her to rediscover him and become equally anxious to return.

“T
hank you for your gallantry, sir,” said Jack Frake, “and for your honesty.”

When he had ridden back to Meum Hall with Lieutenant Manners, he had found Hugh and Reverdy returning to the great house from the riverfront lawn. He had conveyed to them an invitation from Etáin to supper at Morland that evening.

At the supper table now, Roger Tallmadge nodded in silent acknowledgement. He had just finished explaining his presence in the colonies to his host.

Jack Frake had returned with Mouse early in the evening, before supper and the expected guests, and was immediately besieged in the front yard by Etáin and others with the story of the confrontation with the Customsmen. As he absorbed the details of the incident, the anger in his eyes abated as his sweaty mount regained its wind from the hard ride from Yorktown.

Now he looked bemused. “Which leaves me to wonder, Mr. Tallmadge: Why did you draw your sword against that man? Your loyalties seem to be divided.”

Roger smiled and glanced once at Hugh down the table. “Not at all, Mr. Frake. In all the years that Hugh and I have been friends, I had never had the opportunity to join him in a caper, not until today.” He paused, then added, “There was that, together with a dislike of the man we faced.”

“Had you never before witnessed Customsmen at their calling?”

“No. I confess I have not. Not even in England.”

“A press gang?”

“Once. At Great Yarmouth. A brutal and ignominious affair.”

“Why do you think those men appeared here, and not at some other plantation near Caxton?”

Roger shrugged. “Presumably they received information that you ought to be searched. For what, I can only imagine. Perhaps it was for a cache of French muskets and powder, or a chest or two of Dutch tea. Or bolts of Italian cambric.”

Jack Frake smiled. “Would you have objected to my possessing any of
those commodities? Illegally, of course.”

“Personally, no. When I have attended the Commons, without exception I have voted with the free-traders in the House, scarce as they are, and against every act that now burdens these colonies.” Tallmadge smiled in modesty. “I owe that record to the persuasiveness of Hugh here, and to that of the late Sir Dogmael Jones. And, to that of Hugh’s father.”

“Yes,” remarked Jack. “Hugh has boasted of your record in the Commons. Well, sir, perhaps, when you have completed your mission here, you will return to London and vote in that manner again.”

Tallmadge could not decide if his host’s words were friendly or hostile. He knew that his host was making an exception for Hugh’s sake, not for his own, by allowing him to sup at his table. He replied, “That is my earnest hope, Mr. Frake. Why, upon my return, I may even resign my commission, and seek employment with Hugh’s father’s bank.” Tallmadge paused. “Or, I may apply for a posting as a consular military attaché on the Continent. It’s plum duty, and I could take my wife Alice with me. Her father would gladly supplement my half-pay to ensure a comfortable residence. And I’m certain that promotion to major would come with it, for the examiners of my past postings have given me exemplary marks in the diplomatic.” But the gaiety of his words seemed to shatter on the rocky reticence of his host’s expression.

After a long moment, during which he seemed to be making a decision, Jack Frake said, with some genuine humor, “I earnestly hope that you succeed in one of those ambitions, Mr. Tallmadge. It may save me the trouble of facing you with a drawn sword, as well, in the event that war comes.”

Tallmadge answered with reciprocating humor, “In that event, sir, I shall endeavor to remain beyond its point.”

Lieutenant Manners spoke up, and remarked leisurely. “Begging your pardon, sir, but it is not likely that
war
will come. That is too grandiose and undeserving a name for it, it seems to me. When mobs cause chaos and jeopardize lives and property in London, as they often do, His Majesty simply approves a request from the authorities to employ troops to restore order. That is not
war
. Wars occur between nations, and none of the colonies is a
nation
. They are all dominions, as much as any English county, and if their inhabitants misbehave themselves, deserve the same modest civil corrective.”

The table became silent. Tallmadge’s face flushed red with anger and embarrassment. Hugh stared with disbelief at the junior officer. Jack Frake
eyed the lieutenant with steely contempt. Etáin glanced with sudden worry at her husband, knowing that he was within a breath of demanding that the officer leave. Reverdy stared into the remains of her supper on the plate in front of her, bracing for an explosion she was sure to come. Even the waiting servants, Ruth Dakin and Israel Beck, stood blinking in shock.

Tallmadge removed his napkin and dropped it on the table beside his plate. Without rising or looking at his subordinate, he said, “Mr. Manners, you will please apologize to Mr. Frake for those unsolicited and unkind remarks.”

Lieutenant Manners looked stunned. He gulped once, and asked, with diminished audacity, “Do you wish me to withdraw my remarks, sir?”

Tallmadge turned to face the officer, and replied with an ice that matched his expression, “Or yourself from the company, sir, if you cannot oblige him or me.”

The junior officer glanced around the table and saw no defenders. He gulped again, uncontrollably, when his eyes met those of Jack Frake’s; the hard gray eyes of that man caused him to imagine that a pair of musket barrels was aimed at him. Unlike his superior, Manners had never experienced combat; he had the wild idea that his present paralysis was what he would feel facing an enemy’s fire the first time. He had chanced an opinion, but lost the bluff. He seemed to collapse into himself. With a quick, furtive nod to Jack Frake, and with a reddened face, he stammered, “I withdraw my remarks, sir.” He did not look up for the rest of the occasion. It was the first time Captain Tallmadge had ever upbraided him for his behavior, at least in front of others.

“Thank you, Mr. Manners,” said Tallmadge. He glanced down the table to Jack Frake. The host nodded briefly once in acceptance. Tallmadge smiled tentatively, then said, in an effort to change the subject and relieve the tension, “Where is this Mr. Proudlocks Hugh has written me so much about? I know that he was in London, reading law, and that he has returned.”

Etáin asked, “You did not meet him when he stayed with Hugh’s parents?”

“No,” Tallmadge replied. “Only once, and briefly, on the fly, at Hugh’s parents’ home in Chelsea. But, I was shuttling between London and the Continent on various diplomatic postings, and on my way to another then. Alice has written me that he is quite the gentleman and scholar.”

The conversation continued on that and other subjects for the rest of
the evening. It was cordial but muted talk, dampened by Lieutenant Manners’s remarks. When Hugh, Reverdy and the officers prepared to depart for Meum Hall, it was with a curious relief felt by all. Hugh did, however, extend to Jack and Etáin an invitation to supper at Meum Hall on June 1 in order to observe the day of “fasting and prayer” voted by the House of Burgesses.

“We shall commiserate with the Bostonians in our own fashion,” said Hugh, “with bountiful fare and good cheer.” They stood on the porch of the great house. Lieutenant Manners had gone to the stable to fetch his and Tallmadge’s mounts, while the captain sat waiting in the riding chair with Reverdy. Etáin stood by the conveyance, chatting with them. “And Etáin and Reverdy will perform for us, as well.”

Jack replied, “Of course. As long as Mr. Tallmadge’s companion opens his mouth solely to fill it with your fare.” He paused. “You don’t know how close I came to chucking him out the door.”

“I’ve a very good idea, Jack. But, trust Roger to instruct him in some rules of civility.”

Jack Frake studied his friend for a moment, then said, “Your friend is a man of honor.”

“Yes, he is. It is my hope that you both may become better acquainted, in less circumspect times.”

Jack nodded. After another moment, he remarked, “When they’ve gone, I have something to show you.”

“What?”

“That will become evident, when you see it.”

* * *

That evening, in the room they shared at Meum Hall, Roger Tallmadge told his subordinate, “For the balance of our journey, Mr. Manners, until we arrive in Boston, you will please stay your tongue in all matters political, when we are in company.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant, who sat at a side table with an open book. “But, must the Crown remain silent when its character is besmirched?”

Tallmadge’s face became taut with amazement. “Mr. Manners,
you
are not the Crown. It rests on the wisdom of His Majesty and his counselors to decide if it is in conflict with the colonies or at war with another nation,
and to prescribe, as you put it, the proper corrective.”

“Yes, sir.” Manners mechanically turned over a few leaves of Flavius Vegetius Renatua’s treatise,
De Re Militari
, without seeing a single word, then resolutely closed it shut and said, “Forgive me the insolence, sir, but you must think me less than diligent if, when I witness your actions at Morland Hall today, and hear the sentiments expressed by you this evening, I am not led to suspect that, as Mr. Frake himself put it, your loyalties are divided.”

Tallmadge frowned, and said with sharpness, “If they are, Mr. Manners, that is between me, my conscience, and the Crown. I will not answer your or anyone else’s speculation on the matter. The subject is closed to discussion.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant turned in his chair and opened the book again.

* * *

In another part of the great house, Reverdy asked, “When do you think Mr. Geary will return to Caxton?” She stood at the bedroom window, contemplating some lights that shown faintly across the York. She was still shaken by the near-disaster at Morland Hall.

“In a few days. He has cargo to lade at West Point, and then some lumber and oats here.”

“So…I must begin preparing for the journey. Dilch will help me pack.”

“Yes, of course.” Hugh stood studying her figure at the window for a moment. “Well, I am to the study, to draft some letters you may take with you to post. Will you go to London first, or to Danvers?”

“I think I shall see my parents first, in Danvers, then journey up to London to stay a while with Alex’s parents. Or with James and his wife. They have a fine house on Berkeley Square.” Alex McDougal was her late husband, who had died years ago during a foiled robbery. James Brune was her brother, a merchant and trader with the McDougal commercial interests.

“You would surely be welcome in Chelsea,” suggested Hugh. His parents lived at Cricklegate, a spacious house in Chelsea, just west of London on the Thames.

“I know,” answered Reverdy. “I will call on your parents…once I have regained some peace.”

Hugh smiled tentatively. “It’s very odd that you will be seeing the McDougals. I have never met Alex’s parents.”

A moment passed before Reverdy answered, “You were never meant to, Hugh.” It almost sounded like a reproach.

Hugh sighed. “Yes. Of course not.” He paused. “Well, I will be downstairs for a while.” Then he turned and left the room.

* * *

John Proudlocks called on Meum Hall the next day and offered his apology for not having visited Hugh and Reverdy sooner after his return from England. “I am a man of property now, and, as Jack has told me many times in the past, property is a demanding mistress.”

“Well worth the attention, I trust, with commensurate rewards,” Reverdy teased him.

Proudlocks was stunned by this risqué reply. He laughed once, “What an unladylike sentiment!”

“That is what happens when a lady is permitted to peruse gentlemen’s literature, as I do. There would be more and better ladies and mistresses, if our sex could widen its reading. And, I might add, more
contented
husbands.” Reverdy grinned at the helpless look on her guest’s face. She laughed. “Well, you will need to neglect your own mistress for a while, Mr. Proudlocks, and join us today on a picnic on the front lawn, and tell us all about her and London.”

Proudlocks stayed for the rest of the afternoon, and made better acquaintance with Roger Tallmadge. Tallmadge asked about Alice, whom he had not seen in over a year. Proudlocks assured him that she was in perfect health and in good spirits. It was a perfectly balmy day for the picnic. The house servants set up a table on the lawn near the bluff overlooking the river. Hugh, Reverdy, Tallmadge, and Proudlocks chatted happily over a meal of sweetmeats, tea and wine. Lieutenant Manners, not trusting himself again in the company of his superior’s friends, was granted leave by Tallmadge to ride into Caxton to find amusement there. The conversation ranged from the possibility of a drought to the rising prices in the shops in Caxton and Williamsburg as a result of the stricter enforcement of taxes and regulations by the navy and the Customsmen.

The conversation eventually turned to speculation on the identity of “Junius,” author of a series of letters published in the
Public Advertiser
in
London between 1769 and 1772 that criticized the Grafton ministry. The letters not only scandalized the Duke of Grafton, but St. James’s Palace, as well.

Hugh said, “I am only now finding the time to read the newspapers that Captain Ramshaw was kind enough to send to me. Well, the letters do not so much argue against corruption and the mendacity of Grafton, as attack him with invective and insinuation. Hardly a practical means of bringing men to justice. His letters are too coy to my taste.”

Roger added, “He has also attacked Viscount Barrington.”

“And the whole of the king’s party, and His Majesty, as well,” added Proudlocks.

“It is a wonder to me that the ministry never moved against the
Advertiser
,” said Hugh.

Roger shook his head. “No wonder at all, Hugh. Lessons have been learned from the Wilkes imbroglio. Now that the Commons’ debates can be reported, ministers and members are chary of bringing charges against publishers and printers. I believe a new era of accountability has dawned in England. Who knows where it will lead?”