by Edward Cline
In the Commons, the would-be duelists, seven in all, exchanged furtive glances, wondering who among them had resorted to the ruse. But none of them was brave enough to raise the subject.
The night watchmen had known Jones, who had often paid them a kindness with civil banter and an occasional shilling for a draught of warming ale in a nearby tavern. One of them went to fetch Winslow LeGrand at his parents’ tobacconist’s shop on Fleet Street. LeGrand immediately hired a hackney to take him to Chelsea to break the news to the Kenricks.
Jones had no immediate family, at least none that Garnet Kenrick knew of, nor did he know where in Wales he had come from. He bought a plot for Jones in St. Giles in the Fields, paid for the casket and a tombstone, and grieved with the rest of his family. The news affected Alice Kenrick so much that she was bedridden for three days. Indeed, the entire household grieved. Owen Runcorn, Bridgette, and many on the staff at Cricklegate had frequently been the object of Jones’s generosity.
Garnet Kenrick told his wife at the funeral, “When we can return to Danvers, I will have him removed to the family vault there.”
“Your brother would not permit it, Garnet,” warned Effney Kenrick.
“He will have nothing to say about it, by then.”
Roger Tallmadge volunteered to “take up the spy” in the Commons in hopes of learning who had arranged Jones’s ambush. After several days of discreet enquiries, he could report nothing. With disgust he told the Baron, “They must have sworn to an oath of silence that I cannot breach, sir, on pain of excommunication from their club, if they broke it, or on pain of perhaps the same fate.”
In his study at Cricklegate, the Baron sat reading through the papers and documents he had retrieved from Jones’s rooms. Among the papers was a draft of the speech he had made in the Commons that drew on Jack Frake’s pamphlet, with acknowledgements in the margins of the author for many of the points Jones made in the address.
Some irony occurred to him then. He happened to glance up at the Italian bronze statue of Hermes on his desk that he had brought from Danvers. Around Hermes’s neck was the black satin mourning ribbon he had attached to it years ago, after he read the accounts then of the executions of the leaders of the Skelly gang in Falmouth. The ribbon represented a paradox to him, a mystery to be solved. Now, things seemed to be clear to him. Jack Frake had been a member of that gang. Through Jones, he had spoken in the Commons.
He reached over and untied the ribbon. A son of Hermes had spoken, he thought. Another had listened, and had spoken in turn. And now was dead. He agreed with Dogmael Jones and Jack Frake. In time, all the sons of Hermes across an ocean would refuse to deal with the mortals of England.
He gently retied the ribbon to Hermes’s caduceus, in memory of Jones’s warning of war. Or was it Jack Frake’s? He decided that they were both messengers.
He made his own enquiries in the Commons about the men who had challenged Jones. Every member he spoke to denied any knowledge of a cabal to force the late member into a duel. The denials uniformly exuded the character of lying. He forgave Roger Tallmadge his youth for not having been sensible to it. He very nearly was tempted to challenge Colonel Thomas Molyneux, who at first retorted, “The cad bolted from me, and I’m sure he got thirty paces before his assailants caught up with him that night. Typical behavior of a chap who has more mouth than manhood, wouldn’t you say?”
Garnet Kenrick was not wearing gloves. He slapped the colonel hard across the face. That man gasped in surprise, as did many members in the lobby who witnessed the incident. The Baron said, “He was a friend, sir, and more man than you could ever dream of being. One does not judge a man’s character by the number or method of his murderers — wouldn’t you say?”
The colonel sputtered an incoherent reply.
The Baron scoffed. “There’s the speech more to your character, sir.” He paused. “You know my name, Colonel Molyneux, “ he said calmly. ”Challenge me, if you dare.” When there was no reply, he turned and walked out of the lobby.
At Windridge Court, he met a man who was coming out just as he was climbing down from the hackney. The man looked familiar, but he could not remember where he had seen him before. The stranger glanced away guiltily, hastily wound a scarf around his neck and mouth, and hurried at a quick walk through the slush out of the courtyard to Whitehall. The Baron asked Alden Curle, who admitted him, “Who was that who just left?”
“His lordship’s secretary, milord. Mr. Hunt.”
“How long has he acted in that capacity?”
Curle looked genuinely astonished by the question. “For years, milord. He is an extension of his lordship’s will, so to speak, and has resided here for as long.”
“I see,” mused the Baron. “You may announce me.” Curle escorted him to the Earl’s study.
“I know why you are here, dear brother,” said Basil Kenrick immediately as he entered the room moments later. “And, before you begin to make regrettable insinuations and threats, I will state once and for all, that I had nothing to do with Sir Dogmael’s…end.” He sniffed once. “If I had wanted to teach him a lesson for having disgraced his House, I should have arranged it long before.”
Garnet Kenrick narrowed his eyes. “I am not inclined to believe you, Basil.”
“That is your privilege.”
“Perhaps you did not arrange it. Perhaps it was Mr. Hunt. I saw him departing as I arrived. He looks more callidish than does Mr. Curle.”
“Think what you wish of him, dear brother,” snapped the Earl, surprised to hear his son’s alias mentioned by his brother. “Mr. Hunt is a loyal and capable servant of impeccable character. As is Mr. Curle,” he added. “Your constant disapproval of my staff grows tiresome.” He paused. “Did Mr. Hunt introduce himself?”
“No, he did not. He rushed off looking as though he had just taken some of your silver. I inquired of Mr. Curle.”
“What did Mr. Curle tell you about him?”
“That he is your secretary, and, in his own words, an extension of your will.” The Baron paused, remembering his brother’s threat in this room on his last visit. “Would that extension perhaps include arranging extraordinary measures against Mr. Jones?”
The Earl stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “If you were not my brother, I would challenge you to a duel for that remark.” He turned his back on the Baron. “Having made it, you have overstayed your welcome.”
Garnet Kenrick did not know what to think, only what to suspect. He had no proof. Aggravating his uncertainty was his knowledge of all the challenges to Jones. A cabal could have existed, he thought. His brother doubtless would have been told about it, and perhaps exploited it somehow. He stood up. “I leave now, Basil, dismayed, I must emphasize, not relieved, by your assurances. You remain as you have always been to me, a caitiff and a menace. Good day to you.”
Watching from his study window as the Baron boarded the waiting hackney in the courtyard, Basil Kenrick managed to convince himself that his brother had no cause to despise him. He had gotten away with a lie. His brother could be so unjust and cruel in his ignorance.
Two weeks later, the Kenrick household journeyed from Chelsea back to Milgram House in Dorset for the balance of the season. Garnet Kenrick had no further business in the Commons.
* * *
In the last week of April, the Sparrowhawk arrived in Caxton on the York River. John Ramshaw found the town in a bustling state, and also in a state of expectation. Out of habit, for he had done it for years, he climbed the hill from River Road to Queen Anne Street and began to make his way to the Caxton Courier. He found that building occupied by another establishment, a cabinetmaking shop. René Jalbert, Proprietor, read the signboard. Then he remembered the fate of the Courier. Stopping off at Safford’s King’s Arms Tavern to leave bundles of mail, he then hired a horse from the Gramatan Inn and made his way under the warm spring sun to Morland Hall. At the great house he was directed by a servant to the fields and Jack Frake, who was busy in them supe
rvising the new plantings.
In Queen Anne County, tobacco seedlings were beginning to sprout, and planters waited for the right day to move the plants from the seedbeds to the fields. Corn was being planted, and oats, and many growers were experimenting with English common red wheat. Barley and rye were also being sown.
Ramshaw hailed his friend, who greeted him in turn and rode toward him. “It was a fair crossing, Jack, and I bring some news.” He reached into a saddlebag and waved a bundle of correspondence and London newspapers wrapped in twine. “Good news, and bad.”
“What?” Jack asked. He took the bundle from Ramshaw.
“Repeal is certain. But so is a spoiler or two.” He paused, however, to grin at Jack Frake. “You have a missive there from Mr. Kenrick’s friend here, as well. From Sir Dogmael Jones.”
Jack frowned. “What could he have to say to me?”
“It isn’t so much what he has to say to you, sir. It is what you said in the Commons.”
The owner of Morland Hall looked baffled. He knew that Hugh Kenrick had sent his father a copy of his pamphlet, Reconciliation or Revolution, and could not grasp the connection. He could not imagine the man using any portion of his pamphlet in the Commons without incurring its wrath. “We had better have some tea first, Mr. Ramshaw. Let’s go to the house.”
“Send a man to fetch Mr. Kenrick. He’ll want to be here. And I have brought his mail.”
When Hugh Kenrick arrived shortly thereafter on horseback, Jack Frake had already read Jones’s Commons speech, and the thank you note that was appended to it. He was still mildly incredulous.
When Hugh had read them, he grinned at Jack Frake. “My compliments, sir. You have beaten me to the chamber.” He turned to Ramshaw. “My God, Mr. Ramshaw! How did the House receive it?”
“I can’t say, sir. I was not present. Your father happened to catch me at Mr. Worley’s and he told me about it. I was obliged to weigh anchor and leave London the next day, when I believe the bills were taken up to Lords. But the day after the Commons voted the resolutions for debate, bells rang all day throughout the city. All over England, I’m told. And the Pool was as mad as Bedlam.” He added with irony, “Even the customs men were in a jolly state.”
“They would be,” remarked Jack Frake. Etáin came in then. He gave her his copy of Jones’s speech. “I’ve been heard in Parliament.” It was her turn to look baffled. She sat down at the table to read.
They were gathered in the supper room. Hugh also sat down and opened his own mail. In addition to a copy of Jones’s speech, there was a long letter from Jones on the conduct of the Commons. “He writes that the House will probably pass a declaratory bill, as well, one that would assert Parliament’s authority over every matter whatsoever.” “Whatsoever,” Hugh mused. He looked up from the letter. “He writes that this term will negate repeal, if it is passed.”
“That’s the spoiler I mentioned,” commented Ramshaw.
Hugh impatiently put the letter aside and stood up excitedly. “Still, can you imagine hearing Jones’s speech in the House? Mr. Grenville’s soul must have curdled! And all those ‘rude and spiteful insects’ must have clicked and buzzed furiously! And think of it, Jack!” he said, laughing. “He cadged you! He doesn’t even mention my silly pamphlet on chimney swifts!”
Jack Frake chuckled, “Your friend there is my friend, on that point alone.”
Etáin had finished the speech. She rose and bussed her husband. “He is a remarkably brave man, to have used your words in Parliament,” she said. Her face brightened. “Why, this Mr. Jones spoke for Virginia! He spoke for us. In Parliament!”
“One could look at it that way,” agreed Hugh. “What a triumph!”
Etáin clapped her hands together. “Jack, let us celebrate your maiden speech in Parliament with a grand supper! Tomorrow! We’ll invite all our friends. I will entertain with music, and I am sure Reverdy will volunteer her voice, as well.” She glanced at Hugh, who said he would ask his wife.
Jack Frake laughed. “If you insist. We will celebrate.” He glanced at Ramshaw. “You will stay here, sir, if your business allows it.”
“It does, and I will, thank you.”
Hugh Kenrick rode back to Meum Hall and to Reverdy. In his study, he told her the news, and gave her Jones’s papers to read. “I remember him,” she said to him when she was finished, “from the time he spoke against the Stamp Act.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe he was allowed to say these things in the House without giving many in it the vapors. It is such a churlish place that I am sure some members would have called for his expulsion.”
Hugh shrugged, and nodded to the letter on his wife’s lap. “He does not mention any recriminations for having said them.” He scoffed. “Perhaps the House was so stunned, it was at a loss to devise a penalty.”
Reverdy put the speech and letter aside and studied her husband for a moment. “Do you envy Mr. Frake for having been favored by him on such an occasion?”
“Not at all. Well, yes, I do envy him. But, not in any malicious way. He wrote the better essay. I must credit Mr. Jones with the judgment.” Hugh looked pensive. “Strange sentiment, envy. It is almost synonymous with bitterness. But I am not bitter.” He told her about Etáin’s proposed grand supper to celebrate the speech and the possibility of repeal. Reverdy eagerly agreed to sing.
Reece Vishonn had also received mail, delivered to him by a servant from the King’s Arms tavern. His agent in London sent him a statement of accounts and a report on the debates in Parliament, in which his agent said that repeal was very close to passage. The news so excited him that he rode to Morland Hall. “Haven’t I said it all along?” he laughed. “They would see reason!”
“Have they?” queried Jack Frake.
Vishonn waved the caution away. “Oh, you are always looking under tree stumps for possums, Mr. Frake!” He paused to sip the sherry his host had served him. “Although my agent does caution that, if repeal passes, we should not consider it a victory over Parliament, lest the ministry hear of our jubilation, and look darkly on our behavior.”
“If repeal passes, it won’t be a victory, Mr. Vishonn, and there will be little cause for jubilation.”
The master of Enderly stuck out his lower lip in thought. “Reconciliation, then?”
Jack Frake shook his head. “Not even that. You have read my pamphlet. You would be wise to consult it again.”
In town, Vishonn called on Arthur Stannard, the tobacco agent, and apprised him of the news. Stannard, too, had received a letter from his superiors in London, reporting on the progress of the debates on repeal. Vishonn related to him Jack Frake’s comments. “What do you think, sir? If it is not a victory, and if it is not reconciliation, what could it be?”
Stannard laughed as though it should have been obvious. “Mr. Frake is right, for once. It is neither. What it is, is a truce, an acknowledgement of an inexpediency. We have not heard the last of it, sir. The declaratory bill that may pass with repeal will set accounts straight. Parliament will not let the colonies go. You may count on it.”
The next evening’s supper at Morland Hall was attended by the Kenricks, Thomas Reisdale, John Proudlocks, Jock Frazer, Ramshaw, and Steven Safford. Jack Frake endured two rounds of toasts to him.
In addition to speculation about repeal, they discussed Richard Bland’s own pamphlet, published in March, An Inquiry into the Rights of the British Colonies. Neither Jack Frake nor Hugh Kenrick thought much of it. John Proudlocks commented, “In it, he goes up and down tedious hills in circles of logic, never coming to rest, never reaching a conclusion, because I believe he is afraid of the end to which his logic leads him.”
Thomas Reisdale nodded agreement, “It would be interesting to hear him discourse on Mr. Frake’s pamphlet. But probably he would be so outraged by it that, instead, he would call for Mr. Frake to be put into the stocks.”
“Very true,” agreed Hugh. “He does not care for the conclusions.” He scoffed. “W
ell, he was among the objectors to Mr. Henry’s resolves last session, and Mr. Henry and I and our party correctly predicted that he and others would attempt to take credit for having discovered our rights.”
They discussed the General Assembly. In early February Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier announced in the Virginia Gazette its proroguement from March until May. Hugh said, “Very likely he will delay the Assembly until he is certain there is no cause for trouble. I do not expect to see a new sitting until the fall. ”
“He and their nabs on the Council tremble,” said Jock Frazer.
Hugh noted, “There has been talk in Williamsburg that some burgesses will invite a Maryland printer to begin a new Gazette, to answer the Governor’s Gazette. That ought to be interesting. The Governor would not then have a monopoly on the news.”
News, thought Jack Frake, as the company turned to other subjects. The next few years will bring us much news, and little of it will be cause for celebration.
Etáin glanced at her husband at that moment, and guessed his thoughts.
* * *
The news came.
News of repeal began filtering into the colonies as early as late April, and throughout May. Early in June Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier received a packet of correspondence from the Board of Trade. In it were copies of the Repeal and Declaratory Acts. On June 13th, in the Virginia Gazette, he formally announced repeal, and the Act was reprinted in that paper. It was also reprinted in the new competing Gazette, published independently by William Rind of Maryland. Its masthead boasted, “Open to all Parties, but Influenced by None.” It was the first free press in the colony’s history.
A ball was held in the Capitol to celebrate the news. Reece Vishonn and his family, and other prominent families from Caxton, attended. Hugh Kenrick agreed to attend, knowing that Reverdy was hungry for such an event. He noted that, despite the Lieutenant-Governor’s best efforts and strenuous cautions, most attendees treated repeal as a victory.
