The Constable's Tale: A Novel of Colonial America

by Donald Smith

  It was three years before they made love. At age sixteen, Harry felt fully grown. Old enough to be turning out for militia musters. Maddie, at thirteen, was the same age as the new bride of the sixty-eight-year-old governor of North Carolina. They moved gradually toward it, with laughing tussles during outings in fields and forests within the town gates and beyond as opportunities presented themselves.

  Harry’s mother’s suspicions were stirred up one afternoon as she was finishing some business in town and getting their wagon ready for the trip back home. She noticed Harry and Maddie walking along a shady side street, playfully pushing and poking at each other. A little too playfully for her satisfaction. She went directly to Judge McLeod and told him what she had seen. The result was that the two were forbidden to spend time together alone. Harry was willing to accept this outcome but not Maddie. Soon she was figuring out ways to be together secretly, with the added sense of drama their clandestine meetings brought.

  One warm afternoon in early fall, in the shadow of a haystack in a field belonging to an old man named Rollins, a wrestling match became a halting exploration of the unknown. For Harry it was a stunning revelation, how well men and women fit together in actual fact, compared to what he had only heard. Unfortunately, Rollins came riding by before they had finished putting their clothes back on, and what had been a journey to heaven became a long and sudden fall in the opposite direction.

  Harry’s mother was feverish with anxiety over possible consequences. Harry had no doubt he would be hung. But days passed and no posse came to their doorstep. After a suspenseful week, they learned from friends that McLeod had decided his granddaughter had seen enough of America and would be returning to Scotland to finish her education at a proper academy. Though everyone in New Bern knew exactly what had happened, the judge stuck publicly to the fiction that nothing had actually happened, that his flesh and blood remained unsullied. That meant, miraculously, no punishment for Harry, for the reason that no offense had occurred.

  Maddie’s leaving left a wound that would not heal. He even considered following her to Scotland, reckoning he could figure out what to do then after he got there. Those thoughts faded with agonizing slowness until at last Maddie was no longer a burning scar on his heart, the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing at night.

  Having had a taste of heaven, he spent the next year looking for more. He found he was one of those blessed few who could bed just about any unmarried girl he wanted and a few married ones as well. Another discovery was that his mother no longer could call his tune. He could do as he pleased. Of the men in Harry’s life who counted, Natty had no objection to youthful adventure. Nor did Comet Elijah, who was busy teaching him about other things, like how to throw a tomahawk.

  The time of freedom came to an end just before his eighteenth birthday. Harry was arrested for nearly burning down Speight’s Tavern, whose owner’s face, Harry’s crowd had decided, reminded them of a pig. Besides the fact that liquor was involved, the trial established that Harry had not intended to destroy the place, just see what would happen when the object of their ridicule came from the kitchen to see a bonfire in the tap room. Harry suffered a pang of regret when he saw the look of bewilderment on Speight’s plump pink face. It took the fun out of it.

  Nevertheless, Harry’s reputation as a hellion had become established, and it seemed that somewhere in the upper reaches of the town leadership it had been decided this was as good a time as any to bring him to heel. The county solicitor recommended a penalty of twenty strokes, time in stocks, and a fine of fifteen pounds plus damages. Of these punishments, the prospect of the lashes was the most daunting. People were known to be permanently maimed by such treatment, to the point that the rich never were made to suffer them, no matter how serious their offense. They were always let off with a fine.

  But, to everyone’s surprise, in light of the family’s otherwise good standing in the community and Harry’s father’s faithful, and probably fatal, service to the Crown at Cartagena, McLeod offered an alternative. Harry would become his ward and part-time servant for the period of a year. He would submit to the judge’s authority in all respects, undertake any course of instruction, and carry out all services required, with the intention of making of the now grown-up Harry an upstanding citizen of New Bern. If the project succeeded, his name would migrate from the liability column of the community ledger to the asset side.

  The tasks turned out to include emptying slop jars for McLeod and several of his neighbors, working on repairs to the town fence, rounding up stray animals off the street, and occasionally assisting constables and sheriff’s deputies in serving writs and escorting prisoners. And dancing lessons. The judge said one could not be a proper gentleman without knowing how to dance. All of these activities to be performed after Harry had put in a full morning’s work at his family’s plantation.

  In addition, he had to sit through a daily lecture on some aspect of the importance of honor, duty, and the rules of proper conduct as observed by the better sorts of people throughout the world. Rooted in some ancient Italian court, later written out by an elderly Frenchman, they recently had been translated into English as Rules of Civility & Decent Behaviour In Company and Conversation. These directions covered every social situation a person of refinement was likely to encounter in a lifetime. They included guidelines for polite conversation, appropriate dress, manners at table, conduct on the street, and the respectful treatment of one’s betters. This last thing, as Harry learned, was a whole subsidiary set of extensively evolved rules concerning where one should sit at a table, when to initiate speech and when to remain silent, the finer points of cap doffing, and even on which side of another person one should walk, depending on the social rank of each. Despite the tedious nature of the rules, McLeod assured Harry they were indispensable, that no matter where he might travel in the future, whether to London or Paris or Rome or Vienna, he would recognize the application of this code of behavior when among courteous society. And they would recognize it in him and know he was a person of good breeding. One of them.

  To help it all stick in Harry’s mind, he had to buy himself a small ledger book in which to paraphrase the judge’s lectures and memorize these shortened versions, two rules per week. He found many of them ran contrary to his upbringing and some just flat-out strange. He avoided as much as he could sharing any of it with Natty so as to save himself the trouble of having to explain why Harry was going along with it. When Natty heard the outlines of the judge’s program, he said he would have preferred the lashes.

  Harry’s new way of life was a source of unending mirth among his friends and past confederates in Craven County waggery. But as time went by he embraced the fresh start he was being offered, if for no other reason than to satisfy Talitha. She regarded the program as a gift from God, an astonishing opportunity, something that could lead, over time, to the elevation of the Woodyard name into the highest places of Pamlico society. Harry was not convinced this was a realistic expectation, but he was infected by Talitha’s enthusiasm, her constant harping on what she called the family’s rightful destiny.

  Harry came to suspect the judge took some dark satisfaction in having such power over his granddaughter’s despoiler. In any case, McLeod’s apparent willingness to let go of the unfortunate past and take on the remaking of Harry Woodyard seemed only to raise the judge’s already lofty standing in the community. The verdict on the streets of New Bern was that McLeod had handled his predicament with wisdom and grace.

  But Harry never lost his fear that this forbearance someday would run its course.

  *

  Maddie picked up her blanket and pulled it around her shoulders again.

  “In the days after we were found out, Grandfather hardly would let me out of his sight. When he did, he made his housekeeper keep her eyes on me and the manservant to watch the both of us. They kept me from slipping off, finding you, asking if you wanted to run away together.”

&n
bsp; “I would have gone. It’s all I ever thought about.”

  “Me too. But Grandfather made me a promise.”

  Harry nodded, anticipating. “He said he would make you return to Scotland.”

  “He did, but first he promised that if we tried to run away, he would send men to chase us down. No matter where we went, even into the swamps, they would find us. They would kill you on the spot and bring me back to New Bern. He stated that quite matter-of-factly. The choice was between staying here, maddeningly close to you but with no possibility of our ever being together, or going back to Scotland and finishing my education. It was no choice at all, really.”

  In the gray light of the barred window, he caught a look at her eyes. They were red rimmed, but dry.

  “It’s a cold, ugly world out there, my love. At least it can be. And I am not as beautiful or as rich or as brilliant as I once thought.”

  “But you wrote poems. And a play. I can’t imagine writing a play.”

  “It was never produced on the stage. Despite endless promises. I’ve come to understand that people led me on for their own selfish purposes. Especially men. They are unreliable, Harry. Changeable. With the exception of a certain gentleman from North Carolina, of course.”

  *

  He woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of cannon fire. It was faint. Somewhere beyond the city walls. Maybe more harassment from the British in preparation for an assault in the morning. Or maybe the battle had begun.

  For the first time, Harry felt sharply uneasy about being in a locked room. He disliked the idea of dying in an enclosed place. He tried to think about something else. Someplace outdoors. Roanoke Island would do. Digging into the wet sand with Comet Elijah, picking through the past.

  CHAPTER 30

  22: Shew not yourself glad at the Misfortune of another though he were your enemy.

  —RULES OF CIVILITY

  AN HOUR AND A HALF AFTER SUNRISE, A CLAMOR ERUPTED OUTSIDE their cell. Rushing footsteps and excited voices. After a short spell all became quiet again except for a patter of rain on the street outside.

  “I couldn’t make out all of what they were saying, but it seems the British have made their move,” said Maddie. “Our guards are going to help fight them off.”

  Harry said he guessed that meant there would be no biscuits this morning. Maddie acknowledged his go at humor with a half-smile. She seemed nervous.

  A few minutes later there was a rattle at the door. Two men entered. One was an Abnaki Indian dressed in buckskins and carrying a pistol. The entire lower half of his face was painted a ferocious shade of red, the upper half black with white stripes. The other man wore unremarkable civilian clothes and was armed with a hanger.

  “Hello, Richard,” said Maddie.

  “Good morning, my dear.” To Harry he said, “Welcome to our little auberge, Constable Woodyard.”

  The Indian’s eyes darted back and forth between the two prisoners. He looked ready to shoot without much provocation. Ayerdale had a demeanor of forced calm.

  “What’s happening?” Harry said.

  “A miracle. Last night the redcoats somehow figured out a way to get up a cliff and onto the plain behind Quebec.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “It seems that there is a poor excuse for a pathway next to a nearly vertical stream somewhere upriver between here and Cap-Rouge. If that makes any difference to you.”

  Amazing, Harry thought.

  “They’ve planted themselves on the field about a mile away, a long red line stretching from the Saint Lawrence side of the peninsula to the Saint Charles. They’re just standing there, waiting to see what Montcalm will do, I suppose.”

  “What will he do?” said Harry.

  “He is rushing his army out to try to chase them away before they can entrench. Once Wolfe gets cannon into place, Quebec will be doomed. But that is no concern of yours. I am afraid it is time for you and your sweetheart to leave these prison walls. But not the way you came in.”

  Maddie caught her breath.

  Thinking to put down his last card, Harry said, “Look, Ayerdale, I know you’ve been spying for the French. I also know that now you’re working for our side. Your secret is safe with us. I’ve already given my word to your man deSavoy, who has taken me into his confidence.”

  A grin divided Ayerdale’s face, giving Harry a good look at his teeth. Harry had guessed right. At least half were rotted.

  “You lie so prettily, Mister Woodyard. I wish I could rely on your word, but I have the rest of my life to consider. I will not let it be overshadowed by the threat of exposure that I once betrayed my country. Your miserable lives are simply not worth the risk. For all anyone will know when they discover your bodies, you will have been killed by your French captors.”

  “But surely you are already suspected of something,” said Maddie. Her eyes were wide, but if she was frightened she was hiding it well. She seemed more angry. “How to explain your sudden disappearance from Wolfe’s camp?”

  “Thank you, my dear, for your concern on that score. The question of my whereabouts for the past several days will be of little interest to anyone in light of what is happening now, no matter how it comes out. If anyone is curious enough to ask, I left camp to make my own survey of the French lines. With Colonel deSavoy to vouch for me, I have nothing to fear on that score. As for you, I will be heartsore, and completely bewildered, over how you managed to get yourself killed inside a French jail.”

  “I guess you intend to follow your usual practice of skipping away just before the fight,” said Harry.

  “Not at all. I will simply appear on the battlefield and fall onto the ground as soon as the firing begins, as if to reload. It will take me a very long time to perform that task. When the firing stops, I shall get back up and join whichever side has won. I will be welcomed as a hero in either case. A solvent one too, thanks to the generosity of both parties, now and into the foreseeable future. Who knows how much longer this tiresome war will last? Or how many more occasions for profit may arise? The truth is, I have begun to like this game of spying.”

  Ayerdale seemed to enjoy taunting them with his view of his own cheerful future. Or maybe he was just indulging himself. How many others were there with whom he could share his happiness?

  Maddie said, “Did you love me once?”

  “In fact, I rather fancy I did. I have long yearned for a partner, someone to share my life, help me bear my trials. Love me for myself, despite my shortcomings. Which are many, I’ll admit.”

  “Richard, for the sake of what we had, don’t do something you can’t undo.”

  Ayerdale walked over and put both hands on Maddie’s loosely covered shoulders.

  “Milady, I could have chosen any of a number of beauties to marry, either here or in Europe. Wealthy ones. Some with titles. Unfortunately, I chose you. A liar. But such a damned pretty one.”

  One hand crept down toward her bodice, as if no longer obliged to follow any rules.

  She knocked it away.

  “Bitch.”

  He grasped the top edge of her gown and yanked downward. The cloth was surprisingly strong. It stretched but did not tear. Half exposing her front.

  Harry lunged. But before he could cause any damage, the Indian clubbed him with his pistol butt. Harry’s legs gave out and he felt himself going down.

  “We should have played like this more often,” he heard Ayerdale say through the ringing in his ears. “Alas, now we have no time.”

  “We can do it when you get back,” Maddie said. Her voice was ragged and breathy, as if in a passion.

  Harry lifted his head enough to see that Ayerdale was now holding her from behind, gripping her partially uncovered breasts with both hands. All but lifting her off her feet, and giving the Indian a good show. On his face a twisting together of anger and desire. And maybe surprise over what he had just heard from Maddie.

  “A damned nice thought. And a way of extending your lif
e for a few more hours, I suppose. But if our side wins this thing, the British, I mean, I’m afraid it would not do for them to discover you here. Hear your story.”

  He let her go with a shove that nearly knocked her down.

  “I would like nothing better than to tarry, my dear,” he said, “but that is not possible. So, as the French say, adieu. Please convey my respects to God.”

  *

  The Indian took his time. Maybe waiting for Ayerdale to be far enough away that he would not have to hear the shots. As the minutes passed and the Indian continued staring at Maddie, it occurred to Harry that he might have gotten the idea of doing some of his own business with her first.

  Harry made to get up. See what he could do. But a rush of dizziness interfered. The Indian walked over to him as he slumped back. Put the pistol barrel to his forehead and pulled back the hammer.

  “Monsieur,” Harry heard someone say. The voice seeming to come from the far end of the world.

  Harry caught a glimpse of a French uniform. The Indian twisted around to see who it was, then seemed unsure of what to do next. Before he could make a plan, the newcomer shot him.

  “D’Brienne,” said Harry. “You are just a bag full of surprises.”

  “I believe it is bad luck to kill a man from behind.” He stepped through the smoke and stood over the still twitching body. “I was on my way to join my commander on the field but decided to make a detour to see after your welfare. Harry, I find I cannot bear to see you die.”

  Questions danced on Maddie’s face. Harry said he would explain later. Wondering how much of the story he would be willing to tell.

  “When I arrived at the door I was surprised to hear Richard’s voice inside. My protégé has become quite the celebrity among Montcalm’s inner circle, you know. I paused to hear what he might say. And I’m glad I did. For shame, playing a double game like that. When the spawn of a dog came out of your cell, I hid myself. Maybe I should have killed him then, but I felt it more prudent to deal with them one at a time.”