Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  “Lady Davenport, sir?” Betty looked almost in awe. “Oh, why nothing, sir. She has been the most perfect angel of a guest. You are most fortunate in your relation, sir.”

  “Indeed. Well, then…this important matter?”

  “It is Priscilla, sir.”

  Josiah had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “I think, sir, that she is…that is, I am fairly certain, sir, that she is…”

  Josiah knew what she was going to say, yet he just looked at her, forcing her to say it aloud.

  “I believe she is with child, sir. By one of the slaves, sir.”

  He would have to make some answer. Priscilla was his property for the next four years; by law she had no right to impair her ability to work. Betty, the obedient servant, wanted to see Priscilla, the wicked servant, punished.

  “This is a serious matter, Betty,” he finally said.

  “Will you prosecute, sir?”

  Josiah hated the look of glee barely concealed in her eyes.

  “I don’t know.” He stood. “It is none of your concern, in any case.”’

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. It is my concern if she’s not here to do her work. Will you buy a new servant, sir?”

  “No, I’ll not buy a new one soon. Perhaps one of the slaves can help you, if necessary.”

  Betty looked at him darkly but did not dare answer any further.

  He slammed the door behind him. Betty created her own problems, and now she could decide whether to accept help from people she considered beneath her station or whether she would take on the extra work herself. That was her concern.

  But he would have to decide what to do about Priscilla. In Joppa, he had seen cases, and even brought one, against a pregnant servant, and he wanted as little to do with such a matter as possible. The accusation, the shame and general spectacle of it all sickened him. The judge—and the spectators, too—had seemed to demand the repetition of every sordid detail and had forced witnesses to speculate on rumors of lewd behavior of people only remotely connected with the defendant.

  The punishment was worse. If the man involved owned property he could pay a fine. But such men never seemed to be implicated. The only other choice seemed to be a public whipping for the servant and the father of the child. That spectacle had proved as popular as the trials. Then the servant would have an extra year added to her servitude to compensate her master for lost time.

  Even greater punishment could be possible in Priscilla’s case because this pregnancy involved miscegenation. Relationships between blacks and whites could be punished harshly indeed.

  If he brought the matter before the court, would Priscilla protest? He could not imagine the shy girl defying him in a court of law but neither could he be sure she would willingly confess the name of her lover. It would have to be proven, with all the attendant speculation and evidence of wanton behavior.

  He thought of the boy with whom Priscilla had been sitting when he walked into John’s quarters. Both he and Priscilla were so very young, and now about to become parents—if they survived the punishment.

  Josiah had never given much thought to having a child, other than to suppose he would likely have a family when he married. And some children would likely die of disease, but perhaps one or two might grow to adulthood and carry on the family name. They might even become interesting companions.

  He pictured Priscilla and the boy, whose name he did not even know. They must be scared, certainly. The whole business of childbirth and raising children was risky enough without the threat of prosecution. He could not bear the thought of adding pain and torment to that fear. Still, disobedient slaves and servants required punishment to deter others from following suit.

  He needed to keep his thoughts clear and businesslike. He would treat his people justly, but he must maintain discipline.

  Why, now, could he not stop thinking of fatherhood?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  "They’re here! The horses are in the yard,” Georgiana called from the window.

  “Look at that magnificentius hat!” Johanna exclaimed. “Ouch, Georgiana, you’re leaning on my hair.”

  “Sorry, Johanna. My, but her skin is so fine. She must never go out during daylight,” Georgiana mused.

  “How can you tell from up here?” Edwina asked with disgust.

  “And through those dirty panes of glass,” Caroline called from the landing. “Come, girls, we must not keep our guests waiting.”

  “But, Caroline, do we not wait upstairs to make an entrance after they arrive?” Johanna asked.

  “We do not.” Caroline directed her youngest sister down the stairs then followed her. “Making an entrance, as you say, would be very poor manners for anyone, and very foolish for poor colonials in the face of English guests. We allow Lady Davenport to make an entrance.”

  “And I’ve no doubt she will,” Edwina whispered.

  “Edwina, please, control yourself, or you shall have me giggling throughout the dinner,” Caroline begged with a grin. “Now that I am twenty, I do so want to prove I am quite done with giggling.”

  “I shall take that as a challenge,” Edwina answered wickedly.

  “Oh, do not!”

  “But I shall wait until the second course, or perhaps the third, if I find myself in a kindly temper.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes but stopped before the first giggle could escape her lips. Though she feared making a fool of herself before the elegant Lady Davenport, for some reason she was in a joyful frame of mind, anticipating the afternoon with pleasure. After all, if she made some sort of mistake it would be known only among the immediate family. Conduct at next week’s dance would be an entirely different matter, but there would be time enough later for worry on that account.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  Despite her insistence that her sisters not make an entrance in front of their guests, she nevertheless was anxious that they be arranged in an informal tableau when the door opened, sitting around the table in the main room playing at lanterloo.

  “Sir James and Lady Davenport, and Mr. Throckmorton,” Edward announced in his most formal lisp. They stood and exclaimed surprised greetings, as if they had not been watching their guests’ every move for the last ten minutes.

  As Caroline streamed forward with her sisters, she looked around for her father—surely, he should make the first greeting. But she had been so concerned with arranging her sisters she had not noticed her parents were nowhere to be seen.

  “Welcome, Sir James, Lady Davenport, and Mr. Throckmorton.” Caroline wished her voice did not sound so birdlike. She curtsied as deeply as her stays would allow. “We are honored by your visit.”

  Since she could think of nothing more eloquent to say at the moment, she moved aside for the others to make their greetings. She felt her own speech to have been grossly inadequate and tried to think back to the words of greeting used by her tenant, which had seemed very pretty at the time.

  Her sisters had just finished when Caroline heard footsteps on the stairs. She gritted her teeth. Her parents were making an entrance.

  “Sir James, and Lady Davenport! We are most extraordinarily delighted to have the pleasure of your company on this fine afternoon.” Her father showed a leg, and her mother curtsied so low Caroline listened for her stays to snap. While they apparently remained intact, Mrs. Carter had, in fact, sunk too far and needed her husband’s assistance to rise without tumbling over.

  Caroline could feel her face flush. She glanced at Lady Davenport to see whether she was amused or annoyed by this spectacle. To her horror, she found Lady Davenport was ignoring her parents and staring pointedly at her.

  She said nothing for several interminable moments. “Have we not met before, miss?” she finally queried.

  Caroline realized, probably too late, that her mouth had dropped open at the sound of Lady Davenport’s voice. She was the woman who had asked for directions that muddy, rainy day. “I–I do not
believe I have had the pleasure.”

  How could she have been so obtuse? Of course, that would have been Josiah’s sister, or some member of her party. Caroline was struck with the sensation that even the roots of her hair must be blushing.

  “Please, forgive me, I have been remiss in making introductions.” Mr. Throckmorton stepped forward with a concerned smile. “Lady Davenport, this is Miss Carter.”

  Caroline bowed, and looked up to see that Josiah’s sister regarded her with barely concealed surprise. Lady Davenport kept her voice even as she replied, however.

  “How do you do, Miss Carter?”

  Mr. Throckmorton hurried on. “Sir James, may I present Miss Carter? And Sir James and Lady Davenport, Mr. Carter, Mrs. Carter, Miss Georgiana Carter, Miss Edwina Carter and Miss Johanna Carter.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sir James bowed smartly.

  “I am sure I am charmed to meet you all.” Lady Davenport made an elegant curtsy Caroline imagined she might have seen in the courts of Europe. And this lady had seen her covered with mud, running through the trees like a half-witted servant.

  Lady Davenport had recovered her poised smile only a few seconds after her brother’s hurried introduction, but those few seconds of incredulity had seared into Caroline’s memory most painfully. This lady must think her unworthy of even dining with her brother, let alone marrying him.

  Of course, she was not going to marry him, so it would not matter. Would it?

  “Are you quite well, Miss Carter?”

  Caroline had not realized she had been staring at the floor, and she looked up to see that the only eyes on her now were those of Mr. Throckmorton. They were a clear, pale blue, like faintly tinted glass. His sister had eyes of the same hue; Caroline could yet envision her stare.

  But now her sisters crowded around their English guests, blocking Lady Davenport from Caroline’s view with a wall of laughter and compliments. She looked away from their backs gratefully and took a glass of punch from a tray offered by their new servant.

  It was time for polite conversation. “Your sister favors you in appearance, Mr. Throckmorton,” she said before she took a sip of her punch.

  “What? Oh, perhaps. We, my brother and sister and I, all tend to favor my mother’s side of the family. So I am told.” He smiled. “But my sister has been at times called a beauty, and that has never been said of my brother or myself. So, the resemblance must go only so far.”

  “I would not say so.” Caroline leaned to the side to get a better look at Lady Davenport, who held the other ladies entranced with some sort of story. The little bit of hair she could see peeking out from beneath the woman’s wig appeared to be the same light-brown color as her brother’s. Both shared a tall, slender build and a long straight nose. The nose gave Lady Davenport a most elegant profile.

  She looked back at her companion. “Turn your head to the side, Mr. Throckmorton.”

  He gave her a puzzled look but complied without a word of protest. “Is this sufficient, Miss Carter?”

  Caroline laughed softly, hoping the sound was not too undignified. “Yes. I believe your profiles compare. There is perhaps more resemblance than you realize.”

  “In appearance, I suppose, there may be.” Mr. Throckmorton glanced at his sister’s animated features as she regaled her hostess with her stories. “In temperament, we have always been so different I daresay I’ve never given much thought to any similarities we might share.”

  “You may well share more in temperament as well.”

  “I believe I am supposed to take that as a compliment?”

  Caroline gestured to the admiring throng around his sister. “Why, yes, of course.”

  “Then I will—if you say so.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Throckmorton?”

  “Let me put it thus: if I said you resembled your sisters in temperament, would you be pleased?”

  Caroline started to answer and found she could not, with any degree of politeness.

  “Would you agree?” Mr. Throckmorton continued.

  “Certainly not. We are very different in temperament.” Imagine being compared to those weak, over-indulged… “I see your point, Mr. Throckmorton.” She knew she wore a most unladylike grin. “Even if I am like them to the least detail, I would not wish to be reminded of it.”

  “Quite so. I would not care to acknowledge such a resemblance to my sister in the first place. So, let us say, then, that we each have a…unique temperament within our respective families.” Mr. Throckmorton held up his glass of punch for a toast.

  “Yes, I concur. A superficial resemblance only.” Caroline clinked her glass against his and wondered irrelevantly what her own eyes looked like in the fading afternoon light.

  “Such elegant manners,” Georgiana sighed as she slipped off her shoes and sat down before the fire in the large bedchamber the three younger girls shared.

  “Have you ever seen a more beautiful gown?” Johanna looked at her own sadly and then looked up at Caroline staring into the fire, only dimly aware of her sisters’ conversation. “Do you think our Nell could curl my hair in that style?”

  “No, Lady Davenport wears a wig,” Georgiana answered for her. “Your own hair could never look so elegant.”

  “They say that ladies with elaborate wigs sometimes have to sleep with wire cages over their heads to keep out the mice,” Edwina said with a gleam in her eye.

  Johanna grimaced. “Do you think Lady Davenport gets mice in her wig?”

  “Caroline?” Edwina poked at her older sister with a hairbrush. “Will you not ask Mr. Throckmorton if Lady Davenport has brought a cage for her hair?”

  “Edwina!” Johanna wailed.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Johanna. Lady Davenport’s wig is not so large as ladies’ wigs were in years past. There is hardly enough room for more than a few bugs.” Edwina started to pull the pins out of her hair. “I’m sure the ladies of Europe have had enough of tall wigs. I cannot imagine wearing such an uncomfortable thing.”

  “Nor I,” Georgiana agreed.

  “But if all ladies in polite society wear them?”

  Edwina grimaced as she yanked on a twisted strand. “I don’t ever think we shall have to worry about what happens in that sort of society. Maryland will never be like England. Do you not agree, Caroline?”

  “Do you?” Johanna asked anxiously. “Do you not rather think Elkridge Landing will grow to be like London?”

  Caroline looked into the fire and did not answer.

  “I believe Caroline wants to wear a wig as tall as this room,” Edwina said in a loud voice, “and we had better call on Mr. Throckmorton and tell him to order one from London. His sister can select one for us.” She looked over at her older sister, but Caroline did not respond. “I say, let us all go over now in our nightclothes, except for Caroline. She may ride as Lady Godiva.” Edwina grabbed the back of the bodice of Caroline’s gown, which had been loosened but not yet removed.

  “Stop it! What are you doing, Edwina?”

  “So, you do not wish to ride to Hanset as Lady Godiva, then?”

  “No, for heaven’s sakes, no.” Caroline looked at her sister as if she had sprouted horns. “Whatever are you talking about?” She slipped off the loosened bodice, stays and skirt, and covered her chemise with a dressing gown.

  “It does not matter, since you paid us no attention,” Edwina huffed as she tied her own dressing gown around her waist.

  “I am sorry, Edwina, if I am not very good company this evening. Perhaps I had better go to my own room.” Caroline stood and folded her bodice and skirt carefully.

  “No, stay for a few minutes more, Caroline. Please?” Johanna begged.

  “A short while only, then.”

  “Whatever has you so preoccupied tonight?” Georgiana asked.

  “Oh, I suppose the same as yourselves. We do not often see the likes of Lady Davenport, do we?” Caroline smiled, but felt she could not fully enter into the dissec
tion of their guest. She had seen the likes of Lady Davenport. In Charles Town, she had seen such elegance on several occasions. But thinking of Charles Town made her think of Captain Talbot.

  “Did you not think Lady Davenport the most polite and elegantest lady you have ever seen?”

  “Yes, Johanna.” Captain Talbot had said he had a special regard for her. Captain Talbot had told her she was beautiful, and said he would find it hard to leave her to return to the Osprey.

  “And do you not find Sir James very handsome?”

  “Yes, Johanna.” Captain Talbot had very nearly convinced her to let him escort her back to her room.

  “And to think, they almost became family to us.”

  “Yes, Johanna.” And then he had sold her. Sold her back to her old life. “What did you say?”

  “Lady Davenport and Sir James. They would have been your sister and brother, and therefore ours by extension.”

  “Oh, yes. I suppose so.”

  “Why did she look at you so strangely when they first arrived?” Georgiana asked. “That was not so very polite, was it?”

  “No, but I suppose she must have been surprised. Perhaps I was not what she had hoped for in a sister.”

  “How could anyone think such a thing?” Johanna demanded. “You are the oldest, the smartest and, saving Georgiana, the prettiest of all of us.”

  Caroline smiled and hugged her sister. “Thank you, Johanna. But I believe Lady Davenport has seen many ladies who are smarter and prettier than any of us.”

  “And older,” added Edwina.

  “And older, and wittier, too, I daresay.”

  “Well, it does not signify. I would not care to have Lady Davenport as my sister.”

  “I thank you for your loyalty, Johanna.”

  “I do not think we need Lady Davenport, either,” Edwina concluded. “She poked at all her food before eating it, as if she was afraid it might come back to life on her plate.”

  “I noticed that myself. I could not decide if she was distrustful of the food or just trying to show off her expertise with a fork, thinking that we might not know how to use such elegant utensils.” Caroline giggled, despite her earlier resolve to be more dignified.