Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  “And,” Georgiana added, “she had that most hideous scar on her cheek.”

  “Was that a scar? I thought it was a mole.”

  “I know not what it was, but you’re right, it was dreadful. But she cannot help it, I suppose.” All the same, Caroline was glad it was Lady Davenport who wore the ugly scar and not her brother, who had actually looked rather handsome this evening, though not dressed nearly so elegantly as his be-wigged brother-in-law. Caroline felt her scalp itch at the thought of wearing a wig.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  "Such vulgar entertainments. And the girls are all so very coarse and unrefined. Their mother is even worse, I daresay.”

  “So, you had a good time this evening, then, Eleanor?”

  “I should say not.” Josiah’s sister pulled off her fur muff and slapped it on the table. “The company was insufferable, the setting even more so. Do you not know anyone of society in Maryland, Josiah?”

  “The company was rather common for us, Josiah.” His brother-in-law stretched out his hands before the fire.

  “Well, there is to be a dance next week, at which you will meet all the families of the neighborhood, including the Carrolls.” Josiah inspected his shoes for mud and decided whatever was there would dry and fall off soon enough. “And we will dine with them at a later date. You won’t find much better company in this part of Maryland. Of course, they are Catholic…”

  “Well, that’s nearly as bad. Did you not investigate this neighborhood before you bought your plantation? How can you live with these low planters? How could you even consider marrying one of them?” Eleanor shook her head and looked at the mug of cider Priscilla had set down for her as soon as they walked in the door.

  “I will admit their speech and dress and…” Josiah looked at the walls. “…the houses and so forth are not what we are used to. But that does not indicate a deficiency in the people themselves.”

  “Oh, but it does, you see.” James turned away from the fire and took a step closer to him. “Refinement, as reflected in speech and manners and appearance, indicates that a sufficient quantity of time has been spent improving the mind, cultivating a love of beauty and reflecting on the higher things.”

  “What higher things?” Josiah had never noticed any improvement of mind in his sister all the years he had known her, and thus far had detected none in her husband, either.

  “The highest, of course. Beauty and grace and…refinement,” James finished, a little lamely.

  “So, if they are not dressed correctly, then people do not have enough time for discourse on beauty. Is that correct?”

  “No, no, Josiah. You have oversimplified the case. You’ve reduced the sentiment too far; it does not carry its full meaning.”

  “Well, you had better be careful when you talk about ‘reflecting on the higher things’ in this region, or you will likely be taken for a Quaker or some other religious enthusiast.”

  “Good heavens!” James’s eyes widened in a rare expression of surprise. “Have they really such people in these environs?”

  “I believe there is a Society of Friends meeting house not too far from the landing. Would you care to put in an appearance on Sunday?”

  “Josiah, please, enough of your nonsense.” Eleanor emptied her mug of cider into a corner of the fire. “You have been too long among them, that is plain. It is a good thing we arrived to save you from a disastrous marriage to that Carter daughter.”

  “Our engagement was put off well before your arrival.” He realized he was clenching his jaw.

  “Oh? I wonder why?” Eleanor set down the mug carelessly. “Well, perhaps your reason has not completely left you.”

  “But, as a matter of fact,” he continued, feigning a yawn, “I had considered asking her father to set a date.”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “What is your objection to Miss Carter? That her clothes are not fine enough? Her house not large enough? Is her hair of a color not in fashion this season?”

  “You are being ridiculous.” Eleanor threw herself into the chair Priscilla had carefully covered with a fur cape before she’d retired to the kitchen.

  “Am I? Would you not prefer for a sister a lady whose dress will never be as fine as your own? You would, thereby, always show off to advantage.”

  “The trouble, dear brother, is that Miss Carter is not a lady at all.”

  “What do you say?” Josiah stiffened, his feigned attitude of nonchalance altogether gone. Eleanor did not yet know about the episode with the pirates, did she?

  “You heard me perfectly well. There is not a lady in her whole family. Why, this evening’s vulgar display alone should be enough to prove the point.”

  He relaxed somewhat. “What would you consider vulgar about the dinner? I thought the meal rather good.”

  “Yes, the food was well enough, but think of the conversation. It was so uncivilized.”

  “Nonsense. Everyone was perfectly civil. Jovial, even.”

  “That’s just the point. Mrs. Carter and her daughters laughed at everything I said as if I were entertaining them on the stage.”

  “I am sure they only did it to gratify you.”

  “Well,” Eleanor said, pushing a dampened curl back into place, “I found it most disconcerting. In any case, the entertainments after dinner were even worse.”

  “Oh, come, now, Eleanor, certainly, the music was quite simple, but it was executed well. You cannot deny that.”

  “Frankly, Josiah, I did not notice. It was too vulgar, I could not stand to listen.”

  “Vulgar?”

  “Two of the girls played a flute, blowing their cheeks out in a most unbecoming manner. How could you not take offense?”

  “I suppose I never thought of it as offensive.” He thought for a moment. “They have not many musical instruments here that I’ve seen. Would it be better for them to learn no music at all?”

  “Necessity is no excuse for vulgarity,” James said, nodding as he bolstered his wife’s arguments.

  Josiah raised his eyebrows but said nothing. His sister and brother-in-law made less sense now than ever he could remember.

  “You see, Josiah? Coarse laughter, musical displays in poor taste and gambling at cards.”

  “You play at cards, Eleanor. And I’ve known you to wager and lose with some regularity.”

  “I play whist, Josiah. The Carters invited us to play all-fours, a most inferior game. And I believe they were playing an even lower gambling game when we arrived.”

  “What does it signify, Eleanor? Perhaps the customs are different in Maryland than those you are used to. Had you not considered that?”

  “Oh, indeed, you have been here too long, you poor boy. It must be that fever we hear so much about.” His sister nodded conspiratorially at her husband.

  “Josiah, these people are English, as we are, but they are an inferior sort, having never set foot on proper English soil.” James paused to take a pinch of snuff. “We set the custom, and they must follow. It’s quite simple, really.”

  Josiah took a slow breath to keep from snorting aloud with disgust. It was not at all simple, though in fairness he supposed he had thought the same at first. The colonists had not the resources to replicate life in England, but they seemed to be making an effort to acquire those resources. In the meantime, allowances had to be made. Of late, he had been so occupied with the concerns of business he had not spent much time thinking of what he missed of England.

  Other than coffee. He still missed that with great frequency.

  “Would anyone care for coffee?” he offered suddenly. Betty would get better at making it if she had more practice.

  His sister sniffed. “I will take some chocolate, Josiah, if you have any.”

  “I do. James?”

  “I will have coffee, also.”

  “With this wind, I’m afraid they won’t hear the bell. I’ll just tell them we require two coffees and another warm cider.”

&nbs
p; Eleanor looked at him darkly.

  “That is, a chocolate. Why you do not tell her of your distaste for cider yourself I cannot understand.” He put on his coat and cape and started for the kitchen. As the door shut behind him and a wet wind smacked him unpleasantly in the face, he remembered one of the problems he had thus far managed to keep from his mind by planning a hunting trip for his brother-in-law.

  What should he do about Priscilla?

  He opened the kitchen door and saw no one at first. The dim glow of the banked fire cast little light in the shuttered room, and no candles burned on the table or in the loft where Betty and Priscilla slept. Or at least where they were supposed to sleep. Priscilla had obviously taken to sleeping elsewhere on occasion.

  Josiah rubbed his eyes in an effort to stop that line of thought.

  “Is there something wanting, sir?” Priscilla slid off a stool set beside the fire, clutching a bit of needlework in her hands.

  “Ah, it’s you, then, Priscilla.”

  “Betty is asleep, sir.” The girl looked up to the loft and spoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “I hope I might be able to help you without disturbing her.”

  “Yes, yes.” Josiah followed her gaze to the loft and noticed the sounds of snoring just barely detectable over the rattle of the shutters at the windows. “Certainly, you should be able to.”

  He stopped. Actually, Priscilla probably did not know how to make coffee. He could do with just cider himself, but he had already offered coffee to his brother-in-law, and he hated to provide more fuel for the argument about the inferiority of life in the colonies. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

  Priscilla looked down. “No, sir.”

  “Very well. Can you make chocolate?”

  “I believe so, sir. But I’ll need to see if we’ve milk enough.”

  “You do that. And then…we shall figure out how to make coffee.” Had he heard himself correctly?

  He smiled at Priscilla as she put on her cape and went to fetch milk. He was going to help one of his servants prepare an item for his table. How very odd, and yet—why not? Was it better they should simply not ever drink coffee? Or wake Betty to prepare a beverage that was certain to be worse than whatever he and Priscilla conjured up? No. Although such behavior flew in the face of tradition, it made more sense that he show Priscilla how to roast, grind and brew the precious beans. Then she could take charge of its preparation in the future.

  Until…

  Josiah gulped. This would be the best time to talk to her. Betty’s snores assured him they would not suffer interruption from her, and eavesdropping by anyone else was unlikely.

  But what was he going to say? He felt a sense of uncertainty start to spiral up inside him as he paced the room. What was he going to say? How could he possibly maintain discipline without cruelly harming his people? She would return at any moment, he must have an answer, yet—

  Be not afraid.

  Those comforting words always seemed to appear when he was becoming paralyzed into inaction. And thank goodness, they did. He would not be afraid—there had to be a compromise, and he would puzzle it out.

  Josiah took a breath and started a fresh consideration of the problem. Some discipline, or at least some action, was called for. If Priscilla’s condition took her out of his service, she owed him the value of that service. But would it profit him to have her humiliated and flogged? Certainly not. Would it deter others from similar wrongdoing? Well, he had no female indentured servants other than Betty and Priscilla. The slaves were encouraged to reproduce. So, there would be nothing to be gained by corporal punishment or a public lawsuit.

  The law would award him an extra year on her indenture if he brought her before the court. Perhaps she might agree to add a few extra months to her indenture, to make up for whatever time was lost?

  Priscilla stepped in quietly with a pail of milk. After setting it down, she hoisted another pail, this one full of water, and poured some into a hanging pot. She raked the coals and added more wood to the fire. Then she crept up the ladder and returned a moment later with Betty’s keys.

  “I’ll get the chocolate, coffee and sugar,” Josiah offered. “Please prepare another pot of boiling water and a shallow pan to roast the beans.”

  When the grated chocolate was simmering with the water and milk and the roasted beans had been crushed and set to steep in boiling water, he called Priscilla to stand opposite him at the table. Then he cleared his throat and looked to the fire, again as if hoping for interruption from a flaming pot; but the beverages simmered without incident. He cleared his throat again.

  “Priscilla, Betty has told me about…about your condition.”

  The girl looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

  “Do you deny it?” Josiah felt very harsh as he heard the words come out, as though he were a judge passing sentence on a condemned prisoner.

  The girl continued to look down for some time without speaking, until Betty’s snoring and the gentle hiss of the pots over the fire began to sound deafening. When Priscilla finally looked up, her eyes reflected the fire like glass, but no tears had yet spilled out.

  “No, sir.”

  “I will not prosecute,” he said kindly, and he knew then he absolutely would not, even if the girl refused to agree to serve extra time. “And I will not make this news public, though I suppose I cannot stop others from talking.” He looked up at the loft and immediately wished he had not. It was unfair to criticize one servant in front of another, and for behavior not yet committed. “In any case, I would hope that, in fairness to your contract of indenture, you would agree to serve additional time if warranted by the consequences of your…condition.”

  “Time, sir?” Priscilla held up a single finger. “One year, only, sir?”

  “Perhaps less. Very likely so.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She had agreed! She had admitted the charge. He could now rest at ease; the matter was settled.

  But instead of getting to his feet to go, he asked another question. “About the boy, your…the father of the…” Josiah did stand now, and he paced a couple of steps away before facing her again.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “He will still be here when your indenture is up.”

  “I understand that, sir.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll work for wages, sir.” She looked around. “Somewhere. Then I’ll buy his freedom.”

  He could ask where she would live—any wages she would earn would barely cover a roof over her head. It would take years to earn enough to buy the freedom of the young, strong boy with whom she was apparently determined to stay. But he did not ask. When the time came, she could stay with the boy in the quarters at Hanset, if she desired.

  “There are those,” he said, and looked up at the loft again, “many people, in fact, who may shun your company.”

  “They do already.” Priscilla also glanced at the loft then turned her gaze back to Josiah frankly. “I mind it not, sir. I have found my place elsewhere, sir.”

  Josiah contemplated the girl in silence for some moments. What a life she had chosen for herself! But he knew not what kind of life she had left behind in England, either. No one who was happy with his life there would move across the ocean.

  “Very well, Priscilla, so we are understood. Our agreement will become known when questions are asked…” Josiah stopped himself before he could look up this time. “…and I will expect you to honor it. If you do, you need fear no further punishment.”

  “And…Benathi?”

  Was that the boy’s name? “I see no need to punish anyone further, so long as the work gets done.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The girl flashed a crooked smile, momentarily transforming her pockmarked face with a radiance that made her appear decidedly not of this world. Then she frowned; the illusion disappeared, and she looked the unremarkable servant once again.

  Her frown was directed at the fire, and Josiah follo
wed her gaze to see the pot of chocolate brimming with large bubbles that exploded over the side and sizzled into the ashes with the aroma of burnt milk.

  “I expect it’s done now, is it?” He sometimes wondered if he spoke simply because he expected to hear someone say something, however unnecessary it might be.

  “Yes, sir.” Priscilla had already taken up a cloth to remove the pot from its hanger.

  As Josiah moved closer to the fire to assist, the smell of coffee assailed his nose. “If you can bring the coffee over, I will take the chocolate to Lady Davenport.” He picked up the cup she had just filled. “If I’m not mistaken, she generally prefers chocolate to cider.” He looked over at the boiling pot of coffee. “It looks strong enough to walk itself to the house. Extra milk in mine, if you please, Priscilla.”

  He grinned and started to leave in haste, to put some distance between himself and the servant. But why? Just so it would appear to his sister and brother-in-law he was not on too intimate a footing with his servants? Besides, Priscilla would have both hands full with the coffee. Josiah waited until she had the cups ready then held the door for her and escorted her to the house, hoping his sister would notice when he opened the door and allowed the servant to enter first.

  Chapter Forty

  "Caroline, you are not going to do this.” Georgiana blocked the doorway of her older sister’s room. “The dance is in two days.”

  “This is a good day for it; we’ve plenty of ashes and fat collected, and we are very nearly out of soap. We may not have such a nice day again until after we run out. Besides,” Caroline said, grinning as she pulled a frayed cap over her hair, “I am dreadfully bored. My gown is as finished as it will ever be, and I cannot stand to look at it anymore.”

  “But, what if you burn your skin? You could singe your hair! And you’ll never get the smell out in time.” Georgiana appeared near to tears. “You will arrive at the dance smelling like bacon grease, and the scent will carry over to us, as well.”