Rosewall. Suddenly she had the feeling that going to the backcountry plantation, a day’s journey away, would be like going to another foreign land.
It was stiflingly hot that night. Jane was a long time getting to sleep, slept fitfully, and awoke after an hour feeling limp and exhausted. The French windows leading to the third-floor veranda were open, but no breath of air stirred. Jane rose and went out onto the veranda, hoping to find a cool breeze. There was none, but the garden below was enchanting under soft moonlight. All was quiet. All the world was asleep.
But not quite. Gradually, Jane became aware of low voices drifting up on the still air. She tiptoed down the veranda toward the rear corner of the house. Two people sat on a garden bench below, half hidden in the shadows. The blond hair of Clarissa Prentice shone like spun gold in the moonlight, and Jane could make out the broad shoulders of Simon Cordwyn beside her.
“I had intended to apologize,” Simon was saying. “But the way he went after me set me off. Now he’s demanding that Mr. Ainsley send me packing.”
“Don’t give it a thought,” Clarissa said soothingly. “Do you think for one moment I’d let that happen? Never, my darling, I couldn’t bear it!”
My darling? Jane stifled a gasp.
Clarissa’s fingers played in Simon’s hair. “Now, go back to your room. If I can get away later, I’ll come to you, I promise.” She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers.
Turning away, Jane crept back to her room and crawled into bed, to He staring at the ceiling in wide-eyed shock. Which was worse? Her sharp disappointment at the kind and gende schoolmaster, whom she had come to respect and admire so much? Or the disgust she felt for the lovely Clarissa, the shameless, deceiving wife? She knew only that there would be very little sleep for herself that night.
Two carriages were drawn up in front of the house the next morning. It was all arranged: Robert and Clarissa would travel in the first, Jane and Mrs. Morley in the second. While the drivers loaded the baggage, the Ainsleys and their guests said hasty good-byes in the courtyard. Brandon fervently clasped Jane’s hands and promised to visit her soon and often, since her sweet company was essential to his existence. She gave him a distracted smile, and after embracing Arthur and Harriet with warm thanks for all their kindness, climbed into her carriage beside Mrs. Morley. Watching them, she noticed that although Arthur embraced and kissed his sister, he barely mumbled a word to Robert. How sad it was to see the brothers-in-law harboring resentment against each other. Harriet gave Robert and Clarissa expansive hugs and waved cheerily to her departing guests.
Jane settled back, eager to be gone. But as the first carriage pulled out, Simon suddenly appeared beside the second, delaying its departure.
“I know your uncle wouldn’t approve of my speaking to you, Jane. But I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye. I’ll miss you.”
Her eyes fixed on the carriage driver’s back, Jane replied with cold formality. “Really? How nice. I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”
He regarded her with a puzzled frown. “What’s the matter? Are you angry with me about something?”
Still she refused to look at him. “No, not angry, Mr. Cordwyn. Just disappointed.” Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver, “Move out, please.”
As the carriage clattered away, Mrs. Morley looked back to see Simon staring after them with a look of slack-jawed astonishment. Her own face wore a look of shocked disapproval as she turned to the girl beside her.
“I must say, Jane! That was really quite rude of you!”
Jane tossed her head crossly. “I don’t care! I hate him, and I hate his boring school, and I can’t wait to get to Rosewall!” And if that’s true, she thought, tears stinging her eyes, why do I feel so miserable?
Chapter 9
As a young bride arriving in the South Carolina back-country, Clarissa Prentice had taken one look at the fourteen-foot-high stone wall encircling her husband Robert’s plantation house and its gardens, and called the place a fortress. To soften its appearance, she had ordered hundreds of climbing English roses brought in, which she had planted along the base of the wall. Soon the great expanses of stern, forbidding stone disappeared beneath fragrant bloodred blossoms and thorny growth, and the name Rosewall was born.
A great iron gate guarded the only entrance to the grounds. Shimmering in the distance, a quarter mile beyond, the winding Edisto River lay, like a twisted thread on a deep green carpet. The three-story brick-and-timber mansion sat a hundred yards back from the gate. Surrounding the house was a garden paradise, complete with grape-laden arbors, masses of flowers, giant moss-hung oaks, lush green lawns, and meandering gravel footpaths. Gazing about, Jane felt that she had entered a world of almost unearthly peace and serenity. As she stepped into the house a few minutes later, the magnificent interior of high ceilings, richly paneled walls, and fine furnishings took her breath away. The Ainsley house in Charlestown was grand, but even in England Jane had never seen such splendor as this.
A muscular giant of a man appeared, ebony black, completely bald, and barefoot. He was Omar, the butler, and he moved with uncommon grace and dignity. Omar bowed to each person in turn, with an especially low bow for Jane.
“Omar here to serve you, miss,” he said in a resonant voice. “What you ask be Omar’s command.”
Thanking him, Jane turned to meet the lighter black woman who now stood at his side. Cuba, the cook and housekeeper, was Omar’s wife. Her broad face crinkled with a warm smile. “Praise God, you be sent from heaven, child!” she exclaimed. “You’ll liven up this big ol’ house right quick, I’d say.” Jane returned her smile and, just this once, didn’t mind being called a child.
Clarissa showed Jane up to a sunny, pale pink room on the second floor.
“This is your room, dear. We hope you’ll like it. We truly enjoyed getting it ready for you.”
“It’s beautiful,” Jane exclaimed, gazing around her at tall windows with lacy white curtains, a tall four-poster bed, and soft, fluffy pillows. “Thank you for everything you did to make it so.”
“Oh, it was mostly Cuba, really. Robert may be the owner here, but it’s really Cuba and Omar who run the place. Cuba works miracles managing the house, keeping us all fed and everything in perfect order. And Omar—there’s a man of many talents. In another life, he could have been a great leader.”
Jane thought of the Ainsleys’ servants. Though kindly treated, they had seemed more like phantoms than people, gliding silently in and out, eyes downcast, speaking only when spoken to. Omar and Cuba, though, seemed to see themselves as valued persons in their own right, perhaps because their owners—or at least their mistress—openly acknowledged their importance.
Jane felt tempted to soften her attitude toward her beautiful aunt. But when she recalled the whispered conversation in a moonlit garden—and the promise of a tryst to follow—the temptation vanished. In time, she hoped to overcome Robert’s anger toward her. But how could she ever get over her disgust at seeing his wife betray him? And why, she wondered, do I, too, feel somehow betrayed?
The summer daylight was beginning to fade when they gathered in the dining room an hour later. To Jane’s relief, her uncle seemed in an amiable mood as he inquired if her room was satisfactory. She assured him that it was more than satisfactory, it was beautiful.
“Indeed,” she added, “Rosewall is quite beautiful altogether.”
Robert gave a pleased smile. “Actually, you’ve seen very little of it so far. Later I’ll take you upstairs, where you can see its full extent.”
“Feel honored, Jane,” Clarissa said dryly. “You’ll get to see Robert’s favorite place, his observatory. He reads his precious poetry up there and stares off for miles in all directions. Everything you can see from up there is Rosewall land. The kingdom of His Majesty, King Robert the First!”
Shocked by Clarissa’s sarcasm, Jane shot a curious look at her. But Robert only chuckled indulgently. He didn’t seem to
mind her words a bit.
The observatory, it turned out, was the entire third floor of the house. Reached by a steep, narrow staircase at the end of a long hallway, the chamber was almost bare, except for a table and chair in one comer and a desk stacked with old books in another. A portrait of King George, complete with crown and long jeweled robe, hung above the desk. Robert stood watching Jane while she gazed around her. The golden light of the setting sun shone through high, open windows on all four sides of the room, and the rich fragrance of the thousands of roses far below seemed to fill the air they breathed.
Jane looked out beyond the massive rose wall at a panorama stretching to the distant horizon. Robert pointed out the intricate system of ditches bringing the flooded rice fields their life-giving water. There were barns, vegetable gardens, and fruit orchards, and two long rows of small brick houses for the slaves working the crops. Beyond the rice fields lay endless wilderness, with the river winding through a brooding swamp. Barely visible in the twilight, plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys at the plantation of Robert’s friend Louis Lambert and his family, several miles to the north.
Robert pointed to a pair of large birds soaring in the luminous sky. “Eagles. The swamp is their home, and the alligators’ as well. This land belonged to the wild creatures long before it was ours, Jane. We are the interlopers here.” He drew a long sigh. “Clarissa mocks me, calling this my kingdom and all that. She doesn’t love it the way I do. That’s because it reminds her of the one great sadness that has darkened our lives. Our little daughter was taken by the fever in her infancy, years ago.”
“Yes, Aunt Harriet told me about that. I’m so sorry, Uncle Robert.”
“But now that you’re here, Jane—” His wistful smile touched her heart. “Perhaps you’ll be the daughter we always dreamed of having.” Now, at last, he embraced her tenderly. “Welcome, my dear. Welcome home.”
As the long midsummer days passed, Jane settled comfortably into her new life at Rosewall. The only difficulty was that she missed the lively city of Charlestown, missed the Ainsleys and their charming home—and, most of all, missed Mr. Cordwyn. But she could not forget what she had learned about him and Clarissa, and she made a solemn vow never to speak to or even think of him again. Meanwhile, Brandon visited occasionally, providing a welcome diversion, even though he spent most of his time talking to Robert—pardy about “the troubles,” and partly about his favorite topic, horses and racing. Playing the beautiful German harpsichord in the parlor was another pleasant diversion, as was strolling in the garden among the many-scented flowers.
Mrs. Morley kept insisting to Jane that she disliked living “out in the wilderness,” as she called it. But she got along well with both master and mistress, and though finding Omar a little frightening, she formed an easy relationship with the cheerful Cuba. Soon Mrs. Morley found ways to keep busy: mending clothes, darning socks, and doing other useful chores.
Despite Clarissa’s observation that Omar and Cuba ran the place, the true ruler was clearly Clarissa herself. She fulfilled her many duties with confident efficiency. Jane was glad for the chance to learn from her, and Clarissa instructed her patiently. But their long hours together produced no real bond between them. And, sadly, it seemed to Jane that her aunt took no pleasure in the privileged life she led—with one exception: She genuinely loved the garden. The cool early mornings nearly always found her out surveying the flower beds, directing her several gardeners to clip a wayward camellia branch here, or pluck away faded azalea blossoms there. A large corner of the garden Clarissa reserved for her dozens of imported rosebushes, and these she tended herself. She allowed Jane to help her, dressed in an old frock and a too-big sun hat that Clarissa no longer used.
One morning, gazing up at the wall looming above them as they worked, Clarissa fell into a somber mood. “When all is said and done, it really is rather like a prison here, don’t you think?” She smiled at Jane’s shocked look. “Don’t worry. In a few years you’ll marry and leave here, while I . . .” She shrugged and went on working.
Jane stepped closer. “Rosewall is your home, Aunt Clarissa, not a prison. Your husband seems a fine man, and I’m sure he loves you dearly.”
“It’s true, I am one of two things Robert loves best in the world. The first is Rosewall, and I’m definitely second. Notice I said thing—a lovely ornament at Rosewall. And now you are one, too.”
“It seems to me that you’re much more than an ornament here,” Jane said as they worked. “I’ve watched you. You’re busy all day long, attending to a thousand details. I only hope I can be of some help to you.”
“Of course you will,” Clarissa said. “And in a few years, there’ll be a fine wedding here. You’ll become the wife of some carefully selected son of a good Carolina family and go live in a big house of your own.”
“Carefully selected?” Jane echoed. “You mean by Uncle Robert?”
“Well, not literally, I suppose. But he’ll expect you to be guided by his judgment. You are his ward, after all.”
“Only until I’m twenty-one.”
“But surely you’ll be married by then.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps I won’t make any important choices in life until after I’m twenty-one. Then I can make my own, using my own judgment.”
Clarissa paused in her work to stare at her young assistant. “I must say, Jane, that refined English-lady manner of yours is quite deceiving. You’ve got a lot more grit in you than I thought.”
Not sure whether she had just received a compliment or a scolding, Jane let this pass without comment.
The next morning, Clarissa unexpectedly announced that she was going into Charlestown. “Someone must see to our house repairs,” she told Robert, “and you’re needed here more than I am.”
Jane asked if she could come along. “I’d so like to see Aunt Harriet and Uncle Arthur again.”
But Clarissa shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, not this time. For a few days, you must be mistress of Rosewall.”
Omar swung open the iron gate for her carriage, and Clarissa, in her best finery, was on her way. Jane watched glumly, afraid the trip had less to do with house repairs than with a lonely woman flying to her lover’s arms. Is she unfaithful to Uncle Robert because she feels no love in their marriage?
Robert, standing beside her on the veranda, looked fondly and longingly after the departing carriage. “She’s my treasure, Jane. I’d be lost without her. I’m a lucky man.”
Jane nodded. So much for the theory that Clarissa was unloved by her husband. “Yes, Uncle Robert. And she’s a lucky lady.”
If only she had the good sense to realize it.
Chapter 10
Gloom descended over Robert in Clarissa’s absence. His duties took him away from the house for hours each day, but when he was at home, he roamed the house restlessly. He really is lost without her, Jane thought.
But at the same time, she was pleased to notice a real friendship developing between Robert and Mrs. Morley. More precisely, the warm relationship that had existed between them when Robert was a boy began to grow again. In the evenings while Clarissa was away, Robert, Mrs. Morley, and Jane sat together in the parlor, sipping sassafras tea and talking. Robert asked if Mrs. Morley was comfortable at Rosewall. Was her room satisfactory? She replied that her airy, second-floor room right next to Jane’s, with its nice view of the garden, was perfect, thank you, sir. Tactfully, she refrained from mentioning the complaint she often voiced to Jane, about living “out here in the wilderness.” Mostly Jane listened as the other two reminisced about old times in England, long before she was bom, occasionally chuckling at stories of Robert’s boyhood pranks with his brother, Jane’s father.
“You know, Mr. Robert’s really a kind soul,” Mrs. Morley told the girl later. “You were very lucky when he consented to become your guardian.”
“Indeed I was, Mrs. Morley.” Jane readily agreed, happy that her old companion was starting to settle in. But Robert’s own
discontent was past helping until Clarissa’s return. Fortunately, in a few days she was back—and his gloom lifted.
“I bring news,” she began. They were seating themselves in the parlor while Cuba brought refreshments. “First, the house will be ready very soon.”
Robert nodded, pleased. “That’s excellent.”
“Second—and you won’t like this, Robert—the whole city’s talking about the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. It’s rumored they’re about to adopt a resolution by Mr. Thomas Jefferson of Virginia—”
“Stop right there,” Robert growled. “I know about Jefferson. He’s a dangerous lunatic. I’ll hear no more of him. What else?”
“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to that, anyway. Third, I’ve invited a few people for the weekend. It’s so dull here. I thought, at least for Jane’s sake, we should have some friends in.”
“You might’ve asked me first,” Robert grumbled.
“And you’d have raised all sorts of objections, as usual. It’s just the Dunnings, the Lamberts, and Arthur and family. They’ll come on Saturday, and we’ll have a grand feast.” Clarissa glanced apologetically at Cuba. “Sorry to announce this so suddenly, Cuba.”
“Oh, no trouble, missus!” Cuba flashed her ever-ready smile. “Saturday two days away. Plenty time.”
“You invited Arthur here?” Robert asked, glowering at Clarissa.
“He is my brother, Robert! Can’t you try to get along just for a day or two? Arthur’s willing. Is it too much to ask?”
“I hope Brandon’s coming, too?”
“Indeed, he’s longing to see Jane again. He’s quite taken with you, dear. Fancies himself becoming your husband one day.”
“And you could hardly do better, Jane,” Robert put in. “He’s a young man of fine character, and his loyalty to the Crown is beyond question. Which, unfortunately, is more than can be said of his father.”
Just Jane Page 5
