Just Jane

by William Lavender

  “We usually go at this time of year, and the incessant raids out there require my immediate attention. Besides,” he added, glancing darkly at Clarissa, “I’ve noticed that city life is unhealthy for well-bred ladies. The country is more beneficial, and we’ll stay there from now on.”

  Jane shot a puzzled look at Clarissa but saw only a blank expression. “What do you mean, Uncle Robert?”

  “No more questions,” he snapped. “I’m going now to arrange for Nellie to join Sam Blaine’s household. They have need of an extra maid. Meanwhile, you two pack up. We leave as soon as I get back.”

  He strode out, leaving Jane again searching Clarissa’s face for explanation. “Something’s happened, Aunt Clarissa. I know it has. Tell me!”

  Clarissa smiled faintly. “Never mind, dear. We must obey quietly. Robert is king, and we are his subjects.”

  By late evening the family was again settled in at Rosewall. Robert ordered a bed made up for him in his study, far from the large bedroom he normally shared with Clarissa.

  “I’m not sleeping well, you see,” he told Cuba. “My tossing and turning disturb Mrs. Prentice.”

  Cuba was not one to question this departure from custom, and Clarissa clearly already knew its reasons. The mysterious tension filled the great house. Even more disturbing to Jane was the thought that a certain gentleman might come to Charlestown, and she would be thirty miles away at Rosewall.

  Robert was off the following morning to report to Louis Lambert about rumors of General Cornwallis's planned sweep through North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, and on to New York. Most Loyalists saw the British general as a conquering hero, but Robert Prentice scorned him. He regaled Jane and Clarissa about it later, as they worked on their embroidery in the parlor.

  “That fool Cornwallis thinks he can crush all opposition before him. But the rebels have popped up like weasels, thumbing their noses after him at every crossroads between here and Camden. He just keeps racing north after the Continentals’ General Greene, never noticing a thing!”

  His mood hasn’t improved, Jane thought, but at least he’s talking again. Clarissa paid no attention to him.

  Robert talked on. “Luckily, Brandon’s cavalry unit is doing a fine job, I hear. Stalwart Loyalists like them will win this thing in the end, not vain military peacocks like Cornwallis. He covers himself in glory, leaving citizens like us to fend for ourselves! Very well. Louis Lambert and I have decided to form our own militia. Forty or fifty good men, gathered from miles around. Never fear, we’ll defend ourselves!”

  He paused for breath. “Now, did any messages arrive for me today?”

  Clarissa finally glanced up from her work. “From whom, dear? King George, your fellow monarch across the sea?”

  He glared at her stonily.

  “No, Uncle, there have been no messages,” Jane said.

  “If one comes, summon me immediately.” He stomped angrily upstairs.

  But when the gate bell jangled half an hour later, Robert himself rushed out to answer it. Jane, watching from the parlor, saw him return shortly and hurry back upstairs. Burning with curiosity, she followed him and looked in at the open door of his study. He stood absorbed in a letter.

  “Not bad news, I hope, Uncle Robert?”

  Annoyed to see her standing there, he pocketed the letter. “Military matters,” he growled. “They don’t concern you.” Jane’s tolerance for being dismissed in this way was wearing thin. “Am I too simpleminded to understand military matters?” she asked sharply.

  His scowl deepened. “I said, they don’t concern you!”

  “It seems, Uncle, that you think nothing does.”

  “I’m in no mood for your insolence, girl!”

  This time his anger only made her bolder. “Indeed, you seem determined to keep me ignorant of all things,” she continued. “Well, sir, you cannot. I have learned much, and continue to do so, despite your efforts to prevent it!”

  Before he could reply, she rushed to her room and slammed the door behind her. How long can this go on? she seethed. Sooner or later something’s going to crack.

  That same night, something did.

  Too upset to think of sleeping, Jane decided to write a letter to Harriet. She often did this, though it was not always possible to send the letter immediately. She had just begun when she heard Robert’s ill-tempered growl and Clarissa’s shrill, agitated voice floating up from downstairs. Quarreling again, Jane thought—but at least now she might find out why. She tiptoed to the top of the stairs and listened silently. The quarrel was becoming a shouting match. And what she heard took her breath away.

  “How could you!” Clarissa cried. “Persecuting an innocent man—is that how you punish me?”

  “Innocent, my eye! He’s the worst kind of criminal, smuggling for the rebels!”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Don’t I? Fleming lays out all the evidence in his letter. They’re operating in the Carolinas, the ringleader’s known to be from Pennsylvania, he’s called The Schoolmaster, and they found a letter from his sister that showed his first name is Simon. Then who should suddenly appear in Charlestown? None other than Schoolmaster Simon Cordwyn! Not only meaning to wreck my family but to destroy my very—”

  “What’s happened to Mr. Cordwyn?” Jane cried out, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “When was he in Charlestown?”

  “Tell her, Robert.” Clarissa turned away. “She’ll hear soon enough.”

  Turning to Jane, Robert spoke with grim deliberation. “Unfortunately, your former teacher has been running a vast smuggling network for the rebels. However, he’s now in jail on a charge of treason.”

  “And all thanks to your heroic uncle,” Clarissa added bitterly. “He told Captain Fleming where to find him.”

  “Thanks to me?” Robert snorted. “Do give yourself a little credit!”

  “Yes, I’m to blame, too. Simon sent you a note, dear. I intercepted it and met him myself. Robert followed me and discovered him.”

  Jane’s burning rage burst into words. “I don’t know which of you I despise more! You scheming meddler, Aunt Clarissa! What right did you have to steal a letter? And you, Uncle Robert! You’ve always hated Mr. Cordwyn! How you must have enjoyed betraying him! You’re a monster!”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” he shouted.

  “I should have dared long ago! I renounce you, sir! I renounce you both. You’re no kin of mine!”

  “Jane, I will not tolerate this kind of—”

  “I will never speak to either of you again as long as I live!” Wild-eyed with fury, Jane flew back upstairs.

  Stunned, Robert turned to Clarissa. “Has she taken leave of her senses? That scoundrel was after her, we know that. Could she have wanted him to be?”

  Clarissa smiled calmly. “It’s perfectly clear, Robert. She’s in love with him. Probably has been since she first met him at Arthur’s, years ago.”

  “And you mean to say she’s nursed those feelings all this time? Why have I never seen it?”

  “Because, like me, you have been a blind fool. Good night.” With serene dignity, Clarissa left the room.

  Robert stood staring around a cold, lifeless room meant to contain warmth and laughter. “Rosewall,” he sighed. “Soon you’ll be all I have left.”

  Nesded against the great stone wall near the front gate was the small cabin shared by Cuba and Omar. Omar’s duties as gatekeeper were among his most important. Luckily for his master, he had a catlike ability to snap awake at the slightest noise—a talent that had foiled more than one rebel raid. That midnight, soft footsteps outside brought him instantly to attention.

  In the dim moonlight, Jane was pulling at the gate’s heavy bolt when Omar loomed up behind her.

  “What you doing, miss?” His tone was gruff.

  Startled, Jane gasped, but then answered firmly. “I’m going to the city.”

  “In the night? No, no, there be danger out there. Bad mens, wild anima
ls. You get lost, fall down, die. You acting crazy, miss!”

  “Maybe so, but I’m going anyway. I won’t stay here any longer.” She gave Omar a curious look. “Haven’t you ever thought of running away? You and Cuba are both strong. You could do it. Go, Omar. Take Cuba and run! Why should you be the slave of someone who’s no better a man than you?”

  With a solemn shake of his head, Omar gave her a simple reply. “No, miss. Omar not run. Cuba won’t run, and Omar not run without her.”

  Cuba had come out to investigate. “Miss Jane! What in the world—?”

  “Young miss, she running away to Charlestown,” Omar said.

  “Lordy, child! Why?”

  “I can’t explain now,” Jane said. “But if you are my friends, and I think you are, you won’t try to stop me.”

  The two servants looked at each other and by some mysterious form of communication reached silent agreement.

  “We not stop you, miss,” Omar said. “But you not go by yourself. Omar get a horse, go with you, come back tomorrow.”

  Cuba nodded approval. “A good plan.” To Jane she said, “I’ll tell Master we found you gone in the morning, and Omar went to look for you.”

  It was settled. Omar pulled back the bolt and swung the gate open.

  “Get back as soon as you can,” Cuba told him. And when Jane tried to express her thanks to both, Cuba stopped her. “Never mind that, child. Go along now. No use standin’ here talkin’ ’bout it all night.”

  A moment later, Cuba silently bolted the gate behind them. She sniffed the air. There would be rain soon. A wild creature cried in the swamp to the north. Cuba hugged herself against the chill and hurried back inside.

  In the elegant front hallway, the tall grandfather clock tick-tocked away the silent hours. And on the low settee beside it, a terse note lay folded, waiting for the first early riser to find it in the morning.

  Dear Uncle and Aunt,

  I have gone to my cousin Hugh Prentice on Queen Street. I shall always be grateful for the kindness you have shown me, but I will never live under your roof again.

  Good-bye,

  Jane

  Chapter 27

  Peering out a window at the sound of a knock at his front door the next morning, Hugh was alarmed by what he saw: a giant, stern-faced black man. Then recognition came, and he turned to Lydia, who was just coming downstairs.

  “Good Lord, I believe it’s Robert’s man from Rosewall! What’s his name? Omar. Let’s hope it’s not bad news.”

  Hurriedly opening the door, they saw that Omar was not alone. Standing beside him, but tottering as if barely able to stay on her feet, was Jane.

  Lydia gasped at the sight. “Jane! What on earth . . . ?”

  One on either side, they helped her inside and led her to a chair, where she collapsed while Lydia brushed her disarrayed hair out of her eyes and wiped her moist face with a cloth. “What’s happened, love? Tell us!”

  Jane opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. The reply came, instead, from Omar, standing in the doorway. “Young miss need food, water, and rest. Walk all night from Rosewall.”

  “ Walked? All the way from Rosewall?” Hugh stared at the black man in disbelief. “Don’t you have carriages there? Horses, at least?”

  “Omar go for horse, then stop. Think. Horses in stable make noise, Master come out to see. Not good. Walk, only way.”

  “But why?” Lydia cried. “Jane, for heaven’s sake—what’s happened?”

  At last Jane found an ounce of energy to speak. “I ran away,” she said in a cracked and feeble voice.

  Though there was still much to be explained, Lydia’s motherly instincts told her that two tired and hungry travelers needed to be taken care of, and with this in mind she moved with brisk efficiency.

  Omar was impatient to start back, saying, “Master be very angry with me.” He tarried only long enough to drink two large cups of water and accept a hastily wrapped package of bread and cheese from Lydia. “Must go now,” he announced, nodding his thanks, then looked expectantly at Jane.

  Still unsteady on her feet, she rose and went to him. “Omar . . .” Words were suddenly hard to find. “What can I say? I shall be indebted to you forever.”

  He shook his head, disdaining her gratitude. “You safe now, miss. Be at peace.”

  A moment later he was gone, and Jane was standing in the doorway looking after him. Her eyes were glistening when she turned back to Hugh and Lydia.

  “It may well be that I owe my life to him,” she told them. “And in all those weary hours of trudging through the night, he concerned himself only with my safety. Never once asked why I was running away.”

  Lydia went to her and took her by the arm. “Come, love. We’ll go upstairs now. And while I fix you a good meal, Hugh will get a bed ready for you so you can sleep for as many hours as you want.”

  Now Hugh was at her side as well, smiling his gentle smile. “And soon, my dear, perhaps you’ll tell us why you ran away.”

  Helping her along step by step, they made their way upstairs.

  Before that day was out, and while Hugh and Lydia were still trying to recover from the shock of the story Jane had told them, the news had spread through the city—the rebel smuggling agent known far and wide as The Schoolmaster had been arrested.

  Hugh immediately began to make discreet inquiries, asking in every tavern, shop, and market where people gathered to gossip. But all he could learn was that the notorious prisoner was confined in the dungeon of the old Exchange Building, that the charge against him was treason, and that his trial was scheduled to begin in two weeks. Hugh tried to sound optimistic when reporting this to Jane and Lydia, but he knew that Simon’s future looked bleak. No one expected a British military court to show leniency in a trial on charges of treason. For now, Simon languished in a dark, filthy, airless cell, with no visitors allowed.

  Meanwhile, Hugh and Lydia did their best to make Jane feel welcome. They cleaned out a storage area behind Hugh’s workshop on the first floor and made a small but comfortable room for her. They tried not to ask too many questions, seeming to understand her absentmindedness and general lack of sociability as she settled in with them. Jane fretted that her presence would strain their scant supplies, but Hugh and Lydia were so gracious that she soon began to feel more at ease in this regard.

  But they could do nothing to relieve her torment of worry over what Simon’s fate might be—worries that, after all, they fully shared. Keeping herself busy, Jane soon realized, was the only way to avoid worrying herself sick. It was a kind of blessing that in the cabinetmaker’s humble home servants were unknown. Seizing on this fact, Jane pitched in with the chores with such tireless energy that Hugh and Lydia were soon wondering how they had ever managed without her. All the while, Jane half expected Robert to appear, wanting to take her back to Rosewall. He’d have to drag me kicking and screaming, she told herself grimly.

  In the end, it was Clarissa who came. Jane was sweeping out the shop one afternoon, about a week after her arrival, when a carriage pulled up and Clarissa looked out to greet Jane with a cheery smile. “Jane, dear. Hello!”

  “Oh, hello,” Jane replied coldly and went on sweeping.

  “I brought you a few clothes,” Clarissa said, trying again as her driver unloaded several bulky parcels.

  “How thoughtful,” Jane said. She could see Clarissa eyeing with distaste the ill-fitting dress and boots she was wearing, borrowed from Lydia. “I thank you. But I might as well tell you right now—I’m not coming back.”

  “I’m not here to ask you that, I promise. But won’t you come for a little drive with me, so we can chat?”

  Reluctantly, Jane agreed to a short visit. “We’ve both received letters from Brandon,” Clarissa said as the carriage drove off. “I’ve brought yours.”

  “What does it say?” Jane asked curtly, accepting her letter but not glancing at it. “You’re so good at reading my mail, you must know.”

  Clar
issa winced. “I deserved that. I’m so sorry, Jane. I’d give anything to heal the hurt Robert and I have caused you.”

  Jane let that pass. “Well, what does Brandon say in your letter?”

  “He’s disgusted with General Cornwallis for giving up his push northward and making camp for the winter at Winnsboro. That appears to mean there’ll be no more action till spring, and you know how hotheaded Brandon is—always itching to fight. As for me, I’m just thankful he’s still safe.”

  “Amen to that,” Jane agreed. Reports from soldiers in camp always renewed her worries about Brandon, and about Peter Quincy, fighting with the Patriots somewhere north of Charlestown.

  Clarissa went on. “Robert’s still working hard with Louis Lambert, trying to whip their scruffy militia into shape. He’s determined to defend Rosewall as long as he can draw breath. I must say, I personally consider it rather foolish to love a piece of land practically as much as you love life itself. But he’s my husband. And even though we’ve had certain difficulties, I’m trying very hard to be his devoted wife.”

  “How very touching,” Jane said dryly, obviously not touched by this declaration of wifely devotion.

  Clarissa sighed dejectedly. “Jane, dear, I have a confession to make. The quarrel between Robert and me wasn’t just about his informing on Simon. There was something else, you see, something between Simon and me—”

  “You mean the affair you and he had?” Jane asked casually. “I knew all about that years ago.”

  “What?” Clarissa was rendered almost speechless. “How did you know?”

  “I heard you two whispering together one night in the Ainsleys’ garden.”

  “And you never breathed a word? My God, how slow I’ve been to recognize your qualities! We all miss you terribly, you know. Especially Robert. He was furious with Omar for helping you run away.”