Like Oliver, I'd also stopped in to see him and say good-bye. I was received with absentminded cordiality, but he favored me with his old smile, which for some reason imparted a bad feeling in me. I tried talking to him; he paid scant attention. The only time he showed any animation was when his eye fell upon my sword-stick. His face clouded and he began rubbing his crooked wrist where the bones still ached. He shook his head from side to side and the watchful footman whose job it was to keep track of his young master stepped forward and suggested that I should leave. "It's awful, isn't it?" I said.
Oliver agreed with me. "I plan to look after him, though. Now and then he has a lucid moment, the trick is to get them to last. Wish I knew the cause of it. The doctors they've taken him to say anything from the falling sickness to the flying gout, which means they haven't any good idea. And the treatments! Everything from laudanum to bathing in earth." He looked both grim and sad. Warburton had been his best friend.
"That's probably the launch to take me out to the ship," I remarked, pointing.
"Not long now." He turned away from the view and craned his neck toward the crowds strolling up and down the quay. "Looking for someone?"
He shrugged. "I just thought that... well, that your Miss Jones might have come by to... you know, see you off."
No, she wouldn't be coming. It was daylight and Nora never... never... something. I'd gone blank on whatever it was I'd been thinking. Annoying, but it was probably of little importance.
"She's been very busy lately," I told him. "Poor Warburton's condition deeply affected her, y'know." Soon after Warburton had left for London, Nora had also moved back. "His mother told me that she often comes to visit him. Seems to do him good, though it doesn't last for long."
Nora's sudden departure from Cambridge had puzzled Oliver. "You and she-you didn't have a quarrel or anything, did you? I mean when you got that letter to go back..."
"What an absurd idea." But he did not appear convinced. "Let me assure you that we parted the best of friends. She's a lovely girl, truly lovely. It's been a delight to have had her friendship, but all good things must come to an end."
"You're pretty cool about it, I must say. I thought you were in love with her."
My turn to shrug. "I loved her, of course. I shall certainly miss her, but there are other girls to meet in this wide world."
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing, really. Just a headache." I absently rubbed the back of my head and the small ridge of scar hidden by the hair. Acquired on some drunken debauch earlier in the year when I must have stumbled and fallen against something, it occasionally troubled me. "You'll look after her for me as well, won't you?"
"If you wish. Won't you be writing her yourself, though?"
"I... don't think so. Clean break, y'see. But I'd feel better if you could let me know how she's doing. It strikes me that though she has many friends, she's rather alone in the world. I mean, she does have that aunt of hers, but you know how it is."
"Yes," he said faintly. Oliver didn't much approve of Nora, but he was a decent man and would do as I asked. I looked at him anew and realized how much both of us had grown in the nearly three years of my stay. In many ways he'd become the brother I'd never had. The weight of the world fell upon my spirit as I faced the possibility that I might never see him again.
The launch glided up and ropes were thrown to hold it to the dock; the oars were secured. A smart-looking ship's officer jumped out and marched purposefully toward our tavern.
It was time.
"God," I said, choking on the sudden clot of tears that had formed in my throat.
Oliver turned from the window and smiled at me, but the corners of his mouth kept tugging downward with his own sorrow. He made no comment. We each knew how the other felt. That made things better and worse at once.
"Well, I'm damned sorry to see you go," he said, his own throat constricting and making the words come out unevenly. "You're the only relative I've got who's worth a groat and I'm not ashamed to say it."
"But not in front of the rest of the family," I reminded him.
"God forbid," he added sincerely, and the old and bitter joke made us both laugh one more time.
Ignoring the stinging water that blurred our vision, we went out to meet the officer.
Long Island, September 1776
'They was my hosses 'n' wagon, Mr. Barrett, 'n' still mine but for that bit of paper. I figger 'twill take another bit of paper to get 'em back 'n' want you to do it for me."
Thus spoke our neighbor, Mr. Finch, as he sat in Father's library. He was angry, but holding it in well enough; I would have been in an incoherent rage over the theft. His had become a familiar story on the Island as the commissaries of the occupying army diligently worked to fill their pockets as well as the bellies of the soldiers.
"What sort of paper?" asked Father, looking grave. "It were a receipt for the produce I were sellin' to 'em. I had my Roddy read it, but they left out how much I were to be paid 'n' said it would be filled in later." He placed the document before Father.
"And you signed it?" He tapped a finger against a mark at the bottom of the sheet.
Finch's weather-reddened face darkened. "They give me no choice! Them bloody soldiers was standin' all 'round us with their guns 'n' grinnin' like devils. I had to sign it or they'd a' done God knows what 'n' more besides. Damned Hessians (hey was, 'cept for the officer 'n' 'is sergeant. Couldn't make out a word of their talk, but the way they was lookin' at my young daughters was enough to freeze your blood solid."
We'd all heard of the outrages. The army sent from England was making little distinction between the rebels and the king's
loyal subjects, not that even a war was any excuse for their mistreatment of the common people. In addition to wholesale theft and the occasional riot, many of them had taken it into their heads to use any unprotected womenfolk as their own private harem whenever they pleased, whether the ladies were willing or not. There had been courts-martial held, but the attitudes of the officers more closely resembled amusement rather than intolerance for the brutish actions of their men. Thinking of how I would feel should Elizabeth face such a threat, I could well understand why Finch had readily cooperated.
"So I made my mark, then one of 'em hops up and makes to drive away 'n' when I asks the officer what he thinks he's doin', he says the receipt included what the goods come in as part of the sale. 'The king needs hosses,' he says as cool as you please. I was a-goin' to argue the point with 'im, but those men was licking their lips 'n' my girls was startin' to cry, so it seemed best to leave 'n' try another way. The poor things only come along to help 'n' in return git shamed 'n' have to see their da shamed as well. Roddy felt awful about it, but he read the paper over 'n' couldn't find a way around it. Said that the way it were written could be taken as havin' mor'n one meaning."
Fairly well off compared with other farmers, Finch still could not afford to lose a good pair of work animals and a wagon. Still less, though, could he afford harm to his family.
"Anyways, if you c'n see yer way through to gettin' my property back, you'll not find me ungrateful, Mr. Barrett," he concluded.
Father's desk was stacked with similar complaints. He was himself a victim of the rapacious commissaries and their clerks. With a signed receipt from a farmer selling his goods, they could fill in whatever amount they pleased on the sale. It was usually a more than fair sum of money, but none of it ever reached the fanner, for that went into the pockets of the commissaries. Any complaint could be legally ignored, for the victim had signed, hadn't he? He was only trying to squeeze additional money from the Crown, the cheat. Any who refused to sell their surplus could have the entire crop confiscated. That, too, had happened.
"Will we be able to help him, Father?" I asked after Finch had left.
His answer was a weary grimace. "We'll do what we can, laddie. There's some forgery at the bottom of this case, else
they wouldn't have been able to take the h
orses and wagon. That might make a difference. At the very least we can raise a bit of noise over it. Because of the way these things work, one can't help but expect to see the corruption sweeping in, but this business is getting completely out of hand. I'll write to DeQuincey. He's busy playing pot-boy to General Howe, but perhaps he'll take a moment to remember his neighbors."
Nicholas DeQuincey was one of the most ardent supporters of the king's cause and had been among the Loyalist troops waiting to greet Howe's army when it landed on Staten Island two months ago. Apparently he was so loyal he was willing to turn a blind eye to the resulting depredations of Howe's army. That Father was planning to ask for help from such a man was a clear indication to me that he'd pretty much given up hope of using the civil courts to settle matters. Now it would fall to calling on friendships and favors to achieve justice.
I ran my thumb over a pile of papers outlining various complaints against the occupying army. There was little hope in me that anything would come of them, even with DeQuincey's intervention.
"It's not fair," I muttered.
He looked up from the letter he was composing. "No, by God, it isn't. It's bad now and will only get worse. If that Howe had played the wolf instead of the tortoise he'd have captured Washington before he and that rabble ever had the chance to leave this island. At least then we would have seen the beginning of the end to this tragic nonsense. I don't know how far Washington will retreat, but there's enough country north of here for him to drag this out for months." Months. Good lord.
Father finished his letter and addressed it. While he worked, I was busy turning Finch's complaint into language suitable for a court presentation. The day after I'd arrived home, Father had taken me on as his apprentice and I was glad of the honor and the chance to use what I'd learned in Cambridge. Later I would be making a second copy, though that was really a clerk's job. We had no clerks; the two lads that had been with us had since departed to be with their families or to join up with Loyalist troops. I possessed no inclination to follow their example, though Father hadn't encouraged me in one way or another. I shared his opinion that the righting was better left to
the soldiers who knew how. He needed my help more than they and more than one incident had occurred to justify my remaining close to home.
Back in January while I'd been making arrangements to return, Father had had the bad luck to be in Hempstead when a rebel troop led by Colonel Heard had ridden in to force known and suspected Loyalists to sign an oath of obedience to the Continental and Provincial congresses. He signed rather than submit to arrest, but later found little reason to be bound by his agreement.
"A forced promise is no promise," he told me. "They'll make no new friends to their cause with such methods and only turn the undecided against them."
Had Father been undecided before, their actions had clarified things for him.
For a time. Now our British saviors seemed to be doing their best to alienate those that had shown them the greatest support. Father's vast patience was showing signs of erosion as each new case came in. We'd seen five people this morning. That officer, his sergeant, and the troop of Hessians had been very busy. Doubtless they were also benefiting from their "legal" thefts.
When I'd finished my draft, Father paused in his own work to look it over.
"Is it all right?" I asked after a moment.
He gave a pleased nod. "Wait 'til we get you in court. If you do as well there as you do on this..."
If we ever had another court. The exacting work of civil law was yet another aspect of life interrupted by the rebellion. At this rate I would be serving an unnaturally long time at my apprenticeship.
Someone knocked at the door. At our combined invitation it silently opened and Jericho announced that the midday meal was ready. Father shed his wig, we put away our writing tools, and marched out in his wake to assume our accustomed places at the table.
The library was in a corner room of the house and with both sets of windows open was subject to a pleasing cross breeze that made it comfortable in the hot months. The dining room was not so advantageously located and had but one window. It was opened wide in a futile hope of freshening the close air within, but the wind wasn't in the right direction to provide
much relief. We sat and stewed in the heat, picked lightly at our food, and imbibed a goodly share of drink.
Little had changed in the years I was absent and this ritual the least of all. Mother would hold forth on the the most tedious topics, or complain about whatever had offended her in the few hours since breakfast, usually quite a lot. She was well supported by Mrs. Hardinbrook and, to a lesser extent, by Dr. Beldon. Both had become fixtures in the household, though Beldon could be said to be a contributing member by reason of his doctoring skills. He'd proved to be an able enough physician, but was still liable to fits of toad-eating. Elizabeth ignored him, Father tolerated him, and I avoided him, which was sometimes difficult because the man was always trying to court my friendship.
Today Mother was full of rancor against yet another rise in prices.
"... four times what they charged last year for the same thing. If we didn't have our own gardens we should starve to death this winter. As it is, Mrs. Nooth will have to work day and night to build up our stores once the crops really start to ripen. It's a disgrace, Samuel."
"Indeed it is, Marie," Father said, taking a larger than normal draft from his wineglass.
"Of course, if we have anything left to harvest," she added. This was a not too subtle reference to the crop sold to the first commissary to come through the area. Under circumstances very similar to Finch's, Father had had to sign a blank receipt fora load of grain. The grain was collected, but we were still waiting to be paid for it.
Father spared a glance for me and raised one eyebrow. I smoothed out the scowl that was preventing me from properly chewing my food.
"I got a letter from Hester Holland today," Elizabeth said to me. She wanted to change the subject. "She'd heard that all the DeQuincey boys were serving under General Howe."
"Then God keep them safe and see them through to a swift victory," Mother responded. She didn't like Miss Holland, but the DeQuincey clan held her wholehearted approval. Mother was not beyond doing some toad-eating of her own, and the DeQuinceys.were a large and influential family. They had money as well and a match between one of its scions and Elizabeth was something to encourage.
"Amen," said Mrs. Hardinbrook, but it was rather faint. She also had hopes for arranging an advantageous marriage, but in three years she had yet to successfully interest Elizabeth in her brother or her brother in Elizabeth. It was very frustrating for her, but amusing to watch, in a way.
Beldon was entirely aware of her efforts and now and then would commiserate with me on the subject. He had polite and honorable admiration for my sister, but that was as far as it went, he assured me, perhaps hoping to gain some praise for his nobility of spirit. I'd met others of his temper at Cambridge, men with a decidedly indifferent attitude toward women. Soon after my homecoming I'd had to make clear to him that I was not of that number, a fact he graciously accepted, though the toad-eating continued as before.
"Hester wrote that some of the soldiers being quartered in the old church are very handsome," Elizabeth said. Unlike Hester, she wasn't the sort to idly gossip about such things and I wondered why she'd bothered to mention it, until I noticed that she'd directed the remark in Mrs. Hardinbrook's direction. The lady had once taken pains to be present when a company of commissary men had marched by our gate to their camp, wearing her best dress and most winning smile for the thieves. Elizabeth thought-not without reason-that she was a great fool.
I now perceived this innocuous statement to be an acid comment on Mrs. Hardinbrook's immodest behavior. It might also be taken as an indirect reminder of Beldon's preferences and the futility of altering them with a marriage. Mrs. Hardinbrook had an outstandingly thick skin, but a twitch of her brows betrayed that she had felt the blow. B
eldon's lips curled briefly-with humor, I was relieved to note, not offense.
Mother, innocent of this byplay, took it as something to pounce upon. "She would, I'm sure. Elizabeth, you really must try to cultivate a better class of friend than that Holland girl. If she's keeping company with soldiers then she's no better than a common tavern slut."
Mrs. Hardinbrook smirked, entirely missing the implication that she could be included in Mother's judgment.
Elizabeth's face flushed and her mouth thinned into nonex-istence. For a few awful seconds she looked astonishingly like Mother during one of her rages. Father's eye fell upon her, though, and he solemnly winked. Her anger subsided at this
reminder not to take anything that Mother said seriously. They had had plenty of opportunity to practice such silent communication and once again it had spared us all from a lengthy row.
Beldon had noticed-for he was always alert to notice what was going on around him-and visibly relaxed. Whenever Mother became unduly upset it always fell to him to help calm her down. His bottle of laudanum had proved to be very handy in the past, but as a good doctor he was reluctant to rely on it for every ill happening in the house. I'd seen more than one opium eater ruining himself at Cambridge, so on that point he and I were in accord.
P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death Page 19
