Jocasta smiled at that.
Campbell sighed. In spite of the exertions of the day, his neat coat showed no signs of dust, and his old-fashioned peruke sat squarely on his head.
“You have my apologies, Mr. Fraser, for what must seem a monstrous imposition upon your good nature. As it is, your arrival was fortuitous in the extreme, but did not allow sufficient time for communications to be made. I was in Averasboro until last evening, and by the time I received word of your arrival, it was much too late for me to ride here to acquaint you with the circumstances.”
“Indeed? Well, as I perceive we have a bit of time at present, I invite ye to do so now,” Jamie said, with a slight click as his teeth closed on the “now.”
“Will ye not sit down first, Nephew?” Jocasta put in, with a graceful wave of her hand. “It will take a bit of talk to explain, and ye’ve had a tiring day of it, no?” Ulysses had materialized out of the ether with a linen sheet over his arm; he spread this over a chair with a flourish, and gestured to Jamie to sit down.
Jamie eyed the butler narrowly, but it had been a tiring day; I could see blisters amid the soot on his hands, and sweat had made clear runnels in the filth on face and neck. He sank slowly into the proffered chair, and allowed a silver cup to be put into his hand.
A similar cup appeared as if by magic in my own hand, and I smiled in gratitude at the butler; I hadn’t been hoiking logs about, but the long, hot ride had worn me out. I took a deep, appreciative sip; a lovely cool rough cider, that bit the tongue and slaked the thirst at once.
Jamie took a deep draught, and looked a little calmer.
“Well, then, Mr. Campbell?”
“It is a matter of the Navy,” Campbell began, and Jocasta snorted.
“A matter of Lieutenant Wolff, ye mean,” she corrected.
“For your purposes the same, Jo, and well ye know it,” Mr. Campbell said, a little sharply. He turned back to Jamie to explain.
The majority of River Run’s revenues were, as Jocasta had told us, derived from the sale of its timber and turpentine products, the largest and most profitable customer being the British Navy.
“But the Navy’s not what it was,” Mr. Campbell said, shaking his head regretfully. “During the war wi’ the French, they could scarce keep the fleet supplied, and any man with a working sawmill was rich. But for the last ten years, it’s been peaceful, and the ships left to rot—the Admiralty’s not laid a new keel in five years.” He sighed at the unfortunate economic consequences of peace.
The Navy did still require such stores as pitch and turpentine and spars—with a leaky fleet to keep afloat, tar would always find a market. However, the market had shrunk severely, and the Navy now could pick and choose those landowners with whom they did business.
The Navy requiring dependability above all things, their covetable contracts were renewed quarterly, upon inspection and approval by a senior naval officer—in this case, Wolff. Always difficult to deal with, Wolff had nonetheless been adroitly managed by Hector Cameron, until the latter’s death.
“Hector drank with him,” Jocasta put in bluntly. “And when he left, there’d be a bottle in his saddlebag, and a bit besides.” The death of Hector Cameron, though, had severely affected the business of the estate.
“And not only because there’s less for bribes,” Campbell said, with a sidelong glance at Jocasta. He cleared his throat primly.
Lieutenant Wolff, it seemed, had come to give his condolences to the widow Cameron upon the death of her husband, properly uniformed, attended by his ensigns. He had come back again the next day, alone—with a proposal of marriage.
Jamie, caught mid-swallow, choked on his drink.
“It wasna my person the man was interested in,” Jocasta said, sharply, hearing this. “It was my land.”
Jamie wisely decided not to comment, merely eyeing his aunt with new interest.
Having heard the background, I thought she was likely right—Wolff’s interest was in acquiring a profitable plantation, which could be rendered still more profitable by means of the naval contracts his influence could assure. At the same time, the person of Jocasta Cameron was no small added inducement.
Blind or not, she was a striking woman. Beyond the simple beauty of flesh and bone, though, she exuded a sensual vitality that caused even such a dry stick as Farquard Campbell to ignite when she was near.
“I suppose that explains the Lieutenant’s offensive behavior at lunch,” I said, interested. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but the blokes don’t like it, either.”
Jocasta turned her head toward me, startled—I think she had forgotten I was there—but Farquard Campbell laughed.
“Indeed they don’t, Mrs. Fraser,” he assured me, eyes twinkling. “We’re fragile things, we poor men; ye trifle with our affections at your peril.”
Jocasta gave an unladylike snort at this.
“Affections, forbye!” she said. “The man has nay affection for anything that doesna come in a bottle.”
Jamie was eyeing Mr. Campbell with a certain amount of interest.
“Since ye raise the matter of affections, Aunt,” he said, with a small edge, “might I inquire as to the interests of your particular friend?”
Mr. Campbell returned the stare.
“I’ve a wife at home, sir,” he said dryly, “and eight weans, the eldest of whom is perhaps a few years older than yourself. But I kent Hector Cameron for more than thirty years, and I’ll do my best by his wife for the sake of his friendship—and hers.”
Jocasta laid a hand on his arm, and turned her head toward him. If she could no longer use her eyes for impression, she still knew the effect of downswept lashes.
“Farquard has been a great help to me, Jamie,” she said, with a touch of reproof. “I couldna have managed, without his assistance, after poor Hector died.”
“Oh, aye,” Jamie said, with no more than a hint of skepticism. “And I’m sure I must be as grateful to ye as is my aunt, sir. But I am still wondering just a bit where I come into this tale?”
Campbell coughed discreetly and went on with his story.
Jocasta had put off the Lieutenant, feigning collapse from the stress of bereavement and had herself carried to her bedroom, from which she did not emerge until he had concluded his business in Cross Creek and left for Wilmington.
“Byrnes managed the contracts that time, and a fine mess he made of them,” Jocasta put in.
“Ah, Mr. Byrnes, the invisible overseer. And where was he this morning?”
A maid had appeared with a bowl of warm perfumed water, and a towel. Without asking, she knelt by Jamie’s chair, took one of his hands, and began gently to wash the soot away. Jamie looked slightly taken aback by this attention, but was too occupied by the conversation to send her away.
A slight wry smile crossed Campbell’s face.
“I’m afraid Mr. Byrnes, though usually a competent overseer, shares one small weakness wi’ the Lieutenant. I sent to the sawmill for him, first thing, but the slave came back and told me Byrnes was insensible in his quarters, reekin’ of drink, and could not be roused.”
Jocasta made another unladylike noise, which caused Campbell to glance at her with affection before turning back to Jamie.
“Your aunt is more than capable of managing the business of the estate with Ulysses to assist her in the documentary aspects. However, as ye will have seen yourself”—he gestured delicately at the bowl of water, which now resembled a bowl of ink—“there are physical concerns to the running of it, as well.”
“That was the point that Lieutenant Wolff put to me,” Jocasta said, lips thinning at the memory. “That I could not expect to manage my property alone, and me not only a woman, but sightless as well. I could not, he said, depend upon Byrnes, unable as I am to go to the forest and the mill to see what the man is doing. Or not doing.” Her mouth shut firmly on the thought.
“Which is true enough,” Campbell put in ruefully. “It is a proverb amongs
t us—‘Happiness is a son old enough to be factor.’ For when it’s a matter of money or slaves, ye cannot trust anyone save your kin.”
I drew a deep breath and glanced at Jamie, who nodded. At last we’d got to it.
“And that,” I said, “is where Jamie comes in. Am I right?”
Jocasta had already enlisted Farquard Campbell to deal with Lieutenant Wolff upon his next visit, intending that Campbell should keep Byrnes from committing folly with the contracts. When we had so opportunely arrived, though, Jocasta had hit upon a better plan.
“I sent word to Farquard that he should inform the Lieutenant that my nephew had come to take up the management of River Run. That would cause him to go cautiously,” she explained. “For he would not dare to press me, with a kinsman who had an interest standing by.”
“I see.” Despite himself, Jamie was beginning to look amused. “So the Lieutenant would think his attempt at a good down-setting here was usurped by my arrival. No wonder the man seemed to take such a mislike to me. I thought it was perhaps a general disgust of Scotsmen that he had, from what he said.”
“I should imagine that he has—now,” Campbell said, dabbing his lips circumspectly with his napkin.
Jocasta reached across the table, groping, and Jamie put out his hand instinctively to hers.
“You will forgive me, Nephew?” she said. With his hand to guide her, she could look toward his face; one would not have known her blind, by the expression of pleading in her beautiful blue eyes.
“I knew nothing of your character, d’ye see, before ye came. I could not risk that you would refuse a part in the deception, did I tell ye of it first. Do say that ye hold no grudge toward me, Jamie, if only for sweet Ellen’s sake.”
Jamie squeezed her hand gently, assuring her that he held no grudge. Indeed, he was pleased to have come in time to help, and his aunt might count upon his assistance, in any way she chose to call upon him.
Mr. Campbell beamed and rang the bell; Ulysses brought in the special whisky, with a tray of crystal goblets and a plate of savories, and we drank confusion to the British Navy.
Looking at that fine-boned face, so full of blind eloquence, though, I couldn’t help recalling the brief synopsis Jamie had once given me of the outstanding characteristics of the members of his family.
“Frasers are stubborn as rocks,” he’d said. “And MacKenzies are charming as larks in the field—but sly as foxes, with it.”
* * *
“And where have you been?” Jamie asked, giving Fergus a hard up-and-down. “I didna think ye’d money enough for what it looks as though ye’ve been doing.”
Fergus smoothed his disheveled hair, and sat down, radiating offended dignity.
“I met with a pair of French fur-traders in the town. They speaking little English, and myself being fluent, I could not but agree to assist them in their transactions. If they should then choose to invite me to share a small supper at their inn …” He lifted one shoulder in Gallic dismissal of the matter, and turned to more immediate concerns, reaching inside his shirt for a letter.
“This had arrived in Cross Creek for you,” he said, handing it to Jamie. “The postmaster asked me to bring it.”
It was a thick packet of paper, with a battered seal, and looked in little better condition than did Fergus. Jamie’s face lighted when he saw it, though he opened it with some trepidation. Three letters fell out; one in what I recognized as his sister’s writing, the other two plainly addressed by someone else.
Jamie picked up the letter from his sister, eyed it as though it might contain something explosive, and set it gently down by the fruit bowl on the table.
“I’ll start wi’ Ian,” he said, picking up the second letter with a grin. “I’m not sure I want to be reading Jenny’s without a glass of whisky in my hand.”
He prised off the seal with the tip of the silver fruit knife, and opened the letter, scanning the first page. “I wonder if he …” His voice faded off as he began to read.
Curious, I got up and stood behind his chair, looking over his shoulder. Ian Murray wrote a clear, large hand, and it was easy to read, even at a distance.
Dear Brother—
All here are well, and give thanks to God for the news of your safe arrival in the Colonies. I send this missive in care of Jocasta Cameron; should it find you in her company, Jenny bids you to give her kindest regards to her Aunt.
You will see from the enclosed that you are restored to my wife’s good graces; she has quite ceased to talk of you in the same breath with Auld Scratch, and I have heard no recent references to Emasculation, which may relieve your mind.
To put aside jesting—her Heart is much lightened by news of Young Ian’s safety, as is my own. You will know the depth of our gratitude at his Deliverance, I think; therefore I will not Weary you with Repetitions, though in all truth, I could write a Novel upon that theme.
We manage to keep all here fed, though the barley suffered much from hail, and there is a flux abroad in the village which has claimed two children this month, to their parents’ sorrow. It will be Annie Fraser and Alasdair Kirby we have lost, may God have mercy on their innocence.
On a happier note, we have had word from Michael in Paris; he continues to prosper in the wine business, and thinks of marrying soon.
I take joy in acquainting you with news of the birth of my newest grandson, Anthony Brian Montgomery Lyle. I shall content myself with this announcement, leaving a fuller description to Jenny; she is besotted of him, as are we all, he is a Dear Lad. His father, Paul—Maggie’s husband—is a soldier, so Maggie and wee Anthony bide here at Lallybroch. Paul is in France at present; we pray nightly he may be left there, in relative peace, and not sent to the dangers of the Colonies nor the wilds of Canada.
We have had visitors this week; Simon, Lord Lovat, and his companions. He has come a-gathering again, seeking recruits for the Highland regiment he commands. You will perhaps hear of them in the Colonies, where I understand they have established some small reputation. Simon tells great tales of their bravery against the Indians and the wicked French, some of which are doubtless true.
Jamie grinned at this, and turned the page over.
He quite enthralled Henry and Matthew by his stories, and the girls as well. Josephine (“Kitty’s eldest,” Jamie observed in an aside to me) was so inspired, indeed, as to engineer a raid upon the chicken-coop, wherefrom she and her Cousins all emerged bedecked with feathers, mud from the kail-yard being employed in lieu of war-paint.
As all wished to play Savage, Young Jamie, Kitty’s husband Geordie and myself were pressed into service as the Highland regiment, and obliged to suffer attack by Tomahawk (kitchen spoons and ladles) and other forms of enthusiastic assault, we essaying meanwhile a valiant defense with our broadswords (pieces of lath and willow twigs).
I put a stop to the Suggestion that the thatch of the dove-cote be set afire with flaming arrows, but was obliged in the end to submit to being Scalped. I flatter myself that I survived this Operation in better case than did the chickens.
The letter continued in this vein, giving more news of family, but dealing more often with the business of the farm, and reports of events in the district. Emigration, Ian wrote, was “become epidemic,” with virtually all of the inhabitants of the village of Shewglie having decided upon this expedient.
Jamie finished the letter and put it down. He was smiling, his eyes faintly dreamy, as though he saw the cool mists and stones of Lallybroch rather than the humid, vivid jungle that surrounded us.
The second letter was also addressed in Ian’s hand, but marked Private below the blue wax seal.
“And what will this be, I wonder?” Jamie murmured, breaking the seal and unfolding it. It began without salutation, obviously meant as continuation to the larger letter.
Now, Brother, I have a matter of some concern to put to you, upon which I write separately, so that you might share my larger letter with Ian, without disclosing this matter.
Your last letter spoke of putting Ian aboard ship in Charleston. Should this have occurred, we will of course welcome his coming with joy. However, if by chance he has not yet quitted your company, it is our wish that he remain with you, should this obligation be not unpleasing to you and to Claire.
“Not unpleasing to me,” Jamie muttered, nostrils flaring slightly as he glanced from the page to the window. Ian and Rollo were wrestling on the grass with two young slaves, rolling over and over in a giggling tangle of limbs and cloth and wagging tail. “Mmphm.” He turned his back to the window and resumed reading.
I mentioned Simon Fraser to you, and the cause of his presence here. The regimental levies have been a matter of concern to us for some time, though the matter has not often been pressing, our location being fortunately remote and difficult of travel.
Lovat finds little trouble in inducing lads to take the King’s shilling; what is there for them here? Poverty and want, with no hope of betterment. Why should they remain here, where they have nothing to inherit, where they are forbidden the plaid or the right to carry a man’s weapons? Why should they not seize the chance of reclaiming the notion of manhood—even should it mean they wear the tartan and carry a sword in the service of a German usurper?
I think sometimes this is the worst of it; not only that murder and injustice have been loosed unchecked upon us, without hope of cure or recourse—but that our young men, our hope and future, should be thus piped away, squandered for the profit of the conqueror, and paid in the small coin of their pride.
Jamie looked up at me, one brow raised.
“Ye wouldna think to look at him that Ian had such poesy in him, aye?”
There was a break in the text here. When it resumed, toward the bottom of the page, the writing, which had sprawled above into an angry scrawl with frequent blots and scratches, was once more controlled and tidy.
I must beg pardon for the passion of my words. I had not meant to say so much, but the temptation to open my heart to you as I always have is overwhelming. These are things I would not say to Jenny, though I imagine she knows them.
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