‘Free them? Good lord yes. It’s getting free of them that’s my problem.’
‘You mean they’re still with you?’
‘Where else. In fact —’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey, you, Pete and Jim!’
‘Yes, sir!’ Two small boys came running up from the quay. ‘Take these bags back to the house for me, would you? And tell Venus to expect a guest tonight.’
‘Sho’ thing, sir.’ And then, hesitantly. ‘We met old Andy down by the river. He allows as how that Mr. Fonseca do be roaring up and down town like Goliath of Gath a looking for you.’
‘Thank you, Sam. If you see Andy again, tell him I’m looking for Mr. Fonseca.’
‘I sholy will.’ And the two boys picked up the portmanteaux as if they weighed nothing and scampered off up the bluff.
‘And who, pray, is Mr. Fonseca?’ The two young men had come to a halt by mutual consent and stood idly gazing at the great piles of merchandise on the wharves: tea from China, sugar from the West Indies, great bales of cotton still waiting to be shipped out, and, nearer at hand, the cargo of northern manufactured goods that had come down on the packet in which Everett had arrived.
‘Fonseca is a problem.’ Hyde took his friend’s arm and steered him back along the quayside to where the wharves thinned out towards Fort Wayne. ‘And one I’d better tell you about before I ask you to act as my second.’
‘Your second, by God! You, Hyde? The quiet one; old Hyde who hides his feelings; you are going to fight a duel? I know you southerners are fire-eaters, but, Hyde, think again.’
‘I have thought. And again. Don’t think I like this; I don’t. But I have to go through with it. And it would be the most immense comfort to me if you would stand my second. But, in fairness, I must tell you, I mean to kill my man.’
He said it so coolly that it took a moment for it to penetrate. Then Everett gasped like a fish. ‘To kill! Hyde, you’re joking.’
‘I wish I were.’
‘But, Hyde, why?’ and then, colouring. ‘Or should I not ask?’
‘Why not? He insulted me, at my own party last night by suggesting that I had informed the authorities of a bit of skulduggery he was planning.’
‘And so you mean to kill him? Hyde, I’m out of short coats, you know. But if that’s the reason you intend to give —’
‘It is.’
‘And your mind’s entirely made up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then of course I’ll stand your second. But what is the form down here? Pistols at dawn on the bluff?’
‘No, no, nothing so barbarous. There’s always the chance, of course, that my friend Fonseca, when he sees the notice I have posted about him, will seek me out and shoot me as I stand.’
‘You sound very cool about it.’
‘You may notice that we are standing in a comparatively inconspicuous position. Before we climb the bluff, I think you had better have my second gun.’
‘You’re armed!’ The New Englander was amazed.
‘I should hope so. Mr. Fonseca is not a very pleasant character. Here,’ he handed over one of a pair of beautifully made duelling pistols. ‘You can still shoot, I hope, even after ten years of law-abiding in New England?’
‘A wafer, if necessary. But not Mr. Fonseca, I hope.’
‘It may come to it.’ Sombrely. ‘I don’t like to involve you in this, Sam.’
‘I am involved.’
‘Thanks. Well then. What I particularly wish to avoid is a vulgar brawl in town. If I had known you were coming, I would have planned it all differently, but at least, thank God, you are here. I’ve been away too long ... I’ve acquaintances by the score, business partners, but not a friend like you. By the way.’ It showed his state of mind that this came out as an afterthought. ‘What in the world are you doing here?’
‘Earning my living, I hope. I’ve commissions from my father to a Mr. Scarbrough. I’m not my own man as you are, Hyde.’
‘Scarbrough. The nearest I have to a friend. Your commissions will be no problem. So, we can concentrate, for the moment, on the matter in hand. If it’s not to be a brawl, this meeting must be arranged by seconds — by you and whomever Fonseca can find to act for him. Will you mind, Sam, as a complete stranger, climbing up that bluff, crossing the green to the Exchange, and asking for Mr. Fonseca or his friends?’
‘Why should I? It’s an unusual mode of arriving in a new town, I’ll say that for it. And, having found the detestable Fonseca or his friends, what next?’
‘There’s a choice of two accepted venues. One is the Jewish graveyard, half a mile out of town. No, I agree with you —’ he had seen his friend’s reaction. ‘It’s not my idea of a suitable spot either. The other is across there,’ he pointed to where a ferry boat was starting its laborious way over from the far side of the swift-flowing river. ‘They call it Screven’s Ferry. It’s on South Carolina soil, so if there should be any little legal difficulty, one can plead state’s rights and God knows what of the kind.’
‘And that’s your choice. Two boats, or one?’
‘I knew I could rely on you, Sam. Two, for God’s sake. Fonseca and I would not be safe in one together. Besides, I don’t wish to come back with his corpse afterwards.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself.’ Everett felt a cold, superstitious prickle of fear down his spine. ‘You’ve left all right and tight at home, I take it, just in case of any ...’ He hesitated.
‘Accident? Oh yes. I made my will when we were married. There’s nothing to change now.’
‘A note for your wife?’
‘No.’ It was tempting. ‘No, I think not. It won’t be necessary, I tell you, and I’d feel a fool writing it. So off with you, Sam, there’s a good fellow, and let’s get this business done with as soon as possible. Up the bluff, across the green, and you can’t miss the Exchange ... If Fonseca’s not there, try the City Hotel. Anyone will direct you. I’ll be somewhere between here and the Fort.’ He pointed downstream to Fort Wayne where it crowned the end of the bluff.
***
Charles Fonseca’s second was small, Spanish-looking, and an anxious man. Neither of the principals had spoken a word since the four of them had met on the low, marshy ground below the ferry landing. Now he approached Sam Everett. ‘An attempt at reconciliation?’ Dubiously.
‘Impossible.’ He did not like saying it.
‘What the hell are we doing wasting time like this?’ Fonseca spat out his quid of tobacco close to Hyde’s foot. ‘Let’s draw for position and be done with it. I’ve an appointment at four.’
He won the draw and a cast a quick, keen eye over the level ground that had been used so often, and so fatally, before. ‘I’ll take this end.’ It was midday, and the sun was almost due south of them; his position would give him a slight but important advantage so far as the light was concerned.
‘Very well.’ It now fell to Sam Everett to give the word to fire. The two seconds placed their principals, ten paces apart, with their backs to each other. It was a ritual to which Sam was new, but Fonseca’s second clearly knew his business. ‘Very good.’ Sam looked anxiously from Hyde to Fonseca. ‘On the word, you will turn and fire, then advance two paces before your second shot. I shall count three, like this,’ he demonstrated, ‘then say, “stop”, and it will be over.’
‘Yes.’ Fonseca’s smile was a snarl. ‘It will most certainly be over. So for God’s sake let’s begin.’
At this eleventh hour, Everett realised that there was no doctor, presumably, nearer than Savannah. But to raise this objection now, would be merely to risk the stigma of cowardice, not only for himself but for Hyde. ‘Are you ready, gentlemen?’ His voice shook a little. Then, ‘Fire!’
A swirl of dust as the two men turned, the crack of their shots, one just after the other but which? In his anxiety, Everett forgot for an instant to begin the vital count. Then, as Fonseca crumpled towards the ground, he began, ‘One ... two ... three.’ At the word ‘stop’ Fonseca had his pistol steady
again, and fired from the ground.
‘Well I’ll be —’ In any other circumstances, Hyde’s look of astonishment would have been comic. Then, carefully, husbanding his words, ‘Don’t mind it, Sam.’ And he, too, swayed, fell, and lay still on the grey sand.
***
Juliet had enjoyed the trip downstream, with a light wind blowing her curls about her face and the mild December sun warming her. She sat, silent, all the way, listening to the rowers’ strange, melancholy song and rehearsing herself in the arrangements of the big house at Winchelsea.
Just the same, when the rowers pulled into the well-kept wharf and Satan jumped out to help her on shore, she could hardly restrain a gasp of surprise and pleasure. Josephine had told her, carefully, all about the physical details of the place, but had failed to tell her that it was beautiful. ‘It’s good to be back,’ she smiled at Satan.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She had time, while they were busy landing the enormous quantity of baggage without which Josephine never seemed to travel, to look about and get herself placed. Downstream, a little way, was the Chinese pavilion Hyde had built for Josephine because she had read about the Prince Regent’s curious palace at Brighton. ‘A good place to be alone in,’ Josephine had called it. Now, with a little pang of fear, Juliet wondered whether, perhaps, it was also a good place to meet that frightening Fonseca. She must remember to ask Anne what his first name was, before she betrayed herself by ignorance.
But right now she was forgetting something. She turned impatiently to Satan. ‘What in the world has become of the carriage?’ she asked. ‘Mr. Purchis said he had given every order for my trip. He can hardly have expected me to walk up to the house.’
‘No, ma’am.’ He smiled immensely at her and broke into a rather broader speech than he normally used. ‘You done clean forgot that Mr. Purchis he don’ like his horses brought down the bluff.’
‘He might have this once!’ She made her voice petulant. And then, ‘Oh very well then. Anne, you lead the way, and for God’s sake keep your eyes open for snakes.’
This was a much lower bluff than the one at Savannah, and she would probably have been aware of the carriage and horses that awaited her at the top if it had not been for the thick plantation of evergreens and the excited voices of the servants who had been busy carrying up Josephine’s huge boxes. Deep, soft sand silenced the horses, but one of them let out a delighted whicker at sight of her, and she remembered, with pleasure, that this was something she and her cousin had in common. She patted the glossy nose and smiled at the man who held the reins. ‘Well, Charon, and how are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you, ma’am, and so are we all. And as for Miss Abigail, she’s plumb tuckered out with pleasure and delight.’
‘Then I’d better lose no time in joining her. The wagon is coming for the baggage?’
‘Yes, ma’am, Mis’ Josephine. Just as soon as you’re safe home, I’ll hitch up Shem there that’s so pleased to see you and come down with the wagon. Ham’s thrown out a splint,’ he answered a question she should clearly have asked. ‘But we’re managing.’
‘And Ariel?’ Josephine would ask about her own riding horse before anything else.
‘Fretting for exercise. Miss Abigail’s not the only one will be glad to see you.’
‘Good. I’ll ride this afternoon.’ And then, as she let herself be helped carefully into the huge, the antediluvian carriage, ‘Oh, God,’ to herself, ‘suppose Fonseca comes?’ ‘Our rendezvous’ he had said. And, earlier, of Savannah, ‘Same time, same place.’ But what time? What place? And what in the world should she do about him?
But Charon had shouted to his horses and they had churned up a great cloud of dust as they pulled the heavy carriage forward and round another plantation of evergreens to the beginning of the carriage drive Josephine had described. But description, and certainly Josephine’s bored description, had given no idea of the reality. ‘Ilexes,’ Josephine had said, ‘with that dreary creeper draped all over them.’
Juliet drew a deep, delighted breath. In front of her, the huge trees marched away on either side of the white, oyster-shell drive. Mild December sunlight filtered through the narrow, dark green leaves, and a light breeze stirred the strange grey drapery that hung, like curtains, like the back-cloth of a theatre, but quivering in the cool sunshine so as to turn the long drive into something from a fairy-tale, the road to the enchanted palace. Juliet felt a queer little shiver of apprehension run through her: what of the prince?
Chapter Six
The house was huge. White and rambling among its protective magnolia and ilex trees, it testified, with here a verandah and there a handsome Greek portico to the varying taste of generations of Purchises. Surveying it, for a brief moment, as the carriage swung round the sweep to stop in front of the graceful flight of steps that led up to a pillared piazza, Juliet thought it at once the most beautiful and the most engaging house she had ever seen. Which Purchis had built that cupola at the corner, with its balustraded walk, and, no doubt, its view across the island to the sea? And who had added that ridiculous, delightful turret on the other side?
‘There you are, ma’am.’ Charon had the carriage door open and the steps down. ‘Home at last.’
It felt like home. A blur of tears clouded her eyes. No time for that now. As in Oglethorpe Square, a happy crowd of servants thronged the steps. Was Josephine a better mistress than she would have imagined, or was this a tribute rather to Hyde?
Luckily, everyone wanted to know about the party the night before, and just when complete panic seized her at the discovery that she had forgotten the name of the Winchelsea housekeeper a clear, cool voice from above created an instant hush, ‘Welcome home, Josephine.’ And then, coming forward to the top of the steps, Abigail Purchis fluttered the whitest hands Juliet had ever seen. ‘Scoot now! Vamoose! Am I to be the last to hear of last night’s doings?’ It was said with perfect good humour, and received in the same spirit, but with instant obedience. One moment they were in the midst of a chattering crowd, the next, as Juliet climbed the last step, they were alone.
Josephine had said nothing about Abigail Pemberly’s resemblance to her nephew. If he was handsome, she was beautiful, with the fine-boned, clear-eyed looks that age merely improves. Age? She might be anything from sixty to a hundred. Now she leaned down with a whiff of lavender, to submit to Juliet’s kiss. ‘Dear child.’ It was mechanical. Then, eagerly. ‘But Hyde? He’s stayed with the baggage?’
‘No, alas, aunt. He’s stayed in Savannah. A small matter of business. He sent you his kindest regards and said to tell you he would be here tonight or tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh.’ In disappointment, the old face was suddenly a child’s. ‘He said he’d come today.’
‘Then I’m sure he will.’ Soothingly. ‘But should we not go in? It’s cold for you out here on the stoop.’
‘Yes. It’s always cold now.’ She turned to lead the way in through wide-open double doors. ‘You’ll take a glass of something after your journey? I had his madeira brought up for Hyde.’
‘The special one? Then we must give him a good scold when he gets here, for disappointing you. But you’ve my cherry bounce, too, I’m glad to see.’ She had moved, unerringly, into the large room to the left of the entry that served as the family’s meeting-place and parlour. Deplorable of Josephine to like cherry bounce, but there it was, and she was getting used to it.
It was darkish in this room, with its big screened porch and the tall magnolias beyond. ‘Too cold for the porch.’ Half a head taller than Juliet, Miss Abigail was thin as a ghost inside a cocoon of exquisite Indian shawls. ‘Yes, I’ll take my usual drop, thank you, dear. So disappointing about Hyde.’ She settled herself with a tired little sigh in an upright chair whose exquisite faded embroidery must have been worked by Purchis hands long since white as oyster shells in the family lot down by the river.
Her usual drop of what? Juliet fought panic and made a business of
removing her bonnet and shawl. Surely, with all those servants in the house, someone would appear to pour their drinks, and choose for Aunt Abigail the right bottle from that formidable array on the mahogany sideboard? Vain hope. She knew, by now, that Hyde loathed being waited on and loved his privacy. Normally, she agreed with him; today it was inconvenient beyond words.
Time was ticking away with the huge grandfather clock on the wide hall that ran from front to back of the house. She turned back to the long, tarnished glass there and patted her curls into place, wasting a fleeting thought on Josephine. This glass must date from before her time. She would have insisted on a clearer one.
‘Aunt Abigail.’ She took a steadying breath and went back into the parlour, where the old lady sat straight and still in her chair. If her hands were white, her face was whiter. She was too old, Juliet suddenly saw, to bear even the tiny disappointment of Hyde’s late arrival. Or was it tiny? Was not Hyde the life of this huge, silent house? Without him, it stopped, and the clock’s measured voice in the hall was merely a mockery.
‘Aunt Abigail,’ she said again.
‘Yes, my dear?’ Something inflexible about that courteous voice.
‘Let’s be wicked, as Hyde has failed us. Let’s have a drop of something strong, shall we?’ Her gaze flickered down the range of bottles. ‘Just the tiniest drop of brandy?’
‘But of course, dear.’ The thin clear voice held a trace of impatience now. ‘Do join me, if you wish. I never did think much of that cherry bounce. Such an uninteresting drink, and such a vulgar name. No, no, child! What’s become of your wits? Not those tiny glasses! Surely you’ve not forgotten what grandfather used to say? “A good brandy is like a beautiful woman ... to be taken slowly, and with respect.”’ She laughed, her silvery, exquisite laugh. ‘I have so often wondered what he meant, yes, that’s right!’ Her glance into the past had given Juliet time to discover the huge brandy glasses on the second shelf of the sideboard. ‘He brought them over on the Anne,’ said the old lady, accepting hers. ‘I’ve always thought it must have been most deplorably crowded, that ship. And now, child, sit down, stop hovering, and tell me, how is Hyde?’
All for Love Page 8
