A Place Called Freedom (1995)

by Ken Follett

  There was a stunned silence.

  “That will be all,” he said impatiently.

  Jay concealed his glee as the burgesses slowly filed out of the chamber. They collected their papers downstairs and drifted into the courtyard.

  Jay made his way to the Raleigh Tavern and sat in the bar. He ordered his midday meal and flirted with a barmaid who was falling in love with him. As he waited he was surprised to see many of the burgesses go past, heading for one of the larger rooms in the rear. He wondered if they were plotting further treason.

  When he had eaten he went to investigate.

  As he had guessed, the burgesses were holding a debate. They made no attempt to hide their sedition. They were blindly convinced of the lightness of their cause, and that gave them a kind of mad self-confidence. Don’t they understand, Jay asked himself, that they’re inviting the wrath of one of the world’s great monarchies? Do they suppose they can get away with this in the end? Don’t they realize that the might of the British army will sooner or later wipe them all out?

  They did not, evidently, and so arrogant were they that no one protested when Jay took a seat at the back of the room, although many there knew he was loyal to the Crown.

  One of the hotheads was speaking, and Jay recognized George Washington, a former army officer who had made a lot of money in land speculation. He was not much of an orator, but there was a steely determination about him that struck Jay forcibly.

  Washington had a plan. In the northern colonies, he said, leading men had formed associations whose members agreed not to import British goods. If Virginians really wanted to put pressure on the London government they should do the same.

  If ever I heard a treasonable speech, Jay thought angrily, that was it.

  His father’s enterprise would suffer further if Washington got his way. As well as convicts, Sir George shipped cargoes of tea, furniture, rope, machinery and a host of luxuries and manufactures that the colonists could not produce themselves. His trade with the North was already down to a fraction of its former worth—that was why the business had been in crisis a year ago.

  Not everyone agreed with Washington. Some burgesses pointed out that the northern colonies had more industry and could make many essentials for themselves, whereas the South depended more on imports. What will we do, they said, without sewing thread or cloth?

  Washington said there might be exceptions, and the assembly began to get down to details. Someone proposed a ban on slaughtering lambs, to increase the local production of wool. Before long Washington suggested a small committee to thrash out the technicalities. The proposal was passed and the committee members were chosen.

  Jay left the room in disgust. As he passed through the hall Lennox approached him with a message. It was from Murchman. He was back in town, he had read Mr. Jamisson’s note, and he would be honored to receive Mr. Jamisson at nine o’clock in the morning.

  The political crisis had distracted Jay briefly, but now his personal troubles came back to him and kept him awake all night. At times he blamed his father for giving him a plantation that could not make money. Then he would curse Lennox for overmanuring the fields instead of clearing new land. He wondered if his tobacco crop had in fact been perfectly all right, and the Virginian inspectors had burned it just to punish him for his loyalty to the English king. As he tossed and turned in the narrow bed, he even began to think Lizzie might have willed the stillborn child to spite him.

  He got to Murchman’s house early. This was his only chance. No matter where the fault lay, he had failed to make the plantation profitable. If he could not borrow more money his creditors would foreclose the mortgage and he would be homeless as well as penniless.

  Murchman seemed nervous. “I’ve arranged for your creditor to come and meet you,” he said.

  “Creditor? You told me it was a syndicate.”

  “Ah, yes—a minor deception, I’m sorry. The individual wanted to remain anonymous.”

  “So why has he decided to reveal himself now?”

  “I … I couldn’t say.”

  “Well, I suppose he must be planning to lend me the money I need—otherwise why bother to meet me?”

  “I daresay you’re right—he hasn’t confided in me.”

  Jay heard a knock at the front door and low voices as someone was admitted.

  “Who is he, anyway?”

  “I think I’ll let him introduce himself.”

  The door opened and in walked Jay’s brother, Robert.

  Jay leaped to his feet, astonished. “You!” he said. “When did you get here?”

  “A few days ago,” Robert said.

  Jay held out his hand and Robert shook it briefly. It was almost a year since Jay had seen him last, and Robert was getting more and more like their father: beefy, scowling, curt. “So it was you who loaned me the money?” Jay said.

  “It was Father,” Robert said.

  “Thank God! I was afraid I might not be able to borrow more from a stranger.”

  “But Father’s not your creditor anymore,” Robert said. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Jay sat down again abruptly. The shock was profound. Father was not yet fifty. “How …?”

  “Heart failure.”

  Jay felt as if a support had been pulled away from beneath him. His father had treated him badly, but he had always been there, consistent and seemingly indestructible. Suddenly the world had become a more insecure place. Although he was already sitting down Jay wanted to lean on something.

  He looked again at his brother. There was an expression of vindictive triumph on Robert’s face. Why was he pleased? “There’s something else,” Jay said. “What are you looking so damned smug about?”

  “I’m your creditor now,” Robert said.

  Jay saw what was coming. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “You swine,” he whispered.

  Robert nodded. “I’m foreclosing on your mortgage. The tobacco plantation is mine. I’ve done the same with High Glen: bought up the mortgages and foreclosed. That belongs to me now.”

  Jay could hardly speak. “You must have planned this,” he said with a struggle.

  Robert nodded.

  Jay fought back tears. “You and Father …”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been ruined by my own family.”

  “You’ve been ruined by yourself. You’re lazy and foolish and weak.”

  Jay ignored his insults. All he could think of was that his own father had plotted his downfall. He remembered how the letter from Murchman had come just a few days after his arrival in Virginia. Father must have written in advance, ordering the lawyer to offer a mortgage. He had anticipated that the plantation would get into difficulties and he had planned to take it back from Jay. His father was dead but had sent this message of rejection from beyond the grave.

  Jay stood up slowly, with a painful effort, like an old man. Robert stood silent, looking scornful and haughty. Murchman had the grace to act guilty. With an embarrassed look on his face he hurried to the door and held it for Jay. Slowly Jay walked through the hall and out into the muddy street.

  Jay was drunk by dinnertime.

  He was so drunk that even Mandy, the barmaid who was falling in love with him, appeared to lose interest. That evening he passed out in the bar of the Raleigh. Lennox must have put him to bed, for he woke up in his room the following morning.

  He thought of killing himself. He had nothing to live for: no home, no future, no children. He would never amount to anything in Virginia now that he had gone bankrupt, and he could not bear to go back to Britain. His wife hated him and even Felia now belonged to his brother. The only question was whether to put a bullet into his head or drink himself to death.

  He was drinking brandy again at eleven o’clock in the morning when his mother walked into the bar.

  When he saw her he thought perhaps he was already going mad. He stood up and stared at her, frightened. Reading his mind, as always, she said:
“No, I’m not a ghost.” She kissed him and sat down.

  When he recovered his composure he said: “How did you find me?”

  “I went to Fredericksburg and they told me you were here. Prepare yourself for a shock. Your father’s dead.”

  “I know.”

  That surprised her. “How?”

  “Robert is here.”

  “Why?”

  Jay told her the story and explained that Robert was now the owner of both the plantation and High Glen.

  “I was afraid the two of them were planning something like that,” she said bitterly.

  “I’m ruined,” he said. “I was thinking of killing myself.”

  Her eyes widened. “Then Robert didn’t tell you what was in your father’s will.”

  Suddenly Jay saw a gleam of hope. “Did he leave me something?”

  “Not you, no. Your child.”

  Jay’s heart sank again. “The child was stillborn.”

  “A quarter of the estate goes to any grandchildren of your father born within a year of his death. If there are no grandchildren after a year, Robert gets everything.”

  “A quarter? That’s a fortune!”

  “All you have to do is make Lizzie pregnant again.”

  Jay managed a grin. “Well, I know how to do that, anyway.”

  “Don’t be so sure. She’s run away with that coal miner.”

  “What?”

  “She left, with McAsh.”

  “Good God! She’s left me? And gone off with a convict?” It was deeply humiliating. Jay looked away. “I’ll never live this down. Good God.”

  “That child is with them, Peg Knapp. They took a wagon and six of your horses and enough supplies to start several farms.”

  “Damned thieves!” He felt outraged and helpless. “Couldn’t you stop them?”

  “I tried the sheriff—but Lizzie had been clever. She gave out a story that she was taking gifts to a cousin in North Carolina. The neighbors told the sheriff I was just a cantankerous mother-in-law trying to stir up trouble.”

  “They all hate me because I’m loyal to the king.” The seesaw of hope and despair became too much for Jay and he sank into lethargy. “It’s no good,” he said. “Fate is against me.”

  “Don’t give up yet!”

  Mandy, the barmaid, interrupted to ask Alicia what she would like. She ordered tea. Mandy smiled coquettishly at Jay.

  “I could have a child with another woman,” he said as Mandy went away.

  Alicia looked scornfully at the barmaid’s wiggling rear and said: “No good. The grandchild has to be legitimate.”

  “Could I divorce Lizzie?”

  “No. It requires an act of Parliament and a fortune in money, and anyway we don’t have the time. While Lizzie is alive it has to be her.”

  “I’ve no idea where she’s gone.”

  “I do.”

  Jay stared at his mother. Her cleverness never ceased to amaze him. “How do you know?”

  “I followed them.”

  He shook his head in incredulous admiration. “How did you do that?”

  “It wasn’t difficult. I kept asking people if they had seen a four-horse wagon with a man, a woman and a child. There’s not so much traffic that people forget.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “They came south to Richmond. There they took a road called Three Notch Trail and headed west, toward the mountains. I turned east and came here. If you leave this morning you’ll be only three days behind them.”

  Jay thought about it. He hated the idea of chasing after a runaway wife: it made him look such a fool. But it was his only chance of inheriting. And a quarter of Father’s estate was a huge fortune.

  What would he do when he caught up with her? “What if Lizzie won’t come back?” he said.

  His mother’s face set in grim lines of determination. “There is one other possibility, of course,” she said. She looked at Mandy then turned her cool gaze back on Jay. “You could make another woman pregnant, and marry her, and inherit—if Lizzie suddenly died.”

  He stared at his mother for a long moment.

  She went on: “They’re headed for the wilderness, beyond the law. Anything can happen out there: there are no sheriffs, no coroners. Sudden death is normal and no one questions it.”

  Jay swallowed dryly and reached for his drink. His mother put her hand on the glass to prevent him. “No more,” she said. “You have to get started.”

  Reluctantly he withdrew his hand.

  “Take Lennox with you,” she advised. “If worse comes to worst, and you can’t persuade or force Lizzie to come back with you—he will know how to manage it.”

  Jay nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  37

  THE ANCIENT BUFFALO-HUNTING TRACK KNOWN AS Three Notch Trail went due west for mile after mile across the rolling Virginia landscape. It ran parallel to the James River, as Lizzie could see from Mack’s map. The road crossed an endless series of ridges and valleys formed by the hundreds of creeks that trickled south into the James. At first they passed many large estates like the ones around Fredericksburg, but as they went farther west the houses and fields became smaller and the tracts of undeveloped woodland larger.

  Lizzie was happy. She was scared and anxious and guilty, but she could not help smiling. She was out of doors, on a horse, beside the man she loved, beginning a great adventure. In her mind she worried about what might happen, but her heart sang.

  They pushed the horses hard, for they feared they might be followed. Alicia Jamisson would not sit quietly in Fredericksburg waiting for Jay to come home. She would have sent a message to Williamsburg, or gone there herself, to warn him of what had happened. Were it not for Alicia’s news about Sir George’s will, Jay might have shrugged his shoulders and let them go. But now he needed his wife to provide the necessary grandchild. He would almost certainly chase after Lizzie.

  They had several days’ start on him, but he would travel faster, for he had no need of a wagonload of supplies. How would he follow the fugitives’ trail? He would have to ask at houses and taverns along the way, and hope that people noticed who went by. There were few travelers on the road and the wagon might well be remembered.

  On the third day the countryside became more hilly. Cultivated fields gave way to grazing, and a blue mountain range appeared in the distant haze. As the miles went by the horses became overtired, stumbling on the rough road and stubbornly slowing down. On uphill stretches Mack, Lizzie and Peg got off the wagon and walked to lighten the load, but it was not enough. The beasts’ heads drooped, their pace slowed further, and they became unresponsive to the whip.

  “What’s the matter with them?” Mack asked anxiously.

  “We have to give them better food,” she replied. “They’re existing on what they can graze at night. For work like this, pulling a wagon all day, horses need oats.”

  “I should have brought some,” Mack said regretfully. “I never thought of it—I don’t know much about horses.”

  That afternoon they reached Charlottesville, a new settlement growing up where Three Notch Trail crossed the north-south Seminole Trail, an old Indian route. The town was laid out in parallel streets rising up the hill from the road, but most of the lots were undeveloped and there were only a dozen or so houses. Lizzie saw a courthouse with a whipping post outside and a tavern identified by an inn sign with a crude painting of a swan. “We could get oats here,” she said.

  “Let’s not stop,” Mack said. “I don’t want people to remember us.”

  Lizzie understood his thinking. The crossroads would present Jay with a problem. He would have to find out whether the runaways had turned south or continued west. If they called attention to themselves by stopping at the tavern for supplies they would make his task easier. The horses would just have to suffer a little longer.

  A few miles beyond Charlottesville they stopped where the road was crossed by a barely visible track. Mack built
a fire and Peg cooked hominy. There were undoubtedly fish in the streams and deer in the woods, but the fugitives had no time for hunting and fishing, so they ate mush. There was no taste to it, Lizzie found, and the glutinous texture was disgusting. She forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls, but she was nauseated and threw the rest away. She felt ashamed that her field hands had eaten this every day.

  While Mack washed their bowls in a stream Lizzie hobbled the horses so that they could graze at night but not run away. Then the three of them wrapped themselves in blankets and lay under the wagon, side by side. Lizzie winced as she lay down, and Mack said: “What’s the matter?”

  “My back hurts,” she said.

  “You’re used to a feather bed.”

  “I’d rather lie on the cold ground with you than sleep alone in a feather bed.”

  They did not make love, with Peg beside them, but when they thought she was asleep they talked, in low murmurs, of all the things they had been through together.

  “When I pulled you out of that river, and rubbed you dry with my petticoat,” Lizzie said. “You remember.”

  “Of course. How could I forget?”

  “I dried your back, and then when you turned around …” She hesitated, suddenly shy. “You had got … excited.”

  “Very. I was so exhausted I could hardly stand, but even then I wanted to make love to you.”

  “I’d never seen a man like that before. I found it so thrilling. I dreamed about it afterward. I’m embarrassed to remember how much I liked it.”

  “You’ve changed so much. You used to be so arrogant.”

  Lizzie laughed softly. “I think the same about you!”

  “I was arrogant?”

  “Of course! Standing up in church and reading a letter out to the laird!”

  “I suppose I was.”

  “Perhaps we’ve both changed.”

  “I’m glad we have.” Mack touched her cheek. “I think that was when I fell in love with you—outside the church, when you told me off.”

  “I loved you for a long time without knowing it. I remember the prizefight. Every blow that landed on you hurt me. I hated to see your beautiful body being damaged. Afterward, when you were still unconscious, I caressed you. I touched your chest. I must have wanted you even then, before I got married. But I didn’t admit it to myself.”