“Of course we shall!” Mr. Chiswick laughed. “Damme to hell if we shan’t, young sir, or my name ain’t Chiswick. We may not have been the biggest nabobs in the county, but no one could say that we did not set a fine and merry table. You come back and see us again, soon. You can see George. He’d like you. Wants to be a dragoon or a hussar, but . . .”
“I would enjoy that immensely, Mister Chiswick, sir,” Alan said, feeling his clothing crawl with embarrassment for them.
“He’s out riding now,” Mr. Chiswick said proudly. “Damme, what a seat that boy has, and such a way with a horse. I’ve told him the Navy would be surer, but what can you do, eh? Perhaps you could speak to him.”
“I would admire that, sir,” Alan replied, backing for the door. Jesus, get me out of here before we all die of mortification. The old fart’s gone barking mad, he thought to himself.
He said his good-byes and got out into the hall as quickly as decent politeness would allow. He then had to plow through the herd of snotty children who had gathered to watch his departure and who ran shrieking for the porch as he emerged from the lodgings.
“Mister Lewrie,” Caroline said, coming out of the rooms and shutting the doors on that pathetic scene. Her eyes were wet with tears. “I must apologize to you. He has been getting better, but the excitement was too much for him, I fear.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mistress Chiswick,” Alan offered. “Burgess told me what happened to your plantation and to your brother George. I am heartily sorry. Better men have broken under the hurt and the strain. My own captain recently went through a debilitating experience himself.”
“Thank you for humoring him, though I don’t know if that is the best course in the long run.” She shuddered, dab-bing at her eyes. With a single deep breath that took all her concentration to inhale and hold, she calmed herself and gave him a quick, sad smile.
“I clean forgot this,” Alan said, digging for a small purse.
“I could not accept that, Mister Lewrie,” she said as he hefted it.
“’Tis not from me, Mistress Chiswick,” he told her truthfully. “Burgess and Governour finally got paid what was due since they marched from Wilmington, and they sent this in my care once they knew I would be putting in here for certain. It will help you to set yourselves up in Charleston once you get there.”
“Charleston?” she asked, taking the purse from him finally. “I do not understand.”
“Wilmington is going to be evacuated. The naval stores will be loaded up and taken off, and the garrison goes south to Charleston. After Yorktown, there aren’t troops enough to protect the place. All loyal subjects who wish to go shall find shipping, before a Rebel force marches against Wilmington.”
“How soon?” she asked, perplexed.
“We begin tomorrow,” Alan said. “We hope to empty the town in ten days. If you need any help with packing or arranging transport to the wharves, send me a note to the Desperate frigate and I can provide some hands and a boat for you and your household.”
“Oh, God, this is so cruel.” She sagged in defeat against the doorjamb. “When the Rebels take everything and set up their wretched republic, where will we light? What will be left for us?”
“They haven’t won it yet,” Alan said, as if trying to boast.
“Have they not?” She laughed without glee. “If Cornwallis and all his troops are taken and Wilmington is evacuated, then how long before a Rebel force descends on Charleston as well? Then where do we go?”
“For someone who does not pretend to understand military matters, that is an astute observation,” he said, trying to piss down her back, and also expressing a real admiration for her perspicacity. Damme, she’s not half intelligent! he thought in wonder. That won’t get her a husband, either, poor tit.
“One can only listen to the menfolks and glean what one can from their discourse, though half of it goes right past me, I fear,” she said, backpedaling into the traditional woman’s role.
“I recollect Burgess saying you had family in Surrey,” Alan said. “If things really turn that sour, you could go home to England. Surrey is a pretty place, gentle and peaceful, full of sheep now, but wonderful farm country still. Lots of fine houses, where a young lady such as yourself would make the very devil of an impression.”
“This is our home, Mister Lewrie,” she told him directly, standing back erect from her slump. “My grandparents sleep in Carolina. And every step we take forces us further away from our land and our heritage. Forgive me, but this is hard on us.”
“I shall do everything in my power to help you make the process easier, Mistress Chiswick,” Alan told her. “Governour and Burgess saved my bacon a couple of times as well, and I could do no less for them and theirs.”
“God bless you, Mister Lewrie,” she said, perking up a bit. “I truly believe that the Lord above has sent you to aid us in our time of troubles.”
If He has, He’s a devilish sense of humor to pick me for your deliverer, Alan thought to himself, but he shrugged modestly in answer.
“Please do come again, Mister Lewrie,” Caroline said, putting on a smile which lit up her face, making Alan notice for the first time that she had the funniest little underlining folds of skin below her eyes, a fault that made her eyes seem incredibly merry. “Daddy isn’t always lost in the past, and we do so want to repay you with whatever little we still have to offer, if only to feel part of a family for a short while after so much time at sea, away from your own.”
“I would appreciate that more than you know, Mistress Chiswick,” Alan told her. He took her hand and held it for a moment, but she leaned forward and bestowed a sisterly kiss on his cheek, gave his fingers one slight squeeze, and went back inside.
Alan regained the street and shambled back down Dock Street over the brow of the hill and stood looking down the road towards St. James and the handsome houses that reached almost to the wharves. He waited to digest what he had seen and heard at the Chiswicks. They had opened their home, such as it was, to him, and he felt an odd longing to go back and take advantage of their hospitality, painful as it would be to see the old man maundering through an evening, waiting for him to open his mouth and say something inane.
“I’ve never been part of a family,” he muttered. “So what’s the point now? Probably be bored shitless in an hour. If Governour or Burgess were there, ’twould be a different kettle of fish. The old man’s gone Tom O’Bedlam, and his wife ain’t far behind him, even on her best days. The girl’s the only attraction, and she’s so . . .”
He was going to say “pitifully gawky,” but the word “handsome” swam to the fore instead, which thought made him shake himself all over.
One thing for certain, he needed a drink after all that familial bumf, so he betook himself down to Market Street and entered an ordinary. He considered a brandy, but didn’t think that was the thing to have on his breath when returning to the ship, so he settled on an ale. He stretched his legs out by the fire to warm himself from the damp winds that chilled the street, noting how the locals shied away from him and stopped conversing so loudly as long as a man in King’s uniform was in sight. The ordinary was attached to a chandler’s next door, and after finishing his beer, he wandered in. Foraged over as the countryside had to be, there was a goodly selection of foodstuffs present, a sure sign that the prices would be high, bespeaking Rebel connections inland.
“Need anythin’, sir?” the publican asked, clad in the universal blue apron that seemed so homey in this alien and hostile land.
“Do you mind the refugee house on Dock Street, across the hill?”
“Aye, I knows it well, sir. Send a lot o’ trade up here.”
“I’d like to send something to one of the families.”
“Ah, the Henrys, I expect.”
“No, the Chiswicks.”
“Across the hall from the Henrys. Good customers in past, afore the troubles,” the man said, seeming almost kindly compared to the rest o
f the citizenry toward Tories, as they called them.
“I’d like to send a dinner up to them. Have you turkeys?”
“Aye, sir, I’m turkey poor at this moment,” the man smiled. “I kin cook up anythin’ ya want an’ deliver it.”
“I want a truly magnificent bird, with all the trimmings you can think of. What you’d put on your own table had you the mind for it.”
“I’d be layin’ in a couple bottles o’ wine, too, with mine, sir,” the publican said. “Dinner fer . . .”
“Four, including the old black servant woman,” Alan told him.
“Got a bird that’ll feed ’em all fer nigh on a week, an’ all the trimmin’s, with a couple bottles . . . say, ten shillings fer all, sir.”
“So be it.” Alan winced at the price. A dinner like that back in London from even a Piccadilly or Strand ordinary-kitchen would not go over a crown, and the bird not a penny a pound of it. “Let me send a note with it.”
“Be a ha’ penny fer paper, sir, an’ a ha’ penny fer the King’s stamp,” the man said slyly. “God knows, tax stamps got us in this mess, so we got ta obey the King’s laws, ain’t we now, sir?”
“I take it the ink’s free,” Alan said wryly.
“Scribble away, sir, scribble away!”
Alan left the shop and headed for the boat landing on Market Street, feeling . . . good about himself, savoring the emotion of having done a kind act for the Chiswicks and wondering just how big a fool he was for doing it, and if the man even intended to deliver the dinner.
Yorktown must have deranged me, he thought. Here I am worrying over a family I never clapped eyes on before, acting serious as a sober parson for the first time in my life, and going back aboard without even a try for some mutton. And I can’t even share that dinner, much as I’d like to look at the girl some more, even if she is poor as mud. Maybe they really will bury me a bishop.
CHAPTER 15
It was only after most of the civilians had been put aboard the shallow coastal ships in the river that they began to extricate the army from the garrison. Patrols had found no organized Rebel activity beyond the town, so it was thought possible to finish up the evacuation.
Alan had gotten a nice “thank you” note from the Chiswicks and an invitation to dinner, but he was worked much too hard to be able to accept for days. He did not know how much their sons had sent them, so he did not wish to intrude on their penury if they had to lay out money only to entertain him. The food in Desperate was good enough now they were in harbor, and the chandlers and purveyors could get in their last good selling season on the fleeing Loyalists and ships’ crews. He ate his fill of some very good dinners that Freeling did not mangle or burn.
Toward the last week of November, though, as the weather turned rainy and cold, he was surprised to get a note from Caroline Chiswick, asking for that promised aid in packing and moving. After showing the note to Treghues, he was allowed ashore once more on a private errand.
He took Cony and several sturdy hands to do the fetching and carrying and to row the cutter through the blustery morning wind and rain. Sopping wet even through a tarpaulin watch coat, he reached their lodgings to find absolute disorganization.
“Mister Lewrie, thank you for coming.” Caroline smiled in relief as he entered the frowsty warm room. “I did not wish to throw ourselves on you, or be a burden to you, but . . .”
“If you need help, then there’s nothing for it but to get some, Mistress Chiswick.” He was smiling back, feeling glad to be in her presence once more. “Now, what may I do? I’d have thought you would have been on one of the ships long since, so I must own to some surprise to receive your note this morning.”
“Daddy hasn’t been feeling well.” She sighed, her hands knit together as though she was at the end of her own tether. “He . . .”
She led him to one corner where they could converse without the rest of the family—or his curious seamen—overhearing them.
“He became more lucid in the last few days, less involved in his memories, but then he began to weep over all we’ve lost, and nothing could console him. I sent for a physician, but there was little he could do but put him to bed and told us to cosset him and wait it out. Otherwise we would have taken passage with the Henrys, who had lodgings across the hall. But they could not wait, and they had so much to pack . . .”
“How is he doing today, then?” Alan asked, stripping off the tarpaulin garment. “Pardon my familiarity in presuming to pry.”
“He thinks he is home,” she whispered in a small voice, the pain making her shake so that she had to place a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, something Alan was only too glad to allow. “He doesn’t understand why we have to pack up and leave, and Momma doesn’t want to upset him. I’ve tried packing what I could, but as soon as he sees me gathering things up, he . . . oh, dammit!” she finally burst out, catching herself almost at once and apologizing for losing control. “I have tried, the good Lord shall witness I have tried, but I’m only a weak woman.”
“I don’t think you weak at all, Mistress Chiswick,” Alan told her, his heart going out to her in her travail of trying to nurse a loony and cajole a stubborn but weak mother at the same time. “Is he rational enough to listen to reason?”
“No, I fear not.”
“Then lie to him,” Alan said bluntly. “If he doesn’t know where he is, then you may tell him you’re already in Charleston, ready to go home, or going to Charleston to see his sons, who are already there. You must go there now and again.”
“Only once in our lives,” she confessed. “Wilmington is the biggest town we’ve seen, except for that. But he always did love going. I could try. Oh, thank you, Mister Lewrie, you’re inspiring.”
“Sneaky, but inspiring.” He grinned.
“The Lord shall forgive us a small lie, in a good cause,” she said with a firmness he was glad to see.
“You go work on him, and I shall have my men gather up your belongings and get them into your wagon. Which one is yours?”
“We have none,” she said. “We had to sell the wagon and the carriage and all the horses just to pay for lodging and food once our coin ran out. No one extends credit, and everything is dear.”
“No problem.” Alan grinned. “Cony?”
“Aye, sir?”
“Go out and hire us a wagon. Handle the drays yourself and we’ll save tuppence or two. Hold on, how much is to go?”
Alan saw all the heavy furniture, the beds and the chairs, the tables and paintings, the carpets on the floor, even if they were far past the times when Axminster or Wilton would have claimed them as their work. Caroline must not have been able to pack up much, he surmised.
“The mattresses and pillows, the crates that Mammy and I have already packed, and the trunks.”
“The rest?” Alan wondered.
“It came with the lodgings, or was found from other unfortunates such as we for a few pence,” Caroline said, trying to put a brave face on it. “I have one large trunk for the last of our clothes, and one for all the quilts and such still hanging. The rest is packed.”
“One ’orse dray, sir,” Cony said, looking at the meager pile of possessions that represented three generations of work and life.
“Go get one then,” Alan told him grimly.
Caroline ducked through a quilt barrier to her parents’ bedroom and began to speak to her father. Alan could hear her telling him that he was there to take them to Charleston to see Gov and Burge, see all the sights and buy new horses and a slave or two, some “fancies.”
The old man was having little of it, however, and insisted that there were good reasons to stay where they were, snug in their own beds at home on their own lands. Alan didn’t want to hear all of that, so he got busy ordering the hands to shift everything out to the front of the lodging house, letting Mammy point out what was to go and what was to stay while she had herself a short weep between loads.
They finally got the room picked clean o
f all the Chiswick belongings, and the landlord came in to see that nothing of his would be going.
“They owe fer the last two days, sir,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb as though he would not move until he got his money.
“How much?” Alan asked.
“A crown,” the man said, smiling hopefully.
“Bugger me!” Alan gawped. “I wouldn’t pay that much to sleep in St. James’ Place!”
“They ain’t leavin’ ’til I get my money,” the man blustered.
Alan crooked a finger at one of his hands, a fo’c’s’le man named Fields, who easily stood taller than Alan and weighed fifteen stone, the sort who could seize a headsail sheet and almost walk away with it himself in a full gale.
“Now, sir,” Alan crooned softly, dragging the little man into the hallway. “There’s a lot of furniture been added to this room to make it livable, some of it rather good and bought for a penny on the pound, unless I miss my guess. Why don’t you take that in trade? If you do, then I won’t have to have Fields here tear off your legs and cram ’em up your fundament.”
“You wouldn’t dare, sir!”
“Take him out back and dismember him, Fields.”
“Aye, sir,” Fields said, lumbering within reach. “Hain’t never tried ta rip a man’s legs h’off afore. Might be a treat.”
“Alright, go, just go!” the landlord cried, ducking out of range.
Finally, Mr. Chiswick was bundled up into winter clothing and was carried out to the dray, protesting all the while that he could walk, and his wife stumbled alongside him while two seamen linked arms to make a chair for his frail body. Caroline came out of the house in a dark red velvet traveling cloak with the hood up over her fair hair, and a muff over her hands, and the sailors winked and leered at Lewrie, thinking him quite the fellow to have become friends with such a pretty girl.
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