A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)

by Laing, Annette

  “Wow, that’s tough,” Brandon said. “I guess Lady C. is lucky that Thornhill will let her have anything, huh?”

  Alex handed Brandon his pen and ink bottle, together with one page of the original document. “Yes, she is, but he didn’t give her the slaves at Kintyre. That’s where we come in. See Mr. Thornhill’s initials at the end of the page? I want you to practice copying those until nobody can tell the difference.”

  Brandon was shocked. “You want me to forge this guy’s signature?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Alex. “But first, here’s a sheet of paper. Write to Mr. Thornhill, and tell him that I have flu, and won’t be back in London for a while. I don’t want him to get suspicious.”

  “Okay,” said Brandon doubtfully. “I hope you’re right, because I don’t want Jupe’s life messed up any more than it already is… Alex, you know this Thornhill guy. Why is he being so nasty to Lady Chatsfield? What’s his problem?”

  “Beats me,” Alex said. “Grown-ups can be weird like that.”

  “You know what,” Brandon said, “Maybe he blames his wife because she wouldn’t come with him to Georgia.”

  There was a pause while Alex looked over the papers once more. “Okay, so Mr. Thornhill wants to get back at his wife, but he’s not totally evil, and he knows he has to support her, because it’s not like Lady Chatsfield can work in WalMart, right? So he gives her Kintyre Plantation as a gift, but kind of a mean one, because he knows she hates slavery, but he doesn’t give her the slaves, so she can’t free any of them, including Jupe’s parents.”

  He read aloud from a document, ‘I give to my former wife the estate of Kintyre Plantation and all chattel except slaves.’ Then, dipping his pen in ink, he wrote something, and carefully handed the document to Brandon. “Watch out, the ink’s wet.”

  Brandon blinked when he saw what Alex done. He had heavily crossed out the words except slaves. Brandon sighed heavily. “Alex, that’s so not going to fly.”

  “Yes, it is. You’re going to initial it, after you practice Mr. Thornhill’s initials.”

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Brandon. “I mean, won’t he find out? Who are you sending this to?”

  Alex shrugged. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think it might work. I’m sending it to Mr. Baird. He’s loyal to Mr. Thornhill, and Mr. Thornhill just trusts him to get things done. Plus, Mr. Baird doesn’t work too hard. I mean, if we had computer solitaire in 1851, he’s the kind of guy who would play it all day. He won’t look at this too closely or think too hard about it, especially if I send him a letter telling him to put it in the files. I’ll send copies directly to the city government in Savannah, and to Lady Chatsfield’s lawyer. But we will need to tell Lady Chatsfield about all this.”

  Lady Chatsfield put down her needlepoint to wring her hands. She was very worried. Soon, she would once again be just plain Emma Thornhill, now a divorced woman living on the proceeds of slavery, and excluded from polite society. The humiliation was almost more than she could bear. She was startled by the knock at the drawing-room door, and even more surprised by the appearance of Alex.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but may I speak with you? It’s important.”

  She rubbed her forehead, sighed heavily, and told him not to take long. Alex looked at her closely, and he could see echoes of Verity and Mrs. Devenish in her long face and tall figure. He took a seat on an uncomfortable sofa. “I know you’re upset about owning a plantation…” he began.

  Lady Chatsfield flinched: She was not used to discussing her feelings with strange little boys.

  But Alex persevered. “You know, slavery will be over in a few years….”

  She was agog. “How, pray tell, could you possibly know that?”

  “Um… Ah,” Alex sputtered. And then he thought of something. “There’s rumors in America about slavery ending. They say there might even be a war, you know, a civil war, when Americans fight each other over slavery. Might be a good idea for you to save as much money as you can from the plantation income, you know, just in case. Anyway, I’ve visited that plantation…”

  Lady Chatsfield looked at him eagerly. “Oh, you have? What do you suggest?”

  Alex was pleased. Grown-ups weren’t usually interested in his suggestions. He sat up proudly. “I suggest you let Jupe’s dad run it. He’s the slave driver, and his name’s Jupiter, too. He’s pretty much already running the place as it is. He’s a great guy. Just put down my name as the overseer, because you’re supposed to have a white person in charge, but Jupiter can actually run the plantation. You can trust him.”

  Lady Chatsfield looked confused. “But you don’t understand. My husband will continue to own the slaves.”

  “No, he won’t,” Alex said. “I’ve come to tell you a secret. I’ve arranged it so the slaves will belong to you. Mr. Thornhill doesn’t know, and I hope you don’t mind. I know you don’t want to be a slaveowner, but you’re the slaves’ best chance to have a good life, and maybe become free one day.”

  Lady Chatsfield nodded crisply. She understood.

  “There’s one more thing,” Alex said hesitantly. “Jupe wants to go back to America, but, obviously, he can’t go back to Georgia. He’s got an aunt in Massachusetts, but he can’t afford to take a ship there.”

  “I will pay his passage, gladly,” said Lady Chatsfield. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind intervention. But is there nothing more I can do for the unfortunate slaves of Kintyre Plantation? Can I not free them?”

  Alex said, “No, I don’t think so. It’s not legal to free your slaves.”

  Lady Chatsfield paused momentarily, and then she said, “I shall bear your advice in mind. I appreciate your kind assistance, Master Day, and I take it that our conversation will remain in confidence.”

  “Yes, of course,” Alex said, and he gave a short bow. “I’ve got one more favor to ask you. Please could I stay on at Balesworth Hall for a while?”

  “You wish to remain for your health, I presume? You are most welcome to stay, but only for a few days, because I am preparing to leave. I will announce my imminent departure to the servants this afternoon. They will remain here, with the exception of Flora and my butler, who will accompany me.”

  Alex blurted out, “But wouldn’t it make more sense to keep Mrs. Watson with you, and leave Mr. Veeriswamy? I mean, it’s her house you’re moving to, and she can cook for you…”

  Lady Chatsfield looked icily at him. “That is not your business. I am grateful for your assistance. You may go now.”

  Nobody, Hannah thought, would notice if a room wasn’t dusted today. Now that Lady Chatsfield had announced that she was leaving, the servants had been slacking off whenever they got the chance. Roberts the carriage driver had slipped off to Balesworth, to look for a new position (he said), although Mrs. Watson grumbled that it was more likely he was going to the pub. Since the furniture belonged with the house, only Flora and Mr. Veeriswamy were needed to help Lady Chatsfield and Sarah to pack their few belongings.

  Hannah took full advantage of the stupor that had settled over the household. She found a sunny corner of the large formal garden that could not be seen from the house. There, she pulled off her apron and dress, and lay down to enjoy the spring sunshine, wearing only her shift. She couldn’t believe how much lighter she felt without her heavy clothes. Blissfully, she drifted into sleep.

  She was rudely awoken by a sharp light kick to the ankle. Struggling upright, she found Brandon standing over her, glowering.

  “You are so lazy,” he said. “Come on, get up and come help me.”

  “Help you do what?” exclaimed Hannah.

  “Our jobs!” Brandon said. “Unless you want to be fired?”

  “Sure,” Hannah said. “Why not? Lady Chatsfield is leaving, so we’re getting canned anyway.”

  Brandon sighed heavily. “No, we’re not. The servants stay with the estate even when it changes hands, and the chances are
excellent that the new Lord Chatsfield will keep us on. But, yeah, you will get fired if Mr. V. catches you out here tanning yourself. Oh, and by the way, he’s sent Jupe to ask Mr. Letchmore to send a wagon to remove Mrs. Watson’s stuff from the cottage in Balesworth. He wants you and me to go to Mrs. Watson’s house and get her stuff ready to be moved this afternoon.”

  “Oh, great,” Hannah groaned.

  “No, it really is great,” Brandon said. “It gives us an excuse to plant some proof of Henry’s birthplace at the house.”

  Just then, they were both startled by a shriek of indignation. Sarah was standing behind them with a hand over her mouth. Hannah clambered to her feet, and brushed the grass off her shift. It was then that she realized she was standing in the Victorian version of underwear. No wonder Sarah was shocked.

  “How…How dare you…” she spluttered, growing red in the face.

  For once, Hannah looked chagrined. Brandon leaped to her defense as Hannah hastily dressed. “Hey, Miss Sarah, it’s no big deal,” he said. “You and your mother are leaving, and Hannah’s been working her brains out at Balesworth Hall. We all have. Does it really matter if she takes a break?”

  At that moment, Henry ran up, coming to a screeching halt when he saw that Hannah was dressing. He looked agog for a second, and then said pompously, “You two ought to be attending to your duties. Servants are not permitted to roam in the gardens.”

  Now Brandon felt his temper rising to the boil. “We’re at least as smart as the both of you, but you get to hang out in nice rooms…and libraries…and stuff, while all we do is work… How come? Who made you the boss of us?”

  Hannah stood stock still. She had never seen Brandon so angry. Sarah looked askance at him, blinking slowly, while Henry watched, fascinated. This was clearly not a conversation that anyone had expected.

  Truthfully, Brandon didn’t care. He was tired of being in the nineteenth century, tired of doing work that was hard, boring, and earned him no respect. He was tired of feeling as though he was unimportant. He had had enough. “Why should you guys have a fun life, and us not? Huh? Hannah and me, we’re kids, too.”

  Sarah looked levelly at him, and finally, she spoke calmly. “You are servants, and your place is below stairs. I was born to the upper class, and Henry has been fortunate to receive my mother’s patronage, for which he is grateful. Aren’t you, Henry?”

  Henry nodded frantically. “Oh, yes, Miss Sarah. Very grateful indeed.”

  What a suck-up, Brandon thought. Instantly, he was horrified to realize that he had said that out loud.

  “Be quiet, Brandon,” snapped Sarah. “I will allow your remarks to go unreported and unpunished, provided you…”

  “Oh, shut up,” yelled Hannah. “You just go on and on and on, like you’re the queen, or something. You aren’t all that. You won’t even be living here soon.”

  Sarah Chatsfield was amazed to be spoken to like this by anyone, least of all by servants. But she also saw how distressed Brandon and Hannah were. She wasn’t an unkind girl, but she was very serious, more so than her mother thought proper for a young lady. She was embarrassed by her part in creating a scene, and knowing that Brandon and Hannah were touchier than any servants she had ever met before, she felt responsible for having upset them. When she spoke again, she said quietly,“I’m sorry I upset you both. It’s not personal, you see… But, surely, you must understand that you are both servants?”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “We’re servants right now, but we won’t be in the future. We’ll have the chance to do something with our lives, and not just work for rich people. In fact, we’ll have more of a chance at a life than you will, Sarah. I mean, don’t you want to be somebody?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

  Brandon knew what her answer would be, but he was in a lousy mood, and he wanted to force Sarah to admit that, for all her wealth, she had no ambition. “What I mean is, what do you want to do with your life when you grow up?”

  Sarah looked at him as though he were incredibly stupid. “I have told you before. I shall marry, of course. I shall marry a gentleman and live as a lady.”

  Hannah glanced at Brandon, and said, “So, really, that’s it? You don’t want to travel, or anything like that? That sounds kind of boring.”

  Sarah hesitated, and Henry interrupted. “I shall tell Mr. Veeriswamy that you were rude to Miss Sarah…” At once, Sarah told Henry to be quiet; Hannah and Brandon told him to shut up.

  “Hannah, Brandon,” Sarah said cautiously, “Both of you have urged me repeatedly to have ambition, and I don’t understand. Please explain. What do you mean?”

  Hannah said, “I guess I mean you need to get a life. Have some fun. Go shopping…”

  “That’s fun?” Brandon said skeptically, as he turned to Hannah. “I was thinking more like she should read some books, get out more…”

  Sarah was even more baffled by their exchange. “But I’m a girl,” she said weakly. “And I don’t want to be thought of as a bluestocking. If gentlemen think me too clever, I shall never marry.”

  “But that’s crazy,” Hannah exclaimed. “Why would anyone want a stupid wife?”

  Sarah didn’t know how to answer, but she thought to herself that it was a very interesting question.

  Now, quite unexpectedly, Henry said solemnly, “I, too, should like to become a person of some importance when I grow up. But I doubt that it will ever happen, now that Lady Chatsfield is leaving Balesworth Hall. She has told me that she no longer plans to send me to the East India College. However, I am glad to have had so many books to read, and perhaps the new Lord Chatsfield will allow me to continue to borrow from his library.”

  Brandon looked at Henry with new compassion. “Look, Henry, we’re going on a secret adventure in Balesworth this afternoon, Alex, Hannah, and me, and we need you to come along.”

  “You do?” Henry squeaked. He was flattered.

  “I… I would like to join you, also,” Sarah said timidly.

  Brandon gave her a delighted smile.

  Early that afternoon, Hannah and Brandon rounded up Henry, Alex, and Sarah, and the four of them set off. On the way, Alex begged two large scraps of parchment from a lawyer’s office on Balesworth High Street, claiming that they were needed for important business at Balesworth Hall. When he returned outside, he held up the parchment proudly. Hannah looked at it without interest. “It’s paper,” she said. “So what?”

  “No, it’s not paper,” said Alex. “It’s much tougher. It’s scraped animal hide, and it stands a chance of surviving to the twenty-first century. Just to make sure, though, we’re going to plant two copies.”

  “What are you doing?” Henry asked, feeling the parchment.

  Brandon turned to him. “Henry? We want you to write out something for us, okay? Have you ever heard of time capsules?”

  “No, I have not,” Henry said sourly.

  Brandon explained. “A time capsule is like a collection of stuff from the present that you bury somewhere so that people in the future can dig it up.”

  Henry looked baffled. “I still don’t… Oh. Do you mean something like a message in a bottle?”

  “That’s right!” Alex said cheerfully. “A message in a bottle, sent from 1851 to the future. And we would like you to write it.” He handed Henry the parchment, a pen, and an ink bottle.

  “But why must I do it?” asked Henry suspiciously.

  Brandon had an answer for him. “Because we think you’re going to be very famous, and we want people in the future to know where you were born.”

  Henry was thrilled. “I have always thought that it is my destiny to become something greater than a cook’s son! Very well, then. What is it that you wish me to write?”

  “Easy,” said Alex, and he began to dictate: “I, Henry Watson, was born in this house at… Wait, what’s your address?”

  Henry said, “Weston Cottage, Balesworth, Hertfordshire.”

  “Your little h
ouse has a name?” giggled Hannah.

  “Of course, why not?” said Brandon. “Lots of English houses have names. I think Mrs. D. even had a name for her house… What was it?

  Alex looked at them and then burst out laughing. “Weston Cottage! Don’t you remember, Hannah?” Sarah was watching them, fascinated. She had never done anything quite so out of the ordinary as this small adventure, and she was enjoying every minute of it, however baffling she found it. “Who is this ‘Mrs. Dee’ of whom you speak?” she asked.

  “Oh, you would never believe us if we told you,”Alex said simply. “She’s a lady we once knew. Or will know. Depends on how you look at it.”

  Hannah muttered in an aside to Brandon, “And she’s also Sarah’s daughter, but I don’t think I’m gonna mention that.”

  “Don’t,” warned Brandon.

  After they bought a small tin box in which to store the letter, they walked to Weston Cottage, and, taking a shovel from the garden shed, they took turns digging the ground. Two hours later, a tired and grubby Alex piled on the last shovelful of earth and said, “I hope Mrs. D. doesn’t dig it up, planting cabbages or something.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Brandon, who was equally tired and grubby. “We put it six feet under, just like a dead body.”

  Hannah was picking at a broken fingernail that she had used as an excuse to hand over the digging job to the others. “It’s all dead bodies with you, isn’t it, Brandon?”

  Brandon gave Hannah a pointed look. “Yeah, that’s right. Are you volunteering to be the next one?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Hannah said mirthlessly.