by Edward Cline
Hugh smiled. “He would needs be a man of substance to apologize to me, Reverdy, and my uncle is a man in name only.” He took her into his arms and held her closely.
“Were you put into one of those awful prisons, the Clink, or the King’s Bench?” she asked. “I’ve heard the most dreadful things about them.”
“No. The Tower.”
“Oh! You were treated like a prince!”
“But my friends were not,” said Hugh darkly, “and they will not survive.”
Reverdy changed the subject. “Have you seen Roger?”
“Not yet.”
“His brother is home on leave, and parades around in his uniform. He is only a cornet, but behaves like a colonel. Mr. Tallmadge is quite proud of him, and Roger is dazzled.”
* * *
Hugh waited for Roger Tallmadge outside until the tutors dismissed their students for the day, and met him in the yard in back of his friend’s house. After they had finished their greetings, Hugh told Roger why he was home.
Roger was dumbstruck. “I had heard you were home, but could not understand why.”
“Now you know.”
“Were you actually friends with these men, and you stood on the pillory, and defied the crowd?”
“Yes.”
Roger did not know whether to be envious or disapproving. “Hugh,” he said, “you do the most fantastic things!” His face lit up. “Defying the Crown, and all those people! I wish I could have been there to see it!”
They sat down on a bench. Hugh asked, “Would you have joined me?”
“Yes,” replied Roger. “I suppose I would have. But…I didn’t know your friends. I don’t know…” He paused. “At least, I would have tried to defend you. You do things that I suppose are right, but no one else understands them.”
Hugh squeezed his friend’s shoulder once. “I’ll show you the pictures I drew of my friends. You won’t meet their like in Danvers, or Poole.”
“And you were locked in the Tower! Who else was there?”
Hugh shook his head. “I did not notice.”
Roger studied his friend’s face. “Battle scars!” he laughed. “Francis hopes to get one, to impress the ladies.” Then he sighed. “He is home on leave. We had better not tell him about this. The Duke spoke three words to him, and now he is all full of fire.”
“He will learn of it sooner or later,” said Hugh. “But—you would like to be in his place, would you not?”
“Well…no. He is treated like a valet by most of the senior officers of the regiment. He must even run errands for the Duke’s new mistress, and some of the lieutenants keep playing pranks on him and try to get him into trouble.” Roger paused. “Did your uncle actually threaten you?”
“So my father said. Do you know the old Milgram house in town?”
“Yes.”
“My parents and sister will move into it, when they return. They have decided not to live with my uncle. Father plans to erect a new house somewhere in the western part of the estate.”
“And where are you going?”
“To Leyden, or Edinburgh. I will know when my father returns. He is coming back only to see me off, and then he will return to London on business matters.”
“How long will you be away?”
“Perhaps a year.” Hugh rose. “I’m certain that your parents will be invited over for supper when mine return, Roger. I’ll show you the renderings I did of my friends in London.”
“I’d like that.” Roger stood up. He looked apologetic, then blurted, “Your uncle is a flagitious hick, for all his manners and airs! Strike me down, if you must, but that’s my opinion!”
Hugh smiled. “Say anything you wish about him, Roger.”
* * *
It was Hugh’s turn to be surprised when, on returning two days later from a ride through the hills above Danvers with Roger and Reverdy, he found both of his parents and his sister at home.
“We decided to forgo a season in London, rather than stay,” said his father. “We cancelled the dinners and concerts. Under the circumstances, we could not have much enjoyed ourselves.”
“By the time your uncle returns, after Parliament has recessed, we will have settled into the Milgram place,” said his mother. “It is less commodious than our home here, but we will be spared the distraction and the awkwardness.”
“And the annoyance,” added the Baron.
Hugh was sitting with his parents in the orangery. “I’m sorry you chose to leave,” he said. “I know how much you look forward to the season.”
“Don’t be,” said Effney Kenrick. “It was our decision. It will cause talk here and in London, but that is as it may be.” She reached over the table and took Hugh’s hand. “Besides, I couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing you again, before you go.”
“Have you told Reverdy?” asked the Baron.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That it does not matter.”
“And…her parents?” asked the Baroness.
“I don’t know that she has told them yet,” said Hugh. “I’m still welcome at her house.”
“I see,” said his father.
“Hugh,” said his mother, “please don’t be…disappointed if they do not understand, or if she is reluctant to tell them about Charing Cross…and everything else. Her parents may press her to change her mind about you. It is not entirely a matter of her choice.”
Hugh looked away, then faced his parents again. “I knew from the beginning that ours was a marriage of property, and not simply…a marriage. But Reverdy has expressed her love for me, and I don’t believe she would be able to, well, smother it to suit her parents.”
“I hope that is true,” said the Baron. “But your mother tells me that she knows that Mrs. Brune has other…prospects in mind for Reverdy, should the two families find serious grounds for disagreement.” He shook his head. “For my part, the Brunes’ property, attractive as it is, weighs nothing in a scale between it and your happiness. Your mother and I wish you to understand that.”
“All we are doing is warning you, Hugh,” said the Baroness. “And it may be that our concern is baseless. You and Reverdy were not to be married until you reached your majority. Even though she may seem hesitant or confused now, it may mean nothing. She and her parents will have some time to, well, accept this new situation. No time will have been lost.”
Hugh shook his head. “She has been neither hesitant nor confused.”
His mother managed a smile. “Then perhaps she is stronger than we had imagined.”
The Baron sighed and poured himself another cup of tea. “Here is what I have arranged, Hugh. In two weeks’ time, the Sparrowhawk will call at Weymouth to pick up some cargo. All your belongings in London will be on her. Mr. Worley will see to that. I met and spoke with Captain Ramshaw, and paid for your passage. He has set aside a cabin for you, and you will dine with him more often than you won’t.” He paused. “You are going to Philadelphia, Hugh. It is the custom of planters and merchants in the colonies to send their sons to schools here for education or to learn their fathers’ business. I have decided that you will go to the colonies, to work for Mr. Talbot, and absorb that end of the business. I’ve already sent him a letter advising him of your due arrival. It went by packet two days ago. There is an academy in Philadelphia. I have learned that it is not a disgrace to complete one’s education there. Mr. Talbot himself is an alumnus. You will stay with him and his family. I will give you money and some bills of exchange for expenses, and you will get an allowance every few months. You will be gone for two years or so. I entertain no hope that anything will have changed during that time. Except, perhaps, that this war will have ended.”
“When you return,” said the Baroness, “our new home ought to be finished, and that is where you will stay.”
“At least until you and Reverdy are married,” added the Baron.
There was nothing more to be said on the subject. A wall c
lock ticked on, and birds feuded in the shrubbery outside the orangery window. Neither the father, the mother, nor the son spoke for a while. They allowed the silence to absorb their fears, thoughts, and dashed hopes.
Hugh broke the silence first. He rose and said, “I sketched likenesses of my friends. I’ll go and fetch them. You should, at least, have an idea of the reason…for my leaving.” He smiled. “Why, I think I shall do sketches of you both, and of Alice, and Roger, too, to take with me to Philadelphia.”
“And not of Reverdy?” asked the Baroness.
Hugh laughed. “I have more than enough likenesses of her.” He did not elaborate. Effney Kenrick knew nothing of her son’s plans to erect a temple.
* * *
Many considerations entered into Garnet Kenrick’s decision to send Hugh away—away from the Earl, beyond his brother’s threat to expose him, away from the corruption—and away from his own complicity in the corruption he knew his son despised. He could sense only an indistinct figure on the horizon of Hugh’s life. He wished Hugh to become whatever that figure was, but cleanly, without the odor of shame or disgust. His son was becoming something he was not. He was willing to see him become that thing, independently, inevitably, even if it meant, someday, that his son would become his enemy and harshest critic.
His decision was vindicated when Hugh brought the drawings into the orangery and spread them over the table. The Baron studied them, and pointing to one figure, asked, “Is that William Horlick, the noted fabulist?”
“Noted by some,” remarked Hugh.
“And he turned against his friends—and you?”
“Yes.”
“What a fool! And this black fellow: He is the one who was your special friend, the one who died trying to protect you on the pillory?”
“Yes. That is he.”
The Baroness remarked, “They look like elevated company, Hugh, except, I suppose for Mr. Horlick, who apparently chose to descend from the heights.” She saw Hugh look at her with an oddly pleased smile; she did not know the significance of her words. “I’m sorry, Hugh, that you have lost such friends.”
Later, in private, the Baron inquired about the T on William Horlick’s cheek. “It looks like a branding. How did he get it?”
“I put it there,” said Hugh. “He had gone to the pillory to see the men he betrayed. He threw the first stone. I ensured that it was his last.”
The Baron frowned and said softly, “Oh, Hugh, that was cruel!”
“It was justice, Father,” said Hugh. “There is no law that commands punishment for his crime. I made amends for its absence. That is all.” The finality of his words forbad pursuit of the subject.
This was the son Garnet Kenrick was certain would face him in the future, when Hugh was a man.
* * *
Hugh called on Reverdy the next day to inform her of his departure and destination. “Have you told your parents yet about why I am here?”
“No,” said the girl. “But they have wondered why your family have returned.”
“Now that you know when and where I am going, you must tell them.”
“I will, Hugh. Today.”
Hugh rose from the divan and paced once before Reverdy. After a moment, he asked, “Has your mother or father ever expressed doubts about our marriage?”
“Not to me,” said the girl. “James has alluded to it, to me, in private, but if Mother has not spoken to me about any doubts she and Father may have, then they cannot be serious.”
Hugh picked up the portfolio he brought with him. “I have something for you, Reverdy.” He took out a drawing. It was a self-portrait in crayon. “I did it last night.” He handed it to her. “For you to remember me by—for the next two years.”
She studied the picture, then threw it down, jumped up, and embraced Hugh, burying her face in his shoulder. “Weymouth…in two weeks…you will be gone…”
They kissed.
Hugh said, when they had finished, “When I am back, the two years will seem like only two weeks.”
“Damn your uncle!” whispered Reverdy.
“Yes,” replied Hugh. “Damn him.”
Reverdy disengaged herself from Hugh’s embrace, and sat down again. “How long is the voyage?”
“Two months, most likely. With a good, constant wind, perhaps six weeks. That’s what Captain Ramshaw told my father.” Hugh resumed his seat next to Reverdy. “My ship will probably stop at Falmouth after Weymouth, then join a convoy at Plymouth. Father says that the only danger will come from privateers, not the French navy. The Sparrowhawk, though, has always beaten off her attackers, and there have been many.”
“I had forgotten that danger.”
Hugh smiled. “Never fear. If I find myself confronted with an armed Frenchman, I will tell him that his countrymen write better than they fight.” He smiled when Reverdy grinned against her will. He said, “Reverdy, promise me that you will come to Weymouth. This is not merely my invitation. My mother has invited you to ride in our carriage, with us. Your parents may follow in their own.”
Reverdy said, “I promise, Hugh. I will come even if my parents do not.”
* * *
The two weeks passed swiftly. The Kenricks were preoccupied with new homes—the Baron and Baroness, with seeing that the Milgram house in Danvers was repaired and cleaned, and Hugh with selecting what things to take with him on the voyage to Philadelphia.
Five days before he and his family were to leave for Weymouth, where they would stay at an inn to await the arrival of the Sparrowhawk, a letter came for him from London, dated nearly two weeks before. It was from Sir Dogmael Jones:
“Milord Kenrick: I write you with the information that, after a diligent search for a means to rescue your friends from the morbid caresses of our delicate English prisons, I found that means. Very recently I met by arrangement in a tavern near the Cornhill Exchange Captain Charles Musto, who commands the Charon, a brig-sized merchantman. He is a fellow whose sole exports from this country are redemptioners, emigrants, and convicts. He and his partner in Charleston in Carolina have made this a business for years. I told him about your friends (neglecting to mention your name) and what cheap tutors these educated fellows might make for the colonial bashaws who might buy them. Without weighing into details, their indentures, which are for seven years, were procured, and Captain Musto has purchased them. When they will depart on the Charon, I do not know. I called on them at Newgate and they expressed their gratitude. I am certain that they will fare far better instructing colonial children in the rudiments of things than breaking stone or fashioning spars at Blackwell or Deptford. They have asked me to convey to you their thanks for your gesture at Charing Cross, and also that they share the sorrow for losing Mr. Swain, who acted and died gallantly. It is their mutual hope that you and they may meet again some day.
Your most obedient servant, Dogmael Jones.”
This news overjoyed Hugh, who immediately penned a reply, thanking Jones for the information and mentioning the fact that he, too, was going to the colonies. “Your efforts on behalf of my friends,” he wrote, “will not be forgotten. I have related to my father your efforts throughout the matter, and he is appreciative. If there is anything he or I could do for you, please do not hesitate to write either of us.”
Two nights before they were to set out for Weymouth, the Kenricks invited the Brunes and the Tallmadges to a farewell supper in Hugh’s honor. The gay affair was dampened somewhat by Mrs. Brune’s announcement to the Baroness that her family would not be able to journey to Weymouth. “Regrettably, we have been invited to spend a week or so with the McDougals in Surrey,” she said, “and if we are to arrive there in a decent time, we must embark on the very day you are going to Weymouth. It would be utterly impossible to try to fit in two protracted journeys. Had we known earlier about your plans, we might have written to the McDougals, postponing our arrival one or two days. But Reverdy did not inform us of Hugh’s departure until it was too late. I am very sorry
.”
Effney Kenrick sensed that there was more to it than conflicting agendas, but she said nothing. She did not allow the news to affect her role as the happy and gracious hostess. She was only sorry that she had been right about the effect that Hugh’s actions had apparently had on the Brunes. And she saw, by Hugh’s and Reverdy’s demeanors that evening, that Hugh also knew and that the girl was not happy with the change in plans. She did her best to give the pair as much time together alone as possible. When the guests were gone, she waited until Hugh raised the subject.
He said, “We shall write each other,” he commented. “Mr. Tallmadge has given Roger permission to come with us to Weymouth, instead.”
“Roger is always welcome, Hugh,” said the Baroness.
Hugh noted the concerned look on his mother’s face. He smiled. “She’s promised not to allow her mother to marry her off to someone else,” he said. “And when I return, if necessary, we shall elope. That is all there is to that.”
By silent agreement, nothing more was said on the subject.
* * *
It was with a sense of disappointment that the Kenricks waited a mere one day for the Sparrowhawk to drop anchor in Weymouth Harbor. They had hoped for two or three days.
And it was a brave, self-controlled party that stood on the breezy, busy dock mid-morning the next day. Once the last goodbyes, embraces, reassurances, and promises had been exchanged, Hugh turned and walked up the gang-board. He had, for a final time, grimly shaken hands with his father, traded lingering busses with his mother and sister, and shaken hands with Roger Tallmadge. He carried his friend’s farewell gift, an army officer’s long-glass. When Roger presented it to him, his friend stammered, “An aid for my farsighted and soon-to-be-faraway friend.” He had added, “I spent all last night making that up, and I bought the glass in a shop in Poole. My father repaired it.”
The Sparrowhawk had matured over the years. She was a vessel of commerce, and still, out of necessity, a vessel of war. Gone were the Quakers, the “phony guns”; she now boasted thirty, alternating four-and six-pounders, each manned by an expert crew. She carried on this voyage chiefly cargo, mostly manufactures from England, together with woven and liquid products from Spain and Portugal, disguised on altered cockets as items of English origin. There were only eleven passengers, including three officials and their wives traveling to the colonies to assume government posts there, and five paying passengers. The crew of eighty outnumbered them. This was one of the rare voyages on which the frigate-sized vessel carried no redemptioners, indentures, or felons.
