by Ann Birch
I had tailored my comments to about fifty words, thanking our hosts for their hospitality and encouraging everyone to enjoy the day. There was then a rush for the food. I stood aside, not really wanting to be part of the crush and anxious only for the afternoon to be over. It was a surprise, therefore, when Mr. Robinson stood before me, a plate of food in his hand.
“I have picked some delicacies for you, dear Miss Powell,” he said, thrusting the plate into my hands. “I remembered how you enjoy cheese wafers and eggplant caviar.” Then he laughed. “Note that I have not served you oysters. You must surely recall that unfortunate evening at Governor Gore’s ball when you made your brave statement about the dubious freshness of those sea creatures. How I admired your frankness.”
Was this a genuine act of kindness or was my long-ago lover trying to flirt with me? From the corner of my eye, I noticed Emma Robinson standing by herself with no food. “I thank you, sir,” I said, “but I shall just pass this plate on to your good wife. I am not eating anything at present.” I turned aside and gave the plate to Emma. She seemed a thoroughly amiable woman, and I was determined that nothing must ever interrupt the friendly intercourse between our families. “Mr. Robinson wishes you to have this food,” I said to her, “and I believe he is now going to get into the file and fill his own plate.”
Her husband seemed at first startled by my dismissal of his gift, but he took his cue and inserted himself into the crowd around the tables. I was relieved when Eliza joined Emma and me. She had piled her plate with several salads and, with her mouth still full, immediately began a conversation about the Robinsons’ boy who was now about three years old. Soon they drifted off together to find a table at which to sit.
Mama came up to me. “Where is your hat?”
“I have stashed it somewhere and will retrieve it when we leave. You will note that Lady Sarah is not wearing a hat. She removed her straw bonnet a few minutes ago, and I merely copied her style by removing mine.” That was not exactly the truth, but it worked.
There was nothing Mama could say except to utter a deep sigh.
“Look,” I said, pointing to the edge of the lawn where a carriage had just pulled up. “Papa has arrived from his office. You must go and see that he gets some food and drink.”
“You are skilful at getting rid of people you don’t want to talk to.” I turned to find Mr. Robinson standing behind me. “And I shall get out of your way very soon. But I need to say first how pretty you look today, and what a gracious little speech you made. I hope we can talk again soon. In fact, in a very few weeks, I shall have a proposition to make to you.”
I had no chance to respond. He moved away in the direction of Eliza and his wife. What in tarnation—as Mama would say—was he talking about?
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
October, 1821
Annie Powell was in the hall just before noon as the maid was answering the doorknocker. On the front steps was Mr. John Beverley Robinson’s tall footman. He handed Lucy an envelope saying, “For Miss Anne Powell, if you please.” Then he took off down the walkway, scratching his powdered hair.
“You will give this note to Miss Powell, ma’am?”
“Of course. Leave it with me.”
Annie went into the parlour and over to the window where she could get a better look at the note, pondering all the while about whether she should break the seal and read the contents. Why in tarnation was Mr. Robinson writing to her daughter? Was this some sort of illicit connection that it was her duty to know about? She had always opened her daughters’ mail when they were younger, but Anne was thirty-two now. Hm. What should she do?
She was searching for her spectacles when Anne came into the parlour. “What’s this all about, Mama? I was belowstairs just now checking on what Cook was making for dinner when Lucy told me you had a message for me.” She held out her hand, and Annie was obliged to hand over the envelope. Thank the Lord she didn’t find me in the process of opening it. That would have meant another fracas, and just now I cannot cope with any more of her tirades. William has only yesterday departed for England, leaving every mess for me to solve. Some days I feel I cannot go on.
Anne slit open the seal with her finger, read the note, and gave a loud whoop of laughter. Next, she ran to the button on the mantel and in a moment, before Annie had time to say a word, Lucy entered. Anne ran to the desk, seized the quill, scribbled something on the note from the Attorney-General and handed it to the maid. “See that this is delivered immediately to Beverley House.”
“What in tarnation is this all about, daughter?”
“Oh, Mama, I cannot believe my good fortune. Mr. Robinson has written to say that he and his wife will be travelling to England early next year, and he has asked me to go with them. It is my opportunity to return to Tolpuddle and the world I love.”
“What motive could Mr. Robinson have in making such a singular request?” Annie could feel her heartbeat quicken. What am I to do?
“I have no idea, Mama, and I do not care. You saw me scribbling an answer. I said three words only: ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ ”
“I cannot believe this!” Annie was shouting now.
“Believe what you like, I do not care. All I know is that in this stupid stupid stupid world a woman cannot travel alone. Now here is my chance to leave this place behind, travel with two chaperones, and arrive safe and sound far far from everything in this world that I hate.”
“I assume that last phrase includes me?”
“No, Mama, do not make that assumption. I do not hate you. I merely despise the narrow strictures that have been laid upon me—by you, yes, and Papa, yes—but I realize—”
“Shut up! Shut up! Leave me!”
“Yes, Mama, I shall leave. We shall discuss this when you are calmer after, may I say, you have had your dram of laudanum.” And with that, the wicked girl departed.
Annie sat on the sofa, taking deep breaths, trying to regain a modicum of self-control. She waited until she heard Anne slam the door to her bedchamber, then she rose, headed straight for the Pembroke table, opened the drawer, and— yes—swallowed the remains of her bottle of laudanum.
* * *
In the afternoon Annie and Eliza were in the parlour stitching new aprons for Cook and Lucy. The laudanum had dulled Annie’s senses, and the quietness of their task helped as well to ease her agitation.
“Where is Anne, Mama?” Eliza asked, biting off a piece of thread with a savage pull. “You and I cannot be expected to do all this work without her assistance.”
“She has been in her bedchamber since noon hour.”
“Has something happened?”
“I cannot discuss it now, Eliza. I shall tell you later. Just now I need to relax and enjoy the quiet solace of your company.”
They continued their stitching in silence, the only sounds being the occasional breaking of thread and the clink of Eliza’s glass of sherry as she set it down on a nearby table.
There was a banging of the door knocker and a scuffling of feet in the hallway. “Who can that be?” Eliza whispered. “Too late now, I suppose, to tell Lucy to say that we are not at home.”
Into the parlour marched Mrs. Attorney-General Robinson. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily. The tabs on her coat were askew, and her gloves were mismatched.
“Dear Emma,” Eliza said, putting aside the apron and rising to take the woman’s hand in hers. “What is the matter? How can we help?”
Annie intervened. “Please leave us, Eliza. Mrs. Robinson and I must have this talk in private.”
After fifteen minutes of weeping and wailing as the woman spilled out her message, Annie managed to calm her. “Do not worry,” she said, as she accompanied her to the front door. “I shall chastise my daughter and make her see the fracas she has caused. All will be solved.”
As soon as the front door closed behind Mrs. Robinson, Annie went to the bottom of the staircase and shouted for Anne to come down.
When her wretc
hed daughter appeared, Annie found that she could not contain her rage. She went up to her and slapped her face, hard. “Dear Mrs. Robinson has informed me of the highly improper suggestion you made to her husband. What have you to say to this outrage?”
“Did you inform her, Mama, that it was Mr. Robinson himself who made the suggestion? You were here when the note came. Did you not defend me?”
“She says that you set this up with her husband at the time of Lady Sarah’s lawn party, and I believe her. It was obvious to everyone there, myself included, that you were flirting with the man. I saw you talking to him. I saw him handing you a dish of food that he had procured for you. I saw you later and—”
“Stop it, Mama. You have misinterpreted everything. Worst of all, you have believed Mrs. Robinson and betrayed me in the worst way possible.”
“Only a fiend would have the gall to tell such lies.”
“I am leaving this room now, Mama. I do not have the note that Mr. Robinson sent me this morning. You saw me give it to Lucy for delivery to him. I am telling the truth, but alas, I have no way of defending myself against your lies.”
She left. Annie sank onto the sofa. I now almost believe my husband’s words. As he left for England, he warned me that she was up to no good. He called her “a wretch and a fiend.” I hate her, but I hate him, too. He has left me totally bereft. How I am to cope with this scandal, I have no idea.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
November, 1821
By this time the whole of little York knew with certainty that I had thrown myself at Mr. Robinson, insisting that I accompany him and his long-suffering wife and small child when they sailed from New York for England aboard the Manhattan.
Emma Robinson had spread this news everywhere, and it was clear that my so-called lover did nothing to set matters straight. This was not a surprise. I had not expected him to have the moral fibre to tell the world that he invited me—for whatever reason—to accompany them. Eliza told me that on her last visit to Emma at Beverley House a week ago, he came into the withdrawing room to tell her that she and Mama must do everything in their power to put an end to my foolishness.
No matter. I was determined to be aboard the Manhattan when it sailed on March 1. If I did not leave York then—for ever—I had no desire to live. Moreover, in the process of accompanying those damned Robinsons, I could make life hell for them.
Getting money was now my main focus. I knew that I could expect nothing from my parents. I tried without success to sell a parcel of land granted to me as the daughter of Loyalists. But the necessary papers required the signature of Papa. I was powerless at that moment, but I determined to think of something.
I spent most of my days in my bedchamber, coming downstairs only for meals or to sneak outdoors when Mama was not around. Though I shared the room with Eliza, she avoided me as much as Mama did, entering only at bedtime and leaving in the morning before I got up. Mama said nothing to me during the day, except occasionally to ask me at dinner to pass the gravy.
It was early afternoon when the doorknocker sounded. Then I heard Lucy’s voice, “Come in, sir. The mistress has been waiting for you.”
Who was this gentleman that Mama had been expecting? I tiptoed to the top of the staircase and looked down. The Reverend Mr. Strachan was putting his coat on the hall rack. I watched as he patted down his hair that had blown about in the cold November wind. Then he crossed slowly into the parlour, almost dragging his feet.
I moved several steps farther down so that I could hear clearly what his visit with Mama was all about.
Mama launched right into her subject. “You know that my husband is overseas, and I am now reliant on your help to keep my daughter from pursuing the Robinsons when they leave for England in February.”
“You must understand, ma’am, that I have not been entirely happy with Mr. Robinson’s behaviour. Everyone in this town thought that he was engaged to your daughter when he left for England to pursue his education. And yet he returned to York with a wife whom he met in London.”
“But that was years ago. Surely now the girl should have accepted her fate. And yet she seems distracted over him. I must stop her from pursuing him and Mrs. Robinson. You must help me.”
“I am reluctant to have any part in this matter.”
I could now hear Mama sobbing. She was babbling “please, please, please.” It was all so wretchedly embarrassing. I could not bear to hear any more of their conversation. I returned to my bedchamber.
* * *
At supper, Mama pushed the food around on her plate, but ate almost nothing. I knew something was afoot, and I was not surprised when she said that she wished to speak to me. “And please stay with us, Eliza.” No doubt she felt more secure with Eliza’s supporting presence.
“I know that you are a victim of an unhappy love affair, Anne,” she said, “and I have—”
“I am not a victim, Mama. You prefer to see me that way rather than facing deeper truths. I suffer because I can find no outlet here in this household that puts such limits on a woman’s role. One of those limits is, of course, that a single woman must never travel alone. It’s a stupid notion, and I have no intention of obeying it. But I shall take the opportunity to travel with the Robinsons—in spite of public censure—and, in doing so, I intend to wreak revenge on them for spreading slander about me. I shall make their voyage very unpleasant. And when I get to England, I shall say farewell to them and to everyone else in this stuffy little town and never return.”
Mama heaved a great sigh. Eliza moved closer to her and put her arm around her shoulder. They both stared at me, frowning.
“I had a talk with the Reverend Mr. Strachan this afternoon, Anne. He suggested that I furnish you with enough money to make the journey. And this I have agreed to do. But you must promise me in return that you will not leave with the Robinsons. Whatever you do in England, I shall have no control over, but I cannot let you leave this house seeming to be a lovelorn pauper clutching to the coattails of your former lover.”
“I must go with them, Mama. And I must go openly without being furtive about my actions. As I have told you, I do not really care if everyone in town believes the gossip about thwarted love. When I reach England, I shall never look upon the Robinsons again, but I shall have had the satisfaction of knowing that I have embarrassed them in every way I can think of.”
“I cannot understand a word of what you say, daughter. Your brother Grant will come over this evening and speak with you. You will find that he, too, knows that your improper regard for Mr. Robinson has made you persist in following him.”
I rose from the table, my head throbbing with pain. As I left the room, my mother’s voice followed me. “You are insane, daughter. Your scandalous actions have disgraced our family. My heart bleeds for the Robinsons, too, and—“
Here Eliza took up the dirge. I could hear it as I mounted the staircase to the bedchamber. “Dear little Emma. The affection that she has always shown to us has been ill repaid. Oh, dear Mama, what can I do to help you?”
Damn Mama. Damn Eliza. Damn the Robinsons.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
January, 1822
Annie Powell sat in the breakfast-room staring at the table in front of her. On her plate were the remnants of her mostly uneaten breakfast: a slimy poached egg, greasy ham, and cold toast. She moved slowly to the mantel and pressed the button. Cook came up from belowstairs and removed the plate, muttering something under her breath about “bloody wasted effort.” Annie chose not to comment. The fact that the woman would dare to utter such a phrase in her presence merely convinced her that she had lost control of the household. And it was her wretched daughter Anne who was responsible for the situation. Consumed as I am with worry, I have given up the day-to-day household supervision that was once my focus.
She pulled from her pocket the letter from her husband that had arrived yesterday. Upon hearing of his daughter’s determination to leave home, he had written, “She is a freak
and a fiend.” Those words were true, but not helpful. The next paragraph contained the comment that he had heard rumours about her “partiality” for Sir John Copley. Who in tarnation was Sir John Copley? And what did it matter? It was the situation with the Robinsons to which she needed a helpful answer.
She turned the letter around to read the crossed lines. This effort required her glasses, which she retrieved from a nearby table. “That monster in human disguise who so torments you appeared to me in dreams so strongly that when I awoke, I expected to find her in my bedchamber. I am afraid of meeting her. My indignation is so uncontrollable that I fear some bit of violence might result.”
Useless. Useless. Why can he not give me some advice instead of maundering on and on and on about his own fears? She bunched the letter into a ball and threw it upon the flames in the hearth.
Who else could she turn to? Eliza was a solace, yes, but a mere woman had no power in this town. Her son John in Niagara would be no help. There was Grant, yes, she could pull him in. And she could try again with Mr. Strachan. A donation to The Society for the Relief of Strangers in Distress—a charity for which she had little sympathy, really—might persuade him to help.
At this moment, though, she would relieve her anxiety by writing to her brother George in New York. He was her one true supporter.
She went into the withdrawing room, seated herself at the desk, picked up her quill and began her letter. She was talking aloud to herself as she wrote, “How fortunate I am to have a dear brother to listen to this tale of woe,” and she did not hear Anne enter the room.
“Oh, Mama, no doubt you are telling Uncle George about the folly and malice of your daughter Anne. Am I right?” The girl actually had the nerve to laugh as she said this.
