All for Love (3 page)

It was all over now. All ended ... and she was alone, with her decision to make. She burrowed her face more deeply into the pillow, and slept. ‘I won’t wake her!’ Anne’s voice, saying this, did in fact wake her, and she sat up in bed to see afternoon sunshine flooding in through the window she had cleared of leaves.

‘I am awake!’ Her voice was still heavy with sleep.

‘That’s my girl!’ Josephine was more elegant than ever in a tailored riding-habit of dark green. ‘Hyde thinks I’m over here riding,’ she explained. ‘He keeps horses for me at Screven’s Ferry. Thank you, Anne.’ It was dismissal as well as thanks. And then, as the door closed with a little, disapproving click, ‘She thinks you’re not well.’

‘I’m a little tired.’

‘And no wonder. So the best thing you can do is stay here for a while. And if you want to amuse yourself by listening to Anne and me talk about Savannah society, so much the better. We can’t lose, can we, pet?’

***

So it was that without ever actually admitting to herself that she had decided to cooperate in this strange charade, Juliet found herself, day after day, submissively listening as Josephine and Anne took it in turns to tell her about the plantation at Winchelsea and the town house the young architect William Jay had just finished for Hyde Purchis in one of Savannah’s squares.

‘That’s the one you’ll really need to know about,’ Josephine explained a week or so later when Anne had finally consented to let her patient get up and sit with her cousin under the shade of the big magnolia. ‘Getting away from Winchelsea is not so bad; Hyde’s busy on the plantation; we don’t have many guests; I can usually manage that. It’s when we’re at Savannah I shall really need you. Do you know —’ There was a new note in her voice today, a note of gaiety that took Juliet back to happier days. ‘I’ve enlisted my first troops!’

‘What?’

‘I thought that would surprise you! Well, to deal fairly with you, it did me a little.’ She looked down for a moment, playing with the ribbons of the big straw hat she carried. ‘I’d let it be known, you see, in the most careful possible way, that I would be glad to hear from French exiles up and down the coast.’

‘Yes?’ Had Josephine stopped out of nervousness, or to whet her curiosity?

‘So — yesterday, when I was riding down the drive at Winchelsea, a man suddenly appeared from the direction of the sea. A Frenchman. He pretended to be a beggar at first, but as soon as he was sure of me, he told me who he was. One of Napoleon’s Old Guard, Ju! And there are more of them. Down on an island below Tybee somewhere, just waiting for a chance: their chance, our chance ... When I told him I had money to buy a boat, he cried ... Imagine, one of the Old Guard crying like a child! He says he can collect enough men for a rescue party, if I can but provide the ship!’

‘Yes?’ Juliet was afraid she could see where this was leading.

‘Yes. Of course I can’t hire one round here. That really would be unfair to poor Hyde. Just suppose the attempt failed — I won’t believe it, but one must think of everything — in that case, there must be nothing to connect him with it. I shall have to go up to Norfolk, I think, and hire one of the Baltimore Clippers everyone speaks of so highly. All the best pirates use them, I understand. So if anything should go wrong, it will be easy to wash one’s hands of the whole affair. Specially if I’m known to have been safe at home in Savannah the whole time.’

‘But, Jo —’

‘Too late for buts now, pet. I’ve given my word. My God, if you could have seen his face when he realised I meant it. And as for you, no need to pull such a long one. There’s oceans of time, still, before we need do anything. He’s only got the nucleus of a force, my Captain Froche — Not his real name I have no doubt. But what matters that?’

‘And he knows yours?’

‘Inevitable, I’m afraid. But don’t you see —’ If her heart leapt up at this sign of her cousin’s cooperation, she took care to conceal it. ‘That’s where the strength of my position lies. What’s the use of anyone trying to involve me, when I’ve you to protect me?’

It was Rubicon, and crossed so quietly that Juliet hardly noticed. Only, from the other side, she asked, ‘When will you go?’

‘Oh, not for ages yet. I’ve a friend in Norfolk: I’ve written him to keep his eyes open for me. No need to go until he has something for me to look at. There’s no rush, after all. We can’t possibly act until spring. But at least, now, he will have hope for company, down there on St Helena.’

‘You’ve written?’

‘Yes. By a safe hand: I hope! It will go by a roundabout enough route, I fear, but he should have it before Christmas. And now, to your lesson, Ju. Our house is called the Purchis House, and it stands in —’

‘Oglethorpe Square,’ said Juliet obediently. ‘On the Bay side, just round the corner from the house Mr. Jay built for his sister’s brother-in-law Mr. Richardson. His wife and I do not get on very well, but bow when we meet in the square.’

Josephine laughed. ‘You could say that of any of the good ladies of Savannah, pet. That’s the strength of our position. I’ve made no friends, and don’t intend to. Now, take me into the house and upstairs to your bedroom, and don’t forget which servants you’ll meet on the way. No, stop! Much better to begin from the wharf. After all, it stands to reason you’ll come by water. Which wharf, Ju?’

‘The third from the end, down towards Fort Wayne. The carriages will be waiting — it seems lunatic to get out the horses for that tiny distance, Jo? It can’t be half a mile.’

‘You won’t say that when you’ve walked a hundred yards over the sandhills they call streets in Savannah. Oh, they’ve made some effort at paving the squares, but the streets are pure Sahara. So, you greet Jem the coachman, and drive up over the bluff —’ she paused expectantly.

‘And across the Bay, which is a street, of all things, and Broughton Street, bowing to anyone who seems to recognise me, down Abercorn Street, and you can’t mistake the house.’ Her accent now, was so exact an imitation of her cousin’s that Anne, joining them, was not sure whether tutor or pupil was speaking. She sat down and began meticulously darning a sheet, occasionally interjecting a correction when her mistress struck her as drawing too long a bow. ‘
Non
,
madame
, Mr. Updyke, Mr. Purchis’s agent is not ugly as sin, he is merely not very well-bred, with a habit of striped waistcoats, and — ugh —’ she made an expressive face — ‘you must watch out for your skirts, Juliette!’

‘Spits, does he?’ Juliet had grown used to this deplorable American habit in New Orleans. ‘Well, thank goodness Mr. Purchis sees him always in his study.’

‘“Hyde”, pet, if you love me, remember to call him “Hyde”!’

Juliet looked at her sombrely. ‘I think I must love you, Jo, to have embarked on this madness.’

***

Chill November wind ruffled the water. The boatman were singing their strange song, over and over again:

‘Jenny shake her toe at me

Jenny gone away …’

Juliet shivered. Where was Josephine by now? There had only been time for a few quick, last moment instructions before the hired carriage had arrived from Charleston to take her cousin back there. Had Josephine planned it that way? So that there would, simply, be no time for second thoughts?

‘You’re cold, madame?’ Anne’s voice was at once a comfort and a warning. Josephine had managed to get the men who had brought their picnic ashore, that first day, moved to field work. Of this group, only Satan, who was giving time to the rowers, had ever seen the two cousins together by daylight; Josephine had taken good care of that. So far as the others were concerned, they had merely brought this mistress up from Winchelsea, dropped her for a moment near Ruffton and were now taking her home to Savannah.

‘You can see the lights now, upstream at Screven’s Ferry.’ Anne provided this useful piece of information casually, as she draped a shawl round Juliet’s shoulders. No: round Josephine’s! She must think of herself all the time, while the charade lasted, as Josephine, as Mrs. Hyde Purchis. Now it was an internal shudder that ran through her. In an hour or so she would doubtless be meeting her ‘husband’. She had been mad ... mad ... mad.

‘Hurray, Miss Susie oh,

Jenny gone away!’

The lights of Savannah were very near now, high upon the bluff. Easier to arrive in dusk like this. Doubtless Josephine had planned that too. But was there anything easy about this folly in which she had involved herself?

‘Anne, I don’t feel well.’ She remembered to make her voice a languid imitation of Josephine’s. ‘I think I shall go to bed the minute I get home.’

‘Mr. Purchis will be disappointed, madame. When he gets back from the Club.’ Anne let disapproval show. ‘He so looks forward to your return from Winchelsea. And besides, there will be a million things to discuss about this party for the opening of the new theatre next week. You know how highly Mr. Purchis thinks of Mr. Jay. He will want everything of the very best!’

***

For once, back there, Josephine had seemed distracted. ‘It would happen now! We’ve this party, next week, for Mr. Jay who built our house. It’s the opening of the new theatre he’s built. It’s only round a couple of corners from us. Everyone’s coming. Well, of course they are! When Purchis of Winchelsea gives a party, everyone does come. And now ... now ... now —’ She had prowled about the chilly bluff like a tigress — ‘My friend in Norfolk writes that he has the very clipper for me. If I can snap her up fast enough. There are plenty of uses for a ship like her. Ju, you’ll have to!’

‘Jo! A party? I can’t!’ But here she was, sitting in the surprisingly comfortable boat, wearing Josephine’s clothes, which fitted her exactly now. ‘You’ve lost weight, and no wonder,’ Anne had remarked, buttoning her up. ‘And her colour, to a tee.’ Grumbling, recalcitrant, Juliet had kept, all autumn, out of the sunshine she loved. Now her hands and face were as lady-white as anyone could wish. She looked down at her hands, with dislike, and was aware that Anne was watching her anxiously.

‘Oh, pshaw!’ It was Josephine’s tone exactly. ‘I had clean forgot Mr. Jay and his party. Very well, Anne, I shall not go to bed, but I shall not be at home to anyone.’

‘Very good, madame.’ If Anne heaved a sigh of relief, she did so silently.

Yamacraw bluff loomed dark above them. The third wharf up from Fort Wayne. She let Satan help her ashore ... The carriage waiting ... ‘How are you, Jem?’ Suppose it was not Jem? Suppose he was ill and one of the other servants had come for her? Stupid: Anne would have contrived to warn her.

‘Purely, ma’am.’ Jem’s accent was thicker than Satan’s; Josephine had said she often found it hard to understand him.

Juliet stepped languidly into the little carriage, then turned back for a moment to the men, busy tying up the boat. ‘Thank you, Satan. Thank you all.’ Something in Anne’s disapproving air as she followed her into the carriage told her that this had been out of character, but she refused to care. And, after all, Satan at least deserved to be thanked. He was deceiving a good master for her sake, or, rather for Josephine, and money.

Up the bluff ... across the Bay, which looked very much like any other street, except that the river-side was open on to the wide stretch of bluff, planted here and there with trees, unrecognisable in the fast-fading light. She had forgotten the name of the street they were on now. Panic seized her. But what did it matter? They were crossing another wide one. Broughton Street, of course. ‘Not many people about on Broughton,’ she said. For her own benefit? Anne’s? Jem’s?

The house in Oglethorpe Square was larger than she had expected. Flares burned, welcomingly, at either side of the double steps with the handsome ironwork that one of William Jay’s friends had provided. His name eluded her and again panic threatened, to be fought off, again, with common sense. What on earth did it matter?

The carriage had been expected. At the top of the steps, double doors were thrown open revealing a brilliantly lighted interior. Jem helped her down. She took one quick, breathless look around the darkening square: trees of some kind, lights across the way — of course, Mrs. Richardson’s house. ‘Thank you, Jem.’ She lifted delicate muslin skirts and climbed the steps as if she had done it every day for months.

Servants were drawn up on either side of the broad entrance hall, white teeth enthusiastically agleam in black faces. She must remember that she, Josephine, had been down at Winchelsea for two weeks. ‘No help for it,’ Josephine had said, ‘they’re all bound to be there to greet you. You will just have to make the best you can of it. Remember as many names as possible —’ Remember? She could remember nothing, an actress who had walked on to the wrong scene of an unknown play. She stood there for an endless moment, gazing past the welcoming row of faces to the stairway that curved up on each side of the far end of the hall to an elegant, balustraded gallery. Once there, she would be safe. Hyde would be out, Josephine had told her: ‘It’s his night for the Club. He never misses when he’s in Savannah.’ So — up those stairs, down the hall, up another flight, and sanctuary: her own rooms. But first she must run this friendly gauntlet. She took a deep breath and turned to the huge woman who stood to the right of the door, her richly coloured turban proclaiming her status as house-keeper. ‘Venus!’ She said. ‘I’m glad to see you. How are the children?’

‘They’s rumbustious, thanking you, missus. I never saw such a pack of blessed devils in my life! Well, what d’you expect, with Satan for a father?’