All for Love (7 page)

‘Anne, who’s Mr. Fonseca?’ Juliet had sent Alice for a glass of water.

‘Dear God, is he back?’

‘Yes, and in a black rage, because he sent me camellias and I didn’t wear them. Well, you can see —’

‘Yes.’ Anne bent forward to give the emerald hair-piece a loving little pat into place. ‘The Winchelsea emeralds. Won’t Madame Josephine just be mad as fire when she hears you were the first to wear them. She’s been after them ever since we got here. But Mr. Fonseca’s back? That’s bad news. She was so sure he’d be gone for a month or more.’

‘Yes. Something went wrong with his plans. The Spanish were waiting for him at the frontier. I don’t rightly understand. But there’s no
time
, Anne. Tell me, quick, what is he to my cousin? You can see, I have to know.’

‘I wish
I
knew,’ said Anne. ‘Or rather.’ Sombrely. ‘I wish I didn’t think I knew.’

‘I was afraid it was like that. From the way he spoke. For a moment, I was afraid he and Mr. Purchis were going to quarrel. Oh, Anne, I do
hope
he doesn’t come to the party.’

‘He’ll come,’ said Anne. ‘And you must just see to it that you are not alone with him. Ah, thank you, Alice.’

Juliet was glad of the water, with its momentary excuse to linger. But — ‘They’re arriving in throngs now,’ said Alice. ‘Then I must go down.’

She found Hyde receiving guests at the foot of the main stairway. ‘There you are, my dear,’ he tucked her arm into his ‘You know Mr. Troup, of course.’

The immense red-headed, red-eyebrowed politician had been one of the party of chief citizens at the theatre and he was indeed a figure it was impossible to forget. ‘Of course I do. You enjoyed the play, sir?’

But the queue of guests behind was too pressing for him to be able to answer. To her relief, she found that names were unimportant in this throng of people. It was merely to smile, to shake hands, to mutter some nothing about the play, or the theatre, or Mr. Scarbrough’s red carpet, and then start all over again. Only, once, was there a tiny pause, an imperceptible jolt in the smooth proceedings. She had looked over the heads of their neighbours the Richardsons to see the tall black figure of Mr. Fonseca towering behind them. His grip on her hand hurt. ‘Ride with me tomorrow. Our time, our place.’ His low voice was covered by the Richardsons who were still exclaiming to Hyde about the differences between their two Jay-built houses.

‘I am so sorry.’ She smiled up at him innocently. ‘We leave for Winchelsea in the morning.’

His lips framed a word she preferred not to recognise. Then, ‘At Winchelsea, in that case. Our
rendezvous
there.’ And, louder, ‘I shall count on the first waltz.’

‘Then you will be disappointed.’ Hyde had disentangled himself from the Richardsons and held out a cool hand to Fonseca. ‘My wife and I have decided that the waltz may be all very well in Europe, but it is hardly the thing for one of our Savannah parties. But I am sure she will be able to favour you with a quadrille. Not the first, my love, which you must dance with our guest of honour, Mr. Jay, not the second, which I reserve for myself.’

‘The third then.’ Once more, the queue was pressing from behind, and Fonseca moved on, with a black glance for Hyde.

‘No waltzes?’ The lady of the following couple had heard the exchange. ‘But how gothic, Mr. Purchis.’

‘We are gothic at Winchelsea, Mrs. Brimmer.’

After Fonseca, Jay’s respectful adoration was pure pleasure. Dancing the first quadrille with him, Juliet was almost able to relax, to consider the possibility of enjoying this evening. But how could she, with Fonseca always somewhere visible, watching her, black-browed, furious. Still, at least she did not have to waltz with him. There was something puzzling about that too. ‘You never told me there was to be no waltzing,’ she said to Hyde as they formed their lines for the second quadrille.

‘Did I not? How very remiss of me. My apologies my dear.’ He bowed to her formally and the dance began.

Conversation, except in the briefest snatches, is almost impossible in a quadrille. ‘You are driving me mad,’ Fonseca managed, once, as they moved past each other.

‘I do not intend to.’ They were parted, inexorably, by the movement of the dance.

‘Sit the next one out with me.’ They met again.

‘Impossible, I have partners for all evening.’

‘I shall come to Winchelsea.’ The dance was over and they were standing for a moment among a crowd busy seeking new partners.

‘Oh, pray —’ she had been about to say don’t, but that would never do. She smiled up at him roguishly. ‘I vow sir, you are the most impossible tease in creation.’ And then, sighing with relief. ‘Yes, Mr. Bolton, it is indeed your dance.’

But, ‘Pray, what?’ Fonseca would not let her go.

‘Pray bring me some more of those ravishing camellias, sir.’

She smiled, curtsied, took Mr. Bolton’s arm and left him.

Chapter Five

Waking to exhaustion and a house in chaos, Juliet found herself actually glad of the proposed move to Winchelsea. True, it meant going once more through that tightrope business of pretending to know her way round a house she had never seen before. ‘And Winchelsea is huge,’ Josephine had warned her. But on the other hand it would get her safely away from the flood of post-party calls that would, otherwise have been inevitable, and, best of all, away from Mr. Fonseca. Perhaps, by the time he came to Winchelsea, Josephine would be back.

Juliet’s first thought, when she was dressed, was to send Satan off with a message to the faithful old servant whom Josephine had left in the house beyond Ruffton, both as caretaker, and, in just such a crisis as this, as means of communication. When she got back from Norfolk, Josephine would go to the Ruffton house first, would learn of the move to Winchelsea, and change her plans accordingly.

Satan had only just left when Hyde came tapping at the door of her boudoir, and she could not help a start of alarm at the thought of what he might have overheard. Mercifully, he seemed to have noticed nothing. ‘Are you quite worn out from last night?’ he asked. ‘Am I a brute to suggest we move today?’

‘No, no. I am quite looking forward to it. To tell truth, a little Savannah society goes a long way with me. After last night, I am more than ready to ruralise for a while, I can tell you! And think of the visits of congratulation we will be spared!’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He surprised her by taking her hand and kissing it. ‘A most successful party, thanks to you, my dear.’

‘Oh, pshaw! You know perfectly well I had nothing to do with it. Venus and the rest of them did all the work; I merely danced and enjoyed myself.’

‘Which is why you look, if I may say so, a trifle fagged this morning? Will you think me a quite medieval husband if I suggest that you go on ahead to Winchelsea as soon as you are ready? It will save you a plague of morning callers.’

‘But what about you?’

‘I shall join you later. Either tonight or tomorrow morning. A small matter of business has come up, on Scarbrough’s behalf. You remember, I am sure, what I was saying to you about him last night?’ His look warned her not to refer to Scarbrough’s troubles in front of Alice, who was busy in the next room.

‘Of course I remember. But you’ll not be long? I don’t much fancy acting Robinson Crusoe out there at the plantation!’ She was sure Josephine would make the complaint, though privately her heart was singing with relief. How much easier to reach the house at Winchelsea with only servants to see if she made any mistake.

‘You’ll give my kindest regards to Aunt Abigail.’ His next words reminded her of a hazard she had quite forgotten. ‘And tell her I hope to see her this evening, or tomorrow at the latest. I have given all the orders for your trip, so now, if you will excuse me, I will wish you a pleasant one, and take my leave.’

‘Yes — yes, of course. God knows, I’ve a million things to see to if I’m to leave this morning.’ And then, as one of Josephine’s careless afterthoughts. ‘I hope your business goes well.’

‘So do I.’

What was there about his tone? ‘Hyde!’

‘Yes?’ He had his hand on the door-knob.

‘You’re not ... It’s not ...’ Suddenly, vividly, the image of Fonseca rose before her, black-browed and dangerous, as she had seen him last night.

‘It’s a little business for Scarbrough,’ he said again, patiently. ‘Can I do anything in town for you, my dear? And trifles you need for your exile in the wilderness?’

‘Not a thing, thank you.’ Absurd to have imagined he was concerned with anything more than Mr. Scarbrough’s debts. She watched the door close behind him, then turned to Alice. ‘Call Anne for me, Alice? If we are to get off this morning, there’s not a moment to be lost.’

***

Having affronted Satan by refusing to take the sulky, Hyde Purchis walked briskly down Abercorn Street in the direction of the Bay, then turned west along it towards the Exchange. At every step he met an acquaintance, or a guest from the night before, and stopped, cheerfully, to exchange comment or receive congratulation. The splendid opening of Mr. Jay’s theatre was everybody’s subject, Savannah felt itself a city indeed today.

Hyde stopped at the Vendue House for a quick look at the advertisements displayed there. Runaway slaves ... a sale of merchandise from a recently arrived ship ... a young lady who taught French ... a young gentleman called Fremont who taught dancing. Nothing there to interest him. He paused outside the Exchange, then seemed to change his mind and went back to the City Hotel where he asked his old friend the landlady for pen and paper.

‘Pen and paper, Mr. Hyde?’ She had known him from a boy. ‘What trouble has that French lady of yours got you into now?’

So it was all over town already. It was only what he had expected. ‘Trouble?’ He could be crushing when he wished. ‘None that I know of, and I’ll be grateful if you’ll say so if anyone should speak of it. Mrs. Purchis has gone to Winchelsea today, to open the house for Christmas, but I have a little business to transact before I join her.’

‘I’ll bet you have, Mr. Hyde, and good on you for transacting it.’ She spoke with a marked Irish brogue. ‘I’ll wish you joy, and good luck, me boy, and here’s your pen and paper. And a dram to go with it?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘No.’ She took the refusal philosophically. ‘You was always a steady one, warn’t you? Does Mr. Fonseca know what a devil you are with a pistol?’

‘I doubt it.’ The direct question merely confirmed what he had suspected. ‘He will find out.’ He was writing rapidly. ‘There.’ He put down the pen. ‘Perhaps you would do me a further kindness and have one of your boys put that on the board at the Vendue House? At the very top, mind? Where it catches the eye?’

‘Thank the Lord Jasus my old father taught me my letters.’ She was unashamedly reading over his shoulder. ‘Oh, good, Mr. Hyde, that’s right down good. I telt them and I telt them you’d know how to set about it. Thank you, sir.’ She took the coin he held out and hurried off to do his errand.

The notice, carefully affixed at the very top of the board, where it quite obscured the runaway slaves and most of the miscellaneous merchandise offered for sale, was short and simple:

Having been called a blabbermouthed jackass

at his own party, Hyde Purchis demands the

satisfaction of a gentleman from Charles

Fonseca, though he recognises that this is

probably too much to expect.

(signed) Hyde Purchis.

Leaving the City Hotel, Hyde walked casually in the other direction from the Vendue House. Much better not to meet Fonseca until he had read the challenge and decided how to act on it. Not that he had much choice, if he wished to go on living in Savannah. Hyde looked at his watch. It had taken him longer than he had thought to compose that carefully worded challenge. The boat for Winchelsea should be leaving any minute now. He gave way to impulse and crossed the bluff to take one of the sloping paths down to the wharf.

He was just in time to watch his boat pulling away downstream, and found himself oddly sorry that he had not been a moment sooner. But at least she was safe away. The rowers were beginning to sing now, one of the melancholy songs that many overseers and drivers discouraged:

‘Die on the field of battle,

Die on the field of battle,

Glory in my soul.’

A cold shiver ran through him as the words brought home to him the full enormity of what he was about to do. He had shot game, here on the swamps and islands of the Savannah river, ever since he was a boy, and, while in Paris, had amused himself perfecting his markmanship in a gallery run by one of Napoleon’s Old Guard at the Palais Royale. But, so far, a reasonable man, he had contrived to avoid the duels that sprang up so easily here in the south. And this was not a duel: not really. It was murder, cold, premeditated murder. Fonseca was known for a quick draw and a wild shot. He himself was deadly at any range. But then, he comforted himself, Fonseca might decide that discretion was the better part of valour and take his adventurous self off to safer fields.

He doubted it. The trouble was that no one in town knew about those daily sessions of his at the Palais Royale. How should Fonseca know that he could shoot out a candle without spilling a drop of wax? Josephine had loved to watch him do it and, in happier days, had liked, too, to go with him when he was shooting over an easy bit of country, to pick out the bird she wanted and clap her hands gleefully when he shot it down. Well, now he must shoot larger game on her behalf. He put cold hands in his pockets. No alternative, but he could not like it.

‘Purchis!’ These gloomy thoughts had brought him along below the bluff to where the packets landed, and now a man of about his own age had broken out of a stream of disembarking passengers and dropped the two portmanteaux he carried to hold out both hands in enthusiastic greeting, ‘By all that’s wonderful! I was just going into town to ask for your direction.’

‘Everett!’ Hyde was no less delighted. Sam Everett, a New Englander, had been his closest friend through the years of exile at Harvard College. They had not met in the ten years since they graduated, but, ‘I’d have known you anywhere,’ said Hyde.

‘And I you.’ They had stopped their enthusiastic hand-shaking now, and picked up a portmanteau each, ignoring the black boys who swarmed round with offers of service.

‘You’ll stay with us, of course.’ Here was exactly the man he needed.

‘I’ll be delighted.’ And then, ‘“Us?” You’re never married!’

‘I most certainly am. To a French lady to whom I hope to be able to present you very soon. But in fact I have but now been seeing her off to Winchelsea.’

‘Ah! The Old Plantation Home. Lord, how we used to tease you over that, and how you did rise to it! Tell me, Hyde, if I may ask, did you manage to free those slaves of yours when you inherited?’

‘Free them? Good lord yes. It’s getting free of them that’s my problem.’

‘You mean they’re still with you?’

‘Where else. In fact —’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey, you, Pete and Jim!’

‘Yes, sir!’ Two small boys came running up from the quay. ‘Take these bags back to the house for me, would you? And tell Venus to expect a guest tonight.’

‘Sho’ thing, sir.’ And then, hesitantly. ‘We met old Andy down by the river. He allows as how that Mr. Fonseca do be roaring up and down town like Goliath of Gath a looking for you.’

‘Thank you, Sam. If you see Andy again, tell him I’m looking for Mr. Fonseca.’

‘I sholy will.’ And the two boys picked up the portmanteaux as if they weighed nothing and scampered off up the bluff.

‘And who, pray, is Mr. Fonseca?’ The two young men had come to a halt by mutual consent and stood idly gazing at the great piles of merchandise on the wharves: tea from China, sugar from the West Indies, great bales of cotton still waiting to be shipped out, and, nearer at hand, the cargo of northern manufactured goods that had come down on the packet in which Everett had arrived.

‘Fonseca is a problem.’ Hyde took his friend’s arm and steered him back along the quayside to where the wharves thinned out towards Fort Wayne. ‘And one I’d better tell you about before I ask you to act as my second.’

‘Your second, by God! You, Hyde? The quiet one; old Hyde who hides his feelings; you are going to fight a duel? I know you southerners are fire-eaters, but, Hyde, think again.’

‘I have thought. And again. Don’t think I like this; I don’t. But I have to go through with it. And it would be the most immense comfort to me if you would stand my second. But, in fairness, I must tell you, I mean to kill my man.’

He said it so coolly that it took a moment for it to penetrate. Then Everett gasped like a fish. ‘To kill! Hyde, you’re joking.’

‘I wish I were.’

‘But, Hyde, why?’ and then, colouring. ‘Or should I not ask?’

‘Why not? He insulted me, at my own party last night by suggesting that I had informed the authorities of a bit of skulduggery he was planning.’

‘And so you mean to kill him? Hyde, I’m out of short coats, you know. But if that’s the reason you intend to give —’

‘It is.’

‘And your mind’s entirely made up?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then of course I’ll stand your second. But what is the form down here? Pistols at dawn on the bluff?’

‘No, no, nothing so barbarous. There’s always the chance, of course, that my friend Fonseca, when he sees the notice I have posted about him, will seek me out and shoot me as I stand.’

‘You sound very cool about it.’

‘You may notice that we are standing in a comparatively inconspicuous position. Before we climb the bluff, I think you had better have my second gun.’

‘You’re armed!’ The New Englander was amazed.

‘I should hope so. Mr. Fonseca is not a very pleasant character. Here,’ he handed over one of a pair of beautifully made duelling pistols. ‘You can still shoot, I hope, even after ten years of law-abiding in New England?’

‘A wafer, if necessary. But not Mr. Fonseca, I hope.’

‘It may come to it.’ Sombrely. ‘I don’t like to involve you in this, Sam.’