Caxton (3 page)

Ariadne
…nails, and
claw hammers, and broadaxes…and such….”
Otis Talbot and Hugh Kenrick waited for the agents to collect themselves.
Mr. Reisdale sat back in his chair. “May I inquire, milord, what is your father’s
— not to mention your own — interest in this property?”
“Purely proprietary, sir,” Hugh Kenrick said, “as any man’s would be had he
the means. This is also my own motive. I can assure you all that there is no
governmental or political scheme behind our interest.” He paused. “In future,
gentlemen, I would be grateful if you continued to address me as ‘Mr. Kenrick’
or ‘sir,’ and to treat me with the same courtesies and civilities with which
you would treat each other.”
“As you wish…sir,” Reisdale said. He frowned. “And your uncle, the Earl of Danvers:
May I ask what is
his
interest?”
“None, sir. I will speak frankly and say that he is mere ballast, and has been
an undeserving beneficiary of my father’s efforts and accomplishments — and
often an obstruction to them. He is an active peer in Lords, and fortunately
does not meddle much in my father’s affairs. My father limits his service to
occasional turns as justice of the peace in our part of Dorset.”
With the exception of Talbot, none of the other men had ever heard such sentiments
expressed vocally by a sober man about a peer of the realm. Again, they were
more surprised — indeed, aghast — than they thought they could permit themselves
to show. At the same time, however, the young man’s speech convinced them of
the sincerity of his intentions concerning Brougham Hall.
For some reason he could not identify, Reisdale was prompted to remark thoughtfully,
“Covington Brougham’s older brother, Cerdic, on the day that the petition for
the founding of this county was drawn up, proposed that the county be named
in honor of a commoner, the noted John Locke. It was thought a preposterous
notion at the time, but it very nearly won him election as one of our first
burgesses.” The attorney paused. “It is no shameful thing to be a commoner,
I suppose.”
Hugh Kenrick smiled amiably. “No, it is not. The petition was debated and drawn
up in Fern’s Tavern, was it not?”
Reisdale nodded. “Yes, sir. In the Jamaica Room.” He shook his head. “A disreputable
place now.”
Hugh said, “Perhaps it was not as preposterous as that man’s contemporaries
thought. I fully expect that, at the conclusion of this war with the French,
Secretary Pitt will be similarly honored, in numerous instances and without
objection.”
The other men nodded in agreement. “This is true,” Stannard said. “Why, the
site of that French fort on the Ohio is already called Pittsburg, and I imagine
that once the new fort is completed, it will be called Fort Pitt.”
Before anything more could be said on the subject, there was a knock on the
door, and one of the inn’s maids came in. “Begging your pardons for the intrusions,
sirs,” she said, “but Mr. Stannard’s servant just came with anote he said it
was urgent for Mr. Stannard to see.” She approached the agent, handed him the
note, and left.
Mr. Stannard scowled and opened the note. Then he looked up with a broad grin.
“I was
certain
of it, sirs!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Vishonn has called for
a ball to be held at Enderly tomorrow evening to celebrate General Wolfe’s triumph
at Quebec! My wife writes that a post-rider arrived at dusk at Mr. Barret’s
shop with copies of the
Gazette
from Williamsburg that contain full accounts
of the battle!” He tossed the note onto the table. “Gentlemen, we will have
ample time to see the property tomorrow and return to prepare for the ball!”
He looked hopefully at Talbot and Hugh Kenrick. “Of course, you are both invited
to attend, as my and Mr. McRae’s guests.”
Hugh Kenrick glanced at his companion, who nodded assent. “Thank you, Mr. Stannard,”
he said. “We would be happy to attend, on the condition that you, Mr. McRae,
and Mr. Reisdale agree to make no fuss about my identity, and introduce me as
just another gentleman. I do not wish to be paid special or undue deference,
in business matters or in social circumstances.”
“As you wish, sir,” mumbled the three men in unison. Stannard sighed. “It is
a novel request, to be sure, and we will honor it.” He paused with an expression
that was half-frown, half-smile. “But, you must own that it leaves us not a
little curious about the…reason for it.”
Hugh Kenrick shrugged. “I have spent enough time in the colonies now that I
have acquired an appreciation for the notion of equality. It is a better foundation
for honest relations between men than airy titles and artificial respect. There
is no place for those customs here, and I find them tiresome.” After a brief
pause, he added, “What I seek, gentlemen — and what Imay find in the responsibilities
and labor demanded of me by a place like Brougham Hall — is the solitude and
satisfaction of a private man who is not bedeviled by a deference he has not
earned.”
Although they smiled in sympathetic concession to and agreement with the young
man’s statement, it left Stannard and McRae nonplussed and too dumbfounded to
reply. Only Otis Talbot, who had heard his companion express similar sentiments
in Philadelphia, understood it, while Mr. Reisdale, who was widely read in the
political tracts of the age, recognized in the statement something he could
not decide he liked or disliked.

W
est of Queen Anne Street and its adjacent streets were several freehold farms,
and west of these, separated by a line of woods, was Brougham Hall. This broad
rectangle of fields and forest, about one and a quarter mile square, was similar
in size and topography to Morland, which neighbored it in the west, and Henry
Otway’s plantation, whose western-most boundary was also the county line. East
of Queen Anne Street were more freeholds, and then the vast and regal plantations
of Enderly, Granby Hall, and Cullis Hall, the eastern-most holding in the county.
To the south, across Hove Creek, were some large farms and plantations owned
by “middling” freeholders, none of them nearly as large as those that lined
the riverbank. On the surveyor’s map, the county was a neat assemblage of rectangles
that was almost square, with Queen Anne Street acting as a narrow stem beginning
at the river and ending at Hove Creek.

Mr. Stannard arrived at the boarding house with saddled horses rented from
the Gramatan Inn’s stables. Mr. McRae was not with him. “He sends his regrets,
sirs,” he said to Hugh Kenrick and Otis Talbot, “but pressing business at his
store detains him. He will perhaps join us for dinner at Brougham Hall.”

It was a cool morning. In the night, some passing clouds had sprinkled the
town with a light rain. As the day progressed, the air grew warmer. Hugh rode
with a blank ledger book and a pencil, and made copious notes of his own observations
and his host’s factual statements. The British agent was struck by the new differences
in the young man and the older. Talbot seemed to be in a more congenial, conversational
mood, while Hugh Kenrick kept his remarks to business. Mr. Beecroft, the business
agent, had met the party halfway between the main house and the two brick stanchions
that marked the formal entrance to Brougham Hall, prepared to escort the visitors
around the property. But the agent preferred to show the property alone and
instructed Beecroft to have a light dinner ready for them at two o’clock.

While they watered their mounts at Hove Creek a few hours later, Hugh Kenrick
asked, “What is the source of this brook, Mr. Stannard?”
“A spring that emanates somewhere beyond the Morland place, sir. It has never
been known to dry up.”
“Where does it end?”
“Somewhere past the Cullis place, sir.”
Working their way north through the property, they ambled along a path that
cut through the corn and wheat fields. Some slaves were busy picking corn from
the stalks and carrying them in cloth bags to put into an enclosed cart across
the field. Near it an overseer on his own mount eyed the visitors with suspicion.
Hugh remarked, “This corn ought to have been gathered in June, or July, Mr.
Stannard.” He reached down and plucked an ear from a stalk, then tossed it to
the ground. “It is half eaten by worms.”
Mr. Stannard looked apologetic. “In all fairness, Mr. Kenrick, we cannot hold
Mr. Swart entirely responsible for the conditions you see here. The crops of
all the planters got off to a late start. These last few years have been oppressed
by drought, and everyone has been obliged to struggle beyond their usual exertions.”
“About how many hills would you say are here?” asked Hugh.
The agent glanced around. “About fifty thousand, sir.”
Hugh rode forward and inspected a few more stalks. He turned to the agent with
a frown. “Of which, perhaps only a quarter is fit for anyone’s table. The rest
may be fodder for livestock. Are there so many cattle in the county?”
The agent smiled in irony. “I purchase most of Mr. Swart’s corn, sir, for my
firm’s account, for the West Indies trade. Also, much of his wheat. These particular
crops have prevented him from increasing his indebtedness.”
Later, when the party reached the tobacco fields, Hugh paused long enough to
dismount and pick up a forgotten pile of leaves left on the ground to wilt before
being taken to a barn to dry. He slapped the leaves flat against his other open
hand, and a shower of fragments fell to his feet. He dropped the bundle and
remounted. “Why is Mr. Swart growing sweet-scented, and not oronoco, Mr. Stannard?”
“There is a considerable market for it in England, Scotland, and Ireland.”
Hugh scoffed. “I believe that his troubles might have been mitigated had he
planted oronoco, which, as you know, fetches a better price on the Continent.”
The agent shrugged. “The war has upset that market, sir,” he remarked. “And,
the Broughams raised sweet-scented, and Mr. Swart will not be turned away from
it. He has an almost child-like attachment to it.”
“Nevertheless, the market for it has been reduced, and there is no allowance
in this business for child-like fancies.” Hugh glanced at Otis Talbot, and in
this glance was the suggestion that since Mr. Stannard was attempting to defend
Swart on the matter, he must have an interest in ensuring that Swart continued
to grow such an unprofitable crop. Hugh reined his mount around and walked it
in a wide circuit through the bare stalks, then rode back to his companions.
“He puts his hills too close together,” he said. “Neighboring hills must starve
each other for the same soil and water.” He pointed vaguely to a spot. “Some
over there are no more than two feet apart from any side. Most seem to be three.
It is no wonder to me that his leaf is mediocre, as you say, Mr. Stannard. You
were correct in your remark that he is attempting to compensate with bulk. How
many hills would you say are here, sir?”
“About one hundred thousand, sir.” Stannard paused. “That’s as Mr. Swart told
me.”
Hugh waved a hand at the field. “He could not have had more than four good leaves
per stalk, when he ought to have had eight. Allowing for spoilage and negligence,
this season should produce for him some ten hogsheads — of which Mr. Ivy would
likely condemn three or four.” He shook his head. “Altogether, a rather pitiful
reward for so vast an enterprise.”
The agent sighed in concession. “I could not agree with you more, sir.”
“Well, let us see what condition his barns are in.” Hugh turned around and rode
on.
Stannard looked at Talbot, who wore a faint grin. The Philadelphia merchant
remarked, “My friend labored for a while in the field of a customer of mine,
in Pennsylvania,” he said.
“I see,” said the agent. “But — why?”
“He called it catharsis.” Talbot said nothing more, and urged his mount to follow
his companion. Stannard sat for a moment, not knowing what to think. On one
hand, he was pleased that the young man was as critical of the property as he
himself was; on the other, he was worried that Mr. Kenrick might conclude that
the property was in too abominable a condition to purchase.
Hugh had few kind things to say about the rest of the plantation. He ventured
no appraisal of the staff, servants, or slaves. He inspected the yard that contained
the smithy, cooperage, and woodworks, and watched with apparent admiration two
slaves in the smithy repair a plow.
When they passed through the slave quarter, Hugh asked, “How many slaves did
you say there were, Mr. Stannard?”
“Thirty, Mr. Kenrick,” answered the agent. “Twenty-one hardy males, five females,
four children, and three superannuated females who mostly tend the slaves’ gardens
and perform minor chores in the kitchen. Those three are counted as one.”
Without looking at the agent, Hugh remarked, “Do not speak of them as though
they were sows, sir.”
Stannard frowned in genuine perplexity. “It is the custom, sir,” he said. “They
are property, and how else ought one to speak of them?”
Hugh, in reply, merely gave him a brief, withering glance, and rode on.
Stannard followed, and hastily added, in an attempt to allay the young man’s
displeasure, “That fellow in the smithy, sir, is likely the best ironmaster
in these parts. And the cooper’s apprentice owns the distinction that none of
his hogsheads has ever broken, even for the most brutish handling. Even Mr.
Ivy has expressed his admiration. The fellow is on occasion sent to other plantations
to instruct other apprentices.” He paused, unsure that Hugh was listening. “Some
of these fellows are paid a shilling or two a month, in addition to being allowed
some discretion in the tending of their own gardens. They are permitted to keep
whatever they are paid for the things they raise in them and sell — though more
often than not what they sell is mixed with edibles taken from Mr. Swart’s and
other planters’ gardens. They are allowed time to stand at crossroads and at
the bridge over Hove Creek, and accost travelers.”
Hugh said nothing more until they reached the main house. There they were taken
on a tour of it and its outbuildings by Mr. Beecroft, a stocky, nervous, abrupt
man who wore bifocals.
The party was served a light dinner and ale in the supper room. When the servant
left the room, Hugh remarked, “The staff look competent — and hopeful, Mr. Stannard.
It is curious, though, that they have remained in Mr. Swart’s service. They
did not say so, but it is my impression that Mr. Swart commands little affection
from them.”
Stannard said, “That is because they are, strictly speaking, no longer in his
employ, but his creditors’. No doubt,” he added in a lower voice, “they have
stayed on to avail themselves of what they may and because there are no opportunities
elsewhere. Mr. Beecroft is answerable for their conduct.”
“Of course.” Hugh said, “The books in the library have not been touched in years.
There is an inch coating of dust on their tops.”
Talbot chuckled. “Obviously, Mr. Swart limits his reading to tobacco notes and
legal papers.”
“True,” said Stannard. “Why, I seem to recollect there being more books on the
shelves in that room. Mr. Beecroft some time ago informed me that Mr. Swart
will occasionally use the leaves of books to kindle his fires. I did not credit
the information then, but now….” The agent shook his head.
“This house, too, is in disgraceful condition,” Hugh said, “though it is in
sound enough shape.”
“But a few more years of Mr. Swart’s management,” added Talbot, “and the property
would look abandoned and invaded by rummagers.”
“It can be salvaged, but at some cost,” said Hugh. He finished his ale, then
put down the glass and sat back in his chair. “I am aware of the rivalry between
you factors, Mr. Stannard. That is, between you and Mr. McRae. It is unusual
to see you two as allies in this business.”
“If the truth be known, sir,” said the agent, “Mr. Swart’s delinquent accounts
are near to breaking both our firms. But, once this business has been settled,
we will be in good stead again and will resume our friendly animosity.”
“You are quite candid, sir. Presumably you also have a store in town.”
“Yes,” said Stannard. “Right on Queen Anne, nearly across from Mr. McRae’s.”
The agent paused. “We serve different clientele. Mr. McRae’s is the larger,
for he has a sitting stock of necessities and toys that the middling planters
require. I, too, maintain a stock, but it is somewhat smaller. Some time ago
I decided to reduce the cost of keeping such an inventory, and introduced the
novel idea of putting together catalogues for things people here seem to favor.
My catalogues contain fine drawings of most of these items, together with their
manufacturers’ names and their costs. The drawings are borrowed from pattern
books or are supplied by the manufacturers themselves. This method allows me
to offer the same goods to my patrons as those carried by Mr. McRae, but at
a lower bill to me.”
“I commend you for the innovation,” Hugh said. “Do your patrons receive what
they see in your books?”
“Invariably,” answered Stannard with a smile. “Allowing for breakage and misfortunes
at sea, of course.” Encouraged by the compliment, he went on. “You know, once
my firm got all the Brougham leaf. But it is now Mr. McRae who purchases most
of that crop. His company in Glasgow disposes of it somehow. It was the practice
of the growers here to merely consign their tobacco to one or another firm in
London, or Liverpool. But then the Scots entered the trade, and my firm sent
me out about nine years ago to win back what we were losing from this county
to Mr. McRae’s firm. This object I have accomplished, while Mr. McRae has retained
most of the smaller planters. He is welcome to them.”
Hugh looked thoughtful. “You imply that you purchase these crops, Mr. Stannard,”
he said, “when in fact the hogsheads remain the property of the planter until
they are sold in London. Your firm, Umphlett and Weddle, warehouses them there,
but pays neither that cost, nor the freight, nor the demurrage, nor other extraordinary
costs. All that is charged to the planter’s account, and deducted from the amount
of sale. Of course, there is your firm’s commission on the sale, also deducted
from the sale price. The only advantage to the planter is the drawback arrangement,
when the duties imposed on imported tobacco are charged to the planter’s account,
but nullified if the tobacco is re-exported to the Continent. On none but British
vessels, of course.”
Stannard imagined he detected a note of hostility in the young man’s words,
and did not understand it. “In many instances, sir,” he said, “that is true.
But, more and more, firms such as my own are purchasing tobacco directly from
the planters, instead of merely agreeing to have it conveyed to London. Often,
the firms assume many of the costs you have just cited. The trade has grown
very sharp in recent years.” He smiled. “As you must know, most of the tobacco
entering London or any of the outports such as Glasgow or Liverpool, whatever
its destination, is kept in Customs warehouses. Umphlett and Weddle, I am proud
to say, is among a group of firms now campaigning in Parliament for a law that
would allow our firm to billet their purchased and custodial tobacco in their
own warehouses.”
Hugh hummed noncommittally. “They might also campaign to resolve the stoppage
in the Pool of London, Mr. Stannard. I spent enough time there with my father’s
agent to observe that if there is any profit to be made on the goods stowed
in all the idle merchantmen there, an unconscionable portion of it is consumed
by demurrage and pilferage.”
Stannard could only concede this point. He essayed a change of subject to describe
some of the vast plantations in the region, such as Nomini Hall and Westover,
then proposed that they continue the inspection. The three men strode out to
the lawn with its river view. The agent pointed downriver to the pier of Brougham
Hall, where they could see several slaves and servants struggling in the water
to load a hogshead onto one of three barges tied to the pier. Three more hogsheads
sat on the sandy bank, and as they watched a fourth suddenly appeared, deftly
guided by two slaves. Stannard explained that the one-ton barrels were brought
from the storage barn a quarter mile away to a “rolling road” that led down
the wooded slope to the riverbank and pier. “Some of these Negroes handle those
’heads as though they were mere dice,” he remarked.
The party remounted and inspected the western side of the plantation. Here,
in fallow fields, grazed sheep and the brown long-horned cattle Hugh knew so
well in Danvers. Beyond and south of the fields was forest, and to the west
a thick line of trees behind a worm fence that ran for almost the entire length
of the property. The agent said, “When the Broughams and Massies were neighbors,
there was no fence. The fence is of Mr. Frake’s construction. It was one of
the first things he put up when he inherited the place.” Stannard spoke with
a faint tone of disapproval.
“Perhaps this fence is a reflection on Mr. Swart, sir, not on Mr. Frake,” Hugh
said. “In what condition is Morland?”
“Most enviable, sir. It is not a large holding, compared with some. But it is
most rationally managed and seems to be prosperous. Mr. Frake employs some novel
methods of cultivation.” The agent added, with a resentment that verged on peevishness,
“He does not give me his custom.”
“Perhaps he has found other, more agreeable arrangements,” remarked Hugh.
“I don’t doubt that, sir,” Stannard said. “They are not with Mr. McRae, either.
Mr. Ivy tells me that all of his leaf is carried out by a single merchantman,
the
Sparrowhawk
, or by one of its owner’s acquaintance. I have not been
able to determine what firm back home takes custody of it, nor who is the ultimate
purchaser of it.”