Caxton (6 page)

Rockets rose elsewhere over the river, their explosions audible seconds after
their multicolored stars had died. Otis Talbot said, “Look, sir. It seems that
Caxton is not alone in this celebration.”

But Hugh Kenrick did not hear. He was, emotionally, back in Green Park, London,
many years ago, where he had witnessed a display more spectacular than this,
while a great orchestra played an overture that matched the brilliance of that
display. The memory of that night was as fleeting as one of the rockets’ stars,
and was not what caused him to stand with his head uplifted, insensible to his
companion’s words and to the cheers of the other guests. The sight of the fireworks
acted as a catalyst that allowed him now, as it did those many years ago, to
reach an evaluation, a conclusion, and a decision.

“
Meum Atrium
,” he said out loud.
“Excuse me, sir?” said Otis Talbot.
Hugh glanced at his companion, as though noticing him for the first

time. “That is what I shall call the place,” he said, as though explaining
the obvious. “
Meum Atrium
…my hall….
Meus
…mine….”
Talbot sighed with relief. “I see. Then…you have decided?”
“Yes.
Meum Atrium. Meum Hall
.”
The agent smiled. “It will be a rather confounding name for persons not well-read
in Latin, sir.”
Hugh shrugged. “They have only to ask, when the time comes.”
“Shall I inform Mr. Stannard and Mr. McRae?”
“No, Mr. Talbot. Not now. I doubt that they would be able to contain their joy
at the news. The confidence they have thus far kept would be overtested. No.
We will let them know tomorrow morning, at the breakfast. I want no scenes here
tonight.” He paused. “This is a private matter.” Hugh smiled at his companion.
It was a happy, proud, and contented smile — a smile of finality.
“As you wish, Mr. Kenrick,” said Talbot.
The last salvo of rockets whooshed into the sky, and in a rapid succession of
deafening bursts painted a dazzling galaxy of man-made stars.

* * *

“I invite you gentlemen to reflect on all the troubles that have festered between
the Crown and the colonies since the beginning of this war: the innumerable
outrages of impressments of seamen by the Navy in our ports and on our own ships
at sea; the embargoes on our trade by that Navy; the quartering of troops in
private homes; the interminable quarrels between regular and colonial officers
in the field; the coercive methods of recruitment of American men for the regular
army, and the abusive treatment of our militia by its officers.” The speaker
paused, then said, “I ask you to reflect on those matters, and then ask yourselves
why you find reason to celebrate.”

It was two o’clock in the morning. The air in Reece Vishonn’s gaming room was
pungent with the smoke of several pipes. The muted notes of a galliard seeped
through the room’s thick double doors. About a dozen men were present. One guest
was sound asleep on a couch. Four other men were playing a brisk game of faro
at one of the tables. Two more were engrossed in a round of billiards. Six were
stretched comfortably in armchairs around the fireplace. Most of the men, weighed
down by food, drink, the exercise of dance, and the late hour, were only hazily
conscious of their surroundings and company.

Until they heard these words, spoken in answer to an innocuous question asked
in expectation of an innocuous answer. Then half-shut eyes opened, heads jerked
up, and cards stopped slapping on the table. The billiards players broke their
study of the lay of the balls on the green baize to stare at the speaker.

Jack Frake, pipe in hand, stood casually in a corner near the fireplace and
glanced at each of the faces now turned to him, waiting for a reply. Tonight
he had joined in a country-dance, something no one in Caxton could remember
him ever having done before. Tonight he was uncharacteristically sociable, and
listened to other guests’ small talk and gossip. Tonight he requested that Etáin
McRae play “Westering,” and her rendition of it melted the reserve of even those
women who disapproved of her pose. Tonight he watched the fireworks with the
other guests, and complimented the host on the lavishness of his hospitality.
Tonight, Jack Frake had not been the gruff, distant, self-absorbed man they
all knew so well.

Reece Vishonn, seated in a chair across the fireplace from him, narrowed his
eyes in thought as he scrutinized Jack Frake’s austere face. Then he said, “I
concede the animosities, sir. What man here wouldn’t? But I — and I’m certain
that many of us here think as I do — I ascribe them to the careful efforts of
a generous parent attempting to perform a kindness for an ungrateful child.
Soon the rebuffed parent resorts to impatience and arrogance, and the child
to peevishness and parsimonious feeling.” He shook his head once. “When peace
returns, sir, we’ll have no more of those problems.”

“It is a stressful time,” remarked Ralph Cullis. “Tempers have flared. Obligations
have been shirked. People say things they don’t mean, and commit actions they
later regret.”

Reverend Albert Acland said, “Yes, sir. There have been animosities, and altercations,
and ill-feeling between His Majesty’s forces and our own. But, for all that,
it is a time to be thankful, and to celebrate.”

Most of the other men grunted or nodded in agreement. Jack Frake took a draught
from his pipe, then said, “I see that the past will not guide you, gentlemen,
as it should. Consider these questions, then: What will a Crown victory mean
for the colonies? If it no longer has a rival on this continent, what might
the Crown, or Parliament, plan with greater ease for
our
futures? Would
it need to placate us to secure our support, something it has done with only
the greatest reluctance? Or will it feel free to dictate to us in order to secure
our slavery? What are the Crown’s ends, and what might be its means? Why has
the Crown fought so mightily for this continent? Will it ask us to pay for our
liberties? Are we represented in Parliament, where at least a man might rise
for us and accost the ministry’s and membership’s policies? Are we as ‘libertied’
as we believe?”

When he saw nothing but closed, almost condescendingly tolerant faces before
him, Jack Frake exclaimed, “For God’s sake, gentlemen, our own House” — here
he paused to glance at Edgar Cullis and William Granby, the burgesses — “our
own House sets the prices the taverns and ordinaries may charge their patrons,
and regulates the production of our tobacco!” He paused again. “Governor Fauquier
may assent to any bill or law passed by the Council and House in Williamsburg,
but you and I know that for such a law to have full force, it must have the
King’s assent, signature and seal as well — after first being approved by his
Privy Council. Years can pass before we learn that a law has been disallowed,
and when it has been disallowed, the courts become choked with suits for recovery
of damages and costs for having obeyed a disallowed law. His Excellency the
Governor may be the most reasonable and benevolent man, but his first allegiance
would be neither to his reason, nor to his good will, but to the Crown.”

Edgar Cullis shot from his chair. “That is a dastardly thing to say about the
man!” he exclaimed.
Jack Frake looked incredulous, but smiled. He leaned closer to Cullis and said,
“I heard you express that exact sentiment a week ago, sir. You meant approval
of it. I do not.”
“You asperse the Crown!” accused the father, Ralph Cullis, pointing a finger.
His son resumed his seat next to him.
“A contemptible sentiment!” said Ira Granby.
“Near treason!” grumbled Reverend Acland.
“Near treason, sir?” asked Jack Frake. “Or near the truth?” He faced a dozen
sets of hostile eyes and smiled. “Mr. Cullis,” he said, addressing the young
burgess, “the next time you are engaged in cards with His Excellency at the
Palace in the coming session, ask him where is the true home of his loyalties.”
Edgar Cullis gasped, then sniffed. “I would not dare, sir. That would be…offensive
to his person and station.”
“I contest the false conflict you present, Mr. Frake,” said Ira Granby. “It
would be treason if the Governor heeded his reason, and disobeyed the Crown.
Reason must necessarily defer in fealty to Crown imperatives.”
“Just as it must defer in faith to God’s will,” Acland said. He cast a sly glance
at Jack Frake. He seemed to be the only man present who was neither surprised
nor disappointed by Jack Frake’s change in manner.
Jack Frake said with frosty courtesy, “If you gentlemen are correct, then his
reason is as superfluous an appendage to his good character, as his peruke is
to his head, and cannot be relied upon to defend you in any grave matter concerning
the Crown.”
Reverend Acland set down his teacup and saucer on the table at his elbow. “I
do believe, sir, that the Indian war club that gave you that scar, also addled
your brains.”
All the men stared in disbelief at the minister. Jack Frake smiled again. “I
will say this much for that Ottawa, sir: That he met me in combat, knowing the
risks, and died like a man. He did not hide behind holy orders and hurl insults
at me, knowing that he did not risk being challenged to a duel.”
The minister’s face grew livid and he rose from his chair.
Reece Vishonn also stood up. “Now, now, gentlemen!” he blurted. “This…raillery
is improper…on such an occasion.” He turned to Acland. “Sir, will you please
apologize to Mr. Frake?”
Reverend Acland clenched his fists and stood stiffly. “I will not, sir! I have
always known that this man is not of my flock! If he had not declined to join
it, I would have cut him from it myself with a fowling piece! There is a disease
about him, like the cattle that pass through here from Carolina and infect our
own herds!” Without a further word, he turned and stalked from the room, slamming
the door behind him.
For a moment, no one said anything. In time, Henry Otway remarked, “Well, what
do you think of that, gentlemen?”
Ira Granby suggested, “One too many journeys to the punch bowl.”
Reece Vishonn sighed and turned to Jack Frake. “Sir, please accept
my
apologies for the reverend’s…behavior. I cannot explain what prompted him to
say so…rascally a thing.”
Jack Frake shook his head. “I can, Mr. Vishonn. But, what he and I think of
each other, is not the subject I wish to discuss. Your apology is not necessary.”
Vishonn nodded, and took his seat again. Not a word was spoken for the next
few minutes.
Then Edgar Cullis ventured, “You are wrong about the fate of our laws, Mr. Frake.”
“Am I?” Jack Frake said. “Is not Reverend Camm expected to return from London
with the news that the Privy Council has disallowed last year’s Act, the Two-Penny
Act, which governs the churchmen’s salaries here? Depend on it, Mr. Camm and
his colleagues will waste little time lodging suits against their parishes in
the General Court on the basis of that likely ruling.”
“He may have already lodged it,” remarked Mr. Stannard. “I heard some captain
remark on his having landed at Hampton a day or so ago.”
“Now,” Jack Frake continued, “if he loses his suit in the General Court here,
what guarantee have we that he will not again plead to the Council, and succeed
in having our own court’s decision overruled and voided? By all accounts, he
is as determined to be paid by his parish as the Council is determined to prescribe
our laws.”
Thomas Reisdale stirred in his chair. “You know, gentlemen,” he said after a
moment, “I must admit that Mr. Frake is right. The first disallowance has the
effect of placing all Virginia law in a state of limbo. You see, it does not
merely concern ministers’ salaries. The Crown will uphold our laws, if they
please it, and void them, if they please not. The king’s protection, so often
cited by our few champions, is illusory.”
Reece Vishonn shook his head. “No, sir,” he protested. “I won’t hear of it!
Our excellent constitution will not allow that to come about.” He glanced at
Jack Frake. “And, please excuse it, sir, but I don’t believe either that it
would allow any of your dark imaginings to come about.”
Jack shrugged. “For myself, sirs, I have stopped counting on the sundog of our
excellent constitution.”
“But are we not Englishmen?” asked Henry Otway. “Do we not, as Crown subjects,
inherit the protection of the constitution and the king?”
“The full protection of the constitution is not afforded the colonies,” Jack
Frake said. “We are, it is true, Crown subjects, but, in the eyes of Parliament
and the king’s ministers, and the king himself, not wholly Englishmen. We either
left England’s shores, or were born beyond them. We are, in the scheme of things,
but glorified factotums.” He paused. “The laws and liberties enjoyed by the
inhabitants of Cornwall are more sacrosanct than any enjoyed in the colonies
here. We exist, in the Crown’s view, not for ourselves, but on sufferance, for
the pleasure and convenience of the Crown. Mr. Reisdale has caught my point.
The king’s protection is illusory. If we enjoy any latitude in liberty, it is
only because we have the advantage of distance and time.”
“Well put, sir,” Reisdale said. “Our remove from the mother country is a pitiful
protection of our liberties. Reverend Camm has proven that.”
One of the billiard players groaned with impatience. “Why do you belabor these
speculative matters, sir?” he asked Jack Frake. “We are here to enjoy the company
and a modicum of diversion.”
“Yes,” chimed one of the card game players. “Damn it all, we’ll get politics
and speechifying enough, once the new session convenes next month!”
Some of the men laughed. Henry Otway gestured to William Granby and Edgar Cullis.
“Here, Mr. Frake, are the men who will apprise us of any evil-doings cooked
by the Crown. They are the Roman geese we have elected to so warn us.”
Jack shrugged again. “I have merely pointed out an oversight, gentlemen. I am
certain that times lie ahead when you will be moved to think ahead, and not
be content with the prosaic concerns of the present. You will wonder then why
the obvious was not so clear to you in the past, and, if you are honest with
yourselves, you will conclude that you did not choose to see it.”
He spoke the words in a dry, almost impersonal manner, not intending any offense.
But most of the men looked away from him. A few stared at him with a hostility
that matched Reverend Acland’s. He realized that he had delivered a personal
wound to each of them, and that none of the affronted men would continue the
conversation. The billiards players turned and resumed their game; the dealer
in the faro game reshuffled his cards. A few men rose, walked to the table that
held bottles of liquor, and stood with their backs to him.
Only Mr. Reisdale regarded him with sympathy and understanding. Reece Vishonn
managed to appear embarrassed with his guests’ behavior.
Jack Frake nodded acknowledgment to Mr. Reisdale, then went to the fireplace,
emptied the embers of his pipe into the flames, and walked to the double doors.
He turned and addressed the men once more. “Good evening, sirs. I leave you
with your peevishness and parsimonious feelings.”
There was no answer. As he turned and touched the handles of the door, someone
in a darkened corner rose from a chair and approached him. It was Hugh Kenrick.
“My compliments, Mr. Frake,” he said. “Only in Parliament have I seen such resolve
cause so acrimonious a division.”
Jack Frake smiled, opened the doors, and stepped into the breezeway that separated
the gaming room from the ballroom. Hugh Kenrick followed him. Jack Frake closed
the doors and turned to the younger man. “You are Hugh Kenrick. You were pointed
out to me earlier.”
Hugh offered his hand. “As were you to me, sir.”
Jack took the proffered hand and shook it. He said, “It is unfortunate, Mr.
Kenrick, that no colonial member of that body will ever have a chance to participate
in such a division.”
“Not as a colonial,” answered Hugh. “I know of no factotum who has a voice in
the disposal of his master’s budget or in the propriety of his diversions.”
He paused. “You are right to concern yourself with the future. I have seen and
heard it myself, in London. I am better acquainted with Mr. Pitt than I am with
the Lieutenant-Governor here. He, too, as you remarked, must be a man of divided
sympathies and loyalties.”
“Divided,” asked Jack, “or divisive?”
Hugh smiled. “I stand corrected, sir.”
Jack laughed. “Why did you not speak up a few moments ago, Mr. Kenrick?”
“I am a guest here, and an outsider. And, to speak frankly, I enjoyed listening
to you address the matter.” Hugh grinned. “I came in with Mr. McRae to rest
from the ball. Mr. McRae stretched out on one of the divans. You came in afterward.
He missed a clash of Titans.” After a short pause, he corrected himself. “Well,
at least the triumph of one, and the flight of a gnome.”
“You have seen Brougham Hall, Mr. Kenrick,” Jack said. “Will you purchase it?”
“Yes,” Hugh said. “But, please keep that a secret. I want no fuss made about
it.” He frowned. “Why does that minister hate you?”
Jack shrugged. “I would say that it is because I refuse to waste my time sitting
in his church listening to his indifferent sermons. But, that cannot be the
whole reason. I can neither fathom his hatred of me, nor much concern myself
with it.”
“I shall make a point of causing him to hate me, as well, once I have settled
in.”
Jack shook his head. “I do not think he will need your assistance, sir.”
Hugh nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. He was bursting with the desire
to question the man about
Hyperborea
, and about the Skelly gang, and
how he came by the scar on his forehead. But he knew that this was neither the
time nor the place to ask such questions. Instead, he said, “I sailed with Captain
Ramshaw in the
Sparrowhawk
to Philadelphia, Mr. Frake. He told me much
about you.”
Jack frowned. “Why would he have told you about me?”
“Because I have read
Hyperborea.
”
Jack blinked in surprise. After a moment, he said, “We seem to have so many
things in common, Mr. Kenrick. Perhaps we will be good neighbors.”
“You must tell me the story of your association with that book, some day,” Hugh
said. He paused, then added, “As you are the last of the Skelly gang, I am the
last of the Society of the Pippin.”
“Was that a gang, too?”
“The Crown viewed it as such,” Hugh said. “No, it was not a gang. It was a club
of freethinkers.”
Jack smiled tentatively. “I see. Well, when you have settled into Brougham Hall,
we will have many stories to tell each other.”
The ballroom door opened then, and Etáin McRae came into the hall. She stopped
when she saw Jack Frake and Hugh Kenrick standing together. She smiled and said,
“You have met.”
Jack’s welcoming smile vanished. He remembered her words from earlier in the
evening. “Were you expecting us to, Miss McRae?”
“In
time
, Mr. Frake,” the girl answered, placing a special stress on
time
. “I knew that you must.” She paused. “Excuse me for interrupting, sirs,
but has either of you seen my father? My mother has not seen him in a while,
and she is concerned.”
“He is fast asleep in the gaming room, Miss McRae,” Hugh said. “Shall I rouse
him?”
Etáin shook her head. “No. That won’t be necessary. Let him be. I was certain
that he must be in there.” She came closer and glanced from one man to the other.
“I see here a compass, gentlemen. One of you is the needle, and one of you the
north.”
Jack’s face remained impassive. Hugh grinned and asked, “Whatever you may mean
by that, Miss McRae — which of us is which?”
“I cannot yet decide, Mr. Kenrick,” Etáin said. “It is something that will become
apparent —
in time
.” Then she took a small step back and performed a
short curtsy. She smiled an odd smile, and went back into the ballroom.
For a moment, the two men stared in silence at the closed door. Then Hugh asked,
“What did she mean by that riddle?”
Jack said nothing for a moment. He was still staring at the space where Etáin
had stood. “I do not know,” he answered almost woodenly.
“She was not teasing us with it, I’m certain of that,” Hugh essayed. “She appeared
to be happy to have invented it. It is a secret riddle, which she alone will
ponder.”
Jack said, “Yes, perhaps that is it.” He paused. “But, before tonight, I did
not know her ever to speak in riddles.”
The gaming room doors opened and Thomas Reisdale emerged. He nodded to the two
men, then addressed Jack Frake. “I wish to speak with you, sir, if you have
the time. I have written a fragment on the very matters you raised tonight,
and would be honored if you could read it some time. I could bring it to Morland
tomorrow.”
Hugh said, “Mr. Frake, I look forward to speaking with you again.” He bowed
slightly to the two men. “I leave you gentlemen to your intrigues.” He turned
and strode to the ballroom doors.