Devil Water (58 page)

One portrait he had wished to leave behind. It was of Sir Wilfred Lawson, Sr., the dead father of the Wilfred Lawson Byrd detested. He had seen no reason for hauling a likeness of any member of the Lawson family across the Atlantic, but Evelyn had insisted. She said that she wished to have a reminder at hand of how much gratitude she owed to the good offices of her dear papa. A perfectly filial speech, yet it had a curious undertone and made Byrd uncomfortable.

Behind him, Byrd now heard Evelyn give a low mocking laugh, as she said something to Jenny Radcliffe. Radcliffe was apparently the girl’s real name, though nobody had mentioned this until they were well out at sea. Then Evelyn in her detached imperious way had unfolded an extraordinary tale of a forced marriage in Northumberland, of a father’s Jacobitism and death sentence, of escape from Newgate, and exile. Byrd’s first indignation at having such a young woman foisted onto his household was, however, soon over. The Whig ministry had consistently ignored Byrd, in fact Sir Robert Walpole had pointedly passed him over in favor of Hugh Drysdale, who was no doubt at this moment lording it in the Governor’s Palace at Williamsburg. Jacobitism did not seem as outrageous to Byrd as it had, particularly since Lord Orrery had Jacobite leanings. And then there was consolation in the thought that Jenny was granddaughter to an earl, great-granddaughter to a king. Besides, she was vastly pretty.

One night last week he had drunk too much wine with the Captain, and on finding Jenny alone had “tried to play the fool with her,” as he later penitently noted in his secret diary. The girl had cooled him off with a blank astonishment which was humiliating. Her presence at Westover might lead to other embarrassments of all kinds. Still, if Evelyn wanted Jenny’s company, there was nothing to do about it.

Byrd frowned abstractedly towards the north shore, as the ship veered to starboard and began the tortuous passage around the point on the narrowing river. There never seemed to be anything to do about Evelyn’s whims. One of the greatest disappointments in London had been her disdainful treatment of two eligible suitors. Yet she was still only eighteen, and much as she troubled him at times, he would have greatly missed her had she stayed in England. I’ll find her a worthy husband here, he thought -- a Carter perhaps, or a Ludwell if there are any free and suitable ones. The choice was limited. Plantation society was limited in so many ways. It would be hard to adjust to a world without coffeehouse gossip, and daily gazettes, without balls, opera and masquerades, without the company of famous wits, and peers, and sophisticated ladies who appreciated his own sprightly literary efforts.

Byrd sighed deeply. He was fifty-two years old, and this morning, on his home river, he felt the weight of every year. “We should be there in another couple of hours, if the wind and tide hold with us,” he said to Maria. “I wish to write a letter.”

“To send home?” she asked, her anxious blue eyes clouded.

“To England,” he said with a tinge of reproof. “To assure Lord Orrery of our safe arrival. There may be some ships in port that will take it.”

“Yes, Will,” said Maria. She dabbed at the perspiration on her upper lip, and said faintly, “ ‘Tis growing so warm, I believe I’ll lie down.”

The Byrds left the deck. Wilhelmina squatted on a step and began to play with her wax doll. The two young girls leaned their elbows on the rail and stared at the shore. “What’s that house?” said Jenny pointing to a rooftop in the trees to their left.

“Brandon, I think,” said Evelyn. “Remember, I haven’t been here in nine years.”

“Are you glad to be in Virginia?” asked Jenny after a moment. “Do you think you can forget England and -- and the people there?”

“All but one,” said Evelyn calmly. “I shall forget the others.”

“You mean Sir Wilfred?” Jenny whispered. “Eve, you never mention him, I didn’t think you could --” She stopped before adding “be in love with a married man.”

Evelyn read her thoughts. “I told you I’d never change,” she said. “Look, Jenny!” The older girl drew a pearl-studded locket from inside her bosom and opened it. “Have you wondered what’s inside?”

Jenny nodded and gazed with astonishment at a tiny miniature of a smiling plain young man, in a white tie-wig. “Sir Wilfred?” said Jenny. “How did you get this?”

“He gave it to me,” said Evelyn, shutting the locket. “We still love each other.”

“You’ve
seen
him!”

“Now and again.” Evelyn’s beautiful eyes grew somber. “But I found it too miserable. That’s why I was willing to come home with poor old Father. I didn’t wish to become Wilfred’s mistress, which would certainly have happened if I’d stayed.”

“Oh,” said Jenny, having found nothing else to say. The girls were silent again. Jenny sniffed the salt air and smelled the intermingling scent of pine trees. The latter evoked something poignant and long ago -- the grove of pines at the turn of the way to the peel tower; it evoked Rob’s face as he had met her the day she came to Tosson with Alec.

The ship’s great rudder creaked beneath them as the steersman veered his course again to follow the river around another bend. The monotony of the densely wooded shore to the north was broken by the shadow of a house and a lawn.

“Weyanoke,” said Evelyn. “We’re getting nearer.”

Jenny inhaled sharply. “Evie, I’m frightened. I don’t want to get there. I don’t really want to find out what’s happened to him. I’m afraid to.”

“You’ve come an extremely long way to decide that,” said Evelyn dryly. “Courage, my dear.”

“But suppose something terrible’s happened to Rob, I mean worse than slavery even, which is as terrible as could be. Eve, it’s nearly five months since you had that letter from Mrs. Harrison! Suppose he never went to Berkeley!”

“Jenny dear, I’ll suppose anything you like if it comforts you, though I shouldn’t think it would. Oh, look yonder at that fishing boat! The Negroes have caught a shad; I trust it’s a Westover boat and that we’ll have shad for dinner. ‘Tis a tasty fish.”

Jenny refused to be distracted by the shad. “Evie,” she said, “are you
sure
that Mr. Harrison actually did b-buy Rob, and not some other planter?”

Evelyn shook her head. “We’ve been through this a dozen times, my pet. You know that I wrote as strong a letter as I could about your Rob’s virtues, and of the value he would have for any planter. And you know that Madam Harrison replied that her son, Ben, had sent an overseer to Yorktown to await the arrival of the convict ship, and had duly secured Rob when he landed. What more do you want?”

“Oh, I know --” said Jenny. “Eve, you’ve been so kind, but I’m fair distraught, and Mr. Byrd knows none of this?”

“Certainly not,” said Evelyn. “I’ll handle Father when there’s need, nor have you reason to fear him. You are not bound, Jenny, even to me. You paid your own passage money.”

“Aye --” said the younger girl on a long breath. She thought of the little strongbox which was hidden under her clothes at the bottom of her chest in their cabin. It held money: 360 golden guineas. There had been more, but she had paid 20 of them for her passage. It was Charles who had supplemented the £300 of dowry Lady Newburgh had given Jenny, by slipping a purseful of louis d’ors into her hand before they parted in Paris. Jenny had felt herself very rich. In London she had tried to buy presents for Lady Betty and the children, and been gently refused. “ ‘Tis little enough you have, my dear,” had said Lady Betty. “No settlement at all for a girl of your birth, and you must spend it wisely -- young as you are, again you must keep an old head on your shoulders. Ah -- ” she had added with vehemence, “that woman could easily have doubled your portion -- and
should
have!”

Jenny did not think Lady Newburgh ungenerous; she tried not to think of her at all; or of the past which she had cut herself away from. Particularly in this moment, when she had begun to dread what was in store for her in Virginia. Jenny glanced down at the middle finger of her right hand, which bore the Radcliffe ring. It was of gold, with a tiny edging of chip diamonds around the bull’s head crest and the motto
Sperare est timere.
The motto had never before seemed baleful, yet now it did. There was indeed fear in hoping.

Oh, why did I want to come, Jenny thought, leaning her head against the painted cabin wall. Why was I so sure? Suddenly she could not even remember Rob’s face, except for a heavy frowning bar of black eyebrows above grim eyes as they were when she had parted from him after their day on the moors. All that had happened later seemed unreal, the kisses in the Lee garden were a fantasy, and the sacrifice he had made in rescuing her from the Duke of Wharton was no proof of love. Decency alone might have moved Rob -- or even revenge. Jenny slumped down on a stool and stared at the ship’s ruffled spreading wake.

In the saloon William Byrd, having finished a gay informative letter to Lord Orrery, made cipher entries in his secret diary to cover yesterday’s activities. He noted that he had arisen at six, having slept ill, that he had said a prayer, and read Greek and Hebrew. That he had “danced his dance” as best he could on shipboard. This was a form of skipping exercise he had begun years ago in his London youth, at the suggestion of a physician. It prevented the gout. So did the one-dish meals he stubbornly adhered to. Lucy used to jeer at him for his eating habits, but Maria did not. Before they left England he had even converted her to his boiled-milk breakfasts. He added a few ciphered scribbles to indicate that he had lain with his wife yestereven and thereafter not neglected his prayers, when Captain Randolph entered the saloon and said heartily, “Well, Colonel! You’ll be home now in a cat’s wink! It’s not been a bad voyage, has it?”

“A most pleasant one,” said Byrd. It was agreeable to be called Colonel again, a title he had acquired here by mustering the Charles City County Militia. “I’ll never sail with any captain but a Randolph. You’re as able as your brother Isham.” He smiled at Edward Randolph, who was the eighth-born of the Randolph brood from Turkey Island Plantation up the James. Byrd knew all the Randolphs well and had been an intimate friend of the Captain’s father.

“It’s been a memorable voyage for
me,
sir,” said Randolph while the ruddiness deepened beneath his weather-tanned skin. “I’ve never before had the honor to carry two beautiful young ladies in my ship!”

“Oho!” said Byrd merrily. “I’ve noted a kindling in that sea-blue orb of yours. Towards which of the young ladies does Cupid aim his dart?”

Edward Randolph hesitated, and Byrd, who had scant doubt of the choice, thought that the Captain would make a satisfactory son-in-law. He was personable, despite some missing front teeth, and a rolling gait; both defects attributable to the seafaring life. Ned was of excellent family, and followed a profession of tremendous use to a planter; without the good-will and services of ship captains, the planters could not subsist. Moreover, thought Byrd, a husband who spent half his time at sea or abroad would probably leave his wife in her father’s home. A gratifying arrangement.

Randolph, with some embarrassment, dashed this dream. “Miss Byrd is very handsome, sir, but -- ” He hesitated, being naturally unable to say that he found Evelyn too tall, also too cynical, almost masculine in her bluntness and self-command. “It is Miss Radcliffe,” he said reddening further. “She is so -- well -- in a word, sir -- I’ve come to love her immoderately. She -- she troubles my sleep. I
must
have her.”

“Indeed,” said Byrd, raising his eyebrows, and recovering rapidly from what was, after all, no great disappointment. Evelyn would find a better match than this, and there was no hurry. “Have you acquainted Miss Radcliffe with your passion?” he added.

“No, sir -- at least I’ve tried but she’s so modest and delicate, I believe she doesn’t understand me, and I admire her for it. Besides, isn’t it true that you’re in a way her guardian? I thought it best to speak to you first.”

“I am not officially her guardian,” said Byrd. “She seems to be a singularly rootless young woman, though well born, and is virtually penniless, I believe. You must remember that!”

“ ‘Tis of no consequence,” cried Randolph rashly, knowing that his eldest brother would not agree. “I want her. And shall woo her lustily in the months before I sail again!” His blue eyes snapped with fervor.

“Well then,” said Byrd, laughing, “you have my blessing.” Randolph bowed and glanced through the porthole. “You’d best get on deck, sir,” he said. “We’re drawing nigh.” William Byrd stepped out on the poopdeck just as the lookout in the bow blew a shrill horn and the gunner fired off a cannon. Byrd went up to Evelyn and put his arm around her. “There is Westover, my dear,” he said. “There is your birthplace.”

Jenny roused herself and went to the starboard rail. They all looked towards the north bank and saw a dingy wooden clapboarded house of one story, and an attic which had dormer windows. Nearby clustered some small boxy brick huts. The home-house was set back from the river on a ragged lawn, beneath huge poplars. The house was in need of paint, and a pane of glass had been broken in one of its lower windows; someone had stuffed a blue shirt in the hole.

“I remember the house as much larger,” said Evelyn without inflection.

She was thinking that this Westover, for which she had felt though never admitted homesickness, would hardly make a decent lodgekeeper’s cottage on any of the great English estates she had visited with her father. Byrd’s thoughts were much the same. He noted the broken window, the lawn full of dandelions, and that, alerted by the ship’s horn and cannon, two Negroes in open shirts and rolled-up pants had come drifting out from behind the house. They waved languidly and pointed west up the river. Otherwise there was no sign of welcome. Byrd next perceived that his wharf had collapsed, and most of the planks had fallen into the water.

“Where’s John Fell!” cried Byrd in a shaking voice. “Where are my overseers? What have the damned villains been
doing?”

The Captain also stepped out on deck. “We shall have to go on to Harrison’s Landing,” he said shrugging. “I can’t unload here.”