Devil Water (66 page)

“Carpentry shop,” he said pointing with his whip, and was fortunately distracted -- since he meant to go with them -- by a splash, and the sight of a terrified slave who had carelessly rolled a tobacco hogshead into the water. Corby started off to discipline the offender and the girls escaped.

They found Rob working intently with a fret saw and chisel, carving the beading and modillions on a length of pine destined for the unfinished cornice.

Evelyn threw one shocked glance at the iron collar, and said “Hurry, dear” beneath her breath to Jenny, then stood guard outside.

Rob looked up and saw Jenny standing by the door, seeming to bring in all the sunshine of the May morning. “Wuns!” he whispered. “Hinny, I’d begun to think you were a dream!”

“Listen,” she said smiling, yet anxious, “I’ve something to tell you, but what about --” She pointed to a gigantic Negro who was planing a board in the back of the little shop. He was a Senegalese, six and a half feet high, his skin the golden brown of polished walnut. He had a red sweatband around his head, and a bit of sheepbone stuck through each of his ear lobes.

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Rob. “That’s Nero.”

The slave heard his name, and raising his head made Jenny a dignified, unsmiling bow. He showed no surprise at her appearance. Nero never showed surprise.

“Then listen, Rob,” said Jenny. “Evelyn thinks, and I’m sure you’ll agree, this is the best way to proceed.”

She told him of the plan, while he went on working --his big blunt fingers handling the fret saw as deftly as a woman does a needle. When she had finished he swallowed. “Aye. I can see the sense to it. Yet I’d like to’ve bought my
own
freedom.”

“You
will
be,” she said quickly. “ ‘Tis only pretense. And, Rob, pray -- you said you believed in God -- pray for the result of this interview with the Harrisons.”

“Oh, Jenny, it galls me that you should have to do all this, while I stand by helpless! It galls me like this hellish collar does!”

“Hist!” whispered Evelyn from the door. “Come out, Jen!”

Corby was pounding up the slope from the wharf, Jenny got out of the shop just in time, and the overseer’s suspicious glare inside showed him nothing except the two slaves silently carpentering.

The girls walked up the road and arrived at the great brick mansion. To their dismay the Harrisons had other visitors, the John Carters from Shirley Plantation next door on the north of Berkeley. John was Anne Harrison’s brother, eldest son of the “King” and a man of consequence himself, being permanent Secretary to the Colony as well as Councilor. He had married Elizabeth Hill of Shirley and come to live at that oldest and most elegant of plantations.

The Harrisons were delighted to see Evelyn, and in the interest of diversion willing to overlook Jenny’s odd behavior or her last appearance. Refreshments were pressed on them. Everyone settled down in the north parlor for a nice long family visit. The Carters asked one or two questions about London, though nobody was really interested. The ladies were interested in the visit to Williamsburg. Evelyn, chafing, reported on whom they had seen, the health of the Governor, the guest list at the ball, and any pregnancies, engagements, or scandals she had got wind of.

While she talked she observed that the relationship between Anne Harrison and her mother-in-law had not improved. The ladies contradicted each other; it might be said that they snapped. There was a contretemps over the coffee pot. Anne seated herself to pour, as became the hostess. Madam Harrison then asked acidly, “Do you think you should lift that heavy pot in youah condition, my deah? Besides,
I
’ve
always dispensed the coffee for our guests.” Anne pretended not to hear.

The morning wore away. Once Jenny found herself being teased about Captain Randolph. It took all her self-control to answer civilly. Presently they were asked to stay for dinner, since it was nearly two o’clock. The Carters accepted promptly, while Evelyn and Jenny exchanged a look of desperation. Evelyn did not want anyone except Ben Harrison to hear Jenny’s request, and certainly not John Carter, who had even better legal training than Byrd, and was moreover endowed with much of his own father’s authoritarian intolerance.

There was nothing to do but sit it out, especially as Carter and Ben Harrison drifted off to the stables to inspect a mare Ben had just bought -- or at least intended to pay for when this year’s tobacco crop was sold in London.

For two hours Jenny waded through the interminable dinner: scalloped oysters, saddle of mutton, cold ham, hominy, scrambled eggs, spoonbread, a few new peas from the garden. And then the second course, ice cream, custards, and brandied peaches, after which the tablecloth came off and the company were served figs, raisins, and almonds, while Ben circulated bottles of madeira, port and cherry cordial. Jenny thought of Rob’s rations in the Quarters -- the peck of cornmeal. In fact she thought of him all the time, and her frustration produced a dull headache.

The Carters left at last, returning to Shirley in their chariot.

Ben yawned and said he reckoned he’d take a nap. The Harrison ladies, both stupefied by food and longing for their own rooms, looked expectantly at Evelyn, who would certainly make her adieus now. But she did not, instead she took a deep breath and said, “Cousin Ben, just a moment, please. We -- Miss Radcliffe and I -- have a matter of great importance to ask you.”

“Well --” said Ben, reluctantly, “if it won’t wait.” And he led the way to the south parlor. His wife and mother followed, since neither was willing to leave the field to the other, if there were any matter of importance to be talked of with Ben.

They all sat down, Ben sprawling in his armchair, Madam Harrison at once securing the other armchair next her son and lowering her bulk into it. She picked up a peacock fan and waved it languidly. “What do you want of son Ben, Evelyn?” she asked, wheezing slightly.

“It’s to do with Robert Wilson, the convict who returned,” said Evelyn plunging in. “Miss Radcliffe wants to buy him.”

“What!” cried Ben, sitting up and gaping at Jenny, who drew herself tight and lifted her chin.

“I do,” she said. “I’ll pay you very well for him.”

Ben gaped harder, having as yet no reaction except astonishment.

His mother however, suffering from indigestion and a longing to loosen her stays, snapped out, “How uttahly ridiculous! Ben wouldn’t sell the fellah, now he’s got him back, and I wouldn’t
dream
of lettin’ him!”

“Oh? Indeed, Mother Harrison,” Anne drawled from the ignominious corner seat. “I believe Ben is of full age and able to make his own decisions! Personally I think it a
good
ideah to get rid of that fellah.” And she sent her mother-in-law a look of open battle, while Evelyn relaxed a trifle, perceiving that such are the inscrutabilities of fate that Madam Harrison’s ill-judged remark had greatly bettered Rob’s chances.

“But Miss Radcliffe?” said Ben, still groping. “What would you do with the man? Damme, why do you want him?”

“I want him for a husband,” said Jenny, her color deepening, her eyes very bright.

There was a startled silence, then Ben Harrison burst into a loud guffaw, he slapped his thighs, and roared again. “Damme!” he cried still laughing. “You want to buy youahself a stud, eh? Oh, this is rich! But, my deah gel, such a pretty creature as you are, don’t need to waste money like that. What about Ned Randolph?”

“Ben!” cried his mother sharply. “I pray you be seemly. And, Evelyn, I’m shocked that you should be pahty to such an indecent transaction!”

“Not indecent at all,” said Anne loudly and firmly. “I think it sweetly romantical!”

Her husband stared at her. He was so accustomed to the tussles between his womenfolk that he scarcely noted them, yet in the rare occasions when he was forced to take sides, he naturally tended towards his wife, who was, moreover, quick with child and should be pampered.

“I want the fellah to finish the house,” he said plaintively. “And he’s valuable to me. Most useful. I paid fifty pounds for him.”

“That’s why I’m offering you more than that,” Jenny said. “Moreover he
will
finish the house for you. There’s only a few days work left, and I warrant he’ll do it.”

“What
are
you offerin’?” asked Ben slowly.

Jenny drew a heavy pouch from her pocket. “Fifty guineas,” she said, taking a coin from the pouch. “Fifty golden English guineas. And I’ve brought ten of them which you may have now as earnest of the rest, which are at Westover.”

All three Harrisons drew in their breaths and leaned forward staring at the gold. In Virginia actual money was very scarce. Most payments were made by bills of exchange, by clipped Spanish silver or by tobacco. The two Harrison women had never laid eyes on English gold before. Even Madam Harrison was silenced, for they all realized that in purchasing power this gold would go much further than its face value.

“You shuah must want him real bad, ma’am,” said Ben to Jenny, as he hefted one of the coins in his palm. I can buy me three able young Nigras, he thought -- or that Arab stallion I looked at.

Anne had her own thoughts, which had to do with a pearl necklace she coveted. “Take it, husband,” she said softly. “I want you to.”

He nodded. “I reckon I will.”

Evelyn sprang up at once. “Where’s paper and a pen?” she cried. “We must write a bill of sale.”

Anne went to the secretary and produced writing materials, then they paused. None of the young people had ever sold a slave, nor knew what form should be used. Madam Harrison did know something about the procedure, but she had no intention of helping. She folded her arms and sat in affronted silence, while Evelyn, with tentative suggestions from Anne and Ben, wrote out something she trusted was legal. Jenny stood by, her heart beating hard, not daring to rejoice until Ben had signed his name.

Just as he was about to do so his mother, goaded by the sight of Anne’s triumphant face, remarked suddenly, “Much good all that nonsense’ll do anybody. Miss Radcliffe’s not of age. She can’t buy property unless her guardian vouches foah her.”

They all looked around in dismay, and Jenny began twisting her hands, her eyes darkening.

“I reckon that’s true, Mothah,” said Ben, disappointed now that he had made up his mind. “We’ll have to wait for Colonel Byrd, perhaps.”

This was the last thing Evelyn wanted; not only was she sure that her father would make many objections, but there was danger that Madam Harrison might yet sway Ben if she got him alone.

“Father’s not Jenny’s guardian,” said Evelyn. “She hasn’t any. At least, except in France,” she added abstractedly, and the last word gave her an idea. “I’m quite sure,” said Evelyn, who wasn’t at all, but managed to sound it, “that
any
responsible gentleman may second this purchase for Miss Radcliffe. Mr. Fontaine, for instance. And I guarantee that he will do so.”

“The ministah?” asked Ben. “He’ll put his name to this thing?”

“Yes,” said Evelyn. “And there’s room at the bottom for his affidavit. So you sign here, Cousin Ben!” She pointed, and after a moment he complied. “Witnesses?” cried Evelyn breathlessly, remembering all she’d heard of wills. “Cousin Anne, you, please. And then me!” When they had signed, Evelyn took the paper and thrust it into Jenny’s hand. “Here!” she cried. “It’s yours!”

Jenny hugged the paper against her breast; her knees shook. “Now will you take the collar off him?” she said angrily to Ben. “It was vile to put the collar on him when he came back of his own will!”

“Why,” said Ben, honestly bewildered, “you
have
to punish runaways, but I wouldn’t let Corby brand him, and he only got three lashes!”

“Aye -- well--” said Jenny suddenly collapsing. “He’s mine now, and you must take your collar off him.”

“Not yet!” said Madam Harrison, making a last stand. “Not until the ministah has signed that papah, and I doubt very much that he does.”

“We’ll soon see,” said Evelyn coolly. “Cousin Ben, you may expect us back tonight, with the paper signed and the rest of the money. Will you be so good as to tell Robert Wilson of this transaction, so that he may be ready?”

It was on the night of Monday, May first, that Rob became Jenny’s property, and he remained so. She could not free him at once as she had thought, because it developed that the Governor himself must sign a pardon for a convict.

Peter Fontaine told Evelyn this when she rode to his Glebe House and cajoled him into sponsoring Jenny on the bill of sale. The minister was easily persuaded, not only because he had a real attachment to Evelyn and dim hopes of marrying her, but because the whole slave system, for white or black, revolted his conscience, though he was well aware that the great plantations could not flourish as they did without slave labor.

Evelyn told him Jenny and Rob’s story, suppressing nothing except the Catholic and Jacobite angle, which she knew would be repugnant to this Huguenot. When she had finished the minister was much moved, his prominent brown eyes were moist. “It is a veritable romance -- this tale,” he said with his French inflection. “The murder committed by this young man was justified, and he has paid also in much suffering. Decidedly he should now be freed. ‘Blessed are the merciful’ our dear Lord has said. I will go myself to the Governor. I will go at once.”

“You’re very kind, sir,” said Evelyn, her eyes glowing. “And, Mr. Fontaine, if you should run across Colonel Byrd in Williamsburg, I pray you not to tell your errand.”

The minister showed dismay. “Your father would not approve?”

“I fear not,” said Evelyn. “My father detests haste and unconventionality. He would be shocked at the alliance of
any
member of his household with a convict slave -- no matter the reasons. It will save agonizing delays if we can confront Colonel Byrd with an established fact.”

“I comprehend,” said Fontaine after a moment in which he examined the consequences to himself of incurring Byrd’s displeasure, then staunchly ignored the prospect. He shut his eyes, his lips moved in prayer, while Evelyn waited anxiously.

He opened his eyes and spoke with decision. “So be it. It is not only that
you
ask this of me, Miss Byrd, also God puts it in my heart to feel our course is meet and just, and I believe I shall succeed in my mission.”