Devil Water (76 page)

There was much else to dishearten them both. Everyplace they stopped along the James, at Richmond, at Williamsburg, and in the ordinary at Yorktown before they boarded the
Elizabeth,
Virginians were exulting over the victory at Culloden. The news had actually been brought on the
Elizabeth
along with Alec, and Jenny found the
Virginia Gazette
full of the “glorious battle” and the ignominious flight of the Young Pretender, who was skulking somewhere in the wilds of Scotland.

At Yorktown the night before they sailed, Jenny and Alec had to endure the racket of a parade along the waterfront, in which the effigy of Prince Charlie dressed as a Highlander was dragged in a cart and then hanged, while a band played and the crowd cheered.

There was also comic relief: a huge drunken man dressed as a nurse, waving a warming pan with a doll in it, while the mob, stamping and laughing, roared rhythmically “No Pretender! No Pretender! No Pretender!”

Jenny kept to her room, and Alec sat morosely by the bar, drinking ale.

It was a relief to sail, and a relief to sail from Yorktown, which she had never seen before and which held no memories. She leaned on the poop taffrail and watched the Virginia shores recede. Her lips were no longer swollen, the front tooth had ceased aching, she felt well. Beside her stood a plump middle-aged English lady, Mrs. Clarke, who would share Jenny’s cabin. Mrs. Clarke was returning home after a visit to her distant kin, Governor and Mrs. Gooch in Williamsburg. She had earlier visited a younger son of hers who had settled as a planter on the Northern Neck. She disliked Virginia. “My dear, the
heat,
the mosquitoes, and all those blacks underfoot, I shall be so glad to be home!”

Jenny found this comforting. Mrs. Clarke had little curiosity and assumed from her speech that Jenny was also an English lady returning from a visit. She asked only one question -- as to where Jenny resided at home -- and was perfectly satisfied by the hesitant reply, “London.” She forthwith chatted happily about her own affairs, her house in Kent, her grandchildren, and Jenny in one corner of her mind congratulated herself on the lack of drama or poignancy in this moment which she had dreaded.

The wind was fairly from the west, the ship sailed fast and steadily from the York’s mouth into Chesapeake Bay. A fiddler played lively tunes on the deck below. There were few passengers to applaud him, but such as there were, Jenny thought, looking down, were
free.

There were no slaves, white or black, on the eastbound passage. Each one was traveling at his own will and desire. There was comfort in that too. Then in a second Jenny’s armor was shattered by a blast of pain, nor for a moment did she know why. She stood bewildered, clutching at the taffrail.

“Why, what ails you, Mrs. Wilson?” cried Mrs. Clarke, interrupting herself in a thrilling description of her eldest grandson, who had won an exhibition at Eton. “Are you seasick?”

“No, no,” said Jenny hardly knowing that she answered. “ ‘Tis the tune he’s playing.”

Mrs. Clarke looked astonished, and listened. “An old dance, ‘Sir Roger de Coverley,’ I believe,” she said.

Against the flowing blue waters of the bay, Jenny saw her wedding day etched sharp, the scene in the old parlor at Westover, Rob playing the pipes at Evelyn’s request, and herself dancing, dancing frantically with William Byrd.

Jenny spoke again without volition. “Here we -- ” She checked herself. “Here they call it the ‘Virginia Reel.’“

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Clarke, hoping that her cabinmate was not a trifle odd. “There’s no accounting for
what
they do in my opinion. Now as I was saying, Basil’s an extraordinary child and -- ”

The fiddler changed his tune. Jenny’s pain receded. She looked down at her wedding ring, the little twisted gold wires. She had not left it on the pillow in their bedroom, as she had meant to. Though she slid it up and down her finger now, she could not quite fling it into the heaving waters of the Chesapeake. Why not? The Radcliffe ring was on her other hand, its massive gold, encrusted with diamonds at the sides, its bull’s head crest, its peculiar motto, “To hope is to fear.”

“My dearest Jenny, you can’t have it both ways. A house divided ‘gainst itself must ever fall.” That was Lady Betty’s voice, years ago about some childish choice, no longer remembered.

Jenny pulled off her wedding ring, and put it into her pocket. Later on, no doubt, she would get rid of it.

The nine-week voyage pursued a normal course. There were calms, there were squalls, there was a pirate scare. Once they were a day from shore, the passengers forgot Virginia and could not envision England. They were locked in a separate world of their own, where shipboard incidents alone had meaning. Jenny grew very tired of Mrs. Clarke, and through the kindness of their Captain -- Judson Coolidge -- escaped into reading. The Captain owned several entertaining books, among them
Gulliver’s Travels, Pamela,
and
Robinson Crusoe.
There was also a volume of Edward Young’s,
Night Thoughts,
but Jenny let it alone, after discovering that Lady Betty’s husband had produced the gloomiest of poesy, dealing mostly with death.

Though on some mornings Jenny felt queasy and their breakfast porridge revolted her, she thought little of that; even the dauntless Mrs. Clarke had seasick moments. It did occur to Jenny one day that the time for her monthly courses must be past, yet she did not allow this thought to disturb her protective insulation. Shock and sea voyages often produced untoward effects on the female; or perhaps it was the beginning of “the change.” She had scant knowledge of feminine physiology, nor means of acquiring it; but Peg Turner, her only informant, had already had the change, and Shena had ceased breeding. Jenny plunged into a volume of the
Spectator
she had unearthed at the bottom of the Captain’s book locker.

Captain Coolidge found Jenny very attractive. He made her sit next to him at meals, he paid her compliments, and tried to squeeze her hand after he had had a round of grog. Jenny smiled at him, listened to his yarns, and took an interest in the cargo, which was mainly hardwood, furs, and a few belated hogsheads of tobacco from last year’s crop.

One morning they passed the Scilly Islands, and presently saw Land’s End to the north. “Land ho!” the lookout called. “Land ho --!” The passengers rushed to the rails. The fiddler came running and struck up “A song, a song for England, her woods and valleys green, Huzzah for good old England, and England’s King and Queen!”

The passengers sang, the crew joined in -- unchecked by Captain Coolidge. Jenny sang too, though her voice faltered, and her eyes were full of tears. She descended the ladder to the main deck, where she had spied Alec sitting on a hatch and smoking a clay pipe. He arose instantly and bowed, as she approached, putting down the pipe. “We’re almost there, Alec!” she cried.

“Aye, madam,” he replied solemnly. She had persuaded him to drop her title, since anonymity was essential. “An’ I’ve a creeping up me spine,” he added with a twisted smile, “for only God and His holy angels know what awaits us.”

She nodded, and from then on during the days the
Elizabeth
sailed along the southern coast, then around the Foreland and into the Thames estuary, Jenny was no longer easy, nor could lose herself in reading.

On October fourth at Gravesend they picked up a pilot. Jenny, gazing at the cluttered little seaport, thought of Pocahontas, the homesick Indian princess who was buried here. And that was the last time for many weeks that Jenny had any conscious thoughts of Virginia.

Captain Coolidge stepped back as the pilot took charge, and Jenny, moistening her lips, put her head through the wheelhouse door and said to the Captain, “Could you -- I mean would it be possible to ask him, sir, what’s the news of the Rebellion?” Jenny gestured towards the pilot.

“Why o’ course!” said Coolidge heartily. “Ask him yourself, ma’am. Ye won’t disturb him. Jeb Sykes can sail the Thames blindfold, can’t ye, Jeb?”

“Ar-r--” the pilot agreed. “Wot’s the lydy wanter know?”

“The Jacobite Rebellion,” said Jenny, “what’s happening?”

“Ain’t nuffink ‘appening.” The pilot took his eyes from the river for an instant, and stared astonished at his questioner. “ ‘Tis all deader’n mackerel. The young Pretender ‘e skulked abaht fer a w’ile in Scotland, but ‘e’s safe in France naow. We been ‘anging and be’eading most of the other rebels ter wind up the business tidy, ye might sye.”

“Rebel prisoners in the Tower?” Jenny asked faintly.

“Them Scotch lords!” said the pilot, shrugging. “They be’eaded two of ‘em in August -- Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnock. They died beautiful -- I saw ‘em -- ‘twas a fair treat.”

“It seems to me -- ” said Jenny. She stopped and started again. “Did I hear in Virginia that there was a French earl -- count, I mean, in the Tower, a name like Derwent?”

The pilot nodded. “Oh ‘e’s still there. Some question abaht ‘im, abaht ‘oo ‘e is. Lord Lovat’s in the Tower too -- they finally got ‘im, the old villain -- I ‘ope ‘e ‘angs.”

Jenny dared ask no more. She thanked the pilot and went in search of Alec, to whom she gave the information. Now and then on the voyage they had each had moments of great hope. The news of Culloden might have been exaggerated, or the French might have landed to reinforce the Prince, who might yet have been victorious.

“Thank God,
Father’s still all right,” Jenny whispered, “but the Prince is gone, he went back to France.”

Alec sighed, he creased his thin mottled face. “A failure,” he said. “Like his father afore him, yet I didn’t think this bonny young prince’ld fail. And I
canna
see why he turned back at Derby. London was in a panic, they was scurrying and hiding and fleeing. I was there, an’ I know. And the Usurper’s armies was
behind
the Prince. ‘Butcher’ Cumberland to one side, General Wade far away. The Prince could’ve took London, and even if he couldna’ve held it, my master’d’ve been released.”

“I know,” she said, and added in a whisper. “The Stuart Doom.”

“Don’t ye say that, madam!” cried Alec fiercely. “Don’t ye even think it! That’s no way to help him!”

“You’re right,” said Jenny. She looked at the riverbanks gliding by, saw that the cottages grew closer together, recognized ahead the Palace at Greenwich. London was very near.

Jenny’s heart gave a frightened thump, but she spoke with determined briskness. “Have you decided what’s the best way to present me at the Tower?”

Alec shook his head. “I’ll not be sure till I’ve been there m’self -- see who his warders are now -- and, Blessed Mary, I hope he’s got hold of some money, we’ve only nine guineas left.”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Jenny slowly, “that instead of me going to those costly lodgings in Piccadilly, I’ll find me a job in a tavern as barmaid, and I can sing a bit. Aren’t there music taverns in London?”

Alec was shocked. “Madam, ye could not demean yourself like that! Fancy
you
serving in a tavern!”

She smiled at him. “Oh, I’m not made of delicate stuff. And I’m very used to work, besides what difference does it make, since no one in London knows me anyhow?”

Alec, though reluctant, could not deny the practicality of her plan. And she was no helpless girl now. She was, Alec thought, a real “ladyship,” with an air of quiet authority which should handle any rough men who’d try liberties. And they’d try for sure. She was still a beauty, her yellow hair curling under her hood, her lashes dark and thick around the long eyes, her wide mouth red above the cleft chin, and the graceful way she moved her slender body, which seemed tall but wasn’t. Ingrained loyalty prevented him from ever criticizing a Radcliffe, even privately; yet he did wonder what madness had possessed her to lower herself to that brute of a Wilson.

The
Elizabeth
docked in the Pool beyond the Tower. Jenny glanced once at the forbidding gray fortress as they passed it. She made no comment, nor did Alec.

After they had landed, Alec hired a hackney, stowed their skimpy luggage in the boot, and started off with Jenny to find her lodging and a job. The coachman, when consulted, proved sympathetic, and suggested a couple of nearby inns which might prove likely. While they drove to the first inn, Jenny had much ado to keep up her courage. The smells, the noises, the bustle and confusion of London appalled her. Had it used to be like this? There was stench from the open sewage gutters, from pigs rooting in garbage, and the all-pervasive coal smoke. She hadn’t smelled coal smoke in twenty years. And then the racket, the rumbling of drays on cobbles, the constant clop of horses, the creaking of signs, the screaming street cries -- “Who’ll buy my oranges?” “Milk below!” “Old shoes to mend!” “Cockles and oysters alive, alive oh!” -- interwoven with the jangling bell of the muffin man and the whine of beggars -- “A penny for the love o’ Gawd, a penny, kind masters!”

There were so many people, crowding, shoving, shouting on the sidewalks, as the coaches and hackneys and drays went by spattering mud. “It’s bedlam,” said Jenny, putting her hands to her ears.

Alec, who was pleased to be back in London’s bustle, and heartily sick of wilderness and shipboard, said grimly, “Well, ‘tis quiet enough i’ the Tower.”

“Aye -- ” she said. She let Alec go and inquire at the first two inns whether anyone wanted a barmaid. They did not. The coachman had no other suggestions, and Alec, who was anxious to get her settled so that he could see his master, said they’d better go to Piccadilly after all, when Jenny was seized with an idea.

“Wait!” she cried. “There used to be an inn where they had music, and splendid pork pies. Mr. Byrd took Miss Evelyn and me there once when we were at school in Hackney. It was at Spitalfields -- the King’s Arms, something like that. Tell the coachman!”

They went back through the City and up Bishopsgate, where they turned right for the Spitalfields district, which was the center of London’s silk industry. The narrow streets were lined with weavers’ cottages, here and there were studded the more pretentious houses of silk merchants. The weavers had a second trade, they caught and sold singing birds. Little cages containing thrushes and linnets hung before the cottages. In the center of the district was a market square, nearby it a long half-timbered building with Michaelmas daisies growing by the door. This was an inn, the King’s Head, the one for which Jenny was searching.