Just Jane (17 page)

“Tolerably well,” he replied. He tried to sound cheerful, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. “You haven't seen Brandon, I suppose?”

Jane had expected this question. “No, but he should be here soon,” was all she could reply. “The road must be very crowded.”

“That must be it.” Arthur nodded toward the city basking in the late-afternoon sun. “You know, Jane . . . just before they took over, I walked all over Charlestown, and I was struck by how beautiful it is. How I never really appreciated it before. It's the same with the people I love. I'm not very good at saying this, but—”

“It's all right,” Jane said gently. “I know what you mean.”

Glancing around to make sure he was not overheard, he leaned forward and began to speak in a low voice. “Listen, Jane—we have a mutual friend from the North. You saw him at my house last fall. He wrote to me recently that he expected to visit again this summer—in part to see you. But now certain papers of mine have fallen into the wrong hands and . . .” A guard was approaching, his sharp eyes examining the crowd. Arthur waited until he had passed by, then dropped his voice even lower. “If our friend contacts you, tell him for God's sake to get away from here and stay away until peace is restored. It's the same advice he gave me, and I was fool enough to ignore it. Will you do that?”

Jane was thunderstruck. Not only were her unasked questions answered, but another she hadn't dreamed of asking. “Y-yes, of course,” she stammered.

“I know your loyalties must remain with the other side, but I'm sure I can trust you. Our friend's life depends upon it.”

Jane was almost relieved when a guard whistled time's up a few minutes later. She and Arthur rose, and now his smile seemed genuine as he clasped her hands. “Take care of yourself, my dear. Remember, one day we'll be together in a happy reunion, all differences forgotten.”

“We will, Uncle Arthur, we
will!”
Her vow not to cry crumbling, she gave him a hug, then quickly disappeared among the other departing visitors.

 

The crowd had dispersed, the launches that had conveyed visitors to and from the prison ship were gone, the dock was now virtually deserted. Still, Jane lingered. Part of her clung to the hope that Brandon would yet appear. It was too late now, but even so, she knew that someday it could make all the difference in the world for Arthur to know that his son had made the effort to come.

At the same time, she grappled with a stunning revelation. Arthur's warning for their “mutual friend from the North” had made it all too clear that Simon was wanted by the British on some serious charge—and what else could it be but smuggling? She had been prepared to believe it of Arthur. After all, he was a storekeeper in dire need of goods. But then, so was Simon now. He must have resorted to this as a desperate measure to protect his sister and her family from ruin. The gentle schoolmaster—an outlaw! Dazed by this startling knowledge, she paused by the low seawall and let her brooding thoughts roam.

What mysteries we are to one another. And for that matter, to ourselves. Uncle Arthur takes it for granted that my loyalties are all with the British. If only it were that simple! No doubt Simon assumes the same. How astounded he would be if he knew that after all this time I still don't know for sure exactly who or what I am . . .

She stood there for a while longer, watching gulls dip and soar over a quiet harbor burnished by a golden sunset. And observing this strangely peaceful scene, she thought how easily beauty and sadness can combine to bring a tear to the eye, a heaviness to the heart.

Brandon had not come. At last, with light failing and all hope fading with it, she turned away and started for home.

Jane had just crossed the harbor road, heading for Legare Street, when she heard the distant clatter of a racing horse's hooves. She froze, listening. Could it be Brandon? Surely no one but he would dare ride like that along cobblestone city streets. The sound grew louder, and a moment later his great chestnut stallion, Warrior, rounded a nearby corner at breakneck speed. Jane waited, wanting to shout for joy, cry out in anguish, and wring Brandon's neck—all at the same time.

He was off his horse in seconds, rushing up to her. “Jane, where is everybody? Good Lord, don't tell me I've missed seeing Father!”

“I'm afraid so, Brandon. The launches to the prison ship stopped running an hour ago.”

“Damn, what rotten luck! Now he'll be taken away thinking I'm a cad. And I'm sure you do, too.”

“Well . . . you might have gotten here sooner.”

“I meant to, believe me, I did. But everything went wrong.”

Just as he was about to leave camp that morning, he told Jane, his company had been attacked by a band of roving rebels. A corral was set afire, and the attackers made off with a number of horses. Luckily, he was able to save Warrior. He and several others were then ordered to pursue the marauders—a fruitless effort that consumed the entire morning and delayed his departure for Charlestown until the afternoon.

“And now, after riding like a madman for hours—I'm too late. Eternal damnation to those dastardly rebels!”

Seeing that he was sincerely distressed over missing the chance to see his father, Jane offered a hopeful suggestion. “Why not go over to the Port Authority office and plead your case? You have a good excuse. Perhaps they'd make an exception.”

He brightened immediately. “Excellent idea! But come with me, please. Whether this works or not, I do want a chance to talk to you.”

It took only two minutes to walk to the Port Authority office a block away, where Jane waited outside with Warrior while Brandon went in. A few minutes later, he came out again, muttering furiously.

“Terribly sorry, they said, but for security reasons it can't be done. They wouldn't even let me send Father a note. What idiots!”

“Well, at least you tried, that's what matters,” Jane said consolingly. “So come on home with me now.”

“I can't stay. I have to get back to camp tonight.”

“But you can rest awhile, have something to eat. Come on.”

They walked along slowly, Brandon leading his horse by the reins.

“Was my mother here?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course she was. So was Aunt Clarissa. But Uncle Robert wouldn't come.” Jane tried not to sound too disapproving in adding, “He feared it would compromise his reputation as a Loyalist.”

“Oh, well, I understand that,” Brandon said. “I have something of the same problem. It's not easy for me to convince my companions that I'm a good king's man when they all know my father's a flaming rebel.”

“That must be very difficult,” Jane allowed.

“How's my mother taking all this?” was his next question.

“She was very brave today. I was proud of her. And Uncle Arthur, too. He's keeping up amazingly good spirits.”

“A man banished from his home and family, convinced that his only son has cruelly turned his back on him, was in good spirits? I think you've just told me a kindly lie, Jane.”

“No, I mean it. In spite of all your differences, he never believed that of you. When you didn't come today, he didn't doubt that you'd been detained. And when he returns to us someday, he'll learn that he was right.”

“
When
he returns? You mean
if
don't you?”

“When, Brandon,
when
. He'll survive, and he'll come back. We must believe that. In the meantime, be concerned for your mother. She's fragile, and this has been a terrible blow for her. Please, go up to Goose Creek to see her as often as you can. I know it's difficult for you, but she needs you now more than ever before.”

“I will. I promise you, I will.” He was silent for a moment, falling into a reminiscent mood. “We've always been close, Mother and I. You should have seen her romp with me when I was a boy. Such fun we had. Father wasn't the romping sort, but he was always kind and generous. I had a happy childhood.” Struck with a sudden welling up of emotion, he stopped abruptly and turned to Jane. “I never meant for things to be this way, you know. Father had his beliefs, I had mine. It was bound to happen that we'd become estranged. But I don't think my mother cares particularly which one of us is right. All she wants in this world is for her family to be together.”

“I know, Brandon. ” Jane put a soft hand on his arm. “I know. ”

He had recovered his composure when he spoke next. “I believe I'll leave you here, if you don't mind, Jane. I don't feel like seeing Uncle Robert and Aunt Clarissa just now. Give them my regards, and tell them I'll come to visit as soon as I can, will you?”

“All right, if you prefer it that way.”

“But before I go—” Stepping closer, he gazed earnestly into her eyes. “I want to thank you for speaking to me so honestly the last time we saw each other. I had no right to object to your seeing Captain Fleming. I don't consider him at all worthy of you—but that's not for me to say, and you had every right to slap my face and tell me to mind my own business. How like you, instead, to answer my anger with kindness and patience, and explain to me that we are good friends. And you're absolutely right. So, thanks to your honesty, we are both set free. I'm seeing Lucinda Dunning now. And I'm happy to say we're getting on just splendidly.”

“Wonderful, Brandon!” Jane exclaimed. “That's good news, indeed!”

“Thank you. And now I must be off, so . . . Fare thee well, good friend.” This time his usual peck on the cheek was accompanied by a warm hug, then a final remark, which he couldn't resist. “But I still don't think Fleming's worthy of you.

In seconds, he was the dashing horseman again, waving his hat in a dramatic flourish as he and Warrior, man and mount as one, tore off at the same wild gallop that had brought them there.

 

Darkness was coming on by the time Jane reached home. Clarissa met her at the door, looking worried and a little suspicious.

“You were awfully long getting back, Jane. What were you doing?”

“Talking to Brandon,” Jane replied, and went into the parlor.

Clarissa followed. “What? He came? What happened? Did he get to see Arthur after all?”

“Sad to say, he did not.” Sinking into a chair, Jane told of Brandon's late arrival, the reason for it, and of his failed attempt to get on board the prison ship. “At least he tried,” she concluded. “We have to give him credit for that.”

“Poor lad,” Clarissa said sorrowfully. “What a shame, to make such a tremendous effort, and all for nothing.”

Jane disagreed. “It wasn't for nothing. It'll mean a great deal to Aunt Harriet and, eventually, to Uncle Arthur, too. And it means a lot to me. I think more highly of Brandon now than I did before.”

“Really?” Her curiosity aroused, Clarissa sat down. “You mean, highly enough to consider him as a possible husband?”

“Oh, please! Can't you get that idea out of your head, Aunt Clarissa? He's lost interest in me, anyway. He's seeing Lucinda Dunning now.”

“Lucinda Dunning! Well, that's just bizarre. Compared to you, she's nothing but fluff. You know what I think, Jane? It's not so much that he lost interest in you.
You
lost interest in
him.”

“I never had any in the first place. Not that way.”

“Who is it, then? Jane, I know there's someone in your secret thoughts. Who is it? Not Captain Fleming, I hope. Not after the way he betrayed us.”

“Aunt Clarissa!” Jane's sharp tone stopped Clarissa cold. “Your brother is languishing out there on a prison ship, headed for God knows what fate. His wife is in deep mourning, and his son is wretchedly unhappy. And you want to discuss my marriage prospects!” She got to her feet. “Excuse me, please. I'm very tired. I want to He down for a while.”

With her aunt's grave eyes following her, Jane crossed the room and started upstairs, her leaden feet dragging with every step. Curled up on her bed a few minutes later, she began to regret speaking so sharply to Clarissa.

After all
, she reminded herself,
it's only natural that she be curious about who's in my secret thoughts. And she's quite right, of course—someone is. He used to be a schoolmaster, then he became a storekeeper, and finally a smuggler wanted by the British. But that's nobody's business but my own
.

Loyalists like Robert Prentice were keenly aware that the British occupation of Charlestown was only increasing rebel resistance. When she went out on the street, Clarissa was openly taunted as “that damned Tory woman,” although—curiously—this never happened to Jane. Perhaps Clarissa's always-grand appearance made the difference.

In the backcountry, rebel activity spread, as Robert said, “like weeds in an untended garden.” A British victory over the Continentals near Camden triggered celebrations in Charlestown but did nothing to suppress backcountry troubles. Robert frequently had to rush out to Rosewall to deal with some crisis. He always returned more convinced than ever that the smartest thing he had ever done was to build the great wall around his plantation house. More than once, it saved his house from serious damage, if not destruction.

In September, soon after Robert's return from one of these emergency trips, Richard Fleming finally came to call. Jane had gone out to the city market, but Robert and Clarissa listened solemnly as Richard declared himself shocked at Arthur Ainsley's plight.

“I knew he was under suspicion, and refusing to sign the Oath of Allegiance wasn't helping him. But the arrest order came from Lord Cornwallis himself. I had recommended simply keeping Mr. Ainsley under observation, which might have led us to the smugglers' ringleader. We believe he's in South Carolina even now.”