Just Jane (20 page)

 

In the elegant front hallway, the tall grandfather clock tick-tocked away the silent hours. And on the low settee beside it, a terse note lay folded, waiting for the first early riser to find it in the morning.

 

Dear Uncle and Aunt
,

I have gone to my cousin Hugh Prentice on Queen Street. I shall always be grateful for the kindness you have shown me, but I will never live under your roof again
.

Good-bye
,

 

Jane

Peering out a window at the sound of a knock at his front door the next morning, Hugh was alarmed by what he saw: a giant, stern-faced black man. Then recognition came, and he turned to Lydia, who was just coming downstairs.

“Good Lord, I believe it's Robert's man from Rosewall! What's his name? Omar. Let's hope it's not bad news.”

Hurriedly opening the door, they saw that Omar was not alone. Standing beside him, but tottering as if barely able to stay on her feet, was Jane.

Lydia gasped at the sight. “Jane! What on earth . . . ?”

One on either side, they helped her inside and led her to a chair, where she collapsed while Lydia brushed her disarrayed hair out of her eyes and wiped her moist face with a cloth. “What's happened, love? Tell us!”

Jane opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. The reply came, instead, from Omar, standing in the doorway. “Young miss need food, water, and rest. Walk all night from Rosewall.”

“
Walked?
All the way from Rosewall?” Hugh stared at the black man in disbelief. “Don't you have carriages there? Horses, at least?”

“Omar go for horse, then stop. Think. Horses in stable make noise, Master come out to see. Not good. Walk, only way.”

“But why?” Lydia cried. “Jane, for heaven's sake—what's happened?”

At last Jane found an ounce of energy to speak. “I ran away,” she said in a cracked and feeble voice.

Though there was still much to be explained, Lydia's motherly instincts told her that two tired and hungry travelers needed to be taken care of, and with this in mind she moved with brisk efficiency.

Omar was impatient to start back, saying, “Master be very angry with me.” He tarried only long enough to drink two large cups of water and accept a hastily wrapped package of bread and cheese from Lydia. “Must go now,” he announced, nodding his thanks, then looked expectantly at Jane.

Still unsteady on her feet, she rose and went to him. “Omar . . .” Words were suddenly hard to find. “What can I say? I shall be indebted to you forever.”

He shook his head, disdaining her gratitude. “You safe now, miss. Be at peace.”

A moment later he was gone, and Jane was standing in the doorway looking after him. Her eyes were glistening when she turned back to Hugh and Lydia.

“It may well be that I owe my life to him,” she told them. “And in all those weary hours of trudging through the night, he concerned himself only with my safety. Never once asked why I was running away.”

Lydia went to her and took her by the arm. “Come, love. We'll go upstairs now. And while I fix you a good meal, Hugh will get a bed ready for you so you can sleep for as many hours as you want.”

Now Hugh was at her side as well, smiling his gentle smile. “And soon, my dear, perhaps you'll tell
us
why you ran away.”

Helping her along step by step, they made their way upstairs.

 

Before that day was out, and while Hugh and Lydia were still trying to recover from the shock of the story Jane had told them, the news had spread through the city—the rebel smuggling agent known far and wide as The Schoolmaster had been arrested.

Hugh immediately began to make discreet inquiries, asking in every tavern, shop, and market where people gathered to gossip. But all he could learn was that the notorious prisoner was confined in the dungeon of the old Exchange Building, that the charge against him was treason, and that his trial was scheduled to begin in two weeks. Hugh tried to sound optimistic when reporting this to Jane and Lydia, but he knew that Simon's future looked bleak. No one expected a British military court to show leniency in a trial on charges of treason. For now, Simon languished in a dark, filthy, airless cell, with no visitors allowed.

 

Meanwhile, Hugh and Lydia did their best to make Jane feel welcome. They cleaned out a storage area behind Hugh's workshop on the first floor and made a small but comfortable room for her. They tried not to ask too many questions, seeming to understand her absentmindedness and general lack of sociability as she settled in with them. Jane fretted that her presence would strain their scant supplies, but Hugh and Lydia were so gracious that she soon began to feel more at ease in this regard.

But they could do nothing to relieve her torment of worry over what Simon's fate might be—worries that, after all, they fully shared. Keeping herself busy, Jane soon realized, was the only way to avoid worrying herself sick. It was a kind of blessing that in the cabinetmaker's humble home servants were unknown. Seizing on this fact, Jane pitched in with the chores with such tireless energy that Hugh and Lydia were soon wondering how they had ever managed without her. All the while, Jane half expected Robert to appear, wanting to take her back to Rosewall.
He'd have to drag me kicking and screaming
, she told herself grimly.

 

In the end, it was Clarissa who came. Jane was sweeping out the shop one afternoon, about a week after her arrival, when a carriage pulled up and Clarissa looked out to greet Jane with a cheery smile. “Jane, dear. Hello!”

“Oh, hello,” Jane replied coldly and went on sweeping.

“I brought you a few clothes,” Clarissa said, trying again as her driver unloaded several bulky parcels.

“How thoughtful,” Jane said. She could see Clarissa eyeing with distaste the ill-fitting dress and boots she was wearing, borrowed from Lydia. “I thank you. But I might as well tell you right now—I'm not coming back.”

“I'm not here to ask you that, I promise. But won't you come for a little drive with me, so we can chat?”

Reluctantly, Jane agreed to a short visit. “We've both received letters from Brandon,” Clarissa said as the carriage drove off. “I've brought yours.”

“What does it say?” Jane asked curtly, accepting her letter but not glancing at it. “You're so good at reading my mail, you must know.”

Clarissa winced. “I deserved that. I'm so sorry, Jane. I'd give anything to heal the hurt Robert and I have caused you.”

Jane let that pass. “Well, what does Brandon say in
your
letter?”

“He's disgusted with General Cornwallis for giving up his push northward and making camp for the winter at Winnsboro. That appears to mean there'll be no more action till spring, and you know how hotheaded Brandon is—always itching to fight. As for me, I'm just thankful he's still safe.”

“Amen to that,” Jane agreed. Reports from soldiers in camp always renewed her worries about Brandon, and about Peter Quincy, fighting with the Patriots somewhere north of Charlestown.

Clarissa went on. “Robert's still working hard with Louis Lambert, trying to whip their scruffy militia into shape. He's determined to defend Rosewall as long as he can draw breath. I must say, I personally consider it rather foolish to love a piece of land practically as much as you love life itself. But he's my husband. And even though we've had certain difficulties, I'm trying very hard to be his devoted wife.”

“How very touching,” Jane said dryly, obviously not touched by this declaration of wifely devotion.

Clarissa sighed dejectedly. “Jane, dear, I have a confession to make. The quarrel between Robert and me wasn't just about his informing on Simon. There was something else, you see, something between Simon and me—”

“You mean the affair you and he had?” Jane asked casually. “I knew all about that years ago.”

“What?”
Clarissa was rendered almost speechless. “How did you know?”

“I heard you two whispering together one night in the Ainsleys' garden.”

“And you never breathed a word? My God, how slow I've been to recognize your qualities! We all miss you terribly, you know. Especially Robert. He was furious with Omar for helping you run away.”

“Omar is the main reason I'm still alive,” Jane said firmly. “Please make sure Uncle Robert understands that.”

“Oh, he does, I assure you. That's why Omar wasn't punished. It's just that your leaving like that was such a blow to him. You must realize, Jane, in his own clumsy way he loves you like the daughter he always—”

“Aunt Clarissa!” Jane's patience suddenly ran out. “I can't believe what I'm hearing. You sound as if you don't realize that it's thanks to
him
that Simon could soon be hanged as a traitor!”

“I was only trying to—”

“Well, you're wasting your breath. I haven't forgotten the awful things you both did. I told you I'm not coming back there, and I mean it!”

“I realize that, dear. And even though Robert is still your legal guardian, until you're twenty-one, he won't try to force you against your will. Just remember that he had no idea he was harming you in any way. He was devastated when he realized how important Simon is to you.”

Jane could stand no more. “Excuse me, I think I'll walk back from here.” Signaling the driver to stop, she stepped out of the carriage, then turned to say a final word. “Thank you for bringing my things, Aunt Clarissa. I am, as I said in my note, very grateful to both you and Uncle Robert. But I've crossed a bridge now, and there's no going back. Apart from that, there's really nothing more to be said.”

Giving Clarissa no opportunity to reply, she walked rapidly away.

 

On her way home, Jane read Brandon's letter. In it he boasted about his magnificent Warrior and complained about “cowardly” rebels who wouldn't come out of the woods and fight. Jane wondered how these “cowards” could be the formidable adversaries they had proven themselves to be. He still regretted not seeing his father the day the prison ship sailed, and assured Jane that he was visiting his mother as often as possible.

“In closing,” he wrote at the end, “I hope you will be pleased to hear that things are getting quite serious between Lucinda Dunning and me. But no matter what develops, dear Jane, I want you to know that the friendship I have with you is one I shall always treasure above all others.”

All happiness to you, good friend
, Jane thought, and, for the first time in many days, permitted herself a faint smile.

But the smile quickly disappeared when her thoughts returned to Simon, and the realization that his fate would soon be decided. She knew how grave was the charge of high treason but tried mightily not to think of it.

There was nothing left to do now but hope for a miracle.

The trial of Simon Cordwyn before the British military court sparked more interest among the people of Charlestown than any trial in recent years. Hugh attended every session in the royal governor's building, faithfully reporting to Jane and Lydia all that transpired.

The first day belonged to the prosecution, headed by the British Army's Major Elliot. With principal witness Captain Richard Fleming, Elliot skillfully laid out his case, leaving little doubt that the former schoolmaster and the notorious rebel smuggler were one and the same.

On the second day, counsel for the defense—a British junior officer appointed by the court—argued that the evidence against the defendant did not add up to positive proof. He produced a string of character witnesses who had known Simon in Charlestown as a law-abiding, highly respected schoolmaster. One was cabinetmaker Hugh Prentice, who recalled how the accused had always condemned the rebellion as foolish and doomed to failure. Hugh swore that the same man could not now be guilty of treason.

Captain Fleming was gratified to see that there was no one important or influential among the defense witnesses. An obscure cabinetmaker was the best they could do.
Unbelievable
,
thought Fleming,
that this man is first cousin to Robert Prentice, one of the colony's most distinguished Loyalist leaders
.

The young captain was supremely confident of the fine boost his own career would get from the successful prosecution of this case. Breaking the Continentals' most successful smuggling ring would be a real feather in his cap. With only one trial day remaining, all he had to do was sit back and wait for the congratulations to start pouring in.

 

On the third morning of the trial, Hugh was first in line for the spectator section. A summary of what had gone before was expected that day, followed by the verdict, either that same day or the next.

Soon after he took a seat, Hugh felt a nudge on the arm and rolled his eyes in disgust when he saw who had sat down next to him.

“I know what you think of me,” Robert whispered before Hugh could say a word, “and you needn't tell me again now. Just tell me, how is Jane?”

Hugh's reply was chilly. “As well as can be expected, considering everything. Don't go near her, Robert. She won't stand for it.”

“I won't trouble her, never fear.” Robert leaned closer. “By the way, I hear you put on a fine performance yesterday. Almost had these gentlemen convinced that you never knew what Cordwyn was up to.”

Hugh's manner turned from chilly to ice cold. “Robert, I know your part in this disgraceful affair. Years ago you cut yourself off from me. Now I'll return the favor. Get away from me. I'll not talk to you.”

“I'm going, I'm going,” Robert said, his own pleasant manner unruffled. “But do give Jane my regards, won't you? And Hugh, watch closely this after—”