Quarantine: A Novel (8 page)

sat on the step and removed the bottle from the inside pocket of his frock coat. He worried out the cork and took a pull of rum.

56

q u a r a n t i n e

After a few minutes the kitchen door opened behind him and

Amanda sat beside him on the step. He could feel her weariness

now—it seemed to penetrate him. “Would that be rum I smell?”

she asked.

“It would be.”

She took the bottle from him and raised it to her mouth. “I

should be ashamed. But this fever came on so quick, and I’ve

hardly slept myself. During the storm yesterday, Leander and

Sarah went into the Poes’ stable to get out of the rain. He says he believes it was Jotham there, in the barn.”

“Jotham has come down with fever as well.”

She turned and looked at him now, and he could not return

her stare. “Caleb says there’s to be a pest-house established on the Mall.”

“Yes, tomorrow we will begin.”

“Remember when this happened before, when we were chil-

dren?” she asked. “I must have been ten or eleven—odd how I

can’t be sure anymore.”

“I was thirteen. It was the winter my father died.”

“Ice,” she said as though it were a revelation. “I forgot. Your

father was out on the Artichoke River, cutting ice.”

“Everything went in—the wagon, the horses, my father. All

drowned. It almost seemed merciful, compared to the way people

were dying of the fever.”

“I remember lying in bed at night with my sisters,” Amanda

said. “There were cries and screams throughout the neighborhood.

I thought Newburyport was being visited by one of the plagues

of Egypt. My imagination—I envisioned the Merrimack running

red with blood.”

“There was the sound of the carts in the streets, collecting

corpses.”

Suddenly her hand was on his forearm. “She will die?”

“She’s quite strong, Amanda.”

“I want to keep her here, where I can look after her.”

57

j o h n s m o l e n s

“You know you can’t do that.”

“There was a time—” She removed her hand. “There was a

time when you said you would grant me anything.”

“There was,” he whispered. “Please accept my apology.”

“You are not at fault.” She raised a hand to her face, but in

the dark he could not tell whether she was wiping a tear from her cheek. “I believed—I was certain I would never see you again. So many men who had gone off to fight the British had been killed.

When you returned on that ship, which had been so damaged,

with so many dead and wounded. And then, only days later you

said you were leaving on another ship.”

“They needed surgeons. I had no choice. We were at war, and

I didn’t return for over a year. When I learned you had married, I couldn’t—and you had a son. What was I to think?”

“We cannot talk of this.” She got up off the step. “Not ever,

Giles. It is not right.” She opened the back door. “I must tend to Sarah.”

“Of course.”

He followed her into the kitchen and took out a vial from his

bag and placed it on the kitchen table. “This should help her sleep.”

He looked at the girl once more, curled up so that she was facing the fire. “I will have someone come for her tomorrow. It is for

your own protection, for all of you. We must isolate the stricken.”

Amanda stared into the fire, her arms folded. “We will deliver

her to the pest-house.”

58

Six

Cedella came to Miranda’s room, slightly winded from

running up the stairs. “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but it be

Master Samuel.”

Miranda had been dozing in the high heat of mid-afternoon

and she didn’t quite comprehend what the girl had said.

“Samuel, Ma’am—coming down the road on a horse.”

“My grandson? Here now?” Miranda got up from bed and

stepped into her slippers. She went into the hall and looked out the window at the top of the main stairs. The street was empty,

but she could hear the clop of hooves. She rushed downstairs,

where the butler and several of the maids were gathered at the

front door. They parted hastily, allowing her out onto the steps.

The house and grounds were protected on all sides by a fence,

but here at the front there was a tall iron gate facing High Street.

She saw the horse, its black coat glistening in the afternoon sun, and her grandson Samuel bouncing helplessly in the saddle. Even

from this distance she could tell that he’d put on more weight.

The maids had crowded behind her, and Miranda said, “Where

is Mr. Sumner?”

59

j o h n s m o l e n s

“Gone out, Ma’am.”

“Where?” she demanded.

“To the warehouse, Ma’am,” Fields said.

“The whorehouse, more likely,” Miranda said.

Fields cleared his throat. His length of service in the house

allowed him some privilege. “Word came this morning, Missus,

of a problem down on the wharves. People are taking with some

bilious fever.”

“I see—it’s from the filth they live in. You understand why

I insist upon a clean house. Well, he’ll be back soon enough, so there’s still time.” Miranda clapped her hands and said loudly, “All right, everyone, back to your duties—except Fields.” She watched her grandson approach. He had little skill in the equestrian arts, evident in the way he bounced upon his saddle. “Fields, you know what you must do immediately?”

“The guns,” he with appropriate gravity.

“Lock every one up and hide the key.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Fields withdrew to the house. He had been her

second husband’s butler and remained with Miranda through all

these decades of widowhood. He was painstakingly loyal, obe-

dient, discreet, and possessed an uncanny sense of anticipation

(the
guns,
of course he too would immediately think of the guns).

Never once had he questioned her motives, because that’s not

what a butler did, and over the years she had come to believe that he tacitly understood those motives and sought to see her designs carried to fruition. Utterly devoted and requiring no personal

maintenance, he would have been the perfect third husband.

Miranda went down the steps, and one of the gardeners opened

the front gate for her. Samuel pulled up on the reins, but the horse was high-spirited and reluctant to heed, until the gardener took hold of the bridle. With great difficulty, Samuel dismounted,

one boot remaining caught in the stirrup, causing him to hop on

his other leg. Miranda grabbed his heel and pulled it out of the stirrup; free of the horse, Samuel lost his balance and threw his 60

q u a r a n t i n e

arms around his grandmother for support. There was applause

from staff, who had gathered at the front windows of the house.

“Dearest,” Samuel said, as he tried to kiss her cheek. He was

sweating heavily from the ride, and his high collar pinched under his soft jowls.

She pushed him away. “It’s too bloody hot for this,” she said.

“What on earth are you doing, arriving unannounced?”

“I thought you would be pleased.” He turned and bowed

toward the house, as though acknowledging an audience. “I had

the worst time getting here.”

“Fortunately, your father isn’t home.” She picked up her skirts

and started back through the gate. Samuel tried to keep up but

was having difficulty as he limped along behind her. “He’s been

infuriated by all your letters demanding more and more money.

Have you gambled it all away?”

“I’m afraid I have hit on a bad streak. So I sailed from France

to the West Indies, where it was my good fortune to find the

Miranda
preparing for the journey home. I have been confined to a small cabin for days, and then so many of the crew fell ill that when we arrived the ship was placed under quarantine. Early this morning before sunrise, I managed to bribe a sailor, who lowered a small boat. I tried to row upriver to the wharves, but the current was so strong.”

“On the Merrimack one must be mindful of the tides.”

“Yes, well it was quite hopeless, and I was afraid of being

swept downriver and out to sea, until a fisherman towed me into

Ring’s Island. From there I had to take the ferry across, and then, exhausted, I obtained the services of this animal from Staley’s

Livery. I had expected to arrive in a coach—”

“Enough, child. You’re home, at least.”

“So you’ve missed me?”

“Hardly given you a thought,” Miranda said. But the fact was

she
had
missed him—inexplicable, really, but then he was her only grandchild. He watched her carefully for some breakdown in her

61

j o h n s m o l e n s

demeanor. She turned to the gardener, who was holding the gate

open. “See that this pathetic horse is returned.”

She led her grandson into the house. The staff had collected

in the front hall, and the women curtsied while the men bowed.

Miranda shouted, “Enough! Back to your chores. Hurry!”

“But at least bring me something to drink,” Samuel said. “I’m

fairly parched.”

They went into the dining room, where Samuel sat in a chair

and struggled to get his riding boots off.

Finally, she called out, “Cedella!”

The maid rushed into the room and assisted Samuel; the first

boot came off with little effort, but the second wouldn’t budge, and he howled.
“Easy!”
he cried.

Cedella turned her back to Samuel, leaned over, and took

hold of the boot. He placed his right foot on her backside and

pushed with his leg. There was a moment when they seemed

tensely joined in the most intimate fashion, and then he screamed as his bent leg thrust forward, propelling the girl across the room, where her forehead struck the mahogany highboy. She fell to

her knees, stunned, and then collapsed on the f loor, clutching

the boot to her chest.

Miranda sighed with exasperation. “Look what you’ve done.”

“It appears she’s unconscious.” Samuel carefully peeled off his

white silk stocking. “How inconvenient.”

“Really, Samuel. When you were a child, you were constantly

breaking things, expensive things, valued things. Vases, and that crystal bowl my mother had brought over from England.” She

sighed again, though it didn’t have the desired effect. Samuel was regarding the stocking, which he held at arm’s length, as though it were some venomous reptile, and then he summarily dropped

it on the floor. “And then,” she added, “there’s what you did to the portrait of my great-grandfather.”

“I didn’t care for his mustache. He needed a beard.”

“So you gave him one.”

62

q u a r a n t i n e

“Call it an artistic impulse.” Cautiously, he touched his big

toe, which was plump and red. “This has been sore for days. Do

you suppose I’m developing gout, like father?”

“You seemed determined to destroy everything this family

holds dear—”

“Dishes and bowls, Grandmother.” He must have realized

how dismissive he sounded, because he glanced up from his foot,

trying to appear contrite. “I concede my embellishments of my

great-great-grandfather’s portrait might have been in poor taste.”

He leaned over for a closer inspection his ailing toe.

“Stop
toying with your
foot,”
she demanded, and when he looked up this time, startled and perhaps even alarmed, she

glanced at Cedella. “When you got older, destroying family

heirlooms wasn’t enough.”

Samuel nodded amiably, relieved that they could finally come

to agreement. “True, but often a maid’s virtue was offered so

willingly I couldn’t resist.”

“Which was why your father thought sending you to France

might curtail such impulses—”

“He said it would ‘broaden my horizons,’ and it did, indeed.”

He studied Cedella with disinterested curiosity. “Grandmother,

it’s only a maid, not an heirloom.” The girl’s hand moved ever so slightly, causing Samuel to raise his arms as though salvation had been delivered by divine intervention. “Look, she lives! No harm done. She’s going to make a full recovery.” He smiled at Miranda, his eyes lit with boyish delight.

Miranda folded her arms. “Miss you?” she said almost to

herself. “I, miss you?”There was the sound of a carriage, pulling up in front of the house, and Samuel suddenly appeared helpless

and afraid.

“Yes, that’ll be your father,” Miranda said as she stepped

around the maid, whose skirts had risen up her legs, exposing her calves. “He may well render you unconscious, as well. But I’m

confident, my dear, you’ll make a full recovery.”

63

j o h n s m o l e n s

There was the sound of hobbling footsteps and a tapping cane

coming up the front walk, and then the door was thrown open

against the wall, causing the china to rattle in the cabinet.

“Where
is
he?” Enoch shouted.

He came down the hall and entered the dining room. Samuel

got up from the chair but could barely put his weight on his

swollen left foot.

“I met your repeated demands for money,” Enoch said, “but it

wasn’t enough—so you come back here for the rest?”

He lifted his cane and brought it down on Samuel’s shoulder.

Samuel waddled barefoot around the dining room table, his hands

raised to protect his head. His father, who was often plagued

by gout, limped after him, swinging his cane, the stick making

a whooshing sound as it passed through the air, and they went

around the table in this manner several times. Miranda was