Revolution (20 page)

“No,” answered Hugh, “only when guests arrive without notice.”

“I am having trouble seeing you that way, and remembering your library.”

“Then let me help you end your trouble.” He turned their conversation to literature and music. Reverdy had read Sterne’s
Tristram Shandy
, and Fielding’s
Tom Jones
, and asked Hugh what he thought of those and other recent novels.

“I gave up trying to read Mr. Sterne’s opus,” said Hugh. “It is a monstrously confusing work. And Mr. Fielding’s novel is but a bawdy, picaroonish tale, passing for a morality play.” He paused. “There are some promising writers about, but nothing I have read to date has surpassed
Hyperborea
. I do not think anything ever will.”

“I have not yet read that,” replied Reverdy, sounding doubtful.

“I have two copies of the novel. You will have the opportunity to read it.”

“In Paris, we attended the Opéra-Comique, and heard Sophie Arnould sing in Rameau’s
Les Indes galantes
, an opera-ballet. That was quite a treat! And she has lived quite a fulsome life, as well! We heard that when she
tired of her last lover, she sent everything he had ever given her to his wife — jewels, carriage, and even her two children! And that wife was the daughter of a powerful minister at court, and with her father she made such a fuss about all those dubious treasures that appeared on her doorstep, that the luckless fellow was obliged to depart for South America! Why,
that
story was nearly as entertaining as the opera itself!”

Hugh smiled tentatively. “It certainly has the ring of a modern farce. Perhaps, with the right libretto, it could serve as a comic opera, the French managing their stage better than they do their wars.”

Reverdy laughed. “Hugh, you are awful!”

They were silent for a while. Then Reverdy announced, with almost childlike enthusiasm, “I can sing! Dare me to name you the parts of an orchestra!”

Hugh turned to her, stunned. “
Sing
?”

Reverdy put on an expression of mock offense. “Yes. I have been taking lessons from an Italian instructor, Silvio Berlusconi, in London. He has coached many of the best opera singers.”

“I should like to hear you some time.”

“You shall. I was quite honest with Signore Berlusconi when he accepted me as a student. I told him that my goal was not Covent Garden or Drury Lane, but my own drawing room. I still take lessons from him, when I think my voice has grown lazy.” Reverdy paused, pleased to see the look of surprise on Hugh’s face. “In London, Alex and I gave occasional concerts, with hired musicians. One evening, at our guests’ urging, I sang all the lyrics for Rameau’s
The Paladins.
It was a great success
.
”

Hugh laughed. “If you are that good, expect to be invited to perform at one of Mr. Vishonn’s balls, or perhaps even be invited to the Governor’s Palace. Mr. Fauquier holds frequent concerts there, especially when the General Assembly is sitting. He plays the violin, viola, and cello, as well, and often joins with other musicians. He is quite good.”

“I hope we can attend one. James and I saw the Governor’s residence the day we stopped in Williamsburg. It is grander than any English county seat.”

“Of course it is. It is the seat of a dominion, not of a mere county. Of a virtual country, in fact. But there is to be no General Assembly, this fall. The Governor prorogued it until spring of next year, over the Stamp Act Resolves. Still, he may announce a concert.” Hugh looked mischievous. “Name the parts of an orchestra.”

Reverdy put on an impudent smile. “There are three principal parts: the winds, the strings, and the percussion. In the winds, clarinets, bassoons, and oboes work with flutes, horns, and trumpets for counterpoint. Of the strings, basses, violins, and violas are strategically placed in the pit. Of the percussion, drums and timpani provide rhythm and accent to a score. A harpsichord or pianoforte may either lead, accompany, or comment on a composition.”

Hugh regarded Reverdy with newfound respect. “When did you decide that you wanted to sing?”

“I think the notion came to me when you took me to an opera in London.”

“I remember how thrilled you were.” Hugh smiled. “And with Vivaldi’s ‘Echo Concerto.’”

Reverdy said, “Yes,” then added, “Alex and I spent a week in Vienna. We attended a performance of Gluck’s
Orfeo et Eurdice
. Gluck himself conducted the orchestra. I think that is my favorite opera. But in Paris, we accompanied one of Alex’s French correspondents to the home of Minister Choiseul, which was a marvelous place. We attended a concert in his Octagon Room, which contains his favorite paintings. That room is lit by a glass dome, the better to appreciate his collection.”

“Marvelous idea, that glass dome,” said Hugh. “I’m sure that a hundred thousand Paris shopkeepers and country peasants were happy to have contributed so many sous in tax to its cost.”

“There you go, talking politics again!”

Hugh cocked his head. “Monsieur Choiseul is our country’s most dedicated enemy, Reverdy. He is determined to raise France to greatness again, even on the heads of his own people, or on their empty stomachs. He is rebuilding France’s navy, to better oppose our own. Nothing is more dangerous than a humiliated Frenchman bent on restoring his honor.”

“I found the French delightful company.”

Hugh smiled in concession. “They are delightful, even in war. At least, they are in Europe. Over here, though, they are quite barbaric, even though they think themselves superior in every way.”

Reverdy frowned in thought. After a moment she remarked, “I find it amazing that you do not attend services here. Not that
I
am so conscientious about it.” She studied him for a moment. “Of course, I am not surprised by your remarks. I remember how you silenced Vicar Faure that evening, when we visited you in London. I know your thoughts on the
Church.” She paused. “He married us, in Eckley.”

Hugh smiled. “I have read much of the premiere French atheist’s works, and found that I had progressed beyond his principled indifference to God and religion — since last we met.”

“Who is that? Perhaps we encountered him. We met many clandestine atheists at the
salons
in Paris. They are quite civil and not the monsters churchmen make them out to be. In fact, I found them to be a decenter sort than most churchmen.”

Hugh smiled in agreement with her observation. He said, “You will undoubtedly have reason to repeat that sentiment once you have met Reverend Acland.” He paused. “Who was that French atheist? Julien Offray de la Mettrie. I have a copy of his book,
Man the Machine
, in my library. He wrote that even if a God existed, there was no moral reason why anyone should worship him. That has been my position for as long as I can recollect. But I don’t think you could have met him. He died some years ago. However, there is another fellow, Baron d’Holbach, a chemist who contributes often to Diderot’s
Encyclopédie
. I believe he is an advanced atheist.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, to openly profess atheism or even freethinking here would invite severe consequences. It is not even an acceptable subject of speculation. Here, religious matters are taken much more seriously than in England.”

Reverdy nodded in concession. “And I have observed that people take politics more seriously here than they do in England, as well. James and I have met a number of them who have the same regard for His Majesty as your de la Mettrie had for God.”

Hugh chuckled, not at her, but because Reverdy was making some very agreeable observations. He said, “And I expect that number to grow. Your brother James was right, what he said last night over supper. The Crown means to have a revenue from us, by fair means or foul.”

They were quiet for a while. Mrs. Vere returned with a tray and a tea service. After she had poured cups, she vanished back inside the house.

Reverdy sipped her tea once, then said, “I was surprised to note my portrait in your library, Hugh. I confess I did not expect to see it.”

“Surprised, and pleased?”

“Pleased? Yes.” Reverdy took another sip. “Has it always been there?”

“Ever since I moved here, Reverdy.” Hugh smiled. “It was one of the first pictures I had put up. I still have your locket, as well, somewhere among my things.” He paused. “Do you still have mine?”

Reverdy shook her head. “Mother asked me to remove it, and I did. She took it to a shop in Eckley and sold it”. She paused. “But that never could cause me to forget you, Hugh.”

“And I could never forget you, Reverdy.” Hugh shook his head. “I own that there was someone else for a while, but she was merely the hope of desperation.” He smiled. “You were always on the wall of my library of concerns, elevated above all those tomes, as a measure of what I wanted.” After a pause, he added, “And you are lovelier than ever, and, I own, more tempting and godly than you were on the afternoon of our moment at the brook on your father’s estate.”

“Oh, Hugh!” whispered Reverdy. She reached over and touched his hand. “I am so sorry I caused you pain.”

Hugh gripped and held the hand over his. “It is past.”

“Is it, Hugh?” asked Reverdy. “I know that you are not a forgiving man.”

“It must be past. And it is not a matter of forgiveness. You are not afraid of me now, nor of my ‘cargo of virtues.’” Hugh looked at her with hungry admiration. “And I have never been afraid of you.”

This time it was Reverdy who took his hand and raised it to her lips. The hand in hers turned and traced her lips with a finger, and then the palm caressed her cheek. She breathed once into the palm, then thrust it away and abruptly rose. In a strained, subdued voice, she said, without looking at him, “I think I should take a nap, as well, Hugh.”

“Dilch will rouse you when it is time for dinner,” said Hugh simply.

Torn between wanting to rush away and preserving her poise, Reverdy walked haltingly to the front door, and went inside.

As she turned to open the door, Hugh noticed a tear rolling down one of Reverdy’s cheeks.

He observed the tear and the conflict, and fought the impulse to follow her.

“Not yet,” he said out loud to himself. He knew that his emotions were running far ahead of his reason. He said out loud, again, “Not yet. It has been only twenty-four hours, Master Kenrick. Wait.”

* * *

Reverdy was a maelstrom of emotions, tossing and turning on the bed, overwhelmed by Hugh’s behavior. Cruel tenderness, she thought. That is
what he paid me. She had expected anything but that, anything but the noble arrogance of a forgiveness that was not a forgiveness. After all these years, she was still his measure. And he, hers. She wondered, now that she had seen some of the world, as much of it as he had, if she could submit herself to the requisites of his measure. She could not before, but then, looking back over the years, she had only been a girl, alternately frightened and thrilled by the thing she saw in him. His unrequited love, she mused. Could she answer it? Could she be what he expected her to be? Was he something to live up to, to aspire to be worthy of? Had she the strength? She thought she had, now. As did he. What gave him that idea? And what right to think it?

Quietly, into the fabric of her pillow, she cursed Hugh and cried her renewed love for him.

Restless with irresolution, she rose again and left her room. Downstairs, she knocked on the door of Hugh’s library, and when there was no answer, opened it and went in. He was not there. She crossed the breezeway, strode through the supper room, went outside to the kitchen and encountered Mrs. Vere in the midst of her chores. “Where is Mr. Kenrick?” she asked.

“I believe Mr. Kenrick is in the fields, milady,” answered the woman.

“I see.” She noticed Fiona Chance, Rachel, and Dilch preparing some vegetables for dinner. “When will dinner be served?”

“At four of the clock, milady.” Mrs. Vere paused. “It is only two now, but I could ask Miss Chance to prepare you something now, if you like.”

“No, thank you. I think I shall try to find Mr. Kenrick in the fields.” Reverdy turned for the kitchen door. As she left, she felt the eyes of the three women on her, and knew that they recognized her from the picture on the wall of Hugh’s library.

Outside, she stood at the edge of the brick courtyard that divided the great house from the beginning of the fields, and scanned the expanse carefully, impatiently, a hand shielding her eyes from the mid-afternoon sun. She saw figures moving far off in the field; none of them was Hugh. She turned and used the brick walkway that skirted the great house. Perhaps he was looking after his landscaped lawn on that side of the house, she thought. But no one was there but one of the black tenants, busy pruning a row of boxwoods and young holly trees with a pair of clippers. She approached this person. “Have you seen Mr. Kenrick about?”

The man rose from his task and doffed his floppy hat. “No, Missy, I
haven’t. Sometimes, this time of day, he goes into town.” He paused. “Want I should look and fetch him for you?”

Reverdy shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll wait until he returns.”

The gardener doffed his hat again, then knelt again and returned to his task, trimming the shoots from the trunks of the plants. She wandered away in the direction of the river. She reached the edge of the lawn and the bluff that plummeted down to a narrow bank. Hugh had shown her and her brother the river and the plantation pier earlier in the day. A steep narrow path led from the lawn to the pier. She turned to look back at the great house. It seemed so far away now, and the gardener an indistinct figure half-hidden by the tall boxwoods and holly trees.

Then she heard a noise, a splash, and turned to search for the source.

She saw him swimming in the river below, close to the pier. She watched him stand up in the water, and saw that he was naked. She noticed his clothes piled on the sandy bank. He dived back into the water and swam out a distance from the pier.

Without thinking, almost as though another Reverdy were pushing her to commit the act, she stepped onto the path and hurtled down to the pier, pulled at first almost as much by the momentum of the descent as by a blind, irresistible desire. When she was on the bank, she watched him swim with measured laziness back and forth in the deeper water, some yards from the pier. He did not notice her.