War (6 page)

“I once thought that about London,” Jack mused. “I saw it just the one time, with Redmagne.”

“Hugh’s parents send you their regards, and hope you will write them even though I am no longer there.” Proudlocks paused. “I shall miss them, as well. They are fine people.”

Jack nodded agreement. “I will write them.”

They did not need to discuss politics. Among his other and numerous observations about Britain, Proudlocks had written Jack that there existed a certain fickleness both in the law he studied at Gray’s Inn — Garnet Kenrick had been instrumental in having Proudlocks admitted for study there — and in the populace itself. “The laws for liberty here are happenstance and circumstantial in nature,” he had written once. “We cannot depend on them to guarantee our own liberty, nor on any justice to argue for us. Those few who do argue for us, such as Lord Camden, are checkmated on a chess board of kings and bishops and little men.” Now he said, with a special, sad smile, mixed with some wonderment, “Jack, all the while I was there, after I had grown accustomed to the place, I was daily struck by how right you have been all these years, from three thousand miles away.”

Jack nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment. “About the likelihood of war?”

“About that, and about the reasons.” Proudlocks paused. “About the differences between their people and ours.” He frowned. “About the necessity for independence.”

Jack sipped his port. “While you were away,” he said with a sad smile of his own, “more men have caught up with me in that respect — to put it in Etáin’s words.” For a moment, he seemed to ponder the thought, then to reach a decision. Abruptly, he put down his mug and picked up a candleholder as he rose. “Come with me, John. I must show you something.”

He led Proudlocks to the cellar of the great house. With the candle he lit a lantern that hung from a hook on the wall inside the cellar door, and left the candleholder on the dirt floor. With the lantern he threaded through stalls of plantation supplies and household necessities. There was a crude plank door with an iron lock at the end of one row of stalls that indicated a chamber that had been extended beyond the cellar. With a key he took from his pocket, Jack opened the door. The chamber was small and
cool; it had brick walls, a brick floor, and a low plastered ceiling. Several crude square boxes sat stacked on the floor on one side. On another, a sailcloth tarpaulin covered some long objects.

Jack motioned Proudlocks closer to the boxes and held the lantern next to one of them.

Proudlocks stooped to read the lettering on a side of the box: “Barret’s Volley.” He turned his head and squinted a query.

“Musket balls,” said Jack. “Poured and fashioned from Mr. Barret’s seized type by Mr. Crompton in his brick kiln.” Aymer Crompton was Morland’s brickmaster. Jack stood up and nodded to the other boxes. “More musket balls, and powder, courtesy of Mr. Ramshaw on one of his Barbados trips.” He turned and gestured with the lantern at the tarpaulin across the chamber. “Open it, John,” he said.

Proudlocks, hunched over beneath the low ceiling, moved to the tarpaulin and jerked it away. He saw long boxes that could only contain muskets, and a swivel gun and all the accessories for firing it — a box of ordnance to load into it, a rammer, linstock, sponger, wadding, and a water bucket. Proudlocks put a hand on the brass length of the swivel gun and glanced at Jack.

“From the
Sparrowhawk
,” Jack said. “Before he retired, Mr. Ramshaw retired that, as well.”

Proudlocks also noted a long-gun and its stanchion. It was an over-size musket that could fire the same size ball as the swivel gun, and had twice the range of a firelock. “Where did you find this?” he asked with amazement, running a hand along the monster barrel.

“Mr. Ramshaw bought it in Jamaica from a planter there.”

Proudlocks replaced the tarpaulin and faced his friend. He gestured to the chamber. “You have not told anyone about this?”

Jack shook his head. “Only Etáin, and certain of my staff who helped me stock this room. Everyone else believes I have constructed an ice cellar.”

“You did not mention this armory in your letters.”

“That is because I have heard that the Crown is reading correspondence to and from the colonies. Mr. Ramshaw warned me of that outrage, as well.”

“And Mr. Kenrick — does he know?”

“No.”

“May I ask why not?”

“He has not quite caught up with me.” Jack nodded to the contents of
the chamber. “This is for those who have.”

“He is your friend, as well. And mine.”

Jack briefly closed his eyes. “That is another matter.” After a moment, he added, “I will tell him about this when I think it is proper. Forgive me for asking you to keep this a secret from him.”

Proudlocks nodded once. “It is not necessary for me to forgive you, Jack.” He did not pursue the subject. He moved over to the box labeled “Barret’s Volley.” He smiled. “He would have approved of this use of his type.” After a pause, he looked mischievous and added, “You have ensured that he and the
Courier
will have the last word, if I may fashion a pun.”

“That is my literal intent, John,” answered Jack with a faint smile. “No pun intended.” After a moment, he said, “Well, enough of this. You’ve seen it. Let’s go back to my study and you can tell me more of your London adventures. Etáin should return shortly.”

* * *

Although Meum Hall had been described to him by his friend in letters over the years, and he had seen many larger plantations on his journey from South Carolina, Roger Tallmadge was still impressed by the size of the place, and by its oddly utilitarian beauty. He and Lieutenant Manners stopped for a moment at the end of the estate near the Hove Stream before proceeding through the fields to the great house they saw in the distance. He grinned with some pride and remarked to his aide, “My brother-in-law’s property. We shall stay here a few days, before continuing, Mr. Manners.”

After a moment, Manners asked, “Do you think we would be welcome, sir?”

Tallmadge frowned. “Why should we not be?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Well, considering our purpose in these parts, and considering what you said about him, his being a patriot and all, and the trouble he has caused in the past…. ” Manners left the rest unsaid.

“Fear not, Mr. Manners,” said Tallmadge. “He is a friend as well as a relative. We have discussed politics often in our letters, and it has not come between us.”

The lieutenant cocked his head in dubious concession. “On paper, perhaps not, sir.”

Tallmadge shook his head. “Perish your thoughts, Mr. Manners. Let us move on.”

They followed a path through the fields that paralleled a line of brick supports and lengths of thick bamboo, which some of the plantation’s tenants, black and white, were assembling. Tallmadge recalled Hugh’s description of the conduit he had designed. As they neared the great house of Meum Hall, he observed a woman driving off in a riding chair, and another woman waving goodbye to her from the top step of the porch. This woman’s head turned in the direction of the visitors and she stared at them inquisitively. She waited for them to come closer.

Roger Tallmadge recognized Reverdy Kenrick,
née
Brune, whom he had not seen since the end of the late war, over ten years ago.

“T
hey say that Lady Dunmore influenced the Privy Council,” said Reverdy, “on which she has a brother-in-law, to have her husband appointed to the governorship of Virginia, simply because the New York governorship did not pay as much as the Virginia, and had far fewer privileges.”

Roger Tallmadge nodded in agreement. “I have heard that Virginia governors are the best paid of all the governors here.”

He sat with her and Lieutenant Manners in the breakfast room, which overlooked the lawn and the York River. A tea service and a plate of biscuits sat on the table between them. Hugh Kenrick was in Caxton on business, at the waterfront and in search of some tools for the tenants. Reverdy had received Tallmadge warmly, once he had identified himself, and assured Roger that her husband would be ecstatic when he returned and saw his old friend.

Hugh had traveled to England four years ago to attend the marriage of his sister Alice to the captain. Reverdy had remained behind, weakened by a miscarriage. Roger reminisced with her for a while about their years in Danvers, but out of courtesy to Manners, who knew nothing of those years, changed the subject to contemporary affairs, at the moment the muted tension he had observed between the Governor and his wife, which he had already discussed with his aide.

“Yes, that is true,” Reverdy answered. “And, Lord Dunmore need not share his salary with an absentee governor, and he has another steady income from fees and parts of prizes from the Navy’s seizure of contraband, as well.” Reverdy paused and grinned. “I’ll wager that his lordship was furious with his wife when his new instructions reached him in New York! Doubtless he knew who was responsible for them! I have heard that besides indulging in every imaginable bachelor’s vice and indiscretion, Lord Dunmore had the same designs on land up there as he has exhibited here. Apparently, it has taken the couple three years to mend their relations, once he was convinced that Virginia was not so bad an appointment, after all, and once she was persuaded that he had found his mark and would become a
steady
husband.” She sighed. “I can’t speak of the Governor this
way with Hugh, Roger. He so despises his lordship that he says the man has forfeited even the honor of caricature.”

Tallmadge was tempted to agree with that estimate, but kept the thought to himself. “Brothers-in-law and conniving wives!” he exclaimed instead. “They are the bane of a nation when they have influence! Roman history is strewn with their depredations and follies!”

“
And
our own, as well!” Reverdy reminded her guest. “Do not forget the bitter rivalry between Lord Chatham and the late Mr. Grenville.”

“Of course, not,” Roger replied. “One can only imagine the course of our recent history if they had agreed on something, and shared only half the kind of affection that Hugh and I do.” He paused to sip some tea from his cup. “Perhaps the colonies and Parliament would not be near fisticuffs, and the mutual bitterness that exists now between them would never have had cause to arise.”

Reverdy smiled at him, then furled her brow. “And, you say
you
had supper with the Governor? Why were
you
so privileged?” she asked, shaking her head. She had been so delighted to see her childhood friend again that until now she had forgotten to inquire into the reason for his presence in Virginia.

Roger Tallmadge sighed, and, glancing once at the silent Lieutenant Manners, put down his teacup. “Reverdy, please accept my apology, but that is something I must first relate to Hugh in especial confidence.”

Reverdy looked thoughtful. “You are still in the army, and a captain, no less. But, Hugh said that you had been on several diplomatic posts.” She paused, then her face brightened. “Are you a secret emissary of His Majesty?” she speculated half seriously. “A spy, perhaps?”

Roger simply grinned at her, his expression communicating nothing. It was an art he had learned in the courts of Denmark, Prussia and France.

“You are not in uniform, and that tells half the story,” teased his hostess.

“It is not from shame that we are not. Mr. Manners’s and my uniforms are in our baggage, milady,” replied Roger. He paused and shook his head. “Perhaps we are simply two gentlemen at leisure, and have no reason to don them. For the moment, I ask that you accept that explanation of our presence. I can say no more.”

Reverdy nodded in concession. “For the nonce. But it was your fault for boasting of your supper at the Palace. How could I not wonder why you were so favored by a man who is notoriously difficult to see, even by his
cronies and his Council?”

Tallmadge smiled in defeat. “I am not known for spontaneous indiscretions of the moment, but that was one of them.” He said, “It was a magnificent ball, Reverdy. I was disappointed not to see you and Hugh there.”

“I had wanted to attend, but Hugh would not think of it,” Reverdy sighed.

Tallmadge sensed that something more serious than regret moved his relative to reply so plaintively. He chuckled. “Hugh can be cruel in his principles. I saw him in Williamsburg two days ago, marching with his fellow burgesses to a tavern after Lord Dunmore dissolved the Assembly.”

“Why did you not greet him?”

Tallmadge shook his head. “He seemed too happily immersed in the business of the moment, which was cocking a snook at His Excellency with the rest of his fellows.”

“Yes, he would be immersed.” Reverdy abruptly changed the subject. “Have you written Alice?”

“Every other day, almost. I hope to write to her again while I am here.”

“How does she fare in your mysterious absence?”

“Well enough. She will stay with her parents until my return. Then we shall find our own accommodations.” Tallmadge did not want to discuss a subject that was painful to him. Ideally, he would rather have been reassigned as an artillery instructor at Woolwich, so he could be with her. “I hope to find a bundle of her letters to me waiting in Annapolis. And I must remember to ask her to write me at General Gage’s headquarters.” This time he changed the subject. “Who was the lady I saw leaving just as we arrived?”

“Etáin Frake, Mr. Frake’s wife. She is a musician. We visit each other frequently for practice. I can sing, you know, and she has taught me to play the pianoforte, at least better than I ever learned to at home. Hugh bought me one, in France. I have my own music room upstairs. I must show it to you.”

“Yes, Hugh wrote me all about that. I should like to hear you sing and play.”

Reverdy grinned. “Then, perhaps Etáin and I can arrange a special concert for you and Mr. Manners.”

They chatted about other things, mostly the storm five falls ago that had caused extensive damage in Queen Anne and neighboring counties, with torrential rains that leveled crops and winds that blew down houses
and drove four merchantmen aground on the York. “They were the two most frightening days of my life,” said Reverdy. “I was certain that the winds alone would smash this house, as they did half the tenants’ dwellings. We lost several windows on this side of the house from branches that must have blown clear across the river from Gloucester! Hugh’s water tower was knocked atilt and was so battered that he had to replace it. He was not able to salvage most of the crops that year. All the planters here suffered losses. Mr. Otway’s plantation further up the river, as large as Meum Hall, but which is on lower ground, was flooded. The invading waters were so violent that they brought down half his great house and carried away most of the outbuildings. He abandoned the entire place. He salvaged what he could from the ruins and moved his family to Richmond town to begin anew.”

“There are no storms like that in England,” remarked Tallmadge. “When Lieutenant Manners and I passed through Surrey on the James, people told us about a spring freshet two years ago that roared down that river and wiped out several homes and took many lives.”

Reverdy clasped her hands together. “But, enough of the weather! Such a prosaic subject!” She turned to the lieutenant. “Mr. Manners, you have been treated to a portion of our lives and have exhibited a commendable patience, but I am afraid we have neglected you. Tell me something of yourself.”

The junior officer blushed and fidgeted in his chair. “What do you wish to know, milady?”

Some minutes later the breakfast door opened and Hugh Kenrick came in. “Roger!” he exclaimed, rushing to meet his friend. The two men met in the middle of the room, shaking hands and slapping each other’s shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Hugh, standing back to spread his hands in happy, helpless wonder.

* * *

“I am here at the behest of the secretary-at-war, Lord Barrington,” answered Roger, who had managed to defer an answer in the midst of welcoming also Elyot Geary, captain of the
Sparrowhawk
, who had followed Hugh into the breakfast room, having accompanied him from the waterfront, and during the subsequent introductions and pleasantries.

Roger and Hugh sat in the study with glasses of Madeira. “I am, essentially, spying on the colonies, to apprise their ability to wage war — against
the Crown. Lieutenant Manners and I have since January wound our way up from Savannah. Perhaps by August, we shall reach Boston and report to General Gage.” The captain looked contrite, adding, “I apologize for not having warned you of my presence in the colonies. The Earl of Rochford and Lord Barrington impressed upon me the necessity for secrecy. Not even Alice or her parents know the true reason I am here. They believe I am escorting a Crown survey party in search of timber for the navy.”

“I see,” answered Hugh. He frowned. “How could you accept such an assignment?”

Roger shrugged. “Serving officers must accept their orders and perform their duty.” He paused. “Naturally, I am not happy with the assignment. But, it gives me a chance to see this part of the world, which I otherwise would not have had the means to visit.” After another pause, he added, “I wished to see
your
country.” He reached into his coat and pulled out an oversize sheet of paper. It was the Association broadside. “I saw you in Williamsburg the other day, trooping with the burgesses to that tavern. Later the next day, after I had left the Capitol ball, I found this fixed to the hostelry door. I had expected to see your name here, and was oddly disappointed that I did not.” He held up the broadside for Hugh to read.

“And you would have seen it,” Hugh exclaimed with disgust, “had I not believed it already there! You see, I debated the points contained in that document, won some arguments and lost others, and volunteered to help prepare several drafts of it for Mr. Randolph and his committee, correcting the grammar and pointing, and when it was ready for Association signatures, I naturally believed I had already signed it!” He laughed and shook his head in self-mockery. “What a trick of the mind! I was exhausted that day, but determined to spend not another night in Williamsburg, and did not wait for copies to be printed and distributed.” He smiled at his friend. “Well, it is done. May I see it?”

“Or, not done,” remarked the captain, amused. Roger handed him the broadside over the desk. “I am obliged to take it with me, Hugh, and include it with my report. I have collected a number of such broadsides, from Georgia and the Carolinas, every one of them certain to displease General Gage.”

Hugh read it, shaking his head, but commented, “Doubtless from the press of Mrs. Rind, of the other
Gazette
. We had voted her late husband’s paper the official purveyor of Assembly news the very day the Governor dissolved us.” He handed it back over the desk to his friend. “By all means,
Roger, give it to General Gage, and let him dare be displeased with the mettle of true Englishmen! Although, he has probably already been sent a copy by certain loyal members of the House as evidence of sedition.”

Roger carefully refolded the sheet and returned it inside his coat. “I can guarantee that he will read it, and that he will be displeased.”

“So be it.” Hugh paused. “Are you still sitting for Bromhead?”

“Yes, of course. I must own that I am feeling some guilt about that, since I am not there to represent the place. With good fortune, I will return to London in time for the next session.” Roger looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, Hugh, some years ago, when we were hunting game on the heath, you said to me that you looked forward to the empire that Mr. Pitt had in mind then, an empire stretching from Margate to the Mississippi. You don’t seem to believe in that now.”

“I remember that day, Roger,” said Hugh. “It was an empire of reason I spoke of then, not of slavery. And, I still believe in it.” He paused to sip his Madeira. “Until now, Roger, our political wisdom has been drawn from England. But, the time has come for the colonies here to impart some harsh wisdom to England.”

Roger grimaced. “The Crown may harshly dispute you on that point.” He leaned forward to say, “Hugh, I must own that although wisdom is wanting in London, the wisdom you and other pamphlet writers have to impart is
not
wanted.” He sat back in the chair. “The men who would be receptive to your wisdom are not in office, nor are they likely to be appointed to it.” He smiled sadly, and nodded up to the framed crayon portrait of the late member for Swansditch on the wall, next to the group figures of the Society of the Pippin he had last seen in Danvers many years ago. “There was our mutual friend Mr. Jones, of course, but you know what happened to him.” After a pause, he added, “I am convinced that your uncle was somehow responsible for his murder.”

“I have never been able to persuade myself otherwise,” said Hugh. “He is a distant, incurable canker.” Garnet Kenrick had written to him over the years since Dogmael Jones’s murder that his brother, Basil Kenrick, Earl of Danvers, had become ambitious enough to even deign to speak frequently in Lords in support of all the legislation that now oppressed the colonies. His bloc of votes in the Commons had grown since repeal of the Stamp Act and adoption of the Declaratory Act in 1766. The Earl, Garnet Kenrick reported, had become much more active in politics, and had even been briefly appointed to the Board of Trade and Privy Council in the confused
transition from the Grafton to the North ministry. Basil Kenrick had not been invited to the wedding of his niece Alice to Roger. Garnet Kenrick communicated rarely with his brother, and did not even know how the Earl viewed his nephew’s marriage to Reverdy Brune.