Devil Water

by Anya Seton

  They both nodded. The minister was pleased because it was seldom that the Virginians used church for a wedding, and Evelyn was startled because she had not expected religious formality from Jenny. Then she remembered what the girl had once said about her own parents’ hole-in-corner marriage in the depths of Northumberland, a marriage that was a failure from the start, and she understood that Jenny wished hers to be in all things different.

  As for Rob, he said, “We’ll be married on the moon, or in the middle of the James, if you wish it, hinny. I’ll abide by what you say, until we’re wed!” And he gave the rare transforming chuckle which had startled and charmed the few who had ever heard it -- as it did now.

  William Byrd returned the next day from Williamsburg, and his anger when he discovered the outrageous goings-on in his absence was very much what Evelyn had expected. She kept Jenny out of the way, and protected the bewildered and innocent Maria Byrd from her husband’s wrath. Then as the storm abated a little, she meekly obeyed Byrd’s stern summons to the library. In this small detached building which housed his precious books, where he kept his diary and other writings and where he felt most at home, Byrd turned on his daughter and said, “Sit down!”

  Evelyn sat. Her father took the chair behind his desk, and in a voice he strove to keep calm, he said, “I begin to understand that you are behind this extraordinary, this monstrous huggermuggery!”

  “In a way, Father,” said Evelyn mildly. “I’ve helped all I can.”

  “I think you must be mad! It appalls me to find that you’ve been a party to this buying of runaway slaves, this freeing of convicted murderers, and even arranging marriage in my church for that poor deluded little fool of a Jenny -- I think you’re all mad! Fontaine too, I can’t conceive of how you dragged him into it!”

  “I didn’t, Father. At least he saw the rights of the matter -- the justice, more clearly than you do.” She added with quiet precision, “And so did Governor Drysdale.”

  Byrd frowned and bit his lips. “The old man’s so ill he didn’t know what he was doing!”

  “Oh yes, he did, Father! Mr. Fontaine talked with him for quite a while. They went over all the aspects of the case. The Governor said he was grateful for a chance to do some good in this world before he left it, and that he signed the pardon without hesitation.”

  Byrd gave an exasperated grunt. “Well, they can’t be married in my church, it’s -- it’s iniquitous. The girl, for all her idiocies, has noble blood, even royal blood. And such a shameful misalliance is degrading to everyone concerned.”

  “It’s not your church, Father,” said Evelyn still mildly. “It’s the parish church, if anything it’s Mr. Fontaine’s. And I should think you’d be pleased to give happiness, as the Governor was. Besides it would make me happy to have this wedding at Westover.”

  “That’s just it!” Byrd cried. “What possible interest have you in this imbroglio? Evelyn, I never understand you. You say you’re fond of the girl, yet you do all you can to help her leave you. And for this you clandestinely brave my disapproval, my extreme displeasure!”

  Evelyn tilted her head, her dark unfathomable eyes looked straight at her father. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is because there was once a time when I did not dare brave your disapproval, when I could not! A time when I cared very much whether I became to you ‘a creature detested’ or not.”

  He started. “Who said that? Who used such words to you?”

  “You did, Father. In a letter you wrote me on July twentieth of seventeen hundred and twenty-three.”

  Byrd recoiled. He moved his hand aimlessly back and forth on the desk. For an instant he saw Evelyn clear, and he saw himself too. “Evie, my dear child,” he whispered. “You know I love you. I acted for the best. And so it was. The -- man proved worthless, you admitted it yourself.”

  “He would not have been, if you had given me even the two thousand pounds you’d promised from my share of my mother’s estate!”

  “You can have it any time -- for marriage to the right husband!” Byrd cried rashly. He no longer had any such sum about him; fashionable London life, and gambling debts, had melted it away. But he was much upset, and he yearned to remove this scornful look from the beautiful accusing face.

  “My dear father,” Evelyn said with frigid patience, “there is only one right husband for me. And only one for Jenny. Some women are like that -- not many, I admit. But that’s another reason I’ve helped her.”

  “I -- I see,” he said almost humbly. And he did see momentarily into the depths of his daughter’s passionate, thwarted, and adamantine character. He understood at last that she had suffered greatly. And he was sorry for the vindictive role he had played three years ago, aware for a painful instant that his hatred of Sir Wilfred as a son-in-law had sprung not from the profligacy he had so eloquently insisted on to Evelyn, but from bruised pride at the young man’s negligent mockeries of himself.

  He could not tell her he was sorry, nor was he, for more than an instant. Yet he loved her, and that flash of insight made his voice hesitant and tender as he said, “Well, my dear -- what’s done is done. And no matter what you say I don’t believe that you will become an antique virgin! As for Jenny Radcliffe, arrange her marriage as you like, but,” he added more sternly, “I will not have that ill-matched couple living here!”

  “There’s no question of it, Father,” said Evelyn sighing. She had exposed to him more of her inner feelings than she meant to, and regretted the weakness which had made her allude to the beloved man who was the cause of the rift between herself and her father. A rift which she perceived he would now again forget. “Rob and Jenny are going to the western part of Virginia,” she said dully. “During his escape, Rob found some land where he wishes to settle.”

  “Indeed,” Byrd said, pleased that she seemed submissive, and relieved at the introduction of a neutral topic. “I’m glad of that! Virginia needs settlers on the frontier. Where is the place?”

  “It hasn’t any name. I gather it’s near a river, over a hundred miles west of here. There’s some hills, and then beyond you can see blue mountains.”

  “The Blue Ridge!” said Byrd with interest. “That knave Spotswood crossed those mountains ten years ago, on his ‘Golden Horseshoe’ junket. I was in London of course, but I heard that all they did was carouse, and bury a wine bottle somewhere with King George’s name in it -- hardly an impressive claim to the lands!”

  “Can Rob Wilson settle where he wants to out there?” she asked.

  Byrd nodded, anxious now to be agreeable. “If he goes into the wilderness, he can choose a thousand acres where he likes and take his time about surveying, then travel to Williamsburg for a grant, which won’t cost him anything, since I’m on the Council. We must settle the West, it’s our best protection here against the French and Indians. I want to have a talk with Wilson, see what sort of spot he has in mind.”

  Evelyn gave a sad, secret smile. So the rage and unhappy allusions of the last hour were all forgotten now, effaced by her father’s relief at getting rid of Jenny and Rob, and by his enthusiasm for a pet hobby -- the development of western lands. This result was a fortunate one for Jenny. What about me? Evelyn thought, realizing how cruelly she would miss the girl, and how dreary life at West-over would be. Yet Evelyn would not harbor such weak sentiments as self-pity and loneliness, and she attacked herself with irony. As for me, she thought, I can reread Dr. Swift and Mr. Pope, who will help me enjoy the foibles of those around me. She arose and said, “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I’ll go consult Mother Byrd about arrangements for the wedding.”

  Jenny and Rob were married in Westover church at noon the following day. There was quite a gathering for the ceremony. Byrd, who enjoyed dispensing hospitality and had been agreeably surprised by his interview with Rob, sent an invitation to the Harrisons. Ben and Anne accepted at once. Mrs. Harrison curtly refused, then thought better of it. There was really no point in sitting home alone, when there was any diversion in
the neighborhood.

  Accordingly, the Harrisons came in their best clothes. Ben had even donned a white bag-wig for the occasion. The Byrd family sat in the other front pew across the aisle. Maria Byrd’s eyes were full of sentimental tears. Wilhelmina, stiff in her London party dress and very much awed, was squeezed in beside her father, who had amiably offered to give the bride away -- and very glad he was to do it.

  During the night it had occurred to Byrd that all Evelyn’s peculiarities might be attributable to Jenny’s influence, and that with the girl’s departure his daughter would immediately forget her silly notions, and become meek, gentle, and obedient to his every wish. This comforting theory had produced in Byrd a mood of indulgence and gaiety. He had given all the field hands a holiday, and permitted the house-servants to view the wedding from the gallery in the church, where they were now shuffling and whispering excitedly. He even permitted his delinquent overseer to sit in the last pew, though Fell was under notice of dismissal.

  Mr. Fontaine began in his mellow voice, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here . . .” and they all stood up.

  It must be admitted, Byrd thought, that the pair at the altar rail made a striking couple. The girl wore a white muslin dress of Evelyn’s, her corn-colored hair flowed over it loose to her waist; a wreath of magnolia blossoms and syringa on her head, her cheeks like the magnolias tinged with pink, her gray eyes wide and brilliant. She seemed far too ornamental a creature for the life she was about to lead -- but no matter, she was going to. And Wilson, for all his awkward bulk and his shock of unruly black hair tied in a queue, looked very nearly a gentleman. Not quite, of course, The only suit to be found at Westover which came near fitting him was a brown velveteen which had belonged to the overseer. It was too short, and strained to bursting across the back, yet it had silver buttons and a striped satin waistcoat which Byrd was certain Fell had stolen from a wardrobe during his master’s absence.

  Again no matter, now. Wilson had insisted on paying Fell for the suit. He showed indeed a commendable desire not to accept anything as a favor. Not a bad fellow after all. And it appeared that he had a little money, which made the match more respectable.

  Evelyn watched the ceremony with thoughts far different. Sadness overpowered her, sadness and misgiving. Had she indeed done right to facilitate this marriage? Would Jenny ever bitterly regret relinquishing the side of her which she derived from her father? Would she tire of catering to Rob Wilson’s thirst for independence and his fierce pride? For after all, the money which he now controlled was really Jenny’s -- though he did not know it. And there was the business of the rings.

  Jenny had taken off her Radcliffe ring this morning. It seemed that Rob had asked her to. He had bought her a wedding ring, unearthed one through the county clerk. It was of alloyed gold, two thin wires twisted together, a poor shabby little thing compared to the Radcliffe ring, which Jenny had wrapped in a piece of silk and stuffed in the toe of one of her scarlet-heeled French dancing slippers. “I’ll leave this here with the ball dress, Evie,” Jenny said. “Such finery’ll be of no use to me now! Can you put it in some chest in the attic?” The girl had spoken lightly, but Evelyn had seen the expression in her eyes as she drew off the ring, and seen the secret caress she gave the rose taffeta ball dress.

  Evelyn had wanted to protest, and then checked herself. It was natural that a wedding day should mean a fresh start and no reminders of the past, and yet -- could the past ever be forgotten, did it not always lie buried somewhere like a sleeping beast, ready to spring up and sink its fangs in the defenseless heart?

  Evelyn stiffened and looked up. The minister’s voice had taken on a louder tone, and he held up his hand.

  “Forasmuch as Robert Wilson and Jane Radcliffe have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same . . .”

  ‘Tis the last time she’ll bear the name of Radcliffe, Evelyn thought.

  “I pronounce that they are Man and Wife in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen,” said Mr. Fontaine.

  “Amen,” Evelyn whispered. For a few moments after the blessing she could not rouse herself to rush forward with the others, who crowded up to the altar rail, smiling and congratulating the couple. Byrd benevolently shook Rob’s hand, then said archly, “I claim the usual privilege, my dear,” and kissed Jenny with relish. Ben Harrison followed suit, so did his wife; and even his mother, carried away by the universal good-will, said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  Jenny smiled mechanically and curtsied. All these laughing faces weren’t real, the giggling, waving Negroes in the gallery weren’t real, nor the bare little church and its white box pews. Even Rob, when she looked sideways at him, didn’t seem real. A stranger, he was -- a big, dark stranger in an ill-fitting brown velveteen suit. They all left the church, and began to walk along the path towards Westover. “What splendid weather for the wedding, Mrs. Wilson!” said Anne Harrison, gaily.

  Mrs. Wilson -- who was that? Jenny looked around to see who might have joined the company, and Rob gave a brief, constrained laugh. “ ‘Tis you, Jenny. I find it hard to believe it myself.”

  “How silly of me,” she said, but it was as though someone else spoke for her. Rob touched her arm, and without knowing it she drew away.

  They reached the house, and at once Jenny took off her bridal wreath and, having pinned up her hair, replaced the wreath with the fashionable square of Mechlin lace Lady Betty had given her.

  In the dining room the wedding feast was spread out. Rob and Jenny were seated together at the head of the table. The bride-cake was iced in white curlicues. Anaka had stayed up all night making it, and grumbling constantly. Hurry, hurry, hurry -- that was Miss Evelyn for you, and you couldn’t hurry a bride-cake, which should age at least three months.

  Yet the cake was good, or so the guests said -- after Jenny had cut it with a silver knife. She ate some when Rob did, though she couldn’t taste it. Besides the cake there were great silver platters heaped with food, and there was a special punch which Byrd concocted ceremoniously in front of them, pouring from odd-shaped bottles, squeezing lemons, and stirring carefully in the great china punch bowl. Then Byrd got up to propose a toast to the bride.

  As they all rose, Jenny felt Rob looking down at her. She would not meet his eyes, and knew then how much she was afraid. Afraid of the moment when she would be alone with this stranger, afraid of what would then happen between the two of them, and of the surrender for which she had so often yearned. In that moment of fear she shrank inside, far off from Rob, who had become not only a stranger but an enemy. And when Byrd next proposed a toast to the King, she jumped up and cried wildly, “May I propose it, Mr. Byrd? May I drink to the King as I would like to?”

  “Certainly,” said Byrd smiling. “On this day your wish is law!”

  “Then here’s my toast!” Jenny cried, lifting her glass.

  “God bless the King, the Church’s true Defender,

  God bless -- no harm in blessing -- the Pretender,

  But who is that Pretender -- who that King,

  God bless us all, is quite another thing!”

  There was a small startled silence, which Ben Harrison broke by saying, “Damme, that’s an odd toast, it don’t make much sense to me. Howevah -- ” and he drained his glass. The others rather dubiously followed suit. Byrd, who knew this for a famous Jacobite toast, hesitated and then shrugged. Let the girl enjoy herself today, if this were how she wanted to. She’d soon get over her nonsense in the wilderness, and by the look of him her new husband would soon change her views too. He was frowning and he hadn’t touched his glass.

  Jenny sat down, very flushed, and Rob said to her gravely from the corner of his mouth, “Jenny, why did you do that?”

  “No reason,” she said. “I felt like it. Oh, Mr. Byrd, did you say that we’d have dancing? Is there someone to play? Oh, I so dearly love to dance!”

  “Why, yes,” said Byrd, who liked dancing himself.
“We can make up a set, and Job shall play his fiddle if he’s not too drunk in the Quarters. I sent them all some rum.”

  “I don’t know how to dance, sir,” said Rob, “but I could play the pipes for you. The Northumbrian pipes. I’ve played for many a wedding in the North Country.”

  “Oh, no -- ” Jenny whispered involuntarily. “Not the pipes.”

  “Why not?” said Rob loud enough for all to hear. “You used to like the pipes, and it would please me to play for my host,” he bowed slightly to Byrd, “and my late master.” He bowed to Harrison.

  “Oh, do play!” cried Anne Harrison, who could not bring herself to call him either “Sir” or “Mr. Wilson” and made up for it by excessive enthusiasm. “I’m suah we’d all vastly like to heah the pipes whatevah they are!”

  Rob bowed again and walked out of the dining room in quest of his pipes. The others trooped into the parlor, where Mr. Fontaine edged near Evelyn, while the servants rolled up the rug and shifted chairs. “What ails the little bride?” he said low in her ear. “She’s acting rather frantic.”

  “She’s frightened,” said Evelyn. “It may be that if one longs for a thing very hard, and despairs, and then suddenly gets it -- one is frightened. I’ve never had the chance to find out.”

  The minister bent closer. “Ah, Miss Evelyn, is there something you want very much?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Is it also a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you cannot have him?”

  “No. At least not yet. Someday, I think -- I don’t know.” Her hand went to the locket in her bosom, he noticed the gesture and understood. He sighed deeply, and said, “We can at least be friends, you and I.”

  “Oh yes,” she said fervently. “I need a friend.” She turned as Rob came in, the small-pipes strapped around his waist and arm.

  Anne Harrison and Mrs. Byrd went up to him curiously, exclaiming and questioning. Rob barely answered them; he walked straight to Jenny, who had gone as white as her dress.