by Mark J Rose
Matt hadn’t the least idea of how much damage Franklin believed Patrick Ferguson could cause. Ferguson was a fellow time traveler who had disappeared from America less than a year after they had all arrived. Franklin had discovered Ferguson in London almost a decade later. Some said Ferguson was rich and he had married into an old and commanding English family. Franklin wrote that Ferguson was “up to no good” and that Matt needed to join him to determine what his plan entailed.
Now that Matt’s visions of the future were strong again in his head, Matt strongly suspected that Franklin was correct in assessing Ferguson’s intent. Franklin had learned that Ferguson was involved in building British power and especially in building British relations with the French. French allies had been an essential part of the American colonies winning their independence. A closer friendship between England and France, or England’s domination of France would prevent the Americans from winning their revolution. A prosperous Great Britain and an alliance with France might be able to thwart an American Revolution altogether.
It was quiet, even as the wind blew and the Norfolk rose on the occasional swell. Out here, a man could be alone with God to think and dream big dreams. Like Ferguson, Matt had gained influence in this new time. Could Matt somehow work together with Ferguson on a compromise? Could they avoid the American Revolution to everyone’s advantage? Maybe it was selfish, but why should Matt make such a sacrifice. Matt’s desire to keep Grace alive, and his family together, had only grown stronger, and he’d sell his soul for five more years.
Matt looked up into the blue sky. “Damn it all to hell,” he said.
Chapter 20
Wives
Grace walked across the second-floor balcony of Miller Grange and descended the staircase to meet her guests. It probably looked to everyone like she was making a grand entrance, but her choice not to wear hoops made her dress long enough to tangle in her feet. Let them think I’m cautious and deliberate. Miller Grange wouldn’t be finished for a few years yet, and it would never be as breathtaking as the home of Robert Martin, her sister-in-law’s father, but it was grand in its own right. The entry and the staircase had been her father’s inspiration, and his favorite part of the house.
Thomas Taylor had designed most of the Grange, actually, during a time when Matthew was building his business and wanted nothing to do with architecture. One of Thomas’s goals was to establish a brilliant estate for his family, and Miller Grange was his gift to them. Grace felt a twinge of melancholy that he’d died before seeing it finished, but she knew he was watching as she stepped cautiously down the stairs of the fine Virginia home he’d promised her since she was a little girl.
Guests skittered excitedly about the marble foyer to her right and then others had gathered in the parlor in front of her. There were eight members of the House of Burgesses in attendance along with their wives, a half-dozen merchants, and two Scottish bankers. All were from influential families or organizations whose reach extended into international government and business. Grace knew everyone was here for personal gain, but also that their interests coincided with the Millers, and Virginia’s at large. Even Matthew could be convinced of that.
Jonathan had joined the group dressed in a dark blue suit with grey silk stockings. She tried to make eye contact but he looked away. He had not wanted to attend, but Grace had been adamant. “You must represent our family among these people,” she had said. “Father would have insisted, and so do I.” Jonathan had replied that he no longer respected the fine families and their willingness to subjugate themselves to the British. Grace had to own that she, too, was angry at the townspeople who were offering little help to farmers who were quartering English soldiers.
Grace’s brother, Will, was talking to John Alsop, a New York merchant she’d met before. Will had prepared a list of prospects; she knew he’d work through them as the evening progressed, teaching them enough about thoroughbred horses to spur their interest in husbandry. She expected to give up a number of prize animals over the next fortnight to associates willing to pay an exorbitant price; she suspected that the gold came mostly from the Martins’ coffers, but whatever her brother’s motives, she was glad to have him there. He was a master showman and kept her guests diverted.
The voices grew louder the nearer she was to the floor. Many of the visitors were from landed gentry whose tenure in America went back a hundred years, and Grace recognized her family’s new money was not yet an accepted currency among those whom she and Matthew privately dubbed Virginia royalty. Her suspicions of Jefferson’s flirtations aside, she liked that he shared their cynicism when it came to those who had inherited their status.
It had been her father’s singular goal to marry Grace into one of these fine families, and even in those last years, he’d been disappointed about her determination to marry a man with no family connections. The irony was not lost on her that she was now trying to accomplish precisely what her father had dreamed; she’d do everything in her power to maneuver the Millers into the landed and influential families of the Old Dominion.
Grace stepped onto the marble floor of the entry and put on a smile, sweeping her head of her ruminations. A group of women had gathered in the parlor, and she headed straight to them, saying, “Good evening, ladies,” as they welcomed her into their circle. There was only one newcomer among them, and Grace chanced that this was the Countess of Dunmore. Her smooth skin, untouched by smallpox, was only lightly powdered. She’s as bewitching as the rumors say.
“Good evening,” Grace said, stepping forward and curtseying. “I presume that you are Lady Murray? I’m Mrs. Matthew Miller.” Grace held her hand out. “I am honored that you and the governor could be our guests. Your presence is truly a blessing.”
The woman gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” she replied. “The governor and I considered it our charge to attend.” She turned to the others and motioned. “Are you all acquainted?”
Grace smiled and nodded. “Mrs. Wythe is a close friend, and I’ve met everyone else on past occasions.” Grace greeted each wife in turn. She’d studied Rebecca’s exhaustive guest list and knew each person’s position, endeavors, and relationships almost as well as if she’d grown up among them. The women curtsied one by one. Elizabeth Wythe’s husband, George Wythe, was a close friend of Thomas Jefferson. The others were married to influential Northerners. Sally Allen, the wife of a lawyer from Pennsylvania; Mary Alsop, the wife of a prosperous merchant from New York; and Grace Galloway, whose husband was Dr. Franklin’s friend. Lady Murray, Elizabeth Wythe, and Grace Miller were similar in age, but the others were at least a decade older.
Elizabeth reached for Grace’s hand. “Pray tell, where is Mr. Miller this evening?”
“London,” Grace replied. “Dr. Franklin has dragged him away on another adventure, I fear.”
“Who, then, manages the farm and factory when Mr. Miller is away?”
“The farm has been in our family since I was a little girl,” Grace said. “My brothers are in charge even when Mr. Miller is at home. My husband is oft occupied with the manufacture and sale of his medicines, and he has but a single horse that he refuses to part with.”
“I do so appreciate his headache tablets,” Sally Allen declared.
“Mr. Miller would be pleased,” Grace replied with a smile. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
“I sometimes take them to speed my slumber.”
“I’ve heard others say the same!” Grace said. “We should change the instructions to reflect this use.”
“I am aware that Dr. Franklin has a stake in these tablets,” Lady Murray said. “Were they from his experiments?”
“My husband invented them before he met Dr. Franklin,” Grace explained, “but Dr. Franklin was vital to their marketing and manufacture. He supplied crucial capital when my husband was highly leveraged.”
“To have a mentor such as Dr. Franklin must be a true blessing.”
“Yes, indeed,” Grace rep
lied. “Until he requires my husband to become estranged from his wife and take on the perils of the sea.”
There was an uncomfortable laugh. “I jest,” Grace said, smiling. “Dr. Franklin is like a father to Matthew. I cannot fancy our lives without him.” The women relaxed, and Grace was grateful for the white lie. She knew how Matthew treasured his relationship with Franklin, but she was uncomfortable sometimes with the role the old man had assumed in their lives. He incited action from her husband at the risk of all sensibility. The last thing Virginia needed was another tempest in the teapot.
“’Tis oft thus with fathers,” Lady Murray confided. “They push their sons to the limits. Much of a young man’s quest for independence comes at the behest of a strong father.”
“This one is smarter than her beautiful face betrays,” Grace thought, suddenly determined to befriend the royal governor’s wife.
Chapter 21
Dinner at Miller Grange
The dinner bell summoned everyone to the formal dining room. They’d expanded the table to accommodate thirty-eight guests. A grand dining hall had been a necessity in Thomas Taylor’s eyes, whereas Matthew could only roll his eyes when he wandered through the formal-looking chamber. Rebecca had set place cards above each setting, and she stood at the entrance directing guests to their seats.
Much consideration had gone into the seating arrangements. The governor and his wife would have the head of the table. Will sat at the foot as the eldest member of the Taylor-Miller family. Grace placed herself across from Lady Murray. Once they’d taken their seats, the four members of the governor’s guard took up positions at the two entrances. More soldiers stood sentry outside the room.
Grace was anxious to know whether her favorable assessment of Lady Murray would hold. Grace gravitated to confident and intelligent women and hoped to cultivate a friendship, rather than another acquaintance. Servants flitted from the kitchen to the table, and Grace was pleased to see her staff fill the governor and his wife’s glasses first. When most of the food was on the table, Will stood. They all knew the script for these formal meals, so the table went quiet as soon as he took his feet.
“Welcome, everyone,” Will said, “and especially Governor and Lady Murray. Having you here tonight to discuss the future of a prosperous Virginia is a blessing. Before we ask the governor to lead us in a toast, I welcome my sister, the lady of this fine house, to say a few words in her husband’s stead.”
Grace stood, nodding gratefully to her brother. “As many of you know, my husband is in London attending business, but he sent his blessings. As a member of the House, he supports this incumbent gathering of the Virginia Economic Congress.” Grace took care with the next part. “We are pleased to have an audience with Governor and Lady Murray, and hope this is only the first of many efforts to improve relations between the royal government and Virginia businessmen.” Her gaze fell on the governor and his wife for a long moment. The governor was on the wrong side of average in regards to his physical attractiveness, and it was especially evident when he sat next to his beautiful wife. Grace emptied her head hoping not to communicate her thoughts in her manner. She motioned again to Governor Murray, and resumed her seat.
The governor stood. “Thanks to our lovely hostess, Mrs. Miller, for this occasion to dine with all of you. Lady Murray and I look forward to a long residence in Virginia. While there are still bridges to be built, this is a first step in forming a stronger bond between England and her colonies.” He raised his glass and motioned for the table to stand. “To King George!” he roared. Thirty-seven people followed suit.
Grace watched the people at the table. Tensions were high enough now for some to show greater enthusiasm than others when toasting the king. Her youngest brother, Jonathan, put the glass to his lips but did not drink. She was thankful that he knew enough to fake his support. Jonathan’s thoughts about the English concerned her to the point that she asked him to retire when soldiers came to the farm. Jonathan was attending freemasons’ gatherings in Richmond, and the rumor was that they often conspired against the English. She wanted to forbid him from participating, but she had little sway over her younger brother. She did insist that he not endanger the family by expressing his opinions aloud. It was bad enough that so many were jealous of their prosperity.
Grace looked for Jefferson, to see if he’d use the toast to broadcast his thoughts. Jefferson caught her eye and returned her inspection with an enthusiastic double gulp and a wink. She smiled and then made an effort to outdo him. Jefferson, she thought, often had a woman’s instincts when it came to banquet-table intrigue. With most men, one never knew what gestures they’d make or what words could come spewing from their mouths, especially after a few glasses of wine.
Grace needed no toast to know where some of the families stood. Joseph Galloway, Dr. Franklin’s friend, was an adamant supporter of the king. Grace suspected that Franklin shared his opinions. Everyone knew of Franklin’s preference for London over his home of Philadelphia. Grace’s brother Will was in the same camp, but she suspected he might change his mind if he spent more time on the farm and had to quarter English soldiers.
The guests dug heartily into their meals as servants bustled around keeping plates and glasses filled. Content to remain quiet for now, Grace listened to the debates around the table. She glanced at Governor Murray’s guard and noticed that they were also listening carefully. It wasn’t apparent whether they were trying to ascertain a threat or were genuinely interested in Virginia affairs. Eventually Grace’s attention turned to Edmund Pendleton whose voice rose over the others. “The birthright of the first son is dictated by the Lord God himself,” he said to Thomas Jefferson. “How else can a man who has worked so hard to build his estate perpetuate his family name and his bloodline? An estate must remain intact, in the possession of a single heir.”
“I am aware that the concept is in the Bible,” Jefferson replied, “but it is not a commandment. That entails results in a land locked in perpetuity, oft unimproved for generations, is counter to Providence. Did not God command Noah to be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and did not Noah fulfill his instructions by becoming a farmer and husbandman?”
“Mr. Jefferson,” Pendleton cried. “The very custom of naming the firstborn son after his father manifests entails in our time. Would you force families to have fewer children?”
“Nonsense,” Jefferson said, smiling. “Entails or no, I strongly doubt that men would avoid their wives to protect their fortunes.”
“And what of illegitimate heirs?” Pendleton countered. “Would they, too, take an equal share of the family’s estate?”
Jefferson pondered this for a moment. “The birthrights of illegitimate children are something else entire.”
“I only wish to place the fortunes of Virginia on solid ground,” Pendleton added.
“Then debt should be your first concern,” said Patrick Douglas, one of the Scottish bankers, who had been listening carefully to the exchange.
George Galloway spoke up. “Dr. Franklin has mentioned in our correspondence that the Scots are under pressure from speculation in the tobacco market.” He looked at the other Scottish banker, David McClure.
“I’d hardly call it speculation,” McClure replied. “Tobacco shipments to England last year were the largest ever. Virginia planters have reaped the reward.” He motioned with his arms to the high ceiling of the fine dining room. “’Tis not speculation for the Ayr Bank to want these debts repaid.”
“What about you, Mr. Jefferson?” Galloway asked. “Shouldn’t Virginia pay its debts?”
“Tobacco is grown in many colonies,” Jefferson replied, “and I do not think only planters revel in this prosperity.” He looked at McClure. “Many bankers, too, enjoy the treasure that tobacco has brought.”
“Still,” Galloway said. “This perpetual debt is contrary to the values of many of those in America—those in the North, anyway. Most of this debt is south of Pennsylvania.”
“Nonetheless,” Jefferson insisted, “this debt has held for over a decade. There is more than tobacco at the heart of it.” He started to say something else, then stopped himself and sat back, waiting for a reply.
“Who owns this debt, if not Virginia?” Patrick Douglas said, scowling.
“Follow the gold,” Jefferson said. “’Tis the British government, and they are placing pressure on more than Virginia.”
Governor Murray finally spoke. “Britain has incurred an immense expense defending your western frontier these last few years. It is right to demand repayment.”
“And yet the war ended a decade ago,” Jefferson retorted.
Grace gave Jefferson a cautioning glance. He met her eyes and calmed himself. She tried to steer the conversation to safer ground. “My husband oft says that much disagreement would end if the colonies were represented appropriately in Parliament. He believes Americans would gladly share the burden of their own defense.”
“Madam, with all due respect,” Governor Murray replied, “to say that the colonies are not represented is a misstatement.”
“If you speak of this virtual representation,” Jefferson exclaimed. “”Tis the most contemptible conceit ever to have entered into the head of a man.” He shook his head in disgust and frowned into his food. Grace had never seen Jefferson this angry.
“And yet Virginia, and I say specifically Virginia,” retorted David McClure, “cared little about representation until its debt came due.”
It was Jefferson’s turn to scowl. “Representation has less to do with debt and everything to do with what is right. We should have a say in how many soldiers remain on our soil for our defense. Surely our safety is not the only reason for these soldiers to remain.”
“What are the others?” asked Governor Murray.