Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  He looked around for a likely working area. There would be no office space, of course, such as he had enjoyed at his chambers in the Middle Temple. No decent buildings, no offices—he would be lucky to find a chair. But potential clients abounded.

  Josiah headed to the place where the company from Goodwin’s had left the horses tethered under the watch of a young servant. He had brought his traveling desk with him, so although he carried no legal texts, he would at least have pen, ink and paper at his disposal. As he walked, he reviewed possible sites to establish himself for the afternoon. It looked like he was going to end up plying his trade outside one of the makeshift grog shops that surrounded the courthouse. For some reason, that prospect made him grin.

  The shop immediately in front of the courthouse door he rejected outright as being far too noisy. He eliminated the next as sitting on swampy ground—and there were, as far as he could detect, no chairs to be had anywhere. But the next in line might very well do. It was close enough to the throng of court business yet not boisterous, it was surrounded by firm, grassy ground suitable for sitting if necessary and, as he looked behind the counter, the barmaid looked at him and smiled. It was a genuine smile, revealing several missing teeth and unevenly dimpled cheeks. He would not have to worry about someone giggling behind his back if he set up shop here.

  He smiled in return. “What establishment may I call this?”

  “It is called Byrne’s, sir, after my father.” The girl widened her smile as she wiped a tankard with a dirty towel.

  “Thank you.” Josiah bowed his head in thanks and then hurried on to collect his supplies from his horse.

  Josiah Throckmorton, Esquire

  Late of Middle Temple, London

  Litigants seeking representation

  may inquire in Byrne’s.

  Josiah blew impatiently on the ink, wanting to be sure that it was absolutely dry before he posted his hastily drawn advertisement on the board outside the courthouse. He had nothing with which to attach it, but by propping his notice between two others and securing it behind a loose splinter, he thought it might hold until tomorrow, when he could bring a nail from Goodwin’s.

  Of course, he should tell Goodwin of his new venture. The man knew everyone in Joppa, and word would soon get around.

  Was he really doing this? He had grown to dread the tedious practice of law, with all the research and odious translation of arguments into law-French, and here he wouldn’t know the procedure, the pleadings and—

  Here he could do no research. He could be pretty certain he would not have to make any arguments in law-French. Latin legal phrases could be used to his advantage. He could remember enough precedents, surely, to get through basic common law actions, and if he didn’t he could…make up something. Isn’t that what most of the litigants were doing on their own behalf?

  Josiah suddenly felt aware of his own heartbeat, but he decided it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Now I’m afraid I need to accompany my party back to Goodwin’s, else I shall never reach my bed this night.” Josiah felt like he had been saying goodnight for the better part of an hour, yet was no closer to leaving.

  “But, Mr. Throckmorton, I must tell you the particulars about the cow that’s gone missing. She weren’t just any cow, and I won’t take Hartford’s weedy tobacco in payment.”

  “Yes, I understand, Mr. Tailor. You seek a remedy in equity. We’ll have it drawn up tomorrow.” Josiah stifled a yawn. “Please, I must not keep the others waiting any longer.”

  “Throckmorton! Do you come with us or not, man?”

  Josiah gestured toward the faceless summons shouted through the trees. “You may follow us back to Goodwin’s, if you wish. But I’ve no idea if they can give you a bed.”

  Without looking to see if any of his entourage would take him up on the offer, Josiah hurried toward his horse, swung himself into the saddle and hoped the group would proceed slowly for a while so he could strap his writing desk in place as they rode. He twisted around and, after a few fumbles with the strap in the darkness, managed to attach it awkwardly. When he turned back, he found the group had moved well ahead of him so that he had to nudge his horse to catch up.

  Now that he had a moment to look back on the afternoon, he could scarcely believe the activity. Word of his advertisement had spread quickly. Since the court had set a fixed price that an attorney could charge to prosecute or defend an action, many men had decided they would like the services of a London-trained barrister for their four hundred pounds of tobacco.

  Josiah could easily understand why. Of the three other attorneys he had spoken with, one was a former felon and another had been a dancing master. Next to dirt, even tarnished brass looked impressive.

  He was a little concerned that his education might actually be turned to disadvantage; if a judge were jealous and felt threatened he might treat Josiah more harshly. And his unfamiliarity with local procedure still worried him, although he had been assured he would not be penalized. Of course, he had been assured of this by other attorneys, men who might plan to use this knowledge against him should they oppose him in court.

  “Ahoy, there! Is’t you, Mr. Throckmorton?”

  Josiah turned to see several riders approaching the party. As they drew closer, he recognized the first as a man who had tried to speak with him at Byrne’s. It looked like it was going to be a long evening.

  Josiah stood and bowed before Judge Hammond for what must have been the twentieth time that day.

  “If I understand the plaintiffs correctly,” he began, “they allege that Mr. Newhouse violated the terms of their contract of indenture by failing to serve beef for their dinner.”

  “Or pork!” one of the lanky men at the plaintiffs’ table called out. “We’d’uve eaten pork, too.”

  “Yes, and instead of meat he gave you beans, bread, fish, sugar, vinegar, oil and other provisions. Now, the terms of the indenture contract require Mr. Newhouse to provide ‘a wholesome and adequate diet.’ There is no mention of specific foods. Mr. Newhouse gave provision to these four servants from his own larder. He, in fact, had no meat for himself during the time at issue nor was he able to purchase any. He offered his servants the opportunity to leave the plantation, take the boat and seek to buy meat elsewhere, but the offer was declined. Instead, they remained at the plantation and refused to work.”

  “We were too weak to go, on account of no meat in our diet.”

  Josiah gave a tight-lipped nod before continuing. “Renaissance inventor, artist and man of science Leonardo da Vinci subsisted on a diet entirely devoid of meat, and he lived threescore years and seven—and managed to accomplish a great deal during those years. Moreover, Mr. Newhouse himself was able to work while consuming the diet with which you found fault. The provisions Mr. Newhouse provided more than satisfied the contractual requirements. Therefore, rather than expecting to be freed from the indentures, the servants in question are liable for punishment for refusing to work from October fourth to the present date. A countersuit is so filed.”

  He wondered if the clerk would wake the judge now that both sides had concluded their arguments.

  “What? You sue us?”

  “It’s not fair!”

  “What is this noise?” The judge sat up and banged his fist against the bench. “I’ll have order in my court.” He looked at his clerk. “Now, then, what was this all about?”

  The clerk leaned in toward the judge and said, “These four wouldn’t work because their master gave them no meat.”

  “Wouldn’t work, eh? Can’t have that. Thirty lashes for each.” The judge put his head down and waved them off. “Bring the next case forth.”

  “Mercy, sir, please, I beg you.” The biggest of the plaintiffs threw himself on his knees.

  “Please take pity on a poor servant.”

  “We’ll make up the lost time!”

  The judge lifted his head and glared at the cowering servants. �
��You’re damned right you’ll make up the lost time. And enough extra to pay this fellow’s representation. But I’ll suspend the corporal punishment so long as you remain on good behavior. Next case, if you please.”

  Josiah had to keep himself from shaking his head as he exited the courtroom with his triumphant client. The man had not needed his representation at all, since the judge heard not a single word of it. Yet Newhouse thanked him as profusely as if he had just saved him from the gallows.

  He turned at a tap on the shoulder and greeted his next client. The turn left him slightly dizzy. He realized with a start that it was nearly dark and he had not eaten since breakfast, and little enough then, since he still had yet to develop a taste for cold meat and rum in the morning. His neck felt stiff. He wanted to tell this man to go away, yet his case would mean a little more of the debt erased, so Josiah forced himself to smile instead. He thought of Carter, riding back to tell his family the news of their good fortune, and the smile became a real one.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  "None of you is unwell this morning, I hope,” Caroline said as she stepped over to the fire to warm her hands.

  “No, we are all quite well, thank you, Miss Carter.” Molly Johnson ladled a cup of cider from a pot hanging over the fire and handed it to her guest. “Why would we not be?”

  “After such a dinner, I had my fears for the digestive health of the general company.”

  Mrs. Johnson laughed. “Now then, I tasted nothing which might prove injurious, and, as you can see, we are all quite sound in body today.” She gestured toward the two boys wrestling on the floor and the baby waving in gleeful amusement.

  “Good.”

  “Although,” the tenant said, looking carefully at her mistress as if sizing her up, “sometimes the serious sickness from food does not show itself for several days.”

  “It doesn’t?” Caroline started to worry, then saw that the woman was jesting. “Well, if you do take sick, I'll be sure to make a potion for your remedy. And it will no doubt make you twice as ill!” She smiled. For some reason, it pleased her that her tenant felt comfortable enough in her presence to make such a joke.

  “Will you take a seat by the fire, Miss Carter?”

  Caroline nodded as she sipped her cider.

  Mrs. Johnson quickly pulled a crate closer to the fire to serve as a makeshift bench. “I must again extend our most grateful thanks for your kind invitation to dinner yesterday.”

  Caroline sat and pulled her skirts into place. “The pleasure was ours entirely.” Well, that was not exactly true; but she had enjoyed herself in the end, and she believed most of the company had as well.

  “I especially enjoyed your soolma…soolmagani, was it?”

  “Salmagundi. I rather thought that the best dish myself, although I daresay my mother and sisters would disagree.” Her mother had turned quite red after tasting the dish seasoned with hot peppers from Leda’s kitchen garden. Johanna had spit a mouthful halfway across the table then looked as if she would faint from mortification.

  “It was most kind of Leda to watch the children so Mr. Johnson and I might enjoy a meal in the company of adults. I do not believe we have ever had such an opportunity before.” The tenant began to blush. “And please do accept my apology for what young William said as we were leaving. I thought the Sally Lunn exceptionally fine, as did Mr. Johnson.”

  Caroline laughed. “No, no, I'm afraid William was quite right. The bread was much better suited to be a boat than a foodstuff. That burned crust would have made it quite impervious to waves. I should have given him the remainder to let him see if it would float.”

  “Nonsense, it was not burned. As I said, we quite enjoyed it.”

  Caroline looked at Mrs. Johnson, daring her to tell the truth.

  “Perhaps,” the woman said as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, “the crust was a bit thick in places.”

  “It was burnt. But then, suppose I was not trying to make a bread at all but was merely devising new toys for your sons’ amusement?”

  Molly Johnson chuckled. “Then I thank you.”

  “Pity the pie wouldn't float.” Caroline gave a mock sigh and took another sip of her drink. “That would never have worked as a boat. To think I was actually concerned because I did not have the right variety of pear. As if anyone could have discerned the fruit in that soggy, burned mess.”

  “No, no, it was all most delicious.”

  “Except for the bread.”

  “Well, yes,” Mrs. Johnson said, pursing her lips again, “the bread had a bit…too much crust.”

  “And the pie.”

  “The crust was a little underdone,” Mrs. Johnson conceded. “And tasted too much of pumpkin.”

  “Now there—I have so little of West Indies sugar, and Leda assured me dried pumpkin would do to sweeten a pie.” Caroline grimaced, thinking of the almost bitter pumpkin flavor. “And then the onion soup had no flavor whatsoever.”

  “It was an onion soup?”

  “You see? But the receipt did not specify how many onions, just the quantity of butter, water, eggs and mace.” Caroline looked into her tenant's face as if she were making a confession. “And we hadn’t any mace so I used cardamom seed.”

  “Yes, I see.” Mrs. Johnson nodded too many times. “It was a most interesting soup.”

  Caroline sighed. “Let us be honest. It tasted like buttery, perfumed water.”

  “Do you really ask for honesty, Miss Carter?”

  Now it was Caroline's turn to be taken aback. “Why, yes,” she said slowly. “I believe I do.”

  “You’ve not done much cooking, have you?”

  Something in the tone of voice made Caroline feel vaguely guilty, and she turned and took a few steps away before replying. “No. It was always…the servants cooked all our meals. My sisters and I were so busy…”

  Busy reading books, taking walks, pretending to be princesses who sent knights off to fight in their honor. Her most useful contribution to the dinner table might have been a few freshly cut flowers, and she had expected high praise from the kitchen servants if she provided a couple of herbs for garnish. She had never even considered whether the herbs she brought in might actually complement a dish on the menu.

  She saw Mrs. Johnson watching her intently as she walked back toward the fire. “Is it so obvious? Was the dinner really so terrible?”

  The tenant pursed her lips again. “It was…unlike anything I have ever had before.”

  “Ha! That was prettily phrased, I must say.” Caroline smiled tightly. “But I suppose it does not matter that I cannot cook a decent dinner. We shall never again have guests of any consequence, and I shall never preside at table at my own plantation—”

  She very nearly clamped her hand over her mouth. What was she doing, revealing her own shame to a virtual stranger, and a tenant at that? And she had insulted the woman in the bargain.

  “Please, forgive me, Mrs. Johnson. I–I spoke in haste and did not mean—”

  “Ah, do not worry for my sake, Miss Carter. I understand you perfectly. We are not of your society nor do we expect to be treated as such. That is why we were so very grateful for your invitation to dine. But we do not anticipate another.”

  Caroline did not know what to say. This woman, supposedly so much lower in station, seemed in reality far more gracious. And when she looked at the fire and thought about the woman’s cooking prowess and her gentle ways with her children…she seemed to know and accomplish so much.

  This landless tenant, living in a house of but one room, could be truly considered accomplished. Embroidery and music lessons and the study of other languages—what need had any woman of these skills?

  “I would not be concerned with society, Mrs. Johnson,” she said at last. “I believe society has got it all wrong. It valued me and my sisters when we had time to engage in useless enterprise and master worthless skills. But now, when we seek to acquire the necessary skills of survival, we count for nothi
ng. The skills count for nothing. And yet, without them…”

  “You count for nothing? Certainly not, Miss Carter. Your family and your good breeding makes you valuable to society.”

  “Good breeding?” Caroline scoffed. “My grandfather was an indentured servant when he came to Maryland. Society does not value my family. Society valued our money, our spending and our clothes. Society desires ladies who have practiced music or spent hours drawing dreadful pictures. Without these, without the money to do these things, we do not belong in society.”

  Mrs. Johnson started to answer then closed her mouth and quietly went to separate the boys, who were twisting the skin on each other’s arms in an apparent effort to see who could cause the most pain.

  “Give over, now, stop that. I see you must be in need of work to do. James, you may sweep; William, fetch us some water. We’ll have our meal soon.” She glanced nervously at the pots before the fire.

  “Please, do not let me keep you from your work any longer.” Caroline set down her mug near the fire. “I merely called to see that…you were all well.”

  “Thank you, Miss Carter. Might I see your cookery book one day, when it is convenient?”

  “Why, yes.” Caroline smiled as she stood at the door. “Of course. Perhaps we might attempt a new receipt together.”

  “I would be greatly honored, Miss.”

  Caroline felt her smile widen into a grin. “I thought we were to be honest with each other. You know how to cook; I do not. Therefore, the honor would be all mine!” She turned and skipped out before her hostess could make any more polite protests.

  “Caroline! Oh, Caroline!” Johanna’s shriek echoed across the clearing as Caroline emerged from the wooded path. The insistence in the voice made her hurry her steps, though it did come from Johanna, who was much given to excited outbursts.