‘Much longer than it took you from Farnham. Now the thaw has begun, the roads are terrible. You must be patient, ma’am, and hope the best.’
It was not easy. Her gnawing anxiety was exacerbated by a stream of callers whose sympathetic amazement that she had not heard from Hart was merely a last straw. A week passed, another, and still no word came from Farnham. Instead, there was a further report in Rivington’s Gazette – an issue brought her this time by George Palmer. There were rumours, according to the Gazette, that the capture of Captain Purchis’s Georgia had been made earlier by disaffection among her crew.
‘All my fault!’ she told Ruth. ‘They thought me a Jonah. No wonder he did not write to me.’
‘I am sure he did,’ said Ruth.
‘You’re a good friend, Ruth dear. To both of us.’
XI
It was already evening when Hart and Dick rode into London across Westminster Bridge. The big lighted building ahead was Parliament itself, Dick told Hart. Lights moving on the wide river below them were on boats, probably taking parties to the pleasure gardens at Vauxhall and Ranelagh. ‘I’m sorry you won’t get your first view of the city by daylight.’
‘No matter.’ Hart tried to sound as if he cared. But how should he when his thoughts were so horribly divided between his dead mother and his living cousin? It had been more than high time to get away from Denton Hall. When he said good-bye to Julia, he had suddenly found himself wondering whether she was not aware of his growing, uncontrollable feeling for her. Vain fool that he was, as she smiled up at him, he had almost found himself imagining that she shared it.
‘Not long now.’ Aware of his companion’s dark mood, Dick kept his voice determinedly cheerful. ‘And a hot supper waiting. Lucky for us Parliament hasn’t risen yet, or we’d be thronged with carriages this side the bridge. My father will be still in the House, of course.’ Was there a hint of relief in his voice? ‘Here we are,’ he said at last. ‘St. James’s Square, and this is Charles Street, and the house illuminated for us, so they have had my message. You’ll be glad to get to your bed, Cousin.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Hart as they dismounted. ‘I’ve been wretched company.’
‘And I like you the better for it. One must mourn … Ah—’ The door of the high, narrow house had swung open. ‘Here’s Jones to make us welcome. You got my message, I see.’ He turned to address the tall man in livery who trod down the steps towards them.
‘Yes, sir, and thanked God for it, Mr. Richard. Your father’s at home, sir, and Mr. George.’
‘George!’ Dick handed his reins to a boy and hurried up the steps, beckoning Hart to follow him.
A lighted hall; more servants in livery; the sound of furious voices. No wonder the footmen looked scared, Hart thought, as Dick strode across the hall and threw open a door.
‘Not another penny, sir!’ The speaker swung round as the door opened behind him, and Hart saw a red face clotted with anger under the bag-wig. ‘Dick,’ Mr. Purchas greeted his younger son. ‘You’re just in time to stop me giving your brother the horsewhipping he deserves. Gad, sir.’ He swung back to face the tall young man who leant negligently against the chimneypiece. ‘If I could only break the entail, I’d cut you off this minute in Dick’s favour.’
‘Yes, but you can’t, can you?’ George Purchas wore his own hair in elegant confusion round a handsome face very like Julia’s, but marred by obvious marks of dissipation. ‘I know you’d like to cut me out in favour of good little Dick here, but as you can’t, had we not best put our heads together and think how best we can pay these honourable debts of mine? It won’t help Dick’s promotion in the navy, nor yet Julia’s slender chances of marriage, if I’m known to be languishing in the King’s Bench Prison. You should have seen me sooner, Father dear, not let me get to this extremity.’
‘I’ll see you in hell before I pay your debts again,’ said his father. ‘Haven’t you done enough harm already? Julia’s dowry—’ He stopped short, seeing Hart for the first time. ‘We’re forgetting ourselves. Dick, present your American cousin. As for you, sir.’ He rounded once more on his elder son. ‘Think yourself lucky that I let you spend the night here. We will talk more in the morning.’
‘And to more effect, I devoutly hope. Cousin Hart’ – he moved languidly forward, smiling a smile of immense charm and holding out a hand – ‘welcome to England. You see, we treat you quite as family.’
‘Family be damned,’ said his father. ‘Get to your room, sir, and don’t try your wheedling on your cousin. Now go!’
For a moment, looking from one to the other, Hart thought George Purchas was going to defy his father. Then, smiling lazily, he made them all a sardonic, graceful bow. ‘Your most obedient.’ The mocking tone belied the words, and he swept them with one last impartial, challenging glance before he turned and left the room.
‘God give me patience!’ Mr. Purchas pushed both knuckles against his forehead as if to keep it from bursting open. Then he took a deep breath and turned to Hart. ‘Welcome to London, Cousin, and my deepest condolences. You must let us be your family now.’
‘Why, thank you, sir.’ Hart was touched that the older man had remembered his loss through all his own rage. ‘You’re all so kind. Mrs. Purchas, Miss Julia …’
‘My Julia.’ The frowning face relaxed. ‘She’s worth ten of her brothers. More sense in her little finger …’ He turned to Dick. ‘I’ve sent for Busby to come first thing in the morning. This is a bad business of George’s, and of course, he’s right, damn him. Dearly though I’d like to, we can’t let him rot in the King’s Bench Prison.’
‘Is it really as bad as that?’ asked Dick.
‘As bad as possible. He lost ten thousand to that adventurer O’Brien at the Cocoa Tree the other night. And God knows what else he owes besides …’ He turned with an attempt at a smile to Hart. ‘You see we are treating you quite as one of ourselves. And that reminds me – your sad loss – you’ll need, I have no doubt, to be thinking, however reluctantly, about your own position. I cannot recommend our Mr. Busby too highly if you should need professional advice. I can tell you, he knows more about our family than I ever shall. I spoke of you to him – I trust you will not mind it – and he actually brought out a map of your estates at Winchelsea in the Savannah.’
‘It’s more than I have ever seen,’ said Hart. ‘But of course, those estates are in British hands now.’
‘A terrible war,’ said Mr. Purchas. ‘Cousin against cousin, brother against brother. We Whigs have been against it from the start. Let us drink to a speedy end to it.’
‘With all my heart,’ said Hart.
He slept late next morning and was waked by Dick’s man Price, with an armful of Dick’s clothes. ‘Mr. Dick sent you these, sir. London togs, to keep you going until you’re fitted out with your own mourning. And he says to tell you that Mr. Busby is here and should be ready for you when you’ve had your breakfast. Mr. Purchas and Mr. Dick have been with Busby since nine o’clock,’ he confided.
‘And Mr. George?’
‘Left in the night, sir. Said the bed was too hard. “If you should need me,” he says to the footman, cool as a cucumber, “my club will find me.”’
‘His club?’
‘The Cocoa Tree, sir.’
Mr. Busby was a neat little man in shiny black and a tie-wig. He looked exhausted from his long session with Mr. Purchas and Dick but greeted Hart with enthusiasm. ‘The American heir,’ he said. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Purchis, and I trust you will let me serve you in every way I can. It’s a question, I understand from Mr. Dick of … er … funds?’
‘Precisely so,’ said Hart. ‘You call me the American heir, Mr. Busby, but I must tell you that the greater part of the American estate – the plantation and house at Winchelsea – has been sequestered by you British. And for all I know, the house in Savannah as well.’
‘Unfortunate.’ Mr. Busby put his hands together and looked severely at the fingertips. ‘M
ost unfortunate. But there is, I understand, also a question of a house in Charleston?’
‘Which may also be in British hands by now,’ said Hart.
‘So an accommodation with the authorities is of the first importance.’ Mr. Busby summed it up. ‘Mr. Dick seems hopeful of the result, and you will be well advised, I think, to leave the matter in his hands. The family is not without influence, as I am sure you must be aware. In the meantime, I think I can assure you that there will be no problem about funds. With your expectations, Mr. Purchis, we will be able to stretch things just a little. You will draw on me, of course, while I investigate the various channels open to us.’
‘But are there any channels? Surely, with a war on …’
Busby quelled the protest with a wave of one thin hand. ‘War or no war, Mr. Purchis, trade must go on. Leave matters of business to me, I beg. Oh, one other thing. I understand from Mr. Dick that you are on the best of terms with your cousin Abigail Purchis, the only other possible heir to the Charleston house.’
‘Yes, of course. I hope she is the heir. I certainly think it most likely that she has been granted the Savannah house and maybe even Winchelsea too.’
‘Yes, a confirmed Loyalist, I understand. There has never, I suppose, been any question of … er … of romance between you and Miss Purchis?’
‘Romance? Good God, no. First Cousins and brought up together! Besides, as you well know, Mr. Busby, I am a married man.’ As before, down in Sussex, he had been puzzled by Busby’s failure to mention Mercy.
‘Well, yes and, if I may say so, no, Mr. Purchis. A marriage made in haste, on a French ship, the witnesses scattered to the winds, very likely dead by this time … And the documents, I understand, very much the worse for seawater.’
‘I’m married just the same,’ said Hart.
‘Yes, yes, of course you are. In the eyes of God, Mr. Purchis, in the eyes of God. Well’ – he reached out to neaten the piles of papers on the desk before him – ‘I believe I need not take up any more of your valuable time, Mr. Purchis. You will draw on me at Drummond’s to any extent you please. You will be wishing to buy yourself mourning, of course, and Mr. Dick will tell you that you should make at least some appearance in society. You will find sympathisers in plenty, with your romantic story, and I am sure I do not need to warn you to have a care what you say. The English branch of the family has troubles enough without your adding to them by any rash republican statements. I have urged Mr. Purchas to send for Miss Julia from the country, by the way. She’s the level-headed one of the family; she’ll bring them about if anyone can. A great pity she’s not a boy and the eldest.’
Hart laughed and surprised the man of business by shaking him warmly by the hand. ‘I’m glad Miss Julia’s coming,’ he said. ‘She will do us all good. Mr. Busby’ – he paused, uncertain how to phrase the question – ‘if there was something I could do to help my relatives?’
‘I should most certainly tell you of it,’ said Busby. ‘I’m delighted to hear you say that, Mr. Purchis. For the moment, I think the fact of your staying with them, the whole romantic story, the American heir—’
‘I wish you would not call me that,’ protested Hart. ‘I’ve explained to you about the sequestration …’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Once again Busby raised that gentle, quelling hand. ‘But the papers won’t. You might as well resign yourself to the title, Mr. Purchis, and to being a nine days’ wonder. And since you ask, the one kindness you can do your English cousins is to let the story pass. Credit is a strange thing, as I am sure you must know, a man of the world like yourself … The stories about your fabulous plantation at Winchelsea are just what the family needs just now. Don’t go out of your way to deny them, however absurd they strike you as being. It might just make all the difference.’
Julia made it easier. She and her mother reached London a few days later, and she greeted Hart with affectionate amusement as ‘our American nabob. Our country neighbours are cross as patch with me,’ she went on, ‘for having had such a paragon in the house and not letting them see him. You will have to come back to Sussex at the end of the season, Cousin Hart, so that I may make amends. You’ll have all the match-making mammas in the country at your heels.’
‘What a fortunate thing for me that I am a married man,’ said Hart.
‘Is it not?’ she agreed. ‘It makes it proper, you know, for me to take you about and introduce you to all my friends as my respectable married cousin. You will come, won’t you, Cousin Hart? I hardly like to ask it of you, so recent as your mourning is and for so sad a cause, but it will be of the utmost importance for us that you should be seen to be on family terms with us.’
‘I can think of nothing that would give me greater happiness than to be of use to you, Cousin Julia,’ said Hart, relieved that Julia, at least, recognised his married state.
‘Gallant as always.’ She flashed him the smile that was so like her elder brother’s. ‘And may I congratulate you on your turnout, Cousin? Black becomes you to a marvel, and I can see Knill has exerted himself to the limit for you.’
‘I’m grateful to Dick for the recommendation.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Since those extravagant reports in the papers, I have been inundated with offers of service. I shall be a regular Bond Street lounger if I don’t take care.’
‘Oh, we can do better for you than that. You must accompany me to Lady Garrard’s rout tonight. She’s one of our leading Whig hostesses, and I can think of no better house for you to make your bow to society. The Duchess of Devonshire is a dear friend of hers, and I have no doubt Fox will look in on the way home from the House.’
‘I should like above all things to meet him,’ said Hart.
In fact, he found the rout party a dead bore. It took him and Julia fifteen minutes just to get up the ornate stair to where Lady Garrard, greeting her guests, gave him a limp hand and said something polite but unintelligible. ‘Lady Garrard is almost too popular,’ explained Julia as they worked their way into a high-ceilinged salon so crowded with people that it was hard for him to hear her. ‘Her parties are always the most tremendous squeeze. There’s the Duchess of Devonshire.’ She pointed with her fan to a far corner of the huge room, where he could see the top of an outrageously high-dressed head, crowned with a plume of feathers. ‘She’s talking to General Conway. He’s quite one of our Whig heroes. I must make you known to him.’
‘If we ever get so far,’ said Hart ruefully, doing his best to avoid the voluminous skirts of a tall woman in blue who was standing with her back to him and talking in a very loud voice about ‘George Gordon and his mad Protestants.’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Julia, and then: ‘Why, George! This is a pleasant surprise. And Mordaunt, too. What in the world are you doing so far from the Cocoa Tree?’
‘Retrenching,’ said George Purchas succinctly. ‘My friend Mordaunt’ – he introduced them – ‘my cousin Purchis.’ And then, as Hart exhanged bows with his sullen-looking companion: ‘Lady Peterborough – his mother – has cut up rough just like the old man. So here we are, a pair of involuntary reformed characters.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said Julia. ‘But what a squeeze. I had meant to present our cousin to the Duchess of Devonshire and her set, but there’s not a chance of getting across the room to them.’
‘Not if you value that silk of yours,’ said her brother. ‘It took us all our good manners to find you, didn’t it, Henry?’
‘Your manners,’ growled his companion. ‘I’ve none, as you well know. And this room is insufferably hot. Let’s make a bolt for it and go on to Cornelys’s Rooms; there’ll be air to breathe there.’
‘An excellent notion,’ said George Purchas. ‘Who knows? We may find the Duchess of Devonshire there, too.’
‘Or the Duchess of Portland,’ said Mordaunt with the odd sort of snarl that seemed the nearest he could get to a smile.
Mrs. Cornelys’s Rooms in Soho Square were not quite what Hart had imagined. H
e had expected another private house, but this appeared to be a place of public entertainment, and many of the richly dressed crowd that thronged the spacious saloons wore dominoes and masks. ‘This is a public place?’ he asked Julia. ‘I’m not sure –’ It was one thing to visit a private party when in deep mourning, but this was something else again.
‘It’s all the rage,’ said Julia. ‘We won’t stay long, Cousin, if you had rather not. Just take a turn about the rooms, to see who is here, then maybe a glass of something, and so home to our virtuous beds. You’ll not deny me this pleasure on my first night out in London?’ She raised big, pleading eyes to his. ‘It seems forever that I’ve been cooped up at Denton Hall. Oh, look! There’s Lady Garrard’s son. He must have done a bolt, too. He’s quite a rising man in government. I’ll make you known to him. Piers.’ She reached out with her fan and touched an elegant dark green shoulder. ‘You’re quite ignoring me.’
‘Julia, by all that’s wonderful!’ The young man swung round and took both her hands. ‘When did you escape from your durance vile? And by God, this must be the American heir. Delighted to meet you. Mr. Purchis.’ He let go of Julia’s hand and held out his white one to Hart. ‘You’re quite the man of the hour, you know. Someone was asking me about you just yesterday, someone who must be nameless, you understand. I shall be able to tell him you are most completely the thing. As was to be expected, lucky dog, with our angel Julia for cousin and mentor. But come, why are we standing here? Let us find a box and have a drink and a proper chat. I’ve not seen you, blessed Julia, since—’
‘Too long,’ Julia interrupted him. ‘Yes, do let us find a box. I am quite parched with thirst.’ And then, taking Hart’s arm to follow her friend, she explained in a low voice. ‘Piers Blanding is the very man you need. The secretary’s office … So much influence, so much style … And I can see you have made a great impression on him already.’
Settling himself beside her in the luxurious box that commanded an admirable view of the crowded rooms, Hart wished that he could share her enthusiasm about Piers Blanding, who seemed to him the epitome of the creature he had heard described as a Bond Street beau. From striped waistcoat to ivory-topped cane, everything about him was just slightly too good to be true, Hart thought, and then thought, angrily, that it was merely his own ignorance that made him think so. Or – a horrid flash of self-knowledge – he could not be jealous of this man to whom Julia spoke so familiarly by his first name?
Wide is the Water Page 15