Where was Brandon? Jane wondered uneasily. And that question led to another: Where was that fire-breathing young Patriot Peter Quincy? Could it be that they were both at Savannah? Even if not, it was surely possible that one day the two might try to kill each other on a field of battle.
Jane cringed at the thought. What an awful insanity this war is!
During these tense days, Jane often took long walks along the Battery—the broad, curving boulevard bordering the harbor. A few rusting ships dozed at the docks. Clearly, the British blockade had taken its toll. Shortages of every kind had reduced life in the city to the minimum essentials of survival. Yet the streets teemed with vitality—tradesmen, street vendors, idlers, women, and children—ordinary folk going about their business as if not even the approach of an invading army could dampen their spirits. Even the nearby Ainsley Emporium, though almost empty and far from the commercial beehive it had once been, was still open. Contemplating all this, Jane suddenly knew something not yet discovered by Loyalists like Robert and Brandon: These people would not be easily conquered.
And often, on the way home from her walks, she gazed up Queen Street, at the swinging sign of HUGH PRENTICE, CABINETMAKER, and was struck by a thought that vexed her constantly: How ridiculous that I’m forbidden to see him.
One crisp October afternoon, Arthur Ainsley, of all people, presented the opportunity. Drawing her aside at the end of a visit, he asked in a low voice, “Jane, could you come again tomorrow at three o’clock? Alone?”
“I suppose so,” she replied, instantly curious. “What’s the occasion?”
“Your cousin Hugh Prentice will be here,” was his surprising response. “And your presence is urgently desired. Make whatever excuse you need to, but come! And say nothing of this to anyone.”
Despite her pleadings, Arthur would say no more, leaving her to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering what on earth was afoot.
Chapter 17
Luckily, both Robert and Clarissa had engagements the next afternoon. Robert’s Loyalist group was holding a special meeting with refugees just arriving from Savannah. Clarissa had been invited to a formal luncheon, where one of her friends had promised there would even be real English tea. Pleading a headache, Jane declined, and retired to her room.
At precisely three o’clock, she was knocking at the Ainsleys’ front door. Harriet opened it and quickly drew her inside.
“Hurry upstairs, dear. They’re waiting for you.”
Seated at his study desk, facing the door, Arthur called out, “So glad you could come, Jane!”
Two other men were seated with their backs to the door. One of them—Hugh—rose and came smiling to greet her. “Jane, what a delight!”
“Cousin Hugh! It’s so good to see you again, I—” She stopped short as the third man rose and turned toward her. “Mr. Cordwyn!”
“Jane,” he murmured, coming closer. His smile seemed a bit shy. “Is it really you?”
Thoroughly flustered, she struggled to regain her composure. “Yes, Mr. Cordwyn. Jane Prentice, your former student.” He looked a bit older and—oddly, for a schoolteacher—as tanned and fit as a woodsman. The same piercing gray eyes that had stared down at her from the schoolroom door so long ago now gazed intently into hers. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then she shot a playful look at the chuckling Arthur.
“You, sir, have tricked me.” This brought forth a round of laughter, in which Jane and Simon fully shared, smiling at each other with her hand still clasped in his.
At first everyone seemed to talk at once. Jane told Hugh how Robert was convinced she’d be infected with rebel fever if she visited Queen Street, and how much she had missed seeing him and Lydia. Hugh told her about Peter’s marrying a sweet girl named Marianne Ellis.
“He’s in the militia, the Sons of Liberty. We pray for his safety.”
“And so shall I,” Jane declared. She longed to know why Mr. Cordwyn was there—and she felt his gaze upon her.
Meeting his eyes at last, she said half teasingly, “Mr. Cordwyn, I do believe you’re staring at me.”
“I beg your pardon,” Simon apologized. “But it’s so hard to believe the lovely young woman sitting here is the schoolgirl I once knew.”
Glowing with pleasure and embarrassment, Jane hastened to change the subject. “What brings you back to Charlestown?”
Simon told her about the small school he’d started in Lancaster. But, he said, his brother-in-law, Jack Herndon, had fallen ill, so he had closed his school to help his sister run the family store. “It’s a tough job, so I came to seek advice from Mr. Ainsley. He’s been able to keep his Emporium open for years in spite of the blockade, so obviously he’s an expert.”
“I see,” said Jane, but secretly she was puzzled. It was hard to picture the schoolmaster running a store—even temporarily.
Simon continued. “I’m also still trying to persuade my rebel friends here to leave before it’s too late. General Henry Clinton’s in command of the British now. The next attack will not fail. But everyone’s as stubborn as ever. Surely you agree this is good advice, don’t you?”
Flattered to be asked, Jane considered the question carefully. “Yes, I think it probably is, Mr. Cordwyn. Uncle Robert also offered to help everyone. But people are who they are, and I doubt anyone can change that.”
“The voice of wisdom!” cried Hugh.
Simon gave up. “All right, it appears that I’m hopelessly outnumbered. I’ll wish them luck, and say no more.”
All too soon, Jane noticed the lateness of the hour. “I must go,” she said, rising. “Uncle Robert gets so agitated if I stay out long.” She looked at Simon. Would these few minutes be all they would see of each other?
It was as if he could read her mind. “I have a hired carriage,” he said. “May I drive you?”
“That would be lovely,” she replied, trying not to sound too eager.
Good-byes were said, and in a few minutes Simon and Jane drove away in the carriage. Simon chatted pleasantly as he drove, inquiring after Robert and Clarissa and saying how nice it was to be back in Charlestown for a short visit. Jane was pleased that he even remembered her old companion Mrs. Morley, whom he also inquired after. All the while he drove in a direction that showed he had no intention of taking her straight home. It almost seemed as if there were something important he wanted to say, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.
Finally she ventured, “It’s delightful to see you again, Mr. Cordwyn, but you’ve told me very little about your present life. How are things for you in Pennsylvania?”
“There’s not much to tell, really, except what I’ve already said.”
“Well, have you . . .” She hardly dared ask. “Have you married?”
“Oh, no, that would be quite out of the question. I have as much responsibility as I can handle these days, with my sister’s family all depending on me. There was one young lady who might have been interested, but she grew tired of my maddening indecisiveness and married someone else.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, hoping her sudden happiness at this news was not betrayed in her voice.
They were riding along the bay shore now, where Simon stopped the carriage at a quiet spot and turned to Jane with a long, pensive look. “I can’t get over how you’ve blossomed, Jane. When I saw you last you were just a slip of a girl. Now I find you’re . . .”
“A woman?” Jane suggested slyly.
“Exactly—a woman! And, I hope, one who doesn’t mind the way she was tricked. But I wanted to see you again, and it seemed the only way. I’m sure your aunt and uncle wouldn’t be pleased if I came knocking at their door.”
“No, I dare say they wouldn’t,” Jane agreed.
“And I must say, I’m greatly relieved to find that you, uh . . . well, the truth is, I was afraid you might be Mrs. Brandon Ainsley by now.”
She gave a light laugh. “Afraid, Mr. Cordwyn?”
“I just never felt B
randon was right for you. No doubt he’s convinced he is, and I’m told your uncle thinks so, too. But it seems to me a young woman should have the right to make her own decisions in such matters.”
“Yes, and I intend to,” she replied firmly. “Brandon may be Uncle Robert’s choice for me, but I have my own intentions clearly in mind.”
“And what are they, may I ask?”
“To defy everyone and remain a spinster for life.”
Her playful answer gave him a hearty laugh. “It’s amazing, Jane! When I’m with you I learn to laugh again. I wish we had more time.”
“So do I, Mr. Cordwyn. But I’m afraid I really must be getting home.”
He took up the horse’s reins and started the carriage again, this time stopping, at Jane’s suggestion, a long block from the Prentice house.
I can’t believe it’s all over so quickly, Jane thought in dismay.
After a moment of silence, Simon spoke again. “Two things before you go, please. First, I’d like it if you’d just call me Simon. Mr. Cordwyn was your schoolmaster, and I haven’t been that for years. Will you?”
“I’ll try,” she told him. “And the second thing?”
“Remember the last time we parted company? We agreed not to say good-bye. Just, ‘till we meet again.’ Let’s keep it that way, all right?”
“Yes, indeed, that’s much better. But when might that be, do you think?” Jane asked, hardly daring to hope that he could give a definite answer.
He shook his head. “Lord only knows. All I know is that I’ve never been able to get you out of my mind, and I can’t help hoping that someday, somehow—” He broke off with a grimace. “I have no right to be talking like this. Not in these times, when our lives aren’t even our own. Let’s just promise each other—we do not, ever, say good-bye.”
Jane could feel the color rising in her cheeks, but she kept her tone calm in replying. “Very well. I’ll just say good luck and Godspeed, till we meet again.” Then the solemn mood dissolved in another moment of amusement as she added, “And in the meantime, I’ll practice calling you Simon.”
He was still chuckling at this as he got out and came around to help her out of the carriage. But his manner became serious again as he cautioned, “By the way, not a word to anyone that I’ve been here. It might seem a bit strange to you, but that’s the way it has to be for now.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons. Of course, I won’t say a word. I promise.”
Taking her hand, he held it for a moment and gently squeezed it as a smile crinkled his eyes. “Till we meet again,” he murmured. Then, in an instant, he was back in the carriage, and after a cheery wave to Jane, he started off at a brisk pace, went around a corner, and was out of sight.
Jane walked the rest of the way home in a daze, wondering what, if anything, had just happened. So many times she had dreamed of such a reunion. Now her dream had come true—yet not really, not the way she had dreamed it. Plainly, he had wanted to say something important but for some unknown reason was unable to. He said he hoped that someday, somehow—what?
There was only one thing he said that we can both be perfectly certain of, she concluded. That is that our lives are not our own.
That night, Simon sat with Hugh and Lydia at their kitchen table in a dark and dismal mood.
“You should be pleased,” Hugh remarked. “You saw her, she’s lovely, and she’s not married or even engaged to be.”
“Yes,” Simon replied. “She’s even lovelier than I imagined. And my feelings for her, which I thought might be imagined, are very real. Still . . .” His mood showed no improvement.
“I know the trouble,” Lydia said. “You feel you can’t tell her the truth. She’s still an English-born lady living in a Loyalist house. But that need not necessarily stop you, you know.”
This only served to darken Simon’s mood still further. “What are you suggesting—that I blurt out everything to her? That I say, ‘I may not live long, Jane, but while I live I’m a man of distinction. I work for the rebel side, and the British would just love to put a rope around my neck.’ That’ll impress her! And how pleased she’d be that I’m helping those who are trying to destroy her comfortable English world here!” Simon slapped the tabletop angrily. “Damn, why did I get mixed up in this wretched business?”
Again Lydia answered. “Because there’s a war, and we’re all fighting, in our own way, for a good cause. Like it or not, love, so are you.”
Silence descended upon them. There seemed nothing left to say.
Chapter 18
The Prentice family spent Christmas of 1779 at Rosewall, with exchanges of visits with Louis Lambert and his family, and other friends in the area. Mrs. Morley was brought from Goose Creek for the holiday and a brief reunion with Jane. But there was little festivity. The men talked grimly of the warfare they were sure was coming soon; the ladies tried to maintain a normal life. With shame and embarrassment, Louis Lambert finally admitted to Robert that Jacques had joined a Patriot militia company. As far as Louis was concerned, his brother had disgraced the family name. He vowed never to speak of Jacques again.
Robert shook his head in disgust. “Another good man wasting himself in madness!” To Jane, it meant just another good man risking everything for his ideals. There were so many of them to worry about.
On their first visit to Charlestown in the new year, the Prentices encountered an ominous rise in street disturbances. Taunts and insults were now shouted at Robert and his Loyalist friends whenever they went out on the street. One friend who dared to shout back at the rebels was dragged out of his carriage and knocked down. The British army continued its steady advance. The closer it came, the more belligerent grew the insults. Finally, Robert decided that he alone would make the occasional trips to town necessary to obtain the latest news. Jane and Clarissa would stay safely home at Rosewall.
In the next few months, the British encircled Charlestown from the landward side, skirmishing with the rebels around the city’s edges. In April, a relendess cannon bombardment began, while the British fleet finally took over Charlestown Harbor, squeezing the city in an iron grip. Jane could get no news of the Ainsleys, nor of Hugh and his family.
“What do you suggest I do about it?” Robert demanded irritably when she told him she was worried. “I offered them refuge, and they all refused. What more can be done?” No one had an answer.
Each day, Robert roamed the house, impatient to find a way to help the British cause—but how? Gradually, a plan came to mind. And soon he found an unexpected opportunity to present it.
Jane was gathering flowers in one of Clarissa’s corner rose beds one fragrant springtime day when a squad of British soldiers, in their splendid scarlet coats, galloped up the road. Jane stared through the heavy iron gate. In all her life in England, she had never actually seen a Redcoat soldier. The officer who dismounted and approached the gate was handsome, sandy-haired, and youthful. A curved saber hung by his side.
“Is this Rosewall, the plantation of Robert Prentice?” he inquired.
Jane nodded. “It is. How may I help you?”
“Summon your master, girl. I desire audience with him.”
“Evidently you mistake me for a servant, sir,” Jane said with a smile. “I am Jane Prentice, the owner’s niece.”
The officer blinked. “Ah—I do beg your pardon.”
“I am dressed for gardening, so it’s understandable. Here, my uncle and aunt are just coming.”
Robert greeted the visitor with an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m Robert Prentice. Welcome, sir!”
“Thank you, Mr. Prentice. I am Captain Richard Fleming, aide to General Sir Henry Clinton, Commander in Chief of His Majesty’s Forces in America. I bring you the general’s greetings.”
Robert’s eyes widened. “I am greatly honore, Captain!” Robert hastened to introduce Clarissa to the British officer.
“Mrs. Prentice, charmed.” The young Redcoat bowed.
“I take it
you’ve met my niece, Lady Jane Prentice?” Robert asked.
“Lady Jane?” Fleming assessed Jane with fresh interest.
“Daughter of Edward, Third Earl of Almesbury, my late brother,” Robert explained proudly. “Our family seat is in Hampshire. Perhaps you know it.”
“Almesbury.” Fleming studied Jane intently. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Jane.” He bowed again, far more gallantly than he had to Clarissa.
Jane was mortified that her uncle had so brazenly tried to impress their visitor with the Prentices’ aristocratic English background. Meanwhile, Clarissa immediately invited Captain Fleming up to the house. “Let us offer you some refreshment and a chance to rest.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“Thank you, no, Mrs. Prentice. 1 cannot tarry long. We are contacting as many Loyalists as possible today, and we have much ground to cover.”
“You may be sure of our loyalty,” Robert declared stoutly. “I hope to meet General Clinton very soon, and to serve in any way possible.”
“I am gratified to hear it, sir. I have just seen Mr. Lambert, who told me much the same. Most admirable, for a Frenchman, his own countrymen being allied with the American rebels. Would you say he’s trustworthy?”
“Absolutely trustworthy, I assure you,” Robert replied. “His forebears were Protestants, driven out of Catholic France by religious persecution. And now, Captain, if I may suggest a way I might be of service?”
“By all means.”
“I gladly offer Rosewall to General Clinton as a base of operations in this area. When Charlestown falls, rebel uprisings in the backcountry will surely follow. In that event, the protection of our massive wall should prove immensely useful, and we can provide ample victuals of the finest quality.”
“Quite so, and many thanks to you. Should action develop out here, the general will remember your offer. In the meantime, we ask all Loyalists not to venture into Charlestown until the surroundings have been secured.”
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