"I saw Mr. Finch's eldest earlier," he said. "While waiting for his father he acquainted me with the family's misfortunes."
"Hmm," grunted Father discouragingly, unwilling to speak of business at the table.
"His son mentioned some other things as well," he added. "Mostly just to pass the time, I fear. A decent young man, but dull." He'd picked up his cue and made his tone of voice lazy and bored, as though it were hardly worth the effort to speak. He'd struck just the right balance between getting his message across yet not arousing anyone's curiosity. Mother and Mrs. Hardinbrook duly ignored him, having no interest in farmers' gossip.
Father looked up at this. Beldon met his eyes briefly, then contemplated the wallpaper. I could almost hear Father say "damnation" in his head. He grunted again and nodded at Beldon, then at me. This meant we were to both come to the library after the meal.
Silence reigned after that. The heat was too much for even Mother to maintain a dialogue of her many grievances for long. She turned down a thick slab of hot pie and excused herself. She usually had a nap in her room at this time of day unless there was entertaining to be done. Nothing was planned for tonight and no one hindered her exit.
Mrs. Hardinbrook was a woman with an appetite that no amount of heat could impair. She had her pie with an ample slice of cheese on the side, and an extra glass of wine. Groaning under that load she would certainly follow Mother's example and snore away the rest of the afternoon. One by one, the rest of us excused ourselves and left.
Elizabeth had been the first out and waited for us in the library. She'd also caught Father's signal and was interested to hear Beldon's news. Such informal gatherings had been called before; Beldon questioned her presence only once, at the first one. He thought that the gentle nature of her sex justified her exclusion from "business" but the tart reply she gave to his suggestion swiftly altered his view of things.
Father settled himself in his chair, Elizabeth and I took over the settee, and Beldon perched on a windowsill to take advantage of the breeze. Something of a dandy, he sported his wig at all times and in all weathers no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He flicked a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped at the shining beads drenching his forehead.
"Tell me what you heard," Father instructed without preamble.
Beldon did so. "This is rumor, mind you, but young Roddy trusted the source."
"What source?"
"Some sergeant working with the commissaries. He was at The Oak and boasting about his successful collections to one and all. Roddy and Nathan Finch were keeping quiet in a corner and heard him talk about how the commissaries were not going to content themselves with waiting for the farmers to come to them. He did not exactly mention what they were planning, but it seems obvious that they will start visiting individual households next and making collections."
Father snorted. "Wholesale thievery is what it will be."
Beldon smiled unpleasantly. "They've dug themselves in well enough. They're familiar with the country and people by now and will be sharp to see anything suspicious."
Elizabeth had kept up on events. "You mean if anyone is hiding livestock or grain from them?"
"Exactly, Miss Barrett. They'll rake over this island like a nor'easter and take what they please-all in the king's name, of course, and the devil for the people they take from, begging your pardon."
"How is it that you know how they work?"
He paused, held in place by Elizabeth's penetrating eyes. Nothing less than the truth would suffice for her and he knew it. "From '57 to '59 I served under General James Wolfe during the campaign against the French," he said matter-of-factly.
We glanced at one another, brows raised and questions blooming at this revelation.
"You served in the army?" asked Father after a moment.
"Yes," he said shortly. "Wasn't much older than your son here at the time."
He'd not intended to surprise us, otherwise the toady in him might have provided a greater buildup for such a story.
"Why have you not mentioned this before?" asked Father, when he'd recovered from giving Beldon a wondering reappraisal. Elizabeth and I had unabashedly mimicked him.
Beldon's mouth curled inward as though he regretted imparting his information. "It happened a long time ago, sir. It is not one of my happier memories and I beg that none of you mention it to my sister. Deborah, as you may have noticed, enjoys talking and I fear she may try everyone's patience with the subject."
It abruptly occurred to me that Mrs. Hardinbrook knew nothing about this chapter of Beldon's life, else she would have long ago spoken of it in the hope of making him more attractive to Elizabeth. Recounting the exploits of a war hero would have been irresistible to her-unless Beldon had not been particularly
heroic....
I pushed that unworthy and dishonorable speculation aside. Some of Father's friends had also been involved in that great conflict and were equally reticent about their experiences. Whatever reason Beldon had for keeping quiet would be respected.
Similar thoughts may have rushed through Father's mind, for he said, "You have our word that we shall say nothing to your sister or anyone else, Doctor." A quick look to each of us guaranteed our nodding agreement to this promise. "Now tell us what we should expect from these soldiers."
"More of the same, I shouldn't wonder," he answered. "No one would suffer overmuch from their collections if they were honest enough to pay good coin for what they take, but we've seen proof that that is unlikely to happen. My suggestion is thai we send word to the citizenry hereabouts to start preparing new spots to conceal their excess. Have some portion set aside to be taken away, some portion placed in their usual storage places and hide all the rest."
"Deception against the king's soldiers?" Father mocked.
"Defense against the jackals professing to serve those soldiers," Beldon countered, referring to the commissaries. "They
serve only themselves and will continue to do so. I've seen their like before and no amount of feeding will sate their appetite for money. General Howe can chase Washington and his rabble from one colony to another until winter comes to freeze the lot of them to perdition, but these fellows have no such distractions. They will continue their plunders until nothing remains."
No one of us could doubt that. In his many letters to me, Father had often mentioned what a prize Long Island would be should there be a full-blown rebellion. In July we had heard talk that Washington was planning to send men through the counties to either drive all the cattle and sheep they found into the eastern end of the island or shoot the herds to keep them out of British hands. Not surprisingly, this was met with strong opposition, and from his own men. They were not terribly anxious to confront the Loyalist owners of the stock. It seemed that earlier efforts to disarm these citizens had failed and they'd made it clear to the rebels that they were entirely prepared to defend themselves and their property.
Washington fumed, the New York convention stalled, and in the meantime General Howe's brother, Vice-Admiral Richard, Lord Howe, arrived with his 150 ships crammed full with soldiers. Washington's attention was happily engaged elsewhere. Later, General Howe made his landing at Gravesend Bay and saved the king's loyal subjects from the threat of ravaging rebels. Unfortunately, he had scant interest in saving them from his own men.
"We'll have to have a meeting," I said. "Perhaps at the church after services. It's the best way for everyone to hear it all."
"Aye, including the soldiers, I think," said Father, reminding me of the new additions to our congregation. Some of us still hadn't determined whether the men were there to worship God or to make sure sedition was not being preached. "This is the stuff that charges of treason are made of. They'll think we're conspiring with those rascals over in Suffolk County rather than looking out for our own."
Instantly, I jumped to an alternative. 'Then we'll call upon only those we trust and inform them directly."
Father's eyes glinted. "Which
means there's nothing in writing that may be held against us. I think you have a talent for this, laddie."
I couldn't help but grin. Having grown used to the physical and mental stimulus of Cambridge, I was missing it; this business promised to be rare entertainment. It might also prove to be much more interesting than those old amusements, which chiefly consisted of getting drunk whenever the chance presented itself. "I can start at first light tomorrow."
"But not alone. Dr. Beldon, do you not go on mercy calls?"
"You know I do, sir," he said, wiping his brow once more, then pausing as he pondered the reason for Father's query.
"I think you should go with Jonathan on his errands."
I started to ask why Beldon's company was necessary and bit it off as comprehension dawned. A doctor had an infinite number of reasons to be riding from house to house. Beldon's profession would provide us with excellent cover should we be questioned by suspicious folk, whether they be rebels or soldiers in the king's army.
"Very good, sir," said Beldon wryly, understanding and approving.
"And what shall I do?" Elizabeth gently demanded. She clearly wanted to go with us, but the unsettled state of things abrogated her unspoken wish. She, too, had heard of the many outrages and was not so foolish to think herself immune to such insults.
"With Jonathan gone I shall need you to help me with the work here," said Father. "You write faster and more clearly than he does, anyway." I took no umbrage at Father's opinion of my penmanship, for it was true.
Elizabeth's archness vanished. She enjoyed helping Father and had done so in the past. Mother disapproved, of course-for it was not ladylike to play the clerk-but not so much as to forbid it.
"Between us I want to plan out how to conceal the surplus to last through the winter. I'm keeping in mind that we may have more than our own to feed. Your mother"-here he paused as though trying to overcome an indigestible bite from his last meal-"has written to those cousins of hers offering them asylum until the rebellion is past. They have yet to reply, but we will have to be prepared. We'll need a second buttery, some place to store the smoked meats..."
"Flour, sugar, spirits, yes." Elizabeth's face lightened. "I shall talk with Mrs. Nooth and Jericho about all of it. We'll have more
hidden treasure than Captain Kidd."
"If I might recommend one more suggestion," said Beldon. "That is, I'm sure dear Deborah would be mightily interested in offering her assistance to you, but she is, after all, a rather busy lady."
This was met with another awkward moment of silence, then Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, Dr. Beldon. I believe it would be better not to disturb her or Mother with such mundane chores as these will be."
Beldon looked relieved. And so he was able to politely pass on his lack of confidence that his sister could hold her tongue in the wrong company.
"He's not a bad fellow, is he?" Elizabeth said as we strolled slowly around the house in the somewhat cooler air of the early evening.
"Beldon? I suppose not. I think he'd be better off without her, though." There was no need to mention the lady's name.
"Wouldn't we all?"
A few steps to the side of us, Jericho stifled something that might be interpreted as a cough. Or a laugh. It was quite a display from a man who took so much pride in a lofty household station that often demanded great reticence. However, he was away from the house and treading the same grounds that we'd tumbled over as rowdy children; he could allow himself to be himself to some extent. We could not go back to those days, but the memory was with us and comforting company.
"I think that staying here has been a beneficial experience for him," she said.
"In what way?"
"He's allowed the chance to be with a less demanding company of people, for one thing."
"He was hardly in isolation in Philadelphia."
"Yes, but his social life was certainly limited, if Mother and that woman are anything to judge by. Like attracts like, y' know."
I had no trouble imagining Beldon surrounded by a large group made up of the sort of people Mother would approve of, and freely shuddered.
"Since you've returned I've looked at him as though through your eyes and noticed that he's not the toad-eater he was at first."
"I've noticed no change."
"That's because you avoid him."
True.
"When he's away from her he can be quite nice."
"Good God, you're not thinking of-"
Elizabeth laughed. "Hardly. I'm just saying that he has a gentle nature and more than a spoonful of wit, but marriage to him is the last thing on my mind. His as well, I will confidently add."
"More's the pity for Mrs. Hardinbrook, then. She does so want to be your sister-in-law."
Elizabeth shuddered in turn. "What about you, little brother? Did you not meet anyone in your wide travels? You mentioned going to parties with Cousin Oliver. Surely there were young ladies there..."
"Indeed there were, and the lot of them as interested in the Fonteyn money as Mrs. Hardinbrook."
Except for one. Heavens, I hadn't thought of Nora in months. Perhaps if I'd asked her, but no; she'd said she never wanted to marry. She really couldn't because... because... well, for some reason. I absently probed for the scar on the back of my head. It was mostly gone by now. Harder to find. "Something wrong, Mr. Jonathan?" Jericho inquired. "Touch of headache. Must be the day's heat catching me up." I dismissed it and turned my mind to other things. "Remember the Captain's Kettle?" I asked, using our childhood name for it. We'd spent hours there, playing treasure hunt.
"Where you nearly broke your neck? Of course I do," Elizabeth
replied.
"I was thinking that it would be an excellent place to hide our cattle. It's away from the usual roads and has shelter and fodder
a-plenty."
Elizabeth murmured her approval and added the idea to the
growing list of things to be done that she kept in her head. "I'll ride by there tomorrow and look it over to be sure." "Do you wish me to come along, Mr. Jonathan?" Jericho knew all about my errands. How he knew was a
mystery. "I suppose you could, if you want to. But won't you
be busy here?"
"Jericho is offering to play the chaperon for you," Elizabeth explained.
I chuckled and shook my head. "I've nothing to worry about. The good doctor and I understand one another."
"A pity his sister doesn't. The year you left she got so tiresome about him that I spent two months with the DeQuincey girls just to get away from her."
And from Mother. Elizabeth had given me every detail in her letters. Unable to stand the constant judgmental scolding any longer, she'd arranged an invitation to visit her friends, packed some trunks, and departed with her maid. Mother had been livid about it, for Elizabeth hadn't shared her plans with anyone except Father, who pretended a detached interest in the matter as if it were unworthy of his notice. Eventually Mother seemed to adopt the same attitude (with Mrs. Hardinbrook aping her, of course) and things settled down again. So Jericho assured me when he wrote. When Elizabeth finally returned, she found Mother's disinterest in her to be a welcome improvement over their previous relationship.
But even with such respites, three years of tension and temper had had a wearing effect on my sister. She was older and certainly wiser, but much of her natural lightness of spirit had vanished. There was a watchful weariness in her expression that was forgotten only when she was away from home or with me. The rest of the time she wore it or assumed a bland mask as hard as armor. It was a trait she'd picked up, unconsciously I thought, from our long-suffering servants.
Some of them had left after they'd decided Mother's "brief stay" was becoming permanent. We'd lost two cooks, several maids, and five stable lads to her ire. All had been replaced as needed, and we still had the slaves, but when Mother was around, none of them had an easy time of it. Mrs. Nooth had remained, thank God, or the whole household might have fallen apart.
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"I think," said Elizabeth, "that this would be a good place for the second buttery."
"But this is the buttery," I pointed out.
"Yes, and what better place to hide it? Don't you see? We'll have some of the lads dig the present one that much deeper, make a false wall only we know about..."
"Like a priest's hole?"
"But much larger."
"We can do the same thing for our other stores as well."
"Be sure to suggest it to those you talk to tomorrow. And please do be very careful, Jonathan."
P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death Page 20