“I feel sympathy for her,” he said with a rueful smile.
“You wish for me to stay married to her?” I asked.
His eyes hardened. “Non, I wish to have fine puppies.” He frowned a little and looked at Sarah’s house. “And we should see the ones we have.”
As we did not wish to face anyone in the atrium, we went down the wide alley between Sarah’s house and my wife’s, and slipped in the back gate of Sarah’s yard. We were immediately met by dogs, and it was a good thing they knew us. Sam’s head emerged from the cookhouse to see what all the ado was about. He greeted us with a smile and silence, and we were left to pet the dogs and sneak into the stable without seeing another soul. The puppies were sleeping, and Bella was happy to see us, even though we had not brought her anything. We lay in the straw and inhaled innocence for a time.
“What is true madness?” Gaston asked.
I had been nearly asleep, and it took me several moments to recall why he would ask such a thing. A day spent attempting to have a simple pair of boots made, and then seeing the Damn Wife, had robbed me of the morning’s philosophic bent.
He rolled onto his side to peer down at me. “Not all madness can be dismissed as a difference between those in the cave and those without. I have seen men who raved without any knowledge of their location or identity. I have occasionally been reduced to that state. That is not a truth,” he said sadly.
“Non,” I agreed. “I did not mean my revelation to be an answer, but merely an illustration of another view of the matter, perhaps. Maybe some men wander too far into the cave, where there is no light, or maybe some men stand in the full heat of the sun too long, and it boils their heads. But all allegory aside, I feel – as we have decided before – that not all those things or thoughts we call mad, are. And surely men who live their lives watching and acting out lies cannot see the truth.”
Gaston nodded with a thoughtful frown. “There is comfort to be found in the shade – and common ground. When my Horse takes the bit and runs, I feel I stand too long in the light, and then my eyes cannot see into the darkness of the cave to know what other men perceive, and I know not how to speak with them.”
I smiled. “Perhaps we need to live in the mouth of the cave.”
“If we are to deal with other men,” he said seriously.
And as if our words had called him, Sam appeared to tell us supper was being served.
All chose to seat themselves as they had the night before, and though the Marquis was eyeing Gaston and me curiously, there was far less tension in the room: faces were smiling, and people entered speaking of trivial things.
“I spoke to Lady Marsdale today,” I told Sarah as we waited for Sam to finish serving roast chicken and soup.
“How is she?” Sarah asked with sincere curiosity.
“She seems much the same, though now she is obviously with child; and she is somewhat plumper,” I said. “She claims she should birth within a month.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow and spoke wryly. “Truly? Does she also claim it is a boy, and yours?”
I shrugged. “She wished to claim that, but I corrected her.”
“You claim the child is not yours?” the Marquis asked with an amused frown.
“My Lord, I know the child is not mine,” I said with a grin. “My seed was not sown on that field, or for that matter, anywhere near that property.”
This set the men at the table chuckling and caused Agnes to flush.
“Why?” the Marquis asked with narrowed eyes. “Did you find her completely disagreeable?” His glance flicked to Gaston.
I sighed. “She is quite pretty, beautiful perhaps, and I would have been happy to do my duty as her husband if the damn woman had possessed any interest in performing her wifely duties. She came here, to this island, quite furious that she should be forced to leave England, to marry someone as disreputable as me, and to even be made to marry at all. I cannot speak for other men, but if a lady is unwilling to have me share her bed, I do not wish to do so.”
“So the marriage is unconsummated?” Sarah asked. “Then you do not need a divorce. An annulment should be easy enough to arrange.”
I awarded her an admonishing look. “And how will that be perceived? People will assume, as the Marquis did here, that I chose not to for other reasons; or that I am incapable. So I will address the matter with Theodore on the morrow. For now, she has been apprised that I will proceed to put her out as soon as possible, preferably before she births. As she might truly be as near to birthing as she claims, I may have waited too damn long as it is. Either way, though, I have told her I will see that she and the child are cared for. Tell me, who owns that house?”
Sarah sighed. “Father’s instructions to Theodore were quite explicit: it is father’s, as is the plantation, until such time as you shall produce an heir. It is for the use of Lady Marsdale, whoever she might be.”
“Well, damn, that is as I thought,” I sighed. “The current Lady Marsdale rather likes the place, and, as I have no other abode to ensconce her in, I rather hoped she could remain there. I suppose I will have to speak to Theodore about that as well. And about the change in servants,” I added to myself.
“What about the servants?” she asked. “I suppose they told you about the maid.”
“Aye, but now they have lost one more,” I said. “I dismissed that arrogant arse, Coswold. All that is left is the housekeeper, Henrietta.”
“Oh, well, that is not a matter for Theodore, but for me,” Sarah said.
I raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “He does not have an entire bevy of clarks hidden away to see to these things, so I manage your lady’s house account, along with ours and the business.”
I was surprised; not that Sarah could do such a thing, but that Vivian would allow it. “Does she know this?” I asked.
Sarah shook her head. “She would not be pleased if she did.”
“Is she costly to maintain?” I asked.
“Nay,” Sarah said, as if she found the matter surprising. “We were fortunate to have several plantations being sold when we needed to acquire furniture and the like for her house and ours, so that was not unduly expensive, though we would still have paid less in England for the same. And since then, her primary expenses have been the servants and food. Though I have thought much of that was due to her being with child and not prone to entertaining or needing gowns for parties. But even in the matter of the food, Henrietta has proven to be an excellent cook, and they eat food grown here and not shipped from England. She is the one who taught Samuel to cook.”
I smiled as I sipped more of the tasty soup. “That is good to hear, it means I made one good decision this day: I have promised Henrietta the salaries of the other two since she is now left with the work of three.”
Sarah’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she nodded agreeably. “That is a bit of money: Coswold was overpaid, but Henrietta is well worth it. She might stay with that, though I feel she has stayed as long as she has because she is loyal to your wife.”
The Marquis had been listening to Dupree’s translation with amusement, and now he asked, “Is it difficult to retain servants here?”
Many of us regarded him as if he were daft.
“Lord Tervent,” Sarah said with a smile, “it is difficult to obtain servants here. Women, of any variety, are scarce. So, if one imports maids or cooks from England, they are courted by men who earn as much as their masters. Bondswomen suitable for housework are often sold to men who wish to marry them. Negroes suitable for housework are very rare and very expensive. The plantations cannot get enough slaves as it is. And any young man one might employ in a house runs away to become a buccaneer, because they think they will get rich.”
“Will they not?” the Marquis asked with a smile.
“Nay, my Lord,” Striker said. “To be sure, in a good year they’ll make more than most honest men are paid in England, but in a bad year, or if they drink overmuch, they find th
emselves sold to the plantations to cover their tavern bills. The smart ones put their money in land or other enterprises.”
“And which have you done?” the Marquis asked him with more good humor.
Striker grinned. “We started a merchant company to import and export goods.”
“Ah,” the Marquis nodded appreciatively. “It seems that would be quite lucrative, especially if one imported slaves and servants.”
Everyone stilled after his words were translated, and he immediately sensed the unease.
“What did I say?” he asked, and glanced with annoyance at Dupree.
“We won’t deal in slaves,” Striker said quickly. “Not all of us arrived here as free men.”
“And some of us feel that no man should be owned,” I added.
He looked about, as I did, and saw agreement all about the table. I was glad my uncle was not there to gainsay us.
“That is admirable,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “But can you make money with such sentiments if, presumably, your competitors do not hold them?”
“Aye,” Striker said, “if we ship everything the plantations need and produce.”
The Marquis frowned at that. “From what I hear of plantations, their greatest need seems to be men, and so if you do not ship men, then you are only carrying cargo out,” and he shrugged in seeming dismissal of the amounts of that, “and bringing nothing back.”
“I thought of it that way, once,” I said with a smile. “But we are speaking of plantations and Englishmen. We English, if we are anything, are steadfast in our traditions. We do not like to change our housing or dress to better match the local climes, and we do not eat the local food – this household excepted, of course. We do not even like to make a different style of boot.” I sighed. “And sugar plantations, or even cocoa and indigo plantations, do not grow food. They also do not employ draft animals. All the work on a plantation is done by men, thus they require great numbers of men, who they cannot feed or clothe, thus all things for those men must be imported, as must all things be imported for their owners – even though we live here in a veritable Garden of Eden as regards the climate and fruit of the vine and field. Planters prefer to eat pickled herring and wormy apples rather than assign any of their precious slaves or cleared land to farming to support the rest. I have been told this all meets with sound fiscal policy as long as the plantation produces well, and that one should not view the entirety of it as a farm, but as a mine.”
He nodded his understanding. “So you stand to benefit from the foolishness of others. Did I hear correctly that there is a plantation in your future?” he asked me.
I snorted and shrugged. “If I produce an heir, my father has promised to give me the plantation he sent me here to start. If, by some fluke of fate, I do manage to produce an heir and he keeps his word, that land will no longer be a sugar plantation.”
The Marquis frowned.
“Sugar is a vile and useless crop,” Gaston said.
His father was quite amused at this pronouncement. “But… is it lucrative?”
“It can be,” Sarah said, “but the real money is made by the import taxes into England and the selling of it there. Our father is one of the men who stands to gain from that, and thus, he cares not whether this plantation does well at all, as long as all the rest produce.”
The Marquis raised an eyebrow and regarded Sarah. “I mean no offense,” he said carefully, “but you seem to possess a great deal of knowledge about business and finance, for a young lady.”
Sarah sighed and awarded him a compressed smile. “I was the youngest and I possessed an interest and talent for such things, and so my father indulged me.”
“Aye,” I added, “truly, if any of my father’s true offspring are to inherit, it should be Sarah. She possesses far more interest in the matter than I, and a better head for it; but women are not considered suitable heirs: pity that.”
The Marquis nodded his thoughtful agreement. “I left the rearing of my daughters to my wife, and by all accounts, they appear to be fine wives.”
“My half-sisters are married?” Gaston asked.
“Oui, one to the son of a Duke, and the other to a Comte,” the Marquis said with pride.
“Do they have names?” I asked.
“The Comte de…” the Marquis began, but my look cut him off, and he sighed and gave a sheepish smile. “Marie and Josephine.” He frowned thoughtfully at Gaston. “I suppose you never knew them.”
Gaston shook his head. “Nor the boys.”
“Your brothers were…” The Marquis sighed sadly. “Perhaps I did not raise them to be lords, either; well, perhaps the youngest; but, as he would not inherit and thus carry the family name in that manner, he chose the military, and it ended him.”
“And neither was married with an heir?” I asked gently.
The Marquis shook his head sadly. I could see the effort he expended in not gazing upon Gaston. At last he apparently decided I was the better, or perhaps easier, target.
“Your father wishing for you to produce an heir seems to indicate his commitment to your inheriting,” he said.
“So it would seem,” I said. “Or that he is as committed as I to maintaining the pretense that I will inherit for as long as it is convenient.”
“You hate him,” the Marquis said. It was not a question, though there was some wonder in his tone.
“Oui,” I said, and as I often did, felt the nagging guilt that perhaps I was wrong: that my father’s intentions were not so nefarious; that perhaps this was all some great misunderstanding; but then many things sprang to mind and stirred my ire. “Non. I feel for him much as he feels for me. I always thought he hated me, but when last we met, he avowed he was merely displeased with me, that I was not the son he would have wished for. Well, I am displeased with him, as he is not the father I would have wished for. And… he has ever placed the welfare of another before mine, and he allowed – both me and my sister – to be driven from his home by this other individual: my second cousin.”
The Marquis frowned slightly and glanced at my sister, whose face was as hard as mine. He gave a shallow nod of acknowledgment to our anger. Then his eyes returned to mine. “Well, all things considered, it is a wonder you have not shot me. You seem to have seen or learned of nothing but trouble and betrayal from noblemen and fathers.”
Understanding passed between us, as it had the night he confessed his sins to Gaston and me. It once again robbed me of my anger and hatred. I took a deep breath and nodded.
I spoke French. “I do not hate you, but I do not trust you.”
He nodded and smiled, and waved off Dupree’s translation. “Perhaps you are not mad in that.”
Everyone was silent; Gaston was tense beside me.
I grinned. “Let us proceed from this new understanding, then.” I raised my glass in toast.
“Let us,” he said, and clinked his glass with mine.
Though the others were curious, the rest of the meal proceeded without incident. Afterward, Gaston played Pete at chess while Sarah and Striker discussed the R&R Merchant Company’s plans to acquire ships, and extolled the virtue of our one possession, the Virgin Queen. Rucker told me of the plantations he had visited with my uncle while we watched Agnes sketch Pete and Gaston.
When my matelot conceded the game, we bid everyone good evening and retreated to our room in good cheer. I felt we had accomplished much this day, though we had little to show for it that could be measured or remarked upon as resolved. Gaston proved to be of an amorous bent as soon as the doors were closed, and we set about seeing how much the bed would creak from various angles. His earnest listening to the iron frame while thrusting away at me brought me to laughter, and when he joined me in it, I was sure the others about the house heard it far more than they would ever hear the bed. This led to even more antics on both our parts to make the bed move, until at last we fell off the corner of the mattress to finish storming Heaven on the floor, with grins upon our face
s and breathless gasps of pleasure at the world.
The next day, we remembered to go and exercise on the beach; and we happily climbed out the window and down the cistern, to give greeting to Bella and the puppies and then slip away through the back gate, before anyone else seemed to have risen. We ran, sparred, and frolicked like fools in the surf before sitting to eat a little boucan and fruit and discuss what we would do for the day.
Our clothes were still drying when we reached Theodore’s.
“I have informed my wife of my intent to divorce her, or have the marriage annulled,” I told him once we were seated in his office.
“And how did she receive this news?” he asked with thinly veiled amusement.
“Poorly,” I said, and then I told him all that had transpired with my wife and my thoughts on the matter.
“So truly, there is ground for annulment?” Theodore asked.
“Truly,” I sighed.
He shoved papers from the leather blotter upon his huge desk, and leaned on his elbows on it, with his hands clasped and his frowning face resting upon them. “It would be much easier to arrange an annulment, but it should surely weaken your case with your father, as you have already surmised. It would be better for her in some ways,” he added with a thoughtful nod.
“Sarah said you received a letter,” I said.
Theodore nodded and went to the shelves to retrieve the satchel where he stored all mail from my father. He dug through it and handed a thin missive to me.
It was much as Sarah had said. After his daughter had shot the man he wished to adopt and leave as his heir, fled to Jamaica, and married a commoner, all he asked Theodore of was whether I had truly married Vivian Barclay, as I had told him I had, and whether or not she was with child, as my father had apparently heard from other sources. I wondered what he had heard rumored; if he had heard she was pregnant, he had surely heard it was likely not mine.
I snorted and handed the letter to Gaston.
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