by P. N. Elrod
“Will we be able to help him, Father?” I asked after Finch had left.
His answer was a weary grimace. “We’ll do what we can, laddie. There’s some forgery at the bottom of this case, else they wouldn’t have been able to take the horses and wagon. That might make a difference. At the very least we can raise a bit of noise over it. Because of the way these things work, one can’t help but expect to see the corruption sweeping in, but this business is getting completely out of hand. I’ll write to DeQuincey. He’s busy playing pot-boy to General Howe, but perhaps he’ll take a moment to remember his neighbors.”
Nicholas DeQuincey was one of the most ardent supporters of the king’s cause and had been among the Loyalist troops waiting to greet General Howe’s army when it landed on Staten Island two months ago. Apparently he was so loyal he was willing to turn a blind eye to the resulting depredations of Howe’s army. That Father was planning to ask for help from such a man was a clear indication to me that he’d given up hope of using the civil courts to settle matters. Now it would fall to calling on friendships and favors to achieve justice.
I ran my thumb over a pile of papers outlining various complaints against the occupying army. There was little hope in me that anything would come of them, even with DeQuincey’s intervention.
“It’s not fair,” I muttered.
He looked up from the letter he was composing. “No, by God, it isn’t. It’s bad now and will only get worse. If that Howe had played the wolf instead of the tortoise he’d have captured Washington before he and his rabble ever had the chance to leave this island. At least then we would have seen the beginning of the end to this tragic nonsense. I don’t know how far Washington will retreat, but there’s enough country north of here for him to drag the fight out for months.”
Months. Good lord.
Father finished his letter and addressed it. While he worked, I was busy turning Finch’s complaint into language suitable for a court presentation. The day after I’d arrived home, Father had taken me on as his much junior partner. It was not official so far as the court was concerned, for I still needed to pass my exams, but I was glad of the honor and the chance to use what I’d learned in Cambridge. We hoped that after the rebellion was over and things got back to normal again I could finish my schooling at Harvard.
But he treated me as a respected colleague and commissioned the making of a fine desk to match his own. They were pushed together front-to-front for convenience, though it often led to confusion. Much of our labor overlapped; we were still working out how to avoid making a muddle of all the paper.
Of this new project, a second copy of Father’s letter needed to be made by me, though that was really a clerk’s job. We had no clerks; the two lads that had been with us had long-since departed to their families or to join up with Loyalist troops. I possessed no inclination to follow the latter example. Father hadn’t encouraged me in one way or another on that decision, but I shared his opinion that the fighting was better left to the soldiers who knew how. He needed my help more than they and more than one incident had occurred to justify my remaining close to home.
Back in January, while I’d been making arrangements to return, Father had had the bad luck to be in Hempstead when a rebel troop led by the fanatical Colonel Heard had ridden in to force known and suspected Loyalists to sign an oath of obedience to the Continental and Provincial congresses. Father signed rather than submit to arrest, but found little reason to be bound by his agreement.
“A forced promise is no promise,” he told me. “They’ll make no new friends to their cause with such methods and only turn the undecided against them.”
Had Father been undecided before, this insult had clarified things for him.
For a time. Now our British saviors seemed to be doing their best to alienate those that had shown them the greatest support. Father’s vast patience showed signs of erosion as each new case came in. We’d seen five people that morning. That officer, his sergeant, and the troop of Hessians had been busy. Doubtless they were also benefiting from their “legal” thefts.
When I’d finished my draft, Father paused in his work to look it over.
“Is it all right?” I asked after a moment.
He gave a pleased nod. “Wait ’til we get you in court. If you do as well there as you do on this . . . ”
If we ever had another court. The exacting work of civil law was yet another aspect of life interrupted by the rebellion. At this rate I would be serving an unnaturally long apprenticeship.
Someone knocked on the door. At our combined invitation it silently opened and Jericho announced that the midday meal was ready. Heavens, where had the morning gone? Father shed his wig, we put away our writing tools, and marched out in Jericho’s wake to assume our accustomed places at the dining table.
The library was in a corner room of the house and, with both sets of windows open, subject to a pleasing cross breeze that made it comfortable in the hot months. The dining room was not so advantageously located and had but one window. It was flung wide in a futile hope of freshening the close air within, but the wind wasn’t in the right direction to provide relief. We sat and stewed in the heat, picked lightly at our food, and imbibed a goodly share of barley water.
Little had changed in the years I was absent and this ritual the least of all. Mother would hold forth on the most tedious topics, or complain about whatever had offended her in the few hours since breakfast, usually quite a lot. She was well-supported by Mrs. Hardinbrook and, to a lesser extent, by Dr. Beldon. Both had become fixtures in the household, though Beldon could be said to be a contributing member by reason of his doctoring skills. He’d proved to be an able enough physician, but was still liable to fits of toad-eating. Elizabeth was formally polite to him, Father tolerated him, and I avoided him, which was sometimes difficult because the man was always trying to court my friendship.
Today Mother was full of rancor against yet another rise in prices.
“. . . four times what they charged last year for the same thing. If we didn’t have our own gardens we should starve to death this winter. As it is, Mrs. Nooth will have to work day and night to build up our stores once the crops ripen. It’s a disgrace, Samuel, and absolute disgrace.”
“Indeed it is, Marie,” Father said, taking a larger than normal swallow from his glass. He had wine as well as barley water.
“Of course, if we have anything left to harvest,” she added. This was a not too subtle reference to the crop sold to the first commissary to come through the area. Under circumstances very similar to Finch’s, Father had had to sign a blank receipt for a load of grain. The grain was collected, but we were still waiting to be paid for it.
Father spared a glance for me and raised one eyebrow. I smoothed out the scowl that prevented me from properly chewing my food.
“I got a letter from Hester Holland today,” Elizabeth said to me. She wanted to change the subject. “She’d heard that all the DeQuincey boys were serving under General Howe.”
“Then God keep them safe and see them through to a swift victory,” Mother responded. She didn’t like Miss Holland, but the DeQuincey clan held her wholehearted approval. Mother was not beyond doing some toad-eating of her own, and the DeQuinceys were a large and influential family They had money as well and a match between one of its scions and Elizabeth was something to encourage.
“Amen,” said Mrs. Hardinbrook, but it was rather faint. She also had hopes for arranging an advantageous marriage, but in three years she had yet to successfully interest Elizabeth in her brother or her brother in Elizabeth. It was frustrating for her, but amusing to watch, in a way.
Beldon was entirely aware of her efforts and now and then would occasionally commiserate with me on the subject. He had polite and honorable admiration for my sister, but that was as far as it went, he assured me, perhaps hoping to gain some praise for his nobility of spirit
. I’d met others of his temper at Cambridge, men with a decidedly indifferent attitude toward women. Soon after my homecoming I’d made clear to him that I was not of that number, a fact he graciously accepted, though the toad-eating continued as before.
“Hester wrote that some of the soldiers being quartered in the old church are very handsome,” Elizabeth said. Unlike Hester, she wasn’t the sort to idly gossip about such things and I wondered why she’d bothered to mention it, until I noticed that she’d directed the remark in Mrs. Hardinbrook’s direction. The lady had once taken pains to be present when a company of commissary men had marched by our gate to their camp, wearing her best dress and most winning smile, waving her handkerchief to the thieves. Elizabeth thought—not without reason—that she was a great fool.
I now perceived this innocuous statement to be an acid comment on Mrs. Hardinbrook’s immodest behavior. It might also be taken as an indirect reminder of Beldon’s preferences and the futility of altering them with a marriage. Mrs. Hardinbrook had outstanding thick skin, but a twitch of her brows betrayed that she had felt the blow. Beldon’s lips curled briefly—with humor, I was relieved to note, not offense.
Mother, innocent of this byplay, took it as something to pounce upon. “She would, I’m sure. Elizabeth, you really must try to cultivate a better class of friend than that Holland girl. If she’s keeping company with soldiers then she’s no better than a common tavern slut.”
Mrs. Hardinbrook smirked, entirely missing the implication that she could be included in Mother’s judgment.
Elizabeth’s face flushed and her lips thinned into nonexistence. For a few awful seconds she looked astonishingly like Mother during one of her rages. Father’s eye fell upon her, though, and he solemnly winked. Her anger subsided at this reminder not to take anything that Mother said seriously. They had had plenty of opportunity to practice such silent communication and once again it had spared us from a lengthy row.
Beldon had noticed—for he was always alert to what was going on around him—and visibly relaxed. Whenever Mother became unduly upset it always fell to him to calm her down. His bottle of laudanum had proved to be handy in the past, but as a good doctor he was reluctant to rely on it for every ill happening in the house. I’d seen more than one opium eater ruining himself at Cambridge, so on that point he and I were in accord.
“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.
“Mostly just to pass the time, I fear. A decent young man, but dull.” Beldon had caught the hint and made his tone of voice lazy and bored, as though it were hardly worth the effort to speak. “He mentioned some other things as well. Tedious stuff,” he added. “Most tedious.”
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. Beldon met his gaze briefly, then contemplated the wallpaper beyond. I could almost hear Father say “damnation” to himself. 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. No one hindered her exit.
Mrs. Hardinbrook was a woman with an appetite that no amount of summer heat could ruin. 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. He ventured 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 her.
Father settled him 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 must have been. 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. 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 mention what they were planning, but it seems obvious that they will start visiting individual households next and making more direct 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 look. Nothing less than the truth would suffice for her and he must have known it. “From ’57 to ’59, I had the honor of serving 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. This was news.
“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 flourish for such a piece of information. For the first time I began to wonder if just possibly the toad-eating might be a pretense. When a man is thought to be a harmless buffoon, other men discount him as a threat and drop their guard. I’d seen such in others while at school, and they were never called out to duel. Interesting, were it true.
“Why have you never 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 history. “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 e
lse, 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,” said Beldon. “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 we send word to the citizenry hereabouts to start preparing new and very secret spots to conceal their excess. Have a portion set aside to be taken away, some portion placed in their usual storage places and hide the rest, which should be the greater part of a household’s supply. Each house should have several such stores in case one is discovered or even betrayed.”
“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 in the king’s name 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 things come to a full-blown rebellion. In July we heard talk that Washington planned to send men through the counties to drive all the cattle and sheep they found into the eastern end of the island and 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. They’d made it clear to the rebels that they were entirely prepared to defend themselves and their property from Congressional thieves.