‘That’ll be Big John,’ she said.
A few minutes passed, then both Betsy and Big John came through, each carrying platters of food which they placed on the table.
‘I’ve taken the horses up to Alick’s stables,’ Big John said. ‘They didn’t like the water lickin’ round their legs.’
‘Aye, the Lord has opened up His heavens tonight,’ Ramsay said, smacking his lips over his soup.
Annabella cried out.
‘Pox on you, Big John! You’re dripping water all over the floor. Away through to the kitchen and get your dinner.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘He’s brought a cold wind in with him too,’ she added, shivering.
‘Eat up your soup,’ her father said. He poured himself a generous glass of claret and drank deeply at it before attacking the pie.
Afterwards he had a leisurely pipe by the fire. Finally came the reading and the prayer.
‘God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, will we not fear, though the earth be removed and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah … be still and know that I am God … The Lord of hosts is with us … the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah …’
Annabella listened uneasily to the wind beginning to bluster outside and later, lying in the hole-in-the-wall bed watching the fire’s red glow in the darkness, she could not sleep for the rattling of the windows. She must have drifted off eventually because she woke with a start. The fire had gone out and the darkness would have been complete had she not opened the curtains before retiring. Faint glimmers of moonlight freckling the rain made fast moving patterns on floors and walls. The windows were still rattling but it was not the wind that had wakened her. Listening intently she scrambled out of bed. Yes, there it was again. People were shouting for help. She sped across to the window.
‘Gracious heavens!’ she cried out loud. ‘Papa, Papa! Betsy! Big John!’
Saltmarket Street had disappeared beneath a torrent of water. The piazzas, the warerooms, the bottom flats of the tenements were awash and people were struggling waist deep in water to reach the High Street. Tables and chairs were being swept along. The body of a sheep floated past.
In vast alarm she turned away. Her father, like a ghost in his long white nightshirt, was standing in the bedroom doorway holding a candle high.
‘Papa, tell Big John to get the boat ready,’ she said. ‘I must go for Mungo.’
5
DOUGLAS hadn’t been able to sleep. He lay trying not to listen to the rain beating against the windows and the wind howling like a pack of wolves outside. His mind wandered unhappily from one thing to another. He felt guilty at allowing Annabella to go home unescorted on such a wild night. Of course, he knew it was ridiculous to harbour such worries. Annabella was better able to take care of herself than he was. She never worried about anything. Nor had he ever known her to suffer from even the mildest indisposition. Had he gone out with her this evening in such a storm of rain and wind, he would have been laid low with a fever afterwards. He had a most delicate constitution. This had always been a matter of embarrassment and regret to him. It had also been the cause of much suffering when he was at school. There had been some dreadfully coarse fellows at school and despite, or perhaps because of, his timid overtures at friendship, they had tormented him and pummelled him unmercifully.
He had been glad of a fever in those days because it kept him away from that frightful place. He remembered one boy in particular, Jedediah Burt, an ugly bovine creature with a huge face and tiny eyes. He had been a farmer’s son and the only thing his warped brain, if he had a brain at all, could understand was cruelty. The torments that ignorant lout had made him suffer did not bear thinking about; the twisted arms, the hair torn out by the roots, the kicks in the groin. He remembered one time being bound hand and foot and left hanging by the waist from a tree. He remembered the height of it and the creaking of the branch as he swung backwards and forwards. He remembered the way his heart panicked and the overpowering sickness he felt.
One of the worst times though was when Jed and his bucolic followers heaved him into the river and held him down until his lungs were at bursting point and he was certain he was going to drown. Ever since, he had been terrified of the water and could not bring himself to put a toe near it even for the sake of teaching George to swim.
He adored the child and could deny him nothing as a rule. In this, however, and in the matter of the sedan to take George to school, he was in perfect agreement with Griselle. Annabella could say what she liked, he wasn’t going to allow dear, sensitive George to be subjected to the frightful tortures he had suffered as a child. Poor George would have enough to bear at the hands of the dominie while he was inside the classroom. Often the dominie was worse than the cruellest of his pupils.
He had never been so glad to say goodbye to anyone as he had to the dominie who had taught him. That last day at school was also his twelfth birthday and oh, what a blessed day it was. Immediately afterwards he had gone to university and, although life there was difficult and exhausting, it had been sheer heaven compared with the school.
Then, of course, had come the apprenticeship with Papa which included the journey to Virginia and a spell travelling around his stores. That had been another ghastly time. Annabella had made her journey and stay in Virginia sound so exciting and pleasurable. He had been violently seasick and nearly died on the way. Then during his stay in Virginia he had been attacked by the flux and the fever and would certainly have died had it not been for the conscientious nursing of a widow lady at the settlement who also dosed him with herbs and potions. After that he’d visited Venice and France.
Lying in the four-poster bed with the bedcurtains drawn all round and Griselle far away in sleep, Douglas felt a weight of depression descend on him. If only he could have remained in one of those delightful places. Ah, the cultured, elegant, sensitive ladies and gentlemen he had met in Venice and Paris. What style they had. What conversation. Glasgow was so parochial in comparison, so narrow in outlook. The ordinary people even looked askance at the clothes the tobacco merchants wore. They didn’t realise that the scarlet capes and jewelled buckles and satins were the common garb of the Venetians and other merchants of the world. The trouble was, most Glasgow folk had never been beyond Trongate Street.
Tobacco merchants, including his Papa in his younger days, were men of daring and vision. They possessed a business acumen that was truly astonishing. After all, Glasgow had once been nothing more than a tiny salmon-fishing village. Before the union of Scotland and England Glasgow hadn’t been allowed to trade with the colonies. The trade then had been completely cornered by the London, Bristol, Whitehaven and other southern merchants. As soon as Glasgow men were allowed to trade with Virginia, they shot ahead. In no time they had wrenched the vast majority of trade in tobacco from the English merchants who had held it for over a century. This little out-of-the-way place had become the greatest tobacco trading centre not only in Britain but in the whole of Europe.
They’d built up other trades as well. Instead of taking over empty ships to Virginia to collect the tobacco, they started the manufacture of other goods in Glasgow. Then they filled the holds of their ships with everything the Virginians could need. These things were made by Glasgow citizens and kept them busily employed and included linens, saddlery, delf, ironmongery, ropes and a host of other goods.
But the cleverest move that men like his father had made was to start up a chain of stores on the James River and further inland. They had stocked all the stores with goods and put a store manager in charge of each. There were many stores, especially deep in the wilderness. There they catered for the needs of the planters, although he realised that there were times when some of the planters called the tobacco lords ‘the unconscionable and cruel merchants’.
On the other
hand, the merchants often viewed the planters as spendthrifts and wastrels who were quick to borrow and slow to pay. As far as he could see, when he was travelling in Virginia, most of the planters had a very comfortable life and didn’t appear to be suffering any deprivation. On the contrary, the obvious wealth of some of these men was staggering. He had seen enormous mansions owned by men who had hundreds and often thousands of black slaves to pander to their every whim.
But it was such an enormous, such a rough, tough country and the mansion houses were far too isolated from each other for his taste. No, he much preferred life in Venice or Paris, although life in Scotland was beginning to be more tolerable since he had begun to be accepted into the society of landed gentry. He and Griselle had already spent a few nights at the estate of no less a person than the Duke of Dunleden. There they had met a very civilised company where face paint and fashionable clothes and gaming were not in the least frowned upon, far less laughed at.
Annabella would have enjoyed it there, and no doubt if she made up her mind to it, she would be accepted too. All her life Annabella had got what she wanted. She had always been Papa’s favourite. Papa tried to hide it but really he doted on the girl.
He felt another stab of guilt. Was he jealous of his sister? Was that why he had tried to discourage her from any thoughts of indulging in gaming? Was it not true that he did not relish the thought of Annabella completely outshining him if she broke into the exclusive circle in which he was only now beginning to win a grudging acceptance?
He decided that, although it was true he did suffer from pangs of anxiety in this direction, he had been sincere in his concern for Annabella’s fate if she became a gamester. She was, as he’d said, a person of extremes and he had seen ladies ruined in health, wealth and happiness from overindulgence at the tables. He was genuinely fond of his sister and would not wish any harm to befall her.
He sighed again. It would have given more ease to his mind if he had escorted her safely home. At least he would have been able to sleep afterwards, although even then it might not have been so easy with such a storm raging. He thought about getting up and looking out of the window. He plucked aside the bedcurtains until he could see, by the glow of what remained of the fire, the shadowy outlines of the crimson upholstered chairs. They too looked as if they were smouldering fires. The hanging clock on the wall whirred and struck with leisurely unconcern. Gracious heavens, he thought, he had been lying awake for hours. It would soon be morning. He decided to get up and pour himself a stiff dram and see if that would induce slumber.
Tutting to himself, he eased himself out of bed as carefully as possible so as not to disturb Griselle. If he didn’t manage to get some sleep he would not be fit to go to the counting house again and Papa would be angry. He was always failing Papa in one way or another. Poor Papa, he was such a generous man, such an excellent father. He wished he could do something to make Papa proud of him. But he couldn’t help it if his delicate constitution kept letting him down. Long ago he’d given up fighting it. He’d reconciled himself to being a failure in Papa’s eyes. Although Papa’s view of him still hurt.
His nightshirt flapped against his legs as he tiptoed across the floor. Suddenly Griselle’s voice startled him.
‘A lot of good it is you tiptoeing about like that. With the storm making such a racket you could stamp across the floor and nobody would hear you.’
‘Isn’t it frightful?’ Douglas said. ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink. I thought a glass of whisky might help. Would you like one, my dear?’
‘Yes, all right. Light a candle and put some more wood on the fire, will you?’ She sat up and jerked the bedcurtains properly open. ‘It soon gets cold in here.’
Douglas knelt down in front of the fire, his nightshirt billowing out and causing a draught that made him shiver. He lit a candle and took it over to the bedside table. From it he lit another to put on the sideboard so that he could see properly to pour out the drinks. But first he crouched down by the fire again and threw on some logs. Straightening up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the long pier glass in the corner over near the window. How thin his face looked under the purple night cap. It had high cheek bones, a long pinched nose with flaring nostrils and arched aristocratic brows. A handsome face, he had been told, but to him it only looked embarrassingly delicate, like his maypole body and spindle legs. He had heard that in London men were padding their calves and special pads could be bought for this purpose. He wondered if he dared …
‘Hurry up then,’ urged Griselle. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold. Why didn’t you put on your dressing-gown? And look at you with your bare feet. Is it any wonder that you’re plagued with fevers?’
‘I’m sorry, Grizzie,’ Douglas fluttered over to the sideboard. ‘You are quite right, of course. I do not know what I would do without you, dear girlie.’
The wind screeched outside and rattled wildly at the windows. The curtains agitated about. Suddenly he realised he was chilled to the bone and his feet had stiffened and stuck like blocks of ice to the floor. As a rule he always wrapped himself in something warm before venturing from the bed but he had been dazed with fatigue and lack of sleep on this occasion and his mind had been wandering on to too many other things. Chittering and trembling, he poured out the drinks and hurried back to put them on the bedside table, then clamber in beside Griselle.
The whisky made him feel better and he relaxed back against the pillow, grateful for its warm, melting glow.
Griselle said,
‘Listen to that rain. It’s just never stopped. What was that?’ She jerked out a hand and gripped his arm, alerting him.
He listened but there was only the angry sound of the wind and rain.
‘Do you think it was one of the boys calling?’ he asked. ‘I don’t suppose they’re able to sleep in this monstrous racket either.’
‘I thought it came from outside.’
He was silent for a second or two.
‘I still don’t hear anything but if it will make your mind easier, dear girlie, I shall get up and look out the window.’
He said the words with good grace and patted her hand. But it was an ordeal to leave the warm cocoon of blankets and brave the cold again.
‘Put on your dressing-gown and slippers,’ Griselle said.
‘I doubt if even the bellman would venture out on a night like this, my dear.’
‘There it is again. Someone called out.’
This time he thought he did hear feeble cries intermingle with the powerful roaring of the elements. Easing the curtains aside, he peered out the window. At first the scene that met his eyes didn’t register. Rain was streaking and smudging the glass and through it the moon wobbled like a stub of wax, making dancing shadows of roof-tops. Then he saw the water.
‘Dear Jesus,’ he moaned.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Griselle tossed aside the blankets and fumbled into her dressing-gown and slippers.
‘Dear Jesus,’ Douglas’s voice tightened up a note towards hysteria.
‘Out of my way!’ Griselle pushed him aside then immediately cried out in alarm, ‘Oh, Douglas, oh, my God!’
Douglas turned away from the window willing himself not to succumb to the panic that was threatening to burst in his head and leave him witless.
‘We’d better get dressed.’ He went groping and trembling over to the chair where he’d left his shirt and breeches.
Griselle flew after him and began tearing off her night things and wriggling into a petticoat and gown.
‘What are we going to do? You’re supposed to be the man of the house. For God’s sake, do something!’
The buttons of his shirt kept escaping from his fingers.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Griselle shouted.
‘I’ll bring the boys through.’
He stumbled towards the door and then had to come back for a candle. Outside in the lobby he leaned against the wall and prayed for strength.
‘Dear
Jesus, help me! For the sake of Griselle and the boys, please help me.’
They were asleep. It seemed incredible that in the midst of such an uproar they should be lying so still and with such innocent, peaceful faces.
‘Geordie, Mungo,’ he quavered, ‘wake up like good fellows.’ Leaning over the bed, the candle flame all but blowing out in the draught, he gave each child a shake. They wakened grudgingly, groaning with protest. ‘Quickly now, bring your clothes through to the fire and get dressed there.’
‘It isn’t morning yet, Papa.’ George’s voice sounded babyish and bewildered in his half-sleep. ‘It’s still dark.’
‘Yes, my cockie, but there’s a bit of a storm. Nothing of great moment, you understand, but Mama and I would feel better if you were beside us.’
Mungo was already up and pulling on his breeches, and before Douglas had helped George into his dressing-gown, Mungo had donned his shirt, waistcoat, stockings and shoes.
‘Don’t go near the window,’ Douglas anxiously warned.
‘Why not?’ Mungo wanted to know.
‘Oh, do come through like good fellows.’
There was an edge to Douglas’s voice that surprised Mungo and made him stare at his uncle intently. Douglas was always so merry and light-hearted. George said his Papa had never once scolded him. On the contrary, he was splendid fun and often played with him. George said they had great hilarity when they were alone together and he much preferred his Papa to his Mama.
Through in the main bedroom the fire was blazing and all the candles were lit. Griselle was pacing the floor, kneading her hands together. Immediately Douglas and the children entered the room, she pounced on George and hugged and kissed him as if she had not seen him for years.
‘Mama!’ George was outraged at being subjected to such an indignity in front of his cousin. He stamped his foot and beat at her with his fist. ‘Leave me alone. Papa, tell Mama to leave me alone.’
Douglas fluttered up his hands.
‘Grizzie, will you let the lad get dressed? And keep away from the windows, all of you.’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 66