She was wearing a pale gown that in the fading light made her almost luminous. She refilled my cup. I rose to take it and, in doing so, I felt the warmth radiating from her body and smelled the perfume I remembered from that first evening: otto of roses, mingled with her own peculiar fragrance. As I took the cup and saucer, her finger brushed my hand.
‘No more tea for me, my dear,’ Mr Wintour said, struggling to his feet. ‘I must see how Mrs Wintour does and then I shall retire for the night.’
For a moment we watched the old man picking his way down the path towards the garden door of the house.
Mrs Arabella stirred in her chair, and the wicker creaked beneath her body. ‘Miriam tells me you went to see that man hanged this morning.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I did. A melancholy duty.’
‘Did he confess to the murder in the end?’
‘I believe not.’
‘You would think a man would speak the truth if he knew he was to go before his maker in a few moments.’
‘He may have desired to confess, ma’am. But he was not given an opportunity as far as I know. But forgive me – the subject must be painful to you.’
The wicker creaked again. ‘Yes, of course. Though I barely knew Mr Pickett – but his murder is a terrible thing. Tell me, sir – was it – was it a hard death?’
I stared at her in the gathering dusk. ‘Mr Pickett’s?’
‘No, no – I mean the man who was hanged for the murder.’
‘How can it not have been?’ I said, more sharply than I intended.
‘I spoke without thinking.’ She sounded upset, though there was not enough light for me to read her expression. ‘But – but there must be degrees in these matters, must there not?’
‘It cannot have been easy.’ I remembered Virgil’s clenched fists, the kicking feet and, most vividly of all, the hands that had risen from beneath the scaffold to give the sharp, fatal tug at the slave’s ankles. ‘But it did not take long.’
She sighed. ‘I am glad of that, at least. Of course they do not have feelings as we do.’
‘Who do not?’
‘Negros. They are made of coarser clay. Indeed, many of them are little better than beasts of the field. Most negros have no more idea of true religion or morality than the man in the moon.’
‘I cannot believe that to be true, madam,’ I said. ‘Their situation may be inferior to ours, their education neglected, but one cannot blame them for that. Indeed, if we blame anyone, surely we must blame ourselves for their shortcomings.’
She threw back her head and laughed with such spontaneous merriment that I found myself smiling in sympathy. ‘Oh, you would not say that if you knew them as I do, sir.’
‘But I have encountered many negros in London, freed men, who—’
‘I do not mean all negros, of course,’ she interrupted, ‘or even all slaves, for that matter – for example, I except those like Josiah and Miriam and Abraham – they have lived so long among us as almost to be like us, as far as God permits them to be and allowing for the difference between our station in life and theirs.’
‘They are slaves, then? I did not know.’
‘They are perfectly content in their condition and give us faithful service. Their loyalty is beyond question. Believe me, sir, Josiah would not have his freedom if Mr Wintour offered it him on a silver platter.’
A silence fell between us.
‘Let us talk to something more agreeable,’ she said at length. ‘Your family, perhaps – I’m sure Mrs Savill is counting the days towards your happy return.’ She spoke seriously but there was an edge of mockery to her words that irritated me. ‘And the other evening you told us that you have a daughter, I think?’
‘Yes, ma’am – Elizabeth; she is five years old.’
There was another silence. Then Mrs Arabella said, in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘It cannot have been easy to leave her and to come all this way. And even worse for her, of course, to lose her papa.’
The twilight had grown darker. I heard her breathing. How strange, I thought, that she talked of Lizzie missing me, but not Augusta; how strange, and how oddly near the mark.
A door slammed. Both of us sat up sharply. It was as if, I thought later, we had been on the verge of being discovered in some shameful assignation. Miriam was coming down the garden with a lantern in her hand.
‘Good girl,’ Mrs Arabella said. ‘I was about to ring for candles.’
Miriam made her obedience in the doorway. ‘No, ma’am, it’s master. He begs you to join him in the library.’
‘But I thought he had retired.’
‘He came down again, ma’am. Major Marryot’s called.’
‘So late? And why should they want me?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
Mrs Arabella rose to her feet. ‘I suppose I must find out what they want. But do not disturb yourself, Mr Savill. Shall we play backgammon when I come back? I need diversion – I do not feel at all sleepy yet.’
I said that nothing would give me more pleasure.
‘Then that is settled. Miriam – light me into the house and then bring candles for Mr Savill directly. You will find the backgammon board under that seat in the corner, sir. Or Miriam will fetch it out for you.’
The two women set off for the house. After a moment I went over to the corner and put my hand into the darkness under the seat. The smell of lemon juice and vinegar was stronger here. The Wintour ladies were good housekeepers. I felt the outlines of the backgammon box and drew it out. I laid it on the table and opened it. It was too dark to see the counters clearly.
I did not have long to wait. Miriam came down the path with a candelabra, its candles unlit, a taper and the lantern. She put them on the table beside the backgammon board but made no move to light the candles. Her hands were shaking.
‘If it please your honour,’ she said, ‘I think mistress will stay in the house now.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I shall come in myself in that case.’ I rose to my feet and, as I did so, the woman clutched the edge of the table. ‘Is something wrong, Miriam?’
‘Oh, sir, it’s the Captain.’
‘But I thought you said Major Marryot had called.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Miriam said, stumbling over her words. ‘He brought the news. Mr John, sir. Captain Wintour.’
It took me a moment to realize what she meant. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Such distressing—’
‘No, sir, it’s not that. Mr John ain’t dead. He’s alive.’
Chapter Fifteen
The first week in New York stretched into a month and then to another. I found myself imperceptibly adjusting to my situation until it appeared almost unremarkable.
The war coloured everything and nothing. Perhaps it had been like this in Troy for most of the ten years that city had been invested by the Greeks. Perhaps in Troy, as in New York, life had continued much as usual in the long intervals between battles. It almost made a man wonder whether the battles were necessary in the first place.
In October, Mr Rampton wrote with what he said was good news. Lord George Germain had been pleased to say with the kindest condescension imaginable that he had glanced over a memorandum I had composed before leaving for New York, and thought it a model of its kind. The Department would benefit greatly from a man of Mr Savill’s proven abili-ties as its eyes and ears in New York.
This being so, His Lordship desires me to communicate to you his wish that you should remain in New York for a few months more. Since a winter passage would not be at all agreeable for you, I took the liberty of suggesting that we should therefore extend your commission until the March or April. Who knows, by that time the rebels may have capitulated. We hear on every side that the Continental troops are deserting in droves because Congress cannot pay them except in their own worthless dollars.
My dear Savill, what a feather in your cap is this! Matters are turning out just as I had hoped. In haste, for the messenger is about to post to Fa
lmouth to catch the packet before it sails with the August mail, believe me
Truly yours, HR.
At first I could not but be pleased that my abilities had earned such approval – not only from Mr Rampton but from Lord George himself. Then my mind swung to the other extreme. I had been sentenced to pass another five or six months in this uncomfortable provincial backwater. I should be obliged to deal, week in, week out, with ever-swelling numbers of unfortunate Loyalists, with the rudeness of Major Marryot and with an array of criminal cases.
And what of Augusta? My wife and I did not agree in many respects but she had never denied me a husband’s rights. Indeed, she showed a surprising enthusiasm for granting them to me when the candle was out and the curtains were drawn. To be absent from her was to have an itch one could not scratch. As a prudent and rational man, I should no doubt have told myself that the gratifications of marriage would prove all the sweeter if I continued longer in New York. But prudent and rational considerations seemed to have no noticeable effect on this particular itch.
In this reckoning of potential profit and probable loss, where did Lizzie figure on my balance sheet? For a child of five, a single month was an eternity, and I had already been separated from her for three. I knew she would be well looked after in Shepperton, and that my sister would ensure that she had no material wants. But she must miss her papa. Her mother had never cared much for Lizzie, perhaps because hers had been a difficult birth, and disliked having the child about her. But I had loved her from the first. I felt my daughter’s absence as a man must feel the lack of an amputated limb.
Still, there was no help for it. If I were to make a new home for the three of us and provide Augusta and Lizzie with the necessities of life and even a few luxuries, I must remain in New York for the time being.
I asked Mr Wintour whether I might extend my stay in Warren Street.
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ the Judge said, staring at me over the top of the glasses he wore for reading. ‘Before you came I was entirely surrounded by a monstrous regiment of women.’ He smiled to show that the words were intended as a pleasantry. ‘Besides, I do not find it agreeable to drink His Majesty’s health by myself. Toasts should be made in company, and another gentleman is indispensable for that. And of course it means I shall have the pleasure of making my son known to you when he returns. It may be any week now, you know – he writes that he is almost restored.’
‘I would not wish to inconvenience Captain Wintour, sir,’ I said. ‘If you would prefer me to remove—’
‘No, no, my dear sir. I would not hear of it. And nor would Mrs Wintour, and nor Bella. It is Bella who counts most particularly, you know, for this is her house. As for John, he will enjoy having a man his own age to talk to. Otherwise I fear he will find us very dull.’
Mrs Arabella came into the library, and he told her the news. She was looking remarkably handsome today, I thought – this fine autumn weather must suit her. Indeed, I could not understand how I had so readily dismissed her claims to beauty on our first acquaintance. ‘Once seen,’ Mr Noak had said of her, ‘never forgotten.’ Perhaps he had been right all along. I had not been a very good judge of anything after the discomforts of our passage from England and the horrors that had confronted me on my arrival in New York.
‘I hope your staying longer will not grieve Mrs Savill and your daughter, sir,’ she said. ‘Your daughter is called Elizabeth, is she not?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I was touched that she had remembered the name. ‘It will certainly grieve me not to see her.’
‘And yet you stay?’
‘Bella, Bella,’ the Judge said. ‘A man must go where he is ordered. You know that, as a soldier’s wife.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Of course I know it. But a child cannot understand the bitterness of parting in the way a wife can.’
Mr Wintour patted her hand. ‘You are too tender-hearted, my dear.’
‘Five years old is very young.’
‘It cannot be helped,’ I said. ‘Though I wish with all my heart that it could.’
Chapter Sixteen
Mr Townley lived very comfortably with his family in a commodious and most respectable house in Hanover Square, next door to an admiral. Most of the ground floor was given over to business.
I had gradually learned that Townley was a man with his fingers in many pies. As well as superintending the city’s police, he sat on several boards, one to do with the execution of port regulations and another to do with the issuing of licences to the cartmen who transported goods about the city and its environs. He had a warehouse on Long Island and also leased Norman’s Slip, out on the Greenwich Road, which enabled him to trade on his own account.
‘My dear sir,’ he said, when I brought the news that my mission in New York had been extended, ‘how very agreeable – for us, at least. And for you too, I hope. Now pray sit down. Another five or six months, eh? Nothing could be better.’
We were in his private room, a back parlour. There was an autumnal chill in the air, and a fire burned brightly in the grate.
‘Will you look for an establishment of your own now?’ Townley asked, leaning forward in his chair. ‘You would be so much more comfortable. I believe I could find you most respectable lodgings in Queen Street if you liked: three chambers, a spacious parlour, a kitchen and wine cellar there. With use of the hall, of course, and the coachhouse and the stables. The widow who owns the house – a most delightful lady – is a friend of my wife’s. I’m sure I could obtain a six-month lease for – let me see – forty-five guineas.’ He raised a long, languid hand as if I had objected. ‘The American Department has a position in the world, after all. Mr Rampton would wish you to live in a style that befits it.’
‘I shall remain at Judge Wintour’s, sir, for the time being at any rate. It is very convenient in all respects.’
‘Ah.’ He looked up. ‘Well, no doubt Mrs Arabella is an excellent housekeeper. It is in fact her house, you know – it was her father’s residence in the city – though she has lent it to her parents-in-law for the duration of the war. But in any case, I am sure the family is happy to have you there.’
Neither of us mentioned money, but I knew my two guineas a week must be a welcome addition to the Wintours’ income. The Judge needed ready money. Everywhere in the house were signs of past affluence and present shortages, from Josiah’s livery with its frayed cuffs and stained armpits, to the carefully rationed tea leaves which were re-used at least once above stairs and probably two or three times more in the kitchen and the slave quarters.
‘Still,’ Townley continued, after a pause, ‘I wonder how you will find Warren Street when Captain Wintour returns.’
‘Equally convenient, I hope.’
‘That remains to be seen. Captain Wintour is not the easiest of men. Of course he has reason enough for that.’
‘Because of Saratoga?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Townley glanced at me, his face bland but oddly attentive. ‘But there are other reasons, too. He had great expectations from his father-in-law, Mr Froude, but this war has put paid to those, at least until we have peace again.’ He paused. ‘When does he come home?’
‘In a few weeks. He is well enough to travel now, I apprehend, and is in Quebec. His father has sent money for his passage home.’
There was a tap on the door, and Mr Noak brought in a letter for Townley to sign.
‘Ah – the incomparable Noak,’ Townley said with a smile. ‘I cannot imagine how I managed without you.’
Mr Noak bowed but did not return the smile. He was now permanently employed by Mr Townley, who entrusted him with the management of more and more business. His unobtrusive efficiency was matched by his kindness of heart, as I had learned from his care of me at sea. So I was not altogether surprised when, one Sunday afternoon in September, I had found him in the drawing room at Warren Street reading the Bible to old Mrs Wintour, whose eyes were failing. These Sunday visits had settled in
to what was almost a routine; Mrs Wintour became quite agitated if Mr Noak happened not to be at leisure.
‘There was one other matter, sir,’ Noak said as he took back the letter from Townley. He hesitated, waving the letter to and fro to dry the ink.
‘You may speak, man – we need have no secrets from Mr Savill.’
‘Yes, sir. It is only the docket for Major Marryot.’
‘What of it?’
‘The list includes the boy found drowned by the Paulus Hook ferry. I believe he may be the Government informer who goes by the name of Benjamin Taggart.’
Townley straightened his long spine. ‘Oh yes – well, was he murdered?’
‘I cannot say for certain, sir, either way – he drowned, that is all; I saw no sign of violence on his body. They are keeping it at King’s Wharf for the time being. But what shall I say your recommendation is?’
‘To let sleeping dogs die. Or, rather, drowned dogs in this case.’ He chuckled in appreciation of his own wit. ‘Unless there are reasons why Major Marryot should enquire further into it?’
‘Not that I am aware of, sir. And, even if there were, the boy’s body can tell him nothing more than it already has.’
‘Well, then. I think we need waste no further time on a slave’s by-blow, do you? And I’m sure Major Marryot will agree.’
Noak bowed.
‘Mind you,’ Townley said, ‘Taggart did us one good service, did he not?’ He turned to me. ‘It was he who tipped us the wink about poor Pickett’s murderer. You remember? The runaway, Virgil. We’d not have been able to hang the rogue without Taggart.’
Chapter Seventeen
There could be no harm in it, surely?
On the other hand, a prudent man knew when to leave well alone. Especially a man with his way to make in the world.
As the day went on, I found myself thinking more and more about the Pickett affair. I could not avoid the fact that I felt not only curious about his murder but also in some strange way responsible for the runaway slave they had hanged for it.
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