Beloved Enemy (66 page)

Alex
nodded encouragingly but said nothing else, having the firm conviction that
this was no idle talk on the part of Robert Harrington. Harrington was putting
up at the King James during the monthly meeting of the House of Burgesses and
during dinner reopened the subject in the company of his fellow planters who
made up the legislature.

"How
long d'ye plan to stay in these parts, General Marshall? Are ye thinking,
perhaps, of buying some land?"

"Perhaps,"
Alex said vaguely, "but my main purpose, gentlemen, is to observe your
government for Parliament and to discover from you how you would have England
treat its Colonies, now that the royal charter is meaningless."

This
reminder of the king's execution and the abolition of the monarch's office
produced a silence. The colonists were sufficiently removed from the politics
in the home country to be objective about the happenings there, but they were
far from indifferent as to the possible effects the new state would have upon
them. Alexander Marshall was the first representative from the new government
to come to the New World, and they sensed that he carried some considerable
power.

"If
ye're truly interested in understanding how matters are conducted here,
General, ye could not do better than to spend some time on the
plantations," Harrington said slowly. "We'd be glad to offer you
hospitality for as long as ye wish. And, perhaps . . ." He paused, looking
down the long table at his fellow burgesses. Receiving a nod from them, he
continued. "If ye'd be willing to cast an eye over our defenses, our
reserve troops, what preparations we can make in the event of further Indian
attacks, ye'd be doing us all an uncommon favor."

Alex
helped himself to another veal pasty, refilled his tankard with Spanish wine,
and contemplated the question. It would give him a purpose beyond his vague
instructions from Parliament and the driving need to see Ginny, and it would
provide him with the opportunity to wander freely about the countryside where
surely he would meet up with her at some point, and he would have a perfectly
innocent reason both for his presence in the country and for their
introduction.

"I
am at your service, gentlemen."

"Splendid,
splendid!" declared Robert Harrington, refilling his own tankard.
"We'd be most honored if ye'd visit first with us at Harrington Hundred.
Mistress Harrington will be overjoyed at the excuse to have a garnering before
the onset of winter. Quite melancholy does she become at the prospect of a few
months without company."

And so
it was agreed. By the end of the week, Alex, in the company of his host, landed
at Harrington Hundred, noting, as had Ginny some two months earlier, the
evidence of prosperity and good husbandry. Susannah was indeed delighted to
receive him and immediately set about making plans for a large gathering of
neighbors to meet their guest and give him the opportunity to glean such
information as would be useful to him. In the meantime, he had agreed to travel
around with Robert Harrington, surveying the various defenses individual
planters had prepared and offering what advice he deemed appropriate.
Throughout, Alex had no idea of the kinship between the Courtneys and the
Harringtons, or that Ginny lived on the Harrington plantation some five miles
from the main house.

Until
one morning when, returning with his host from a ride along the bridle paths
cut into the backside of the plantation, he entered the stables and overheard
an altercation between a little maidservant and a young stable lad.
"Mistress Courtney says I'm to take the flour back in the canoe," the
girl was saying fiercely. "The master can't come 'n fetch it in the cart
'cause his leg's painin' him."

"Drunk,
y’mean," the lad said scornfully. "Well, I'm not carryin' that to the
creek. If it's not to go in the cart, ye can carry it yerself."

"What
the devil's going on here?" Robert Harrington exclaimed, swinging from his
mount to stride across to the two youngsters who cowered against the wall of
the stable at his approach. Alex, pretending indifference, nevertheless managed
to edge his horse closer.

"Please,
sir," the maidservant stammered, "my mistress says I'm to fetch the
flour in the canoe because the master can't bring the cart. She would've
brought it herself, sir, but Mistress Bradley needed her for a birthing
and—"

"All
right, Lizzy, I understand," Harrington said soothingly. "What's your
problem, Jack?" He turned to the lad, a note of menace in his voice.
"Did I hear you say something about Esquire Courtney?"

"No—no,
sir, nuthin'," the boy said, hefting the sack of flour onto his shoulders.
"I'll be takin' this to the creek." He staggered off beneath the
weight, making incredible speed, Alex thought with an inner chuckle that could
not be repressed in spite of the pounding of his heart at the sound of that
name, at the sudden realization that she must be dose, that she must have some
close relationship with his host if her flour was ground at his mill.

"Problems?"
he inquired nonchalantly of Robert Harrington, dismounting and handing his
horse to another waiting lad.

Robert
Harrington shrugged. "Servants know all too much, these days, and have
scant respect for their masters."

He
seemed disinclined to say more, and Alex chewed his lip in frustration before
throwing caution to the winds and venturing to remark in a musing tone,
"Courtney—I don't think I've heard that name hereabouts."

Harrington
sighed. "Ye’ll meet them at Susannah's party. ‘Tis a wretched business
when there's bad blood in the family. Courtney's a cousin of mine on his
mother's side, came over from Dorset after the war. We've done what we could to
help, but he's a drunkard and a wastrel. Never done a hand's turn in his
life."

There
was another silence, and Alex could bear the suspense no longer. "His
wife?" he asked.

Harrington
smiled suddenly. "Mistress Virginia Courtney, sir. No bad blood, there.
Once that husband of hers has drunk himself into the grave, she'll not be left
to mourn too long. All the womanly virtues and the most extraordinary skill
with physicking."

Yes,
Alex thought. You talk to the converted, Robert. But he allowed the subject to
drop as if it had no further interest for him.

"I
beg your pardon, Susannah, I did not quite catch the name." Ginny’s hands
shook as if she were in the grip of an ague, and the small knife she was using
to chop endive slipped, nicking her thumb.

Susannah
Harrington, who had settled down in Ginny's kitchen for a comfortable chat with
her cousin by marriage, bustled over, scolding Ginny for her carelessness.

"It
is nothing," Ginny said, wrapping a piece of cloth around the cut.
"Fingers have a tendency to bleed considerably, that is all."
Abandoning the endive, she took a flagon from the dresser. "A glass of
cider, Susannah?" She had, by this time, taken control of herself again,
although she felt a curious sensation as if she were filled with air, as if the
space between her ribs and spine was but a void. "Pray continue about your
guest."

Susannah's
primary purpose in this visit had been to invite the Courtneys to her party and
to enlist Ginny's help with the culinary preparations for a gathering of at
least a hundred who would require feeding for probably two days. Her guest's
business was definitely outside the scope of women, and she saw very little of
him except at the dinner table. She had not, therefore, considered either his
identity or description to be of much interest to Virginia and had mentioned
his name only in passing. What was of interest to the housewife was the party
for which his presence served as an excuse.

"He
is come from England," she now said, looking rather vague. "He has
business with the burgesses, Robert says, and, because he is a solider, has
agreed to offer advice on our defenses in the event of another Indian attack.
But I do not talk with them much, and he is out with Robert most of the
day."

"How
is he called?" Ginny asked, although she knew she had not misheard.

"Marshall,"
Susannah supplied cheerfully. "General Alexander Marshall. He is really
quite personable, but I find him a little intimidating." She smiled as if
this were only to be expected. "He is very serious, and looks stern most
of the time —although the children approach him freely enough. But you will
agree to come and help, will you not, Ginny? You must make the tansy, no one
does it so well, and I beg you will dress up the Salamagundy."

"With
pleasure, Susannah," Ginny responded through the pounding of her swift
blood. Did he know she was here? If he did not and was unprepared, what would
happen when they met? But they could not meet. It was impossible. But how to
avoid it? For the next hour, she responded automatically to Susannah's talk,
agreeing to every suggestion for the table, to every request, offering her own
suggestions without thought. But at last, Susannah was seen into her canoe,
which she paddled with all the expertise of the experienced, and Ginny was able
to return to her quiet kitchen. She found that she could not remain within
doors and, taking her simpling basket automatically, made for the woods.

One
thought, so frightening that she could hardly bear to look at it, kept
hammering at her confused and terrified mind. What if he had brought Jed with
him? Giles would recognize the old soldier immediately and would have no
trouble taking the next logical step. Confined to a locked sickroom, he had
never seen Alex, except as a shape on the bed that last day, and Ginny had kept
his identity a secret through all the inquisitions and accusations. But such
care would go for naught once he saw Jed. And Jed went everywhere with Alex; it
was inconceivable that he would have been left behind on such an expedition,
and if he did not know
she
was here, why should he have had thoughts of
caution? She had to find out before the party. Even if she could contrive some
dread sickness that would keep herself at home, there was no way she could
prevent Giles from attending.

The
next morning, she set out herself in the canoe for Harrington Hundred, her
excuse the need to borrow Susannah's recipe for mushroom sauce to accompany the
plover Giles had contrived to shoot yesterday. Ginny had reasoned that Robert
and his guest would do their traveling around the plantation in the early part
of the day, since dinner was in the early afternoon, and after that there would
be little time before dusk for extensive horseback journeying through the
woods. It was nine o'clock when she tied up the canoe at the landing stage and
went swiftly up to the house —an hour when no self-respecting man would be in
evidence, when the house belonged to the women, children, and servants.

All
was bustle, as she had expected, and she ran Susannah to earth in the dairy
where she was instructing the dairymaids on the quantity of cream she would
require for the party preparations,  “Ginny, you are well come, indeed,"
Susannah declared. "I cannot recall how much cream you will require for
the tansy."

"A
quart," Ginny supplied, "and twenty eggs. Forgive my intrusion,
Cousin, but I would borrow from you the recipe for mushroom sauce that goes so
well with fowl. You are not, I trust, occupied with your guest at
present."

"No,
indeed not, they are gone up river."

Reassured,
Ginny accompanied Susannah into the house, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign
of Jed. There was none; so seeing little option, she asked the question
directly. "Does your guest bring his own servants with him, Susannah? Or
are you obliged to provide for him yourself?"

"No,
he is quite alone, but he seems well able to care for himself," Susannah
replied. "He is a soldier, and I think not accustomed
to
much
coddling."

Ginny
began to breathe more easily and took her leave soon after, hurrying down to
the landing stage, anxious now to be gone. She had not told Giles where she was
going but had left him abed, sleeping off the after-effects of the previous
night's drinking. If he had woken and, wanting her, found her absent, his
temper would not be improved.

She
saw the rowboat, pulled by a sturdy oarsman, approaching the landing stage just
as she reached it from the garden. The sun glinted off the auburn head of one
of the boat's occupants, sitting on the thwart, his back to her. Ginny found that
she could not take another step as she gazed at him, and it was as if the last
fourteen months of separation had never been. Her lips formed his name, and she
would have called it out, as naturally and inevitably as if there were no
husband waiting for her, except that Robert Harrington called to her first.