The Flood-Tide (46 page)

‘Oh yes,' William said. It was not much, but the way he said it was all.

Other things he had to tell were not so cheerful. They naturally wished to understand the circumstances of Thomas's death, and he recounted the matter and the rest of the battle in Chesapeake Bay; which naturally led Allen to ask if he had heard any news of Charles.

‘We thought he must be dead, since we have heard nothing for so long. Did you happen to find anything out?’

William stared. 'Don't you know? I made sure you must have heard by now, from them or from Angus.'

‘They are alive then?'

‘Oh yes,' William said. 'I came across them in New York. There's an agency there set up to deal with the exiles—'

‘Exiles!' Jemima and Allen exclaimed at once.

‘—to succour them, and send them on to the new settlements. There was talk of a settlement in Australia for them, but nothing has come of it so far. Most of them are sent to Canada, and given land, and some compensation -money to help them set up. A few come back to England, but it isn't encouraged.'

‘Good God! I had not thought of anything like this,' Allen said. 'Exiled, indeed! For remaining loyal to Britain, I suppose?’

William, who had heard the whole story from Charles -his relief at meeting someone he knew had made him more than usually voluble - wondered how much of it to tell Allen, and decided in the end to keep his peace. 'That's right. It happened all over the country. The agency reckons there have been about fifty thousand so far, and more to come. It will change the structure of their society in the new United States, but I don't suppose they care about that.'

‘And Charles has chosen to go to Canada?' Jemima asked.

‘Yes. It seems that the compensation in land if they go to Canada is very generous, and he did not think they would settle happily in England now. He has written to Angus to ask him if he will find a way to release his share of their father's fortune to him - I thought Angus would have written to you by now, but perhaps the letter is on its way. They need almost everything - he and Eugenie and the children were banished with nothing but their clothes, and Eugenie is with child again.'

‘A sad business,' Jemima said. 'It will be hard for them to start again with nothing, though Charles is used to living rough, from his expeditions. But from what he told us of his wife, I don't suppose she can ever have known hardship.'

‘She's much stronger than she appears,' William said with a certain respect. 'She has pirate blood, and I suppose it will out.'

‘Pirate blood? What can you mean?’

But at that moment Oxhey came in to announce that supper was ready, and the subject was abandoned for the moment. Conversation was lively through the meal. Father Ramsay joined them at table, and was eager to examine his old charge and determine how far his influence had shaped the young man; everyone, but Edward and James in particular, was anxious to hear William's adventures and stories of the battles he had been in; and William was determined to have all the details of the changes that had taken place in his absence. One thing Jemima discovered about her son was that shipboard life had given him a capacity for liquor which, though he seemed able to carry it like a gentleman, reminded her uneasily of her first husband. She had never liked to see wine quaffed like ale; and when the port was brought, William asked apologetically if there was any brandy.

‘I know there won't be any rum,' he added, trying to make a joke of it, but his words reminded Jemima that on shipboard the daily rum ration, which was all that made life tolerable for the tars, was served even to the midshipmen hardly out of boyhood. Well, it was his first day home, and no doubt he would drop the habit once he had settled in. For the moment she let it pass without fuss, and caught Allen's eye to nod consent to the notion. Father Ramsay greeted the brandy with more cheerfulness than he ever greeted the port, for he had been brought up in Scotland, where it was almost as common as their own
usquebaugh,
and drank along with William, which took the edge off the situation.

They were so deep in conversation that it was only Oxhey ringing the bell that reminded them it was time for night prayers and bed, and they all went to the chapel, where Father Ramsay offered a special prayer of thanks for William's safe return. Jemima, who had William kneeling beside her, touched his hand at that moment and smiled at him, and when he smiled back at her he was a stranger again, and it made her shiver.

When prayers were over, Father Ramsay called William to him to say goodnight before he went up to bed by his own stairs from the vestry. Jemima walked out with Allen but lingered in the hall for the same reason. But when William came out, he was with Edward, the latter's arm draped about his shoulders, and Edward said, 'We're going to sit up and talk for a while, Mother. The fire's still good in the drawing room.'

‘I'm sure William must be tired,' Jemima reminded him. William gave again his stranger's smile. He was taller and heavier than Edward, and it looked strange for him to have Edward's arm about him protectively like that.

‘Oh no, ma'am, I'm not tired at all. I couldn't sleep now, if I tried.'

‘I suppose you're used to sleeping in four-hour stretches,' Allen said pleasantly. 'Come, my love, let's leave the young people to it. You and I know where we belong.'

‘Very well,' Jemima consented, but a little uneasily, though she did not know why. 'Goodnight, my sons. God bless you. James—?'

‘I think I'll stay up a while too,' James said with superb nonchalance, but with a pleading look in his eyes that begged her not to shame him in front of his big brothers, so she merely nodded and turned away with Allen.

‘They'll want to hear the bloody details that he doesn't like to tell you,' Allen said to her when they were out of earshot. 'And perhaps they also suspect that William knows a little more about the ladies of Kingston than he's admitted to us.’

Jemima gave him a tired smile, and leaned against him a little. 'I doubt if there can be anything he can tell James on
that
subject, after that business with Maggie Henshaw.’

*

William did not come down to Mass the next morning, but Jemima thought he was probably tired after all, and did not send for him. He came in while they were breakfasting, looking fresh and trim, and she felt a thrill of pride in him, that he had grown so fine and handsome.

‘I was thinking, William,' she said, 'that you might like to ride over the estate today, and see some of the changes for yourself. I've got a very nice young horse up that you could have.'

‘Lord, ma'am, I haven't been on a horse in eight years,' William said with a faint tinge of dismay in his voice. 'You know, the last time I rode, it was on old Dove - is he still alive? Dear, stout old fellow!'

‘Yes, he's still alive, though we don't work him much any more. He potters about in the home paddock, and sometimes carries a load for someone, but he's - well, he's older than you, I know, but I can't quite recall how old,' Jemima said, completely diverted.

‘I was thinking of walking up to Bachelor Hill this morning with a gun - the rabbits are becoming a nuisance,' Edward said. 'Would you like to come, and stretch your legs?'

‘Yes, indeed, what a good idea,' William said.

‘You get a good view from the hill, too, of the new enclosures,' Edward added as a sop to Jemima, who knew herself ousted, and just for a moment was hurt. But of course, a young man wanted the company of other young men, not his elderly mother. She pushed down her unreasonable feelings, and forced herself to smile.

Allen, who always knew exactly what was going on in her mind, rewarded her efforts and said, 'I have to go in to York today, my love. Shall we take the carriage? If you can find something to amuse you while I attend to business, we could have dinner together at the King's Arms, and then take a stroll along the riverbank. I dare say you should like to eat something without brick dust seasoning?’

She smiled her gratitude at him. It was a scheme to delight her, to spend most of a day with him, and eat out. ‘I haven't been into the city in an age,' she said happily. ‘And there are dozens of calls I ought to make. I never seem to have the leisure for formal calls, and one ought not to neglect them.'

‘Well, Mama, if you are dining out, shall not we take our dinner at the Hare and Heather, or somewhere, so that the kitchen need only provide a nursery dinner?' Edward suggested. 'Then the workmen can get on with the kitchen wall today.'

‘Yes, certainly. I'll tell Mrs Mappin to tell Abram,' Jemima said, automatically getting to her feet to go and call for a servant.

Allen caught her hand as she passed and said, 'When this work is all finished, you will only need to reach for a bell-rope to do that.’

Jemima smiled down at him. 'Somehow I can't imagine I'll ever get used to it.’

*

That day's outing to York was doubly welcome, for autumn was always the busiest time of the year, and it was the only time she and Allen had alone together for weeks. After the first day, Jemima also rather lost sight of William, for she was too busy to notice very much what anyone else was doing. When she saw him, he seemed happy enough, and did not evinc any need for her attention, and so she simply smiled and passed him by. The only thing that worried her was that he had only once come to Mass in the Chapel, although when the whole family went into the city on Sunday morning for the weekly service he accompanied them. But she assumed - perhaps because it was convenient to assume - that Father Ramsay would tackle him about it, and that it would right itself in the end.

At Michaelmas they gave a ball at Morland Place, and with three handsome and unmarried young Morland men at home, there was an eagerness on the part of mamas with unmarried daughters for invitations, which caused Jemima to be troubled by a great many formal callers, just at a time when she had no leisure to be polite. The ball could not, in any case, as she found herself explaining again and again to successive callers, be very grand, nor could there be the usual dinner beforehand, on account of the disruption caused by the building works, but there would be a buffet supper, and everyone assured her that an invitation of any sort to Morland Place was an honour, dear Lady Morland, even if it was only to take tea.

The Ansteys had successfully married off their eldest, Augusta, but they had two more daughters 'out' - Celia who was eighteen and Margaret, seventeen - for whom they were anxious to find matches. The Fussells had Amelia, seventeen, and Caroline, sixteen, amongst their brood, and then there was Tom Loveday's younger sister, Mary, who since she was not
very
handsome, and rather too clever, was Celia Anstey's
particular
friend.

It amused Jemima enormously on the evening of the ball to see the different attitudes of the young belles to her three sons. Edward, though he had beautiful manners, had been to Oxford, was really quite handsome, and was the close friend of an earl's son, was the least pursued of the three, for he had been at home too long to be a novelty. All the young ladies were at one in agreeing that he was incomparably the best match - he was, after all, the eldestson - and that his air and countenance were the best of any young man in or near York; but their eyes were always sliding off after the other two.

William was the prize that night, naturally so, on account of his only just having arrived. He was a naval officer, which was exciting, and he had been in the war, which was thrilling, and he had a long pigtail of silvery-blond hair, which set them all wriggling. On the other hand, Jemima gathered as she drifted about the room overhearing whispers, his very weather-tanned skin told against him, and the young women allowed, with some puzzlement amongst themselves, that there was something just a little cold and frightening about him. They were not sure what it was, for he smiled a great deal, danced every dance, and said all the right things, and paid very graceful compliments. All the same, they murmured, all the same .. .

Jemima thought she understood. He was too much a man for them: he had sailed the seas, faced danger, seen death close to, while they had never been further from their homes than an hour in the carriage could take them. His mind, like his body, was grown-up, and strong, and toughened to life, and it frightened them. She also noticed, again with faint unease, how much he drank that evening, although never once appearing to be the worse for it. That was part of his adulthood that would alarm these soft and silly girls.

And then there was James, handsome, smiling, wicked James. She noticed that at his approach the girls giggled madly, and clustered together, rather like, she caught herself thinking, a group of mares when Artembares was turned into their field. He was the best known to them of the Morland brothers; he said outrageous things, danced divinely, was incomparably the handsomest; and despite being only sixteen, he seemed to be able to have any of them he wanted, just for the asking. But he danced with each of them in turn, quite impartially, leaving them at the end of their pair flushed and flustered, while he remained smilingly cool. A piece of caution, Jemima thought, that sat strangely on such a young man's shoulders.

But towards the end of the evening she happened to see him dancing again with Mary Loveday, with whom, she now realized, he had danced more often than any of the others, and his demeanour was quite different. Mary Loveday was more than three years older than him, besides having a reputation for cleverness, and as they danced together, James's expression was pleasant and serious, and they seemed to converse on quite a different level from the normal light chatter and laughing repartee of the ballroom.