Текст книги "A Place Called Freedom"

Автор книги: Ken Follett

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

35

ALL THE NEXT MORNING LIZZIE LAY IN BED WITH A headache so severe she could barely speak.

Sarah came in with breakfast, looking frightened. Lizzie sipped some tea then closed her eyes again.

When the cook came to take the tray away Lizzie said: “Is Mr. Jamisson gone?”

“Yes, madam. He left for Williamsburg at first light. Mr. Lennox gone with him.”

Lizzie felt a little better.

A few minutes later Mack burst into the room. He stood beside her bed and stared at her, shaking with rage. He reached out and felt her face with trembling fingers. Although her bruises were tender, his touch was light, and he did not hurt her; in fact she found it comforting. She took his hand and kissed his palm. They sat together for a long time, not speaking. Lizzie’s pain began to ease. After a while she fell asleep. When she woke up he had gone.

In the afternoon Mildred came in and opened the blinds. Lizzie sat up while Mildred combed her hair. Then Mack came in with Dr. Finch.

“I didn’t send for you,” Lizzie said.

Mack said: “I fetched him.”

For some reason Lizzie felt ashamed of what had happened to her, and she wished Mack had not gone for the doctor. “What makes you think I’m sick?”

“You spent the morning in bed.”

“I might just be lazy.”

“And I might be the governor of Virginia.”

She relented and smiled. He cared for her, and that made her happy. “I’m grateful,” she said.

The doctor said: “I was told you had a headache.”

“I’m not ill, though,” she replied. What the hell, she thought, why not tell the truth? “My head hurts because my husband kicked it.”

“Hmm.” Finch looked embarrassed. “How’s your vision—blurred?”

“No.”

He put his hands on her temples and probed gently with his fingers. “Do you feel confused?”

“Love and marriage confuse me, but not because my head’s damaged. Ouch!”

“Is that where the blow landed?”

“Yes, damn it.”

“You’re lucky to have so much curly hair. It cushioned the impact. Any nausea?”

“Only when I think about my husband.” She realized she was sounding brittle. “But that’s no concern of yours, Doctor.”

“I’ll give you a drug to ease the pain. Don’t get too fond of it, it’s habit-forming. Send for me again if you have any trouble with your eyesight.”

When he had gone Mack sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. After a while he said: “If you don’t want him to kick your head you should leave him.”

She tried to think of a reason why she should stay. Her husband did not love her. They had no children and it seemed they never would. Their home was almost certainly forfeit. There was nothing to keep her.

“I wouldn’t know where to go,” she said.

“I would.” His face showed profound emotion. “I’m going to run away.”

Her heart missed a beat. She could not bear the thought of losing him.

“Peg will go with me,” he added.

Lizzie stared at him, saying nothing.

“Come with us,” he said.

There—it was out. He had hinted at it before—“Run away with some ne’er-do-well,” he had said—but now he was not hinting. She wanted to say “Yes, yes, today, now!” But she held back. She felt frightened. “Where will you go?” she said.

He took from his pocket a leather case and unfolded a map. “About a hundred miles west of here is a long mountain range. It starts way up in Pennsylvania and goes farther south than anyone knows. It’s high, too. But people say there’s a pass, called the Cumberland Gap, down here, where the Cumberland River rises. Beyond the mountains is wilderness. They say there aren’t even any Indians there, because the Sioux and the Cherokee have been fighting over it for generations and neither side can get the upper hand long enough to settle.”

She began to feel excited. “How would you get there?”

“Peg and I would walk. I’d head west from here to the foothills. Pepper Jones says there’s a trail that runs southwest, roughly parallel with the mountain range. I’d follow that to the Holston River, here on the map. Then strike out into the mountains.”

“And … if you were not alone?”

“If you come with me we can take a wagon and more supplies: tools, seed, and food. I won’t be a runaway then, I’ll be a servant, traveling with his mistress and her maid. In that case I’d go south to Richmond then west to Staunton. It’s longer, but Pepper says the roads are better. Pepper could be wrong but it’s the best information I’ve got.”

She felt scared and thrilled. “And once you reach the mountains?”

He smiled. “We’ll look for a valley with fish in the stream and deer in the woods, and perhaps a pair of eagles nesting in the highest trees. And there we’ll build a house.”

* * *

Lizzie packed blankets, woolen stockings, scissors, needles and thread. As she worked, her feelings seesawed from elation to terror. She was deliriously happy at the thought of running away with Mack. She imagined them riding through the wooded country side by side and sleeping together in a blanket under the trees. Then she thought of the hazards. They would have to kill their food day by day; build a house; plant corn; doctor their horses. The Indians might be hostile. There could be desperadoes roaming the territory. What if they got snowed in? They could starve to death!

Glancing out of her bedroom window she saw the buggy from MacLaine’s tavern in Fredericksburg. There was luggage on the back and a single figure on the passenger seat. The driver, an old drunk called Simmins, had obviously come to the wrong plantation. She went down to redirect him.

But when she stepped out onto the porch she recognized the passenger.

It was Jay’s mother, Alicia.

She was wearing black.

“Lady Jamisson!” Lizzie said in horror. “You should be in London!”

“Hello, Lizzie,” said her mother-in-law. “Sir George is dead.”

“Heart failure,” she said a few minutes later, sitting in the drawing room with a cup of tea. “He collapsed at his place of business. They brought him to Grosvenor Square but he died on the way.”

There was no sob in her voice, no hint of tears in her eyes, as she spoke of the death of her husband.

Lizzie remembered the young Alicia as pretty, rather than beautiful, and now there was little remaining of her youthful allure. She was just a middle-aged woman who had come to the end of a disappointing marriage. Lizzie pitied her. I’ll never be like her, she vowed. “Do you miss him?” she said hesitantly.

Alicia gave her a sharp look. “I married wealth and position, and that’s what I got. Olive was the only woman he loved, and he never let me forget it. I don’t ask for sympathy! I brought it on myself, and so I bore it for twenty-four years. But don’t ask me to mourn him. All I feel is a sense of release.”

“That’s dreadful,” Lizzie whispered. Such a fate had been in the cards for her, she thought with a shiver of dread. But she was not going to accept it. She was going to escape. However, she would have to be wary of Alicia.

“Where’s Jay?” said Alicia.

“He’s gone to Williamsburg to try to borrow money.’ ”

“The plantation hasn’t prospered, then.”

“Our tobacco crop was condemned.”

The shadow of sadness crossed Alicia’s face. Lizzie realized that Jay was a disappointment to his mother, just as he was to his wife—though Alicia would never admit it.

“I suppose you’re wondering what’s in Sir George’s will,” Alicia said.

The will had not crossed Lizzie’s mind. “Did he have much to bequeath? I thought the business was in trouble.”

“It was saved by the coal from High Glen. He died a very rich man.”

Lizzie wondered whether he had left anything to Alicia. If not she might expect to live with her son and daughter-in-law. “Did Sir George provide for you?”

“Oh, yes—my portion was settled before we married, I’m happy to say.”

“And Robert has inherited everything else?”

“That’s what we all expected. But my husband left a quarter of his wealth to be divided among any legitimate grandchildren alive within a year of his death. So your little baby is rich. When am I going to see him, or her? Which did you have?”

Alicia had obviously left London before Jay’s letter arrived. “A little girl,” Lizzie said.

“How nice. She’s going to be a rich woman.”

“She was born dead.”

Alicia offered no sympathy. “Hell,” she swore. “You must be sure to have another, quickly.”

Mack had loaded the wagon with seed, tools, rope, nails, cornmeal and salt He had opened the gun room with Lizzie’s key and taken all the rifles and ammunition. He had also loaded a plowshare. When they reached their destination he would convert the wagon into a plow.

He would put four mares in the traces, he decided, and take two stallions in addition, so that they could breed. Jay Jamisson would be furious at the theft of his precious horses: he would mind that more than the loss of Lizzie, Mack felt sure.

While he was roping down the supplies, Lizzie came out.

“Who’s your visitor?” he asked her.

“Jay’s mother, Alicia.”

“Good God! I didn’t know she was coming.”

“Nor did I.”

Mack frowned. Alicia was no threat to his plans but her husband might be. “Is Sir George coming?”

“He’s dead.”

That was a relief. “Praise be. The world is well rid of him.”

“Can we still leave?”

“I don’t see why not. Alicia can’t stop us.”

“What if she goes to the sheriff and says we’ve run away and stolen all this?” She indicated the pile of supplies on the wagon.

“Remember our story. You’re going to visit a cousin who has just started to farm in North Carolina. You’re taking gifts.”

“Even though we’re bankrupt.”

“Virginians are famous for being generous when they can’t afford it.”

Lizzie nodded. “I’ll make sure Colonel Thumson and Suzy Delahaye hear of my plans.”

“Tell them that your mother-in-law disapproves and she may try to make trouble for you.”

“Good idea. The sheriff won’t want to get involved in a family quarrel.” She paused. The look on her face made his heart race. Hesitantly she said: “When … when shall we leave?”

He smiled. “Before first light. I’ll have the wagon taken down to the quarters tonight, so that we won’t make much noise as we go. By the time Alicia wakes up we’ll be gone.”

She squeezed his arm quickly then hurried back into the house.

Mack came to Lizzie’s bed that night.

She was lying awake, full of fear and excitement, thinking of the adventure that would begin in the morning, when he came silently into the room. He kissed her lips, threw off his clothes, and slipped into bed beside her.

They made love, then lay talking in low voices about tomorrow, then made love again. As dawn approached Mack drifted into a doze, but Lizzie stayed awake, looking at his features in the firelight, thinking of the journey in space and time that had brought them from High Glen all the way to this bed.

Soon he stirred. They kissed again, a long, contented kiss, then they got up.

Mack went to the stables while Lizzie got ready. Her heart raced as she dressed. She pinned up her hair and put on breeches, riding boots, a shirt and a waistcoat. She packed a dress she could quickly slip on if she needed to revert to being a wealthy woman. She was frightened of the journey they were about to take, but she had no qualms about Mack. She felt so close to him that she would trust him with her life.

When he came for her she was sitting at the window in her coat and three-cornered hat. He smiled to see her in her favorite clothes. They held hands and tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house.

The wagon was waiting down by the road, out of sight. Peg was already sitting on the seat, wrapped in a blanket. Jimmy, the stable boy, had put four horses in harness and roped two more to the back. All the slaves were there to say good-bye. Lizzie kissed Mildred and Sarah, and Mack shook hands with Kobe and Cass. Bess, the field hand who had been injured on the night Lizzie lost her baby, threw her arms around Lizzie and sobbed. They all stood silent in the starlight and watched as Mack and Lizzie climbed on the wagon.

Mack cracked the reins and said: “Hup! Walk on!”

The horses took the strain, the wagon jerked and they moved off.

At the road Mack turned the horses in the direction of Fredericksburg. Lizzie looked back. The field hands were standing in complete silence, waving.

A moment later they were gone from sight.

Lizzie looked ahead. In the distance, dawn was breaking.

36

MATTHEW MURCHMAN WAS OUT OF TOWN WHEN JAY and Lennox reached Williamsburg. He might be back tomorrow, his servant said. Jay scribbled a note saying he needed to borrow more money and would like to see the lawyer at his earliest convenience. He left the office in a bad temper. His affairs were in a complete mess and he was impatient to do something about it.

Next day, forced to kill time, he went along to the red-and-gray-brick Capitol building. Dissolved by the governor last year, the assembly had reconvened after an election. The Hall of Burgesses was a modest, dark room with rows of benches on either side and a kind of sentry box for the speaker in the middle. Jay and a handful of other observers stood at the back, behind a rail.

He swiftly realized that the colony’s politics were in turmoil. Virginia, the oldest English settlement on the continent, seemed ready to defy its rightful king.

The burgesses were discussing the latest threat from Westminster: the British Parliament was claiming that anyone accused of treason could be forced to return to London to stand trial, under a statute that dated back to Henry VIII.

Feelings ran high in the room. Jay watched in disgust as one respectable landowner after another stood up and attacked the king. In the end they passed a resolution saying that the treason statute went contrary to the British subject’s right to trial by a jury of his peers.

They went on to the usual gripes about paying taxes while having no voice in the Westminster Parliament. “No taxation without representation” was their parrot cry. This time, however, they went farther than usual, and affirmed their right to cooperate with other colonial assemblies in opposition to royal demands.

Jay felt sure the governor could not let that pass, and he was right. Just before dinnertime, when the burgesses were discussing a lesser local topic, the sergeant-at-arms interrupted the proceedings to call out: “Mr. Speaker, a message from the governor.”

He handed a sheet of paper to the clerk, who read it and said: “Mr. Speaker, the governor commands the im mediate attendance of your House in the council chamber.”

Now they’re in trouble, Jay thought with relish.

He followed the burgesses as they trooped up the stairs and through the passage. The spectators stood in the hall outside the council chamber and looked through the open doors. Governor Botetourt, the living embodiment of the iron fist in the velvet glove, sat at the head of an oval table. He spoke very briefly. “I have heard of your resolves,” he said. “You have made it my duty to dissolve you. You are dissolved accordingly.”

There was a stunned silence.

“That will be all,” he said impatiently.

Jay concealed his glee as the burgesses slowly filed out of the chamber. They collected their papers downstairs and drifted into the courtyard.

Jay made his way to the Raleigh Tavern and sat in the bar. He ordered his midday meal and flirted with a barmaid who was falling in love with him. As he waited he was surprised to see many of the burgesses go past, heading for one of the larger rooms in the rear. He wondered if they were plotting further treason.

When he had eaten he went to investigate.

As he had guessed, the burgesses were holding a debate. They made no attempt to hide their sedition. They were blindly convinced of the lightness of their cause, and that gave them a kind of mad self-confidence. Don’t they understand, Jay asked himself, that they’re inviting the wrath of one of the world’s great monarchies? Do they suppose they can get away with this in the end? Don’t they realize that the might of the British army will sooner or later wipe them all out?

They did not, evidently, and so arrogant were they that no one protested when Jay took a seat at the back of the room, although many there knew he was loyal to the Crown.

One of the hotheads was speaking, and Jay recognized George Washington, a former army officer who had made a lot of money in land speculation. He was not much of an orator, but there was a steely determination about him that struck Jay forcibly.

Washington had a plan. In the northern colonies, he said, leading men had formed associations whose members agreed not to import British goods. If Virginians really wanted to put pressure on the London government they should do the same.

If ever I heard a treasonable speech, Jay thought angrily, that was it.

His father’s enterprise would suffer further if Washington got his way. As well as convicts, Sir George shipped cargoes of tea, furniture, rope, machinery and a host of luxuries and manufactures that the colonists could not produce themselves. His trade with the North was already down to a fraction of its former worth—that was why the business had been in crisis a year ago.

Not everyone agreed with Washington. Some burgesses pointed out that the northern colonies had more industry and could make many essentials for themselves, whereas the South depended more on imports. What will we do, they said, without sewing thread or cloth?

Washington said there might be exceptions, and the assembly began to get down to details. Someone proposed a ban on slaughtering lambs, to increase the local production of wool. Before long Washington suggested a small committee to thrash out the technicalities. The proposal was passed and the committee members were chosen.

Jay left the room in disgust. As he passed through the hall Lennox approached him with a message. It was from Murchman. He was back in town, he had read Mr. Jamisson’s note, and he would be honored to receive Mr. Jamisson at nine o’clock in the morning.

The political crisis had distracted Jay briefly, but now his personal troubles came back to him and kept him awake all night. At times he blamed his father for giving him a plantation that could not make money. Then he would curse Lennox for overmanuring the fields instead of clearing new land. He wondered if his tobacco crop had in fact been perfectly all right, and the Virginian inspectors had burned it just to punish him for his loyalty to the English king. As he tossed and turned in the narrow bed, he even began to think Lizzie might have willed the stillborn child to spite him.

He got to Murchman’s house early. This was his only chance. No matter where the fault lay, he had failed to make the plantation profitable. If he could not borrow more money his creditors would foreclose the mortgage and he would be homeless as well as penniless.

Murchman seemed nervous. “I’ve arranged for your creditor to come and meet you,” he said.

“Creditor? You told me it was a syndicate.”

“Ah, yes—a minor deception, I’m sorry. The individual wanted to remain anonymous.”

“So why has he decided to reveal himself now?”

“I … I couldn’t say.”

“Well, I suppose he must be planning to lend me the money I need—otherwise why bother to meet me?”

“I daresay you’re right—he hasn’t confided in me.”

Jay heard a knock at the front door and low voices as someone was admitted.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“I think I’ll let him introduce himself.”

The door opened and in walked Jay’s brother, Robert.

Jay leaped to his feet, astonished. “You!” he said. “When did you get here?”

“A few days ago,” Robert said.

Jay held out his hand and Robert shook it briefly. It was almost a year since Jay had seen him last, and Robert was getting more and more like their father: beefy, scowling, curt. “So it was you who loaned me the money?” Jay said.

“It was Father,” Robert said.

“Thank God! I was afraid I might not be able to borrow more from a stranger.”

“But Father’s not your creditor anymore,” Robert said. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Jay sat down again abruptly. The shock was profound. Father was not yet fifty. “How …?”

“Heart failure.”

Jay felt as if a support had been pulled away from beneath him. His father had treated him badly, but he had always been there, consistent and seemingly indestructible. Suddenly the world had become a more insecure place. Although he was already sitting down Jay wanted to lean on something.

He looked again at his brother. There was an expression of vindictive triumph on Robert’s face. Why was he pleased? “There’s something else,” Jay said. “What are you looking so damned smug about?”

“I’m your creditor now,” Robert said.

Jay saw what was coming. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “You swine,” he whispered.

Robert nodded. “I’m foreclosing on your mortgage. The tobacco plantation is mine. I’ve done the same with High Glen: bought up the mortgages and foreclosed. That belongs to me now.”

Jay could hardly speak. “You must have planned this,” he said with a struggle.

Robert nodded.

Jay fought back tears. “You and Father …”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been ruined by my own family.”

“You’ve been ruined by yourself. You’re lazy and foolish and weak.”

Jay ignored his insults. All he could think of was that his own father had plotted his downfall. He remembered how the letter from Murchman had come just a few days after his arrival in Virginia. Father must have written in advance, ordering the lawyer to offer a mortgage. He had anticipated that the plantation would get into difficulties and he had planned to take it back from Jay. His father was dead but had sent this message of rejection from beyond the grave.

Jay stood up slowly, with a painful effort, like an old man. Robert stood silent, looking scornful and haughty. Murchman had the grace to act guilty. With an embarrassed look on his face he hurried to the door and held it for Jay. Slowly Jay walked through the hall and out into the muddy street.

Jay was drunk by dinnertime.

He was so drunk that even Mandy, the barmaid who was falling in love with him, appeared to lose interest. That evening he passed out in the bar of the Raleigh. Lennox must have put him to bed, for he woke up in his room the following morning.

He thought of killing himself. He had nothing to live for: no home, no future, no children. He would never amount to anything in Virginia now that he had gone bankrupt, and he could not bear to go back to Britain. His wife hated him and even Felia now belonged to his brother. The only question was whether to put a bullet into his head or drink himself to death.

He was drinking brandy again at eleven o’clock in the morning when his mother walked into the bar.

When he saw her he thought perhaps he was already going mad. He stood up and stared at her, frightened. Reading his mind, as always, she said: “No, I’m not a ghost.” She kissed him and sat down.

When he recovered his composure he said: “How did you find me?”

“I went to Fredericksburg and they told me you were here. Prepare yourself for a shock. Your father’s dead.”

“I know.”

That surprised her. “How?”

“Robert is here.”

“Why?”

Jay told her the story and explained that Robert was now the owner of both the plantation and High Glen.

“I was afraid the two of them were planning something like that,” she said bitterly.

“I’m ruined,” he said. “I was thinking of killing myself.”

Her eyes widened. “Then Robert didn’t tell you what was in your father’s will.”

Suddenly Jay saw a gleam of hope. “Did he leave me something?”

“Not you, no. Your child.”

Jay’s heart sank again. “The child was stillborn.”

“A quarter of the estate goes to any grandchildren of your father born within a year of his death. If there are no grandchildren after a year, Robert gets everything.”

“A quarter? That’s a fortune!”

“All you have to do is make Lizzie pregnant again.”

Jay managed a grin. “Well, I know how to do that, anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure. She’s run away with that coal miner.”

“What?”

“She left, with McAsh.”

“Good God! She’s left me? And gone off with a convict?” It was deeply humiliating. Jay looked away. “I’ll never live this down. Good God.”

“That child is with them, Peg Knapp. They took a wagon and six of your horses and enough supplies to start several farms.”

“Damned thieves!” He felt outraged and helpless. “Couldn’t you stop them?”

“I tried the sheriff—but Lizzie had been clever. She gave out a story that she was taking gifts to a cousin in North Carolina. The neighbors told the sheriff I was just a cantankerous mother-in-law trying to stir up trouble.”

“They all hate me because I’m loyal to the king.” The seesaw of hope and despair became too much for Jay and he sank into lethargy. “It’s no good,” he said. “Fate is against me.”

“Don’t give up yet!”

Mandy, the barmaid, interrupted to ask Alicia what she would like. She ordered tea. Mandy smiled coquettishly at Jay.

“I could have a child with another woman,” he said as Mandy went away.

Alicia looked scornfully at the barmaid’s wiggling rear and said: “No good. The grandchild has to be legitimate.”

“Could I divorce Lizzie?”

“No. It requires an act of Parliament and a fortune in money, and anyway we don’t have the time. While Lizzie is alive it has to be her.”

“I’ve no idea where she’s gone.”

“I do.”

Jay stared at his mother. Her cleverness never ceased to amaze him. “How do you know?”

“I followed them.”

He shook his head in incredulous admiration. “How did you do that?”

“It wasn’t difficult. I kept asking people if they had seen a four-horse wagon with a man, a woman and a child. There’s not so much traffic that people forget.”

“Where did they go?”

“They came south to Richmond. There they took a road called Three Notch Trail and headed west, toward the mountains. I turned east and came here. If you leave this morning you’ll be only three days behind them.”

Jay thought about it. He hated the idea of chasing after a runaway wife: it made him look such a fool. But it was his only chance of inheriting. And a quarter of Father’s estate was a huge fortune.

What would he do when he caught up with her? “What if Lizzie won’t come back?” he said.

His mother’s face set in grim lines of determination. “There is one other possibility, of course,” she said. She looked at Mandy then turned her cool gaze back on Jay. “You could make another woman pregnant, and marry her, and inherit—if Lizzie suddenly died.”

He stared at his mother for a long moment.

She went on: “They’re headed for the wilderness, beyond the law. Anything can happen out there: there are no sheriffs, no coroners. Sudden death is normal and no one questions it.”

Jay swallowed dryly and reached for his drink. His mother put her hand on the glass to prevent him. “No more,” she said. “You have to get started.”

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand.

“Take Lennox with you,” she advised. “If worse comes to worst, and you can’t persuade or force Lizzie to come back with you—he will know how to manage it.”

Jay nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll do it.”