Bon Marche (16 page)

“Ass!” Katherine responded angrily. “He's certainly a better catch than your bastard Frenchman, who saw nothing wrong in being intimate with your sister. Or have you conveniently forgotten
that
in your euphoric state of puppy love?”

“You bitch!” Martha screamed at her. “You horrid bitch!”

By Charles:
“Why should
I
have to wait?” he complained to Andrew MacCallum, after several months had passed without news of any marriage plans of Katherine and Funston.

“Mr. Statler obviously feels that he's doing the right thing,” the tutor commented.

“The right thing!” Dewey shook his head sadly. “What I can't understand, Andrew, is how Mr. Statler sees Funston as an acceptable son-in-law. He's such a—”

MacCallum grinned. “You don't have to say it. But look at it this way: the Lees are an important family in Virginia. And in this society, family—breeding, if you will—is paramount. Marshall probably isn't too happy with Funston. But he's a Lee! And there's value in the coupling of the Lee and Statler families.”

“It sounds too much like horse breeding to suit me.”

“In a sense, the same value judgments are in play,” Andrew admitted. “Good blood with good blood.”

By Katherine
: “Ah 'clare,” Katherine overheard one of the housemaids saying one day, “Ah caint unnerstan' why Miss Katherine don' grab thet stud by th' ears an' drag 'im to th' preacher.”

“Mebbe the ears ain't where she ought to grab 'im,” another suggested. The women roared with laughter.

As Katherine seethed.

Passage of time added to the stress, the pressure finally going back to Marshall Statler.

Early in January 1785, Charles sat down with Statler to review the racing season and to look ahead to the foaling schedule for the spring. Elkwood's record at the track had been an impressive one: its horses had started in sixty-seven races, winning fifty, a mark probably unequaled among Virginia horsemen. That Statler was more than a little pleased with the work of his protégé was obvious.

Charles sought the words to take advantage of that pleasurable feeling. “Sir, there's another matter—”

“Oh, by the way,” Statler interrupted, “I've had a communication from Mr. Hyde at Fredericksburg about the possibility of importing an English stallion named Shark. A good one at the track, apparently. Winner of some sixteen thousand pounds and presented with ‘The Whip' at Newmarket. That's the emblem of the British championship. Mr. Hyde believes he might become available.”

“I think we ought to look into it.”

“So do I. Now, you were saying, another matter?”

“Yes, sir,” Charles started cautiously. “Martha's soon to be seventeen, and I'll be twenty, and there's been no move by Miss Katherine to—”

Statler smiled at him. “All right, Charles, I'll speak to Katherine. I can appreciate that you feel you've waited long enough.”

It all came to a head on a cold February evening. Lee had come to Elkwood for dinner, and, as darkness fell, Katherine and Funston strolled away from the mansion, making their way to the breeding barn. As they had done on other occasions, they climbed the ladder to the loft on the second floor and settled down in the fragrant hay.

Funston fumbled to undo Katherine's bodice in a clumsy and rough manner. She pushed him away.

He laughed crudely. “I'm just trying to offer some warming exercise on this otherwise cold evening.”

“Is that
all
you think about?”

“Occasionally other thoughts do manage to force their way in.” He fondled her breasts through the clothing.

She heard a mental echo of the housemaids' raucous laughter. “Stop it! I'm not one of your Petersburg whores!”

Funston sank back in the hay, smirking at her. “You're right, Katie, you're not. You're much more talented than they.”

Katherine fought to control her anger, determined to get the upper hand on the arrogant Lee. She smiled sweetly at him. “My superior talents, Funston, are more apparent than you think.”

“Oh? How's that?” He was still smirking.

“I'm pregnant,” she lied.

The smirk was gone. He stared at her. “Pregnant?”

“With child,” she insisted, with as much pride as she could feign.

“Well, well,” Funston sighed. He paused in thought. “Somehow what comes to mind, Katie, is a scrap from Mr. Shakespeare: ‘she that makes me sin awards me pain.'”

“Funston!”

“Just seeking to bring some levity to this otherwise tense situation.” His demeanor sobered. “What now?”

“I think we should go to Father and set a wedding date, don't you?”

Lee shrugged in agreement. And resignation.

10

I
NVITATIONS
went out to some three hundred of Virginia's elite—the first families of the Old Dominion—to attend the weddings of the daughters of Marshall Statler.

Plural. Weddings. Daughters.

There was to be a double wedding ceremony at Elkwood on the first Saturday in April, a date selected because the weather could be expected to be cooperative then and the guests would be able to travel comfortably.

Unused to asking others to take a role in his decisions, the master of the plantation had decided on the double wedding arbitrarily but with the best of intentions. A double wedding, he thought, would be a happy compromise: Katherine would be married first, and Charles and Martha wouldn't have to wait any longer.

It was a compromise that pleased only himself.

Charles and Martha had wanted their wedding to be something intensely personal, not a show at Elkwood. Both realized they would offend Statler if they complained, so they kept silent. Except in those moments when they were alone.

“I hope I have the even temper,” Charles said, “to share my most important day with that arrogant fool, Funston.”

Martha tried to placate him. “You won't be sharing it with Funston, you'll be sharing it with me.” She kissed him. “Funston will be merely a witness. One of many.”

Her sister had to listen to a tirade.

“What an insult!” Lee stormed. “To be asked to be associated on my own wedding day with a … a
foreigner
of no known background! Good God! I have half a mind to refuse.”

Katherine, who was also displeased with the turn of events, nevertheless sounded more practical. “Very well, then, refuse! And leave me with a bastard child.”

She was comfortable with the lie. It had given her what she wanted.

II

“Y
OUNG
ladies and gentlemen,” Statler said with deliberate formality, “I wish to offer a toast to you all.”

It was the third Sunday in March. Statler had planned a dinner that he meant to be sumptuous and special. He had gone into his wine cellar for his finest brandy.

They raised their glasses.

“To love, and its future at Elkwood,” he intoned. “To health, and its continuation at Elkwood. To happiness, and its proliferation at Elkwood. And to Elkwood itself, which is about to embark on its most momentous era!”

Glasses were clinked together.

“Now,” Statler continued, “there are some realities we must discuss—happy realities, really, because we are about to become one family, united in Elkwood. I need not tell you that I'm already proud of this plantation. But with the addition of these two young men”—a nod to Charles, then to Funston—“Elkwood will become even greater.”

There was not another sound in the dining room.

“After a proper time for a honeymoon”—he smiled broadly—”Katherine and Funston will live here in this mansion. And Funston, as the husband of my elder daughter, will be placed in charge of the day-to-day operations of this estate.”

Lee came half out of his chair. “Excuse me, sir, but—”

Statler raised a hand to stop him.

“One moment, please, Funston. Charles, as the husband of my younger daughter—and in recognition of the substantial role he has already played in this aspect of Elkwood—will be in complete charge of the horse breeding and racing. Because I realize that both of you young couples will want, in your married states, a measure of privacy, Martha and Charles will be deeded some six hundred acres, that portion of Elkwood adjacent to the river, where a new home will be built for them. Work will start immediately.”

Statler clapped his hands together like a delighted child. “Now, what think you of that?”

Lee coughed nervously. “Sir, I'm appreciative of the offer, but my responsibilities, now and in the future, lie at Marsh Run, and I don't see how—”

“Your father and I have fully discussed this matter,” Statler cut in, “and we're in agreement that, at this time, he is perfectly capable in his role as master of Marsh Run, and that my plan to have you manage Elkwood is valid now and for quite a few years into the future.”

Funston was in shock. “But, sir … you will still be master here.”

“That's just it, Funston, I won't be. I intend to retire. To be—how shall I put this?—Elkwood's elder statesman, available to both you and Charles for whatever guidance you may desire of me. But you young men will be in charge. Yes, young sirs, in charge!”

Lee's face was drained of its color. “I'm sorry, sir, I simply don't understand this. My ties with Marsh Run—”

“Will continue as before,” Statler interrupted again. “There will eventually, it seems clear to me, come a time when the assets of Elkwood and Marsh Run will become one—a time when you and Charles will see fit to meld the two estates together.”

He laughed gaily. “I can foresee the day when the joint racing stable of Elkwood and Marsh Run will be the greatest in this whole wonderful country!”

Charles was left almost speechless. Like Funston, he was appalled by the prospect of what Statler intended to put into being, with the acquiescence of John Lee.

He tried to put on a brave face. “I'm overwhelmed, sir, by your generosity. I'll make every effort to justify your trust in me.”

They were empty words; the blow to the young man went deep.
Elkwood would not be his! Could never be his!
The thoughts that coursed through his mind made him feel guilty. But he couldn't dismiss them. It was an immutable fact that he was marrying the wrong daughter. Katherine, as the elder, could have given him Elkwood; Martha could not. He loved Martha, he told himself, but perhaps it was true that he loved the plantation, and the power it represented, more.

Young Dewey understood, if Statler did not, that the division of responsibilities gave Funston Lee control. No matter what Charles did, he would always be subservient to Lee. He would always be “that Frenchman.”

That wasn't good enough for him. It wasn't what his guardian spirit had told him he would have. And he meant to have it—if not at Elkwood, then elsewhere!

The dinner ended, Statler sat in his drawing room with the Scottish tutor. “I wish I had the words, Andrew, to express to you how full my heart is tonight. I know there might be some … uh … growing pains in this arrangement, but I see a new day for Elkwood. A glorious new day.”

“Yes, sir, I'm sure it will be.” MacCallum didn't want to say anything to dampen Statler's enthusiasm.

However, the Scotsman was fully aware of the animosity between Charles and Funston. And he marveled at Statler's ability to submerge that reality. Statler, he was certain, recognized the hostility between the two men, and it was only the gambler in him that allowed him to risk the future of Elkwood.

It would be a wager this time with long odds.

III

F
OR
some months an idea had been bouncing around in Dewey's consciousness, although he had managed to dismiss it many times as either impractical or, worse, stupid. But on the night before his wedding, when sleep deserted him, Charles lit a candle and started a letter to the Comte de Grasse, Admiral of the French Fleet.

“Honorable Sir,” he wrote, “I begin this communication with great misgivings, fully aware that my unexplained departure”—he couldn't bring himself to use the word
desertion
—“from the
Ville de Paris
might have brought you anger and revulsion. At long last I find the courage to offer an apology, knowing the inadequacies of such an act. There cannot, of course, be an apology for the naval regulations violated; therefore, the apology is to yourself, sir, for the violations of your kindness and trust.

“I am in Virginia, having changed my name to Charles Dewey. On the morrow, I am to be married…”

Charles wrote swiftly now, describing to the admiral his good fortune at Elkwood, explaining his work with the horses, making some laudatory comparisons of his patrons, de Grasse and Statler, telling of his schooling with Andrew, and adding a lavish, loving description of Martha.

“So you can see that I am the most fortunate of men, and could only be more fortunate if there was some assurance that I had, in small measure, your blessing on this happiest of days for me. I did not take leave of the
Ville de Paris
for reasons of dissatisfaction. Instead, I honestly believed that I had a calling to leave—to be an American! Time and circumstances have conspired to prove me right. Your kindnesses will always be in my heart.”

Charles signed the letter, “Your grateful servant, Charles Dupree.” He would address it later to the Naval Department in Paris, certain that it would be forwarded to a man as important as Admiral de Grasse.

He blew out the candle, lay back on his bed, and saw the image of Martha walking into the waters of the James, her hand outstretched to him, her beauty filling him with awe. The waking recollection melded into seeing her in his dreams as sleep finally came.

IV