Just Jane (12 page)

“You're out of it, all right!” Gillis barked. “Out of luck, too!”

“Not necessarily,” Simon told them. “Going back to your regiment is out of the question, of course. You could, however, join the Americans.”

“The devil you say!” Gillis bellowed in outrage.

The captives stared at Simon, hope flickering in their eyes for the first time. “Is that so, sir?” asked Jennings.

“Assuredly. There are two or three thousand former British soldiers serving in the Continental Army. Many have been commissioned for their excellent service. When the Americans win this war, everyone who served honorably will receive grants of land. Congress has pledged itself to that.”

The two Englishmen exchanged amazed looks.

“Of course, should we lose,” Simon went on, “I'd suggest you resort to your disappearing act again. And next time, keep clear of people like Jim Gillis here.”

Laughter rippled through the circle of onlookers, most of whom—except Gillis—were enjoying the entertainment. The prisoners whispered to each other, then Jennings announced their decision.

“Thank you kindly, sir. You're a gentleman. We'd be proud to join the Americans.”

As the spectators cheered, Gillis snorted in disgust.

Simon turned to him with a curt order. “Untie these men.”

“Damned if I will,” Gillis growled. “They're my prisoners, and if you try to take 'em, I'll . . .” His right hand rested on a pistol in his belt.

The crowd fell silent.

Undaunted, Simon studied Gillis's angry face. “You're one of our best suppliers, Gillis. How much does the army owe you for your services so far?”

Gillis blinked at the unexpected question. “My bills of credit are up to four hundred dollars. And that reminds me—when do I get paid?”

“These things take time. But how much do you think you'd ever collect if you shot the army's chief supply agent in these parts?”

Gillis scratched his stubbly beard, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He had met defeat.

Simon turned to his young assistant. “Billy, untie these men and get them food and drink. I'll give them further instructions later.”

Billy went to work and the spectators dispersed, many looking disappointed that there was no fight. Gillis edged up to Simon with a sheepish look on his face.

“Lookee here, Mr. Schoolmaster, you didn't think I meant to harm them fellows, did you? I was only fooling.”

“Of course you were, Jim.” Simon clapped Gillis on the shoulder. “I never doubted it for a minute.”

Returning to his meeting with Roca, he found the Spaniard standing in the doorway.

“Tell me, señor,” Roca said with a skeptical look on his face, “was it really worth risking your life for two deserters?”

“It's a matter of necessity, Mr. Roca. If I let a man like Gillis get away with something like that just once, I might as well go home. Besides, even if I have to handle weapons, I like to save a life whenever I can.”

Roca smiled. “You are a man of quality, Señor Schoolmaster. May I look forward to seeing you at Cape Fear on July first?”

“We'll be there, sir, to take delivery on all cargo.”

“Till July, then.” Roca bowed stiffly, shook Simon's hand, and strode off, glad to leave that strange place behind.

 

Simon was again working on his ledgers when Billy returned. “They're resting, sir. And dying to tell you what a fine, upstanding chap you are.”

“I'll see them in a few minutes.”

Billy sat down. “Sir, if you don't mind my askin'—who was the foreign gentleman?”

“A Mr. Roca. He brings us greetings from friends of ours in Spain.”

“I'll be jiggered!”

Simon pushed his book aside. “There's a busy summer ahead, Billy. We'll pull up stakes here soon and go down to the coast to meet a Spanish ship—and pick up more supplies than you ever dreamed of.”

“Bully, sir!”

“It'll be some job, hauling it all up the Wagon Road. In the fall there'll be another ship, and we'll do it again. But in between we can grab some time off. I want to get down to Charlestown to see some friends.”

Billy frowned at this. “Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that don't seem too healthy these days. Not with the Redcoats so close by. You want to see those friends that bad?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. One, in particular. Although it's been so long, I'm not sure she'll remember me.” Simon was suddenly gazing out the window, as the face of a dark-haired girl floated before his eyes. Her beauty seemed close enough to touch. His next words were spoken in a distant voice, as if to himself.

“I said I wouldn't forget her. And I never have.”

After Charlestown survived the second invasion threat, the number of Patriot-minded citizens swelled. Robert Prentice was not the only Loyalist who removed his family from the city for safety. But Patriot celebrations at the British retreat soon dissolved into dread. The enemy ruthlessly destroyed rebel strongholds north of Savannah. Fear was in everyone's mind: They'll be back. Meanwhile, spring faded into a surprisingly tranquil summer.

 

But for Jane, with visits to Charlestown forbidden, life at Rosewall had become so oppressive that she almost agreed with Clarissa's view of the plantation as a prison, even if a beautiful one. She spent as much time as she could with Omar, whose lordly manner was somehow comforting, and with Cuba, whose cheery personality brightened the shadowy house. Sometimes she accompanied her aunt and uncle to the Lambert plantation, a few miles away. But Jacques no longer lived there, having quarreled with his brother, Louis; and without his lively presence, Jane found these visits rather dull.

One day toward the end of summer, Brandon appeared, on short leave from his cavalry unit. In high spirits, he swung down from his horse, beaming at Jane, who had come out to meet him. She was so starved for company that she gave in to an impulse to hug him—then promptly regretted it, fearing he might interpret it as a sign of budding love.

But this time he was preoccupied with an eagerness to be admired. “How do you like my new uniform, Jane? Don't I look fine?” He flourished his tricornered black hat with a gold insignia, then twirled to display his tan coat with red collar and cuffs, white ruffled shirt, and leather breeches. He did indeed look fine, and Jane told him so.

He was also eager to show off his new horse, a huge chestnut stallion named Warrior, his beloved Princess having been “retired from active duty.”

“Warrior's better suited for the man's work of war,” he explained. “Although, the damned rebels are too cowardly to stand and fight, so we haven't actually seen any action yet. We mostly just chase them around.”

Jane hoped that “chasing them around” was the worst her action-hungry young friend would ever have to do. But there was something else that concerned her, and as they strolled in the garden later, she brought it up.

“Brandon, when did you last see your parents?”

“Oh, I know what you're going to say, Jane. They're sad because I left home. But when Father rejected everything that loyal, law-abiding Englishmen in America stand for, he rejected me, too.”

“That's not true. He never did. Anyway, what about your mother? Isn't she a kind of innocent victim in all this?”

“Look here, I feel terrible about Mother. She's such a kind, generous, warmhearted person. And Father, having taken leave of his senses, is leading her straight down the path to ruin. I worry about her, I miss her dreadfully, and I go to see her as often as I can. Truly, I do.”

“I hope so,” Jane said with a sigh. “And I daresay that's all we can expect of you, isn't it?”

 

Brandon had come saying he could stay only one night, because he had to get back to his regiment the next day. All afternoon, he chatted pleasantly with Clarissa about her gardening, and that night he held a long war council with Robert. Brandon had brought exciting news. The British were massing a huge force in Savannah, one far stronger than needed to hold that small city.

“Obviously they're planning a major offensive toward Charlestown, Uncle. Probably not until spring, they say. But the third time's the charm, you know. This time it cannot fail.” Robert clenched his fists. “Gad, how time will drag till then!”

 

The next morning, Jane accompanied Brandon to the gate, where Omar waited holding Warrior's reins. There, clasping Jane's hands, Brandon recited his habitual declarations of devotion. “Be patient, dearest girl. Though we're far apart, you're in my heart every moment. And when the world is finally put right again, we'll have a happy future together.”

She accepted a kiss on the cheek, wished him well, and waved good-bye as he swung expertly into the saddle and went galloping away.
Dear, foolish Brandon
, she thought.
He's been talking like that since the day we met, and it never occurs to him to wonder how I might feel about our “happy future.” Why don't I set him straight? Is it because he hasn't thought to ask? Or because I dread hurting him?

Suddenly Omar, standing beside her, spoke, his deep voice and solemn manner imparting immense weight to his words. “Young master want you for wife, miss. But you not want him.”

“Oh, I didn't know it showed,” she said with a light laugh.

Omar's solemn face betrayed no hint of amusement. “You wise, miss. Young master talk fancy, but he just a boy that never grow up. You wait for real man. One day he come.”

“How kind you are, Omar. But I really don't think that's going to happen.” She smiled up at the big man towering over her, then turned back toward the house.

 

As summer heat gave way to the coolness of fall, Clarissa and Jane finally told Robert: Either we spend some time in town, or we lose our minds. Which shall it be? But after so many weeks in isolation, even Robert was ready to give in. Not for the social diversions Clarissa craved, but to get the war news, which was almost impossible to do holed up at Rosewall. Trips to the Charlestown house once again became part of the family routine.

In town, Robert attended long sessions with Loyalist friends, while Clarissa made daily rounds of visits with Loyalist wives and daughters. Jane sometimes accompanied her but found the gentle ladies' conversation drearily familiar—all about the scarcity of goods in the shops, or the high prices of goods that were there, or the folly of breaking with the king, which, of course, would soon be stamped out. She was often invited to parties, but the young men she met seemed to be only pale copies of Brandon, forever boasting of their horses and their horsemanship as they eagerly awaited the arrival of the Redcoats. It was all too tedious.

One afternoon, Robert returned elated from a Loyalist meeting. “Great news from Savannah!” he fairly shouted. “French and American forces dared challenge the British there—and were utterly destroyed! Now those scurvy rebels see what their French alliance did for them—nothing! The Redcoats are again moving north from the Savannah River, this time in overwhelming force. Of course, we know what that means. They'll soon be here!”

Where was Brandon?
Jane wondered uneasily. And that question led to another: Where was that fire-breathing young Patriot Peter Quincy? Could it be that they were both at Savannah? Even if not, it was surely possible that one day the two might try to kill each other on a field of battle.

Jane cringed at the thought.
What an awful insanity this war is!

 

During these tense days, Jane often took long walks along the Battery—the broad, curving boulevard bordering the harbor. A few rusting ships dozed at the docks. Clearly, the British blockade had taken its toll. Shortages of every kind had reduced life in the city to the minimum essentials of survival. Yet the streets teemed with vitality—tradesmen, street vendors, idlers, women, and children—ordinary folk going about their business as if not even the approach of an invading army could dampen their spirits. Even the nearby Ainsley Emporium, though almost empty and far from the commercial beehive it had once been, was still open. Contemplating all this, Jane suddenly knew something not yet discovered by Loyalists like Robert and Brandon: These people would not be easily conquered.

And often, on the way home from her walks, she gazed up Queen Street, at the swinging sign of
HUGH PRENTICE, CABINETMAKER
, and was struck by a thought that vexed her constantly:
How ridiculous that I'm forbidden to see him
.

 

One crisp October afternoon, Arthur Ainsley, of all people, presented the opportunity. Drawing her aside at the end of a visit, he asked in a low voice, “Jane, could you come again tomorrow at three o'clock? Alone?”

“I suppose so,” she replied, instantly curious. “What's the occasion?”

“Your cousin Hugh Prentice will be here,” was his surprising response. “And your presence is urgently desired. Make whatever excuse you need to, but come! And say nothing of this to anyone.”

Despite her pleadings, Arthur would say no more, leaving her to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering what on earth was afoot.

Luckily, both Robert and Clarissa had engagements the next afternoon. Robert's Loyalist group was holding a special meeting with refugees just arriving from Savannah. Clarissa had been invited to a formal luncheon, where one of her friends had promised there would even be real English tea. Pleading a headache, Jane declined, and retired to her room.

At precisely three o'clock, she was knocking at the Ainsleys' front door. Harriet opened it and quickly drew her inside.

“Hurry upstairs, dear. They're waiting for you.”

Seated at his study desk, facing the door, Arthur called out, “So glad you could come, Jane!”

Two other men were seated with their backs to the door. One of them—Hugh—rose and came smiling to greet her. “Jane, what a delight!”