Just Jane (26 page)

“Repatriated, Jane,” he said. “After fifteen months of enforced idleness that seemed like fifteen years.”

His face was pale and haggard, his hair gone gray. Ignoring the sullen stares of Louis and his soldiers, she took his arm and escorted him to the house.

“I've been to Goose Creek,” he said on the way. “I know what happened.”

“I'm so sorry, Uncle Arthur. To be away so long, and then find all that when you return—it's awful for you. But you must know that Brandon did come to the harbor that day. He
did
try to see you before they took you away.”

“Yes, I know that now—and it will always be a great comfort to me.”

“Tell me about Aunt Harriet. How is she?”

He heaved a sad sigh. “She remembers nothing. The first thing she said to me was how glad Brandon will be to hear that I've returned.”

Jane closed her eyes in pain. “Oh, dear God!”

“It hasn't been a happy homecoming, Jane. Not a very happy time here, either, as I can see. And Clarissa's ill, I'm told. How is she?”

“Better today,” Jane assured him. “She and Uncle Robert will be very happy to see you.”

“Maybe not, after they hear what I have to say,” he replied ominously.

 

The reunion was strangely subdued. Clarissa tearfully embraced her brother while Robert gave him a left-handed handshake. Both congratulated him on his safe return and offered sympathy on Brandon's death and Harriet's sad condition. Arthur told how after being confined for fifteen months, he and his fellow prisoners were put on a ship and taken not home but to Philadelphia, where they were turned over to the American authorities.

The exchange of family news was very polite. But as they all took seats in the parlor and talk inevitably turned to the war, Arthur and Robert suddenly faced each other not as kinsmen but as sworn enemies.

“So, Arthur,” Robert began, “why, after all, have you come here?”

“First, Robert,” Arthur countered, “tell me who those surly men are, turning your beautiful gardens into a wasteland?”

“They are my company of Loyalist militia. They may not look like much, but they're first-class fighters. Now I repeat, why are you here?”

“I come as a representative of the American government, which—”

“American government? There's no such thing in South Carolina!”

“There will be soon. Governor Rutledge will be arriving back in Charlestown as soon as the British garrison there is withdrawn. I met with him in Philadelphia, and he appointed me his deputy in this district.”

“Rutledge—that fraud! Once he called himself president of something-or-other, now he calls himself a governor. Spare me, Arthur. This is nonsense.”

Arthur's tone hardened. “Listen to me, Robert. There's a huge Patriot force out there preparing an assault on Rosewall. They, too, are first-class fighting men, and in far greater numbers than yours. Soon they'll have you surrounded and cut off from the outside, and they won't leave until you wave the white flag of surrender.”

“Oh, come now, Arthur. Do you imagine the possibility of a siege has not occurred to us? We've stockpiled food, water, weapons, and powder, and one of our militiamen is a skilled physician. We have everything we need.”

“Everything, perhaps—except time. However valiantly you defend this place, you cannot hold out forever. Meanwhile, have you no concern at all for your family's safety?”

“Everyone here knows they can leave whenever they like, even the servants. I've made that perfectly clear. Omar and Cuba could join the household of friends of ours in Charlestown, but they choose not to go. As for Clarissa and Jane—ask them yourself. You'll find that no one is here against their will. Really, Arthur, this conversation is becoming tedious.”

Arthur leaned forward, urgency entering his voice. “I beg you, Robert, heed my words. Loyalists all over the backcountry are surrendering and applying to us for safe passage to Charlestown. I'm authorized to offer you the same courtesy, and I strongly urge you to accept. If you refuse, the results will not be pleasant. Rosewall is one of the last Loyalist strongholds left in the state, and Major Thomas McNeal, the Patriot commander, will stop at nothing to have it. For the same reason, the British should be just as determined to help you hold it. Instead, they're nowhere to be found. Wake up, man! British rule in America is a lost cause!”

Robert's reply was calm. “You misunderstand, Arthur. I'm not only working to preserve British rule in America, I am protecting what is mine. I'll see them all in hell before I'll turn my home over to a gang of outlaws. And now, please excuse me. I tire so easily these days . . .” Pulling himself to his feet, he walked stiffly but with serene dignity of tut ohe room.

Arthur turned to Clarissa. “My dear sister! Don't you realize you're married to a madman who's determined to destroy himself? Don't let him destroy you as well. For God's sake, come away with me, now!”

Clarissa considered her reply carefully. “It's very strange. For years, the more Robert doted on this place, the more I longed to be away from it, and him. But now that he's surrounded by enemies, his fortunes falling into ruin, I find myself drawn closer to him than ever before. God knows, I have not been the perfect wife. But I
am
his wife. Wherever he is, that's where I belong.” She then rose with the same calm dignity Robert had shown. “Now I must excuse myself, too. My illness has left me exhausted. Thank you for coming, Arthur.” She gave him a sisterly kiss. “Jane will see you out—unless, of course, she decides to go with you. If so, Jane, I do hope this time you'll say good-bye before leaving.”

After she had gone out, the puzzled Arthur frowned across the table at Jane. “What did she mean, ‘this time'?” he asked.

“A year ago, I ran away from here,” Jane told him. “Went to Charlestown to live at Cousin Hugh's. I'm back now only temporarily.”

“A year ago, you say.” Arthur pondered this. “Let's see. Could Simon's banishment to Nova Scotia have had anything to do with that?”

“It had everything to do—” Jane stopped in amazement. “But that was long after you left, Uncle Arthur! How do you know about all that?”

Arthur came around the table to sit next to Jane and, after looking around to make sure they were alone, spoke in a near whisper. “You may be glad to know that Simon is now back in this country.”

Jane almost fainted at the news.
“What?
I can't believe it!”

“He left Nova Scotia last summer, and he's now in Pennsylvania. I haven't seen him myself, but when I was in Philadelphia I met a friend of his who had. A Mr. Murphy, who once worked with him. He told me that Simon dragged himself into the city last fall, half dead after a long and perilous journey over sea and land from Canada. He went straight to his family's home in Lancaster. It seems his sister's husband, who'd been a British prisoner, had died, and the widow and her children were in desperate need. After helping out there, Simon was planning to stop in Philadelphia once more, then come down here as soon as he could. He told our friend there was a young lady here named Jane, and he wanted to find her.” Arthur added with a smile, “I told him I know her.”

Jane was too worried about Simon to react to this. “But how could he dare? What happened? Was he repatriated, or pardoned?”

“Neither. He had the good luck to make friends with some people in a fishing village, and with their assistance, he simply left.”

“Then he mustn't come here! It's too dangerous!”

“I wouldn't worry too much about that. The rebel side controls the backcountry now. I left word with Murphy that Simon should come directly to Goose Creek. And wouldn't it be a delightful surprise for him if you were there when he arrived?”

Jane felt torn. “Oh, how I'd love to be! But I can't leave here yet.”

“Why not? This place is doomed, Jane. Surely you can see that.”

“I do see it. I am a little older and wiser than when you saw me last. But it's not just that. Uncle Robert and Aunt Clarissa took me in when I was a homeless orphan with nowhere else to go. Now they're the ones in need. I will leave here again one day, and for good, but I can't desert them now.”

Arthur sighed and gave up. “That's so like you—I might have known. Well, I'm afraid I really must go.”

They rose, and Jane accompanied him out to the veranda, where he stopped for a final word. “Take care of yourself, Jane. I can't tell you how much I hope to see you and Simon together one day. He's a fine man. Brandon—God forgive me—never came close to deserving you.”

Jane barely held back the tears as she gave him a hug and watched him walk quickly away.

 

Omar found Jane later, again resting a moment in the parlor. “Mr. Ainsley want you to go with him, miss.”

She roused herself with an effort. “He suggested that, yes.”

“Bad times coming here. Why you not go?”

“Really now, look who's talking! I once asked you the same question, Omar. Remember what you said?”

“Cuba won't run, and Omar not run without her.”

“Well, I feel that way about my aunt and uncle. They won't leave, and I won't leave without them.”

He frowned in stern disapproval. “You be crazy, miss.”

“I guess maybe we're all crazy here, Omar.”

Omar shook his head as he left, and Jane smiled, watching „ him go. It always lifted her spirits to talk to Omar. He was so direct, so honest. Then her smile faded as her thoughts turned to Simon. The tug-of-war between her heart and head began again—the one yearning desperately for his return, the other hoping that he would stay safely away.

 

A few days after Arthur's visit, Jane was taken aback to encounter Louis Lambert's younger brother, Jacques, leaving the house.

“Bonjour
, mademoiselle!” He grinned and winked, always ready to start a flirtation. “And who might this beautiful young lady be?” he asked, looking her up and down.

“I'm Jane Prentice, Mr. Lambert,” she told him. “We met years ago, in this very house—the day we heard independence was declared, to be exact.”

Amazed, Jacques stared at her even harder. “But Jane Prentice was a skinny little girl then, whose looks only hinted at great beauty. The young lady before me now is a ravishing woman, and deliciously curvy to boot. My word, time does do wonders!” His stare was turning to a brazen leer.

Jane blushed with embarrassment and even a touch of secret pride. But her curt reply was coldly formal. “I'm surprised to see you here, Mr. Lambert.”

“No, no, mademoiselle!” He winced in mock pain. “It's my pompous brother, Louis, who is Mr. Lambert. I am Jacques, your devoted servant.” He winked at her again, adding, “And a great admirer of feminine beauty.”

“I see you were just leaving,” Jane said, her manner still polite but her tone still icy. “Don't let me detain you.” She started to move past him, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“Oh, please,
do
detain me, my little enchantress! I remember when we met at that party. You were just a child then, no match for the delectable Clarissa. Now, I'm not so sure. I would so like to see her before I go. May I have that pleasure?”

“That's out of the question. She's unwell and mustn't be disturbed.”

“Not even for someone who has adored her since he was a boy? What a pity. I should have liked to compare the two of you, to discover which is the lovelier. Now how am I to know?”

Jane's patience had reached its limit. “Surely, sir, you must be here for more important business than idle flirtation.”

“Indeed, I came on behalf of the Patriot forces assembled not far from here to urge your uncle to surrender this camp or face an all-out assault. And what did I get for my trouble? My own brother insults me, and your uncle orders me to leave.”

“Then by all means, do so.”

“Gladly—if you'll come with me.” Jacques stepped closer, a seductive smile creasing his lean weather-beaten face. “You can be my own personal prisoner. And I promise you, I shall treat you very,
very
tenderly.”

Jane stepped back, glaring at him. “Three days ago, Mr. Arthur Ainsley, a respected Patriot leader, offered to take me away from here. He is a man of impeccable honor, but I refused his offer. That being so, can you imagine my contempt for yours?”

“I stand rebuked, mademoiselle,” he said meekly, but his black eyes continued to glint with amusement.

“You do, indeed, sir. Good day.” Jane disappeared into the house.

“A saucy wench, that one,” Jacques said as a sentry escorted him to the gate. “She badly needs taming. If I could get my hands on her, I'd—”

But the sentry was not interested in this cocky rebel's leering speculations. Taking Jacques by the arm, he pushed him roughly out the gate and slammed it shut.

 

They arrived during the night, not with fifes and drums and a flourish of arms, but silently, under cover of darkness. Waking to a cold November dawn, Jane could see smoke from their campfires curling up out of the mist beyond the eastern section of the wall. The eerie silence felt menacing.

Suddenly the sharp crack of a musket shattered the stillness, followed an instant later by a shuddering thud as the ball struck the roof. With a gasp Jane drew back from the window. Silence fell again. It was only one shot, but it was enough. The attackers had announced themselves. The siege was under way.

Within minutes, the Rosewall militia was mobilized. Lookouts on the stone wall scanned the outside terrain from wooden turrets. Robert kept watch from his third-floor observatory with his long handheld telescope. In the yard below, men nervously fingered their weapons. Hours had passed since the lone musket shot. It appeared that the Battle of Rosewall would be a battle of nerves more than guns.