Wide is the Water (13 page)

It brought him back with a start to the present and the borrowed dress coat and knee breeches laid ready for him on the big four-poster bed. He was running a comb through his hair when a tap on the door heralded a neat black-clad manservant who announced himself as Price, Mr. Richard's man, and looked him over with a reproachful eye. ‘The ladies are already in the small saloon,' he said at last, apparently giving up hope of making a bad job any better. ‘Mr. Richard sent me to see if you needed any help.'

‘No, thanks.' He adjusted his borrowed cravat, shook out the ruffles at his wrists, and almost found himself wishing he was in Mill Prison.

‘Then let me show you your way, sir. It's easy to get lost in this old house, but you'll get the bang of it soon enough. You're in the west wing, see.' He opened the panelled door and ushered Hart out into the wide hall. ‘The east wing's shut up,' he explained. ‘Mr. George's rooms are there.' Closed doors to right and left suggested other bedrooms, and Hart wondered how many the house could sleep. They went up a step, and down two, and rounded a corner to see the wide main staircase up which Hart had come. ‘There you are, sir,' said Price. ‘You'll find the ladies in the small saloon where they was before.'

‘Thank you, Price.' He must ask Dick about tipping. But then what was he going to do about money? The little supply he had rescued from the
Georgia
was almost exhausted now. What would have become of him if he had not met his kind cousin Dick, who had insisted on paying the expenses of the journey? Now that he had learnt that Dick's family were in financial straits, he felt more unhappy than ever about being unable to repay him.

If he had thought Julia Purchas and her mother elegant before, he found them overwhelming in their low-cut evening silks. Julia was in deep red and was being teased about it by her brother, who looked even better, Hart thought, in civilian evening dress than he had in uniform.

‘I'm no bread-and-butter miss, to be wearing white muslin.' Julia turned from Dick as Hart entered the room and gave him a glance of amused commiseration. ‘Oh, poor Cousin Hart.' He liked the way she used his first name. ‘Dick, you must positively take our cousin to London and get Knill to rig him out. You'll have to go, anyway, to see Father.'

‘Not to mention the Lords of the Admiralty,' said her brother. ‘Since things are in such a bad way here, I must lose no time in getting another ship. And you will like to see something of London, Cousin, I have no doubt. Who knows, I may even be able to arrange a meeting for you with your hero, Dr. Johnson, though I should warn you
that he is a diehard Tory and hates the very word “American.”'

‘All the more reason to meet him and try to convince him that we are not all quite barbarians,' said Hart. ‘But, Cousin' – he hated to say it, and yet it must be said – ‘you know, I am head over ears in your debt already. I think if Mrs. and Miss Purchas will be so kind as to let me, I too must stay in the country on a repairing lease.' He bowed to Julia as he quoted her own words.

She laughed. ‘Dipped like the rest of us? That's friendly! But no need for you to fret. We know all the moneylenders in town. Who better, with George in our family? Dick will find someone to lend you what you need on the security of your American estates, I am sure.'

‘But …' He was trying to think how tactfully to explain that everything belonged to his mother, while Winchelsea, the greater part of his inheritance, had been sequestered by the British, when Soames, the butler, appeared to announce that dinner was served.

‘No buts for now,' said Julia gaily, putting her hand through his arm. ‘Food comes first. But I warn you, Cousin, I shall not leave teasing you until you have got yourself suitably fitted out. If you look so very much the thing in Dick's castoffs, you will be the talk of the county when Knill has done his best for you. And you must know, since we have to rusticate, we mean to entertain down here this summer. It is our duty to Papa, of course, as a Member of Parliament. I hope you will find our life here not too tedious, even if it is in the country.'

‘I like the country,' said Hart. ‘Particularly since you are here, Cousin Julia. Though it is true that I do long to see London.'

‘Oh, Cousin!' Julia laughed up at him. ‘How could you so spoil your charming compliment!'

‘Of course, you must see London.' Dick Purchas was seating his mother at the head of the table. ‘Julia's right, you'll have no problems about funds. We'll go to town just as soon as I have seen Glubb, the bailiff, and can
report to my father on how things go on down here. I must see George and find out just how badly he is in debt. He is in London, I take it?'

‘Where else?' said his sister. ‘Playing deep at the Cocoa Tree as usual. You'll have no trouble finding him. Just go where the play is deepest; he'll be there.'

‘That's quite enough about my poor George,' said Mrs. Purchas pettishly. ‘It gives me the vapours even to think of him.' She turned to Hart. ‘Tell us of your home, Cousin, and of all the adventures you must have had in the course of this terrible war.'

‘It's a long story, ma'am.' From her bored tone, Hart was sure that it was one she did not in the least want to hear.

‘And a fascinating one, I'll be bound,' said Julia. ‘But we'll spare you for tonight, Cousin, for indeed, it must be painful for you to remember. Time enough when you get back from London for the story of your accidents of war. Then I'll play Desdemona to your Othello willingly enough.' And then, an afterthought: ‘Do you read Mr. Shakespeare's plays in Georgia, Cousin?'

‘Yes, and act them too. We are not quite barbarians, you know.' He had a sudden vision of Mercy ‘rehearsing' with his cousin Francis that night when he had acted as unwilling spy on his own house. What play was it that had given Francis the pretext for that snatched kiss? He had never asked Mercy. Never dared to? ‘My wife.' It was an effort to say it, but an effort he had been intending to make. It had begun to seem strange to him that no one had spoken of her. ‘My wife is an admirable actress. She learned from Mr. Garrick himself.'

‘Ah, poor Mr. Garrick.' Mrs. Purchas sighed. ‘We miss him sadly. Even I – poor invalid that I am – when I can get there, find the London theatre sadly gone off since his death last year.'

‘I shall hardly be in a position to judge,' said Hart. ‘I am afraid our attempts at drama in Savannah have always been of the most amateurish kind.'

‘But you can act, I am sure. Cousin,' said Julia. ‘I have it! Since we must do penance here for George's extravagance, why should we not stage our own play? Dick, you were always spouting Shakespeare when we were young. Have you forgot it all?'

‘No, not I. I can still play Hamlet to your Ophelia if you so wish.'

‘Oh, pish.' Julia made her expressive little face at him. ‘Shakespeare is all very well, Dick, but surely we can find something a little more up to the minute for Hart here to make his debut. Will you play hero to my heroine, Cousin Hart?'

‘Gladly.' It was only later, getting ready for bed, that he remembered how the conversation had seemed to slide away from the subject of Mercy. No doubt his kind cousins were trying to spare him from unhappy reflections, but he would rather they had talked about her. Climbing into the vast bed, he wondered how she was getting on with the Pastons. Judging by the New Englanders he had met when he was at Harvard, he could not help feeling that she might come as something of a surprise to Puritan Boston and found himself hoping that she had been able to adjust her ways to those of her hosts. As to that story Bill had told him of her being thought a Jonah by his crew, he had long since stopped worrying about it. Mrs. Paston would have laughed it to scorn easily enough, even if it should have got out to Farnham. She and Mercy would be friends at once, he thought, two strong-minded women.

He blew out his candle. Lord, what a lifetime it seemed since he had rescued Mercy from the mob that had killed her father. She had been a timid child then. Now she was a beautiful woman, and a formidable one. His wife, in law, if not in fact. As always, memory of the frustrations of that crowded voyage on the
Georgia
brought hot colour flooding to his face, even here in this unbelievably quiet, comfortable English bedroom. When they next met, it would all be different. He would be master. Master? What in the world had made him think that? And curiously,
he had a vision of his newfound cousin Julia, looking up at him with those sparkling dark eyes that somehow seemed to hint at sadness, at dark depths, and asking if he would play hero to her heroine. Harmless enough, between cousins. Of course, he would do so and maybe, somehow, in doing so, would become the man he meant to be.

‘I've chosen our play, Cousin.' Julia was pouring Hart's tea at their ten o'clock breakfast, and he thought her even more entrancing in today's country chintz than in last night's red silk. ‘
All for Love
, Mr. Dryden's improvement on
Antony and Cleopatra.
Do you know it?'

‘No,' he confessed. ‘You will think me an American boor, I am afraid.'

‘Never that. You have been too busy making life awkward for Dick and his naval friends to have had much time for reading. But it's just the play for us, I promise you.
All for Love, or The World Well Lost.
Is that not an admirable title? And as for the speeches … we will have the whole county at our feet.'

‘You mean to perform for the whole county?' Dick had just joined them from the estate office where he had been closeted with Glubb, the bailiff.

‘If they will come.' She arched elegant brows at him. ‘And I see no reason why they should not. Admit, kind brother, that it is the least expensive form of entertainment we could possibly think of. Now Mamma, you must know, wants to give breakfast or a
fête champêtre.
Just imagine what that would cost! After a play we need merely serve light refreshments. It should suit your starched notions admirably.'

‘Dear Julia.' Dick sighed and poured coffee. ‘You must know this retrenchment is no wish of mine.'

‘Nor any of your fault. I know it only too well. And am doing my best to help you. After all, we have this American lion of a cousin. Shall we not make the most of him? You
will not mind, Cousin Hart?' Her glance for him was appealing.

‘Anything to be of service to you.' He spoke with feeling. ‘I owe Dick more than I can ever repay. But I am afraid,' he went on ruefully, ‘I am the very smallest possible kind of lion.'

‘Wait and see,' she said. ‘We Purchases may be in opposition, but we have friends just the same. I think we will find you quite a king of beasts when our newspapers have had their say about you. Don't you see what a point it is? Cousins meeting in this bloody war that should never have happened. Saving each other. Why, you'll be the Damon and Pythias of the age.' And then, with a hand held up as if it were in self-defence: ‘Don't say it, Cousin. I plead guilty. My father would have me educated with the boys. I cannot help it if I am something of a bluestocking.'

‘The most beautiful one I ever imagined,' said Hart.

‘Imagined bluestockings!' Now she was laughing at him. ‘What else do you imagine, Cousin Hart?'

What indeed? He felt the hot colour rise to his face and was saved by the entrance of Mrs. Purchas, who bade them all a somewhat fretful good morning, described her sleepless night, and applied herself to chocolate with a will.

After breakfast Dick invited Hart to ride round the estate with him, and he accepted with enthusiasm. ‘I just hope I shall be able to handle one of your highbred English horses with this weak arm of mine.'

‘You shall have the gentlest beast in the stables for this first time,' Dick promised, and in fact, when he mounted the plump black mare that had been led out for him, Hart was surprised to find how much better his arm was. Rest and sea air had done their work well, and now, recollecting, he knew that before the voyage he would not have stood a chance against Grant in that savage, silent fight.

‘I owe you more than my freedom, Cousin,' he said as
they set forth down the drive together. ‘I seem to owe you the use of my right arm, too.'

‘I noticed you are using it more freely,' said Dick. ‘I'm glad.' He was silent for a while, preoccupied, Hart thought, with the bad news he had found awaiting him. ‘We'll go up to the top of the downs,' he said when they turned from the drive into a deep, chalk white-lane. ‘I need to decide which fields we should sell.'

‘As bad as that? I'm sorry.'

‘As bad as possible. Glubb greeted me almost in tears. In the years I've been away, things have gone from bad to worse. Well, my father has his life in Parliament, in London … He has never interested himself much in the place except as a source of income. He was a younger brother, you know, not brought up to the responsibilities of property. And as for George … since he did his grand tour, he has never thought of anything but pleasure. Well, how should he care about the place when he had my father's example always before him?'

‘You seem to,' said Hart.

‘Ah, I love it. I grew up here, you see. There are ten years between George and me. When he was a boy, my uncle was still alive. This house was his, and we lived in London. George is a Londoner; I'm a countryman. It's as simple as that. My mother's a Londoner, too, at heart. It's hard on her to have to ruralise down here. And as for poor Julia.' He paused for a moment as the horses laboured up a particularly steep slope of the now grassy lane. ‘They've lost her dowry among them,' he said angrily. ‘I could not imagine why she had not married long since. Now I understand. She was refusing offers to right and left when I went to sea. My mother thought she was holding out for a coronet at the least of it. You will think us a cold-blooded set, I am afraid.'