Wide is the Water (20 page)

‘Which may also be in British hands by now,' said Hart.

‘So an accommodation with the authorities is of the first importance.' Mr. Busby summed it up. ‘Mr. Dick seems
hopeful of the result, and you will be well advised, I think, to leave the matter in his hands. The family is not without influence, as I am sure you must be aware. In the meantime, I think I can assure you that there will be no problem about funds. With your expectations, Mr. Purchis, we will be able to stretch things just a little. You will draw on me, of course, while I investigate the various channels open to us.'

‘But are there any channels? Surely, with a war on …'

Busby quelled the protest with a wave of one thin hand. ‘War or no war, Mr. Purchis, trade must go on. Leave matters of business to me, I beg. Oh, one other thing. I understand from Mr. Dick that you are on the best of terms with your cousin Abigail Purchis, the only other possible heir to the Charleston house.'

‘Yes, of course. I hope she
is
the heir. I certainly think it most likely that she has been granted the Savannah house and maybe even Winchelsea too.'

‘Yes, a confirmed Loyalist, I understand. There has never, I suppose, been any question of … er … of romance between you and Miss Purchis?'

‘Romance? Good God, no. First Cousins and brought up together! Besides, as you well know, Mr. Busby, I am a married man.' As before, down in Sussex, he had been puzzled by Busby's failure to mention Mercy.

‘Well, yes and, if I may say so, no, Mr. Purchis. A marriage made in haste, on a French ship, the witnesses scattered to the winds, very likely dead by this time … And the documents, I understand, very much the worse for seawater.'

‘I'm married just the same,' said Hart.

‘Yes, yes, of course you are. In the eyes of God, Mr. Purchis, in the eyes of God. Well' – he reached out to neaten the piles of papers on the desk before him – ‘I believe I need not take up any more of your valuable time, Mr. Purchis. You will draw on me at Drummond's to any extent you please. You will be wishing to buy yourself mourning, of course, and Mr. Dick will tell you that you should make at least some appearance in society. You will find
sympathisers in plenty, with your romantic story, and I am sure I do not need to warn you to have a care what you say. The English branch of the family has troubles enough without your adding to them by any rash republican statements. I have urged Mr. Purchas to send for Miss Julia from the country, by the way. She's the level-headed one of the family; she'll bring them about if anyone can. A great pity she's not a boy and the eldest.'

Hart laughed and surprised the man of business by shaking him warmly by the hand. ‘I'm glad Miss Julia's coming,' he said. ‘She will do us all good. Mr. Busby' – he paused, uncertain how to phrase the question – ‘if there was something I could do to help my relatives?'

‘I should most certainly tell you of it,' said Busby. ‘I'm delighted to hear you say that, Mr. Purchis. For the moment, I think the fact of your staying with them, the whole romantic story, the American heir—'

‘I wish you would not call me that,' protested Hart. ‘I've explained to you about the sequestration …'

‘Yes, yes, I know.' Once again Busby raised that gentle, quelling hand. ‘But the papers won't. You might as well resign yourself to the title, Mr. Purchis, and to being a nine days' wonder. And since you ask, the one kindness you
can
do your English cousins is to let the story pass. Credit is a strange thing, as I am sure you must know, a man of the world like yourself … The stories about your fabulous plantation at Winchelsea are just what the family needs just now. Don't go out of your way to deny them, however absurd they strike you as being. It might just make all the difference.'

Julia made it easier. She and her mother reached London a few days later, and she greeted Hart with affectionate amusement as ‘our American nabob. Our country neighbours are cross as patch with me,' she went on, ‘for having had such a paragon in the house and not letting them see him. You will have to come back to Sussex at the end of the season, Cousin Hart, so that I may make amends. You'll have all the match-making
mammas in the country at your heels.'

‘What a fortunate thing for me that I am a married man,' said Hart.

‘Is it not?' she agreed. ‘It makes it proper, you know, for me to take you about and introduce you to all my friends as my respectable married cousin. You will come, won't you, Cousin Hart? I hardly like to ask it of you, so recent as your mourning is and for so sad a cause, but it will be of the utmost importance for us that you should be seen to be on family terms with us.'

‘I can think of nothing that would give me greater happiness than to be of use to you, Cousin Julia,' said Hart, relieved that Julia, at least, recognised his married state.

‘Gallant as always.' She flashed him the smile that was so like her elder brother's. ‘And may I congratulate you on your turnout, Cousin? Black becomes you to a marvel, and I can see Knill has exerted himself to the limit for you.'

‘I'm grateful to Dick for the recommendation.' He smiled ruefully. ‘Since those extravagant reports in the papers, I have been inundated with offers of service. I shall be a regular Bond Street lounger if I don't take care.'

‘Oh, we can do better for you than that. You must accompany me to Lady Garrard's rout tonight. She's one of our leading Whig hostesses, and I can think of no better house for you to make your bow to society. The Duchess of Devonshire is a dear friend of hers, and I have no doubt Fox will look in on the way home from the House.'

‘I should like above all things to meet him,' said Hart.

In fact, he found the rout party a dead bore. It took him and Julia fifteen minutes just to get up the ornate stair to where Lady Garrard, greeting her guests, gave him a limp hand and said something polite but unintelligible. ‘Lady Garrard is almost too popular,' explained Julia as they worked their way into a high-ceilinged salon so crowded with people that it was hard for him to hear her. ‘Her parties are always the most tremendous squeeze. There's the Duchess of Devonshire.' She pointed with her fan to a far corner of the huge room, where he could see the top
of an outrageously high-dressed head, crowned with a plume of feathers. ‘She's talking to General Conway. He's quite one of our Whig heroes. I must make you known to him.'

‘If we ever get so far,' said Hart ruefully, doing his best to avoid the voluminous skirts of a tall woman in blue who was standing with her back to him and talking in a very loud voice about ‘George Gordon and his mad Protestants.'

‘You'll get used to it,' said Julia, and then: ‘Why, George! This is a pleasant surprise. And Mordaunt, too. What in the world are you doing so far from the Cocoa Tree?'

‘Retrenching,' said George Purchas succinctly. ‘My friend Mordaunt' – he introduced them – ‘my cousin Purchis.' And then, as Hart exhanged bows with his sullen-looking companion: ‘Lady Peterborough – his mother – has cut up rough just like the old man. So here we are, a pair of involuntary reformed characters.'

‘I'm delighted to hear it,' said Julia. ‘But what a squeeze. I had meant to present our cousin to the Duchess of Devonshire and her set, but there's not a chance of getting across the room to them.'

‘Not if you value that silk of yours,' said her brother. ‘It took us all our good manners to find you, didn't it, Henry?'

‘Your manners,' growled his companion. ‘I've none, as you well know. And this room is insufferably hot. Let's make a bolt for it and go on to Cornelys's Rooms; there'll be air to breathe there.'

‘An excellent notion,' said George Purchas. ‘Who knows? We may find the Duchess of Devonshire there, too.'

‘Or the Duchess of Portland,' said Mordaunt with the odd sort of snarl that seemed the nearest he could get to a smile.

Mrs. Cornelys's Rooms in Soho Square were not quite what Hart had imagined. He had expected another private house, but this appeared to be a place of public entertainment,
and many of the richly dressed crowd that thronged the spacious saloons wore dominoes and masks. ‘This is a public place?' he asked Julia. ‘I'm not sure –' It was one thing to visit a private party when in deep mourning, but this was something else again.

‘It's all the rage,' said Julia. ‘We won't stay long, Cousin, if you had rather not. Just take a turn about the rooms, to see who is here, then maybe a glass of something, and so home to our virtuous beds. You'll not deny me this pleasure on my first night out in London?' She raised big, pleading eyes to his. ‘It seems forever that I've been cooped up at Denton Hall. Oh, look! There's Lady Garrard's son. He must have done a bolt, too. He's quite a rising man in government. I'll make you known to him. Piers.' She reached out with her fan and touched an elegant dark green shoulder. ‘You're quite ignoring me.'

‘Julia, by all that's wonderful!' The young man swung round and took both her hands. ‘When did you escape from your durance vile? And by God, this must be the American heir. Delighted to meet you. Mr. Purchis.' He let go of Julia's hand and held out his white one to Hart. ‘You're quite the man of the hour, you know. Someone was asking me about you just yesterday, someone who must be nameless, you understand. I shall be able to tell him you are most completely the thing. As was to be expected, lucky dog, with our angel Julia for cousin and mentor. But come, why are we standing here? Let us find a box and have a drink and a proper chat. I've not seen you, blessed Julia, since—'

‘Too long,' Julia interrupted him. ‘Yes, do let us find a box. I am quite parched with thirst.' And then, taking Hart's arm to follow her friend, she explained in a low voice. ‘Piers Blanding is the very man you need. The secretary's office … So much influence, so much style … And I can see you have made a great impression on him already.'

Settling himself beside her in the luxurious box that commanded an admirable view of the crowded rooms, Hart wished that he could share her enthusiasm about Piers Blanding, who seemed to him the epitome of the creature
he had heard described as a Bond Street beau. From striped waistcoat to ivory-topped cane, everything about him was just slightly too good to be true, Hart thought, and then thought, angrily, that it was merely his own ignorance that made him think so. Or – a horrid flash of self-knowledge – he could not be jealous of this man to whom Julia spoke so familiarly by his first name?

Piers Blanding had given his orders to a liveried man who hovered outside the box, and they were soon eating a luxurious cold collation washed down with what seemed to Hart a great deal of claret. ‘You wouldn't like something … something lighter?' he asked as Blanding refilled Julia's glass.

‘Lighter?' She looked at him for a moment in entrancing puzzlement, then gave her delicious little laugh. ‘Oh, dear Cousin Hart, you think I would rather have orgeat or even lemonade as at stuffy old Almack's! No, I thank you, the ladies of our family have always drunk their glass with the gentlemen, and I hope we always will. They do things otherwise in your American colonies, I suppose?'

‘Not colonies, Cousin,' he said, suddenly stiff. ‘Independent states, if you please.'

‘I stand corrected.' She raised her glass in silent toast. ‘Ah, here come the others.' She turned to greet George and Mordaunt, who each now had a ravishing young lady on his arm. To Hart's surprise, no formal introductions were made, though he soon learned that the ladies were Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Warren, or, mostly, Charlotte and Emily. He understood, now, why Blanding had ordered for so many and was not entirely surprised, when they came at last to leave, that he seemed to be expected to pay for all of them.

‘Dear Hart,' said Julia, pressing his arm as he led her down to the waiting carriage. ‘I do thank you for my happy evening. And for keeping my bad brother out of mischief for once. Just think what he might have been losing at the Cocoa Tree.'

‘Yes, indeed,' said Hart dutifully, and told himself that
he had best pay another call on Drummond's Bank in the morning.

Next day the papers spoke hopefully of a probable early end to General Clinton's siege of Charleston. ‘It seems extraordinary.' Hart put down the
Public Ledger.

‘Extraordinary?'

‘That I should be free to enjoy myself here in London while men on both sides are fighting and dying at Charleston.'

‘Let us hope that they are not,' said Dick. ‘It does look as if Clinton's force was overwhelming. Your General Lincoln must surely see reason and surrender. Then, perhaps, it will be possible for us to negotiate a peace with honour to all sides.'

‘I wish I could believe it,' said Hart.

‘Well,' Dick said bracingly, ‘believe it or not, there is nothing in the world you can do about it, so let us put on our leathers and take Julia for the ride in the park she longs for. She's right, you know.' He had seen Hart hesitate. ‘It can do you nothing but good to be seen to be behaving like a reasonable man. You must see that any excessive exhibition of mourning might be misconstrued. You cannot possibly go wrong if you stay close to Julia, who is universally loved, and with cause.'

‘I should think so,' said Hart warmly.

It was extraordinary to have escaped from so much danger, to be still under threat of imprisonment, and to find himself in fact involved in the whole pleasant whirl of London society. Protesting less and less, he rode with Julia in the park, squired her to the exhibition of paintings at Somerset House, and let her make up parties to see Mr. Sheridan's
School for Scandal
and Lady Craven's comedy,
The Miniature Picture,
with Perdita Robinson, the young actress who was rumoured to be the Prince of Wales's mistress. Julia seemed to know just whom to ask on these occasions and made everything easy for him, even down to the paying, which was, of course, his affair.