Caxton (12 page)

The crowd watched Dilch now, waiting to see what she would do or say next. And
it gasped again when, after taking a short moment to consider Hugh’s words,
she nodded once to him and stepped back in among them. Ockhyser glanced up at
Hugh with almost superstitious awe, then remembered where he was and shifted
the fowling piece from one hand to another. The slaves looked repeatedly from
Hugh to Dilch, unable to decide which was the greater marvel: Dilch, or the
new master.
Hugh continued. “Beginning tomorrow, Mr. Beecroft will keep a record of what
each of you is paid, and for what. For the time being, women and field hands
will be paid a shilling a month, artisans such as smiths and carpenters and
the like, two shillings. One of you men will be selected to be an apprentice
overseer, and work with Mr. Ockhyser here. This man will be paid three shillings,
and assume equal responsibility and authority.”
Ockhyser’s face contorted first into a flash of disbelief, then, when he knew
that Hugh meant it, a mask of pure hatred. He spat on the ground.
Hugh heard rather than saw the action, and turned to look down at the overseer.
The crowd of slaves became quiet. Hugh said, turning back to the slaves, “That
is all. Enjoy your day of rest.” He stepped down from the rock and strode out
of the yard. “Mr. Ockhyser, unless you prefer to remain with your charges, you
will accompany me.”
The overseer rushed to obey, more from anger than from fear. He did not wait
for his employer to speak. “You’re courtin’ trouble, sir! And you’d no right
to burn my whip, not in front of
them
! I won’t be able to run them now!
Nobody will! And I don’t need no damned apprentice!”
Hugh did not turn to face the man, but walked on. “I’ve never met a tradesman
who needed an overseer, Mr. Ockhyser. Apprentices, perhaps, need an iron hand
to keep them on a profitable course, but a man who is free to hire out his services
or skills, is his own overseer.”
“That’s just fancy talk!” scoffed Ockhyser. “You give them money, you’ll spoil
them! They won’t work any harder!”
“I’m not a gambling man, sir, but would you care to make a wager on that likelihood?”
“They’re not like us! They got a different attitude! God made them different.
The only thing that makes them behave is fear!”
Hugh chuckled. “You are either a disciple of Mr. Hobbes — or his inspiration,”
he remarked. Then he shrugged. “Can you blame them for their ‘attitude,’ sir?
And, please, Mr. Ockhyser, do not be so presumptuous as to include me in your
society.”
Ockhyser spat on the ground.
Hugh stopped and turned so suddenly that the overseer nearly collided with him.
Ockhyser jerked to a stop and stepped back awkwardly. There was a look on his
employer’s face that the overseer had seen only in waterfront taverns before
fights occurred.
Hugh said, “If you wish to stay on here, Mr. Ockhyser, you will cease watering
my property with your education. You will neither contradict me nor question
the wisdom of my decisions. You will oversee the work of these people through
an intermediary, and merely observe and report. Those are my conditions. If
you cannot accept them, then I cannot retain you.”
“I won’t,” growled Ockhyser. “You can’t make a man work like that! It ain’t
heard of! I’ll tell the others in the mansion-house what you’re up to!”
“They already know, sir. You came with Mr. Swart, and they will be happy to
see you follow him.” Hugh turned and walked on. “You must be off this property
today, Mr. Ockhyser. If you have not left by sunset, I shall send someone for
Sheriff Tippet. You may collect your final wages from Mr. Beecroft.”
Ockhyser shouted after him, “You won’t turn your back on them so fancy like
you do me!”
Hugh stopped again, faced Ockhyser, and waited. The overseer tried to stare
down the man who was fifteen years his junior, but his insolence withered under
Hugh’s imperious and unmoving glance. Quite against his intention, but wholly
consistent with his character, the young man’s glance made him feel small, mean,
and merely nasty. Ockhyser grunted once, then turned and strode in the direction
of his quarters.
The incident did not go unnoticed by two groups of interested spectators: the
slaves in the yard, and the household staff, who watched from the windows of
the great house.
Three hours later, Mr. Beecroft entered the library and asked Hugh for a moment
of his time.
Hugh put aside a book he was reading. “Yes, Mr. Beecroft?”
“Mr. Ockhyser has been paid his last wages, sir. Six pounds and expenses. He
has vacated the staff house, and left on his own horse.”
“Did he trouble you?”
“No, sir. Mr. Settle and Mr. Spears were present whilst I paid him, and they
saw him to the gate.”
“Very well. Ask Mr. Settle to post a few men at the tobacco barns and corn barns.
Mr. Ockhyser may feel inclined to return and bid us farewell with his matches.”
“Yes, sir.” Beecroft hesitated, then went on. “He was the devil gone to seed,
sir, and we are all glad to be rid of him, but….”
“Go on, Mr. Beecroft. Speak your mind.”
“Well, sir, are you certain it’s wise to treat the Negroes so…well…charitably?”
The business agent paused. “We are all wondering about it, sir.”
“It is not charity that moves me, Mr. Beecroft,” Hugh said. “It is an alliance
of practical wisdom and unspoiled revulsion for the custom that constrains Mr.
Ockhyser’s former charges.”
Mr. Beecroft mulled over this reply for a moment, but did not comment in answer
to it. Instead, he asked, “Will you replace him, sir?”
“Mr. Ockhyser? Yes, with one of them. Have you a recommendation?”
“Pompey, sir. He is the senior of the field hands, and the others listen to
him. If you ask him, Mr. Settle will be of that opinion, too.”
“Good. I shall interview him myself tomorrow.” Hugh frowned. “Who is the minister
that comes to preach to them?”
“Reverend Acland, sir. He visits all the quarters hereabouts, after regular
services. Some of the Negroes even attend his services in the church. He has
baptized and instructed nearly all those who wish it.” Beecroft smiled. “A most
vigorous parson, sir. Not like most clergymen one observes, who are content
to collect their salaries and compose slumberous sermons.”
“I see.” Hugh gestured to a chair near his desk. Beecroft parted the tails of
his coat and sat down. “How well do you know our people, Beecroft? Their domestic
situations, their characters, and so forth?”
“Sir?” The business agent looked genuinely perplexed.
Hugh chuckled. “Come now, Beecroft. They are not mere silhouettes of us,” he
explained. “They have minds, and emotions, and desires, and inner turmoils,
as much as any king or commoner.”
“Oh,” said Beecroft. Then he dutifully answered all of Hugh’s questions, and
imparted to his employer a more intimate knowledge of the affairs and personal
lives of the slaves than he realized he had. An hour later, he concluded, “And
Bristol, a smith, has a wife and daughter over at Mr. Otway’s. And Pompey is
squiring a girl over at Mr. Vishonn’s.”
“And Dilch?”
Beecroft shook his head. “Never married, and has no suitors that I know of.”
He paused, and added in a lower voice, “It’s been said that she refuses to risk
bringing any children into, well, her condition.”
Hugh looked thoughtful. “Do you see, Beecroft? They are not so different from
ourselves, except that their lives are submerged in a netherworld.”
The next morning, after interviewing the astounded Pompey and telling him to
report to Mr. Settle for assignments, Hugh rode into town with a list he had
obtained from the overlooker of all the slaves’ names. He called on Wendel Barret
and placed an order for forty safe conduct passes, one for each of the slaves,
each pass to bear the slave’s printed name, specifying no particular purpose,
and carrying no date. Ten passes were to leave the name space blank. A week
later the passes were ready. Hugh signed them, then visited the slave quarter
again, this time alone, after most of the men had returned from their labors
in the fields. He called out to each person and handed him a pass, and advised
everyone that a pass was not to be abused, or it would be taken back.
When he entered the stark, almost bare wooden hut that Dilch shared with her
mother, Jemma, and other women, and gave them their passes, he involuntarily
paused to bestow on Dilch a smile of respect.
Dilch mumbled some words of thanks. She was in her midforties, short, wiry,
of studied movement, with a face hardened into a permanent, almost noble frown
by years of care, travail, and obstinate certitude. As she accepted the pass
from Hugh, her eyes as much as asked him: What trick are you playing on us?
They as much as said to him: You can buy and sell our lives, but you can’t buy
our souls or affections, not with a shilling or a piece of printed paper.
Hugh might have been stung by the ingratitude he saw in the woman’s eyes, had
he not understood her proud, unyielding suspicions. But he was neither hurt
nor offended, and Dilch saw no trace of guilt or atonement in his face or manner.
She regarded herself as a good judge of men, white and black. She was secretly
in wonder of Hugh, though she would admit it to neither herself nor to anyone
else. Hugh defied all her past criteria of assessment. She could not decide
whether to praise him or despise him; praise meant acknowledgment of his actions,
actions she despised for his having the power to take. Hugh was the first man
in many years who troubled the quietude and dignity of Dilch’s soul.

* * *

A month passed, and Hugh established his authority at Meum Hall. He entered
the lives of everyone who lived on the decaying enterprise, and breathed new
life into them as well as into the property. He was on the minds of many men
and women in Caxton; his actions were the subject of speculation and appraisal
in the town’s shops, on the waterfront, in the supper rooms of the planters.
Word had spread like lightning of his intention to free his slaves. No one could
say how he could ever accomplish it. Most of the other planters casually assured
themselves and each other that he could not.

Hugh would sit in the evenings, in his library, reading, thinking, or planning,
unaware of the fact that he was being observed and appraised. Often he would
pick up his brass top and anchor his thoughts to the whirling dervish that spun
atop a pile of papers. His hands were now large and strong enough that he could
launch it with his thumb and forefinger without the aid of the cord. And he
would smile contentedly in the knowledge that the boy who had once played with
that top would recognize himself as a man, and approve of him, just as he recognized
and approved of his memory of that boy.

L
ate one Saturday morning in mid-December, Jack Frake rode to Meum Hall, and
was told by Mrs. Vere that her employer was somewhere in the fields. He rode
out again and espied his neighbor on the western-most edge, near the worm fence
that divided the property from Henry Otway’s plantation.

Hugh was sitting on a log studying a spread of brown weeds. He heard the jingle
of reins and turned. He smiled in recognition of Jack Frake, then gestured to
the weeds. “The soil here is so scurvied that even wild weeds take on the color
of dead bark.” He reached out and snapped one of the weed stalks in two, then
tossed it away. “I’ve not seen its like anywhere else.”

“It will take years for this soil to recover,” remarked Jack. “Let it lie fallow
for a few seasons, then plough and manure it for a few more. With care, it will
come back to life.”

“Yes,” Hugh said. “But first I’ll plant some turnips in a part of it, and clover
and sainfoin in another, just to see which works faster. Red clover, I have
heard, is best for that purpose.”

Jack stood in his stirrups to better survey the weeds. “Five hundred hills
of tobacco,” he said. “Or a thousand of corn, never to be grown for a while.
Swart reduced this soil to little better than sand.”

Hugh rose and faced his visitor. “To what do I owe your presence, Mr. Frake?”
Jack smiled. “Friendly curiosity, Mr. Kenrick.” He paused. “You’ve got the planters
and the town talking about your intentions.”
“Concerning the slaves? Yes, it’s true.” Hugh was dressed in a shirt, a short
wool jacket, trousers, and a straw hat. He reached down, picked up a field bottle,
and took a drink from it.
“How?” asked Jack.
Hugh shrugged. “When I have coined the means, I shall make no secret of it,”
he said. He stooped again to drop the bottle into a cloth bag, then slung the
bag over his shoulder. “Come, walk me back to the house. I’ve finished assessing
the fields today. Been out here since dawn, and I’m famished. You will join
me for dinner.”
Jack grinned and looked away. “Yes,
milord
Danvers,” he remarked half-humorously.
Hugh glanced up at his neighbor. “No more of that, Mr. Frake. Not even in jest.”
“Not that it’s a custom I would fall into, sir, but — why not?”
“Because I shall get enough of that when I return home someday,” Hugh said.
“But, for a few years, at least, I shall be a whole man. Here.”
Jack turned his mount around and started back again. Hugh walked beside him.
“When do you expect to return to England?”
Hugh sighed. “When my uncle has died, and my father assumes the title and claims
the seat in Lords. The patent allows it. Then it will be my turn to manage the
estate. It is many times larger than Meum Hall. What I learn here will greatly
ease that responsibility.”
Jack studied his companion for a moment. “Will you want to return?”
“Very likely not.”
They walked together in silence for a while. Then Jack said, “Ockhyser has signed
on with a slaver that called on Yorktown last week. The
Dorothea
.”
“Good riddance,” remarked Hugh. “And, please, Mr. Frake, no more queries about
the slaves or Mr. Ockhyser. Mr. Vishonn and some of the others practically invited
themselves over for a visit after dinner today. They, too, are curious. Stay
and listen to how I plan to enlighten them.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.” Jack paused. “Your property looks improved, and your
people, free and unfree, even seem to step livelier. Mr. Vishonn and the others
will notice that, but will probably ascribe the difference to the fair weather.”

* * *

“You are right, sir,” said Hugh. “The correct form could have been either
mea
or
meus.
However, I wished to make a statement, and not merely
append an inert name to a stationary object. Thus
meum
— ‘It is my hall,
my place.’ Do you see? It is quite as correct as your instances, but has the
virtue of being assertive and memorable.”

Thomas Reisdale grinned and dismissed the subject with a movement of his hand.
“I cannot argue with that explanation, sir. You have a penchant for nonpareil
reasoning.”

Seven men sat around the supper table, which was bare except for glasses, several
bottles of claret, and a silver epergne whose branching bowls were piled with
dry sweetmeats. Reisdale had arrived in the company of Reece Vishonn, Ralph
Cullis, and Ira Granby. Arthur Stannard came shortly afterward, uncertain of
his reception. Hugh had welcomed him, too.

Until now, the conversation had flitted around mundane subjects: the shortage
of skilled labor and the exorbitant rates being charged by itinerant and usually
careless artisans; the expected surge in trade once the war was concluded, especially
in tobacco, shingles, and lumber; the unimaginable possibilities of western
settlement and exploitation, now that France’s influence on the continent had
been all but eradicated; and bills and matters being debated in the House of
Burgesses.

Then Reece Vishonn too casually broached the subject that was on the visitors’
minds. “Do you think it was wise to dismiss your overseer, sir?”
Hugh had changed into a clean silk shirt and breeches, but had not bothered
to don a coat or waistcoat. His visitors were slightly scandalized by this mode
of receiving guests, but assumed that this was a new style in England. Hugh
frowned and said, “Yes, I do, sir. He accomplished but a nullity, and was costly
in that regard. Retaining him in that capacity was as silly as paying a man
to watch cattle graze. He had no other arts to offer me.”
Mr. Cullis asked, “But…suppose there is discontent among your people, sir. Who
would dispel it, or oppose it?”
Hugh scoffed. “If Mr. Ockhyser and his ilk were meant to be the sole check on
the fire and brimstone of revolt, Mr. Cullis, you would have had a taste of
hell long ago. You misconstrue the farrago. Most of the slaves I’ve encountered
here and in the north are inured to the numb palsy of their servitude, just
as their owners are resigned to their being sentient engines of toil and obedience.”
He shook his head, and added, “Just as their owners are inured to liberal servitude
under the Crown.” He shook his head again. “It is a mutual bondage that both
parties find themselves in, sir, and one that someday will be severed only with
great difficulty.”
Jack Frake, who sat in a corner of the long table and took little part in the
talk, looked up from lighting his pipe and studied his host with new interest.
Vishonn queried, “Do you refer to the Crown, or the slaves, sir?”
“Both, in truth,” Hugh said.
After a moment of silence, Ira Granby remarked, “What a novel construction.”
Arthur Stannard ventured, “I have not heard the problem put in such terms before.
Not even in Williamsburg. About the slaves, I mean.”
Reece Vishonn looked thoughtful, then said, “Indeed, it is a bondage, Mr. Kenrick,
for us as well as the poor souls, as you say. But, there is no correcting it.
There is no other economical means of raising our crops but with slaves, especially
tobacco.”
“Most of the planters here wish to stop the importation of Negroes,” added Granby,
“especially the West Indies type, who are, as a rule, refractory curmudgeons.
But the Board of Trade and the Privy Council disallow every direct duty our
House lays on the gentlemen who bring them in.”
Reisdale said, “The only tax London will permit is the
ad valorem
the
House impose on slaves brought in from neighboring colonies, and that is paid
by the buyer, not the seller. This trade does not greatly affect the business
of the slave merchants, so it does not greatly worry them.”
“There is talk in the capital of repealing the ten percent passed some five
years ago,” mused Granby. “Again, that is a purchaser’s levy, not a merchant’s.”
Vishonn chuckled. “And that talk, sir, has arisen not long after the Governor
gave his assent to a twenty percent
ad valorem
on neighborly slaves proposed
by the House. In April, it was! What confusion!” exclaimed the planter, waving
his hands in the air. “And what is more, we are obliged to tithe each slave
as though he were a real person!”
Arthur Stannard said, “No slaves have even been imported here these past three
years, not to my knowledge. There are many planters here who would like to see
that stoppage made permanent, but I fear that at war’s end, slavers will be
auctioning fresh loads of Negroes, from Norfolk to Richmond town.”
Hugh listened patiently to this outburst of complaints with an expression of
near-indifference. Had the light of the supper room been truer, his guests might
have imagined that his eyes expressed contempt.
When he thought they were finished, he glanced briefly at Jack Frake, then smiled
and said, “Gentlemen, it is quite a congeries of conundrums that weighs you
down. It calls for consummate contumacy.”
Thomas Reisdale, after a scoffing grunt, remarked, “You are in a gay, alliterative
mood, sir!”
Hugh shrugged. “Some tragedies can be amusing, sir. Taking together the Crown’s
venal means of trade, by which we are all captive traders, the Crown’s encouragement
and sanction of slavery, the confiscatory method of payment for imported goods,
the eight and one-third pence per pound duty on tobacco we send to England —
well, all in all, I must concur with Mr. Frake here, that in the Crown’s jackdaw
eye, we are but glorified factotums.”
Reece Vishonn opened his mouth to answer, but Hugh raised his hand and continued.
“Allow me to ask you this question, sirs: Why do you not chafe under such circumstances?
Oh, you
do
chafe — I have just heard some vigorous scratching — but is
it any more than an annoying itch? By God, sirs, there is not one among you
who would fail to challenge a sharper to a duel if you discovered that he had
bilked you out of a fortune at cribbage! Yet, you allow the Crown to fit you
into the bilboes of restraint and constant debt. We know what is the Crown’s
advantage. What is yours? A near monopoly on the tobacco trade, and the occasional
generosity of the drawback scheme, by which you are credited with the eight
and one-third pence per pound if your tobacco is fortunate enough to be bought
for transshipment to the Continent. For those dubious sops, you are expected
to be grateful for your thralldom of debt and enforced dependency.”
Ralph Cullis began to speak, but, again, Hugh raised his hand, and continued.
“Of course, you would rather have the liberty of choosing your own buyers, of
demanding hard coin in payment, of shipping on French or Spanish or Dutch vessels,
whose carriage would be infinitely cheaper, and of paying no duty at all.” He
grinned slyly. “Do not tell me otherwise, sirs. I have worked both ends of this
business, and speak from personal observation.” He paused. “I will tell you
that I am ashamed of my country, for the fraudulence it practices on its most
industrious sons!”
No one said anything for a while. All the men but Jack Frake sat staring at
Hugh in astonishment. Jack also stared at him, but with pleased amazement. Only
Ira Granby seemed to be contemplating a reply. At length, he said, “Well, sir…we
have English law, through which we may strive to correct those…disparities.”
Hugh cocked his head. “Only insofar as the law recognizes your existence as
an Englishman, Mr. Granby. And so far as that law allows, here in Virginia,
or anywhere else in the colonies, you are a political bastard who may be tolerated,
and perhaps even coddled and cajoled, so long as you do not complain, or become
too familiar, or presumptuous about your legitimacy.”
Granby’s face turned red, while Vishonn’s turned ashen. Both men were gathering
the courage to rise and leave, but were stopped when Thomas Reisdale commented,
“This is true.”
Vishonn pursed his lips, then said, “You paint a hopeless picture, sir. But
I do not believe our situation is as desperate as you depict.”
“As you wish,” answered Hugh.
Arthur Stannard said, “If I did not know you better, Mr. Kenrick, I would be
tempted to believe that you are recommending a gross flouting of the laws.”
“The Crown regularly flouts your liberties, Mr. Stannard, and thus some portion
of our excellent constitution, yours less so than those of our companions here.”
Hugh shook his head once. “No, sir. I do not advocate anarchy. I am recommending
at least an admission of what Mr. Granby has called ‘disparities.’ Someday the
Privy Council and the king’s ministers may find the resolve and rationale to
disallow
all
our liberties.”
Reece Vishonn sighed, and glanced at Hugh with a pitying look. “What dark and
insinuating sentiments to harbor in the Empire’s brightest year, sir! You see
devilish designs all about you, while we practical men observe only the natural
course of things. Oh, yes, I concede that there exists some unfairness in our
ancient arrangements with the mother country, and that some men in London overreach
their mandate. But there is little that cannot be resolved between practical
men!” He laughed. “Consider the business of empire, sir! What a farrago
that
must be! I don’t envy the fellows charged with its management. And, I honestly
doubt that, should I sit on the Privy Council or the Board of Trade, I could
do much better or otherwise myself! The Crown, you must know, must think and
behave in extraordinary ways, for the good of the nation.
We
are that
nation, sir, and I am
not
ashamed of my country, neither of England,
nor of Virginia!
I
am proud to be a subject of its empire!” exclaimed
the planter. “Proud, and grateful to boot!”
Ralph Cullis leaned forward and said, “And, consider this question, Mr. Kenrick:
How many Frenchmen have the liberty to compose addresses to King Louis, or the
opportunity to send memorials to his
parlement
?”
“Very few, Mr. Granby,” Hugh said. “I cannot even remember when the last
parlement
sat. But, an absence of liberty in one nation is not to be measured
against the incremental loss of it in another.”
“Speaking of France,” Reisdale said tentatively, “and of empires. Recently a
friend and correspondent of mine in London sent me a transcript of an address
to the Sorbonne in Paris, by a prior of that institution, some ten years ago.
Oh, what is its title now? Yes, I remember!
Tableau philosophique des progrés
successifs de l’sprit humain.
The fellow’s name? Yes, Turgot. Anne-Robert-Jacques
Turgot.”
Vishonn chuckled. “Are you going to assault us with more French wisdom, Mr.
Reisdale? I must declare, you are a veritable repository of obscure erudition!”
“Obscure erudition has often trounced conventional wisdom, sir,” said the attorney
with a smile. “To a London lighterman, Sir Newton’s natural observations may
comprise a compendium of arcane learning, but
that
erudition will affect
that fellow’s life nonetheless.”
“Well, sir, what did this cleric say that you’re so eager for us to hear?”
Reisdale paused to relight his pipe. “Well, the title explains itself. The address
was a literal hymn to our age — at least to its accumulation of wisdom. One
remark in it stands out in my mind, and always will. Mr. Kenrick’s dark but
frank sentiments lured it from its hiding place. It has a bearing on his imagined
devilish designs — and also what Mr. Frake here spoke to us about at the ball.”
Vishonn, Granby, and Cullis all glanced at Jack. Vishonn said, “Sir, you are
strangely quiet, by the bye. Have you nothing to say?”
Jack smiled serenely and looked briefly at Hugh. “My neighbor and host speaks
for me, Mr. Vishonn, and very ably.”
Hugh nodded in acknowledgment.
“You are in agreement with his sentiments?”
“Had I his talent for speech, I might have expressed them in the same manner.”
“Don’t doubt your talent for that, sir,” said Vishonn with humor. “It seems
that Caxton now has two fellows who are comfortable with teasing treason.” He
turned to Reisdale. “Well, sir, what did this Frenchman say that you wish us
to hear?”
“He said — and it is a remarkable simile,” prefaced the attorney, “’Colonies
are like fruit, which clings to the tree only until it is ripe. By becoming
self-sufficient, they do what Carthage did, what America will sometime do.’”
Granby frowned. “Do what, sir?”
“Why, fall from the tree, sir,” Reisdale said.
Ralph Cullis groaned, as if in pain. Reece Vishonn’s face contorted in incredulity.
Ira Granby made a contemptuous, spitting sound. “What rot!” he muttered.
Vishonn chuckled again. “What fantastic ideas come from a most unlikely venue!”
he remarked. “A bureaucrat advocating
that
! And a Papist priest, no less!
Well, we are not self-sufficient, so we cannot fall.”
Hugh looked thoughtful. “I must read this Frenchman’s address some time, Mr.
Reisdale.”
“I would gladly lend you the transcript, sir.”
“I must disagree with him, however, at least on that one point.” Hugh reached
over and moved the silver epergne closer, and demonstrated his words by touching
parts of the serving dish. “I see our empire as a human and political manifestation
of this piece of table furniture — the colonies, these tiers made of the best
crystal, the crystal of English science and enterprise and arts, holding all
the fruits of our nation, fixed firmly to the silver trunk of English law refined
and made clear and just.” He paused. “Abbé Turgot neglected to mention that
ripened fruit will also shrivel or putrefy, whether it has been picked, poached,
or has fallen. It is not a perfect simile, which should precisely match the
object of allusion in cause, consequence, and condition.”
“Well, sir!” exclaimed Vishonn happily, “at last you say something with which
I can agree!” He reached across the table and took a few candied dates from
the epergne. “But, good lord, sir — you are a worrisome fellow!” He popped a
date into his mouth and chewed it noisily.
Granby and Cullis also smiled in relief and made similar remarks.
“I concede that,” Reisdale said. “But, nonetheless, Abbé Turgot’s point is novel,
and, well, shall we say…revolutionary?”
“True,” said Hugh. “And I hope that the simile is his only failing. I look forward
to perusing his address.” He then abruptly steered the conversation away from
politics to plantation matters. He rose after a while and invited his guests
on a tour of the grounds around the house, and pointed out what repairs and
improvements he was having made. Reece Vishonn and the others complimented him
on the condition of the estate, and reminisced about their past visits to Brougham
Hall, which once rivaled Enderly in the town’s social life.
At last the planters took their leave, thanking Hugh from their saddles for
his hospitality and inviting him to call on them in the near future.