Devil Water (72 page)

The Wilsons arrived in Williamsburg just before the opening of the autumn Assembly and consequent “Publick Times.” Nor would they have found lodging in that crowded little town except that Byrd gave them a letter to Mrs. Sullivan, owner of Marot’s Ordinary. Jean Marot had been a servant of William Byrd the First’s; and his widow, the inn’s landlady, now Mrs. Sullivan, was much indebted to the Byrd family. She finally produced a tiny room, which at least was private, and clean.

Jenny was delighted. She hung out of the one window, watching the colorful traffic on Gloucester Street, as the Burgesses and Councilors streamed into town. Chariots and chaises rolled by, here and there a coach. There were many horsemen, and a few carts laden with produce for the market square. Presently a sedan chair appeared on the cobble sidewalk opposite Jenny’s window. It was carried by two Negroes in scarlet and gold livery, and obviously contained the Governor’s lady, since the royal arms were painted on the door and passersby all curtsied or bowed. The sedan chair stopped at the apothecary shop and Jenny watched, fascinated, as Mrs. Gooch emerged.

“Hoops are evidently smaller,” Jenny announced to Rob, who was shaving himself at a cracked mirror. “And she’s wearing a broad leghorn hat over her own hair. Lots of ruching, but no lace. That striped gown is pretty. Red and white.”

Rob grunted amiably, scraping away at his stubborn beard. “We’ll get you something to wear, besides that black. Something blue, I hope. I’ve a fancy for blue!”

Jenny drew her head in and smiled. “There’s a milliner just down the street. I see the sign. Rob, have we money enough for new outfits for both of us?”

“Aye, love. If we don’t go hog-wild. We’re going to enjoy ourselves on this trip!”

At the sudden radiance in her face, and the grateful seductive look she gave him, he threw his razor onto the stand. He took a quick step and grabbed her against him. “So, my lass --” he said half laughing. “And have you
that
in mind? I’m more than willing. ‘Tis the best way I know to start off our junket!”

He lifted her in his arms and put her down on the bed. She made a token resistance, for the pleasure of being wooed. And Rob did woo her; he kissed the tip of her nose, and her ears, he whispered love words, as he undressed her; until the wish for teasing play left both of them, and they stared into each other’s eyes with the grim, intent look of passion. Their bodies had always responded to each other, but this time they achieved a depth of response and a height of joy neither had known before. While afterwards they lay quiet -- floating in a blissful contentment. “Happy,” whispered Jenny in wonder, turning on his shoulder to kiss his half-shaven chin. “Happy. What a silly little word to express
this
feeling.”

“Aye,” said Rob, and rested his cheek against the soft golden hair.

The happiness lasted, with one exception, throughout their stay in Williamsburg. Jenny found a blue muslin gown at the mantua-maker’s, it was secondhand and consequently cheap, even after alteration. She embellished it around the neck and at the elbows with white ruffles. She bought a flat straw hat which tied with ribbons under her chin like Mrs. Gooch’s. She bought a small hoop petticoat, and cream-colored gloves and a pair of fashionable black kid slippers. Thus attired and having been told how pretty she looked by Rob, she felt herself suitably dressed, though not as elegant of course as the
rich
planters’ wives who rode by in silks and satins. Rob had the tailor make him a maroon broadcloth suit of a conservative style, then added a small brown tie-wig from the wigmaker’s, and a cocked hat discreetly edged with silver braid.

No longer feeling like back-country yokels, the Wilsons took in all the sights. There were horse races outside town, and they often went to see them. Rob would not bet. Jenny was a bit disappointed and thought briefly of her father -- of the York races and the lucky bets which had resulted in the purchase of Coquet.

The Wilsons twice watched the mustering of militia on the market square. And Rob, who had not touched his pipes in months, was moved by the fife and drum corps to wish he’d brought them along.

They ate sometimes in their own inn, but often they sampled the other taverns -- Blue Bell, Red Lion, and Wetherburn’s. The latter’s real name was the “Raleigh,” but the landlord, Harry Wetherburn, was so genial and influential a man that his personality pervaded the Raleigh, which was always crowded with Assemblymen. It was too expensive for Rob and Jenny to do more than drink a glass of small beer there.

One evening they went to the theater to see
The Beggar’s Opera.
Rob had great difficulty in securing seats for this most popular production which had opened in London nine years ago, and made Polly Peachum, Macheath, and their songs, famous even here in Williamsburg. Eventually Jenny and Rob found themselves squeezed into a narrow space on a bench in the pit.

From the moment that the curtains parted Jenny was enchanted. Doubtless the actors in this touring company were not exceptional. They did not have to be. The comedy carried itself, so did the songs and their familiar tunes and fresh, apposite words. Polly was pretty and appealing, her husband, the highwayman Macheath, was a swaggering gallant. As did the rest of the audience, Jenny followed their turbulent love story with breathless interest. She laughed and applauded when the rival wives Polly and Lucy sang in duet, “I’m bubbled.” -- “I’m bubbled.” -- “Oh, how I’m troubled!” --”Bamboozled and bit!”

So absorbed was she that when the curtains parted for the last scene in Newgate prison’s Condemned Hold and the highwayman began his farewell song, “Oh cruel, cruel, cruel, case! Must I suffer this disgrace?” Jenny thought only of the two girls who fought to claim Macheath, and she waited in suspense until she could be sure that Polly would win.

It was during Macheath’s song that Jenny suddenly noted Rob’s unnatural quiet, and that he held himself stiff as a ramrod, while staring at the stage, his eyebrows drawn into the frown she dreaded.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered.

Rob jerked his chin towards the stage. “Yon’s nothing like Newgate’s ‘deathhole’! They’re making a mock of it!”

Startled, Jenny gazed at the flimsy canvas walls painted to look like stone, with a barred window and a few fetters inked in. “It’s only a play,” she said dismayed. “I never thought, Rob -- I mean --it’s supposed to be
funny.”

“It’s not so funny when you’ve been there,” he said.

“Papa too,” she said, speaking more from astonishment than anything else.

“Aye,” he agreed, so loud that the woman in front shushed him angrily. “Your father too. And I don’t like reminders o’ the past.”

“Shall we go?” she faltered, upset by his vehemence.

He shook his head. “I paid plenty for these seats.”

There was very little more to the play, though what there was Jenny neither saw nor heard, aware that Rob had gone into a black mood of the kind he had shown her but once or twice since their marriage. The play ended to the spirited tune, “Lumps of Pudding,” and the Wilsons silently filed out with the rest.

This sad interruption to their gaiety was fortunately ended by the sudden appearance of William Byrd outside the theater. He had been with old Commissary Blair watching the play from a stage box, and he had noticed Jenny and Rob in the audience, also noticed their greatly improved appearance. He came up to them and bowed to Jenny. “How d’ye do?” he said smiling. “Having a good time in the capital? Wilson, I’ve not forgot your land grant. The Council sits again tomorrow, and I expect to put it through then -- there’s been so many.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Rob, his face clearing. He had found a lawyer, and sent in his application to the Council the day of their arrival in Williamsburg, then heard nothing further, and caution had kept him from showing his lump of mineral to anyone until the land was patented.

“Come take a glass of punch at the Raleigh with me,” said Byrd, who had already had madeira served him in the box, and felt mellow.

The Wilsons accepted gratefully, and Byrd, pleased at the admiring glances Jenny attracted, gave them supper at a table in the Apollo Room among the fashionable crowd of Councilors and Burgesses. Jenny was relieved to find that Evelyn had seemed well when Byrd left her, coughing less and eating better.

It was also through Byrd’s kindness that the Wilsons went to the King’s Birthday Ball, which was held at the Capitol on Monday, October 30. The festivities had already lasted two days. The town was most beautifully illuminated -- a candle in each window. Cannon had been discharged and the colors displayed on every public building.

The ball itself was very lavish. Governor Gooch might and did complain bitterly of the expense to himself, yet he knew the worth of such festivities in cementing the Colony’s loyalty.

The Capitol was accordingly lit up in a dazzle, and garnished with greenery, and the throng -- which included Rob and Jenny -- made obeisance to the Royal Surrogates and were mightily impressed.

This was a far more public ball than the one Jenny had gone to at the Governor’s Palace. The rooms were mobbed with guests of all degree, except of course petty tradesmen and servants. Jenny enjoyed herself thoroughly, for there were fiddlers and French horns playing in an anteroom, the myriad bayberry candles gave forth fragrance, and the tables in the cleared committee rooms were loaded with punch and wine and elaborate sweetmeats.

It was only when they started drinking toasts to King George and the royal family that Jenny thought of the purpose of the ball. She stole a quick look at Rob. He was in high spirits, having this morning received his grant of five hundred acres near the Slate River. And now he had just encountered a Mr. Holman who was one of the Burgesses from Goochland. Rob and Holman were talking frontier conditions animatedly, though they paused and drank the toast as the Governor proposed it. “To our Glorious Sovereign, King George the Second of Great Britain! Long may he reign!” cried Governor Gooch.

I can’t drink to that, Jenny thought, feeling both embarrassed and a trifle foolish. What difference did a long past and childish oath of allegiance to King James really make? And yet it did. King James still lived, and near him in Rome -- as Lady Betty wrote -- lived her father.

Under cover of the cheers and huzzahs which greeted the toast, Jenny slipped behind the curtains of an embrasured window. There she could see Capitol Square and the Governor’s guard, who marched to and fro behind the cannon which boomed out a salvo after each toast. There were a great many toasts. To Her Majesty Queen Caroline. To Frederick, the Prince of Wales. To Augusta, the Princess of Wales. To William, the Duke of Cumberland, and so on down through several princesses. The Hanoverians seemed very well established, a most prolific lot, Jenny thought in a detached way, while the cannon boomed and the people cheered. She knew that her behavior would seem silly to Rob, that it would in fact annoy him, as did any reference, no matter how oblique, to her father.

Rob, however, did not notice her disappearance until the toasts were well over, so interested was he in discussing with Mr. Holman methods of improving navigation on the upper James. Then Jenny beckoned to him, and he joined her in the window to watch the fireworks.

On the morning of November 4, Rob and Jenny, still in bed, were talking of their departure. Besides their clothes they had bought sundries in Williamsburg, mostly drugs, the Peruvian bark which controlled fever, laudanum for toothache, a few spices and unguents -- all things they could cram into their saddlebags. The main supplies Rob would get at Shocco before they boarded their boat. Also, he would have to hire a stout lad to help him row and sail up the river against the current. Rob was eager to get home, and remarkably cheerful considering that he had finally had his lump of ore assayed, and found that it was copper pyrites. “Fool’s Gold,” he said ruefully. “But never mind. I’d not of known what to do wi’ a gold mine, and I
do
see how to develop an ironworks, if I can ever get some labor in for that new tract. Mr. Holman said he knew of several families we might persuade to settle near us. I’m to talk it over with him this afternoon.”

“Good,” said Jenny absently. She was depressed this morning -- not at the prospect of being back at Snowdon, for she had had enough frivoling, and was as eager as Rob to be sure that all was well at their plantation. Her depression came from the discovery that she was not with child. Two days late, and she had so hoped -- though had not mentioned this to Rob.

From the distance, Bruton church clock clanged out seven times.

“Well -- ” Rob yawned, “we’d better get up! I’ve grown lazy as a lizard. Can’t get ahead
that
way -- now what!” he interrupted himself as there was a pounding on their door and the landlady’s urgent voice.

“Mrs. Wilson! Mrs. Wilson! You’re wanted!”

While she was bundling on a dressing gown and hurrying downstairs, Jenny had an intuition. It was no surprise to see Eugene standing on the landing, his eyeballs rolling anxiously, his underlip thrust out. “Oh, Miss Jenny!” he cried. “Please to hasten to the Marster’s. Theah’s trouble at Westovah!”

“Miss Evelyn?” said Jenny.

“Ah reckon so. She’m took bad -- or leastways that’s what Cap’n Randolph come to tell Marster. They’s waiting foh you.”

Jenny and Rob dressed fast. In ten minutes they had followed Eugene down the street to the house where Byrd kept permanent chambers. William Byrd was in his parlor, wearing a flowered dressing-gown, a nightcap on his shaven head, writing last-minute notes with violent stabs at the paper. Captain Edward Randolph was pacing a strip of Turkey carpet in his restless, rolling sea-gait.

“What’s
happened?’’
cried Jenny as they entered the sitting room.

Byrd gestured to the Captain. “You explain, Ned. I must finish this letter to the Governor.”

Randolph bowed to Jenny, nodded coldly towards Rob, and said, “I’ve got the
Gooch
anchored by Westover -- sailed in night before last. I’ve brought furniture Colonel Byrd ordered from London.