Just Jane (3 page)

“Why ever not? I've attended school before, and I love it.”

“He's not one of us, that's why. He's a Northerner and common folk, and suspect in both his politics and his morals.”

“What can you mean by that?”

“No, I'll say no more. But make no mistake, associating with the likes of him won't help you take your proper place among us. You've got a lot to learn about American ways, I can see that. But never fear. I'll see to your instruction in these matters.”

Jane suppressed her urge to smile, but her answering tone was gently mocking. “How very nice of you, Brandon! Yes, I'm sure I have a lot to learn.” Her next thought she left unspoken:

But I rather think, sir, it will not be you who teaches me
.

The idea of attending Mr. Cordwyn's school appealed to Jane, but she was not sure about being the only girl in a schoolroom full of rowdy boys. Mrs. Morley agreed with Brandon on the matter, that it was simply not a proper thing to do. In the end, Jane decided to seek Arthur's opinion.

“I see no harm in it, Jane,” he said. “Cordwyn's a fine fellow, and an excellent teacher, I believe. And if you find it to your liking, you'll be welcome to use my modest library to help you in your studies.”

Jane thanked him. And so it was settled—she would go to school again.

 

The next morning, Brandon saddled up Princess and rode off with friends for a tour of far-flung racecourses that would keep him away for a week or more. And that afternoon, Arthur and Harriet took Jane for a carriage drive to see the city. Arthur explained that Charlestown stood on a peninsula between the mouths of two rivers. And he amused Jane by adding, “The natives are a proud people. They like to say that Charlestown is where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers come together to form the Atlantic Ocean.”

Up and down the cobbled streets they drove, Jane admiring the curbside shops, the stately houses, and the many churches with their tall steeples. That morning, she had gazed up into the lofty interior of Saint Michael's Church, where the Ainsley family regularly attended services.

“Unfortunately, we are temporarily without our church bells,” Arthur told her. “The royal governor had them removed several years ago, in a dispute with our citizens.”

“How sad,” Jane said. “Even sadder that all this quarreling is going on between England and the American colonies.”

“It's just petty politics, Jane,” Arthur told her. “Believe me, it'll all blow over in time.”

Next he showed her the Dock Street Theater, where she might enjoy seeing a play performed. And as they drove along East Battery Street near the docks, he pointed out his own Ainsley Emporium.

“I hope to be able to invite you very soon to come in and choose some new dresses,” he said.

Thrilled at that prospect, Jane eagerly studied the Emporium building. But there was no activity around it, and, as she had noticed on her arrival a few days before, there were almost no ships in the nearby harbor. She asked Arthur why, but all he would say was, “Overseas trade is very spotty these days. Unfortunately, stock is rather low just now.” He hurriedly drove on.

On Legare Street stood Robert and Clarissa's imposing two-story house, regal in tree-shaded seclusion behind a beautiful wrought-iron gate.

Seeing it reminded Jane of her other relatives. “I understand that my father's cousin Hugh Prentice also lives in Charlestown. Could we—”

“Visit him?” Arthur shot a glance at Harriet, shaking his head. “No, Jane, I'm afraid not.”

“May I ask why? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that I could easily explain. It's just that your uncle Robert considers it unsuitable for you to meet him. He forbids it, in fact.”

“But why? Does it have something to do with the quarrel between—”

“Oh, you know how men are, Jane dear,” Harriet said. “Endlessly quarreling! And Robert and Hugh disagree on things so violently, that—well, it's just too tiresome to worry your pretty head about.”

Jane found the Ainsleys' reluctance to answer her questions most unsatisfactory. But the carriage was moving on, and because they were plainly determined to say no more, she had to let the matter drop—for now.

 

Free from Brandon's disapproving frown, Jane looked into Simon Cordwyn's schoolroom at one o'clock the next afternoon. While the schoolmaster sat intently reading some papers at his desk, a dozen boys, aged ten to fourteen, chattered in their seats. Jane slipped into a seat at the rear and cringed as the boys turned to stare at her, whispering and snickering.

Simon looked up, then rose, scanning his male charges with narrowed eyes. “Gentlemen,” he began. “Today we welcome a new student, Miss Jane Prentice, from England. You will regard her as your equal and treat her with the utmost respect, or you will incur my extreme disfavor. I expect not to have to say this again.” His voice was quiet, but its hard edge made clear his absolute authority. The unwelcome attention directed at Jane evaporated.

The day's lesson began, and soon Jane discovered that Mr. Cordwyn encouraged his students to participate in classroom discussion. She herself listened eagerly to everything but remained silent. Toward the end of the session, the schoolmaster turned to her favorite subject—history.

“It was in 1663,” he said to open the discussion, “that King Charles the Second bestowed upon his favorites a tract of land in North America to be known as the Colony of Carolina. The charter described this territory as lying between the thirty-first and thirty-sixth degrees north latitude, and extending westward to the South Seas. Who can tell us what the king might have meant by the South Seas?” He waited. “Anyone?”

After a long silence, no hand being raised, Jane finally lifted hers.

The schoolmaster responded instantly. “Yes, Miss Prentice?”

“I believe he meant the Pacific Ocean, sir.”

“Exactly correct. And how far away is that, would you say?”

“I don't know, sir. And neither did King Charles, most likely. He might have been astonished to learn that he had made one of the largest land grants in all history.”

Simon threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Very good, Miss Prentice! By heaven, that's what we've been missing in this classroom, gentlemen. An occasional display of intelligent wit!”

Jane blushed in pleasure and embarrassment.

Soon class was over. “Tomorrow,” the schoolmaster said, “we shall turn to our geometry. And I shall be immensely pleased if a few of you can exhibit slight familiarity with the properties of a triangle. Good afternoon.”

In a burst of foot-shuffling disorder, the boys bolted for the outdoors. Jane rose slowly, wondering if she might engage Mr. Cordwyn in further conversation. Perhaps he would be willing to answer some of the unanswered questions in her mind. Had he not taken a sincere interest in her—even discovering something they had in common? Already she was beginning to develop a warm feeling for the gende schoolmaster.

To her pleasant surprise, as the other students dashed out he headed straight toward her. “I'm glad you spoke up, Jane,” he said with a smile. “Glad you decided to join our school, too. You'll be an asset to the class.”

“Well, I know
I'll
greatly benefit, sir. Thank you for inviting me.

“Now, would you walk outside with me? I have something to tell you.”

“Certainly.” Jane tingled with curiosity and anticipation. As they strolled through the garden, Mr. Cordwyn said in a low tone, “I've been asked to bring you warm greetings from Mr. Hugh Prentice.”

“You
know my cousin Hugh?”

“Yes, he and his wife are good friends of mine. I dined with them just last evening near here in Queen Street. Although Hugh's never seen you, he holds you in great affection and hopes someday you two might meet.”

“Might
meet!” Jane stopped short. “Mr. Cordwyn, I just don't understand. I'm told my uncle Robert forbids me to meet Cousin Hugh. But why? Because they disagree violently! About what? They came to America together years ago. Now they don't speak? It doesn't make sense!”

“Maybe I can help.” Simon beckoned toward a shaded bench, and the two sat down. “Simply put, the quarrel between the Prentice cousins is the quarrel between England and the American colonies. Hugh is a former Englishman who has become an American. Robert, though he lives in America, will be an Englishman forever. Then there's Arthur Ainsley, who tries very hard to occupy a middle ground. He agrees with many of his friends that the British have treated us unfairly, but he believes we should resolve our differences by peaceable negotiations.”

“And what, pray tell,
are
these differences that are causing so much bad blood between friends and kinsmen?”

“You must understand, Jane, this quarrel didn't start just yesterday. It's been simmering for years. England maintains that by defeating France in the Seven Years' War, it saved the American colonies from those ‘awful French.' So, out of gratitude, the colonies ought to pay their share of the costs of that war. This has led to severe restrictions on our overseas trade, unreasonably high tariffs, and, worst of all, punishing taxation. Of course, paying taxes has always been a part of life. But what infuriates many Americans is what they call ‘taxation without representation.' That is, without representation in Parliament, where they have no voice at all.”

“That does sound unfair,” Jane said. “Especially for a merchant like Uncle Arthur, whose business is suffering directly. But where do
you
stand, Mr. Cordwyn? If I may be so bold as to ask.”

“I'm with moderates like Mr. Ainsley. They're reasonable men who might save us from disaster—if only their voices could be more clearly heard.”

“Why can't they be?”

“Because the firebrands have taken over, and their voices are much louder and more dramatic.” A dark foreboding came into Simon's tone as he went on. “You see, there's something besides reason at work here. Passion. A passionate certainty on each side of the rightness of its position, and an equally passionate determination to prevail at all costs. Look at the Prentice cousins. Robert's a staunch Loyalist, willing to die for the king and British rule if he has to. Hugh, quite the opposite—a more mild-mannered man than Robert, but a member of the rebel faction, and just as fixed in his views as Robert is in his. Patriots, as people on that side call themselves, are convinced the colonies must declare independence from England altogether.”

“Independence!”
Jane recoiled in horror. “Wouldn't that be treason?”

“Of course, and the Patriots know it. But it does not deter those madmen one whit. ‘Give me liberty, or give me death!' says Patrick Henry of Virginia, and he's speaking for the lot of them. You can easily imagine how such fiery speech stirs up all the hotheads in the land. They're itching to take up arms and rush off to do glorious battle.”

“Surely you don't think there might be an all-out war!”

“I hate to say so, but I fear it's already begun. Shots were fired in Lexington, Massachusetts, more than a year ago. Down here in the South, the so-called Carolina Sons of Liberty drove the royal governor away, and the British burned Norfolk, Virginia. Meanwhile, the British fleet stops merchant ships from bringing us goods—”

“A blockade!” Jane's eyes flashed in sudden comprehension. “So
that's
why there are no goods in Uncle Arthur's store!”

“Not only that, now we hear that British warships are headed this way. If they try to take Charlestown, and Hugh's fire-breathing Patriot friends put up armed resistance—well, all I can say is, God help us all.”

Jane stared off across the garden. It seemed so strange that sitting there among the flowers on a warm summer afternoon, she could feel a chill creeping up her spine.

Suddenly Simon was apologetic. “Forgive me, Jane. I shouldn't be talking like this, it's—”

“But I need to know these things,” she interrupted. “They concern my family. And you're the only one who's willing to talk to me about it. I can't tell you how grateful I am.”

“Nevertheless, I've said too much. Anyway, perhaps I'm being too gloomy. There's still time for tempers to cool. Put all this out of your mind now, and I'll see you tomorrow. And I hope you'll speak out in class more tomorrow than you did today.” Giving her hand a gentle pat, he rose and hurried away.

Watching him until he disappeared from sight, Jane could still feel his brief touch on her hand. How kind and patient he was in explaining things to her. But for all that, the chill on her spine remained. All this awful talk of war and rebellion—and on top of it all, to be told that Cousin Hugh was a rebel! She sagged in dismay.
What in the world is going on here?

Weeks passed, and still Uncle Robert and Aunt Clarissa did not come. Jane understood that the work at Rosewall was demanding, and that it was a good thirty miles from Charlestown—a day's journey over a rough, muddy road. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little hurt by their prolonged absence.

Meanwhile, life at the Ainsley house was pleasant. Arthur was genial, and Harriet as kind and loving as any mother. They took tea together every afternoon, cheerfully pretending that the brew, made from garden herbs, was real English tea. Mrs. Morley also seemed content. Thanks to the tactful Ainsleys, her status—above that of the black servants but not exactly the same as a member of the family—was smoothly established.

Brandon, when he was at home, grumbled about Jane's attending school, but he was usually off somewhere, either riding his beloved Princess in a race or training her for the next one. Sometimes Jane yielded to his entreaties that she attend a race, but she hated the noisy crowds and the clouds of dust raised by the galloping horses. She was relieved when a big race in some distant county took Brandon away for days at a time.