My Name is Resolute (60 page)

Serenity said, “Well, how good to see you, Miss Talbot. Oh, what was your married name again?”

“MacLammond,” I said with a small smile.

“Mackle-mond.” And so it went, Serenity interviewing me as if she meant to hire me for some position, and I answering her queries with care and a smile. At last she offered me an invitation to a ball they meant to have at their home in Boston on the Friday preceding Christmas. “Unless,” she said, tittering behind her fan, “that does not give you enough time to find the loan of a suitable gown. In which case your regrets will be accepted.”

“On the contrary,” Wallace said. “No excuse will be adequate to deny us your presence. It is so boring here nowadays. None of the old people are around. All drummed into service, apparently, against the French.”

I turned to him with a wary feeling. “As is my husband. I am glad to see your service is already finished.”

“What? No, no. They came around Charles City, of course. It seemed a good time for a six-hundred-mile trip to visit my ailing mother, did it not, my dear?”

Serenity nodded approvingly. “But that is why Wallace thinks none of the fun people are here anymore. They’ve all gone to war. Isn’t that tragic?”

“It is indeed,” I said. “Would you permit me to bring my ward? She is of age to be out, though not given the privilege.” I wondered what Serenity would say upon seeing her sister or whether they kept correspondence and she knew of the girl’s place in my home.

“It wouldn’t be a place for servants, except as attendants,” Serenity said.

“She is not a servant. She is a young lady without means for a coming-out ball.”

Serenity looked at Lady Spencer with a roll of her eyes. “Very well. Bring whomever you wish,” she said.

“Thank you. I shall bring my daughter, too, then. It will be her first event and she will turn sixteen just before it.”

Serenity’s whole being sank with her sigh, though she smiled. “How lovely.”

Dinner guests began to arrive. Lady Spencer had arranged a violin duo to play at the far end in the large parlor while everyone gathered. The two men had worried looks on their faces as they worked their bows up and down the strings. I longed to sit and watch them, for I had never heard such music or seen such playing. Too soon we were ushered to the dining hall.

Boston town could boast itself of lavish wealth. My gown was out of style, and too plain. Serenity’s flourishes and lace had been carried out in some form on every woman there. I was a wee blackbird among fluttering silks and whispering brocades. My only comfort was that I might be unobtrusive for it. Lady Spencer took my arm at the door. “Help me, would you please?” she asked, leaning upon me. She introduced me all around.

As a well-dressed young man passed the doorway, she caught his eye and said to him, “May I present Mistress MacLammond, Mr. Hancock? I trust you will value her friendship as I do, may it be sometime in the future.”

Mr. Hancock wasted not a second in flying to my side to take my hand and bow graciously above it. He held it while smiling into my eyes with a warmth that reminded me so of Cullah. How I missed the touch of a man’s hand, even a young man’s. He said, “Good evening, Mistress MacLammond. From this night forward, on Lady Spencer’s word, I shall be at your service.” He was alarmingly attractive, I thought.

“How kind of you, sir. Are you related to the late Reverend Hancock of Lexington town?”

“My late father, good lady. I have been living with my uncle since he died. I am your servant, Mistress MacLammond.”

When the supper was finished and the ladies had retired to another parlor, Lady Spencer addressed the men, already getting out their tobacco. “Gentlemen, I bid you good evening. You will please excuse me for my health does not permit me to remain up longer, but make yourselves quite at home. Rupert will see to anything you desire.” We made an appearance at the room where the ladies prepared to wait out their husbands’ pipes, then Amelia asked me to help her up the stairway. Her maid showed me to a room. This time I was not to sleep at the eastern end where the sun could awaken a tradeswoman, but was taken to a suite next to Lady Spencer’s own.

No detail had been spared, for I was provided a night shift of clean new linen, and a featherbed with downy coverlets. I sank into the bed and closed my eyes, fighting sleep that threatened me the moment my head touched the pillow. August was alone in the house with America Roberts. Jacob was there, true. And the children. And August had a cold. But what was that to a man? I sat up, against the roll of the featherbed, overcome with fear that no bundling board could dampen the ardor that might be running rampant in my home while I was away. I lay against the pillows. It was late and I was exhausted from the wine and heavy food. America Roberts was a woman grown. August was uncannily handsome in a devilish way. Nothing I could do from this side of the down-filled counterpane, eleven miles away, could change anything. I raised my hands for a moment, then lowered them, resigned to let them control their own lives. My eyes closed and for the next few hours, I slept the deep, safe sleep of a small and innocent child snuggled in satin bedding on the top floor of a house overlooking Meager Bay.

*   *   *

While Gwyneth was thrilled beyond all telling with her invitation to Lady Spencer’s Christmas soirée, I had to beg America to don the gown made for her and accompany me. At last, it was August’s promise that he would escort us and she would be no wallflower that convinced her to go. We hired a nurse and a cook to make supper and care for the little ones, and warned both ladies to take none of Jacob’s jests to heart. Sitting in the coach, we were a collage of color that gave light to my spirit. August dressed in stunning scarlet velvet. America was in forest green with emerald and gold trim, Gwyneth in pale pink with white lace peeking from every seam, and myself in deep rose silk with subtle coffee-colored lace. The pearls, the sapphire brooch, the ruby ring added the right touches. I let the girls wear Ma’s rings, too, and pinned a circlet of ribbons in Gwenny’s hair held by Patey’s smaller pearl brooch.

I felt queenly in the dress, and I wished so that Cullah were here beside me, though I feared he would have declined this invitation, afraid of the company of wealthy people. I felt none of that; in fact, I felt more at home than ever, as if these were my people and this was how I had been meant to live. A twinge of guilt caught me in mid-thought, yet I felt no resentment of my home and my living; it was merely that I knew this life, too, and felt I could move within it had I the opportunity to do so. I folded my hands in their new silken gloves, thankful that no callus could show through.

While we rode, Gwenny amused her uncle by practicing saying, “Thank you, sir, yes I should like to dance,” using different inflections. Then she turned to me and said, “Ma, what if they dance something I do not know?”

“I suppose you might watch it and see if you can do it for the next time.”

America said, “If the man is a good dancer, he will lead you through the steps. Do not worry. But Gwenny, you should call your mother ‘Mother’ rather than ‘Ma’ at least for the evening.”

Gwenny asked, “Are you going to dance all the dances, Miss Roberts?”

“I am older and you are far too beautiful for any man there to look upon me.”

August smiled at America but said nothing.

“Not at all,” I said. “Gwyneth is young as a rosebud, to be sure, but America, you have lost none of your attributes and that gown is exquisite on you.”

“Mother? I wish I could have a lower décolletage like hers.” Gwyneth plucked at the lace lining over plump little breasts tucked into a neckline as pink and frothing as the treasures it tried to hide. Constance had had a way with Gwyneth’s gown that followed my wishes and yet still did not detract from the young lady my Gwenny had become. “It makes me look flattened out as a boy, the way this fits.”

“When you are older.” I looked at my daughter, so charming in her gown, and too winsome with her pouting lower lip pushed out the way her mother’s had been wont to do. “Any man there who mistakes you for a boy would do well to cast himself into the sea for not only are his eyes useless but his reason is gone.”

August sighed as if he were a little bored with all her prattle, but to soothe her he said, “I brought only one dagger and a dirk. In the presence of your charms, dear girl, I feel unarmed against the threat of certain attack on your behalf. Perhaps I can find loan of a cutlass or use the andirons for a cudgel.”

“Uncle!” Gwyneth said, but she smiled behind her lace fan and asked me no more foolish questions.

Snow fell about us as we traveled. The house where the coach stopped was lit as if every chandler in the colony had made his year’s profit in providing candles for the one night. A handsome man in livery met us with a folding shade to keep the snow from our faces. I paused to glance at him as he passed my hand to another servant. His gentle accent when he asked to help us down gave me pause.

“Sir? I have lived here awhile but I call Jamaica in the West Indies my home. Do you know the place?”

“Beg your pardon, Mistress, I know nothing of what you speak.”

“Your accent reminds me of the people where I lived.”

“Forgive me, good lady.”

“Not at all. Sorry to have been mistaken.”

“Yes, madam. No mistake at all, I am sure. Good evening, Mistress,” he said, and bowed as if I were royalty.

I stopped on the steps of the house to watch him tuck the step into the coach before it drove away, as stiff and perfect as any. Lady Spencer had coachmen that she paid. This was Wallace and Serenity’s home, the one he had purchased when he’d asked me to marry him. That man was a slave.

America saw the look on my face and asked, “Is something amiss?”

“No, nothing. His voice reminded me of someone. Let us go in and introduce you both to society, my darlings. I wish your father were here to see you, Gwenny, although he would not approve of that neckline, far be it that you would want it lower.”

August extended his arm to me and the girls walked arm in arm until the footmen at the stairs took each of their hands. We made our way into the gaily done hall. The introductions were formal. The steps leading into the ballroom were dramatic, and placed just for the effect of making each guest seem as important as the last. When I handed the man the card with our names on it and he read it aloud, I watched Serenity’s face. Her mouth opened at her sister’s name and a small, unladylike squeal came from it. She swept America into her embrace, then kissed the air at America’s side curls on both sides of her face.

I found myself asked to dance by many of the men I had met at Lady Spencer’s dinner the previous month. After a couple of hours, Wallace himself asked me to dance. He was smooth in the steps and light-footed, so that I found myself following my own advice to my daughter, and was able to keep up. I had always felt I sensed rhythms well, but while this was more challenging because it was new, it was quite pleasant. When our last bow was taken, he took my hand and said, “My dear Resolute, dancing has brought a most becoming flush to your face.” He kissed my fingers, bowing over my hand. Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Is it not interesting how private one can be in a room full of people? I have longed to see you again. These years have made you more ravishing than ever.”

I knew not how to respond, so I smiled and curtsied. His words left me unnerved. Had I given him some indication that I welcomed such a remark about my person? Was it so obvious that I missed my husband, that any rake who meant to take his chance felt he could woo me with delicate words? I felt more distressed than flattered by him, and sought to disappear from his view then, weaving through people until I found Amelia Spencer.

I sat by Lady Spencer and tried to forget about Wallace. Everywhere, the slaves in livery performed as clockwork soldiers, wound up, in their white wigs and gloves, their handsome tailcoats unmoving though they hurried from one end of the ballroom to the other. A young woman with wide eyes and long lashes carried a silver tray to and fro, collecting empty glasses and saucers with fragments of food. The music played. Instead of being a lady and having every whim catered to, or aching at a loom, I imagined myself trussed and powdered, made to carry sherry glasses as if they were the crown jewels. Was there a goat-beating stick somewhere in a barn? A cat-o’-nine-tails hungry for any hint of impropriety? I knew how hard it was to obey as an obstinate little girl. What made a grown and brawny man take on as if he waited upon a king for every guest? What scourging awaited the slightest wrong move? Were these men so happy to be escorting ladies to a coach, rather than sweating in a cane field as my pa had kept them, that they performed like courtiers? What did that say about my father? I loved him still, but it had been an enormous plantation. What inducement made them work?

“Are you tired, my dear?” Amelia asked.

“I was deep in thought. Old memories. Such a grand affair, this. It reminds me of when I was a child, and that of course reminds me of my parents, now gone.”

“I wish my Edward were here to enjoy life with me, too. It helps me to think that he is here, just lost in the crowd somewhere, brought by my memories and love. Perhaps you could think of them that way, and not let so much sadness rest upon the day.”

I smiled. “You are right, Amelia. And you are remarkable. I shall do as you suggest.” If I could keep my mind on the time and place before me, I thought. But, though I made effort to appear engaged with the dancers, applauded the music, and smiled, I lived for a while that evening in a house on Meager Bay. My mother was somewhere in the crowd, a beaming hostess. Pa would be dancing with Patey across the room.

Late into the evening, I saw the serving girl again. She looked as before, her face a mask of stone. Upon her tray, a single crystal goblet stood in the center, and she was abruptly forced to wait in front of me as dancers twirled past. Once they moved on, she stepped forward, right into two young men jostling each other, coming from one of the side rooms. The tray tipped. The goblet hit the floor with a crash just as the orchestra stopped. Eyes turned this way. Horror filled the girl’s face. I stood and stepped over the goblet, forced myself to bump into her then move to one side. “Oh, la!” I cried out. “I have dropped my sherry. Please do fetch me another, would you? Here”—I pushed at the broken glass with my toe—“someone will have to sweep this up, too.”