The Battling Bluestocking (13 page)

“No, he doesn’t do that.”

“You don’t approve of him, do you?”

A delicate pink tinged her cheeks. “It isn’t that,” she said, trying to explain the matter without revealing the fact that her emotions were more than a bit confused. “I cannot approve of the exploitation of human beings merely in the name of profit. We see it all the time these days. My aunt will not allow a chimney sweep in the house, though her chimneys desperately need cleaning, simply because of the way sweeps treat their poor climbing boys. And the same is true in other professions. Apprentices are brutalized, like slaves. Your uncle owns mines throughout the West Country, and I cannot reconcile my liking for him with that fact, knowing that in every one of those mines, women and children are crawling about in the dark, doing work that grown men refuse to do.”

Andrew cocked his head, regarding her searchingly. “Have you ever discussed your feelings with him?” he asked.

“I’ve told him precisely what I think of the whole business,” she replied with a sigh.

The young man’s eyes twinkled. “I am persuaded you were most explicit, ma’am, but did you ask him to explain his position?”

“What can there be to explain? Mining conditions throughout the kingdom are known to be thoroughly disgraceful.”

Andrew opened his mouth to say something, but just then the door from the entry hall opened and Lady Susan swept in, followed by a stout dame trailing brightly colored scarves and followed by a slim black boy of approximately eleven, who wore a green silk jacket and baggy trousers and matching turban with a small white plume.

“Only see whom I met upon our very doorstep,” Lady Susan said in carefully even tones when Andrew and Jessica stood to greet them.

Jessica stepped forward. “Good afternoon, Lady Prodmore. Have you met Mr. Liskeard?”

The woman gave a hearty chuckle, holding out her hand to the young man. “I cannot pretend that we have been formally introduced,” she said in a brassy voice, “but I have certainly encountered Mr. Liskeard at a number of affairs lately. Wherever one chances to see Miss St. Erth, actually. How do you do, sir?”

Andrew’s eyes glazed a bit, but his training stood him in good stead, and he acknowledged her greeting with his customary politeness, merely saying that he did very well.

She cast him an arch look. “With a face as handsome as yours, I don’t doubt it. But don’t be flinging your cap over the windmill for the first pretty face you encounter, eh?”

“No, ma’am.” He glanced at Lady Susan, and Jessica was grateful to note that he didn’t seem in the least discomposed, not even by her aunt’s twinkling gaze. “Did everything go well this afternoon, my lady?” he inquired pointedly.

Lady Susan sighed. “I fear the prosecution was in fine fettle,” she said. “Is there any more tea, Jessica?”

“Yes, Aunt, but it has been sitting here growing cold. Let me ring for another pot. I am persuaded that Lady Prodmore would also like some.”

“Can’t say that I’d refuse,” agreed that lady. “We’re running into summer if the heat of the day is any indication. Go and stand by the door, Albert,” she said tartly. “Do you intend to be mistaken for a statue in my lady’s drawing room?”

“
Mais non, madame
,” murmured the boy, abashed. He moved quickly to stand beside the hall door, which opened but a moment later to admit Bates and one of the maids with fresh tea and sandwiches.

As she helped herself, Lady Prodmore demanded to know if Lady Susan had actually set foot in a common courtroom.

“Yes, of course. ’Tis poor Mr. Hatchard, you know.”

“I do know, and though I’m aware that you are involved with that Africa Institute, my lady, I’m not one to hide my teeth, and I shan’t scruple to tell you that I believe that man has gone too far.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Susan’s tone chilled slightly, but her guest took no notice.

“No civilized person could ever believe that such a series of events as that described can ever have taken place on English soil,” said Lady Prodmore firmly. “What gentleman would ever strike a woman, even a black one, who chanced to find herself in a delicate condition? No, no, my lady, I know you believe your heart is in the right place, but I’ll wager you was taken in like the rest of them. That Mr. Hatchard ought to have had better sense than to publish such a pack of nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Indeed, ma’am. Scandalous, malignant nonsense at that. I’m sure it will be seen for what it is before long—a malicious fabrication.”

“You think the Africa Institute, with members like Mr. Wilberforce and the Duke of Grosvenor, not to mention myself, would stoop to such fabrication, my lady?” There was a dangerous note in Lady Susan’s cultivated tones. Jessica held her breath, not daring to allow Andrew to catch her eye.

Lady Prodmore, recollecting herself, gave an apologetic chuckle and a dismissing wave of her hand. “How you do take one up. Of course I meant nothing of the sort. However,” she added, “I don’t doubt you was misinformed, my lady, and with intent. The purpose is clearly to prove to the British public—aye, and to the black population of the West Indies islands, as well—that those who are called to administer justice in. Antigua are so debased that no black person can obtain redress at their hands. That, of course, must be pure fabrication. There is no doubt a plot at hand, and you have merely been the victims of it, as has Mr. Hatchard, which is why he ought to have been more sensible than to publish something without first proving the facts.”

“A plot, Lady Prodmore?” Jessica asked. “Are you suggesting that members of the Africa Institute would involve themselves in such a thing merely to establish some point or other about the cruelty of slavery?” Involuntarily she found her gaze drifting toward Albert, listening to their discussion from his position by the door.

But Lady Prodmore had mounted a hobbyhorse, and she did not observe Jessica’s glance, nor did she spare a thought for the listening boy. “I would not suggest that
all
the members are involved,” she said, “though I do find it suspicious that there has been such adamant refusal to name the source of their so-called information. Surely that source could be protected if the British public knew who he was, so it’s pure poppycock to suggest that it would be dangerous to reveal his name. Now I come to think about that, I am sure, if the respectable individuals you have mentioned and others whose names I have seen in the list of members of your society had been present when the question of his identity was raised, they would never have refused to name him. Such a refusal can only have proceeded from some person who was influenced more by zeal than discretion in promoting the measures which your society has undertaken to advocate. Furthermore,” she went on in grand style, oblivious to Lady Susan’s rising indignation, “I would have you remember that not long since, right in the center of those very West Indies, the inhabitants of one of the largest islands rebelled against their white masters, establishing a Negro republic at the cost of many lives. Could there be anything more wicked than to attempt to stir more such rebellion?”

Noting that her aunt was completely incapable of returning a civil reply, Jessica answered hastily, “Surely no one wants that to happen, my lady.”

“No, indeed,” Andrew added with equal haste and his own weather eye on Lady Susan, whose color had risen alarmingly. “I say, Lady Prodmore, did you ever hear tell of a fellow called Woodfall? Henry Simpson Woodfall was his name, and he was caught up in a libel business very like this one. Printed the infamous ‘Junius letters,’ don’t you know? Happened about fifty years ago right here in London. Poor Woodfall was in the same position as Mr. Hatchard, for no one ever knew who actually wrote the ‘Junius letters.’ Could have been that Wilkes fellow, or Burke, or even that Mr. Gibbon, who wrote about the Roman Empire. Famous stuff. Read all about it up at Oxford. Created quite a stir at the time, but never came to much. Couldn’t get up enough evidence about Woodfall, though they did convict one poor fellow for selling a paper with one of the letters printed on it. Fined him. Expect all this will blow over too, don’t you think?”

Lady Prodmore had been staring at him as if she thought he must be demented; however, his intervention had not only given Lady Susan time to compose herself but had also tickled her sense of the absurd.

She smiled at him now. “Pray, have we not had enough talk about trials, Andrew? I cannot think that Lady Prodmore paid her call with any intent of whiling away the afternoon in such serious discussion. Really, dear boy, do have some more Malaga. And help yourself to another cup of tea, Lady Prodmore. Jessica, pour out, my love.”

Releasing a long breath, Jessica obeyed, glad to see that her aunt was sending out no more storm warnings. The conversation drifted along more desultory lines for some minutes longer until the hall door opened again and Bates, with a near-smile of approval, announced Sir Brian Gregory.

Sir Brian came in, dressed casually in a loose-fitting bottle-green coat, cream-colored pantaloon, and Hessian boots. As usual, his neckcloth was snowy white and neatly tied, and his boots were highly polished, but the rest of his outfit was, Jessica had little doubt, the despair of his tailor and excuse enough to send his valet to the nearest corner pub to drown his sorrows in heavy wet. But, sensing rescue, she was very glad to see him.

He bowed to Lady Susan and to Lady Prodmore. “Ladies, good day. I see you are on the point of departure, Lady Prodmore,” he added glibly. “I have come to take Miss Sutton-Drew, who has been feeling a bit down pin—though she has no doubt made little complaint of it—for a refreshing stroll through the square garden, so if you like, we shall be happy to escort you to your carriage on our way.”

Jessica had all she could do to control her countenance, but she noted with relief that it did not so much as occur to Lady Prodmore to contradict him. Indeed, she was out the door and halfway down the stairs, the slender page like a shadow behind her, before Jessica realized that Sir Brian was waiting for her to join them.

“I…I need my pelisse,” she said helplessly, “and a hat.”

“Rubbish,” he retorted. “’Tis a fine spring day, so bustle about, unless you wish that distressing creature to return.”

His voice was low, but Jessica wasn’t by any means certain that it hadn’t carried down the stairs. She gave him a speaking look, which he ignored while pointedly holding the door open for her. With a shake of her head, she got to her feet, glancing first at Lady Susan, who was grinning openly now, and then at Andrew, who was staring at his uncle and looking a little taken aback. The expression on the lad’s face brought a smile to her own, and she moved past Sir Brian with a spring in her step.

They bade a polite farewell to Lady Prodmore from the flagway, then watched her elegant crested coach roll off down George Street, before turning toward the garden in the center of Hanover Square. Sir Brian waited only until they had passed through the gate in the wrought-iron railing that enclosed the garden before taking Jessica’s hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“I fear you will be giving Aunt Susan’s neighbors food for gossip, sir,” she protested gently.

“Let them gossip,” he replied. “Will it annoy you?”

Jessica was silent. She didn’t think it would annoy her at all. Not enough, at any rate, to make her wish to withdraw her hand from his grasp. When she looked up at him in blushing confusion, his eyes were twinkling.

“Detestable creature,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“I hope you don’t say such things to Lady Prodmore’s face, my dear,” he retorted, eyes atwinkle, “though I cannot help but agree with your estimation. She is indeed a detestable creature.”

A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “You know perfectly well that I didn’t mean Lady Prodmore when I said that.”

“Oh? You find her entirely charming, I daresay.”

Jessica wrinkled her nose, looking up at him again. “She really is detestable, isn’t she? How did you realize we were longing to be rid of her? It seemed as if she had been there for hours.”

“Even if it had been only minutes, I knew you would be longing to get rid of her. Stands to reason. Anyone would. Besides, your estimable aunt looked ready to chew andirons into horse nails.”

The ready laughter bubbled up again, and she responded naturally to the warm little squeeze he gave her hand. “It’s a wonder Aunt Susan didn’t come to cuffs with that woman. You ought to have heard poor Andrew expounding on some trial or other that took place fifty years ago in an attempt to keep them from each other’s throats.”

“I should like to have heard it. I collect your aunt mentioned her visit to King’s Bench?”

“Yes, were you there?”

He nodded.

“Well, Lady Prodmore doesn’t think Mr. Hatchard deserves to get off. She thinks he ought to have proved the facts of the report correct before he printed it.”

“There is some truth to that view,” Sir Brian said seriously.

Jessica stopped dead on the pathway and turned to face him. “How can you say that? Are you implying that those who suggest the report is a fabrication are correct?”

“Not at all,” he returned gently. “I am saying, however, that it would not be the first time the Africa Institute failed to get corroboration of certain facts before making them public. Their cause is, for the most part, a good one, but they are a zealous lot, my dear.” Seeing the skepticism in her eyes, he grimaced. “Look here, Jessica, I have never been an advocate of slavery, whatever else you may think of me. I inherited my West Indian property from my father. I personally believe that if slavery could be ended with justice for everyone, it ought to be abolished entirely and at once. But that cannot be. There are too many issues involved. For one, the slaves themselves, now that they have been domesticated, cannot go back to their African way of life, and they would not survive on their own without the plantations to support them. Secondly, in order to end the system in the West Indies alone, surely you will agree that some arrangement must be made so that the white landowners are not made to suffer unfair financial losses. Total abolition would mean an end to their livelihood and a tremendous loss of property, and the only way by which their safety could be assured would be to bring them all home. Since many are not even British, a successful solution to the problem would require agreement of action by all the countries involved.”