Too Soon for Flowers (25 page)

“How can that be?” asked Diana in disbelief.

“When you are envied, as I am, people you once considered friends will find fault with what you do. Whatever it is, they will call it fine to your face, but then say otherwise behind your back. In my own case, I began to hear rumors—perhaps even you have heard them—which were quite untrue.”

“Rumors?” Diana repeated with a twinge of shame.

“Such lies worried my wife, and I believe they encouraged her decline. For that, I can never forgive them. Now it seems I have been targeted for marriage again, by these same heartless women. I sometimes feel that I am pursued—and from the reports I hear, several ladies have sworn to see me attached before the year is out. The truth is, I hardly feel I could marry again, Miss Longfellow. Not in twice that time,” he finished gloomily. “Unless …”

“It is a difficult situation,” said Diana, her eyes wide with newly discovered sympathy.

“Yet I must admit that I’ve found having no lack of funds can make life enormously pleasant, in some respects. Now I am able to plan, and to build. I can also travel with more ease than a poor man, or woman—especially one who must always count on someone else.”

Remembering her own difficulty in extracting her brother’s promise to take her to New York, Diana nodded. She leaned forward on the arm of her chair, in a pose of rapt attention. “But Mr. Pelham, isn’t it far more pleasant to plan, and to travel, with another? Rather than by one’s self?”

“Sadly, one’s first choice for a traveling companion is not always possible. And a second invariably seems not good enough. Someday, I may try to interest a particular young lady of truly superior charms and accomplishments in sharing my journeys, and my home. But as the usual lament goes, the most desirable partners are often out of one’s reach.”

“Often, but not always.”

“No, not always,” replied David Pelham earnestly, his tone expressing an unusually swift return of high spirits. “Do you ever wish to travel yourself, Miss Longfellow?”

“Lately, it’s almost all I ever think about,” Diana replied as she scanned the walls of the small room.

A bubble of amusement burst from Mr. Pelham’s lips. “I predict we will soon discover we have much in common, Miss Longfellow, and much to share. But as you are unable to leave just now, let me ease your wait with a story or two from my own travels on the Continent several years ago. At the time, you may well laugh to hear, I went about as something of a happy vagabond….”

Once again, the conversation veered. And soon, Diana had forgotten the small seed of discomfort that Mr. Pelham had planted in her active mind.

TWO HOURS LATER
, David Pelham sat at a table in a small, cheerfully papered room next to Richard Longfellow’s study. By him sat Mrs. Willett; Longfellow and Captain Montagu shared the opposite side of the board. They had Cicero to serve them, yet Charlotte often found it necessary to help in the kitchen, which allowed the men to take their conversation into areas found to be of mutual interest.

The first half of their meal had featured lamb roasted on a spit; Longfellow explained how the spit had turned neatly by itself, attached to a clockwork mechanism needing only to be wound and set to a proper tension for the desired rate of rotation. Cicero had also brought them young peas in a creamy sauce, as well as some fritters made with pounded and whole soaked corn, served with thick maple syrup. Now he and Mrs. Willett had disappeared again, and the talk settled on politics.

“Of course, Grenville is still looking out for money to pay off the debts caused by your defense during the last
war,” said Captain Montagu, as he circled a bit of fritter in the juices on his plate.

“Our defense?” Longfellow stopped a bite in midair. “Did you arrange for a passport, Edmund, to come to this place? You might recall that we are
all
a part of this grand new empire … which you apparently hope to maintain for your own gain.”

“My gain?” Montagu returned with a faint smile. “I’m afraid I have derived little beyond trouble out of it, thus far—especially while in Boston.”

“I refer to Grenville’s lack of concern for the financial trouble of the North American colonies,” Longfellow went on, while David Pelham nodded his agreement before adding his own thoughts on the matter.

“The Chancellor can have no idea of the consequences of levying these higher duties. Things won’t be pleasant, Captain, I can assure you, when you attempt to clamp down on the rough legions who trade in molasses and rum.”

“Consequences?” Montagu countered. “Do you imply that these men could become a threat to Britain, Mr. Pelham? But what else would you have Grenville do? His sole interest is to repay the treasury, for that is his duty! And the new Act was surely not made to punish the colonies, as most men here seem pleased to believe—”

“—yet that will surely be its effect!”

“But sir, the sugar trade is now required to pay only one-half the duty expected of it before! According to the new revenue legislation, this so-called Sugar Act, they are asked to pay three pence to the gallon on molasses, rather than the six formerly required—”

“—which, as we all know, has rarely been paid to the Crown … though part of it may have wound up in some Customs Johnny’s pocket,” Mr. Pelham added with a twist of his lips.

“I am quite aware of that. However, new requirements
for selecting those customs agents, and for paying them with Crown money, rather than the Colony’s, should alter things. I am truly sorry, of course, to hear of the increased cost of importing your Madeira,” Montagu added in a more conciliatory tone, raising his glass, “but there is another proposal being discussed in London that may soon reverse the rest, and bring us all into harmony again. I heard, while in New Hampshire, that Grenville may soon ask Parliament for a stamp tax—”

“Stamps!” gasped Pelham. Massachusetts had, indeed, heard of the idea before.

“Then the rumors were true,” Longfellow commented coolly.

“Taxes, instead of duties, will anger far more people!” David Pelham sputtered in a thick voice. “Their revenge will be non-importation—and as my own business involves the shipment of general goods from London, that is bound to bring trouble to my own doorstep! Where will this insane revenge end, Captain? Where will it end? In killing us all!”

Richard Longfellow sent a warning look to Pelham, whom he suspected of having gone beyond civility, and quite possibly against his own interests. For Longfellow knew Captain Montagu to be a man of untested powers, at least in his official capacity, whatever, exactly, that was. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your tender lamb today, Edmund,” he continued pleasantly, “since some, you know, have already advised us to stop eating the animals—for a year, to start. By that time, they say we will have more grown sheep and thus more wool, for the increased manufacture of our own cloth.”

When Captain Montagu said nothing, his host went on.

“I tend to agree that self-sufficiency is a fine thing, as a rule … and I’ll admit I’ve often thought of raising a few of my own creatures. Old mutton is less palatable than what
we’ve had today—but it can be acceptable. Especially when the kitchen is intent on making a stew,” he added, his look strongly suggesting another meaning.

“Surely, sir,” came a new plea from David Pelham, “British manufacturers won’t accept such a state of affairs? For must they not stand to lose several fortunes, as well?”

“Losing the custom of two million colonists would make quite a difference to their profits,” Longfellow agreed, “if all of America should become a reluctant buyer.”

“The real question will be, can British merchants sway the most powerful in the current government, who have had little training in trade?” was Captain Montagu’s pensive reply.

“If they cannot, then we may see a new government, before long.”

“And what,” asked Mr. Pelham, “if no one here will buy these ill-conceived stamps? Do they propose to cram them down our throats? If so, I will warn you that Americans can be stubborn, too!”

“That, I know,” Edmund Montagu assured them. “But it will be far easier to sell a stamp than to enforce current navigation restrictions and duties. And only think of the benefits to you! There will be no more need for coastal cutters to chase your forgetful captains for their unpaid duties, nor for writs that allow peering into a man’s business. With the stamps, evasion will be difficult, for they’ll be seen on every document of law, every newspaper all papers used in ordinary commerce … stamps going quite reasonably from a pittance to a few pounds each, depending on their use. Unless you plan to stop recording your marriages, reading the news, shipping goods, and romping with each other in the mock battles that fill your courts, you will
all
pay—for each of these activities calls for paper, and all official papers will need stamps.”

“Well, it will be a pretty unpopular fellow,” Longfellow countered, “who consents to sell them.”

“Yet you will have to admit to the fairness of such a plan, Richard. Its burden will fall on all levels of society, and on every colony, in the same way. And by easing the official eye on your imports and exports, it should even please the rebellious Mr. Pelham.”

“But, sir, I have little wish to rebel,” said Pelham, now suddenly shifting to a smoother tone, “and I assure you, Captain, I pose no threat to your titled friends in London, who will surely decide our fate. Yet have you yourself considered what our many lawyers will do, when they find they are the special target of the Crown’s revenue men?”

Longfellow grinned. “Not only lawyers, but news printers as well, by God! Think of what that might mean, Edmund, and of all of the bombastic words and sentiments in the arsenals of these gentlemen who thrive on strife—who will most certainly become your enemies. Of all men, these enjoy inflaming others most, for in this they find their usual profit. I wouldn’t care to be in your shoes, if they’re forced to abandon their presses and the courts, and take to the streets! Jemmy Otis, for one, will not fail to find something interesting to say.”

“Something, but will it make any sense?” asked Montagu. “I’m sure you know most men in England value liberty, and so applauded Otis’s arguments against the search writs some years ago.” This brought smiles from the others, for Otis had indeed argued brilliantly before the Provincial Court in ’61, attacking the Crown’s intentions to pry open any ship’s hold, or a man’s place of business—even his dwelling. Otis lost the case; but ever since, talk had continued of the “rights of Englishmen,” and even of a natural law higher than that produced by Parliament.

“But I wonder how intelligible Otis’s future argument will be,” the captain continued. “For he is clearly not himself these days, as you must have seen. Last month in the Royal Coffee House I heard him insist that young girls who sell fruit in the streets have a right to question how they’re
governed—” He paused as they all chuckled, but soon continued his warning. “Far worse than that is his bullying and abuse of men on both sides of a question, for he now changes horse in midstream. I believe he may soon become something of a threat to the peace. But I would imagine you’ve discussed this, Richard, in one of the political clubs you no doubt attend secretly, like everyone else here.”

“Hmm—I have seen, Edmund, that he curses friend and enemy alike, and that this madness begins to sound a sad tale, indeed. Though it still comes and goes, almost as if—”

A sharp exhalation from across the table stopped Longfellow’s thought, and they paused to see David Pelham dispatch a fly he had trapped upon the tablecloth.

“At any rate, if the next three years go as the last for him,” Edmund Montagu concluded, “Otis will soon be far more of a burden to you, than a help.”

“To me? Once again, you speak as if we are on opposite sides.”

“Yes. Curious, is it not?” Montagu gave him a wicked smile that Longfellow supposed his sister might have envied, had she been there to see it.

Glancing now from one guest to the other, Richard Longfellow asked himself who would be the better match for Diana, Pelham or Montagu—if either could bring himself to ask for her hand. Although descended from the Old World’s aristocracy, Edmund currently had little fortune, and his business in the Colony was somewhat suspect, despite the fact that he was a Crown official. Still, the man had a certain charm, and he had frequently glimpsed a promising warmth lurking beneath the captain’s chilly exterior. If it were not for his royal and political masters, he might make an interesting and acceptable brother-in-law, after all. Meanwhile, there sat David Pelham in all his finery, his lower lip stiffened by the idea of his new wealth
being attacked by those same men. He appeared to ask himself how he might wiggle out from under, if he failed to ingratiate himself deeply enough. Perhaps, Longfellow considered, burrowing might do the trick. Pelham, too, had a certain charm, but it was not far from that of a London fop—and could it be rouge he saw on the fellow’s cheeks today? Or had the talk of money simply made the man’s blood boil to the surface? Yet if he were to continue to feel persecuted by what was, after all, no more than the wind of Parliament …

All in all, Longfellow decided, it looked as if between the two only Montagu would ever be drawn to high thought, or noble action. But to what end? And could the captain be trusted, with a political storm rumbling in on the horizon? Though they were ruled by the same King, he himself would hardly call Montagu a true countryman, at least by any definition the three of them now at table would agree to. Pelham, though he might lack something as a man, did seem to have a way with the ladies. And it would be, of course, Diana’s decision. Heaven help them all, her brother thought once more.

Charlotte’s return interrupted Longfellow’s thoughts, and he found himself wishing she had witnessed the previous performance. He would go over it for her later. Now, he took a moment to admire her familiar figure as she stood at the door, waiting for their attention. “Gentlemen,” she began, “if you will come outside, we’ll finish with something special.”

The west-facing piazza, approached through French doors, was covered with trellises that supported native grape coming into new leaf; as yet, it provided only a taste of the thick shade that would grow there later, when it would be most needed. Beneath the spring-green vines, a table had been set with china and silver, while house finches provided a lively tune for the final course.