Judas Flowering (6 page)

“These mud pies of mine are our bread and butter,” said Hart shortly. “Forgive me, ladies, if I am not exactly dressed to receive you. And forgive me, too, if I leave you now. I have six more sluices to check before dinnertime.” He turned away, regretting the ungracious speech as he spoke it, then back again, “And no more galloping on the river bank. Please.”

“Oh, cousin.” Francis pantomimed dismay. “Might we spoil your dikes?”

“You might break one of the ladies' necks, which, oddly enough, I should mind more.”

“Good God, a gallant speech! Well, for that, we will proceed back as demurely as a funeral procession.” And then, quickly, a hand held out to Mercy. “Forgive me, Miss Phillips, I quite forgot.”

Hart watched them go with an anxious frown and surprised Sam by leaving him to inspect the last two sluices. “After all, Sam”—they were the oldest of friends—“you will have to take over when I go north.”

“I wish you wouldn't go, Mr Hart.” It was an old argument
and Hart did not let it delay him. He wanted a word with his mother in the privacy of her room before the party assembled for dinner.

She was reassuring. “Yes, of course I've noticed. Most marked attentions to Miss Phillips and poor Abigail a very unhappy girl. But, truly, Hart, it's for Miss Phillips that I am anxious. I'm glad that Abigail should have her eyes opened about Frank. In fact, if I'm not wide of the mark, this is all the result of a word I spoke to him and to his mother.”

“You?”

“You think, since I was ill, I am content to sit here, see nothing and do less, don't you, dear boy? Well, you may have taken over the estate, but I still run the family, and I don't intend to have my niece's heart broken if I can help it. If you remember, I warned Francis once about his dallying with Abigail. When that had no effect, naturally I spoke to my sister. Granted the choice between behaving himself and going to starve in Charleston, Francis seems to have seen the error of his ways. But I'm sorry he should have chosen such a brutal way of making the position clear. And anxious for little Miss Phillips, too, who seems in a fair way to have her head turned. What a strange creature she is, though. There's no understanding her. Do you remember how broad she spoke that first night she came, and now there's not a pin to choose between her accent and Abigail's. I expect, all in all, she's quite capable of taking care of herself.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Hart.

“I'm sure she is.” Mrs Purchis had convinced herself. “She's certainly made a place for herself here at Winchelsea. But whether that's a good thing—We have to think of the future, Hart, hers as well as ours. I wish you would let me look out for a situation for her.”

“A situation? What do you mean?” His tone surprised her.

“Well, as a governess.” She gave him a quick, almost apologetic glance. “Or a housekeeper? She'd be worth her weight in gold to a widower with a houseful of children. Or there's Saul Gordon. You know how his poor wife ails. He said a word to me just the other day.”

“No,” said Hart Purchis. “I invited her here, and here she stays.”

“Oh, very well.” His mother shrugged it off and picked up her embroidery. “I won't say she doesn't make herself useful.
I just hope Francis doesn't break her heart for her. Sometimes I almost wish he'd go back to Charleston.”

“So do I,” said Hart, and surprised himself.

The spring planting was finished, the fields had been flooded for the second time to kill the weeds, and the young rice stood four inches high, when an unexpected guest drove up the long ilex avenue to Winchelsea. One look at the emblazoned panels of the light carriage and Mrs Purchis sent a servant hurrying across the fields for her son, while she cast a quick, approving glance over the dark silk dress Mercy Phillips had made for her, and hurried down to greet her visitor.

“Sir James, how good of you!” She held out a warm hand in greeting. Regardless of politics, everyone in Savannah liked Sir James Wright, who had been royal Governor of Georgia for ten years and had done much to keep the peace there.

“I have sent for my son,” Mrs Purchis said when the first greetings were over. “He will be here directly. I hope.”

“He works hard, I hear.” Sir James seated her courteously and then took an upright chair himself.

“Too hard, I think. With the plantation in the daytime, and his studies at night.” She coloured. “You have heard, perhaps, about his plans?”

“For Harvard College and the dangerous north? Yes, ma'am, I must tell you that that is, in part, my business with him. But we will save it until he comes, if you please.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “If only I could have let him go to England as he wished. But how could I, Sir James? My only son, and I left as I was. Winchelsea needs Purchis.”

“Then I hope we can persuade Purchis to stay at Winchelsea.” He turned as Hart entered the room, his fair hair sleeked damply down from a rapid combing, his cravat showing unmistakable signs of hasty tying.

“Forgive me, sir.” He took Sir James' hand in his firm
grasp. “I was out at the sluices when I heard you were come.”

“You were quick,” Sir James approved.

Hart laughed. “We have a system,” he explained. “It's useful. It's a bad day, and trouble for everyone, if it takes more than ten minutes for me to know who is coming to Winchelsea, friend or foe. I am happy to greet so good a friend, sir.”

“I am happy to be so greeted. And I congratulate you on your precautions. These are bad times; and, I hear, you have taken in a particular hostage to fortune.”

“Miss Phillips, of the mythical press? Yes, sir, and it is true that I increased our precautions when she came to live here. You will stay to dinner, I hope, and meet her.”

“I'd like to, but I am making a tour of your district. I am just come from Thunderbolt and have Wormsloe, Bonaventure, and New Hope still to visit. But, forgive me, Mr Purchis, you said ‘mythical press'?”

“Well,” said Hart. “If it existed, would you not think it would be in evidence by now? I can only imagine that it must have been destroyed when poor Mr Phillips' house was burned.”

“I devoutly hope so,” said Sir James. “But to the point, if you will forgive me for being discourteously brief. I am come on two errands. First, to urge you to come into Savannah for the celebrations of the King's birthday on the fourth of June. This year, of all years, I wish to make a particular point of the festivities, and I would like to see Purchis of Winchelsea, and his family”—a bow for Mrs Purchis—“established in their town house for the occasion.”

“Oh.” Hart suddenly looked younger than his seventeen years. “I had meant, of course, that we should come into town for the celebration, but to stay—” He looked, with appeal, to his mother, then took a deep breath and continued. “To tell the truth, Sir James, I am hard pressed just now to get things on the plantation in proper train before I leave for the north.”

“Yes,” said Sir James. “That brings me to the other half of my message. Hart”—he used the Christian name with emphasis—“we are old friends, you and I. Can I not persuade you that this is no moment to be going to the North?”

“It is not to the North that I am going, sir, but to school.”

“To Harvard College. Which means Cambridge, in Massachusetts, with those Boston hotheads just downriver. I wish
you would think again, my dear boy.”

“Oh, so do I!” Martha Purchis leaned forward eagerly, mittened hands clasped in her lap. “Dear Hart, I haven't liked to interfere, but, truly, when you think of last winter, when those crazy Bostonians dressed up as Indians and threw all that good tea into the harbour, I cannot make myself like your going there.”

“They still have some of that same consignment of tea locked up at Charleston, Mother, and refuse to let it be sold.”

“Yes, but at least we don't behave like barbarians down here in the South.”

“No?” he looked at her from under thick, level brows. “What of Mr Phillips, Mother?” And then, turning back to Sir James Wright. “Forgive us, Sir James, but you will see that this is a subject we have thought much about. And I have made up my mind. Ever since my cousin came home from England I've been aware of how much I lack, of education, of knowledge of the world, of everything. I wish with all my heart that I could go to England, but that's not possible. Harvard College is. President Langdon has accepted me—I mean to go. Surely,” he appealed to Sir James, his tone an apology for the blunt statements, “things are easier now? Have they not understood, in England, that we must be treated no worse and no better than their own voters? After all, they did repeal both the Townshend and the Stamp acts when they understood how ill they were taken over here.” And then, flushing to the roots of his newly combed hair, “Forgive me, sir. I don't know what I am thinking of to be reading you, of all people, a lecture in politics.”

“I shall be only too happy if you are proved right.” Sir James rose to his feet. “But my mind misgives me as to what action may be taken at home as a result of that Boston tea business last December. If only the mails were not so slow. But in winter …”

“It's the one reason why I prefer Harvard College to England for my studies. At least, there I shall be in close touch with home by way of the Charleston packet.”

“Yes.” There was still a note of doubt in Sir James' voice, and he hurried to turn the subject. “At least I can count on your family, Hart, for the fourth of June?”

“Let us all go, Hart,” said his mother. “I will see to the arrangements for opening the town house, and, indeed, it is time it was aired and used. We have been shocking country
mice since I was ill, and it will be a high treat for the girls.”

“For Miss Phillips?” asked Hart doubtfully. “After her last experience of Savannah?”

“All the more reason why she should come back, and if I may say so, publicly, under your and my protection, Hart.” Sir James was drawing on his gloves. “You will all dine with me, I hope, after the celebration, and watch the illuminations from the Council House with me. I am inviting the Habershams and the Joneses, among many others.”

“Both fathers and sons?” asked Hart. Everyone knew that both the Joneses of Wormsloe and the wealthy Habershams were divided politically, fathers in each case adhering faithfully to King George III, while their sons, if not actually Liberty Boys, were certainly confirmed radicals and frequenters of Tondee's Tavern.

“But, of course,” said Sir James. “We all love our King, here in Georgia. There has never been the slightest question of that. His birthday seems to me the ideal opportunity for an easing of the strife that has divided father from son, and brother from brother in these unhappy colonies.”

“Yes.” Now it was Hart's turn to sound doubtful. “If only it works out.”

“At least”—Sir James bent gracefully over Mrs Purchis' outstretched hand—“I am to congratulate you on a united household here. Though young Mayfield, I believe, keeps every kind of company when he's in town.”

It was almost a question, and Martha Purchis chose to answer it. “I'm afraid my nephew cares more for a hand of cards and a bet on it than for politics,” she said. “He's a sad anxiety to my sister, Sir James. I only wish some office could be found for him.”

“Oh, shame, Mother,” protested Hart. “To be begging of Sir James, and without even Frank's permission. Besides,” shrewdly, “if he were offered a place, I doubt he would take it.”

“And this is no time for the giving of places.” They were all thinking of the mob violence that had threatened people who were even suspected of being appointed collectors of the unpopular Stamp Tax nine years before.

As Hart escorted Sir James out to his carriage, the governor gave him a keen look. “Just the same,” he said, “your cousin does keep odd company. You think him sound?”

“Completely. He was saying only the other day how much
he wished he'd been able to take a commission in His Majesty's forces when he was in England. He's just”—Hart reddened—”lazy, I am afraid, and a little spoiled. I'd hoped he would look after the plantation for me when I go north, but it's no use. He thinks such work degrading.”

“I wish you wouldn't go, my boy.”

“Sir James, I'm so ignorant! Why, even Miss Phillips can put me down in an argument. She was talking about Locke and Montesquieu the other day, and I didn't even know what they had written. Surely you must see that if we are to come through our present troubles we need educated men in positions like mine. What use am I to you as a mere farmer?”

“A great deal. You're making a fine thing of Winchelsea, I can see, and a profitable one, I imagine. But”—he smiled the smile that had made him so many friends—“I'll leave sermonizing, Hart, and give you my blessing.”

“Thank you, sir. And we will be happy to be your guests on the fourth.”

He expected, and encountered, opposition from Mercy Phillips. “I know you're still mourning your father”—he anticipated the heart of her objection—“but so does Sir James, and he made a particular point of your coming. I hope you will do so—to oblige me, if for no better reason.”

She looked mutinous for a moment, then smiled. “Purchis of Winchelsea? Well, it would be a rude return for all your hospitality if I were to refuse you so small a favour. And, besides, it should be an interesting occasion, if all the embattled families Sir James is inviting really come.”

“Embattled?”

Francis laughed and joined the conversation. “She's quoting me, cousin. I visited the Habershams the other day and there weren't any pleasant words between father and son there, I can tell you. And as for Giles Habersham, if he and his cousin aren't at each other's throats before the fourth of June, I'll be amazed. He's only been back from England a few weeks and already they are at daggers drawn.”