Since the return of the Gores to our little town in September of last year, Papa had been daily anticipating his promotion to Chief Justice. But nothing had been definitely decided, though the Governor had apparently several times implied that Papa was his first choice. The Brits in London were to be the arbiters of this promotion. The result for the Powell family was months of Papa’s tantrums and sulky silences. He made it clear that neither Mama, my sisters, nor I could do anything right. He focused on me especially, asking me daily about my correspondence with John Beverley Robinson.
“You are now twenty-nine years of age,” he said to me one night at supper, “and it is time that you left this house and found a suitable establishment of your own. I cannot go on supporting you and all these other members of the weaker sex indefinitely. I have mentored Robinson in all his endeavours. He is a capable lawyer and belongs to a distinguished family, and I continue to hope he will reward my efforts on his behalf by taking you off my hands. Have you done anything in your letters to further encourage him?”
What could I say to this impertinence? I had heard nothing from my supposed lover—beyond the most banal Christmas note—and I had written nothing to him. I therefore had nothing of import to relate. Moreover, I had long ago decided that I did not really love him and in fact could not marry him without feeling the tenderness and passion that should befit a lover. I bent my head over my bowl of carrot soup and hoped that no one noticed my blush of rage.
My days at home dragged on. Now that my young nieces had gone to New York to stay with Uncle George, there was no laughter in the house. I stitched petticoats, taught a group of children at the Reverend Mr. Strachan’s Sunday school, and listened to my parents’ strictures on every aspect of my life. It was all insupportable. Hope blossomed briefly when Mama received a letter from Brother John in Niagara. He wrote he had recovered from the horrors of the war and had built a fine brick residence. He and Isabella were now the proud parents of a new babe whom they had named William. “Well, better late than never,” Mama said, “though their first-born should have been given your Papa’s name.”
“May I not go and visit them, Mama?” I asked. “Papa would be glad to have me out of this establishment—of that I am certain—and I could help Isabella with her family duties.”
“Tush, girl,” she replied. “Your father has no money for idle holidays. Your nieces’ educational expenses in New York will be considerable.”
Words pop from my mouth at times, and I confess to doing little to control these outbursts. “Such an education will no doubt make the girls more attractive to suitors,” I said, “and will amply repay their grandfather for all the expense of female education which has hitherto cost him almost nothing.”
To my surprise Mama began to cry. “You surely know, Anne, that I have done all I could to promote your education over the years. The fact that I have been unsuccessful is a constant thorn in my flesh.” She took a handkerchief from her bodice and wiped her eyes.
I felt compassion for her. What she said was undoubtedly true, but I was unable to offer comfort at that moment. I was in fact at my wits’ end. I knew that, somehow, I must come up with a plan to leave a family situation that was every day more and more permeated with conflict and tension.
* * *
Papa’s announcement at supper a few days later offered me a plan. We were eating Cook’s fine lemon cake, and Papa had just helped himself to a third glass of shrub from the punch bowl in the middle of our dining-room table. The sweet rum and citrus fruit mixture had lightened his mood, and he made an announcement that lifted my spirits as well.
“I have applied for leave to visit England. There, as Governor Gore said, I must visit the Inns of Court and find people of prestige who will be willing to secure my position of Chief Justice for which I have waited so many months.”
“An excellent idea, William,” my mother said.
“And what a golden opportunity for me as well, Papa.” An idea had come suddenly to my beleaguered mind.
“You, daughter? What the devil do you mean?”
“I shall go with you,” I said. “I can then arrange to meet Beverley Robinson, and we can make plans for—”
Papa choked on a mouthful of shrub, spewing it over the polished surface of the table. “A daughter leaves home only as a bride,” he said. To punctuate this dictum, he clinked his fork against his glass. It was the equivalent of the bang of the gavel in his courtroom. “I shall see Robinson myself when I am in England and find out his plans.”
“But surely, William, we must at least consider Anne’s suggestion. Her presence in England would surely be a boon. She could persuade her lover to come to an agreement. . .”
My sisters Mary and Eliza murmured their assent.
Papa rose from the table. “I will sit here no longer,” he said. “I, who provide the wherewithal for this establishment, will stay not one moment longer to listen to the squawks of a flock of hens.” He left the room.
“The rooster has crowed,” I asked, “and we are to cackle no longer?”
Mama put her hand out and touched my arm. “Do not worry, daughter. I shall return to the issue tomorrow morning over breakfast. To get into an argument now would be useless. But your idea of going to England is an excellent one. Already in my mind’s eye I can see you and Mr. Robinson seizing the opportunity to firm up your partnership.”
It was not the time to tell her that I had no intention of firming up anything with the man. I needed only to escape from the confines of my wretched life at home and explore new horizons. I would settle how to escape when I set foot on English soil.
I clasped her hand in mine. “Yes, Mama,” I said. “You who have lived with the man all these years must surely understand the best approach. I leave you to settle the matter for me.”
* * *
Early next morning, I listened for the sound of Mama’s footsteps on the stairs. Good. In a very few minutes, I heard Papa’s tread. I waited for a minute or two, then I crept quietly from the bedchamber that I shared with my sisters and settled myself on the top step of the staircase to listen to my parents’ morning discussion.