Drawing still nearer to the End.
IN THE DAYS THAT follow’d upon these Astounding Revelations, the whole Household was in a great State of Anxiety, awaiting Lord Bellars’ Lawyer from London. The usual Yuletide Festivities which had graced the Christmasses of my Youth were put aside, both for the Sake of Mourning and because of Lady Bellars’ great Illness, which requir’d Isobel’s constant Care.
As there is nothing more sombre than to be sombre when all the World is merry and rejoicing, Lymeworth was gloomy indeed. Many of the Servants had, in any case, left Months earlier, for Want of Wages; and doubtless to seek better Places in Town—for they had heard the Siren Song of London’s Charms and they fancied there was more Tea to be had in London Households, and better Liveries, and less Work than in the dull Country.
As for me, what was my Response to the News that I might soon be Mistress of Lymeworth? I’faith, I scarcely believ’d it! ’Twas a Fairy Tale, a Dream, a Fable from a Book of French Romances! First, as a Bastard—and a female one at that—how might I inherit the Estate settl’d upon Lord Bellars by his Father? Then, what Reason had I to believe that Lymeworth was unencumber’d by Debts and Mortgages! Why some of the greatest Houses in all of England were as heavy with Mortgages as their Chestnut Trees were heavy with Chestnuts! I presum’d, therefore, that Lord Bellars had left his Affairs in great Disarray, o’erspent mightily upon this aborted Renovation of Lymeworth, and was in Debt to his Architect, his Landscape Gardener, all his Builders, Painters, and Plasterers, not to mention his Banker, and e’en his Lawyer! In London he had liv’d high; at Lymeworth e’en his Expences for his Horses, Grooms, and Stables—not to mention his Hounds—must be hundreds of Pounds a Year, nay thousands. O I had no Head for Banking and Money (if I were Mistress of Lymeworth, indeed, I should call Sir Richard Hoare to handle my Affairs as Lord Bellars had done before me), but I knew that ’twas likely I was Heiress to nought but Debts, and that e’en paying out Lady Bellars’ Jointure should sore stress the Estate.
Besides, the Shock of learning that my beloved Belinda was of incestuous Birth dampen’d whate’er rejoicing I might have known o’er the News of my presum’d Inheritance. I lookt and lookt at the Babe, seeking some flaw, some Touch of the Devil’s Tail, some Imperfection—yet found I none. I’faith, you were more perfect, more amiable, more fair, more clever than any Babe I’d seen. If this be Incest’s Fruit, sobeit! thought I. Perhaps we all should have incestuous Births! Whereupon I quickly chid myself for such Impertinence to the Fates, and hung my Head again in Shame.
Oft’ I respond thus to Good Fortune, whereas Calamity puts me upon my Mettle. ’Tis true as true can be that we are oft’ more easy in the Face of Adversity than in the Face of Pleasant Circumstances; for Ill Fortune calls forth all one’s Pluck and Tenacity, whereas Good Fortune runs the Risque of plunging one directly into Ennui, which is, of course, a greater Evil than Pyracy, Want, or e’en Debt.
So I mus’d and agoniz’d concerning my suppos’d Good Fortune. Nor did I fail to think of a hundred other Dire Possibilities that might stand betwixt me and its Fruition: Daniel might yet turn up, wrongly reported dead; Mary might stab me in my Sleep; Isobel might prove to be quite as mad as Lady Bellars—for are they not the Maddest of the Mad who ne’er doubt their Convictions and seem, i’faith, most sane? Perhaps there was no Last Will & Testament at all, but only Isobel’s Word—the Word of a suspected Witch—’gainst Mary’s? Perhaps Daniel had married Kate ere he dy’d and she had borne a Son and Heir to whom the Estate would surely go. Perhaps Kate herself would arrive to blacken my Good Fortune; for certainly the Chambermaid’s Gossip about her was not to be accounted free of Errors. There were more Reasons surely to expect Disaster than to expect Success, and e’en if Success were mine, ’twas sure as Buds in Spring and Flies in Summer that by and by our Deeds of Pyracy and Highway Robbery should catch up with us at Lymeworth.
I told all this to Lancelot, who laugh’d and laugh’d.
“Ye have the Thieves’ Disease, me Girl,” said he, “Fear o’ a quiet Life. A quiet Life in the Country affrights ye more than Fleein’ upon the Seas! Ah, I know it well. But I have roam’d the whole Wide World so long, that I think this Libertalia may well be the best we’ll find, an’ I’m content to stay here an’ cultivate me Garden.”
Lancelot already had Plans for Lymeworth—which we should rename Merriman Park—and make a Sanctuary for retir’d Pyrates and Robbers, where they might stash their Gold and practise the newest Farming Methods, breed Horses, raise Sheep, and fight Sea Battles for Fun and Fancy upon an Artificial Sea.
“When I met ye, me Girl, I thought ye no Use to anyone—on account o’ yer Arrogance, yer Beauty, an’ yer damn’d red-headed Impertinence. Then, little by little, I came to love ye, until me Heart was so caught up in yer red Hairs that ’twas very like a Fly caught in a Spider’s Web—an’ now ’tis wholly yers—whatsoe’er Use ye plan to make o’ it. An’ now to boot, I find ye are an Heiress! Did any Man e’er have such Good Luck? I would have taken ye without a Farthin’ an’ accounted meself most blest—an’ now ye are an Heiress, too!”
Whereupon he threw his Arms about me, tumbl’d me to the Bed, and began to kiss my Face from Forehead to Chin saying, “Fanny, Fanny, Fanny Hackabout-Jones. Only promise ye’ll ne’er change yer Name.”
I thought then of the Lancelot who had coin’d that Name, the loud and brawling boastful Lancelot who had no Use for Women, nor indeed for any Human Creature who did not serve as a Mirror to the Glorious Figure he cut, an Echo to his Braggadocio—and I had to laugh. And then I had to cry as he cover’d my Eyes with Kisses and drank my Tears, and made love to me with a Love stor’d up for Years—who knows, maybe e’en for sev’ral Centuries?
Our Bedding, being so long delay’d, was bound to be either dreadful or wonderful; ’twas the latter. We kiss’d and clung and kiss’d and clung again. We delighted each other all thro’ a Day and Night with that Tenderness which only Lovers who know each other’s Souls ere they discover each other’s Bodies, may bestow upon each other’s Forms. After we made love, and betwixt each tumultuous Act, we laugh’d and talkt and remember’d.
O what a shar’d History we had! And how many Friends in common had we known—from Horatio to Annie Bonny! We shar’d the Pyrate’s Craft, the Robber’s Art, the Oath of Robin Hood, the Love of the Sea, and e’en the mutual Deception by that bonny Pyrate Queen!
As Acts that are oft’ tragick when they occur become comick upon Recollection and Retelling, the Incident of being “rap’d” by Annie became still another Bond betwixt us. E’en the tragick News of your incestuous Birth did Lancelot transform, thro’ his Philosophy, to Good.
“Fer we are all God’s Creatures, Fanny, Love, an’ God decides which Parents bear which Babes. Belinda is God’s Grace upon that Union which otherwise should have borne nought but Death. Can ye look upon such a lovely bouncin’ Babe an’ think that ye did wrong? ’Tis Twattle! Belinda’s Beauty is a Sign o’ God’s Forgiveness, a Covenant, i’faith, a Sign o’ Grace.”
And verily I could not but believe him. For, just as I know that Children are but lightly loan’d to their Parents and not given, I also know that the Accident of Birth oft’ yokes together Parents and Children that most ill-suited are. Thus, do we all feel like Orphans, (or e’en like Changelings) whilst we grow apace ’neath our Parents’ Roofs. In truth, the Accident of Birth is most capricious—for all of us, incestuous or no!
Besides, Belinda, ’twas clear to me that you had no greater Burdens than any other Babe. Because of all the Perils of your Infancy, you were e’en more cherish’d than another Child, and thus Love and Adoration surrounded you and held you in its Glow ev’ry Moment of your Youth. O all the usual Annoyances a Mother feels when a Child intrudes upon her Peace, I did not feel with you; for whene’er you strain’d my Patience and Affection, I remember’d how I rescu’d you from Death’s dark Jaws and I rejoiced merely to have you near!
When at last the Lawyer came, we learnt of many Things. Daniel indeed was dead. Kate had dy’d of a Clap, pregnant with his Child. Lord Bellars had not, amazingly, dy’d in Debt, but dy’d in great Wealth, having made so many thousands of Pounds in various Ventures that not only was Lymeworth free of Mortgages, but its Acreage was now so great that it brought in Rents of near seven thousand Pounds per Annum, making the Heir to Lymeworth one of the richest Landlords in all of England!
Who was the Heir to Lymeworth? I nodded and yawn’d at the Meeting of the Family with the Lawyer, for nothing puts me to sleep more readily than Talk of Wills, Trusts, Settlements, Jointures, Portions, Remainders, Doweries, and Pin Moneys. I know these Words make the weary World go ’round; and I know that Lawyers are unto these Words as Horses are unto Chariots—viz. They make ’em go. But I have ne’er been in a Chamber with a Lawyer when I did not wish either to scream with Desperation or else to fall into the deepest of Sleeps, e’en when the Matter concern’d my own Future most profoundly.
And so, ’twas not surprizing to me—tho’ perhaps ’twas to all the assembl’d Servants and Retainers, not to mention Mary—that I fell asleep, e’en as the Lawyer was reading all Lord Bellars’ various “Give and Bequeaths.” Why, the poor Man had made an Inventory of the entire House and all its Contents, and he had e’en troubl’d himself to give and bequeath silver Cream Potts, gold Watches, priz’d Wigs, and Waistcoats to some of the Servants, who, in their Ingratitude, had already departed.
Lady Bellars had the gen’rous Jointure call’d for in her Marriage Settlement. ’Twas eight hundred Pounds a year (but then she had brought Lord Bellars a Dowery of eight thousand Pounds with which he had made his Fortune, so ’twas surely her Due—for e’en in those Days Doweries were ten times Jointures). Mary and Isobel were both given Annuities, nor was Joan Griffith forgotten (tho’ alas, she was dead), with her Share to go to Isobel if she were deceas’d before Lord Bellars.
I remember no more of the Will, for after the Mention of Joan Griffith I fell asleep, and dream’d of Pyracy upon the Seas, of Galleons with Rainbow-colour’d Sails, and Brigantines that turn’d into Dragonflies, and Men o’ War that roll’d upon Waggon Wheels, and Slaves in bright Feather’d Headdresses and Golden Necklaces, and Annie Bonny winking at me as she leap’d across the Bowsprit into my Arms, fell to her Knees, and made the Sweetest Love to me that e’er was made in a Dream….
My Head was nodding upon my Breast, and my Thighs were so moist with Dreams that the tatter’d red Garter I still wore began to chafe, when lo, I awoke to hear I was Heiress to Lymeworth!
’Twas explain’d that Lord Bellars had adopted me quite legally; that I was now Life-Tenant of Lymeworth, to be succeeded by Belinda, to be succeeded by Belinda’s first-born Son.
“I object,” my Mother, Isobel, cried out. “Why not a Daughter?” Thus we see that e’en in our greatest Moments of Glory and Good Fortune there is always one who raises a Voice in Protest—and that one is usually our Mother!
The Rest of the Tale, you know, Belinda: How the Settlements were amended to give the Inheritance of House and Title to a first-born Daughter, how you were rais’d by Lancelot and the Merry Men, as well as Isobel, Lady Bellars, and myself, how Mary became as obsequious and grovelling to me as she had previously been scornful and haughty; and where she had once spat and scream’d, she now fawn’d and flatter’d. (Alas ’tis oft’ the case with Persons of Inferior Character that they know only two Modes of Behaviour: one being Contempt and the other being Sycophancy; whereas Persons of Superior Character treat ev’ryone with similar Good Humour, if not Deference, and do not inflict, e’en upon their Servants, Manners with which they would not treat their Friends.)
All this you know. What you do not know is the curious Chain of Events which caus’d me to write this Book, which is the Proper Purpose of the ensuing Epilogue.
But first, imagine me upon that Day when I first became Mistress of Lymeworth. ’Twas a sere Day in January and all the Gardens were frosted with Winter’s Brush. Venus wore a Blanket of Snow about her Bare Feet, and the Hedgerows of Lymeworth were bare of Leaf.
You were less than a Year old, and play’d before the Grate in Isobel’s Chamber, attended by your loving Grandmother, (who e’en then was determin’d to teach you Witchcraft and the Worship of the Great Goddess). Your other Grandmother, Lady Bellars, lay upon her Bed of laced Pillows, playing with her Dogs and talking to ’em. She was enough recover’d of her Senses by now to have her Birds about her, undrap’d in their Cages, but e’en then she scarce knew the Diff’rence betwixt Birds and Persons—nor betwixt Dogs and Persons—nor did she till the Day she dy’d. Her favourite Poem in all the World (which she had woven into a Tapestry and hung above her Bedstand) was one which went:
Reason in Man cannot effect such Love,
As Nature doth in them that Reason want;
Ulysses kind and true his Dog did prove,
When Faith in better Friends was very scant.
My Travels for my Friends have been as true
Tho’ not as far as Fortune did him bear;
No Friends my Love and Faith divided knew,
Tho’ this nor that once equall’d were.
But in my Dog whereof I made no store,
I find more Love than them I trusted more.
As for Mary, she was growing accustom’d to her new State in the Household, as People do, and beginning to falter in her Resolution to bring Lawsuits against me, Isobel, Lord Bellars’ Lawyers and Bankers, for fear that she should thereby lose all. Her Annuity was large enough to dampen her Resolve to sue, tho’ ’twas hardly all she wisht. Thus, doth Money mellow e’en the most furious of Furies and calm the most fever’d of Brows. Lancelot had sent Word to the Merry Men that they might make their Way to Lymeworth, and now, as we walkt the Winter’s Gardens, wrapp’d in Cloaks ’gainst the Cold, our Boots sinking into the Snow, we talkt of our Plans for the Great House and the Gardens—for is it not e’er the case that after Pyracy and after Love comes Architecture, as we pour our Hearts into building a Great House in which we may embody all our Dreams?
“Here we shall hoist our Pyrate Flag,” said Lancelot, pointing to the great Palladian Pediment of the new Facade, “an’ here make Libertalia. The Merry Men shall till the Soil, develop new and curious Fruits and Flow’rs, and Lustre shall be the greatest Stud Horse England hath e’er known. This is Libertalia, me Girl, an’ we shall build it accordin’ to our Hearts’ Desires….”
His green Eyes blaz’d; his wild red Hair seem’d a Fire ascending from his Soul into the Sky. I said, “Aye, aye,” and kiss’d him on the Lips; but in my Mind’s Eye I seem’d to see Anne Bonny’s Galley on the Tropick Seas, and in my Heart, I sail’d away with her.