Kingston, July 1792
Eliza Russell settles herself for a nap on the sofa in the rented quarters her brother Peter has procured for them at Kingston. It’s a spacious stone house, owned by a rich merchant who is currently absent in Quebec, and staffed with eight servants who have placed themselves at her disposal. Kingston is a town of about fifty houses, a garrison, and a barracks, with only one mansion of stone. She feels mighty pleased to be in this mansion, the largest house in town, especially considering that Colonel Simcoe and his lady inhabit a small log dwelling near the barracks.
She, Peter, and Mary will be here for only a few days, of course, since they must move on to Niagara with the Colonel and Mrs. Simcoe, but solid ground is what she needs at the moment. Near eight weeks of rough weather and contrary winds on the Atlantic, followed by much to-ing and fro-ing in a batteau from Quebec to Kingston, have undone her.
Mary sits at the window, stroking the cat they brought with them from England and from which Mary declared she would never be separated. She’s a frail child, ten years old, bones not yet firmed up, and Eliza feels she would be the better for agoing out into the summer sunshine. Already Eliza worries about the Canadian winter ahead. One of the servants in this house has told her about the deaths of children in the cruel weather of December and January.
“Look at those violets,” she says to the girl, pointing to the open field behind the house. “I’ve never seen anything so grand and beautifully romantic in my life. And over that slope, just before you get into the woods, there are those wild strawberries. Please put that animal down now and go out and pick some for your Uncle Peter’s tea.”
“If there are any left. You must have noticed I’ve been gobbling them whenever you send me outside.” She sets the cat on the Pembroke table near the window, grabs a birch bark bucket—made by some Indians, so Eliza has heard—and runs out without another word. Eliza gets up from the sofa and snatches the cat away from the dish of bonbons it has already put its nose into.
She must get to her nap and then prepare for the to-dos of this afternoon and evening. She’s mighty glad to have a few minutes to herself. Mary has lately begun to pester her with questions about her parentage. Perhaps she feels adrift in this strange new world and needs to seek a secure place. Eliza has made up a convenient fiction about how her mother and father drowned at sea in a sailing vessel that broke into bits upon rocks, and how a sailor who survived the disaster delivered Mary, who was then a small babe, to her and Peter for raising.
“Really, Aunt Eliza?” Mary said this morning as she smacked the shell on her boiled egg. “How did the sailor know your address? And why would you take me in, since you say my parents were only ‘friends’ of yours? Weren’t there some other relatives who might have raised me?” And on and on she went, tearing at every detail Eliza fed her. Eliza knows she’s not a good liar, and it’s tiring having to spin out this silly tale, but she’s determined Mary must not learn the truth.
Now, looking again at the mantel clock, Eliza realizes she has no time for her nap. She must ready herself for the swearing-in ceremony. Her brother is to be Receiver-General in the new capital. It’s an illustrious position, and for him to be given it at the advanced age of almost sixty illustrates for her the kindness of Colonel Simcoe, who recommended him to the bigwigs in London. And the Colonel’s lady appears to be an agreeable woman, too, without the least pride or formality.
For certain, it seems to be a pleasant group of people surrounding the Colonel in this new land. On the long voyage from England, she enjoyed the company of the Attorney-General, Mr. White, a handsome man with a pleasing countenance, always cheerful and good tempered. She is grateful he did not put her to the blush by asking questions about Mary, saying merely that she reminded him so much of his own daughter, Ellen. She also likes the Chief Justice, Mr. Osgoode, who is friendly and unassuming. He’s not handsome like Mr. White, but he has an excellent fair complexion, and very blue eyes. His stammer endears him to her, putting her in mind of her friend Lizzie who lives in Harwich and whom she already misses so much.
She has still to meet the Jarvises, who are not yet arrived. They chose to sail from England in a separate vessel. From what she’s heard, they are Yankees who lived in London a short time only. Though they may indeed be loyal to His Majesty King George, they will undoubtedly have some low habits and unfortunate turns of speech.
The back door slams shut, and Mary appears suddenly in the withdrawing room. She thumps the bucket of strawberries down on the Pembroke table, so lately occupied by the cat. “There,” she says, “I hope that will be enough to fill Uncle Peter’s gut.” She laughs and adds, “Though I doubt a bowl of strawberries will serve to fill that gut.”
Eliza opens her mouth to protest the use of such vulgar language, but shuts it again as Mary produces from the pocket of her pinafore a bunch of violets. Thrusting them at her, Mary says, “And these are for you, Aunt Eliza. They are beautiful, and maybe you want to have a romance? So I thought you might like to have them.”
“Thank you, my dear. I shall wear them in the bodice of my costume for the swearing-in ceremony.”
How can she not adore this difficult but lovable child? She pulls Mary to her and plants a kiss on her pale, hot cheek.
* * *
Colonel Simcoe takes the oath of office at four o’clock in a small frame church called St. George’s. He is resplendent in the traditional scarlet and gold uniform of a British army colonel. Eliza is mighty pleased to be seated in the front pew of honour beside Mrs. Simcoe where she has an excellent view of her brother who stands on one side of the Colonel with Mr. Osgoode on the other side. Peter looks very well in his new double-breasted frock coat and stock, his breeches buckled below the knee to show his still well-shaped legs. She is glad she took his wig for cleaning, dear though the cost was, for it was alive with fleas.
The Chief Justice, his face very flushed, speaks many words, most of which she does not understand, but the gist of it seems to be that the Colonel, by laying his hand on the Bible and reciting some long-winded phrases, is now the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Upper Canada. She makes a mental note to remember to call him “Governor” from this moment.
Mr. Stuart, the minister, has just started his sermon when there is a clatter at the back of the church. Eliza tries not to look around, but when she sees the Governor’s lady turn sharply, she does the same.
It’s a man and a woman, and they appear to take their seats without the least embarrassment. The Jarvises undoubtedly. They’ve been expected for more than a week. William Jarvis is to be the Secretary and Registrar of the province. Peter met him once in London and calls him “an indolent fool.” Since both husband and wife are Yankees born and bred, they undoubtedly feel free to flout the King’s protocols. As if to outdo the Governor, Mr. Jarvis is wearing a gaudy chain, some sort of office. What could it be? He has thrust his left leg out into the aisle. And now she notices also that around his left calf, he has tied a strange buckled dark-blue garter.
It may all become clear when the assembly meets in the Kingston Barracks for the supper which the Governor and his lady are giving this evening to honour the administrators of the new capital at Niagara. Meantime she must try to focus on the Reverend’s sermon.