16

MR SPECKLES slumped helplessly in a chair by the window of the counting house while Gav’s carroty head bent over a ledger nearby. Every now and again the younger man glanced worriedly over at the older one until eventually he said,

‘It’s just as well, in a way, Mr Speckles. You’ll have more time to rest now. You can relax and enjoy life.’

‘What life have I worth living, Gav? The devil has me by the coat tail, lad. I am dogged by bad luck, sir. It has always been so.’

‘It all depends on the way you look at it.’

‘And how do people look at me? With nothing but horror and loathing, Gav.’

‘No, no …’

‘Why, even the children despise me. Young Harding was railing at me only the other day. “Get up you filthy dog and stop your retching,” he said. “You are fouling the earth that ladies have to tread on”.’

Gav looked puzzled.

‘You mean Mr Harding?’

‘And I just thought,’ Mr Speckles went on absently, ‘although I did not say anything, of course. But I thought, ah, young sir, like father, like son, you both have that same brusque manner.’

‘Mr Speckles, it’s a little girl that my sister and Mr Harding have.’

‘I couldn’t get up. Not right away. “Can you help me up?” I said and he replied, “Indeed I will, sir,” and kicked me hard.’ Mr Speckles shook his head. ‘I tell you, Gav, even the children despise me.’

‘I wish I’d been there. I would have given that young sir a good kick up the backside to help him on his way.’

Mr Speckles’s skull moved from side to side again, making his wig slide to a foolish angle.

‘No, no, Gav, you must always be careful with good customers like Mr Harding. Mr Ramsay would not have been pleased at you if he had found that you had misused Mr Harding’s son.’

Gav opened his mouth to correct the other man again but changed his mind. What was the use? Poor Mr Speckles didn’t know where he was half the time, far less what he was saying. Mr Speckles was in fact a terrible problem. Because he was no longer employed by the store he was not allowed to sleep in his old room next to the counting house. That was now occupied by the two indentured servants. No one else in the settlement was willing to take him in and give him a room and he couldn’t afford to live at Widow Shoozie’s tavern even if she would have him.

Gav had asked Abigail if he could sleep at their place just until something else could be arranged for him, but Abigail flatly refused to have anything to do with Mr Speckles. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. She had the children to consider and she had enough to do looking after them, not to mention himself.

Mr Ramsay had generously offered Mr Speckles a passage home to Glasgow in one of his ships but Mr Speckles had not as yet felt fit enough to make the long and hazardous journey. So he was sleeping rough, huddled underneath the outside stairs at the side of the store. During the day he drank at the tavern and stumbled aimlessly about the settlement, often sinking down to sprawl helplessly on the ground as bouts of coughing overcame him.

It was true what Mr Speckles said about children being unkind to him. But who the child was who had kicked Mr Speckles he had no idea, though it was easy to see why the confusion with Harding had risen in the poor man’s befuddled brain. Harding had often addressed Mr Speckles in a very harsh manner.

Mr Speckles was obviously still thinking of the incident because he muttered,

‘No, no. Mr Ramsay wouldn’t like any of us to offend Mr Harding’s son. So I didn’t complain, Gav. I just looked up at the sturdy fellow, I gazed at those dark eyes and that tanned skin and black hair and I said, “Ah, how like your father you are, sir”.’

‘What did he say to that?’ Gav asked curiously.

‘He said, “You are a fool, sir, because everyone says I am not like my Papa at all”.’

A bout of coughing suddenly wracked Mr Speckles and Gav hurried over with one of the pieces of rag that were kept for Mr Speckles to cough into when he was indoors. In a matter of seconds it was bright scarlet and weak perspiration was coursing down Mr Speckles’s hollow cheeks.

‘I’ll go down to the kitchen and tell Mama Sophy to make you a strengthening gruel. Just you sit there now.’

The kitchen was a lean-to at the back of the store where Mama Sophy cooked for the store’s servants during the day and slept at night. She greeted his request without enthusiasm.

‘’Tain’t no use. That poor man’s a dyin’. Even my gruel ain’t goin’ strengthen him.’

‘I know, but make him some anyway. It’s the only thing he’ll take.’

‘Apart from ale and whisky.’

Mama Sophy tutted and shook her head but she started to fuss about and prepare the gruel, and Gav returned upstairs.

Mr Speckles had nodded off to sleep in the chair so he was able to continue with some work. By the time Mama Sophy came puffing up with the gruel he had finished all he planned to do for the day and thankfully put down his quill. Normally he enjoyed his work but today, with Mr Speckles sitting in the same room muttering or coughing or sleeping, he had felt restless and disturbed. He didn’t enjoy putting him out either, or leaving him crouched on the dusty earth under the stairs, but there was no alternative. The place had to be locked up.

He did what he had to and then strode across to his log cabin home. It now had three fair-sized rooms. The main room was where Abigail cooked and where the family ate and sat, including the young slaves Lunesta and Little Sam. The place was plainly but comfortably furnished with a rocking chair and another chair made out of a barrel, both bright with patchwork cushions that Abigail had stitched. The table and stools he had made himself from a tree he had felled himself. The iron pots and other kitchen utensils had been fashioned by Abigail’s father.

The other two rooms were used as bedrooms, one for Abigail and himself and one for Bette, Jethro, Lunesta and Little Sam.

Abigail greeted him at the door, sweet and clean in her striped cotton gown, glowing with health.

‘You’re late tonight. I’ve given the children their supper and Lunesta’s put them to bed.’

Thankfully he entered the cabin and sat down at the table while his wife bustled about dishing his meal and setting it before him with a tankard of ale.

‘I had a bit of trouble with Mr Speckles,’ he told her in between mouthfuls of food.

‘When have you not had trouble with him?’ she sighed.

‘He was raving on about Mr Harding’s son having kicked him.’

‘Lord’s sake!’

‘Poor devil, it’s really terrible what he’s suffering in mind and body. I’m at the stage now, Abby, when I’m wishing the poor fellow would die.’

‘It would be a mercy if he did die.’ Abigail joined him at the table. ‘Mentioning Harding reminds me of their little girl. I wonder how she’s getting on? She’ll be walking now, I expect.’

Gav laughed.

‘She was a real little madam, wasn’t she? Young as she was, she had that Flemintina wrapped round her little finger.’

‘And her proud Papa too, I should think.’

‘Yes, he was proud of her, wasn’t he? I hadn’t imagined that Harding would turn out to be such a family man. Just goes to show, you can never tell with people.’

‘Dare I say it?’ Abby glanced over at him.

‘Say what?’

‘Regina didn’t exactly appear the doting Mama, did she?’

‘I never for a moment expected her to. I do know my sister and she just can’t show her feelings. That’s not to say she hasn’t got any.’

‘Mmm …’ Abigail did not look at all convinced.

‘Now, don’t start,’ Gav warned.

‘All right! All right!’

‘I’ll have to be going there sometime soon. There’s a big order to be delivered.’

‘Oh, Gav, must you?’

‘Yes, I promised.’

He didn’t want to go but business was business and anyway he felt he had a duty to keep some sort of contact with his sister. Not that he could honestly say that he enjoyed being with her, although he hesitated to confess this to Abigail. Regina worried him. He boasted to Abigail that he knew his sister but, in fact, he was never quite certain of her. It was true that often when she appeared cold and indifferent, he was sure she was feeling quite the reverse underneath. She had, in fact, a deep and disturbing personality. Capable of perpetrating frightening cruelties, she could also be wonderfully generous and kind. He believed she would make a good mother. She certainly didn’t hover about the child fussing and spoiling and trying to make it do show-off tricks as Flemintina and Harding did. But on the other hand, she showed her daughter no ill-will or bad-temper. When Flemintina went out of the room to fetch Lottie’s food, Regina held the little girl on her knee with calm, efficient hands to which the child responded by sitting quietly and patiently sucking its thumb. It showed how children could behave themselves perfectly well if treated in a sensible way. Previous to that, Lottie had been acting like a right spoiled, noisy little madam.

He wondered what effect the child had had on their marriage. At first he had been genuinely happy for Regina and believed, as Abigail still did, that Regina and Harding were well suited to one another and would be happy together in their own way. Harding wasn’t such a bad fellow and Regina was obviously much attracted to him.

Yet, that last time they had visited the settlement, he had sensed that there was something wrong. Harding seemed much the same except that he was quite jovial when he was with his daughter, which had caused much amusement to both Abigail and himself. But Regina had been obsessed by some secret disturbance. Even Abigail had noticed it.

‘Yes, there’s something worrying her,’ Abigail had said afterwards when they had been talking. ‘I didn’t notice anything in the tavern. She was very self-composed then, but the day before when she had tea with me here, I thought there was something wrong. I asked her, in fact, but you know what she’s like. She froze me off immediately.’

That was the worst of Regina. She could never allow you near enough to be able to help her. Still, he felt he must try not to lose complete contact with her and was glad for that reason that he had to tackle the journey to Forest Hall in the near future. It was the only reason he found any satisfaction in contemplating the visit. He liked plenty of cheerful company and Abigail and he had lots of friends. They often entertained and were entertained and many a happy hour was spent over a tankard of ale or a game of billiards or box and dice. There would never be any convivial gatherings at Forest Hall, of that he was certain.

As it happened, however, he was wrong. Word had come by a slave that Mistress Annabella and Mistress Nancy had decided to accept Mr Harding’s kind invitation and would shortly be arriving at Forest Hall. No mention was made of Mungo and Regina could only pray that Annabella would not, could not, bring him with her. She tried to assure herself, of course, that even if the boy did come, it need not be the tragedy she had at first imagined it might be. The boy wasn’t all that like Harding. He had Harding’s colour of hair and eyes, but then did not Annabella’s husband, Mr Blackadder, also have black hair and brown eyes?

The shock of first seeing him and getting the idea into her head of the resemblance, and then Annabella’s confession, had knocked her off balance. Everything had twisted out of proportion. Not able to live with the intensity of the emotions that had ravaged her during those few days at the settlement, her mind sought escape in rationalisation.

After all, Annabella had kept the truth secret from Harding for all these years, so why should she divulge it now? What advantage would it be to her? She and her son had no need of Forest Hall for a start, and surely could be entertaining no thoughts of any claim Mungo might have on it. One day Mungo would inherit all Mr Ramsay’s wealth, and now there was the vast Cunningham empire as well.

She tried to soothe herself too by remembering what Nancy had said about Annabella’s apparently flirtatious behaviour with Harding. It was true, now that she had time to think calmly about it, that Mistress Annabella had always had a pert, coquettish manner.

To please Harding Regina also made a determined effort to be interested, and at least to appear to share his enthusiasm for their first serious attempt at entertaining. He had decided to make up the number to ten, including themselves, which meant inviting, apart from Annabella and Nancy, another six people. She suspected he was doing this solely to please Annabella who had never made any secret of the fact that she did not like to feel isolated and enjoyed gay company.

He sent invitations to three planters he was in the habit of meeting regularly in Williamsburg at the Public Times and often at the settlement too. The invitations included the planters’ wives and were promptly accepted.

Once all the invitations had been accepted and the social occasion was a reality looming nearer and nearer, Regina began to feel confused and harassed and secretly afraid of her own inability to cope. There were not many problems with the actual house. She would move in with Harding to allow Annabella and Nancy to have her bedroom. Mr and Mrs Abercromby would have the bedroom that had once been Mistress Kitty’s. Mr and Mrs Jeffries and Colonel and Mrs Washington would use the two spare rooms. It was the catering that Regina now had nightmares about. Harding kept insisting that there must be the best of everything and she spent many long worrying hours poring over recipe books trying to decide what kind of menus to plan and discussing preparations with the kitchen slaves, Callie Mae, Minda and Sal, and also Joseph, Westminster and Melie Anne who served in the dining-room.

She decided to double up the number of slaves so that her guests would each have a body slave to attend to their personal needs. She supervised the cleaning and polishing of the bedrooms and the making up of the beds. She helped Callie Mae and Minda to make cookies, sugar biscuits, slate biscuits, brandy snaps, almond biscuits, plum cake, chocolate cake and fruit tarts.

For the first main meal she decided to have two hundred oysters, beef collops, three joints of roast mutton, fricassee of five chickens, a roast goose, buttered crabs, boiled beef and fruit tarts.

The house slaves were terribly impressed and thrilled. There had never been such a stir and excitement at Forest Hall in years. For the first time they felt a bond with Regina, even if it was a tenuous one. Through her cool efficient manner they detected threads of anxiety. It made them anxious too that everything would go right and Forest Hall hospitality would be a match for any in Virginia.

Melie Anne would say worriedly:

‘I think I’d better give them glasses another polish, Miss Regina. Don’ they look kinda cloudy to you?’

Or:

‘Joseph, you sure you done all that silver?’

Callie Mae would say:

‘Miss Regina, ain’t we got a recipe for another kinda cake? Just plum and chocolate don’ seem that much.’

Or:

‘Lord’s sake, hope we’ve got enough butter and cream in that spring house!’

When the big day came, everyone was up at the crack of dawn and before long the low, mournful whine of the jack could be heard as it began to turn the spit in front of the fire to roast the meat. The whine soon rose to a louder, grating pitch, then there was a crash and a silence before the whole procedure began again.

Regina had been so busy planning menus and hurrying about supervising and helping with various tasks, she had not had any time to think about what she was going to wear. Now she began to worry about her appearance. Harding had not given her enough time to order any new dresses and she spread all her gowns and petticoats over the bed and chairs of Harding’s room, so that she could examine them and try to make up her mind which she should wear first.

She felt that first impressions were most important. If the first evening, the first meal, were successful, everything would be all right. The tone would be set, everything would run smoothly after that.

She decided eventually on her flowered silk gown and white petticoat trimmed with lace and pleated at the hem. With it she wore white silk stockings and white silk slippers. For jewellery she chose diamond earrings and a diamond ring. Surveying herself in the pier glass, she felt tolerably pleased with her appearance. In the more delicate shades of the flowered silk she would not appear as dull and dowdy next to Annabella as she’d felt she had in the bottle green gown.

Flemintina was ordered to powder her hair once she’d donned a powdering gown. The slave had never done this job before and the proceedings ended with Flemintina in tears and Regina in a temper, saying that she would be whipped and then sent to the fields to work in future. Harding was forced to intervene. He sent Flemintina back to Lottie’s room and bawled at one of the other slaves to come and clean up the mess of powder.

Eventually she was ready, the house was gleaming perfection, and the table was set. Of course it was far too early and afternoon tea would be served in the drawing-room first. But it made Regina feel safer to know that all the important tasks had been completed.

Then suddenly there was a cry of:

‘Hello, the house!’

The waiting slaves hurried to attend to the visitors. Harding and Regina went to the front door and watched the arrival of the first coach, a very handsome green and gold four-wheeler with one footman standing at the back and another sitting at the front, both dressed in crimson and white livery, powdered wig and three-cornered hat. The carriage was drawn by four frisky horses. One of the footmen jumped down and hastened to open the door. Out stepped Annabella with a daring display of rose pink slipper and silk-stockinged leg under a foaming rose silk dress. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, sparkling blue and her yellow hair shimmered in the sun. She was like a beautiful flower bursting into bloom from the carriage.

She pattered over to the foot of the stairs where Harding and Regina were standing, then with wide panniered skirts ballooning up, she curtsied very prettily.