A Hiss Before Dying

March 18, 1786 Saturday

“A pepper pot.” Ewing laughed. “Why our government sent both Jefferson and Adams to France together, well…” He shrugged.

Yancy Grant laughed with him. “Perhaps they will balance out each other, but Franklin overshadows everyone so I hear. Then again, our neighbor is most junior to Franklin and Adams. I doubt that is congenial.”

“No.” Ewing thought a moment. “You, Sir, have lived in France. Should you not put yourself forward?”

Smiling broadly at the compliment, Yancy grimaced slightly. “Ah, Ewing, you know I am no politician. Even Jeffrey Holloway outmaneuvered me.”

“That was not being outmaneuvered, that was being subject to a woman’s whim and vanity. Allow me to emphasize the vanity.”

Yancy shifted in his seat, leaned across the table. “When Francisco was killed, I offered my protection. In time I thought she would look kindly on my efforts to manage her estate. A woman alone will not be able to control those people. For one thing, Sheba. I believe Sheba is behind the killing and I believe it is that wench’s devious ambition that will bring down Maureen. She doesn’t see it, of course, but Sheba is turning her people against their mistress, and Holloway, lowborn, lacks any ability to rein in such unnatural, such dangerous thoughts.”

Having no desire to be drawn deeper into anything to do with Maureen Selisse Holloway, Ewing simply nodded, then looked up for the waiter. “Shall we start with bread, Sir? Henry,” he called the waiter’s name, “what has been fresh ground and baked today?”

The two men met by accident near Pestalozzi’s Mill, where Mrs. Pestalozzi opened an adjacent tavern so people could eat and drink while their grain was being ground. The huge waterwheel turning, spray shooting off the paddles, added to its allure.

Buying grain, hauling grain down after harvest time was a job for one of his skilled servants, but today Ewing really just wanted to get off his estate so he thought he would pick up a few bags of whatever needed to be ground. Bettina begged for fresh white corn if any had been saved. If not, then yellow and might he find some crimped oats? He listened to her, he usually did for she had a way of framing her desires that made you want to meet them. Also, his late wife prized her cook’s abilities and was happy to consider any purchase.

By luck, Yancy was there although not on an errand. Yancy did not offer why he was there and Ewing didn’t ask. Everyone showed up at Pestalozzi’s Mill sooner or later.

A fireplace at each end of the large room, beams exposed, kept the place quite warm in winter. Today the temperature hovered in the midforties, which felt welcome after the deep cold and snows of January and February.

“Mr. Garth, allow me to bring you a loaf of bread so light, so white, so exquisite it will melt in your mouth,” Henry offered. “And then Mrs. P.,” as she was called by those who liked her, “has made her special chowder, parsley, tiny potatoes, and peas, you know what a good canner she is, and fresh clams straight from the Bay.” Henry half closed his eyes in gustatory ecstasy.

Ewing, laughing, held up his hand. “Henry, do bring it all and put it on my bill.”

“Now, Ewing.” Yancy protested but was grateful, for he had come to Pestalozzi’s to ask for an extension of credit—not that he wanted anyone to know.

He had secured a small loan when in Richmond from Sam Udall but the loan was far from enough should business falter.

“We will not argue. Your company alone is worth a month of dinners, suppers, and drafts of late-night port.”

“You never will tell where you buy your port, will you?” Yancy eyed him.

With a twirl of his hand, Ewing said, “You know, it comes from Portugal and it is dark, deep and dark. Now I do like a tawny port midday, but at night, the end of the day, oh, a rich ruby port or,” he paused mischievously, “a wee sip from something distilled by our Scottish brethren.”

A glow shone on Yancy’s face as he, too, imagined such beneficent liquids. “Ah, heaven shows itself in many forms.”

The two chuckled, then Ewing said, “I loved France, but you were there ten years after myself. We’ve never had occasion to talk much about that fascinating country.”

“You know, Ewing, I thought we Virginians possessed good manners but I felt a rube there. The smallest exchange delighted me. The women, of course, were spectacular.” He beamed.

“Yes. Yes.” Ewing considered this. “I was fascinated by a glassworks outside of Paris. Then when traveling the countryside I saw how rich the soil, how well organized the estates. I had finished my courses at William and Mary and my father declared I needed seasoning, his exact words. And I did learn, indeed I did, but you did not feel constrained? I felt wherever you were born and in whatever station, there you would stay for your life. And everything, so groomed over the centuries, I missed our rugged forests, our untamed land. Had I not been sent on my Continental tour, I don’t think I would have realized how new we are.”

“Yes, yes, I quite agree. But unlike you, I envied their stability. Here everyone is striving, trying to rise. Perhaps it is the price of freedom. I don’t know but some days I am tired.” He smiled a bit.

“Yes, I understand.”

The bread with fresh churned butter was brought so they began, Henry slicing the bread.

“Your sons-in-law impress me as hardworking young fellows.”

“Indeed. As different as chalk and cheese and yet those two men work together in remarkable harmony. Naturally, Charles with his education, well, let me start again. Charles enjoys teaching John a bit of history, higher mathematics. But I think of Catherine, who has a head for figures. And my Englishman,” Ewing grinned, “promises he’s going to teach the children, even the girls. He’s an Oxford man, you know. Naturally, they should learn to read and write but I am not certain my granddaughters need higher mathematics. Then again, the world is changing so quickly, perhaps it will move my granddaughter’s education.”

Yancy laughed. “That would be a changed world.” He savored the bread. “Ewing, do you have any idea of the size or disposition of Francisco’s estate?”

“Large certainly. I believe most of the money is in the Caribbean, in her father’s bank. I do think Maureen knows. She is shrewd about those funds. Like you, I question not so much Jeffrey Holloway but the tone of operations on the estate. Such unhappiness.”

“Never found Moses and Ailee nor the tiny cook’s assistant. Waste of money to print the escaped slave notices.”

“She was a sweet little thing as I was told.”

“Ewing, given our problem with currencies, our difficulties with trade, is it possible that Maureen will be financially embarrassed?”

“We could all be so.” Ewing’s face froze for a moment. “The French, as you know, are falling behind in their payments to their military. I do not know if businesses are failing but I know ours will if we don’t create some form of financial authority. Must you or I create a different set of figures and payment values for each state? How can we do that? And if we are not consistent as a nation, why would other nations want to do business with us? For profitable business, funds should be fluid, Sir.”

“Yes, yes, I quite agree. Anything not owned outright is vulnerable, and how can one buy? Land values are uncertain. I predict speculators will be destroyed. If the values fall because no one can determine what is what if the value or currency falls, if the states squabble over tariffs, we are lost.”

“Ah, the chowder. Thank you, Henry.” Ewing smiled at the agreeable fellow who evidently enjoyed all of Mrs. P’s cooking. “Yancy, have you a bank you trust?”

“No. Given the shakiness in Williamsburg, I moved my funds to Philadelphia, and now I am not sure that was wise. Boston, New York? So very far if one needs one’s funds immediately. On the other end, Charleston and Savannah, also, too far. Richmond is improving but lacks the depth of men engaged in finance that the other cities enjoy.”

“We’re in a vise.” Ewing thought the chowder remarkable. “I wonder if those among us with resources should not attempt our own bank.”

This surprised Yancy, his spoon midway to his mouth. “I, well, our money would be close.”

“Money should make money. The question is who could shepherd the funds, guard our treasure, so to speak. She may not be able to manage her estate, but remember, Maureen’s father was one of the most successful bankers in the Caribbean. Shipowners, merchants from Europe and America trusted him. And he made them money, pots of it. I have always wondered how much she knows.”

“Yes, Yes…” Yancy’s voice trailed off.

“And would she use her husband to further her own interests? Could she hide, so to speak, and in hiding take everyone else’s measure? She is uncommonly shrewd. As to her current situation, that has nothing to do with financial acumen.”

“Whatever she told him, I doubt he could understand it. Jeffrey Holloway is a cabinetmaker’s son and he himself remains a cabinetmaker.”

“Let us both consider the dispositions of our monies. I have become uncertain. Perhaps if we observe Mrs. Selisse,” he used her old married name, “she will lead us to the right man or men.”

“Or lead us to hell.” Yancy exhaled.