Furmidable Foes

3

November 14, 1787

Wednesday

“God put that woman on earth to punish me!” Ewing Garth held his arms back while his butler, Roger, removed his elegant, tightly woven wool coat.

Ewing then unwound his scarf, his gloves already in the pockets. The coat from London demonstrated why London was the center of male fashion. If any American brought up Paris, the listener sniffed. Paris did not impress English-speaking people as being worth imitating for men’s furnishings. Even if we did go to war against them, Ewing had rejoiced when all was over and he could once again order gentlemen’s haberdashery and much else.

Roger, twinkle in his eye, replied, “To punish us all.”

Ewing slapped Roger on the back. The two, children together on Cloverfields Estate, knew each other inside and out. One owned the place after his father passed, the other, enslaved, had become the butler. Roger possessed a rare understanding of power, place, and intelligence, and had even at eight years old. He proved invaluable to Ewing, who recognized his virtues. It never occurred to Ewing that Roger, whom he owned, might prefer another life. Roger kept his thoughts to himself.

Bettina, the head cook, bustled down the main hall, much of which she filled. “Mr. Ewing, hot Irish tea. I’ll bring it into the library.”

“Would you rope it for me?” He asked her to add a wee bit of spirits, whiskey.

“On a day like today, perhaps a bit more than wee.” She turned her back, singing as she walked down the polished hall.

The medium-height fellow, a tiny bit overweight but not much considering he was in his late fifties, dropped into a brocade-covered wing chair as Roger briefly disappeared.

Bettina returned and placed the small silver tray on the Hepplewhite stand next to the chair. Scones rested on a plate along with the tea.

“Thank you. You know, of course, I was at Maureen Selisse’s. Maureen Selisse Holloway. I can’t get used to her new married name.”

“Tell you what. She burnt the wind marrying that handsome young thing, Francisco not even cold in the grave.” Bettina put her hands on her hips.

“Bettina, he was cold long before he was dead.”

The two looked at each other, nodded in agreement.

“I do hope the Lord forgave his sins. I never will.” Bettina now folded her arms over her ample bosom.

“Indeed.” Ewing agreed.

She waited. He sighed. Roger returned.

Ewing took a deeply restorative sip for he had become chilled on the ride home, even though the carriage was enclosed. “She throws up one barrier after another. Now we all knew she would do that, but I must say that Gorgon betrays more imagination than I ever imagined. We are still negotiating over DoRe, as you might suspect, but now she wants breeding rights in perpetuity to Catherine’s two blooded stallions. Says she needs beautiful horses to show off her husband’s handiwork.”

DoRe, Maureen’s head of the stables, had proposed to Bettina, both of them middle-aged and widowed. It was a love match.

“Mr. Ewing”—Roger also addressed Ewing thus—“you will wear her down like water on rocks. Time. All in good time.”

“Wisely spoken.”

“Bettina.” Serena called from the kitchen.

“That girl.” Bettina had no wish to leave but Serena sounded in need.

She was. The pork roast had caught on fire in the large indoor oven built into the sides of the enormous brick fireplace in the large kitchen. A large pot hung on an iron pole over the fire, middle of the fireplace. Food preparation moved into the house when frosts came. Otherwise all roastings, frying, boiling pots were supervised outside in the summer kitchen.

Bettina grabbed a pan of sauce and tossed it over the pork, putting out the fire without subjecting the meat to water.

Back in the library, Ewing motioned for Roger to sit by the fire.

“Mail?”

“Two letters from France. One from Boston.”

“Well, nothing good is coming out of France right now. I’ll read them tomorrow. Maureen has so many ties to France and Spain. She asked me did I think the Treasurers would declare financial matters closed, since the state cannot pay its debts. I said I didn’t know and I don’t. There’s enough to concern us there. God knows what the French will do.”

“The way of the world.” Roger shifted his weight as he sat to the side of the fire on a shining bench.

“Was Mr. Jeffrey with Mrs. Selisse?”

“No. I walked down to his workshop. He has three carriages under construction. Three. He is a good fellow. She bought him that title, well you know all that. He doesn’t care but she says when they go to Europe he will. No one is anything over there without a title. I don’t see that working with one’s hands reduces one in society, but then again we live in a new world, or we’re trying to.”

Weymouth, Roger’s son, early twenties, came to the open door. “Bettina feels you need more tea.” He held the teapot.

Ewing waved him in. “Did she offer anything else?”

Weymouth smiled broadly. “Forthcoming.”

Serena, young, attractive, snuck up behind Weymouth with the whiskey decanter.

“Ah, please.”

She poured a dram. “Sir?”

“Oh just a thimbleful, my dear.” He smiled up at her. “Weymouth, bring a glass for your father. He’s been out in the cold today almost as much as I have.”

Sharing a bit of whiskey with Roger was not lost on either Roger’s son or Serena. Watch the men, watch what they did, to whom they spoke, and if given direction, take it. Roger was the most powerful slave on Cloverfields. Ewing was one of the most powerful men in Virginia. By extension, Roger’s power seeped out from Cloverfields.

When the two young people withdrew, Ewing took another sip, then asked about Weymouth’s lack of a wife. “Any luck?”

Roger shook his head.

“Perhaps in time. If he meets the right woman. He’s a good young man, Roger, but he lacks ambition.”

“I thought he could take over for me someday but he has no interest. He doesn’t memorize the names of important people who come here, the names of their family, their special interests. Their holdings are of no importance to him.”

“Don’t despair. Being a father presents many trials. And he is young.”

“When I was his age I shadowed Chibee.” Chibee was the butler before Roger. “I soaked up everything he told me. When we called on other landowners for gatherings or meetings, he would pull me to the side, tell me everything about everybody.”

“Very intelligent man. As are you, Roger. Really, don’t despair over Weymouth. Tell me what happened while I was at Big Rawly with the harpy.”

Roger laughed. “Inspected Jeddie’s cabin. He needs new boards on the porch. He’s a tidy man.”

“Catherine says he has wonderful hands on a horse. As does she. But don’t you find it odd, Roger, that Jeddie is down there by the weaving cabin, with no interest in the women. Unless I’m missing something?”

“None.” Roger sighed, for Weymouth had an interest, but in the wrong women.

“He seems manly enough.”

“Yes,” Roger simply responded.

“If there were anything amiss, wouldn’t we know by now, or at least you would know? You know everything.” Ewing laughed at Roger, who feigned ignorance.

“I don’t know a thing.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

A silence followed this. “If a man’s behavior compromised Cloverfields, I would. But I figure such things are people’s business. But I truly believe Jeddie evidences no interest in women. Now remember, Catherine cared nothing for men.”

“True. She met the right one and that was that. Well, for me, too. As I recall when we were young, Roger, you were more of a sampler of feminine beauty.”

Roger laughed, as did Ewing. “Took me longer but I found a good woman in the end. She’s still with me and every day she surprises me. Now she’s not worried at all about Weymouth.”

“Boys tend to be close to their mothers.”

“And vice versa. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.”

“Oh, my Isabelle was the same. I guess God gave us different gifts.”

“Well, he forgot some people. One thing I did hear is that Maureen has set a bounty on William’s head.”

“She didn’t tell me!”

“She wouldn’t.”

William, a runaway slave from Maureen’s Big Rawly, had also seduced Sulli, a pretty house servant about sixteen. Maureen, never wanting to lose a penny, flew into a rage. She had beaten anyone on her farm whom she suspected might know of something. Finally, Jeffrey, who had never asserted a husband’s assumed authority, stepped in and told her in no uncertain terms that that was enough and she was never to have anyone beaten again. Maureen, amazed at the transformation of her pretty boy, backed down.

“And what if the bounty hunters find him and Sulli, too? She’ll have two recalcitrant people in her farm stirring the pot. No good can come of any of this.”

“What if they find Ralston?”

This was a young man who worked in the stables with Jeddie. They hated each other. Then Ralston ran off with William. They succeeded in eluding their captors and crossed the Potomac, finding a place at a big horse farm owned by an Irishman who had made good in the new country.

As Ralston had started trouble and became aggressive toward the women, all were glad he ran off.

“He’ll stir up trouble, too. Ever notice how some people have no sense? They never come to a good end.”

True.