Chapter 27: The Old, New World

Through oceans rough with storms, and oceans smooth as looking-glass, the Artemisia sailed toward England. It seemed a miracle to Jane that the Captain, with his mysterious charts and instruments, could find his way in all the featureless horizons of water that surrounded them. And yet he seemed perfectly at ease. Not only he, but the little midshipmen as well. Mr. Pevensey was an affectionate boy who had fastened on her, telling her of his mother's death, and how his uncle had sent him to sea, and that he liked it, and that Captain Ballantine was as fine a dashing fellow as ever there was, and that he had at last grasped trigonometry. Jane was glad for him, for she had not the slightest idea what trigonometry was herself. Mr. Pevensey's attempts to explain it to her were not a success.

Instead, they spoke of their families, and how sad it was not to have a mother. Jane needed occupation: and looked over all the boys' linen, much of which was in very sad repair. The days passed slowly, but they passed. Letty practiced music, and read, and worked on her sewing, and strolled the deck with Jane, generally with an officer or two as escort. Jane thought the role of chaperone a rather pleasant one. She could speak to the gentlemen herself without fear of being thought coquettish; she had the implicit right to guide Letty's conversation with them. Letty was careful to avoid countrified expressions, and more seriously, any hint of slave argot, at least in public. Jane gathered Letty enjoyed talking with Moll in the privacy of the cabin they shared, when she did not feel herself on display.

Tavington was only marginally aware of these currents. He had enough to think about on his own account. Let Jane care for Letty during the day. He was willing enough to do his part, setting a good social example over dinner, but he could not be tied to his women's apron strings constantly. His days were as slow as Jane's, but no less full. His notes, the orders he had kept, quartermaster records: all had been destroyed at the Cowpens. Now, he attempted to reconstruct them from memory, wishing he had undertaken this task sooner. He studied his calendar for 1780 and 1781, marking the days he had been in Charlestown, or on campaign, or in Camden. Jane, he found, had a good memory for dates, and also had kept the letters he had sent her, which were extremely useful. Foolish, indeed, to leave the tale of the Southern Campaign to his enemies and detractors. A pre-emptive publication would do much to sway public opinion in his favor. However, he must take care to be accurate as to dates and events, or he could discredit himself.

There were hours of leisure as well: Ballantine had a copy of the first part of Gibbons' amazing Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

After the first few score pages, Tavington was already giving Ballantine earnest thanks.

"It is the finest modern work of history I have ever read. I had heard of it when it came out a few years ago, and wanted to read it to be au courant. I had no idea what a masterpiece it would prove, however."

Ballantine raised his brows. "Not offended by the man's views, are you? They raised quite a controversy among the devout."

"I have not read the entire work, of course, but it is clear that he holds that Christianity was a primary cause of the empire's decay. So far I find it very convincing. We are rational men, and should not fear to consider a well-reasoned argument."

"I am entirely of your mind, Tavington. Religion has its place, of course, but I have no use for the follies of enthusiasm. I had a lay preacher in my crew on the way out. Tiresome fellow, with a tendency to rabble-rousing."

Tavington expressed his sympathy. "Indeed, I think religion was a very good thing for women and the lower orders. I also feel strongly that one ought to respect the clergy of the Established Church. On the other hand, I cannot endure clergy pontificating anywhere but in the pulpit. If they think Mr. Gibbon wrong, let them defend their position from the historical record, not from Scripture, which, between ourselves, I suspect of having gathered a great deal of legend and superstition over the centuries."

"No doubt. But there will always be those who thump their Bibles!"

The two of them laughed, pleasantly in accord.

Other readings of a lighter sort amused them in the evenings. Grantley loved the theater: and had a copy of a recent success: Sheridan's comedy, The School for Scandal.

Jane was entreated to copy out a few scenes—the merest trifle, she was assured--and then spent hours laboring at her desk to get the copies ready in time. By the time she was done, her hand was cramped, but everyone laughed over the plays. Tavington consented to take part, and was a wonderfully hypocritical Joseph Surface: all false sentiment and secret malice. Letty was a charming Maria: a young girl trying to make her away through the maze of society and its treacherous ways. To her husband's surprise and pleasure, Jane was a very good Lady Sneerwell: despite her Carolina drawl, she managed a witty, sardonic reading of that schemer.

Letty asked to read the entire play afterwards, and was somewhat bemused by it. So many of the characters were so wicked and devious. Above all, she felt sorry for Lady Teazle, a young lady from the country married to a rich old gentleman, trying to fit in her new world, and drawn into the mean-spirited raillery and intrigue of her associates.

She liked better She Stoops to Conquer by Mr. Goldsmith, for the young heroine Kate was so sensible and strong, and triumphed so completely over all the obstacles before her. Mr. Grantley had seen the play acted, and assured her it was likely to be revived, sooner or later. Letty had never seen a play, and such a pleasure was high on her secret list of things to be experienced in London.

Now and then, when he was not writing on his notes, Tavington would tell his womenfolk more about his family and their history.

"John is the eldest of us: Sir John Tavington, Member of Parliament, and master of Wargrave Hall, our family seat in Essex."

"Is that far from London?" asked Letty.

"No, not at all," smiled Tavington, feeling rather nostalgic. "It is but forty miles or so: no farther than the distance between Charlestown and Monck's Corner. It is easily traveled in less than a day on the good road thither. When my father was alive, we spent a great deal of time there, and always from about July through all of Christmas. My father had to return to London, of course, for the opening of Parliament, but those wonderful months in the country always did us good."

"Is Wargrave Hall a very old place?"

"The current house is not as old as some, certainly, though the Tavingtons or their relations have held the property since the thirteenth century, when Richard Tavington married the heiress. The house itself dates from the sixteenth century, and was built during the reign of Elizabeth, when the old castle was pulled down and a more comfortable manor house erected a quarter of a mile away, on some lower ground. My brother and I often explored the old remains on the hill, looking for treasures."

"Did you ever find any?"

He laughed, "Naturally, or we would not have persisted! Among other things, John found an old axe-head, about which we invented a dozen gruesome tales. I myself came upon a penny with the head of Emperor Trajan. I don't recall what I did with it. I suppose it's somewhere at the Hall, or in my room at Mortimer Square."

Jane mused, "Such a grim name—Wargrave Hall. How did that come about?"

"Oh, no mystery in that. There was a great battle there in Saxon times against the Vikings. The dead were interred nearby and a barrow mounded over them, and the field is called Wargrave Heath. The closest village is Wargrave Cross. We're told that the Saxon lord had a fortress on the hill, and the Romans a villa before that. It would explain my coin. The estate is not far from the old Roman city of Colchester itself."

"And your uncle is the Earl of Colchester."

"Not entirely an accident. The Mortimers have been in Essex for some time, too, and the families have a long history together."

Jane sighed, and smiled at Letty, charmed by the tales of olden days. "Does your brother not spend much time there now?"

"Well, I don't know, actually. Obviously, I haven't seen John in years. I shall have to find out. It would be a great pity not to, though. The hunting and shooting are splendid, and the house a wonderful old place. My mother has never cared much for it, and always compared it unfavorably to her own family's seat at Colneford Castle. The truth is that she's simply not very fond of the country, and very much prefers a town life."

"I'm not surprised," declared Letty, "when I think about all the diversions of London. One could never be bored!"

"Spoken like a true Londoner already. I, however, prefer a balance. There's nothing like a gallop through the fields. I believe you will both be pleased with the old house. When we arrive in Portsmouth, of course, I shall hire a carriage to take us to London, and you will see some fine country as we pass through Hampshire and Surrey. It's a good time of year for travelling. I only hope you don't find London close and stinking when we arrive. Oh, it won't be as hot as Carolina, to be sure, but more people make more rubbish and a worse smell. And, of course, the smoke—well, you shall see for yourselves."

And so, the journey continued, with the occasional entertainment, the occasional dance, the frequent card games. Whist was the favorite, but not the only one: they played Quinze, and Laugh and Lay down, and sometimes the entire table played together at Snip, Snap, Snorem. The latter could grow quite boisterous; when the first pair was laid down, the player would call out "Snip!" When the third matching card was found, that player would shout, "Snap!" When the fourth card at last finally appeared, the player who laid it down was suppose to cry, "Snorem!" Actually, it was so exciting that everyone would shout it out, laughing uproariously. Even Jane was sometimes caught up in the fun of it, though when she returned to the little cabin, she would scowl over wasting an evening in such trivial pursuits.

It was just as well that they were so much in harmony, for ten weeks together on a little crowded ship was enough to try everyone's patience. Jane was tired of the close quarters, of the impossibility of bathing properly, of the rough seas that sometimes made her nauseous. Nothing, however, was as bad as the food. Or rather, as the food began to be after a month.

William had warned them about ship's biscuit, so she did not scream out loud the first time a tiny wriggling weevil fell to her plate as she was raising a bite to her lips. Instead, she set the biscuit down hastily. Captain Ballantine noticed, gave a hearty laugh.

"Here, ma'am," he said, rapping his own biscuit smartly on the table. "That is how we sailors deal with the plaguey things." Sure enough, the weevils fell out of the biscuit, which the captain calmly proceeded to eat. Jane smiled faintly, and decided she was not particularly hungry.

As they drew closer to their destination, the danger of meeting a French man o' war grew greater. The Artemisia was a fine ship, but only a 74 gun vessel-"a fourth rate," in naval parlance, Captain Ballantine had explained.

And yet, the distant specks on the horizon told Jane nothing. Because she knew nothing of ships or rigging or flags, she did not understand her danger one day, their second day in the Channel, when a French vessel appeared. A pursuit at sea was a slow thing, but Ballantine and his men watched the ship nearing them with grim purpose for hours. The captain told Tavington about it, but the two men agreed that it was useless to frighten the women before time, and so Jane and Letty sewed and read, and chatted and tended the baby and napped, never knowing how close they had come to utter disaster. Moll, taking the air on deck, was told by the boatswain what was happening, but was cautioned to silence by Tavington. She did not entirely agree with him, but she was under his orders.

And in the event, it did not matter, for as the huge French ship began to close with them, two new specks appeared to the north: a pair of English ships, of the first-rate, and the French vessel broke off its pursuit, angling away gracefully, turning east and fading from sight, just as a dark line on the northern horizon declared their destination nearly achieved.

That was their last day at sea.

-----

They watched the coastline until it grew too dark to make out details. Jane was disappointed that they had arrived in twilight, unable to see much of Portsmouth or famous Spithead. They were bid kind farewells by their sailor friends. The little boys' eyes were big and red when Jane and Letty shook their hands. Letty's admirers hovered, seeing that nothing ill befell them as they were lowered from the ship to the waiting boat. Then they were rowed to the docks, and then there was some tiresome bargaining, while William hired someone to carry them and their belongings to an inn; and the baby cried; and Jane was too weary to take in much. Letty and Moll, however, were vexingly awake, aware, and exclaiming. Jane was interested only in finding a bed, and becoming accustomed to the strange stillness beneath her feet. She stumbled up the stairs on Tavington's arm, and was dimly aware of being helped out of most of her garments. Someone else brought the cradle into the room. Little William Francis, now nearly four months old, slept through the night, and when the shutters were opened the next morning, Jane was refreshed and ready to have a look at the strange new world in which she found herself.

The inn, large and comfortable, was called the Crown. The breakfast was excellent, if a little different than the sort she had enjoyed at home.

"Oh!" cried Letty. "Bread! It's been weeks!"

"Bread and butter," Jane added. "This is glorious."

Eggs and sausage, some delicious honey, fresh fruit. It was marvelous. Tavington had his first proper breakfast in over five years, savoring every mouthful, happy that his women were happy. Moll, though a servant, ate with them in their private dining parlor, there to tend the baby if he lost his good humor. It was all very homelike and pleasant. He smiled at the women, watching them get up now and then to look through the window and admire the sight of an English street, which seemed very foreign to them.

"If you are equal to it," he promised, "I shall take you for a walk on the ramparts this afternoon, unless you are very tired of the sea."

"I am very tired of the sea," Jane confessed, "but I should like to see it from the land, knowing that I'm done with it."

"It was all right," Moll said thoughtfully. "I can see why sailors like it. If I'd been at sea from a child, I'd feel the same. 'Course," she said, reaching for more bread and slathering it with creamy butter, "I can't say as I mind doing without weevils."

"Poor little Mr. Pevensey," smiled Jane. "He asked me to write to him."

Letty said nothing. Both Mr. Paget and Mr. Duckham had expressed some very fond sentiments that last evening, but she did not think they meant anything serious by it. The Colonel had warned her about romances aboard ship, and besides, she was too eager to see London to care for much of anything else.

Each in her own way, the three women found England a very odd place. The old buildings, the crowds of strangers, the quality of the light, the accents: it was not like home at all. Jane glanced at her husband, wondering at the faint little smirk on his lips. She could not know what he was feeling, which was immense satisfaction at being back in a place where he felt perfectly at home and comfortable.

The next day was Sunday, and they could not properly travel, but Tavington thought that all for the best. His party needed a little more time to prepare themselves for the last leg of their journey. Baths for all of them were procured. Jane and Letty's fresh habits were taken from their trunks, and duly aired and pressed. The two of them trimmed their hats anew, and Sunday saw them in all their finery. At dinner, Tavington announced their itinerary.

"We shall take the road up through Guildford. The best, safest route to London. And then, the next day will see us in the city, God willing."

They stared at the passing countryside as if they could never grow tired of the sight of it. At Guildford, they stayed at yet another splendid inn, The Red Lion. Tavington wanted them to rest as much as possible, because they would be extremely busy, once they reached the metropolis.

"I don't know about you, but I'll have thousand things to do there. I must report to Horse Guards, of course. I'll need to see my tailor and order new clothes. I should drop by my club and visit some friends. It's September, so most of them will not be in town, but you never know. I must hire a valet as soon as possible. You'll want a proper lady's maid, too, Jane. Moll has enough to do with the child, and you and Letty will want to be out seeing the town and meeting my family, not sewing! My mother can recommend a modiste, but you'll want your own woman to see to your clothes and so forth."

Letty opened her mouth, and then shut it. That's true. I'm not a lady's maid, any longer. Will the maid take care of me, too? That would be—very strange.

-----

London crept up on them. They chatted on the road from Guildford, admiring the country in brief glances: green pastures, orchards, fields of grain. Jane felt more and more that she was in a profoundly foreign country. People in Charlestown had always spoken of England as "home," but she knew that this land was not the England of her daydreams, but a vital, dangerous, wayward creature; a place that cared nothing for her imaginings, a place that would reveal itself to her in its own way.

And so, after their halt at Esher, she suddenly looked out the window after another conversation, and she was nearly there. The sky had darkened. Houses had crept closer together, and had grown taller. The traffic of horses and carriage and wagon began to glut the thoroughfares, and the thoroughfares themselves rang with the new sound of iron horseshoes on cobblestone. The London road became a street winding through the little towns surrounding London, and Tavington smiled, looking very much at home. Letty and Jane looked at each other with growing uneasiness. Now that they had reached the environs of the city, they imagined they would soon arrive at their destination. But they were wrong.

"Oh, no! We've got another five miles at least."

"And it's all like this?" Jane asked, overwhelmed.

"Well, no—you haven't seen any of the big parks yet. We shall take a route by Vauxhall Gardens. When we cross the Thames, we'll head up past St. James Park to get to Mortimer Square."

Moll raised her brows at the mention of Vauxhall Gardens. That poor Evelina in the story the ladies had read had suffered some very frightening adventures in the Vauxhall Gardens at night. Moll held the baby a little closer, concerned that they would be in the vicinity of such a notorious place.

"Will we see St. James Palace?" squeaked Letty.

Tavington waved a gesture. "I promise you that we shall."

"But it's all London, isn't it?"

"Well, technically Mortimer Square is in Westminster, but yes, it's all London, really; though the City magnates might disagree."

The baby began fussing, evidently thinking it was time for another dinner, and Jane took him from Moll, who enjoyed the moment's freedom to gawk at the view and listen to the Colonel's commentary. Tavington liked his son, but was glad he was nearing the end of a long journey with a noisy infant. I should be thankful that he's not sickly, but I am so very tired of the wailing. He wrinkled his nose a little later. And the smell. In a few years I daresay I shall enjoy playing with him, but for now…

Letty felt even more overwhelmed than Jane, and muttered softly, "I've never seen so many white people in my life."

Moll gave a faint snort. "Never seen so many people! Swarming like ants on an anthill."

Even the signposts gave Tavington matter for conversation. The women were all well entertained as they turned due north through Lambeth. "And there are the Gardens!" He pointed, and was pleased at the response.

"They're so big! And walled all the way 'round!"

"Well, of course. It would be rather difficult to charge for the admittance, otherwise."

"Oh, look! There are the tops of the Chinese kiosques!"

Tavington did not like to repress their enjoyment, but knew what his mother would think of such enthusiastic gaping. "I hope you are not going to stare and point at every sight of London. It will rather give you away as new arrivals from the colonies."

Jane sat back with a sigh, and after a moment Letty followed suit. Moll continued to enjoy the unfolding scene. She smiled, not looking away from the window. "Don't rightly care if anyone thinks I'm new to the city or not. Why should I, when that's just what I am? This is a sight to behold, and I don't mean to blink and miss it!"

Tavington laughed, and after a moment, so did Jane and Letty, feeling better about themselves.

Jane replied to her husband, "I take your point, but there's no harm a little wide-eyed wonder amongst ourselves."

With that, she and Letty returned to the pleasure of sight-seeing. Westminster Bridge was before them, and the carriage slowed, unable to pass the vehicle in front. All the better, to savor the last, the very last leg of their journey, as the buildings grew grander, and fabled names rolled from Tavington's lips.

"Over there are the Houses of Parliament. That is Spencer House, and a very fine place, I think. Now, over on the right is St. James Palace." Jane and Letty caught each other's eye, both feeling very rustic and out of their depth. Neither of them had seen buildings like this before.

Jane cleared her throat, and ventured, "Do you suppose the King is there right now?"

"Unlikely in the summer. Now we are turning onto Bond Street. Not long now." Tavington might find the women's excitement amusing, but he was rather excited himself. There was Beverley's, his London tailor. Tavington almost hated to appear at that very exclusive establishment in his Charlestown-tailored uniform, but he would be there tomorrow to outfit himself in the plumage of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, and to make himself fit to be seen about town. And then, a visit would be paid to that wonderful barber-apothecary on Jermyn Street, and then a stop at the watchmaker's to have his own timepiece cleaned and repaired after all its adventures in America, and then he would have a quick, delightful visit with Lucy. Once he looked more like himself, he would be able to show his face at Horse Guards and at White's, and call on old friends.

"We will turn at the next corner. That is Mortimer Street, which will open up shortly into the square."

Jane and Letty exchanged anxious glances. The city was so much more immense than either of them had imagined, and they knew that they had seen but a fraction. For Letty, it was thrilling and magical, but for Jane there was a hint of menace in the magic. An uncomfortable feeling of insignificance had washed over her, as they had penetrated deeper and deeper into the city. At home, she had been the daughter of one of the South Carolina's most prominent men, and had always moved in the very highest circles of society. And now, she thought, I'm only the colonial girl that the impoverished younger son of a ruined baronet picked up during the war. I'm not a nobleman's daughter, or related to a member of the Cabinet. I have no connections here that can be of any service to me. Wait—I believe there is still a Manigault cousin who has a big warehouse somewhere in what William calls The City. Oh. No, I imagine that won't do at all. Another shiver of misgiving chilled her, but she returned Letty's eager smile as the splendid open vista of Mortimer Square was revealed to them.

It was big, first of all: a great square of green lawn surrounded by tall buildings. In the center of the green was a huge fountain. On three sides, tall, red brick houses, mostly three stories tall, some with four stories: all with garrets above. Many of the houses seemed terribly narrow to Jane: a door and two windows to one side, pressed against its neighbor, for the houses shared walls, with no space between them. Jane felt a little concern about the noise. The south side of the square was completely taken up with a mansion bigger than any building Jane had ever seen in South Carolina: more a temple than a mansion, with broad steps leading up to a classically columned entrance. It was of stone, and as they passed around the square, Jane could see that there was a huge walled garden behind it, with a large stable and other outbuildings. She looked a question at her husband.

"Yes," he answered, "That is Colchester House, where my uncle lives when he is in town. I am most curious to know if he does still live. He and Mamma do not get on well, but he was always kind enough to me." He pointed ahead. "And you will see, on the opposite side of the square, that house near the center—not the one on the end—the one with the door in the middle and windows on either side. That is Number 12."

Jane felt relieved. The house was larger than many on the square. She had begun to wonder if Lady Cecily would find room for them all. Yet she noticed that the houses, while narrow, were deep. Perhaps it was only the great open space of the square that made them look small.

Moll spoke up. "What are those iron railings in front of all the houses? They all have 'em."

"Oh!" Tavington realized that none of his companions probably understood the plan of a London townhouse. "Those railings mark a place called 'the area,' which is the servants' entrance. Around the railing are the steps going down to the lower level, where the kitchens and work rooms are. Most of the menservants live there, and often the cook as well. The maidservants' rooms are at the top of the house. The nursery, too, of course."

"That's a lot of up-and-downing," muttered Moll.

"We'll all have our share, I imagine," agreed Jane. "But what a view you'll have!"

"That's right," replied Moll, face clearing, "I surely will!"

Their driver pulled the horses to a stop in front of their destination. Tavington barely restrained himself from bounding out, or uttering some inanity, such as—

"Here we are, at last!" He grimaced. It had slipped out despite his best efforts, but none of his companions had sneered. He must take greater care, in the more fastidious company here in town. The hired footman had jumped down already. Tavington stepped out, and drew a deep breath of Mortimer Square. Turning, he assisted the women out, passing the infant to Letty to hold, while Moll descended. The baby had awakened again, and was looking about with his dark blue eyes. He looked most engaging in his little cap, delicately embroidered shirt, and warm quilt of gleaming blue silk. Tavington could not resist leaning over to kiss his forehead and whisper, "We're home, my boy."

He strode forward to knock, feeling a flicker of fear. He had been gone so long—who knew what he would find here?

But almost immediately, the door opened, and a grey-haired servant cried, "Captain William!" The man stammered and bowed, "I beg your pardon, Colonel. I'm sure we're all very happy at your safe return."

Tavington beamed. Jane was startled at the look of undisguised joy on her husband's face. "Thank you, Rivers. It's good to be back."

"All the ladies are at home, sir. Her ladyship is upstairs in her boudoir, Miss Tavington and Miss Penelope are in the morning room—"

"William! Oh, William!" Behind the servant, Jane saw a pair of well-dressed women rushing down the dim hall, arms opened wide. Her husband was engulfed by them: by crying, exclaiming, ecstatic women whose faces she could not see. They were still waiting outside, and Jane looked around embarrassed, seeing that they had attracted some notice from nearby servants and passing carriages. She forced herself to smile and be patient. No doubt had she been separated from loved ones for years, she might take her time greeting them, too.

"My dear sisters, I cannot tell you how good it is to see you both again! Here, let us take our reunion into the house---"

"Oh, of course, dearest. How silly we are, to keep you outside," said the taller of them, a slender, blue-eyed woman whom Jane could clearly recognize at her husband's sister. Beside her was a smaller, softer lady, with mild grey eyes, and plump rosy cheeks. The resemblance was not so strong here, but judging from her expression, this too was her sister-in-law.

The party flooded into the hall. Jane could manage only a few disjointed impressions of a handsome staircase and fine plaster moldings, when the taller lady continued, "Mamma said you were coming home to us, and we have been expecting you since the first of September—" At last she noticed that Tavington was not alone, and her eyes grew wide.

Tavington smiled again, radiantly. "Caro—Pen—you must meet Jane, my wife."

The two ladies stared at her in shock, but Tavington continued the introductions. "—And this is her sister, Miss Rutledge, our good servant Mrs. Royston, and that little morsel in her arms is your new nephew."

"A baby!" cried the rosy-cheeked lady. "You have a son!"

"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaimed her sister. Flushing, she curtsied to Jane. "I beg your pardon, ma'am. We are so astonished, but you are very welcome—and your sister, too. How do you do, ma'am: I am Caroline Tavington. William, you sly thing! Why did you not tell us there was a Mrs. Tavington?"

"I did write—"

"No matter. Come, Pen! They must think us dreadfully rude."

Miss Penelope reluctantly tore her eyes from that sweet baby. "How do you do? I am very happy to meet you—to meet both of you. Miss Rutledge, is it? This is most exciting! Oh, my good woman, what a little angel!"

Tavington had known that the baby would delight them. "Sometimes," he agreed with a shrug. "Whereas my wife and new sister are well-behaved rather more consistently."

Miss Tavington took Jane's hands in her, her blue eyes searching Jane's face eagerly. "Mrs. Tavington! Just fancy! When did you marry? Where did you meet?"

Miss Penelope had questions of her own. "May I take him? How old is he? What is he called, William?"

Tavington raised his voice over the clamor. "His name is William Francis Tavington. He was born on the fifteenth of May of this year. You may hold him at your own risk. Mrs. Tavington and her sister are from South Carolina. We were married—" his declarations faltered.

"—On May twenty-first, 1780," Jane supplied blandly.

"Thank you, my dear."

Miss Penelope whispered, "He calls her 'my dear,' Caro! Charming!"

Miss Tavington caught her brother's eyes with a raised brow and merry smile. Jane was by now almost completely certain that she would like both of these women very much. She took Letty's hand, drawing her forward. "My sister and I are very obliged at your kind welcome."

"Oh, no! It is we who are so very—"

Another round of lively civilities ensued. Tavington's joy at seeing his sisters faded a little, as he looked more carefully, and saw that time had not dealt kindly with them. He had been gone over five years, and in that time his sisters had lost the last of their youth. It hurt him to see Caroline grown so thin, her face so pale and lined, and Penelope's soft beauty dwindled into plump middle age. He must look different, older, to them as well, but they had not yet noticed, or they were bearing it better, but Penelope's next words disabused him.

"Darling William! As handsome as ever! When one thinks of all you have endured in that dreadful place—oh, forgive me, ma'am—"

"Not at all," Jane managed. "It can be quite dreadful at times."

Caroline interposed tactfully, "Mamma told us that you were very badly wounded earlier in the year, and we were so frightened."

"Yes—it was bad, but Jane nursed me through it. She and Miss Rutledge—and our good Moll here, too—looked after me, and I am quite myself now."

"Well!" cried Penelope, very favorably impressed, "then you are true sisters, indeed. How very pleasant to meet you. Will you be staying here, William, now that you are married?"

"I hope—" A ripple of motion at the corner of his eye distracted him. He looked up to see a silk-clad figure floating down the stairs.

"Mamma." She, too, had changed. Mamma had clung to her beauty desperately, and some of it still remained. Or at least, an image of it remained, painted subtly over her aging face, a mask to be shown the world, but not to be touched. She paused, slender and queenly, on the stairs, and then descended, one hand gracefully extended for Tavington to kiss.

"My dearest William. I thank God that you are returned to me."

"Dearest Mamma," Tavington turned and strode over to the waiting woman. His movement disclosed the presence of Jane, Letty, and Moll, still being greeted and exclaimed over. Lady Cecily's face grew still, but for her upper lip, which curled back in disgust.

"My dearest," she asked, in a clear, commanding voice, "Who are those women?"

-----

Next--Chapter 28: Lady Cecily Tavington