

Tell Her My Tombstone Lies

Mi Ackland

Copyright 2019 Mi Ackland

Smashwords Edition

Licence Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyright property of the author and may not be redistributed for commercial or non-commercial use.

Also available in the James Mace series

The Sea Above Me the Sky Below

(free download)

Chapter Zero, the Prologue

"It's a lie! It's a lie! Tell her my tombstone lies!" Frantically James bawled the words, he even thumped his fist upon the table, hurled a tankard across the room, but everyone was oblivious.

Geoffrey calmly straightened his stock and knocked dust off his riding gloves; Mr Eton gazed out of the window watching a shooting star; and, most incomprehensibly of all, Kas herself drifted serenely in from the passage and sat confidingly beside Geoffrey.

It was then that he realized he was stamping his bare feet against icy mud and his only attire was a nightshirt. A nightshirt... But it was not a nightshirt, it was a shroud, a shroud already stained and streaked with the grave.

Then he screamed and woke up.

Chapter One

"Mr Mace? Is it you? What in God's name are you doing here?"

James slopped rum into a glass and accepted coins from a pimply youth, then moved down the bar. "Medoc! I could say the same to you! This is a lucky chance."

"I thought you were at Salem." Medoc flickered his eyes about the dimly lit bar. "I certainly never pictured this."

"Salem? No. That wasn't the plan." There'd never really been a plan. He'd been desperate to escape Jamaica. That was all.

"And you're a tap-man?"

James laughed. "Roddy Owen who runs this place is my friend. He's upstairs ill. I came to see him yesterday and he asked for help."

Medoc's expression said everything.

"A favour to a friend. I met Roddy the very first night I sailed in here. I was sitting in that corner musing on my future, when another boozer started creating a fracas. The row disturbed my peace, so I threw him out."

Even through the dim light and leaping shadows, damage to one of James's prominent cheekbones was evident. Medoc remembered how James's good looks had tended towards prettiness; he didn't recall the pirate-like aura of the man before him now.

"Roddy saw what happened and offered me a job on the spot. Not much of a job, but with it went a room upstairs, so I grabbed it." He turned away as another customer demanded attention. When the man was served, he resumed, "I soon moved on. I'm farming near the James river."

Medoc made a face. "Still, not much of a berth for a gent, this, Mr Mace."

"Mace - or James. I'm not the master's nephew anymore." James smiled, or maybe he grimaced; in the candlelight it was hard to tell. "All that's history..."

That was history, but it was a history which they trawled over when the last drinker was gone and the shutters closed.

"I never discovered how you escaped that night. I heard you were safe, that was all."

Medoc stared into his rum. "Escape's the wrong word. I was never in danger. Lucky came tapping on my door in the night with a tale of slaves on the move from the Green Acres plantation. He was intent on hanging about the stables, to keep an eye on the horses - good old Lucky! Not that the marauders were interested in the stables, it was the sugar factory and house they wanted to sack."

"So with Lucky's warning, you made it clear."

"Made it clear and slunk off to the Rafferty's plantation to raise help." The expression on Medoc's red face crumpled. "Don't think I could have saved your uncle or the house, Mace! All I possessed was one old duelling pistol which misfired as often as it shot."

"I know you couldn't have saved my uncle - I didn't save him either. Let's forget that night. I've done my best in the last three years never to think of it."

"It still gives me nightmares."

"When did you leave Jamaica?"

"Not long after you. I was shaken by the revolt, sick of the island. I needed something new, and besides, I had family in Rhode Island."

James drained another brandy. "What do you do there?"

"Same as I did for your uncle. I'm a distiller." He paused to take a swig of the thick rum James had poured. "What are you farming here? Tobacco?" His eyes travelled over James as if he found something there to surprise him.

"Yes. I've a small farm. It keeps me in the essentials and as the land degrades it becomes suitable for beans and veg. I'll have to move on again in another couple of years if I want to continue with tobacco. I've had a thought to go into another concern though. Meeting you seems preordained. I've been thinking about distilling rum. Small scale. Supplying Roddy and locals. No thoughts of anything big."

"Might be predestined but I'll be off again as soon as the weather lets us put to sea. I'm sailing to Jamaica on behalf of Mr Tennant, going to see his supplier of molasses."

"And who's that?"

"Man by the name of Eland, Tom Eland. You must have known him. Think he rode out to Wiseman's sometimes."

James was glad of the darkness to hide his reaction. He couldn't stifle a slight choke on his drink. The choke transmuted into a cough. "Eland? Yes, of course I met him." His voice resonated unnaturally even to his own ears.

"Something I ought to know about him, Mace?"

"No, no. Good man. To be trusted. One of the best."

"That was my impression." Medoc's face assumed a hint of wickedness. "That wife of his makes a mark too. Where did he find her?"

James didn't dare answer. Instead he swallowed his brandy as if its relish obliterated all else. "Tell me about rum, Medoc. If I'm to be a distiller, tell me what to do and what not to do."

Medoc looked as if he would prefer to talk about Tom Eland's wife. With difficulty he changed tack. "Rum? Oh, rum's not difficult. 'Course they all have different flavours, depending on what you put in."

"What do you put in?"

"Can't tell you that Mace. Don't want to give away all our secrets. But the process is simple enough."

"Simple's good. I like simple."

"If you can grow sugar cane and tobacco, making rum won't be too much to learn." Medoc yawned. "Time for rest. I hope to be on me way tomorrow."

James extended a hand. They had survived the mayhem at Wiseman's on that unimaginable night and the experience had forged a bond. "I'll see you again. I know it."

Medoc retired up the groaning staircase to his room at the back, while James checked that all was locked below. But even when he was sure that the bolts were home, he didn't go straight up. He'd been afflicted by nightmares of his own all winter, and they didn't concern slave uprisings. The prospect of closing his eyes was uninviting. Instead he took a final glass of brandy before the glowing embers of the fire and considered how this chance meeting might affect the future.

As Medoc had predicted, he was able to sail early next day and James only caught a few moments with him.

Roddy Owen was still feverish, but James couldn't stay away from the farm another night. He had his own concerns to look to.

"He was my uncle's distiller," James explained as he refilled the jug by Roddy's bed. "My uncle only made it on a small scale for local consumption. At the time, it was something I felt could be developed."

"And you fancy developing it now?"

"It's a thought. Start small." James shrugged and coughed. "Further than that I can't say."

Owen stroked the stubble on his chin. "You need money to set up a distillery James. And there's risk. I'm doing alright with the White Tavern, though this settlement's shrinking. Not sure I want to join the risk."

James had expected that. Admitting that he had a certain amount of capital himself was something he wasn't ready for, at this stage. Natural reserve had deepened in him these last years. For now, he was just a one-time tap-man come friend to Roddy, not a business partner. "No need to start with a big distillery. The Tavern would be your first outlet."

Owen took a heavy swig from the jug, as if the prospect was worrying him already. He coughed and lay back among his pillows. "Rhode Island's where most of the rum comes in from. You might be better to keep your mind on farming and let the Rhode Islanders do what they're good at."

James nodded. "I might indeed." It wasn't the time to press. He hadn't even thought through the practicalities himself. When he arrived in Virginia his mind has been thumbing through the possibilities of mercantile work. He had not looked far ahead at all. That was the trouble. He wondered if it had always been his trouble. "I'll do some hard thinking. I'm not planning to do anything soon."

Chapter Two

James soon forgot Medoc in the grinding work on the plantation. Tobacco didn't allow a farmer time to think. Just clearing the new land was effort enough. He employed two servants, Alf Pinkerton and his wife Violet. Between them they had to keep everything running. As Pink and James cleared a stretch of land, Violet would move in. There was too much for three, but the horses had a heavy pull and could drag up roots and debris.

It was an exhausting round, but James felt satisfaction in it. If all came to fruition his harvest would be valuable, something would be achieved. Of late though, during the autumn and winter months, James had started to wonder if it was any more satisfying than raising wheat and turnips on the Cotswolds. He was into his fifth year away from Hill House, the 'real' Hill House as he still considered it, and in his quieter moments the thought sometimes formed that his self-imposed exile no longer served any real function.

"Take five minutes, Pink." James put his axe down and reached for the flask. His breath was coming fast and his muscles ached. A cough was itching in his lungs. He was weary and his stomach had started to growl for its supper. In a tree not far away, a bird was calling. It occurred to him that he didn't know the names of many birds here; back home he knew all but the rarest of visitors. Pink and Violet wouldn't be able to enlighten him, he felt sure; they perceived birds as being either good to eat, or useful as consumers of insects and pests; only the most spectacular bird impressed them in any other way. Roddy wasn't without an eye for the world which surrounded him, but he'd spent all his days near the waterfront and knew next to nothing about life even a mile or two in land. No good asking him.

Horses' hooves were crunching on the road and when they branched onto his track he went to meet them. A visitor was a rare thing. James removed his hat: two well-dressed ladies were in the party.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"I doubt it."

Not the answer he had expected.

"We were riding home from town and thought to be neighbourly and say hello."

"Hello."

The girl laughed as if he had made a witty riposte.

"Are we neighbours? Easterby is just up the track."

"Do you take me for an Easterby?" It was an arch smile which curved her lips.

...Silk clothes and pearl drops dancing on her ear lobes: not an Easterby. "No."

She tilted up her chin. "Our estate lies further west. I live at Watersmeet."

Watersmeet. The Anstruther estate. Anstruther did have a daughter, James recalled. "Justice of the Peace Anstruther is your father?"

She smiled.

"I'm sorry. I should have guessed."

"I have never met you among the guests at Watersmeet."

"I have never been there."

Again she laughed as if he were a wit. "We must change that. I spend nearly all my time there. Next summer, though, all will be different."

James had neither the desire nor time to make small talk at Watersmeet, but could not brush off a lady as well born as this one. "My farm takes up so much of my time. I've little left for leisure." He maintained a politely neutral expression.

The second lady of the party spoke. She was finely dressed but it was difficult to gauge her relationship to the girl. "We must be moving, Epiphany. We have barely enough light left."

The girl began to turn her horse. "You know my name but have not told me yours."

He had the feeling that she knew who he was. "Mace, James Mace."

"Goodbye Mr Mace. I'm sure we will meet again."

The brows of the older lady came together. "Come, Epiphany."

"Goodbye." James watched them ride on their way with his hat raised, then plumped it on his head and paced back down his track.

Pink was still enjoying a breather. With no look or words did he show interest in the group which had just stopped by the farm. His eyes were placidly watching waterfowl near the river.

"What kind of year do you think it's going to be?"

Pink paused from drinking and wiped his face with a tatty bandana. "Can't answer that, Sir. Not an Indian scout."

James laughed aloud. "You've told me plenty about when there used to be Native Indians around these parts." Too much. James would have suspected Pink of making half of it up, if the man hadn't been so devoid of imagination.

"Well they were wise about the weather alright, and the seasons. They didn't have writing, just passed it father to son. Don't know how they remembered it all. I've already forgotten most of it! They weren't like us worrying about the boundaries of our land. They just fished and hunted and lived day to day."

"Were you afraid of them?"

"Well, not so's you'd say afraid. I never interfered with 'em. Didn't go wandering off alone, mind. There's a fair few came unstuck doing that. Nasty end. Course I wasn't here in the early days. No, that were my grandfather's time."

James replaced the cap on his flask. The light was fading but they had another hour perhaps where the work could continue. "Vi," he called. "Leave that now. Time to get supper ready. Pink and I will follow."

Violet took a last thirsty draught from her own flask, then turned wearily towards the shacks.

James retrieved the axe, tested the blade. "Ready Pink?"

In answer Pink clicked his tongue and took up his own axe. It was exhausting work, but to one of James's disposition, it brought its own rewards. His breathing settled into a rhythm. Muscles flex. Strike. Tug axe free. Back swing. Strike again. Think of nothing. Clear mind. No troubles. No nightmares. No nightmares. Not for the moment. Strike again.

It was cold by the time supper was eaten, and the sky starry-bright and clear, but James took his pipe outside while Pink and Vi cleared up. Under his cloak he clutched a letter. He had read the pages countless times already, since picking it up while collecting provisions in Williamsburg, but the urge to see the handwriting often seized him when darkness had fallen and there was no more to be done with the day. He placed a horn lantern down on the bench.

Dearest Jem,

It's been nearly a year since last we heard from you, and we are all anxious for assurance that you are alive and well on your farm. We are praying no harm has come to you. I had supper at Hill House last Sunday and Roderick said that you have probably sent word, but it has not got through. He is ever the optimist. Anthony Castor, who has many connections with merchant men, assures us that the crossing to the Americas is very hazardous. Perhaps this letter will end up on the bottom of the sea, too, and you will never read it.

Jem, many things have moved on since last I wrote. Mary and Dick have a son and he is to be named Henry. She had previously slipped two and Geoff privately hoped that she would not conceive again, as he felt concern for her health, but all went well, and Mary is up and about.

Of your cousin Althea there is sad news. At the beginning of the year she also had a son, but she never came right afterwards. Your aunt Eleanor sent Harry over last week with the news that Althea is gone. To us, Harry expressed the opinion that she was ailing before ever the child arrived and that her decline was caused by something else, but we will never know. Her case baffled Dr Stalbridge. Little Josh thrives though his mother is gone.

James felt a twist of sadness, even though the contents of the letter were familiar to him. He had not seen an enormous amount of Althea. Usually it had been Harry who rode over from Stanway, but of course there had been visits at Christmas and in summer. Althea's death was a reminder, if he needed one, that all life was precarious. His fingers gripped the page more tightly as he wondered if Kas and his father still continued in health, since the letter was written.

Eleanor has the comfort that Harry and Iris are as well as ever.

Your father is in good spirits, though I believe he misses you (as do we all). Perhaps I am being fanciful, but he seems to have become brighter since he took to drinking chocolate.

Roderick drinking chocolate! Time was when nothing weaker than French brandy ever passed his lips. This was a different father to the one who had repelled an adolescent James with his glassy eyes and slurred speech.

Clara complains at the price, but perhaps he is wise to drink it daily. Father suggests that there may be something healthful in it.

The thick paper rustled as James turned it over.

Jem, it does not seem possible that four years have passed since we last met. You will reach twenty-eight at the end of November. Last year I thought about you a lot on that day. I ate with Father and he noticed that my mind seemed in another place. He did not allude to the date, but I believe he understood. When I left towards twilight, I did not return straight to the Manor, but walked up on to the hill near Hill House, and allowed my thoughts to rove...

Geoff is well. He retreats more and more to his study but has also allowed himself to get roped in as a magistrate, though the work displeases him greatly. I do not believe he will ever be disposed for such things. In the end he agreed because he considered it to be his social duty. He is writing an essay on the origins of the wool trade in Gloucestershire, which is far more to his taste. He spends many hours perusing old texts which are mighty difficult to decipher and is sometimes away now pursuing information in other parts of the county. Rather him than me... Occasionally, I wonder what he does when he is away, though I know the thought to be unworthy. I can confess this to you, who is well placed to guess our troubles.

James wondered for the umpteenth time what troubles he was supposed to guess.

I hope you get this letter Jem, even if it is months and months from now. It is not possible to say all which is in my mind, as the letter will be entrusted to the hands of others... I wonder where you are at this moment and what you are doing. Do you remember the room where you came to confront me when you returned from the continent? I am at a window there, more gazing at the sky than writing. It's not yet completely dark, but the stars are very bright and there is a sliver of moon reflected in the pond. Already a layer of ice covers the bird-bath, Bradley says.

I wish you were here, Jem. In spring and summer, when the daylight is long and there is much work to be done outdoors, you disappear from my mind for quite a time on end. But autumn and winter when dusk falls early and the leaves come off the trees, then it is a different story.

Ever your K.C

The temperature was dropping but James remained rooted to his bench, smoking and sipping brandy and coughing intermittently. He sat there so long that Pink came to check if all was well. Pink had to speak twice before he obtained an answer, and even then his master's voice was remote and indistinct. Surprised, but satisfied that nothing was amiss, Pink retired to his shack and welcoming bed-roll, and fell straight asleep.

But hunched inside his cloak, James continued to stare sightlessly at the vault of stars above.

Chapter Three

Clearing the ground for next year was one job - you had to think ahead with tobacco - but there was this year's crop to attend to as well. January came and went with weather that kept the three of them in their quarters much of the time. That was anathema to James. When he'd completed such work about the barn and animals as could be accomplished, he even turned to domestic tasks, oblivious to the raised eyebrows of Pink and Violet. Anything to avoid sitting in a chair or staring out of the window hoping for a break in the weather.

Come February they were out preparing the seedbeds. It was a task which energised James. The fertile part of the year lay ahead, and the weather was losing its grip. In a month or two it would be possible just to enjoy the balm of the sun on his shoulders. Like Kassandra, he could be forgetful of the past, so long as the sky was blue and he had work to engage him outside the confines of his house. It was during the smothering darkness of winter that his mind was apt to roam the lost possibilities of the past.

But deep regrets were hard to corral, strangely insistent in making themselves remembered. It was precisely during those seasons when his conscious mind was able to forget Kassandra, that she haunted him most persistently in recurrent nightmares. Details varied, but Geoff never failed to appear, languid, handsome, elegant as in life, and always Kas drifted through the dream, oblivious to his screams and despair as he struggled in the slimy burial pit...

A certain understanding, though never sympathy, for some of the ideas expressed by his uncle had developed since James came to Virginia. John Vallender, he remembered, had sometimes - often - declared that next to no ties of friendship bound him to his fellow cane growers in Jamaica, but he occasionally needed their collective help and so had to maintain amicable relations. James didn't feel naturally drawn to most of the tobacco planters in Virginia either, but it was an environment where a man couldn't always trust only to his own strength and he tolerated, even sought out, contact with them. In small doses.

His relationship with the church was more thorny, so it was with no pleasure that he spotted the stocky figure of C.J Dodds riding towards his home one morning when there was much to be done and seemingly not enough hours in the day to accomplish it. He could guess what Dodds wanted. Pink stole a questioning glance to his master.

"Reverend."

"Mace." Dodds's voice was hard and rasping.

"A drink of something to sustain you after your ride?"

"Thank you, no. I am sustained by the word of the Lord. It is about that which I have called. Your absence from church has been noted these last weeks."

James leant on his hoe and looked up at a fleecy cloud which was scudding by. He hoped Dodds would be gone by the time the cloud had cleared his farm. "The weather was bad, and we've had a lot to catch up with. I've not been in perfect health all winter. It's a longish ride to get to the church."

"Provision is made for out-lying districts, Mace. There are chapels where I preach to make it easier for farmers. Worshipping our Lord is not optional."

James was silent.

The focus of Dodds's dark eyes hardened. "To be frank, Mace, I have not observed in you any enthusiasm for worship at all. How often is the good book in your hands?"

James's hackles rose. In an easy-going way, his father had shown a superficial respect for the church while paying no real attention to it. Roderick had raised James to show that same respect, but James was of a different temperament to his father. "I have had a great deal to do. When I get in at sunset there is barely light enough to see my plate, let alone a chapter of the Bible."

"And you will have a great deal to pay, in fines, if I do not see you in attendance next time. You there, man! Yes you!"

Pink straightened up and turned uncertainly.

"Come here!"

Pink's eyes questioned James.

"Alf Pinkerton is paid by me, to carry out work on this farm. He is no servant of yours, Reverend. Continue with your work, Pink."

Pink froze with hoe in hand, his eyes swivelling helplessly from one authority figure to the other.

For a moment Dodds was too astonished to speak. His face crimsoned and his barrel chest swelled. "How dare you address me in that way? You young boor! And before an inferior at that!" A vein stood out in Dodds's neck, as if it might explode.

The situation was running out of control and James made a placatory gesture. His words needed to be considered. "I will be at church next sunday, but the farm cannot be left unattended. I shall pass on the words of your sermon to Pink. Pink can then go to chapel, when you are preaching out here."

It was a climb-down of kinds, and Dodds was sharp enough to perceive it as such. To risk further affronts was not in his own interests, especially in front of the servants. He hesitated then squeezed Arkle's ribs and swung back towards the main track. "Be there Mace!" With no more looks or words, he rode off.

James drew a breath and approached the motionless Pink. "I mislike talking to him like that, Pink. I've no wish to insult him, but his manner is as grand as if he were Archbishop of Canterbury. I preferred old Mayhew who died last summer."

"The vestry went for a bit of a fire-brand in this man, Sir. I've heard he came down from New England. Salem or some such place."

"I think he did, and I wish he'd go back. Massachusetts was welcome to him." James collected his wits. He knew he shouldn't be talking of a minister in this way; he trusted Pink implicitly, but it was always safest to keep a guarded tongue. "Sunday next I'll ride to the main church. The week after, you will have to show your face in the chapel with Vi. That should - " James went to say shut him up, but recalling the wisdom of caution, changed it to, "Satisfy him and the local dignitaries. As for the keys of heaven, don't worry, he doesn't hold them."

"I find it hard not to fall asleep in church, Sir, except when he shouts."

"Luckily he does plenty of that. Remind me to tell you what the actual content of his sermon is, as I can imagine him checking up." James looked down at his hands and was surprised to see that they were actually shaking with suppressed anger. His father, he knew would have dealt with the situation far better. A smile and a little charm would have had Dodds eating out of Roderick's hand. He might have been a boozer, James thought, but there was more to learn from Father than I realized. He sighed. "Come on, back to work. There's no need to worry about him. I'll deal with any consequences."

To his own annoyance, the confrontation with Dodds had disconcerted James more than he liked to admit, and after an hour of hoeing seedbeds with furious energy he indicated to Pink that he needed to ride into town and might not be back that evening.

James's relationship with craftsmen represented the same story as his relationship with farmers and he accepted an odd hour's recreation over a brandy bottle when it was offered. 'Red' Rower was a very skilled craftsman who made the hogsheads which all planters needed for packing and shipping their tobacco, and James found his company less jarring than most. He was in his workshop when James rode over to place orders.

Rower put down his hammer and nodded as James leapt from Crisp. The ride and dismount caused James to cough energetically into his muffler.

"Mace."

"Good to see you Red." Another spasm of coughing overtook him.

"Don't believe you've ridden this way just to see me."

James laughed. "Well, not only to see you. I'll be needing more hogsheads. But I could have sent Pink over with a note of that. I'm playing truant."

Red grinned. "Bottle of brandy by here. Toby! Bring us a pair of beakers."

A thin black slave nipped into view then darted away. James wondered if he would ever get over his distaste at seeing slaves, but swallowed both the thought and accompanying emotion. He couldn't change the world, as his uncle had frequently reminded him.

Red pushed a shaggy lock of auburn hair out of his eyes. "Hurry up with those beakers!"

Toby returned and took over pouring the drinks.

"Best slave I ever had," grinned Red, when the boy was gone.

James drank without comment.

"Don't know why you bother with that pair of old Pinkertons. Buy a couple like him and you'd get twice the work done." Rower swigged the brandy.

"I know where I am with the Pinkertons. Good brandy." James raised the beaker appreciatively. "Red, I'm thinking about distilling rum."

"Thought you didn't like the stuff. Devilish fiery, you said

"I wasn't planning to drink it myself. I'm wondering how much local business I'd drum up."

"You'd drum up mine, if that's what you're wondering."

James laughed but the laugh turned into a cough. "I don't think even you could keep me in business."

Rower's eyes twinkled, but he said no more about rum. "Talking of business, there's a medical fellow arrived recently. Not just an apothecary. London College of Physicians or something. He'll be looking for business. Might be able to help you."

The abrupt change of subject left James momentarily behind and he wondered if the new doctor might be a rum drinker. When the misunderstanding had been cleared, he replied. "Nothing wrong with me." He took another glug of brandy. It went down the wrong way and a helpless coughing fit followed.

"So I see."

James put down his empty beaker. "Perhaps I might look for him. Not impossible Pink or Violet might need a doctor in future."

Red gave him a look. "He's over at Williamsburg. Blizzard's his name, Kenton Blizzard. Young fellow, about your age, bit younger perhaps."

"What street's he on?"

Red explained then took up his hammer as if there were no more time for small talk. "You'll have your hogsheads."

"Thanks. Think on what I said about the rum."

Chapter Four

The ride, drink and change of company had been enough to shake loose James's anger concerning Dodds and he intended to head for home, but at the last moment he reined left instead. It might not be possible to locate Blizzard today, but it wouldn't hurt to know exactly where he lived. There might come a time when a doctor was needed urgently.

The house described by Red Rower was easily found, handily situated on the near side of town, not far from the ducking pond and stocks. It was larger than James had expected, as if the new physician possessed a little money which did not depend on his profession. At the last second James hesitated about admitting his concerns and tapped quietly, half-heartedly upon the door. No answer. Good. He would discharge other business and ride home. He was turning to do just that when an impulse restored him to the task. With committed force, he knocked. This time footsteps sounded within and, after a struggle with the lock, the door opened. Confronting him was a very tall woman with wisps of lustrous auburn hair escaping from her coif. She wore a dress of deep, muted red. A plain dress, but this was no servant, James was sure. Her bearing marked her as the lady of the house.

He removed his hat. "Excuse me, I was hoping to find Dr Blizzard." James stared into the opaque grey eyes of the woman. "Perhaps he isn't in." A handy excuse to duck the issue.

"Is it you who needs him?" Her accent was soft, fudgy, pleasing.

"I hope to see him."

She stepped aside. "Follow me. Mind your head; the beams are low. Who shall I say is calling?"

"James Mace."

"Thomas, deal with Mr Mace's horse."

They passed along a dark passage into a well-lit room at the back of the house. "He will be with you soon, Mr Mace." A faint smile lit her features.

As soon as she had left, James went to the window. It had been recently glazed. The young doctor must be planning to use this room for his profession. At the front, where there was always the risk of a flying stone, he had been content to leave the wooden shutters. A pump was to be seen at the centre of a large, tidy yard. A tall fence cut off any other view, though trees grew beyond. A pleasant, spacious area.

Footsteps warned him the doctor was approaching. A man almost as tall as himself entered. Auburn hair and sculpted features made the doctor instantly striking. This man's appearance would be an asset to him in any walk of life.

"Dr Blizzard?"

A slight bow did for acknowledgement. "How can I be of service?"

Now that it was time to admit being unwell, the words tangled and jumbled on James's lips, though the explanation was straight forward enough. "Not in any great way, I hope. I feel quite well - most of the time \- but going back some weeks, months I suppose - " He frowned, looked away to the pump in the yard, and abruptly started again. "I've got a cough. Had it all winter. At night sometimes it keeps me awake, though I am tired from my labours. I hoped you might be able to assure me there is nothing seriously wrong."

The young doctor smiled. "I hope I will be able to do that Mr Mace. Now, if you would care to remove your shirt, I will examine you. We are not overlooked here, and the fence is high."

"I do not think you need trouble the carpenter with your measurements, Mr Mace," pronounced Blizzard, after putting away his equipment. "You will not be filling a coffin yet a while, not on account of your lungs anyway. I need not even prescribe medicine, except perhaps a little more rest and common sense about avoiding the damp and cold till you are quite well. You are, may I say, over-thin for a man as well-dressed as you are."

A sensation which James recognized as relief flooded through him. He laughed and breathed a sigh. "I'm a planter, Doctor, I can't avoid work and weather."

"I can only make my recommendations." Blizzard smiled. "You accent, Mr Mace, I believe you are from the west of England, not so far west as me - "

"You're a Bristol man?"

"Yes indeed!"

"I hail from North Gloucestershire."

The reply evidently delighted Blizzard. "That is good to hear. One feels lonely for the old places."

"Yes, at times." Lonely for that and a whole heap else. "You wouldn't know Chipping Campden, or Aston Subedge? I live close by. Or Ebrington perhaps?"

"No I have never ventured there, but I have heard of Chipping Campden. It is famous for its wool and its church. Are you acquainted perhaps with the Endecotts of Painswick?"

Hell, yes, and so were Kas and her cousins the Clares. They'd all danced together, one New Year's Eve at the Endecott manor. "Indeed I am. Fancy you knowing of them! The world is becoming a small place."

Blizzard's expression suddenly fluttered. "It is." He went to the door. "Suzannah." The lovely woman who had admitted James appeared and Kenton's tone brightened once more. "Suzannah, we have a man here who hails from Gloucestershire. Let's take a glass of wine. Mr Mace, this is my wife."

A bubble of disappointment so tiny as to be almost unrecognizable, rose to the surface and broke within James. My wife. Blizzard and Suzannah looked so similar that James had taken them for brother and sister, or at least first cousins. His eyes travelled over their well-shaped heads, auburn hair and pale grey eyes.

Suzannah filled three glasses. Her glance wandered for a brief second to Blizzard. There hovered an uncertainty in her eye. A few years ago, James would not have perceived it. Now he was personally more observant.

"You are missing home, Mistress Blizzard?"

Her lovely eyes looked very directly into his. "Doesn't everyone? I have noticed the names of tobacco farms and homesteads during my short time here. Bretforton, Exeter Fields, Deerhurst. It's hard to forget the old country."

Painfully true. "I have forgotten it."

Suzannah sipped her wine and exchanged a smile with Blizzard who put an arm around her shoulder. For no definable reason, a spasm of pique clutched James.

"Mace, could we persuade you to take a meal with us? Congenial company has been thin on the ground since our move." Blizzard's expression said much.

"I'd be pleased to take the meal, but you might still find yourself short of congenial company."

Husband and wife laughed. "I don't think so, Mace."

"James. My name is James. Let us get off on a friendly foot, given that we have mutual acquaintances."

"I'm Kenton. Suzannah's name you have already heard."

A lovely name for a lovely woman, thought James. Perhaps his countenance said more than he realized, because her eyes, for a brief second, radiated confused pleasure.

"Our mutual acquaintances are in Painswick, Suzannah," said James over dinner, experimentally trying out her name; he liked the feel of it on his lips.

Her eyes wavered. A hint of something unexpected was discernible in their depths. Might that something be anxiety?

"I've explained that we know the Endecotts." Blizzard seemed over-quick with the words.

"I have not seen them for several years, not since a New Year's Eve ball." A vision of Kas stealing from a terrace to join him in the darkness, while musicians scraped on their instruments within, possessed James; momentarily, the vision was more real than the parlour where he sat, then it faded. "There is a Bristol man who you may know. Anthony Castor. Not a friend of mine, but a merchant who I met - hm - once. Heavily involved in the slave trade. His uncle has amassed an immense fortune that way."

Kenton frowned. "An ungodly way to make money. Castor? The name is familiar, but I do not know him. Do you remember him Suzannah?"

"They have a great house in Bristol. That much I know."

It occurred to James that he was being unguarded in admitting that he knew Castor. He had no wish that these people should learn of his shattered engagement with Kas. But Castor was unlikely to show up in the colony on business, and even less likely to blabber about the engagement party of eight years ago, even if he did. And anyway, the two Blizzards were looking ill at ease themselves, too ill at ease to be interested in his neurotic sensibilities. Time to change the subject. "Best to forget old times perhaps. None of us left England because we wanted to hang on to the past."

Blizzard's smile illuminated his natural good-looks. "True."

"Won't you find this a sluggish backwater, isolated from all the latest medical thought at home?"

"If only! You over-estimate the enlightenment of the profession in England. They are glued to the most medieval ideas and practices. It is frustrating in the extreme. You would not believe how the profession itself stands in the way of rational thought and progress. And though this may be a backwater, there are patients aplenty; a doctor should never starve anywhere in the world."

"My father has no opinion of doctors. He always preferred to trust his own common sense." Common sense and a flagon of brandy to wash away the pain...

"What brought you here - James?" Suzannah used his name self-consciously, as he had done hers a few minutes earlier. "What gave you courage to make the break?"

He'd long got used to employing a made-up answer to that. "Courage wasn't a pre-requisite. My uncle in Jamaica had need of a young man's energies to push his plantation ahead, so I agreed to join him there for a limited time. Unfortunately, he died during a fire caused by his own slaves and I felt the need to move on." A neat explanation which avoided mention of every detail which he wanted to hide. "Farming tobacco provides me with cash and I grow much of the food which I need. And I am hoping to go into a new venture, though it may take a year or two to hatch."

"What is that?"

"Rum. Small scale production for the local trade."

"I'm not competent to comment on it as a business venture. But given the drinking which I've already observed, you could hardly fail. I will benefit too."

"You like rum?"

"No. You will create a stream of chronic patients requiring my attention."

James was invited to stay the night and to avoid a dark ride home he did so. In fact, he had no wish to leave. In front of the Blizzard's fireplace, he talked about Williamsburg and his avoidance of local politics. He found himself better informed than them about the colony's recent history and filled in such details as he could.

"The Bacon Rebellion set back the colony and more or less put a stop to Jamestown," he wound up. "And you see it undeveloped as it is. A pity. I believe the colony has been ill-run from the start. But that is probably the story of humanity the world over."

"Let me top up your glass, Suzannah." Blizzard poured the brandy carefully and the sound of the golden fluid bubbling into the vessel stirred unexpected pleasure in James.

Brandy gurgling in a glass. Who'd have thought that sound would ever warm my heart? Must be missing the old man.

"Another glass?"

"Thank you, yes. It'll ensure I sleep." He sipped the drink, relishing its heat. Close beside him the cat was curled up, a comforting reminder of Chives back home. James reached out a hand and stroked Mouser's fur. On the other side of the hearth, Suzannah was indistinct among the shadows, only where her feet were stretched towards the fire did the flames pick out the colour of her skirt. And on a chair close by, Blizzard reclined. James hadn't sat like this for four years, not since those last months at Hill House... He felt peculiarly at home, as if he'd known the Blizzards all his life instead of a few hours. Wiseman's, in Jamaica, had never drawn him in like this, though beneath its roof he'd sometimes felt electrifyingly alive.

"Jamestown shrank after the rebellion and the capital moved to Williamsburg," James took up again. "It won't be long till there is nothing left at Jamestown at all."

"There was a pirate strung up in chains there when we arrived. A ghastly sight, a reminder to us that we had not come to a perfect new world."

"We can waste a lot of time searching for perfect worlds."

"Yes..."

It was late when they lighted him up to his room. On the landing Suzannah stood aside. "Good night." She lit a candle from her own flame and passed it to James. Their eyes met in its glowing, intimate orb. All else around was darkness and shadows.

"Good night." He passed close by her, so close that their bodies brushed.

"Follow me," said Kenton. "You're in here James. Not much of a bed, I'm afraid. Not like the one we could have offered you back home."

"I didn't leave Gloucestershire to feel like I was back home."

"Well put. I will leave you. Molly has brought up hot water and a towel, in case you need them. There is a flask of water and a glass too. Also wine."

"I'll be more comfortable than in my own bed."

The door squeaked shut. It was a solid building and Kenton's footsteps were muffled as he retreated to his own roosting spot. Quickly James cleaned himself and got into bed. Brandy and a toasty fire had tired him, but his thoughts continued to roam the house, wondering about the Blizzards and what their life together was. They were certainly a handsome and personable couple. It was hard to imagine why they would choose to bury themselves on an uncivilized frontier, when they could have enjoyed the relative comfort of Bristol. Comfort... James drifted into sleep.

Chapter Five

A mellow mood enveloped James next morning as he departed from his hosts. He had spent time which he could ill afford away from the farm, but in this moment, he didn't care. Some of the mellowness burnt off as he spied C.J Dodds riding beside a local luminary, Justice of the Peace Anstruther. An unfortunate encounter. A poisonous stare was Dodds's mode of greeting, but Anstruther gave him a nod.

"Reverend, Mr Anstruther."

"In town, I see Mace. The ride is not so long, is it? I look forward to having you in my congregation on Sunday."

James suppressed the urge to answer according to his feelings. "I will be there Reverend."

Marcus Anstruther smiled. "We have to set an example, Mace, attend church as per our duty, or else how can we expect our inferiors to attend?" His voice was bland, his manner urbane. His approach in upholding the church differed to Dodds's, but James wasn't fooled.

James spared a moment to observe Anstruther the man. Epiphany did not seem to have taken anything from him in looks or manner.

It wasn't the moment to pick a futile quarrel and there was nothing James could do about the reminder to attend church. "I look forward to seeing you there, Sirs." It was the law to attend and he couldn't fight the law.

The men nodded and rode their separate ways. James was doubly glad to have guarded his tongue, when he glanced back to see Dodds peeling away from Anstruther's course and dismounting at the side of the Blizzard residence. Evidently Dodds was planning to be there some time, as a servant was summoned from the house to stable Arkle. Kenton must be in professional contact with him, or else they've fallen out about church attendance already. As well I didn't abuse Dodds over the dinner table last night. Self-restraint has had quick rewards.

James lingered in town. He'd brought a firearm with him which required maintenance of the hammer and he took it to the gunsmith now. Then he purchased two wide, functional hats for Pink and Vi as theirs were no longer fit for the scarecrow, and sunny months lay ahead. On display was a rather smarter black hat, which he fancied would enhance his new spree of church visits. He already possessed a best hat, and required no new one, but a nameless impulse prompted him to make the purchase, and the glow of pleasure didn't evaporate when he left the shop and mounted Crisp with the hats strung behind the saddle.

And he still didn't rush to get back to the farm and immerse himself in its responsibilities. He wanted to hang on to this contented mood, it would prove unstable enough, he knew. Crisp sensed that his master was not in his usual hurry and slowed almost to a walk, so morning was well on when James reached his own land.

When he appeared among the trees, Pink and Vi both waved as if they'd secretly been fearing cut-throats, wild animals or a stray native Indian.

"All's well. Pink?"

"Yes, Sir. Let me take them hats. Been on a spending spree 'av ye?"

"Of sorts. There's a hat for each of us. You'll need one against the sun soon. The brim is almost off yours. Vi's isn't much better."

"Year's o' wear in 'em. That velvet one mine, is it, Sir?"

"Afraid not. That's my new Sunday best."

"Thank you for the hats," put in Vi, who had joined them. "There's some food left covered up, Sir, if you want it."

"Good. I'll join you in the seedbeds once I'm out of these clothes and Crisp is rubbed down."

Settling Crisp at his manger was a pleasure never a chore. Back home, as a boy, one of the early responsibilities entrusted to James had been to care for the horses. It was a task he still liked to reserve for himself, when time allowed.

Once Crisp was safely stabled, he turned to gobbling his own meal. All very well relaxing with the Blizzards and stealing admiring glances at Suzannah - his experiences in Jamaica must have primed him to desire married women - there was still a field of hard work awaiting.

James had a calculation that it would take a seedbed about forty yards square to raise an acre of tobacco; Pink had explained all that to him during the early days. Now that the seedbeds were prepared it was time to sow. Violet had already mixed the dust-like seed with sand to make it easier to distribute. This was only going to be the beginning of his crop. Endless care would be needed to guide it to fruition. So far, he had been fortunate and managed to bring off one harvest, but he knew that pests or mildew were just two threats which could wipe out a year's sweat. And he wasn't only responsible for himself, Violet and Pink relied on his success.

At Wiseman's he'd worked energetically, but the full weight had really sat on his uncle's shoulders, as master of the property. James's feelings about slavery had not changed one iota, quite the reverse: it rotted the souls of the men who profited by it, as well as destroying the lives of its victims, but he now understood some of the forces which had warped and misshapen his uncle's character.

A tiny sound, the snapping of a twig, made him spin towards the nearby trees. His senses were naturally alert, and out here an instinct for self-preservation had refined them further. Loaded firearms were ever at the ready. Pink had told him gruesome accounts of the fate of settlers set upon by Indians. And James knew these were not exaggerations, because the stories were the same from everyone's lips. He was not without sympathy for the native people pushed from their land, but that sympathy didn't translate into a desire to get scalped or burned alive.

In ordinary circumstances, he was not inclined towards nerves or anxiety. On the eve of Blenheim, when he had anticipated the momentous dangers which lay ahead, sleep had been impossible. He had lain awake on the grass beside his fellow foot soldiers, imagining the ordeal to come, but once battle commenced, all his fears had evaporated. Yet this morning, with bright sunlight throwing the shadows into deeper contrast, he felt uneasy near his own doorstep.

"Just a squirrel, Sir, I reckon." Pink had paused from his exertion and was watching. "Only a squirrel. Old Bluey's in the house. Reckon I heard him bark a minute or two back, but he stopped. Want me to let 'im out?"

James smiled tightly, half amused that Pink had read his apprehension. "Leave Bluey inside. We're armed if danger's about." James's eyes continued to flit among the trees. Instinct told him it was not a squirrel which he'd heard, but Pink was right that Bluey would be barking and scrabbling at the door if a stranger was about. "Who was the Indian nation that had its home here when the first settlers arrived? I never can remember. Al something or other. You told me once that they used to carve strange markings on their bodies."

"Algonquin."

"Algonquin. That's it, but I'll forget the name again. I was trying to tell someone last night."

Pink evinced a polite lack of interest. Or perhaps it was a genuine lack of interest.

Smiling, James returned to work.

Chapter Six

"I'm afraid you'll have to go to the chapel with Pink, next week. I want both of you here while I'm away." Nothing would have made him admit it, but on a gut level he remained wary about the sounds he had heard in the woods. "Reverend Dodds may even be out this way preaching mid-week. I'll find out. Pink, firearms about you at all times."

Pink quit polishing his boot. "All times, Sir."

"Same for you, Vi."

"Always ready, Sir. Been in these parts a long time."

"Yes, sometimes I forget that."

Violet's eyes travelled over James's smart suit and new hat. The hat was stark black, but a band of silk leant a decorative touch. A departure from James's style. "Haven't seen that suit before, Sir. Very smart, if I may say."

James turned to the square of highly polished metal which passed for a mirror in his establishment. His metallic grey eyes beamed against the matt-black of the fabric. "It hasn't been out of the box in over three years. Does it smell of smoke?"

"Not as I can tell, Sir. Taken some trouble with your hair today too. The minister will be impressed. Reverend Dodds likes a show of respect, they say."

"...Yes."

"He doesn't like people coming to church smelling of the farmyard. Will dinner be at the usual time?"

"Keep something cold for me. I may be late."

Not only might he be late, he was positively hoping to be. As he rode to town he whistled cheerily and took in the world about him as if he was seeing it afresh. The pine trees were especially fragrant this morning. He reined in at the tiny hamlet where Red Rower had his workshop. Sunlight was glinting on the ducking pond. There was no sign of Red, so he pressed on.

When James had stabled Crisp at the Holly Tree Tavern, he sauntered the few hundred yards to church. On a board outside was stencilled the name: Reverend Caleb Jehosephat Dodds. Caleb Jehosephat. What kind of a name was that? His parents must have been eager for a ranting fanatic.

He nodded left and right to familiar faces. Marcus Anstruther was sitting at the very front and did not see him, but beside him was the ginger haired girl who had boldly introduced herself to James at his own property. Her eyes were darting about the whole church, missing nothing, and they sparked interest when James moved up the aisle. It was impossible to miss her with that ginger hair and James smiled absently, but he was too busy hunting for another face to have much thought for Epiphany.

Linus Turner raised his chin from his chest, where it seemed always to rest, but offered no sign of recognition; Bodelle another senior figure in the vestry inclined his head, but there was only one face James really wanted to see. And he found it: glinting auburn hair under a grey hat; pale skin luminous against the dark interior of the church; a graceful presence - Suzannah attracted his eyes like a magnet. His footsteps hesitated, then he moved forward. Kenton was beside Suzannah, and it was Kenton who noticed him. He smiled and gestured to the unoccupied place beside him.

"There's room by us. We did not expect to see you." Their expressions proclaimed that the surprise was a very pleasant one.

"Reverend Dodds noted my absence in winter and rode out in person to warn me a fine might be pending. I decided it was worth making the effort to be seen by the law enforcers of the community from time to time."

"Ah! It isn't just a question of avoiding fines for me, I am a physician and it behoves me to be seen in church. The sick and dying do not care for a Godless man."

Suzannah leant around her husband. James couldn't think of a thing to say, but fortunately Dodds himself saved the moment by sweeping to the front and cutting off all possibility of greetings and conversation. The congregation fell into silence. Someone at the back sneezed. Dodds's gorgon eyes transfixed the offender as if a worse slip had occurred. Then he led them in prayers, and the church became silent again.

Dodds glared as if he were facing an enemy, not his flock. "My lesson this day is taken from the Book of Isaiah." He rasped the words, with eyes half closed, like a man in a trance. "Your lips have uttered falsehood..."

James glanced to Kenton who caught his eye with raised brows. We're in for an ear bashing, Kenton's expression said.

"...but your iniquities have separated you from your God. Your sins have hidden his face from you. Your lips have spoken falsely..."

James focussed on Dodds, but he couldn't resist sneaking glances at the Blizzards on his right. Suzannah's grace and presence struck him among the sea of commonplace faces. What surprised him was the intense concentration with which she listened to Dodds's rant about lies. Kenton, too, appeared to be taking his pastor's oration seriously. To James it was all a piled heap of humbug, with a few nuggets of common sense thrown in to stop the pile collapsing. But he kept his features composed: members of the vestry were sitting on the other side of the aisle. I'm getting like my uncle, keeping in with the right people, James thought.

"Who among us is living a life of sanctity?" thundered Dodds. "Who is spotless and without the sin of falsehood?"

Not me, thought James.

Dodds oration boomed on. The congregation was becoming restless and a child began to cry at the back. Feet were shuffling when Dodds brought his sermon to an abrupt stop.

People looked round, as if unsure if they were free, then they started to rise and voices began to murmur. James hoped to exchange words with Suzannah, but she seemed affected by the harangue.

Kenton whispered in her ear and she shook her head. They filed out into the sunlight. A hint of disappointment hatched in James; neither of the Blizzards was going to invite him to their house, he guessed. But he could take his own initiative.

"Perhaps I could invite you to supper at my farm some evening?" he offered, when they were at the door. "The accommodation would not be so good as you're used to, but there is a room upstairs which is never used. You could spend the night there. Or perhaps you would prefer to come over in the middle of the day to eat."

"You're a busy farmer, James. We don't like to trespass."

"Not so busy that I couldn't disrupt our routine for once. You would be more than welcome."

The Blizzards looked at each other. "My own work gets in the way," replied Kenton. "But you will be most welcome at our home. We will send an invitation over with Thomas, won't we Suzannah?" His voice was encouraging, as if he wanted to bolster her resolve.

"Yes."

"I will look forward to seeing you."

Suzannah gave him a strained smile and Kenton exchanged a last few words before they turned up the street. James watched them continue on their way. Their behaviour, the behaviour of both of them, had been a disappointment to him. He had hoped for a renewal of the closeness which had sprung up on that first meeting. Instead both had shown signs of constraint. Could I have said something to offend them? he wondered. But he dismissed the possibility. He'd hardly said anything significant at all. Might Kenton have spotted me watching Suzannah with a touch too much admiration? I could hardly take my eyes off her over supper. Again, he rejected the idea. His expression had been guarded, however much his eyes had been on Suzannah. Kenton had impressed him instantly as a fine man and he hoped a friendship might develop with him too; James had been without real friendship since he left Wiseman's and the society of Nehemiah, his uncle's slave. Kenton's was the very last applecart which he wanted to overturn: the appeal of Suzannah couldn't be ignored, but alienating Kenton was unthinkable.

"...It is an afront that conjurations and witchcraft should be afoot in a civilized society. The Natives of these parts were bad enough with their idolatry, but we are rid of them."

A thin voice attracted James's attention and he glanced back to see it was Bodelle fulminating.

A young female voice joined in, "Mrs Cather's pig was well one day, sick the next. The pig ailed after a neighbour had visited."

James could not see the girl because she was standing beyond Anstruther, who was showing signs of being irritated by the whole conversation. "That is enough, Epiphany. You don't know what you are talking about. Pigs get sick. It happens all the time. Don't encourage her, Bodelle."

The girl went to speak again, but Anstruther cut her off angrily. He noticed James and read the scowl behind James's eyes. "You must take no notice, Mace," he called. "Women love such tattle."

James had hoped to slip away quietly.

"This is my daughter Epiphany, and my cousin Mistress Harkness."

So the lady who had ridden past Hill House with Epiphany was Anstruther's own cousin. James raised his hat. "Good day. We have met once."

Epiphany looked very fine today in a cherry gown which contrasted with her green eyes and made their colour more startling.

"You could come home and join us, Mr Mace." It was Mrs Harkness who put the invitation.

"That's kind, but I have to get back to my farm."

"The Sabbath is a day of rest, Mace," growled Dodds. "Only the ungodly fail to observe it."

"I need to be a presence on my land. I must ensure my servants respect the Sabbath." Oh God, and the sermon had been about lying! "But I thank you for the invitation." Time to go. As quickly as possible. James touched his hat to the Anstruther ladies. "Again, thank you for the invitation, perhaps some other time." Briskly he moved away.

Crisp greeted him with a snort and a neigh when he reached the Holly Tree, and they were soon heading home. Not quite the day I hoped for, James thought, with a smile at the futility of human hopes.

Today he pressed on smartly and was back in good time. There was work to catch up on, Dodds would not be likely to check his movements. Pink and Violet could take their leisure. They needed it.

"Back in good time, Sir." Vi was straight out of the shack to greet him. "I'll hang that suit directly you've taken it off and your hat needs hanging too, so it don't get sat on."

"No need. I'll do it." He went to his room and changed into working gear.

Food was on the table when he returned to the kitchen. "It's time for me to tell you about Reverend Dodds's sermon." He smiled expecting them to grimace, but they only answered with the dead-pan expressions which their faces always wore. "Well, the sermon was about the price of living a lie. All who live a lie will pay in the end."

"I see, Sir. We mustn't do that then."

"No. We mustn't. Reverend Dodds said it came from the Books of - um - Isaiah, I think."

"If he asks us, we'll be sure to show him we know all about it. The book of Jeremiah you said, Sir?"

"Isaiah."

"Ah."

"He will be preaching at the chapel of ease next Sunday, so you can, - er - enjoy his wisdom then."

Chapter Seven

The emerging tobacco seeds were covered with pine boughs to protect them. James said a small prayer, that all would be well, that flea beetles would not do their worst and that this harvest would be a fine one. Many hazards lay ahead before that end could be achieved. Meanwhile there was barley and beans to be raised, potatoes and corn to plant. He grew a wide variety of vegetables for his own table. The surplus could be sold for a little extra cash, insurance against the vagaries of fortune or a disaster with the tobacco. And the best seed needed to be reserved for next year, without which he could grow nothing.

His rum project had died a death for the simple want of time. Or so he told himself. A measure of interest had also shrivelled because of the arrival of the Blizzards in his life. The utter dedication to his farm and business, which had characterized him during the first three years of his life in Virginia, had slipped. It had slipped only a degree, but the slip was visible. It was pleasant to ride into town and take a meal with Kenton and Suzannah, and while he was doing that, he couldn't be researching rum making and the costs of setting up. He was doing alright as he was, why spoil life with more risks and worries?

Mounding the soil up into hills was hard work. They had to be three feet or so apart and knee high and he waited for rain to soften the soil in preparation. But with the mounds ready they would be able to transplant the tobacco come May, assuming pests hadn't decimated the young plants by then. He worked at the mounds steadily, wielding his hoe. Pink kept pace with him for the first half hour or so, then James forged ahead. His linen began to stick to him, sweat ran into his eyes, his long, dark hair stuck to the back of his neck. A quick pause to drink was the only rest from his toils, till the sound of hooves stayed his hoe. Pink straightened up too and flexed his back. James's heart gave a jump and he nearly dropped his hoe. Two horses trotted smartly up. On one rode the Blizzard servant, Thomas.

"Suzannah!" Instantly the sweatiness of his linen stank its way to the front of his mind. "Give me a moment. Pink, get Mistress Suzannah a drink." He darted into the house, grabbed a clean shirt, splashed water about his torso and, after a cursory wipe with a towel, whipped the shirt on.

"I'm sorry to have taken you by surprise, James." Without intending it, her eyes travelled over his square shoulders and chest, where the damp shirt stuck. "I see you're disconcerted."

"Don't be sorry. I'd rather be disconcerted by a visit from you than toiling in that field, feeling - concerted."

They both laughed. Vi appeared with a tray and Pink led the horses to a trough.

"I am only here with a supper invitation. Kenton would like you to come over on Saturday. If you are unable to make that date, name any other."

"I will be there." It struck him that she could have sent Thomas alone with the message. She did not have to make the ride herself. But he was glad she had gone to trouble. Tobacco mounding could go hang for an hour.

"You will be welcome to stay the night and can attend church with us on Sunday, if it pleased you."

A thrill of pleasure breathed in James. "If it's not asking too much of your hospitality I would certainly prefer to stay. You will encounter me in a more civilized state than today. I'm sorry to be such a dust sack. I believe I look worse than Pink."

A light in her eyes told him that he did not look worse than Pink, that his appearance, in fact, did not displease her at all.

Her reply was matter of fact. "You are a farmer - show me a farm with no dirt. You should see Kenton sometimes! Only on Monday he came home drenched in blood. He looked like he'd wrestled a mountain lion and barely survived. A patient had raked his own thigh on a saw."

"The man lived?"

"Yes. Kenton stopped the blood."

"I'm sure Kenton is a fine doctor."

"He is." Her voice sang with pride and affection, there was no mistaking it. "And he has an open mind, an observant eye. He dismisses as superstition much of what his colleagues practise. Unfortunately, it did not always gain him the regard of other doctors, or even patients. Many patients _prefer_ superstition."

"Yes. Do you remember how I told you that Bodelle and Miss Anstruther were affecting to believe in witchcraft a few weeks ago? Talking of it outside church of all places! Anstruther didn't like it. Someone - I forget if it was my father or uncle - told me that you will never lose money underestimating the intelligence of human beings! The saying has more my uncle's stamp than Father's, it was probably him."

"Did you not get on with your uncle?"

"He owned a sugar plantation, as you know, and kept many slaves. He was cynical, driven by dry self-interest. There was no opening his eyes to the immorality of making money by breaking the lives of others. His argument was that Africans enslave their own and sell the slaves on to Europeans, therefore he was benefitting from their system not creating it." James sighed. "But he was not gratuitously wicked in the sense that many of the planters were." Dennis Hake flashed through James's mind. "He did not entertain himself at the expense of his slaves; but at some point in life, money had become God and he worshipped no other."

"And so you argued?"

"Yes. I should never have gone to the plantation. It was a misconceived arrangement from the start."

Suzannah sipped her lemon. "So what drove you from Chipping Campden to Jamaica, James?" She spoke his name as if she liked it. "You must have known what you were heading into."

The nub of the issue. The unmentionable truth. James had talked of Kassandra to nobody since he left England. The mischance of his being assumed dead after Blenheim, Kassandra's rapid leap towards consolation in Geoff's arms; none of this could he speak about, though more than five years had settled over the wound. He hesitated, took a thirsty draught from his glass, glanced at the sky. "A sense of adventure, I suppose." Not a complete lie. He looked into her calm eyes. "What brought you here?"

Now it was time for her glance to creep away. "Adventure? Not that. But Kenton was weary of the medical profession in London. He wanted newness. We both wanted it."

It seemed an inadequate answer, even more inadequate than his own, but he said nothing. He'd become used to hiding his motives and accepted that other people were concealing secrets. The Blizzards were good people; of that he was certain: he needed to know nothing more of their motives.

"I didn't realize you'd lived in London."

"For a time yes. Kenton studied there and we stayed." She looked about her. "Hill House, it seems a strange name for your plantation, James. The highest hills are your tobacco mounds."

He laughed. "I think we might be on a slope... My father's farm back home is called Hill House. And that truly sits on top of a hill."

She smiled, a beautiful, slow smile which engulfed her face and reminded him, for a split second of someone else. "I told you it is hard to forget the old country, but you tried to deny it on the day I first met you. I knew you were not being truthful!"

He laughed again, pleased that she had paid enough attention to remember his words. "I must be careful what I say. It seems that you can see straight through me."

Abruptly she leapt up. "What does _he_ want?"

James followed her glance and was astonished to find C.J Dodds bearing down on them. Suzannah's presence had rendered him blind and deaf to all else. He collected his wits and stepped forward to intercept the minister. A show of politeness. "Reverend. Some refreshment, you look in need of it."

"I will trouble you for that. I have been thrown from my horse and he galloped back towards town. I was not far from here and am seeking help." His manner was uncharacteristically emollient, but his little, dark eyes leapt backwards and forwards between James and Suzannah, as if he was drinking in things that normal human vision could not see. Suzannah was modestly attired, but her comeliness was not lost on Dodds, James was sure.

James wished that the minister had called at any other time. An effort to be practical: "You can borrow a horse if you like. My man will ride back into town with you and bring both animals home." Pink had more useful claims on his time, but better to keep on terms with this influential pest.

"Thank you for the trouble. We may find Arkle grazing on our way."

"I hope so."

"I had better go, James. I'll call Thomas."

"And I'll saddle Crisp and Bobsworth. Wait here Reverend Dodds. There's lemon in that jug and Vi will find a clean beaker." _What an accomplished hypocrite I'm becoming._ "Pink! Pink, you're needed for a ride into town with the minister to bring the horses back. Keep your eyes open for Arkle, in case he's stopped to graze."

Pink's features brightened at the rare chance of a ride and escape from drudgery. "I'll keep a look out, Sir. Arkle's a fine horse. One of the best."

The horses were soon readied. James nipped forward to help Suzannah into the saddle before Thomas could do his job. There was a brief, charged, contact between them. Her eyes evaded his. James waved goodbye and they were off. Suzannah turned briefly, then disappeared into trees.

When there was no more sight of her, and the beating of hooves had faded, James returned to the bench and sat down, suddenly empty. He felt alone, though Vi was toiling in the next field. Something was missing from his life, and in this second it was impossible to pretend otherwise.

_I have to be careful, very careful._ The words drummed in his head. Kenton was becoming his friend, and he was a truly good man. James had no wish to lose his friendship or betray him. Not for anyone, not for anything. Nor would he betray Kenton. Nor would he... He looked to the sky, where a flock of starlings were wheeling. Why did he feel hollow because Suzannah had gone? She had not been in his life for long; they did not know each other well. He poured more lemon and looked about him, at the house - not much more than a large shack really - at the barn, at the animal pens. All this he'd carved out. It had cost him his whole strength and time for the last three years. There had been nothing left of himself to regret the bareness of life: for regrets you needed time to reflect. But natural needs and wants couldn't go unrecognized forever; they were making themselves felt now.

He wished Suzannah were free. That he couldn't deny. He might hardly know her, but he wished she were free. None of the other women of Williamsburg or the neighbouring area interested him. They were either coarse, or dull, or waspish, or something didn't appeal. With Suzannah he sensed there might have been the chance to build a satisfying life. He swilled the lemon round his beaker. Well, too late. She was already married, and to a worthy young man, a handsome man, a better man than himself in every way, no doubt. There could be no excuse, as there had been with Pernel, that her husband was an older man who knew what the risks were when he took on a lovely young wife.

He drank his lemon, considered the house, the barn, the river glinting not far away. _Am I going to do nothing but raise tobacco and exist in a glorified shed for the rest of my life?_

He stood purposefully. There was work to be done, and he had best get on with it. He flexed his back, took off towards the next field. Vi looked round when he joined her but said nothing.

He grasped his hoe and resumed work. Break the soil. Break it deep. Loosen the clods. Scrat it up. Make a mound. And again... And again... Think of nothing...

Chapter Eight

James kept an anxious eye on his tobacco seedlings every day during the next month. In the morning an inspection was his first activity, and it was his last in the evening too. While he couldn't save the seedlings by looking at them, nor could he resist the temptation to keep checking. But this year they were in luck, neither bad weather non pests did for the infant plants. Now came the task of thinning them out to about four inches apart. The crop cycle was moving. His hopes rose.

James visited the Blizzards three times in quick succession. Intimacy blossomed rapidly and the warmth of their company forced him to confront again how dull his three years in Virginia had really been. And having once been confronted, the thought could not readily be thrust aside. But company of a different kind beckoned. James, Vi and Pink were all working on the seedlings, when an invitation arrived. It was to Marcus Anstruther's and it came as a surprise.

As a Justice of the Peace, Anstruther, was wrapped up in law and the established church. James respected fully the difficulties of trying to administer law on any level. He had no sympathy with thieves or murderers and understood how quickly human behaviour could descend into destructive chaos. For the church he had somewhat less respect. It too played a role in discouraging crime and mayhem, all to the good, but it pried a little to deeply into the lives of its congregation and its ministers were often poor advertisements for a Christian way of life. Do as I say, not as I do, seemed to be their maxim.

When the invitation came, he sought about for a polite excuse not to attend. There was always too much work awaiting his attention, and he had slipped into the habit of abandoning it too freely since Kenton and Suzannah arrived at Williamsburg. Kenton and Suzannah... They might be at the Anstruther home, and if they were not, it would be possible to call on them again while he was in town. He dashed off a quick reply agreeing to come to the reception and thrust it into the hand of Anstruther's servant.

His tailor in Williamsburg had certainly benefitted from the arrival of the Blizzards. After three years of purchasing next to nothing, James had visited the establishment twice replacing shabby clothes. Kenton dressed to the best standards of a professional physician and Suzannah was always attractively, though quietly, attired. He had no wish to be mistaken for the rat catcher when he called at their door.

His only evening clothes, hardly warn since he arrived in Virginia, would still do, he decided when it came time to prepare. They were black and austere, but none the worse for that. And they still fitted. He passed the suit to Vi to be smoothed and for a polishing of the buttons.

"It should arrive in town fit to be seen," she assured him. "But you'd best hang it straight up when you get to Dr Blizzard's. Let the weight pull out any creases from being in the box. No doubt they'll have a servant there who can touch it up, or maybe Mistress Blizzard herself will be handy with it."

A pair of evening shoes had also migrated with him from Jamaica. His room had not been destroyed in the blaze at Wiseman's and his personal gear was mostly still usable from that time, the smokiness having defused. He deliberately blocked memories of having the shoes made during his early days in Jamaica. It was not that long ago, but so much had happened since, that he felt as if he was recalling a separate lifetime. He dusted the shoes off, packed them carefully into a box and returned to work.

James was unable to imagine why he had been invited to Anstruther's gathering, but Kenton and Suzannah thought they might be able to provide an answer.

"You do?"

"Yes. Did you not tell us that your mother was one of the Vallenders of Stow on the Wold?"

"She was." James had forgotten mentioning it. "She's buried there, in the Vallender tomb."

"I think a Vallender played some significant role in the Royalist army during the Civil War. Anstruther is fond of telling everyone that his own grand-father, or great-grandfather, did the same. Anstruther is the type who ferrets out such information."

"He didn't need to ferret it out. I told him myself, when we first met. I forget why."

"There we are then. You are a Vallender, or a son of that family, and worthy of drinking his wine and wearing out his dance floor."

"So that's it." James smiled but raised his eyebrows. "My Mace ancestors fought on the other side in the Civil War. I probably never told him that."

"And I shouldn't mention it tonight either." Kenton refilled the wines glasses. "This slips down too easily. I better not drink too much. We have a whole evening ahead of us. It wouldn't do to stagger around the Anstruther mansion."

"Anstruther does not mention what these festivities are in aid of. He seems to be going to a lot of trouble. Everyone with any gentlemanly pretentions for miles around has been invited. I would have preferred to get on with my work."

"Oh, don't be like that, we're glad you're not getting on with your work, aren't we, Suzannah?"

"Yes." Her smile was candid.

"I didn't think it a good idea to say no to Anstruther. Living on the edge of the civilized world like this, you never know when you might need his friendship. And it would have been needlessly uncivil to refuse."

"We thought so too. And his wine will be even better than ours."

"The best reason of all to go."

The three of them laughed. It occurred to James that he would far prefer an evening just with the Blizzards in their comfortable home. Anstruther occupied a fine dwelling on one of the main streets and the food would be excellent, but James guessed that he would feel happiest when the night was over, and he could take a last quiet drink with his friends in their parlour. He looked out into the yard, which had been so dull in winter, but was now coming to life with raised beds of flowers and pots of herbs.

"I think it is time we should dress." Suzannah glanced at the clock. "We'd better not offend this great man whose ancestor led the Royalist charge at Edgehill."

With much laughter the three of them went upstairs.

James had never visited the Anstruther home before, though he had occasionally been admitted - dragged - into other gracious houses. The interior reminded him of Wiseman's with its staircase sweeping up to a gallery. Anstruther greeted them personally with an easy show of bonhomie. Standing close by were Bodelle and Turner. Reverend Bell, the minister of a neighbouring parish also hovered. Turner was saturnine and looked as if he had about as much interest in the festivities as James did, even less perhaps. Bodelle soon drifted away to talk law with C.J Dodds, leaving James and his friends with Bell, who was like no vicar James had ever encountered. Bell had the mannerisms of a flighty girl and a tinkling laugh to go with it. Dodds glowered from the door, before turning his back on his fellow theologian.

"Mr Mace, my wife and I have occasionally spotted you in the distance and wished to meet you."

A wife, well thank God at least Bell had one of those... "Really? It's pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You probably do not realize that we have mutual acquaintances."

Mutual acquaintances? Oh God... So that was why Bell wanted to talk.

"Hah! I see you are surprised! It was my wife who noticed the connection."

James fiddled with the stem of his glass. "Connection?"

"My wife is one of the Castors of Bristol. She is here somewhere, though I have lost her in this press."

James gulped his wine. "The Castors... I don't think I know them."

Bell giggled. "Leticia has a cousin, Anthony. It seems that he knows you."

A cold little hand twisted James's guts. There was no escape. Kenton and Suzannah were watching him; they seemed mesmerized. Bell was smiling as if he held the key to a wonderful mystery.

"Ah, Castor. I have met him. He has a home near mine."

"Leticia maintains an occasional correspondence with him."

What luck. "And he mentioned me? Is he here tonight?"

"No, my dear, he is not. I do not think he has ever visited our colony."

"You must tell me if he does." Then I can be sure to avoid him.

"Unlikely, but I will do so. Doctor, you look a thought green, as if you required your own services."

"...It must be the light."

"Miss Epiphany, let me introduce you to James Mace."

Anstruther's daughter had approached from an adjacent room, unnoticed by James. She turned glittering green eyes upon him. Her figure was slim as a reed in its gown of silver tissue.

"We have already met. Mr Mace, you have been an elusive shadow around Williamsburg."

James gave a slight bow. "No shadow, merely busy."

She was very young, and very handsome, but James's instinct was to back away from her. The snippet about witchcraft which he had overheard outside church irritated him. Why mix with a troublemaker?

"You have not been in Father's house before. At last we have put that right."

James inclined his head.

"Perhaps you are not a dancing man?"

"I am not, as you will see for yourself when the dancing beginnings. And that will happen soon; the musicians are warming up. Keep an eye open for my three left feet."

She laughed. Pity every woman didn't respond to his jokes like this one did.

"There is nothing worse than a tall man who dances gauchely. The whole world notices."

"As bad as that? I'd better stay on the side." Already his attention was wandering; Suzannah's auburn hair was visible out of the corner of his eye. He wondered when it would be seemly for him to ask Suzannah to dance. Not the first of course. Kenton would properly take that. Nor the second, he couldn't appear in too big a rush.

Epiphany gave a little cough and he refocussed his attention to her.

"I said you must come to our home more often, Mr Mace," she repeated, "now that the ice is broken here."

"Yes."

"Yes." She laughed. "Is that your only answer? Would it not be gentlemanly to pretend enthusiasm to visit us?"

She was regarding him with an air of importance, but his attention wandered again. The Blizzards had moved a yard or two and a mulberry coloured panel of Suzannah's skirt was just visible. A patch of Suzannah's skirt was more fascinating to him that the whole of this Anstruther girl.

Suzannah's dress wafted out of James's peripheral vision and his eyes returned to Epiphany. Complacency and defiance were equally measured in her green gaze. She was expecting him to ask her onto the floor, suddenly he realized it. Almost, as the young lady of the house, she was demanding it. Why not satisfy her, if that was what she wanted? He couldn't care less about dancing with her, but what harm would it do? "The first dance, Miss Anstruther. If you are not engaged, would you do me the honour?"

She gave a little bob. He shot a self-deprecating glance to Kenton and Suzannah who were both looking on woodenly. "I do not know any fashionable steps. I have been out of practice in recent years." He'd been out of practice all his life.

"I can teach you."

Oh God. "Kenton, Suzannah, are you not joining us?"

"Later, perhaps."

They passed though double doors onto the dance floor. Plush maroon curtains hung to the floor at the long windows and candles flickered in sconces, casting uncertain shadows. The candlelight muted the hues of the gowns and evening suits, invested extra beauty in the figures and scene. The ginger of Epiphany's hair was less strident, the lustre of her eyes more mysterious.

Anstruther and his cousin Mrs Harkness stepped out, they danced a few steps, then the instruments paused, and the rest of the room formed up. James could think of nothing worth saying, and in any case needed all his concentration to recall the steps and moves.

"You are out of practice."

"I was never in it."

"You should be. It is a gentlemanly requirement, Mr Mace. Father says that you are wedded to your tobacco in the backwoods."

Laughter. "I'm not so far from Williamsburg." No comment on being wedded to the tobacco.

"I have seen you in town occasionally, at a distance." Those feline green eyes glinted.

"Mm?" Suzannah and Kenton had decided to join the throng after all. They appeared flushed and unhappy, but still their fine looks were enhanced by the candlelight. There could be no more striking couple in the room.

Epiphany reached up to speak more intimately when they came together again. Her lips were very close to his ear. "I have seen you in town occasionally. I have seen you with the doctor and his lady. You sit with them in church. You walk home with them."

His expression stiffened. Her manner was coquettish. She was playing a social game, but he perceived the pitfalls. He did not want this girl observing his movements or commenting on them.

"She is a very lovely woman, Mistress Blizzard." Epiphany's eyes met James's to gauge their reaction. "But she is a thought over-tall. Of course, that would not matter to you. You are even taller. And that birthmark on her shoulder - you can see it under her gown tonight - most unsightly."

James could not hide a frown this time. "So is her husband very tall. As for any tiny blemish, we all have them."

"Y-e-s."

She was trying to lead him somewhere. He realized that. But he was determined not to be provoked and made no further reply.

She tried again. "It was me who suggested to father that you should be invited. Did you know?"

"I didn't." He maintained a neutral countenance. "But it was kind of you."

A threat was starting to brew in Epiphany's feline eyes. The music took them apart for a second. "You should come to town more often, Mr Mace, be seen among people of your own class."

He smiled thinly. "You mistake me, Miss Anstruther. I am not a wealthy man." He wished the dance would come to an end. He glanced at the musicians hoping for signs of it. Couldn't that smiling fool on the violin wind things up?

"I did not talk of money. Your family are gentlemen, my father said so."

"In a minor way."

"The Vallenders were not so minor. Father told me that too. Around Stow on the Wold they were one of the great families."

So that was her interest. "At one time yes, but not now. The main line died out at the time of the Civil War." Would the dance never end? How much did this girl know about him? Why was she smiling in that complacent fashion?

"You are a Vallender. They were great people for the Royalist cause! So were the Anstruthers."

"I'm a Mace. They weren't."

She tittered as if delighted by the sally. "If you were inclined, you would be received almost anywhere in town. Father likes company for supper and he likes to discuss politics. But there are purely social evenings here too. You don't have to spend all day talking to your tobacco."

She was right, up to a point, he thought. Much of the sterility of his life was self-imposed. But would listening to Anstruther's views on taxation be more fulfilling than minding his own business at home? His narrow life needed fresh stimulus, but he didn't imagine these were the people to provide it. "Oh no, is that the music stopping so soon? I am engaged elsewhere for the next dance. You must forgive me, Miss Epiphany." He bowed and escaped with the best show of made-up grace that he could.

Suzannah and Kenton were retreating from the floor too and he rapidly over took them.

"May I have this dance with Suzannah, Kenton, if it pleases her? I could think of no polite way of escaping the claws of Miss Anstruther," - why had he used the word claws? - "except inventing another partner."

"No excuses needed, James. Miss Anstruther certainly seems intent upon you."

"Hard to imagine why."

"Probably those Vallender ancestors."

"Humph!"

Suzannah gave James her hand. A tingle of excited connection flashed through his flesh. Such feelings could not be one directional, they couldn't be, he told himself.

They stepped out onto the floor, while Kenton watched from a corner. James had to work hard to keep Kenton at the forefront of his mind. A tight grip on yourself, Jem...

Together they formed up amid the other sets on the floor. Suzzanah's eyes were only four inches or so below his, though he was very tall. She smiled confidingly at him. Kenton evaporated from his thoughts.

"I think Miss Anstruther is watching you even now. You have made an impression there."

"I had hardly spoken to the girl before tonight. She once rode off the track by my farm to be 'neighbourly', as she put it. I did not understand then how she was even aware of me. Perhaps she knows I have offended Dodds and the vestry, by missing sermons. Girls of her age can be capricious and enjoy little rebellions."

Suzannah's face was serious. "I do not believe it is sermons which she has on her mind. She is a good-looking girl. She will not lack admirers."

"Good-looking, but not good-natured; I'd wager that. And too full of her own importance as an Anstruther. I don't know her, but I know the type." James caught a fleeting glimpse of Kenton's face near the door. "Kenton seemed very pensive back in the hall. And he's shown no signs of enjoying the entertainment since. He was bright enough before we set out."

She hesitated. "He is tired. There is never a lack of people needing his skills. His reputation has grown quickly."

James focussed on the steps. Tiredness seemed an inadequate excuse for Kenton's strained look. He couldn't be more tired than James himself. And why had his demeanour changed suddenly? "I suppose..."

They danced on in silence.

"I can tell you do not enjoy dancing. You are stiff and mechanical." Her fingers gripped a little tighter on his as she pirouetted. There was a glint of approval for James the man in her eyes, whatever she said of his dancing.

"Will you give me the third dance too?" He hadn't meant to blurt the question. He'd only stepped out with her to avoid Epiphany Anstruther, or that was what he told himself.

Elation and trouble immediately competed in those opaque grey eyes. "Reverend Dodds is watching us with a glowering brow and one of the old hens from church looks about to lay an egg."

"Mrs Bodelle, probably. That's her usual look."

"And you are right about Miss Epiphany. She is watching us and there is spite in her glance even now, though heaven knows why. Let's avoid comment, James, and return to Kenton. We must consider him."

There was no arguing with that. James didn't even want to argue with it. The music drew to a graceful halt.

"Perhaps one of the later dances?"

"I would like that. Miss Anstruther is following you with her eyes, though she is talking to Reverend Bell. Let us move."

"When my ancestor got shot at Edgehill he didn't know how he would influence the future."

Suzannah's eyes ghosted over James's frame and face, as though she appreciated what attracted Miss Anstruther, though James himself might not. "She is used to having her own way, I'd say. Mr Anstruther is usually in town and she may rule the roost at Watersmeet."

They joined Kenton whose glance was wandering uncertainly. James did not think he was displeased because of the dance Suzannah had just enjoyed, something else was spoiling his night.

"Kenton, dear? Shall we not dance now?"

James experienced another little twist of pique: Kenton dear. It was natural enough that she should express herself affectionately, and James understood that his resentment was irrational, unhealthy even.

With empty eyes, Kenton took his wife's hand and led her onto the floor where the dancers were already stepping and twirling. James would have cared to watch the handsome couple dance, or he'd have liked to watch Suzannah, but out of the corner of his eye he spied a shimmer of silver tissue and escaped as hastily as he could without displaying his purpose.

He passed out into the hall and followed a trail of male voices into an adjacent room. Anstruther saw him at once and moved forward.

"Not dancing Mace? I was relying on you young folk to buoy up the evening."

James could think of no worthwhile reply, so he just smiled.

"How prospers your farm, Mace?"

"Superstitious caution prevents me saying that things go well: a plague of pests could be descending at this very second."

Anstruther acknowledged the vagaries of chance. "Spread your risks. A mono crop and you are vulnerable."

"You talk of pests. Do you think there is some special reason why you should be at risk?" It was Bodelle, with his sharp voice and sharp pointed nose, who spoke.

A glass of wine was thrust into James's unready hand. "Some special reason? Insects, weather, I was thinking of these things." He couldn't perceive the direction of Bodelle's question.

"But why do you think you are vulnerable?"

James stared. "We all are, surely?"

"Last year we lost two cows at our farm. My wife and I were suspicious about our neighbours. We had made many offers for their land, but they refused. Lucilla believes they ill wished us."

James's expression could not have been more blank. Anstruther frowned.

Bodelle lifted his chin in defiance of James's look. "The forces of darkness still walk the earth, Mace. Perhaps they are freer here where civilization barely has a hold."

This sounded like a fragment of the conversation James had caught outside church.

"I only fear insects, Bodelle and I don't think my farm is at special risk." He turned to Anstruther. "I plant as wide a variety of vegetables as the soil will support and limit the tobacco to earning cash to supplement the farm."

"Tobacco depletes the land quickly. You'll have to move on in a few years, cut out new uncultivated acres, if you want to stay in tobacco, or your yield will dwindle."

"I'm not sure that I care to do that. Eventually I would end up a frontiers man, and there hazards truly lurk!" His eyes swivelled to Bodelle.

"Native Indians? You are right. Eventually the men of this colony will have to push them further west, right out of their homelands."

James replaced his glass on a tray carried by a slave and accepted another. He sipped the drink, made an appreciative face, thought about a reply, decided none was necessary. In Jamaica he'd learned a lesson about diplomacy. Pushing people even further off their homelands was not his wish, but Anstruther and Bodelle didn't need to know. Rather than riding west, his mind was inclined towards sailing east. For home. Permanently. Anstruther could find out after he'd already sailed.

Mr Turner, the saturnine looking man, wound himself up to speak. "Vigorous young men like you are what the colony needs. You were a cavalry man?"

Oh God, I've heard all this before. "Infantry."

"A trained soldier and a farmer. Ideal."

Instinctively James manipulated his left arm, the one bayoneted at Blenheim. He gently rubbed his neck where a musketball had left its mark in the same action. It might not be in his interests to be perceived as a fully fit man. He'd learned that to his cost before. "I came out of the army injured. In fact I was almost killed."

Turner smiled, or at least the corners of his mouth threatened to turn upwards. "Men like you will always be in demand, whether you realize it or not. You're a fighting man. It's in your gait, in your look."

Uncomfortably, James's considered the question of why he had been invited to the evening's entertainment. Politics and militias were the last thing he wanted to get drawn into.

"Acelin Vallender fought with my great-grandfather at Edgehill," put in Anstruther. "He was a man of the greatest bravery and loyalty to his king, as were my ancestors." Anstruther's voice lifted proudly, though the events were long ago.

"You must come to town more often, Mace," took up Bodelle again. "Pulling caterpillars off plants all day is commendable - one admires an industrious man - but it's work for a slave not a master. I've got a couple of slaves I could sell to you."

A spasm of anger gripped James's stomach. Here were these wealthy, privileged men, casually disposing of the lives of others. They never scrutinised their own consciences. They made a public show of upholding the power of the church yet ignored any Christian message about reciprocal decency. Yes, these men had difficult work to accomplish in maintaining order in an uncivilized new world, but could they not show a little more humility about their own fittingness to rule?

"There is a line in the Bible about doing unto others as would be done unto you, I think. On my farm, in a modest way, I try to practise it, gentlemen."

It was not the reply they had been waiting for, he could see that in the gaping expressions of Bodelle and Turner. Both men looked affronted.

"You will not prosper many seasons if you are truly living according to that precept." Turner recovered his tongue first.

"Gentlemen," Anstruther's smile was bland. "The conversation has become a trifle weighty. This evening was intended as a celebration. At least we have got Mace here tonight. You do not appear to know why I have assembled so many guests?"

"No." And he didn't care either.

"Next week is my daughter's seventeenth birthday."

"Miss Epiphany? I imagined she was a little older than that."

"She will be seventeen. Hence the music and dancing. Occasional frivolity is good for the soul. Ah, Dodds, you look red in the face."

"The wine is strong, Anstruther," offered Turner.

Dodds eyeballed Turner. "I have been dancing, not imbibing."

"Dancing? You Dodds? That is a first." Bodelle was amused. "We must come and watch."

"Miss Epiphany and I were talking about the book of Revelations and I asked her for the honour of a dance. She graciously accepted."

"I hope you're not here to expound Revelations for us," said Anstruther. "Any other night, but not this one."

"Perhaps you will excuse me, gentlemen." James took advantage of Dodds's arrival to affect his escape. There were doors opening onto a garden and he went out with a deep sigh of relief. The air outside carried a fragrance of blossom.

It was not yet fully dark, and two tall figures moving across the grass hooked his instant attention. There could be no other couple as tall as them; Kenton and Suzannah were arm in arm and apparently in the deepest conversation. It would be impolite to impose himself. Instead he decided to linger on the lawn, hopefully avoiding the attention of Epiphany, and to drift in the right direction when the chance presented.

It was not long before that happened. "James, you are hiding too."

"Taking the air and wishing I might be in your home rather than this one." Through the fading light he saw them both smile agreement.

"We have only just been saying the same thing. Still, we must try to put on an act. Perhaps it would be courteous if I asked Miss Epiphany to dance."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Her father tells me she is seventeen next week and this occasion is partly in her honour."

"Her father may be looking for a suitable mate for her," suggested Suzannah.

"True."

"You're fortunate Kenton, that rules you out." I wish I was in your shoes. "I don't like the attention they're giving me. They've just alarmed me by talking about my military past. Bodelle thinks I'm marked out as a fighting man."

"You are," they chorused.

James pressed on, "Worse still Bodelle talked a heap of rubbish about someone cursing his cows. However big an idiot he is, I would have thought he had advanced beyond a belief in witchcraft."

"Hardly the subject for Epiphany's birthday celebrations. I will act the good guest by asking her to dance. I can't skulk in the garden all night." Kenton's smile was weak. "Suzannah dear, James will look after you while I am gone."

"Perhaps James would ask me to dance."

James hid his expression from Kenton and followed them back to the house.

On the dance floor James forgot everything in the delight of Suzannah's nearness and touch. As they twirled and pirouetted, he realized more than ever, that just building a farm was no longer enough for him. At home Kassandra had bestowed sparkle on a life of seasonal routines; in Jamaica Pernel had provided a very different, but intoxicating excitement. Virginia had been one long blank. Work left him few spare moments to contemplate life, but it was becoming ever more evident that something needed to change.

"You will not go home?" exclaimed Suzannah, when he admitted his doubts about life in Virginia. "We feel fortunate to have met you - both of us feel it."

James waited for the music to bring their faces close together. "And I feel fortunate to have met you. Your arrival here has certainly improved everything - the arrival of both of you."

"So?"

"But meeting you has forced me to consider what I want, and I can't persuade myself that it's a shack in the woods."

Shyly she suggested, "Would it be different if you were married?"

"...Not necessarily." He had the birth to acquire a wife, his finances were not the worst. But what wife? One of the nonentities who listened to Dodds with rapt expressions every Sunday and parroted his sermons? Some scold who would forever require a new parasol? Life with the right wife would bring its blessings, life with the wrong one would not. He wanted Kassandra, or someone like her. Suzannah seemed like her, but Suzannah was equally out of reach. "If I had the right wife, it would be different. To be frank," caution muffled his tones, "It is time I found her."

She dropped her eyes. "James there are things I wish I could say to you, but the situation is impossible."

They both forgot the dance and came to a stop. Another pair regarded them crossly and they resumed their movements, out of time with the music or each other.

"What is it you wish to say?"

"You don't understand James. The situation is impossible." Distressed notes trembled through her voice. "I can't explain."

"Why can't you explain?"

A tiny shake of the head was her only answer. They danced on in strained but intensely intimate silence till the musicians brought the music to a graceful stop and Suzannah hastily retreated. James followed and was irritated to find Epiphany barring his way. Kenton and Suzannah both disappeared into the crush.

"You have been hiding, Mr Mace."

"Hardly, I've just been on the dance floor. And I've talked with your father and Mr Turner."

"I trust they appreciated the compliment. You may not know that it is my birthday next week."

"Your father mentioned it."

She looked at him very boldly.

Don't give in and ask her to dance, he told himself. You'll only store trouble for another time. Stay politely aloof.

Marcus Anstruther appeared with Mrs Harkness. "Not dancing Mace? And my daughter only a foot away and needing a partner. What ails you?"

No escape from that. He forced a smile and extended his hand. "Miss Anstruther, I think there is room on the floor." Subduing his irritation, he led her out.

She danced well, he had to admit that. Far better than he did. Far better than Kassandra or Suzannah. If married life were one big dance, she would no doubt make an excellent partner. But she would be no more comforting than those drab nobodies in church whose chief pleasure was tattling about other women's flaws.

"You look very serious, Mr Mace. You ought to have studied the law. Sentencing men to death would have come naturally."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Book learning never suited me unless it shed light on practical matters. But I would have been quite happy to don the black cloth when passing judgement on murderers."

"I recognized it in you. There is an edge to you Mr Mace. I admire that."

God, everyone was offering their assessment of him tonight.

"A man will not go far in life without it."

"In some walks of life, perhaps. I don't know that it requires edge to grow beans or pick caterpillars off tobacco."

The answer seemed to amuse her and she pressed on, "I do not admire softness."

I couldn't care less what you admire.

"There are people, you must have listened to them, who do not like to see a man in the stocks."

"Crime must be deterred."

"There was a man last week dragged across the ducking pond for brewing bad beer."

"The worst of crimes."

"You're mocking me!"

"Partly. But how does this concern me? I don't seek to administer the law."

"I only talk of admiration, Mr Mace."

He considered revealing his views on slavery. That should flatten her interest forever, but the dancefloor was hardly the place to expound his views. "I think you'd be disappointed if you really knew me, Miss Anstruther."

"There is little chance to get to know you."

God, would she never take the hint? "I do not for example believe in curses and witchcraft," he took up with asperity, "and I hate to hear honest people accused of such tat."

This time the point got home and confusion clouded her eyes. In silence they danced on. The silence continued unbroken this time. When the music wound to a stop, she shot a last, dart in his direction. "Perhaps the lovely Mrs Blizzard has bewitched you, though, eh?" Epiphany flounced from the dance floor with no graces and disappeared through the big archway.

Angry with himself and her, James marched into the hall, where he almost ran physically into Kenton. Kenton was red in the face and Suzannah's eyes were darting left and right, as if seeking escape. Close by Reverend Bell was giggling at some quip by Mrs Bell.

James regarded his friend closely. "Perhaps you would like to leave, Kenton? You look tired."

"Too much wine, only that, but it was in my mind to go. Suzannah dear, it will not spoil your evening?"

"I'll find Mr Anstruther and say goodnight."

That was a quick answer. "I will make my apologies too."

"What, not you too, Mace? I wouldn't have thought the wine had addled your brains." Bell's laugh tinkled about the hall.

"It doesn't take much."

"Strength exudes from you, Mace, if you don't mind me saying." Admiration lit Bell's eyes.

James turned sharply away.

"Mr Anstruther is through there."

It was a brief leave taking of their host, and they departed in haste.

Chapter Nine

A month elapsed and James began to hope that the Anstruthers had forgotten him. During that time, he saw the Blizzards weekly: they appeared to cling to his friendship as much as he did theirs. Kenton's round continued to grow, but Suzannah's face was pale, as if she rarely left the house.

When a smart servant rode up to the farm one humid afternoon, James groaned. It was easy to guess what the business would be about. He was planting out his young tobacco stock in the knee-high hills which they'd raked up with such effort over the last weeks. Interruptions were not welcome.

Impatiently, he tore open the note. He had no inclination to shake out his velvet suit again. If he couldn't be with the Blizzards, he wanted to be at home, bringing off his crop for the year, and thinking through his plans to leave Virginia.

His eyes raced over the words. An informal supper - so he'd be stuck there over night. Quick excuses sprinted through his mind. Anstruther would understand the importance of his crop, he wasn't a frivolous man. But he wouldn't understand why James was so intent on rejecting all overtures of friendship. James made a verbal acceptance and stamped back to his field in a testier humour than he'd left it.

"I shall not be here on Saturday night, Pink. I am wanted in town. There is chapel to attend on Sunday."

"Sir."

"I'll get back as quickly as I can."

Pink nodded and returned to planting the tobacco.

The invitation preyed on James's mind as he worked his way along the row. Why could Anstruther not leave him alone? It must be obvious that he had no stomach for local politics. If some kind of uprising happened, he would not be able to avoid his duty in the militia, but he had no ambition to extend the frontiers of Virginia by taking up arms. If Anstruther imagined him in that role, he was much mistaken.

He worked on till overwhelmed by the need to escape from his mood for a brief while. The hogsheads had been waiting at Red's for a month. Now would be a good time to get them. A ride to vent some energies.

"It's time I went to Rower's and got those hogsheads, Pink. I've a mind to do it now. Keep on with this till I'm back."

"Will do, Sir."

He left Pink and Violet steadily progressing along the hills. Bobsworth was soon hitched to the cart and James drove off more speedily than he would normally do. The drive did him good. He had to focus on the track, look out for fallen branches and hazards; it stopped him churning the Anstruther matter in his mind. At the fork to the Lansdown place he encountered something worse than a deep pothole or fallen tree. Dodds was walking his horse.

James reined in. Arkle did not look lame. "Not another accident? If you were coming to see me, I am attending business."

"I was not coming to you."

Dodds expression surprised James. The smile was not natural. Dodds never smiled.

"I am only enjoying a little exercise. It is a fine day."

A strange explanation. Riding provided plenty of exercise, and James had not before encountered Dodds on foot beyond the limits of town.

"Well, if I can't help, I'll leave you to your exercise."

James flicked the reins and urged Bobsworth forward. He sneaked a glance over his shoulder and found Dodds still standing at the fork in the road, continuing to watch him.

Thoughtfully James drove on.

James's social pill was sugared when he received a note from Kenton saying that Anstruther had surprised them with an invitation too. But when James arrived at the Blizzard house for a preliminary drink, he was disappointed to find no Suzannah, and Kenton dressed for a night at his own fireside.

"I'm sorry that we will not be with you, James. Suzannah is unwell. I have sent apologies."

"Ill?"

"There is no cause for alarm. A trifling ailment. But she cannot go out. She is resting now upstairs."

Disappointment. So he was in for a dull evening after all. But at least he had a little time in Kenton's company before setting off. "I envy you the excuse Kenton." I envy you your wife too. "I am wary of this attention from Anstruther and his friends. I would like to be left to my farm. Do you know who is going tonight?"

"No."

James sipped his wine and relaxed into a chair. The parlour was quite bare. The Blizzards had brought little with them and had not rushed to acquire possessions. James had not noticed it before, but with no Suzannah to fill his attention, he had eyes for domestic things. It had the look of a house where the occupants did not intend to stay. And yet there was an aura of comfort which must emanate from the personalities of the people who lived there, James thought.

Kenton provided the easiest possible company. James had never felt this relaxed with a friend since he'd ridden off to war and left Geoff Clifford behind. I must remember that that friendship ended in disaster, he reminded himself. Better be vigilant with this one.

"Suzannah mentioned that you are wavering in your commitment to continuing here. We would be sorry to see you go."

James blew a little puff of air through is lips. "At times I wonder what I am doing. For tobacco, my farm will be exhausted in a year or two. I can keep on with other crops, a few hogs, chickens, the goats, but real money is in tobacco and if I want to grow that I will have to move out further into new land. In fact I'll have to move miles further. I was lucky to acquire this little acreage in a convenient spot. And if I do move into uncivilized places, the natural occupants of those lands will get shoved ever further from their own home. If I gain a tomahawk through my skull, I can hardly blame them. It's not for me. I'm not a frontiersman."

Kenton nodded. "Our gains are their losses."

"I am not a naïve boy. Pink has told me how the tribes round here fought each other and took advantage of one another's weaknesses when pestilence struck and so on. They are men like we are, not gods, or doves. But - "

"But you do not want to be the one to shove them out."

"Not when I have a comfortable home awaiting me on the Cotswold Hills of Gloucestershire. Should I not be minding my own business?"

Kenton warmed his glass in his palms and drank in the aroma of the wine. "It is different for me. I have not come here to drive anyone out. As a medical man I can stay put right where my foot first landed." His voice was flat as if staying put was not attractive.

"You're disappointed in Williamsburg?"

Kenton's eyes strayed to the window, into the yard whose pots and raised beds were flourishing now. It was taking on the look of an English garden. Someone was putting in a lot of care there.

"I don't know James. One can be forever on the move." Tiredness deepened the western inflections in his voice.

"At least your profession is in demand. A doctor may work anywhere."

"True."

The clock stuck an unwelcome reminder to James that he needed to shift. "I had not noticed the time. At the farm I have no clock, a pocket watch but no clock. The sun tells me all I need to know."

"That is the best way to live." Kenton topped James's wine up. "One more before you go, then I will see how Suzannah does."

James sipped on his wine till the time to be at Anstruther's was minutes away, then took his leave. In the street, he turned for a last look at the house. The front was shuttered, and no life could be seen within, but at the side he glimpsed the curtains moving in the bedroom which he knew to be the Blizzards'.

Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought he spied a hand letting go of the curtains, as if someone had been watching him.

A servant showed James into the supper room at Anstruther's home. Today he took in the furnishings about him. Paintings hung on the wall. Perhaps the Anstruther ancestor who had fought for Charles the First was among the portraits. At the far end of the room guests were already gathering in a large space overlooking the garden. Dodds was listening to Epiphany as if she had something interesting to say. Turner and Bodelle were among the guests. Mrs Bodelle, a fashionable woman in low cut silks was there too. There appeared to be no Mrs Turner. Other figures were hardly known to James.

Epiphany's eyes were on him as soon as he entered. "Mr Mace. You have found time for us."

Clearly he had so there was no point commenting. He nodded and smiled with much courtesy and no warmth.

"Why do I feel that you would rather be guarding your tobacco against slugs?"

Impossible not to enjoy a laugh. "Because you are sensible and know it to be important work." A glass was soon in his hand. He wasn't sure who presented it, but a drink was just what he needed.

"Good answer Mace." There was a smile in Anstruther's eyes.

Mrs Harkness gave Epiphany a reproving look. "I did not get chance to speak more than a few words with you the other night, Mr Mace."

James hoped she wasn't going to speak many this night, either. "The evening passed very quickly, Mrs Harkness."

"Your farm is doing well?"

"Yes. I have time for little else."

"I tried to persuade Mace that a few slaves about the place would make his life easier, but he pulled a face. You did, Mace!" Bodelle chuckled. "You probably thought I didn't notice."

The edge had been knocked off James's conscience during his year in Jamaica. There he could never resist a chance to speak out against slavery, now he remained quiet. His views hadn't changed, but his optimism about the potential of human nature had nose-dived. Entering politics and putting himself in a position where he might help slaves was not on his agenda. So he thought his private thoughts, but remained quiet.

Turner and the Bodelles looked at him with suspicion. Epiphany's eyebrows were raised high.

"Mr Mace," exclaimed Epiphany, "you are not a member of the Society of Friends, are you?"

Anstruther turned to his daughter. "That will do. Mr Mace will wonder what kind of society he finds himself in here."

A murmur of laughter.

"That sounds like Bell's voice in the hall."

Anstruther's good at defusing tensions, thought James. He pitches it right. Wish I could.

Reverend Bell entered with his wife who was dressed to the height of fashion and beyond. Bell himself looked as if he'd sat long while a servant dressed his hair. "I'm sorry we are late. Leticia's hair was refusing to do what she wanted it to."

"Blaming me, Anthony!"

"The time was well spent, Leticia." It was Anstruther again with a well-placed comment.

"Thank you. I told Anthony that. Anyway, he was so long in front of his own mirror he must have near worn it out."

"Don't give a man's secrets away, Lettuce."

Mrs Bell giggled and flipped an evening glove at her husband. "How often have I told you not to call me that."

A glance was exchanged between Turner and Dodds. Turner's mouth turned down like an inverted rainbow.

"You are in time, anyway, Bell."

"We were talking about witchcraft, Bell, before you and Mace decided to favour us with your company," took up Bodelle. "Reverend Dodds assures us it's taken more seriously in Massachusetts."

James was too startled to hide his expression and Epiphany gave a little smile of victory.

"It certainly is." Dodds compressed his lips. "Satan visibly reigns on this continent. I think I may preach upon the matter. Bell, your flock need to hear the message too."

Bell fluttered a silk handkerchief about his forehead. "Witchcraft! Among my parishioners?"

"Yes, yours too. The devil still walks the earth, Bell! Do you doubt it? Will you not stand before your congregation and shine a torch into the darkness?"

"Well - "

"My neighbour cursed our cows last year," said Bodelle. "It was a clear case of maleficium."

"Last year I rode past your farm once, I believe," James spat. His voice drew all eyes upon him. "Would you accuse me of cursing the cows?"

By a freak chance, or perhaps it was a zephyr or air from the hall, the candles, which had just been lit, guttered and almost went out. It was an uncanny moment, even James was not insensible to the timing of it.

"You don't understand Mace," said Bodelle, when he had recovered. "It was Pennyfeather. We have tried and tried to buy his land. He ill wishes us."

Didn't Bodelle own enough land already? "It sounds rather like you ill wish him."

Mrs Bodelle gave James a look such as he had rarely received anywhere.

Anstruther was required to step in again. "Yes well, I believe supper will be with us shortly." He turned and led the company to the table.

James hoped he might be seated away from Epiphany, but instead he was right between her and Mrs Bell. Epiphany immediately seized his attention.

"It is a fine gathering tonight. Father often has twenty people together like this. I promised you that invitations will come your way, now that I'm not rusticated at Watersmeet."

James couldn't help smiling. "Your estate must be healthier than town and will offer lots of attractions, surely."

"But not much company. My mother died years ago and Mrs Harkness was shipped in from Salem to raise me. Father is always in town, always busy. I did not see much of him. There was little society at Watersmeet."

James considered this. Before, he had perceived Epiphany only as an example of spoiled, spiteful young womanhood. That her life had been stultifying had not occurred to him. Her mind was sharp, but she had no outlet to use it. And she probably never would.

A touch of sympathy lit his eyes, but he said nothing. He was not the man to relieve her boredom. Mrs Bell made a comment on his other side, and he took advantage of it to disengage from Epiphany.

He had special reasons to avoid the Bells, but they got as far as the sweet courses, before the subject he dreaded was raised.

"I think I have a relation, Mr Mace, who knows you."

James calmed the wave which rose inside him.

A tinkling laughed escaped Letitia. She sounded astonishingly like her husband. "I have a relation called Anthony Castor who knows your family slightly."

"Anthony Castor? Oh yes, I think I have met him," Managed to sound quite casual there. Keep your eyes on the custards.

"He is friends with the Clare family. They live near Painswick."

"Mm." James took a sip of wine to avoid the obligation to reply further. Mrs Bell chattered on, but she said nothing of the broken engagement, and it seemed that she took James to be a cousin of the Clares. Anthony had evidently mentioned his connections in Gloucestershire without revealing much. The night at Honeywells, when he had attended as a guest of Richard Clare, probably meant less to him that a drop of rain falling in his lake at the great house near Bristol.

"Mrs Bell can probably tell you things about your friends, the Blizzards," stabbed in Epiphany, from James's left.

Anger blistered under James's skin, though Mrs Bell showed no sign of elucidating Epiphany's remark. Instead she was laughing at a joke from the other side of the table.

Epiphany frowned and repeated, "Mrs Bell can probably tell you things about the Blizzards." Spite sizzled through her voice.

This time Mrs Bell did respond to the prodding. "I didn't know the Blizzards."

"But you knew of them."

Mr Bell chose that moment to make a witty remark at the end of the table. A gale of laughter broke out and Mrs Bell forgot James and Epiphany.

Angrily Epiphany hissed, "There is something not right about that pair. I knew it from the start."

James stabbed his custard tart energetically. "The Bells?" He kept his voice low.

"No! Your friends, the Blizzards."

James drank all of his wine in one go, spilling some. "I am not interested in malicious gossip." Indeed he wasn't. He risked being at the centre of it himself, if Castor ever said anything about his night at Honeywells.

Epiphany drew proudly away. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You are interested in Blizzard's lovely wife though."

And with that she turned to the supper guest on her left.

Epiphany did not approach him again, though he was aware that her eyes strayed towards him often. He was thankful that there was no dancing, instead some of the company sang for the entertainment of the other guests. It saved him from conversation.

Reverend Bell was chief among the singers, possessing a high but tuneful voice. Epiphany also sang two songs. Her voice had evidently received training from some coach. She turned away from him to sing, as if to emphasize her disfavour. Mrs Harkness played upon the virginals. He enjoyed her performance better than Epiphany's.

In Gloucestershire they had passed companionable evenings like this. Only Geoff naturally possessed a voice and the burden of entertaining had always fallen on him.

James watched the hands of the ornate clock ticking round, waiting for the hour when he could decently leave. He suppressed a yawn as Mrs Harkness left the instrument. Bell was stepping forward again. After a theatrical flourish over the keys he threw himself into a performance which impressed with its extraordinary ease. He possessed a talent for music if nothing else; James could have listened to him play all night. When Bell had finished, with a final, extravagant embellishment, Epiphany took his place.

"Would you favour us with a song Mr Mace? I could perhaps accompany you."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline. You'd deem it no favour if you heard my voice."

"Don't be shy, Mace."

"Shyness doesn't enter into it. My voice sounds like a rusty cartwheel. And it is late. I fear I must go. I lost track of time during your performance, Reverend Bell."

"Glad to have pleased."

"You can sleep here, Mace, if you prefer. The offer is still open."

"Thank you, but I am expected by Dr Blizzard."

Resentment and ire glinted in Epiphany's eyes, but she did her best to mask the look when James wished her goodnight.

Anstruther saw him personally to the door and James wondered what Epiphany and the Bodelles would whisper during the hiatus.

In the hall Anstruther saw fit to offer a word of apology on his daughter's behalf. "You mustn't mind Epiphany. She's a high-spirited girl and my only child. I have spoilt her. Losing her mother compounded the errors I made. She's a good girl. She'll make someone a fine wife."

James took his hat, from the servant. "Thank you for the entertainment." After a few more diplomatic words, he left.

Kenton had stayed up to let James in personally, as if he had not done with his company for the night. He was writing up some notes about his medical cases in a small room full of strange glass bottles containing pills and powders.

"Forgive me if we sit here. I have got far behind with these notes. I must lock them up before bed." He began gathering them together.

"I am happy to sit anywhere. Is Suzannah better?"

Was he imagining it, or did Kenton hesitate for a split, for an infinitesimally split second? "I gave her a powder and she should sleep through the night now."

"...Good."

"These summer agues, it is nothing."

"That is reassuring."

"And your evening, James, went it well? You do not look as bored as I expected."

James laughed aloud before remembering they must be under Suzannah's night quarters. "Not so badly as I feared. I was seated between Epiphany and Mrs Bell." Not a good idea to tell Kenton what had been said at the table. "That was tedious, though it's possible to put up with Mrs Bell. Thankfully there was no dancing and Bell sang to us for an hour and played on the virginals. I almost enjoyed that."

"Yes, I've heard he sings well."

James frowned. "He seems an oddity."

"Oddity's the word. I think he is a younger son of some quite grand family with no money to bestow on him. Mrs Bell is of the merchant class, as you know, though she comes from the very rich end of it. An accommodation was reached between the families, I've heard. He is - considered worse than odd at home and I did hear that the family wanted him gone from England. I have closed my ears against the reasons for that."

James closed his ears too. "His connections got him into the church?"

"I suppose. Then got rid of him here." Kenton pushed his fingers through his shiny auburn hair. The move transformed into a stretch and a yawn.

"Do not let me keep you up."

"You are not. I would have been attending to these notes anyway. I am drinking port. I always find it comforting. For some reason it makes me think of Christmases back home, though my parents had it in all year."

"Are your parents alive?"

Again that faint hint of hesitation, as if Blizzard was used to thinking before he said anything of his past life. "Unfortunately, no. Very likely I wouldn't have uprooted here if one of them still had been."

"Was your father a physician?"

"Yes. My mother had modest independent means. My father was a younger son who managed to acquire a small estate. He was a very good physician. From an early age I knew I wanted to be like him."

James was in a confidential mood. "My father drank a lot. From an early age I knew I didn't want to be like him."

Kenton laughed softly, the laughter spread to James and they found it difficult to stop.

"I must let you rest, Kenton. I will ride home early tomorrow and attend the chapel. I decided against another encounter with the Anstruthers in church here."

"That pleasure awaits me, though if Suzannah continues unwell I will send apologies. Dodds can hardly take umbrage at a physician attending his own wife. I'll light a candle for you."

Kenton saw him up the stairs. James wondered perhaps if the young doctor was going to return back down to complete his notes, but instead his feet passed over the creaky landing towards Susannah's bedroom, at the far side of the house. The door squeaked open and shut, and Kenton was gone to her.

Envy. That was the last emotion keeping James company before he drifted into sleep.

Envy...

Chapter Ten

As James's crop grew, removing pests by hand became a pressing task. One of the most feared was horn worm. Pink had told him that it was possible to lose the crop in a week to them. To avoid that, it was imperative to examine the underside of every leaf on every plant and destroy the eggs before they hatched. James, Pink and Vi spent endless hours on this activity, moving from leaf to leaf, plant to plant, row to row.

"This will send me blind, Vi," he breathed, as they came to the end of a row and stopped to drink. He swatted at a mosquito with his hat. The insects had been especially irritating this summer. They found a good breeding ground in the swamps and marshes.

"It's the weather, Sir, it's suited 'em this year."

James coughed and looked at the sun sinking behind banks of gilded cloud in the west. More rain was about, he guessed. "Time to get supper, Vi. It'll be too dark for this soon."

Vi didn't need to be told twice and trudged straight off to the shacks without a word.

In June the flower stalks emerged, and it was time to top the plants to direct all the energy into the remaining leaves. Hope was rising in James now. His plants still had a long way to go, but they had already cleared the early obstacles.

Another invitation to the Anstruther home arrived, but this time James used the excuse of urgent work to refuse. The Anstruthers were likely to notice that he still found time to visit the Blizzards each week, and even to ride over to Roddy Owen's on occasions, but that was too bad. He had seen more than enough of Epiphany.

James had no interest in gossip, even if it came from apparently reliable sources. _Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear,_ had been the motto Roderick instilled in him. But still Epiphany's veiled insinuations about the Blizzards were not completely forgotten. They rose to the surface of his mind one Sunday, as he sat beside Kenton at church in Williamsburg. His eyes were on Suzannah's neat foot which protruded from under her skirt and rested against Kenton's more solid boot. He wished her foot was against his own and felt a fool for thinking it. _Pity I've nothing better to wish for at my age._

Across the aisle. Epiphany's green eyes sought out his and for a brief moment the contact was made, before James looked indifferently away, towards Suzannah again.

Dodds stepped up to the pulpit, prayers were intoned, then he eyed his congregation at theatrical length, before thundering, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!" He paused for effect and scanned the faces before him. What man, what Christian was not familiar with that supreme wisdom from the Book of Exodus? All Christians could quote it, but who had considered what it really meant?

James tensed angrily. Exodus wasn't even in the New Testament, he thought, so what had it to do with Christ's teaching? Why should 'all Christians' be bothered with it?

Simply, Dodds explained, a witch uncovered should be destroyed immediately. No delay should be tolerated. Legal processes were not competent to deal with the armies of Satan.

James started in his pew and his lips opened to challenge, but Kenton's hand was on his arm and he choked the protest back.

Saul, Dodds bellowed, had not hesitated to cut off necromancers. The sermon thundered on with quotations about witchcraft from books of the Bible which James had never heard of. Dodds's message to his flock was clear: their complacency about witches in their midst was giving space to evil.

Angry tensions knotted James's gut, his breath drew shallow and fast. He stole a glance at his friends, but their faces were white and blank. Without wishing, he suddenly pictured how discomforted they had both become at the Anstruther residence, when Reverend Bell had appeared. What had Bell said? James couldn't remember clearly.

He punched the thought away. Why was he even weighing Epiphany's spiteful tattle? It would delight her to know her barbs had injected some poison. He turned his shoulders against the the green eyes which still surreptitiously watched him from under long lashes.

"I can't sit through much more of this," he whispered to Kenton in an undertone.

"Nor I." Kenton's voice was grim.

But they didn't have to. Dodds brought his sermon to a thunderous climax then as abruptly ended it, leaving his congregation blinking and confounded. Anstruther's party recovered themselves first and rose.

"Thank God that is over," James muttered between clenched teeth.

"Sh, be careful of taking the Lord's name in vain, or anything these people could charge you with, James. I do not like what is going on here. That man is both a focal point for malice and a generator of malice. It's flowing both ways."

"Anstruther needs to bring him to heel, while there is chance," whispered Suzannah.

Kenton took her arm and they passed slowly into the sunlight, all three attempting to avoid the eyes of other members of the congregation.

Marcus Anstruther was at the door and intercepted James, as he tried to slip away. The Blizzards moved on a pace or two.

"Mace, we haven't seen you lately."

"Work has been pressing." _Anstruther must wonder how often I'll say that._

"Perhaps when the season is less busy."

James had nothing personally against Anstruther, though disliked the company he kept. "Yes. Thank you. I hope." He moved on.

"No mention of wanting to see us when we are not busy," whispered Kenton. "That's something to be thankful for. Perhaps we offended him by not attending his supper in April."

"I doubt it."

"Then something else must have made him reassess us." Anxiety stretched Kenton's voice.

James noticed it. "I wish they would reassess me! Let's forget them. I am looking forward to that dinner which you promised."

Suzannah smiled. "Be careful what you wish for!"

Chapter Eleven

Work at the farm continued at its seasonal pace. With the plants topped, suckers appeared, and these had to be removed if the leaves were not to end up small. Vigilance against pests was essential and the hills needed re-mounding as they flattened. It was necessary to remove weeds if they sprouted beneath the shaded canopy of leaves, as they competed for nutrients and offered cover to pests.

The year was wet and about a month after Dodd's fantastical oration in church, James could no longer pretend that he was continuing at his own seasonal pace. The cough that had started to trouble him the previous autumn had returned accompanied by bouts of feverishness. Previously he had not taken seriously the idea that he might be really ill, but now as he sweated and coughed through the night, the danger was impossible to dismiss.

He was feeling drained when he rode into Williamsburg to consult Kenton. Kenton was not in, but Suzannah perceived the depth of his trouble and sent Jacob up to arrange a room.

It was a new experience for James. All his life he had been supernaturally healthy. Contagions which had expunged swathes of neighbours missed him altogether, or if he got sick, he was scarcely affected. Subconsciously, it had inculcated feelings of immortality; now, as he laboured up Suzannah's creaky staircase, he understood, with his mind, his heart and on a gut level too, that he would die just like anyone else and that death might not be decades away.

Even in sickness, it was pleasurable to snatch rare moments alone with Suzannah. She shyly remained a step outside his bedroom door when he had washed and lay down.

"Kenton may be some while. The good thing about coming here to Virginia is that he has lots of trade. He faces little competition from men as capable and well-qualified as he is."

James swallowed, coughed and settled himself comfortably among the cushions. "This is the perfect spot for an invalid. I can look out on your lovely garden when I sit up. It is maturing even after this short while. It was just a bare yard in winter."

"Even in London we had a garden. I grew medicinal plants." Her voice warmed in recollection. "There is more evidence for God in a garden that all the books of the Bible. Do you see in that pot there?" She took a few steps into his bedroom and pointed. "That is camomile. It will bring down temperatures. And that is comfrey. It can help with inflammation. Downstairs I'm gently brewing a tea of thyme to help with your cough. Somewhere in the world of plants, is a cure for all ills."

Her voice was a balm to him. He could listen all day. She didn't conjure the heady ecstasy of first love that Kas had once done - first awakenings couldn't happen twice - but she wove an effortless spell.

"I have planted small fruit trees to be trained along the fence. It is a promise for the future, but I'm not sure that future will materialize, James. Less and less we like Williamsburg. That man Dodds is an incubus shadowing the community."

"He would not like to be described in those terms." A grim smiled fashioned James's lips. "He imagines himself some Old Testament patriarch sent to save us."

"He's an old hypocrite servicing his cravings for power." Her voice was low as if she was afraid to trust even her own servants who might be moving about the house on soft feet.

"Yes, that is an insight. I think that's what he is." James regathered his strength. "But I wonder if he is also a puppet for other forces in the community."

"The Bodelles?"

"Yes, them. I was thinking of Anstruther's daughter too. She is bright and sharp but has nothing to do with her sharpness except create trouble. I think she is a pin goading him."

"Would he be influenced by a girl? He must be at least fifty."

James took a long breath. "If her views chimed with his own, he might, especially as she is Anstruther's daughter. And I'd guess she rules the domestic roost out at Watersmeet in her father's absence; she has the presence of one who is used to giving orders."

Suzannah pulled a curtain aside to look out at the fruit trees. "Goodness! I see them now! They are on horseback with a maid servant!" She swished the curtains speedily shut.

"Who?"

"Dodds and Epiphany."

James's brows knitted. "Here? Behind your house? Are they looking this way?"

"I'm not peeping out to check, James, not even for a second. They were on the other side of the street. I don't want them to know they were seen."

"They may just have been passing. I believe one of Bodelle's cronies lives at the end of that road."

"They were not passing. They had stopped. I wish Kenton were here."

"...Yes."

"That was the door! That is his footstep." Her face lit up and she darted away to the staircase, leaving James to endure a stab of feeble envy.

Kenton did not instantly appear. James could hear their voices murmuring in the hall, but caught no word of the exchange. At length Kenton's tread mounted the stairs and he appeared at the door.

"This is a sorry sight James." He sat down by the bed.

"Did Suzannah tell you that that old spider Dodds was reined in behind the house and Epiphany was with him?"

"Yes, she did." Kenton's voice was hollow.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think?"

Kenton's silence lasted so long that James wondered if he would ever answer. When he did the reply was a surprise: "I do not think this climate suits you James. I think you should leave Virginia."

The plants were about five feet tall now and nearly ready for harvesting. James left the decision on that to Pink. Pink knew exactly how yellow, how rough, how thick, how downy the leaves needed to be. He knew the exact pliancy the leaves should show in his fingers.

James had not witnessed all the growth the plants had put on. He had spent a week at his friends' home on the orders of Kenton. "You will never leave the work to anyone else if I let you go back there," had been Kenton's summing up.

Not that he had needed much professional pressure to stay with his friends. It had provided the chance to talk daily with Suzannah and conversation had flowed freely, though she had remained strictly outside his bedroom when he was laid up. They talked about fruit growing, and animal husbandry, the iniquity of the slave trade and Kenton's efforts to improve hygiene among his clients. They had talked of nothing remarkable, but it had strengthened the invisible links between them, and had the effect of a tonic on James.

The effects of the tonic did not last long once he went home. The long hours and habitual damp of his farm near the river brought back his cough soon, and the lightness of his mood slumped. Kenton's advice had been to leave Virginia. His own mind was now almost made up to do it.

There was a fastening of hands between servants at the Lansdown plantation nearby and James gave Vi and Pink leave to go over and enjoy the drinking which would accompany it. They had worked like slaves for months and he reasoned that if his farm couldn't last a couple of hours without them, it was hardly worth struggling on. Besides, he fancied the chance of a few hours alone on his land. There was no friction between himself and the Pinkertons. They were easy people to ignore, but the chance to be alone with his plans attracted him.

"Don't rush back from the hand-fastening."

"We won't be late."

"Do you have everything you need, Sir?"

"If I don't, I can get it. Be off. Have a drink for me!"

Smiling, Pink and Vi nodded.

He watched their figures, dressed in their best clothes, shamble into the distance. As soon as they were gone, he gave vent to a coughing fit which he had been suppressing. He had hidden his condition from the Pinkertons, but he was hardly capable today of returning to the fields after dinner. There was a book about rum production in his room which he'd picked up in Williamsburg. He would enjoy the treat of a thorough wash then sit outside reading the manual, rather than straining his eyes deciphering it by candlelight, when the day's work was done.

The plan suddenly possessed his mind and he warmed the water for his wash, combed his hair, decided to wash that too.

When the water was ready, he stood over his pan and poured and re-poured it over his head. Then he sat down in the water and luxuriated in his wash. He had some dried rosemary and scented the water. There was no need to rush, and he didn't.

At last he felt ready for clean clothes and his book, and after combing his hair went outside into the sun. He put a cushion on the bench. Usually he wasn't there long enough to need one. He would see what was to be said about rum production and those additions which would produce the best flavours. Medoc had hinted that choosing the right recipe was important.

But he put his book down without reading it. Close by a cardinal bird had found some berries and was energetically eating them. They were his favourite birds. They even delighted Vi and Pink. Watching the creature's brisk little movements pleased James. The bird snatched another berry, smacked it against a stone as if he wanted to soften it and devoured it hungrily. There were more berries and James hoped the bird would want them. Time passed without James being aware. Eventually, the bird fluffed up, as if it had taken umbrage, and flew abruptly away.

James stretched and resumed reading. His eyes wandered over a paragraph without taking much in. He wondered where the bird had flown to and if it might come back. It would be worth attracting it with food. He was still drowsily considering this plan, when the jingle of a harness attracted his attention. He peered around the corner of the house and leapt to his feet, all drowsiness dispelled.

"Suzannah!"

She accepted his help dismounting. "I could not resist riding out here today. Thomas has gone to the hand fastening of two of the Lansdown servants, so I only had a little way to continue alone."

"Kenton would not like even that. We are not in the wilds, but you never know who you might meet."

"It was only a little way."

"Pink and Vi have gone to the Lansdown place too. They never get a moment's rest, so I told them not to hurry back. And I decided not to hurry into the fields myself." He tried to look bright. "I will ride back with you, when the moment comes, right back to your home."

"It's not necessary. Come with me as far as the Lansdown's, if you wish."

"Kenton is not heading this way too?"

"Alas, no. He has patients."

There was a long bench in front of the barn, near the horse trough where they tethered Oats. They sat there rather than going to the house.

"We have to be glad something has worked out. Uprooting was a gamble, but it is a gamble which has paid off. It's just - time can feel long when he is out so constantly. I have not made friends with any of the women of the community, as I had hoped. I must not complain! Better to be a little lonely than a lot poor! Your apple trees look well James. You will have a good crop."

"I could have thinned them out a bit more."

"No, you've got it right."

"You can have some when they are ready. They store well. The cookers are looking good too."

James stretched his foot. He did not mean to touch Suzannah, but his leg brushed against hers. Carefully he eased it back. Suzannah did not seem to notice the contact and remained serene. Her eyes were on a tree where a cloud of bees buzzed. I know someone who would be your friend, if she were here, thought James. Kas. But the right people are never around at the right time. Life isn't like that.

"Why are you buried alive here, James?" Her voice was quiet but demanded an answer.

"Oh, I'm not buried." He forced his voice to sound perky. "I like farming. It was what I was born to. Sometimes I'd see few outsiders back home during a hard January and February. But we had labourers in cottages on our land and I lived with family, of course. And there was the Manor and Honeywells close."

"Honeywells?" She had perceived a changed inflection in his voice.

"Yes, a moated farmhouse about a mile from Hill House."

Thoughtfully she looked about, at the woods which were musical with birdsong in this moment, at the fields and the glinting river. A scene of rural beauty, but one empty of human life for a young man living alone.

He read her expression. "I enjoy my own company."

"This much?"

A rueful laugh was his honest answer.

"I've watched you in our house. You can be very companionable James. You have talked for hours with Kenton, and with me. You like to play cards." A silence settled between them, before she continued, "Why did you really come here?" And now she moved a fraction and her arm touched his; they both noticed the contact, this time.

"It's like I said, when my uncle's plantation burned down, I had to move on. This seemed as good as anywhere. I'd heard about the profit in tobacco."

"Did you not think to go home?"

Her voice was soft, low. It drew him in, as Kassandra had once drawn him in.

He stared at the blue sky where no cloud passed and he recognized that the moment had come. The true explanation was close to his lips. At last he wanted to speak of it. "I could not go home."

"Why?" Her own voice was rich with regret.

A deep breath. "I left for a special reason."

Her face did not express surprise. Sympathy, curiosity, understanding, sadness, all were etched there.

Another breath. "I was engaged to be married, but there was a misunderstanding. My fiancée married someone else, my best friend actually." The words were out, and it did not feel so bad.

"Oh!"

"Oh \- that comment sums it up."

"How could such a misunderstanding arise?"

"You know I was a soldier. I was almost killed at Blenheim. They were moving the corpses when I stirred, even then I lay in a fever at the field hospital for days. Word got back to Gloucestershire that I was dead. My fiancée" - he still didn't want to speak her name to another person - "despaired and she was encouraged by her father to accept the local squire. There were sensible reasons for that. It was rushed through very quickly. I believe that was because the squire himself sensed she might change her mind. Or perhaps he feared I might resurface; the fog of war is thick. It's not uncommon for people to be wrongly reported dead."

Sorrow radiated from her eyes. "Life so often doesn't give us what we thought it would. We make a mistake and we cannot escape from the consequences." She plucked at a fold in her linen skirt and her hand brushed James's. Her skin was very white, like Kassandra's.

"You remind me of her, not in your actual look, but in your presence." His voice was quiet.

A few spots of rain began to fall. It didn't spoil the scene. The scent of damp earth added to the other sensory stimuli. Then a few more spots fell. They stayed where they were on the bench, expecting the rain to pass, happy in the closeness of the moment. It started to rain harder, then quite suddenly intensified to a deluge. A look passed between them before they dived for the nearest cover, inside the barn. At the door they stood to watch the massive raindrops bouncing off the ground, then withdrew inside where the cavernous space magnified the drumming on the roof.

"I like this sound. When I was a child, I used to go into our barn during a storm, to listen to the rain. And in my bedroom at night I liked it too. My room faced south-west and often took the force of a storm."

"What was your room like?" She edged closer. "I would like to picture your farm."

The rain battering the roof obliterated all sounds about them. The outside world seemed temporarily unreal, disconnected from their lives. Only the connection fizzing between them was real.

"My room was big, with two windows facing over the front courtyard. There was a raised herb garden in the centre of the court. You mustn't imagine anything grand. It was a gentleman's farm, but a solid working place. My bed was huge with posts, but no hangings. There was a fire at Hill House when Father was young, and he had a horror of bedcurtains. They were stripped from all the rooms. Father said it was better to be cold at night than excessively hot!"

He looked into her grey eyes and found them unguarded. A split second later and she glanced away into the blurry distance outside, but he had seen the look, and its implications could not now be hidden. Her fingers were near his and he took one, just the littlest, between his own. The contact, and her lack of resistance, were the last sparks which lit a powder trail of fires. Her lips were not many inches below his and he reached down and kissed them, heart thundering. "My life has been barren here," he murmured. "I never allowed myself a spare moment to think, but once I met you - " He kissed her again and this time she kissed him back as if all consequences were forgotten.

Caution was an unstable element in James's character, and it burned off in a trice, as her arms went around him. He'd enough presence of mind left to walk her into the darkest corner of the barn, where sacks of beans were stacked. A second of misdoubt pierced him as Kenton's face and the aura of his friendship took life for a second, but he'd already gone past the point of no return. He'd been longing for this from his first encounter with Suzannah. In this second there was no denying it. He'd never imagined it could happen. He'd never intended to engineer an opportunity, but with Suzannah warm in his arms, he lacked the strength, or faith in his future fulfilment on earth, to reject it.

Chapter Twelve

Well this marks my zero point. At dawn James stood by the door of his shack, gazing morosely into the fields before him. It could perhaps have sunk a degree lower. Coupling with my best friend's wife on a sack of potatoes might have out trumped it. Or a sack of coal. That perhaps would have plumbed the final depths... But really I'm near rock bottom. Perhaps Dodds recognized something desperate in me...

One thing he was certain, was that the relationship, if it could be dignified with that name, ended there. His betrayal of Kenton would be a one-off hour of madness that would never be repeated and never alluded to. He must not even think of it.

The scent of Suzannah's skin, the coil of auburn hair which had fallen lose, the compulsive pleasure of contact with her, lived again for a second in his mind. He hurled his coffee to the earth, almost sending the cup with it. Why did she have to be Kenton's, of all the men on earth? Why couldn't she be married to Bodelle, or Bell, or anyone but Kenton? They could have leapt on a ship and simply sailed away together.

In the hours after he had seen her back to the Lansdown place, to re-join Thomas, he had floated on a cloud of indescribable sensations. But when he got home and the Pinkertons arrived, reality walked back through the door with them. His life was not changed, almost it was worse. Now he had to live with a guilty conscience and an appetite which was sharpened.

He stamped back indoors. The coffee pot was still warm. He slopped another draught into the cup and drank it in a drowning gulp. Yesterday must be forgotten. A wall must go up between himself and Suzannah. She was his friend, his dear friend, but they must not be alone together.

Vi was watching him from the corner where she was slicing bread. She knew her master to be a reserved man and the mood which possessed him today was one with which she was unfamiliar. Instinctively she remained silent, but her mind turned over the possibilities of what had happened.

"Master's in some strange humour," she whispered when she had gone outside to feed the chickens. "Never seen the like." She glanced back at James who was still grimly staring at the fields.

Pink went on sharpening his axe. "Perhaps he drank a tankard of bad beer."

"Bad beer? Where'd he drink that? Not here. My brewing's never given anyone a dickie stomach."

Pink tested the blade of the axe, was satisfied and took up another, began working on that. "He might have gone off and took a drink somewhere else."

"Mark my words, he didn't. He wasn't well, though he covered it up."

"Might have sat on a spider an' got bitten somewhere tender."

Vi pulled a slow face. "Umm. Maybe that's it."

"Don't concern us anyway. Master wants to act strange, it's up to 'im."

Fundamentally agreeing, Vi returned to her work.

James was surprised - horrified - two days later when a cavalcade turned off the track and came to rest in front of his house. He had not recovered either his equanimity or his health but was more determined than ever to blast on with work regardless. He was just returning to the house with a hoe over his shoulder, having been weeding his plants. He was aware that he neither looked nor smelt good. Among the group were the Anstruthers, Bodelles and Dodds. Epiphany and Dodds were just about the last people who James had any desire to see.

"How nice to see you."

"We will not interrupt your work, Mace. We know how wedded you are to it." Dodds's eyes bored through James, as if he could read his soul.

"We are on our way to our own plantation," explained Anstruther.

James had never encountered Anstruther out of town and was almost forgetful that the famous Watersmeet belonged to him. Almost it seemed as if Epiphany or Mrs Harkness were mistress. He hoped he wasn't going to get invited.

"We are only come a little way off our route. Epiphany wanted to see how your crops are doing."

"Well this is it. They must seem a poor lot compared to yours, though the apples are promising. You can see all from here. It doesn't stretch far over that brow."

"I told her it was not so great a place as her father's," pronounced Dodds, with a gracious glance at Anstruther.

Epiphany's eyes expressed agreement. Probably she had been expecting more of a man descended from Royalist heroes. She patted her fine horse, Jodami, and said nothing.

"If you are thirsty I can offer you refreshment." That much he had to say out of common courtesy. He was pleased though when they refused, though two off the horses drank from a trough. Good, she's disappointed, thought James. It's obvious now that I'm not good enough for her. I should have shown her the farm on that very first day when she turned off the track to be neighbourly.

"I don't know how you came to acquire it," thrust in Bodelle. "Easterby wouldn't sell to me. He just left it as woods on the fringes of his place."

"I probably offered him more." James couldn't resist the challenge.

"We will press on if you do not mind," shot in Anstruther. "We have other stops along the way. I admire your efforts here, Mace. You have accomplished two men's work."

They turned and rode away. James pulled off his sweaty stock and waved, but only Epiphany turned in the saddle to notice and return the salute. An emotion flashed through her eyes which was gone before James could read it, then she urged her mount sharply forward.

James mopped his brow with the stock. He watched till he could see nothing but the cloud of dust they kicked up. Then he slowly trudged back.

At the trough he used his stock to sponge his neck and face. The cooling water was welcome. "Don't worry, Vi, they weren't come to catechise us on our scripture. They are just passing to their estate. As usual Bodelle had some beef. He wondered why Easterby sold this patch to me and not to him."

"Mister Bodelle is cheese paring, Sir. They say he never wants to pay the value of anything."

James answered with a grunt.

"Watersmeet's a fine place. Great orchards there be."

"Better than my orchard of old cooking apples?"

"Oh yes, Sir better than that, though the apple trees here are a promising lot."

James wondered if Pink or Vi had ever possessed a sense of humour. "Reverend Dodds looked dressed to visit a king. I could almost see my reflection in his boots."

"He'd want to look fine, Sir, going to Watersmeet. Even the servants and house slaves there are well-dressed, they say."

"Oh..."

Vi returned to the house and James continued, with as much energy as he could muster, to hoe his tobacco.

Chapter Thirteen

James invented excuses to stay away from Williamsburg. He had in any case the best excuse in the world: his crop was declared by Pink to be ready. Now it was time for them to work up and down the rows with sharp knives, cutting the plants. The crop was then taken to the barn - the barn which James could never visit without vividly reliving his moments with Suzannah - and there it was hung along sticks. If no disaster occurred at this stage, the leaves would have to rest there for another six or even eight weeks. James felt zephyrs of air lifting his wings now. It was possible to start really looking forward to the time when the crop would pay out.

To look Kenton in the eye was a trial he hadn't the strength for, and as for Suzannah, the first instance of confronting her again was beyond his imagination; he didn't know how he'd deal with it. She was in his mind all the time though, whether he was sleepless at night or harvesting his tobacco crop with feverish energy. Pink could ask him the simplest question and obtain no answer.

Upping the tempo of his work had always been James's method of blocking out thoughts and feelings he didn't want to deal with. He was mature enough to recognize it now, but it was still the tool he fell back on. Kenton's advice about conserving his energy was disregarded. He worked while there was light in the sky and strength in his body. He worked on reserve tanks of nervous vitality when he was spent.

Pink and Violet noticed.

"Looks like master's going to kill himself with toil," Violet whispered one dinnertime as James trudged back to the house ahead of them. "Bin coughing in the field all day."

"Year's o' work in 'im yet."

James didn't notice the exchange and went inside and ate with a dull appetite.

When the dishes were removed, he remained at the table, turning over some pages of accounts, while Pink and Vi cleared the dinner up. He puffed on his pipe and considered whether there was any point in researching his rum project still. In winter perhaps. Or next year. Or never.

"Go and rest. I'll call you when I go back out."

They didn't need to be told twice.

James's eyes were drooping shut over his list of figures, when Bluey began to bark. A horse's hooves clip-clopped off the track. James instantly checked that his firearms were to hand and hoped that Pink was doing the same, if he was awake.

There was no need to worry about firearms, though battles of a different kind were at hand: it was the tall figure of Kenton who leapt from Oats and tethered him at the trough.

James felt as if something had dropped through him and hit the bottom. The accounts fell on the floor. "Kenton!" He could hear the strangeness in his own voice. He hoped Kenton didn't notice it. Guilt, delight at seeing his friend, disgust with himself, uncertainty, all inflected his tones. It flashed though his thoughts to wonder if Geoff had once suffered this muddle of emotions.

"We have not seen you in a while and were anxious. My round took me out this way and I decided to ride on a few miles further and be neighbourly."

"I'm glad you did." For all his painfully inflamed conscience, James was truly glad now that the moment of trial had unexpectedly arrived. He could confront the worst of his guilt and start to move forward again. He looked into Kenton's fine eyes, fearing to find doubt, but only friendship moved there.

"You've been overwhelmed with work, I imagine, James."

"...Yes."

"I suppose you did not get invited to the Anstruther place last week?"

"No. I think they've had enough of me."

"I should think they have."

James's face was blank.

"You don't know the news. I can tell."

"I haven't left my own property this last month. I will certainly be fined, but I have been overwhelmed with work." He didn't mention his health.

"Let's go inside." Kenton closed the door. His voice was low when he spoke. "I came here for a special reason."

Oh God.

"Dodds is married."

"What?" James shouted the word. "There is some lunatic in the world who was persuaded to have him?"

Kenton glanced to the door and put a quietening finger to his lips. "No lunatic. He has married Epiphany Anstruther."

James was too astonished to respond. Then he exploded. "He's married a girl young enough to be his grand-daughter? After all that sermonising about sin?" He leapt to his feet and the chair crashed over.

Kenton righted the furniture. "I thought it possible you didn't know. I wanted to tell you in person. I imagined your reaction might be - intemperate."

James ransacked the cupboard for drink. In his agitation he chose the wrong one and unearthed nothing. "Does this not sum up everything which I hate about the church? I never want to listen to that old spider again. He is nothing more than a sack of poison. But how came that girl to marry him?" he resumed, recalling the heart of the drama. "She is Anstruther's daughter. She could have found a husband easily enough."

Kenton noticed brandy hiding behind a flour bin. He took it upon himself to administer a drink to James, and as an afterthought took one himself. "I do not know. But he is associated with influential men in the colony and the church gives him a platform. To many girls that matters above all." He sipped his drink. "There was a time when I thought she had you in her sights. You did well to signal your lack of interest."

"What can Anstruther be thinking of, permitting such a mismatch?"

"The influence probably counts for all with him. And perhaps Dodds boasts the right kind of ancestors, like you."

"My ancestor who fought at Edgehill? Dodds is nearly old enough to have fought there himself!"

Kenton went to the door, opened it and peeped out, but there was no one there to eavesdrop. "James I must urge caution. No good will come of abusing Dodds, or the church. There are those who will be quick to point a finger." His voice was resigned. "Sadly, leading a good life is not what counts. One must be seen to follow the prescribed rules."

James crimsoned and his stomach squeezed. He was silent.

Kenton's unearthly grey eyes were very distant. James could not read the look in them. He recalled that he had committed an unforgivable wrong against this man. The startling news concerning Dodds had driven that fact temporarily from his mind, but it was going to keep him company for a long time yet.

"You are better, James?" Kenton's tone became brisk. "That is another reason why I extended my ride to call."

"...Yes. I've no wish to die young. I heeded your advice and take a little more rest, daily."

Kenton's eyes travelled professionally over James's gaunt frame. "I had best leave you to that rest. You will have a long afternoon's work ahead."

James accompanied him to his horse. He gave Oats a pat.

"You are busy till your crop is in, but it would please us if you took a meal with us."

James felt another twist of his gut. He ached to see Suzannah but shrank from it too. He didn't trust his voice, his countenance or his manner with her. But breaking the ice with Kenton had advanced him a step. It was possible to move on, with the secret buried forever. His first encounter with Kenton, after the betrayal, had not been so traumatic as he had feared. He had got through it. He must face Suzannah too.

"Saturday night we would love to see you."

"And I would love to be there." The turmoil swirling inside Suzannah would be unimaginable, but they had to face each other. He couldn't stay away forever. He must practise maintaining a calm mien. He must start now, as soon as Kenton was gone. This was a barrier that had to be broken. He would break through it. He would.

He couldn't hide among his tobacco plants forever.

Chapter Fourteen

Processing his guilt concerning Kenton, was not going to be a quick task. The euphoria of coming through that first meeting slumped the second his friend had ridden away. James liked to think of himself as a moral man in the ways that really mattered. His standards might not be those of his society in all things, but where they differed, he'd assumed that the advantage lay with him. Now he was confronting a different version of the truth.

Guilt was a painful stone rubbing in his boot. James pondered his near-death experience at Wisemans four years earlier and how it had forced him to acknowledge long buried guilt concerning his dead sister: he had transmitted the fever which killed her, and his father's drinking had begun after that terrible tipping point. James now understood that beneath the surface, he had been aware of his own part in that tragic chain, though he had done everything to block knowledge out. Why did I almost have to die to fathom it all? James asked himself, late one evening, as he steadily cut the wilting tobacco leaves and set them on sticks. Well, he wasn't going to hide from this guilt. He was facing it. He was going to make up for it. Anything he could do for Kenton...

He wondered if his neighbours were as tormented by their shortcomings as he was. Probably not, he concluded, considering the sample who surrounded him. C.J Dodds might fulminate from the pulpit about sin, but he wasn't willing to come to grips with his own baseness. Bodelle was a member of the vestry, but virtue and his own self-interest were inextricably intertwined in his mind, in fact he couldn't tell them apart.

The knife slipped and he came close to slicing his own hand. He looked up at the overcast sky. It was getting too dark for the work. "It's getting late for this. We'll end up cutting our own throats. Get the supper Vi. Pink and I will follow."

It only took minutes to clean the tools and put them away. Vi was already bustling with pots when he went inside. There was a task which he meant to complete this evening and he would do it before supper. James took a quill, sharpened it, stirred his ink and prepared to write. He had not written home since New Year, though he had constantly promised himself he would do so. Indefinable impulses drove him now.

Outside was the bench and a rickety table. He placed his lamp there. He didn't rush. He had no special news. But he needed contact, even though it could only be tenuously obtainable through inadequate words on paper.

Dearest Kas

It has been a long time since I put quill to paper, but finally I am sitting here in a mood to write. Well, my tobacco harvest has reached its closing stages now. There is still much that could go wrong, but once it's in the barn those hazards are more in our hands and I have an excellent man in Pink who has grown tobacco for thirty years.

When last I wrote, I told you that I would probably move further west, seeking fresh soil for the tobacco. I think I must have envisaged myself developing into a big farmer here. But my enthusiasm has waned. Is that just my character, Kas? Can I never stick at anything? You know me well, what do you think?

I seem to have got at cross with our minister, Caleb Jehosephat Dodds. I tell you his full name because it may help you to picture him. He is quite a short man, but stocky and emphatic. Especially he is emphatic about telling us about our sins. His own, I fancy, go unnoticed by him. But we are all like that... You will quietly tell me to get on with my work, giving only superficial regard to his words. Father would say something similar. I believe Father would have more success than me at charming Dodds.

This year has brought me a great blessing, two friends who hail from Bristol (Bristol seems close to home, when you've travelled halfway across the world.) Kenton and Suzannah Blizzard are their names. I sup with them often, more rarely they come to my backwater farm. Kenton is a doctor.

James was about to write that Kenton's skills and knowledge had helped with his cough, but he stayed his hand from forming the letters. On the other side of the world, Kas would fear a more serious illness. Roderick might get to hear of it... Instead he wrote:

A doctor friend, especially one who is as insightful as Kenton, is a boon.

And there is someone else here from Bristol. Her name is Leticia Bell, formerly one of the Castor family. I admit to turning cold when I met her husband at the home of a local JP. I imagined that Anthony might have recounted what he knew of us... Do you remember that he was at - James still balked at forming the words 'our engagement' \- your father's party seven years ago? He came with your cousin Richard, the one I didn't like much. Fortunately, though both of the Bells are frivolous feather-brains, they do not appear to be gossips, as nothing embarrassing has got back to my ears. Or perhaps Anthony did not consider it worth mentioning. To a rich man like him we probably rate as invisible nobodies.

I nearly can't see to write this Kas, and I can smell that supper is ready. I must close now. I don't know what I meant to say, but I know I haven't said it. I will send this though, because if I wait to compose a better letter, it might be months before you hear from me. And by that time, you may all fear me dead.

I wish we were at Honeywells now, in the hall before the great fireplace, or on the settle at Hill House, side by side, like we used to sit.

Jem

He sat as darkness fell, recalling the mistakes of the past. Vi was rattling pans inside, a sign that supper was on the table. One last message. He dipped his quill in the ink and added:

I pray that all is well with Geoff - tell him that.

He coughed, folded up the letter and went inside.

The sight of his crop sweating in the barn warmed optimism in James's heart. Something, at least, was almost achieved. A good revenue. Security for the coming year. Nobody could do without that. You couldn't live on dreams, not even the best of them.

"I'm going into Williamsburg, Pink. I'll be staying overnight." He had been preparing mentally to face Suzannah; he had even practised controlling his features in front of the square of polished metal on the wall, but he knew that the first moments of looking into her eyes would represent an ordeal. "Be sure to keep your firearm about you."

"Will do."

"I will be back for chapel here tomorrow. If something should delay me don't leave the farm."

"Sir."

James washed, donned sober clothes, combed his long dark hair. He looked into the polished metal. What did he see? The face of a man who had trespassed with his best friend's wife: a man he had never supposed himself to be. But he was not frozen in time as that man. The trespasser had existed for just an hour. He no longer existed.

James checked the sky which was threatening to turn rosy in the west. The daylight hours were shortening, and he needed to be on his way. He sprang onto Crisp who trotted smartly off, his big, loppy ears flopping in rhythm to his stride.

They had not gone very far when Crisp pricked those ears.

"Just a possum, Lad." James patted his mount's neck. Firearms were at the ready if it were something more menacing than a possum.

The threat of autumn hung in the air. Plumes of smoke curled up from the small settlement over the rise of ground. Red would be hammering away in his workshop. James considered a detour to be neighbourly but didn't want to get delayed by the brandy bottle. He pressed on.

At the edge of town, near the ducking pond, he spotted a horse as big as his own trotting towards him, Jodami. James admired Jodami. He wasn't so positive about the rider, Miss Epiphany as he still thought of her, though she was now Mistress Dodds. For a while he had succeeded in avoiding her, except at a distance, but he couldn't sidestep her greeting now.

She was dressed, he noted in a flashy riding habit of scarlet. He was sure he'd heard Dodds preaching about biblical women of modesty. Either Dodds's strictures had washed over his wife, or else he didn't think they applied to her.

She reined in her powerful horse while the groom kept a polite distance on his lesser animal. "Mr Mace."

"Mistress Dodds."

"You have been an outcast, always with your head in a tobacco plant. Will you be with us in church on Sunday? My husband is planning a special sermon."

"Alas that is not possible. I look forward to the sermon at chapel."

"I saw your friend Dr Blizzard as I rode down Duke of Gloucester Street." That frozen glint in her eyes.

James said nothing. He refused to be hooked.

"He looks a small matter haggard, as if something ate at his mind."

James's heart leapt. "He is a doctor. He deals in death every week. He has to impart bad news. We would all look haggard carrying his responsibilities."

She flounced her fine head. "There is haggardness and haggardness, Mr Mace. This looked the haggardness of a man with personal torments."

James's patted Crisp and pulled one of his loppy ears. I must be careful. "Mistress Dodds, you claim the powers of a mind reader."

Her expression froze. "You do not perhaps know the rumours about them? I tried to tell you once, but you would not listen." Satisfaction curved her lips. She watched him from the corner of her eyes, monitoring his reaction.

"Mrs Bell was not interested in rehearsing them, if I remember."

"Oh, Mrs Bell... Well I will tell you now." She lowered her voice. "They say that Mr and Mrs Blizzard are not really that."

"Not really what?"

"Man and wife."

James controlled his expression. Experience of cataclysmic reversals helped him hide his feelings, but he had the sensation of a dark pit opening beneath him. Sparks of apprehension spewed forth. Some burned him, some beamed light. That there was mystery surrounding his friends, he already accepted. It was the nature of the mystery which eluded him.

"I do not believe that." He didn't. Their manner was confidential and affectionate and both of them emanated decency. Why would they contravene the ordinary social laws?

Jodami was becoming restless and shaking his bridle. He needed exercise. Triumph was in Epiphany's eyes. She could afford to ride away. "I must bid good-day to you. My horse has been in his stable too long. Perhaps I will see you at my father's soon." She leant forward and whispered, "You do not understand, I see, but Dr Blizzard and Suzannah are said to be brother and sister. Why would honest people try to disguise such a relationship?" She squeezed her horse and they moved smartly on, followed by the well-trained groom who had stayed out of earshot.

It took all of James's presence of mind to move Crisp forward. He wanted to refute Epiphany's words. But he couldn't. Brother and sister had been what he took Kenton and Suzannah for when they first met. Their features were not especially similar, but their height and colouring proclaimed a family relationship. And if they were lying about it, what slimy secret did it conceal?

The temperature was cool, but James felt over-heated as he rode. One or two passers by turned to say hello, or offer a greeting, but all hesitated when they saw his expression.

He rode up to the Holly Tree and went in. He was surprised to find Roddy in the taproom enjoying a drink. Roddy greeted him like a long lost relative.

"Lucky I rode into town today, James, I haven't seen you in a while. Hope all's well." Roddy took a second glance and decided that something definitely wasn't well. Brandy was the answer to all troubles, be they troubles of the body or troubles of the mind. He called for two big measures.

James took a long glug, coughed, took another glug. Roddy nodded for refills and decided health might be the cause of James's rat-gnawed look. He said nothing and waited for James to offer his own explanation, or no explanation at all, according to his inclination.

Still James said nothing.

Roddy took a big drink. "Worrying about the rum project perhaps? Got it preying on your mind?"

"Rum?"

"Yes. Last winter you were thinking about producing it, worrying about the investment."

"I'd forgotten."

"You're not going into rum?"

"No."

"Not now?"

"Not ever."

Roddy rubbed his chin. "Probably for the best. Stick to what you know."

Silence.

"How's the farm?"

"As good as it'll ever be."

"Fair crop this year?"

"Think so."

Roddy made a gesture. "One year at a time. You can't look further ahead with farming."

"You can't look even that far ahead. You should never look ahead."

Roddy waited, glass poised at his lips.

"I think I am going home, Roddy."

"You've only just got here. Have another drink." More brandy in the glass.

"No, I mean home home. Gloucestershire. Hill House. The real Hill House. While there's time."

"Ah... I'd heard you were often at that doctor's. The good-looking one, not old Cartwright."

"I'm not ailing, Roddy." Hopefully. "But I want to go home while there's still time."

"Time for what."

James finished his brandy in one slurp. "I don't know."

James left the Holly Tree having accomplished nothing. He had gone with no purpose and left wishing there was a ship he could jump directly on. But he had enough perspective to recall abandoning Jamaica in just such a humour.

It was all very well flinging portable belongings onto a boat. Life didn't mend just because you moved. Perhaps life never mended once you once took the wrong turn... Mess up one wonderful chance and you couldn't expect another string of them.

The light was fading when he reached the Blizzard's house. He knocked at the door uncertainly. Kenton opened it. For the briefest moment his eyes betrayed surprise, but his voice was polite as ever when he spoke.

"James, you look rough." He remembered his role as host. "Thomas, take Crisp and stable him. James come inside. Suzannah will be with us soon."

James stepped across the threshold. His eyes wandered about the hall. What secrets did the walls of this house conceal? Even obfuscated by shadows, Kenton's face did look haggard, that couldn't be missed. Part of Epiphany's tale was true anyway. But the whole story couldn't be. There was an explanation. There had to be.

"Let's deal with professional matters first. Hospitality can wait. I heard you coughing on the doorstep and knew who had come to call without even opening the door. Follow this way."

James followed into the room at the back, where he had first set eyes on Kenton. A wired skeleton was now hanging in one corner. Its presence did not encourage James. No doubt it aided Kenton in his professional knowledge, but it needed to be out of sight. He said so.

"You think?"

"I feel nearer the grave already."

"In that case he must certainly go to my study. One fails to see matters through the patient's eyes sometimes. Now if you will take a deep breath."

He spent some minutes sounding James's chest. His expression was intense. At last Kenton turned away to his instruments cabinet.

"You can put your shirt back. It is chilly in here. Well, I can offer reassurance: I do not believe you are suffering any advanced condition, which perhaps is what you have feared."

Now the words were spoken, the possibility sounded more real, though Kenton had declared it wasn't. Voicing fears seemed to give them life.

"I would repeat my advice which I issued when we first met: a little more sleep and care to avoid the worst of weathers. And - hm, a drop less alcohol."

James's expression was rueful. "And I can only repeat my answer, Kenton. Farmers work long hours out of doors."

Kenton's nod acknowledged the fact. He smiled and the smile only made his face look more exhausted. He produced glasses and a bottle and gave James a look. "You see, I know you will take no notice of what I say!" He poured large measures and drank half of his quickly. He was not usually free with drink. He never liked to be so incapable that he could not answer a professional summons, Suzannah had once explained.

"If you continue in this colony you could perhaps avail yourself of more labour about the farm, James. I am not suggesting a slave." Kenton held his hand up to forestall protests. "But there would be other possibilities. Just one able-bodied man would make a difference." His expression became apologetic, his voice soft. "It is perhaps something you should consider before it is too late."

They were both silent. James's eyes wandered outside to the developing garden.

"I can supply you with many cuttings and seeds," James offered, as if their whole conversation had been on mundane things. "I grow some sweet-smelling climbers close to the house and privie."

"I would be pleased of the cuttings, or Suzannah would. She is the gardener."

Her name dropped into the conversation like a bomb. Or James perceived it that way. Kenton only continued to look exhausted.

"Let's find her. If she heard your voice she will wonder why I have kept you locked up here so long."

James braced himself. Control face. Control breathing. Control voice. Control everything.

Suzannah was in a small room extracting seeds from dry pods. She looked up at the approach of feet and her features appeared yet more drawn than Kenton's. The blanched faces of the pair, the auburn hair and pale, opaque grey eyes marked them out as blood relatives, James was more sure than ever of it, now.

She kept her eyes on the pods and only looked up when Kenton spoke. James noticed and guessed she were battling for inner composure as much as he was. Then the briefest, tiniest glance. "Hello James."

An amalgam of angers, jealousies and suspicions swirled together in him. He deeply liked both these two people, and that regard fanned the flames of doubt and uncertainty. He couldn't bear that they should be less than the good souls he took them for. His chest tightened and he started to cough. The cough itched and squeezed his lungs. He coughed and coughed, then choked. The world swirled and he clutched at a table.

Kenton thrust him into a chair.

"I am glad to have at last seen the worst of your condition." Kenton's face was grave. "James, I must urge you to listen. Virginia is all creeks and rivers and marshes. It is damp. Miasmas hang in the air. It may not be the place for you. There is time to mend, but do not delay. Your friend Owen, I did not wish to say this, but it is common knowledge that he is unwell. And with him too it is the lungs. It is not impossible that you have contracted some illness from him. But you have chance to look after yourself. Do it. Now." Kenton went to the door. "You can come in again, dear."

She did. Her pale eyes blazed from dark, stress-smudged circles. The strain of facing each other again after that impassioned hour in the barn had been superseded by James's near collapse. The collapse provided cover for red faces, shifty looks and unsteady hands. James was almost thankful for the diversion.

"You will not go to church tomorrow either. If you insist on heading home, I will accompany you personally. There has to be an end to this madness James. I speak as your doctor and your friend."

"You must listen to Kenton, James." They were the first words she had spoken. The ice was broken.

"I will."

Kenton's back was towards him, and against his own will James's eyes wandered in search of Suzannah, but she snatched her own glance quickly away and slipped out of the room.

Chapter Fifteen

James did not return to his farm till Wednesday. He could have ridden back sooner, but the collapse had impressed him in a way Kenton's warnings could not. There were four crosses in Weston Subedge church yard bearing the names of his three infant brothers and his sister, who had made it to her teenage years. They were in his mind as he lay in bed at Kenton's house, and he thought of his father too. Life had been disappointing, profoundly so, but he did not wish on that account to give it up and leave Roderick with no hope for his old age. And so he stayed on at the Blizzards.

Kenton came often to his room and servants appeared with medicines and soups. Suzannah stayed away and he was glad of that. Weakened in body as he was, there was only so much vitality which could be drained from a twenty-eight year old. He was desperate to maintain his own self-respect and Kenton's friendship.

On the second day he ventured downstairs towards mid-day and seated himself before the fire in the parlour. He had felt quite well when he woke, but the effort of dressing and coming down made him tremble. Chilly fingers explored his innards. I am ill. I am ill. I may not see home again, whether I want to or no. Father, Kas, Geoff, Clara, Alice, I may never see them... He remembered the New Year ball at Painswick and how he had fallen ill with le grippe the next day. He recalled lying on a couch before the fire in the library, while Kas read to him. The book he'd forgotten; the magic of her proximity survived in an imperishable afterlife.

"Are you warm enough, James?"

Suzannah was standing at the door. She closed it to conserve the heat, then on a second thought opened it again. They must not be too private together.

"I am."

Suzannah took up another chair, a distant one. There was no ease between them.

"Kenton is pleased with your recovery. He thinks you can go home soon."

"I don't want to trespass."

"You are not trespassing."

"Does he say what is wrong with me?"

"He never talks of his patients, not in any detail. He is pleased. That is all. But it is good news; if he were not pleased he would have remained silent."

The fire gave a great crackle.

"I believe he thinks I have phthisis..."

She couldn't hide the fear in her eyes, though her answer was reassuring. "Even if you do, you might live long. You do not need to labour in unhealthy conditions. You can have the best of foods. You can rest in comfort."

He considered that. "Sitting here has reminded me of when I was taken ill at the Endecotts. Do you remember you said you knew them?"

"Yes."

"I was ill for more than a week, and even when I got up, I was fit for nothing except sprawling on a couch in the library. Ka - someone - read to me there. It was cold and murky outside, and just for a couple of days I felt myself floating on some cloud removed from normal life."

Suzannah sighed. "That would be a nice place to be, insulated against normal life." Her eyes drifted to the window. "It is not possible though to remove yourself."

Closeness, confidentially, intimacy were descending on them in that parlour which was darkened from the autumny murk outside, just as January fogs had enveloped him and Kas all those years ago. "Suzannah," he asked. "is there something which troubles you and Kenton? I hope that - " He balked at referring to own their private secret. "I hope that what happened at my farm has not come back to haunt you. I would not refer to it," he hurried on in a whisper, "but both of you look changed. If there is anything I can do?"

She stared into the flames. He wondered if she was going to answer at all. Then she made a false start. Her eyes wavered from him to the fire. She stood up. Sat down. Went to the window. Returned to the rocking chair.

A new approach. "Suzannah. There are stories, I have heard them from Epiphany Anstruther." If the anguish in his voice was anything to go by, he reckoned he must be looking haggard too.

Her eyes opened wide. "What rumours?"

Taken at their worst, the rumours were almost too horrible to speak, but James did not believe them at their worst. He took a breath. "She says you are Kenton's sister."

Suzannah turned sharply away.

"Suzannah," he went to extend a comforting hand, but stopped himself. That could lead to worse disasters. "Suzannah, dear Suzannah, I know there is an explanation for this. I know that things cannot be as bad as they seem. I know you. I know Kenton."

"You don't. That's just it."

"I know you are good people, better by far than Epiphany and the Anstruther crowd. Some awful misunderstanding has happened. Tell me."

She left her chair, went to the window again. Anxiety would not let her settle. Her eyes were dry but anguished. "Kenton is not in. I cannot tell you without talking to him first."

"Your secret is safe with me. Didn't I tell you of my past?"

That unlocked her confidence. Abruptly she rushed into speech, "James, it is true. I'm not Kenton's wife."

His heart leapt. Every possibility, good and bad, hit him at once.

"I'm married to a Dutch merchant called Van der Elst."

That blasted one possibility.

"I was born Suzannah Oxlade. Kenton's mother was an Oxlade. We are second cousins, though we did not know each other as children and only met when we were sixteen."

"How came you to be living like this?"

"At age twenty I made a marriage to a merchant who visited Bristol often. It was a foolish choice as I knew little about him, but he was young and handsome and at twenty that is often enough. It's enough to get on a road to disaster, as I discovered. Kees turned out to have women and even children in other ports. I wanted to part discreetly, but the suggestion angered him and I was trapped in an awful situation. Kenton came to the rescue. There had been a closeness between us since we met, perhaps we would have got together if we had not been closely related. I ran away to London where he was coming to the end of his studies. We went through a sham marriage and hid ourselves amid the great throng of the city. We never felt at ease though and decided on a bold move here. With hindsight I think we were better camouflaged in London."

"That could well be."

"We tried to be careful not to talk of the past, but sometimes details slipped out when we were with you. We never feared you though, James. We knew you would not talk about us. Kenton said you seemed to be running away from something yourself and would not pry into the secrets of others."

"Did the Bells reveal your history?"

"They hardly seem malicious, but something must have been said. I'm not sure that they know the real truth, but Leticia may have heard a garbled story in Bristol and garbled it further. Oh, James I wish it were possible to go back to the beginning and start again. I wish I'd married Kenton!"

James's mouth turned down.

"We could have been happy. Kenton's tastes and outlook are so similar to mine. Instead, in a censorious world we are adulterers masquerading as husband and wife. And with you I've gone one worse even than that!" Tears threatened now.

James experienced his own throb of pain. "Say nothing of what we've done. It's as if it never happened. It cannot hurt us, and it cannot hurt Kenton. We will not let it. But this other trouble... What will you do?"

"Kenton says perhaps we must go away again, even back to London. It may be urgent that we act."

"Oh God."

"Don't let Dodds hear you say that."

The confession had left them both drained. If there was more to say could not drag up the energy to say it. They stared into the grate, forlornly, lacking even the hope to cast about for solutions.

Chapter Sixteen

Now that the tobacco was in in the barn James was freed from some anxiety. It would still be possible to lose his crop, but the hazards were narrowing. There was land on his small farm which could be cleared, but he wasn't doing it. Instead he heeded warnings. The climate of Virginia, Kenton has suggested, might not be good for him now his system had been compromised. It occurred to James that the rigours of Jamaica had done him no harm, but there he had lived in domestic comfort, not a damp, insect-ridden shack.

And so he did not bother clearing the woods. Instead his destination was home. He would not write to his father. He would turn up. Not quite the surprise of rising from the dead after Blenheim, but surprise enough. He could disburden Roderick of some responsibility. Another reason to go.

The family would be overjoyed to see him. The circle of life had spun round and he felt himself wanting them too.

Vi and Pink were taking their after-dinner hour of rest on a damp afternoon when the sun couldn't make up its mind whether to shine or hide behind the clouds. It was a good opportunity for James to sponge himself down in his room. The clean-up made him feel better; he was fed up of smelling like a goat pen. After a brief towelling, he sank back onto the covers, letting the air blow over his body to complete the last drying. No one would pass this way now... A pity in a way. It would be fun if Caleb Jehosephat came for a rant and found him in this natural state... Leaves were rustling in the trees behind the shack; it was just possible to hear the stream bubbling towards the river, he didn't usually notice it, but in this moment when he was empty of thought and industry, the calming balm of nature around him did its work. The rectangle of light from the open door started to blur and he drifted into shallow sleep.

It was the barking of Bluey that wakened James. He had been dreaming of sitting on the cool banks of the Dikler with a noisy hound, then his mind swirled into consciousness and he realized that the barking was real and a human figure blocked the light of the main door. With a sharp inhalation, he sat up and snatched for his firearm.

For a moment the figure did not speak. Then a voice lisped, "So this is how you greet visitors, James. I am surprised that the track to Williamsburg is not choked with women struggling to find you. I did knock, but no one answered."

Given their history together there was not much point in grabbing a towel to cover himself, but he did anyway. "Pernel!" Just that one word. He wondered if he was hallucinating.

She stepped forward from the door and now her features were clear against the light of the fire. "None other, James. Were you expecting someone else?" She cocked her little head on one side and lowered her lashes teasingly. Her presence had lost none of its charm or challenge.

"Pernel, it is you!" They had not met for four years, not since the trauma of Wiseman's destruction and his recovery at her house, but one moment was enough to breath in the power of her intense vitality. He smiled, though in this moment he hardly knew what he felt. "You have not come here alone, surely. I know you are a pistol shot, but \- "

"Lucky is with me."

"Lucky! My uncle's Lucky?"

"Who better with horses? Don't go out to meet him like that," she added when he struggled up. "A pair of breaches at least to satisfy etiquette." She regarded him, frankly watching as he dressed. "Stay a moment, James. Lucky can wait. You look even thinner than before, if that is possible. Gaunt."

"I am well." He buttoned his linen, hunted about for a stock. "But how come are you here, Pernel? You've explained nothing." He glanced over her, more observant now that the first shock was passed, and detected changes. Her eyes were a little less bright, burdened with some species of sadness, he guessed, her figure not quite so slender and supple.

She plucked at her skirt, then plunged on, "Tom has died." There was a sudden catch in her voice. "It happened six months ago."

"Tom! I am sorry." He truly was. Tom Eland had been one of the few planters who he had liked during his year in Jamaica. "Was it sudden?"

"He ailed for a long time. He grew thin. He was thirsty. We consulted physicians, but they could not help. One physician poured his urine outside on the dirt to see if ants were attracted. They were. Tom was suffering from the sugar sickness, he said."

"I've heard of others back home who have passed with that. So the burden of his estates now rest in your hands."

She sighed. "Yes. They do. I have a good overseer, someone Tom relied on for years. Good stewards. But someone has to oversee the overseers."

James smiled thinly, coughed.

Pernel's expression focussed. "Not you too, James! That cough is bad."

"I am young. Tom was in his fifties. My uncle used to say exactly what you just did, about overseers, someone has to oversee them. But how come you to be in Virginia? Did Tom have concerns here?"

She shook her head. "Nothing of significance, but he had business in Rhode Island. I have been there. I wanted to see all for myself."

"Very hands on. I commend you. What was that business?"

"Rum production."

"Rum!" James strangled another cough which was rising in his chest. "I've been thinking of getting into that line myself. I've been stewing on it for months."

"What has stopped you?"

"Time. I'm tied to the farm so much that I have limited opportunity to think, never mind formulate a plan and take action. And my mind has been turning against Virginia. When this crop is wound up, I'm thinking to return home."

Pernel bit her lip and her eyes wandered about the shack. "I can be frank with you James: this is not much of a dwelling."

"I can't argue with that."

"You are a gentleman and this is a shack."

"A very superior shack, but not much of a gentleman." His smile was reflected in her features. "Minor gentry only."

She shrugged. "At any rate you are not a dirt farmer by birth. Is this really how you choose to spend your life?"

"No, that's why I'm going home. When I came here, I imagined I would be moving on to clear new land for tobacco within a few years. There seemed no point in putting down firm roots. But a more profitable concern lies in Gloucestershire and my father is in his mid-fifties. He will need me soon." Roderick seemed to have abandoned the bottle and picked up in health - perhaps the trends were linked - but Roderick couldn't go on forever. "I have been gone five years, so there will be no sense of scuttling home with my tail between my legs. I've given the Americas a fair shot. I've gained experience of the world." Most of which he'd have been happy to do without. "My mind is almost made up."

It was Pernel's turn for silence. Then she stood abruptly. "I have a message for you from someone you once liked a great deal."

The cogs turned in James's mind. "Nehemiah?"

"Who else?" She smiled. "I think James, you would be more pleased to see him than to see me." Her voice was soft. Notes of hurt still echoed in it.

"I'd be pleased to see him in a different way. He fares well?"

"Yes. He still works for us - me." Her face puckered with distress. "I often forget. I still often forget that Tom is gone."

"Time will pass. Tom's death is still close. Time heels all wounds." Not quite all.

"Nehemiah told me to say that he remembers you often. He has not forgotten what you did for him."

"Tell him that I have not forgotten that he saved my life!"

"I will. Nehemiah bought a slave of his own last year."

James stared. It was as if a physical shock had smashed his body. Optimism about humanity would never be possible again if one such as Nehemiah could sink into iniquity. He continued staring at Pernel.

"He bought her, freed her and married her."

A wave of relief flooded through James which could only be released through laughter. Joyous laugher. "I hope his life will be good. He deserves it. I never met a better man." They talked a little about Nehemiah, before James returned to an earlier theme. "But why are you in Virginia? You have explained the journey to Rhode Island, but not how you come to be here."

She bit her lip. "I knew you were in Virginia James and had an impulse to find you." Silence.

"So you sailed here and looked me up." It was a big undertaking, yet she talked as if she described a stroll up Duke of Gloucester Street.

She turned away. "Come and meet Lucky. He will be pleased to see you. It was difficult to shut him up when I explained I was seeking you out."

Lucky was more than pleased, his spirits were effervescent when they went outside. "Mr James I never thought to see you no more in this world!"

"Nor I you. I'm pleased that you are still faring well."

Lucky stole a glance to Pernel. "Did Mistress Pernel tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'm a freed man now. A paid servant, not a slave."

"It seemed right, when Tom died." She half turned away. "I often thought of those words which you spoke to me when we last met. They took a long time to sink in, but they are not all forgotten. I have taken some small steps."

"I know you'll be a good servant to your mistress, just as you tried your best for my uncle."

"I always will."

Pernel suddenly looked at the sun though there were plenty of hours of light left. "We should be on our way. I am at the Holly Tree Tavern. Do you know it? I will be there a few days before I continue my journey. My mission was to find you."

Their eyes met.

"I will certainly ride into town."

"There is a changed look about you, James." Her voice was uncertain, troubled.

"I'll be twenty-nine in a month or so, not the boy you first met."

Her eyes lingered on him. "It is not so much a question of age... Nor even health, though I sense that you are not well. Something else has happened." She became brisk. "Let us agree a time to meet."

They fixed an arrangement.

"Now we must go. I will leave you to your silk couch. Until Tuesday." Her eyes sparkled with some of their old mirth and she rode off smartly.

When she was gone, energy drained from James. On the nearest bench, the one by the barn, he sat heavily. Questions started to crowd in: why had she gone to such lengths to seek him out? Had she perhaps a job for him? He had the feeling that there was some fact which she had not revealed.

He was there fully ten minutes considering possibilities, before an idea crept into his tired, distracted mind; years might have passed, but was she perhaps considering a role for him that was not so much professional as personal?

Chapter Seventeen

Despite his reservations and qualms, meeting Pernel had a positive effect on James's mood. Every time I have a proper wash, a good-looking woman comes to see me, he thought with a smile. Even his health seemed to enjoy a slight upturn.

Kenton did not rubbish the idea when James outlined a heavily abridged history of the friendship in Jamaica and described the alleviation in his symptoms.

"The connection between the body and the mind is overlooked," commented Kenton washing his hands. "One day it will be better understood, I think. You have cleared your mind of doubt and decided to return home, also you have met an old and amusing friend: better sleep and better health are the outcomes. One good thing fuels another in the upswing." Kenton's face was serious. "I wish an old and amusing friend could solve all troubles."

A note in his voice warned James that something momentous was coming.

Kenton plunged on, "We are leaving. I know you will say nothing of this to anyone, but soon we will be gone. Already we are quietly packing up and making arrangements. We will be gone within days."

"Oh no!" James was doubly glad that he had embraced the need to be gone himself. Life in Virginia would be impossible with the Blizzards. "I shall not be far behind. As soon as the crop is in the hogsheads."

"Dodds was here last week demanding to know if Suzannah and I are man and wife. I asserted of course that we are, but I think that may only have confounded matters. I would not be surprised if he questioned you." Kenton's expression was wintry.

"Dodds will get nothing out of me, Kenton. Be sure of that. Where will you move on to?"

"Pondering that has caused our delay. We have decided on Edinburgh. It is surely more anonymous than the colonies and I am certain we will never meet connections there."

James thought hard. "Have you considered Jamaica? It was my home for a year. Whatever else might be said about it, it is not a place of moral busy bodying. There are few churches or ministers."

Kenton sighed. "We gave it thought. But the death rate is very high. If Suzannah were to die I would lose all will to go on, and Suzannah could not do without me."

A hot wave rippled through James.

"Besides, we have another reason to be on the move soon." A strained smile brightened Kenton's handsome features. "We are expecting an event."

"What sort of event?"

"A child. Suzannah is with child. I would not have told you at this stage, but as we will be gone soon..." He shrugged and left the sentence dangling.

James froze. Only a moment ago he'd felt over-heated with guilt. Now his veins were chilled as if some colder fluid than blood ran through them.

"It is seven months away. Early days. Dangers still lie ahead."

A quick calculation. A sigh of relief. Not his. Thank God. "Congratulations. It is a hope for the future. We all need hope."

Kenton's face did not look especially hopeful. "Ordinarily I would not have been pleased, with our life so much unsettled, but as you say, it opens up hope and a means to forget our own worries. Already I've found myself looking forward to the change and troubling less about gossip here. Once we are escaped from Virginia, I believe my whole heart will be in it."

"I should think so. I am pleased that you have a new prospect. I can see why you would not consider moving to the dangers of Jamaica. I think that is Suzannah just come in now. It is not Molly's heavy tread."

"My love, James is here."

She came in, removing her hat, and as soon as he saw her a change was detectable. Worry was deeply carved on her face.

"I have told James all our news."

"All?"

"All. We have no secrets."

James maintained a composed countenance but squirmed inwardly. "I will miss you both enormously. But my plans here do not extend far into the future."

"When you go back to England you must correspond with us. Before we leave, we will ensure that is possible, though we must be careful."

"I have loose ends to tie up here, arrangements to close, stock to sell. Something needs to be done for Pink and Vi too. Life will be a blank page without the two of you. But I've begun to feel excited about returning to my home again. The move feels real now, not just a matter of speculation." He looked at the clock. "Talking of friends, I must be on my way. I am meeting the friend I spoke of from my Jamaican days and must not be late." James did not want to even try explaining the situation to Suzannah. "Do not quit Virginia abruptly without sending word."

"If things deteriorate, we cannot guarantee our movements."

Suzannah nodded urgently. "I passed Mistress Bodelle when I was out. I smiled, but she gave her husband a look which alarmed me and she murmured something about Reverend Dodds's health being shaky. They thought someone was to blame but I couldn't hear who."

"Me probably!" exclaimed Kenton with uncharacteristic fire. "Reverend Dodds - " He recalled professional etiquette and swallowed a great chunk of anger. "But I must not forget the standards of my profession and discuss patients, not even those I no longer serve."

"I was afraid they might be imputing his illness to you." Suzannah's voice was unsteady. "But you gave him honest service!"

"You do well to leave soon. I believe Dodds has imported special poison with him from Salem. He is like one of those lurking spiders which dash out from where you least expect it."

They talked some more in low voices then both Blizzards saw him to the door. As per James's simile, Dodds was skulking on the street corner at that very moment but shot behind a piled waggon when he realized he was seen. The Blizzard's door closed quickly behind James.

They're already out of here in their hearts, James thought. A stab of loneliness lanced him as he looked back at their door. Then his own home near Campden, and the people waiting there, came alive in his thoughts, and hope lifted again.

Though he was not late, Pernel was pacing up and down when he joined her at the Holly Tree. "I was worried you would not come. You seemed such a shadow of yourself the other day." She took his hand.

"Did I?" The degree of change, not change itself, surprised him. "I must be aging rapidly."

Her touch was pleasant, but in recent months his thoughts, emotions and desires had all centred on another woman. In a few days, Suzannah would be sailing out of his life and his chances of seeing her again were low, but he wasn't of the type to change direction this abruptly. Gently he freed the hand. "You will be sailing soon?"

"...No. I have decided to stay a while in Virginia. A week or two." She sucked her lip. It wasn't like her to be short of words.

"Then we must see something of each other. A meal. A drink. For old times' sake."

She pulled the bell and ordered drink and cake be brought up. "It is old times that I wanted to talk of now," she explained when the servant had gone. "Old times can have an afterlife."

"That's true."

She flickered a quick little glance to him. She did not seem as confident and certain as the girl he had known in Jamaica, though now vast wealth was at her personal fingertips. If he was changed, then so was she.

But she had lost no attraction in these missing years. Her hair still fell in tight, glossy black curls. Her coffee coloured skin was smooth and had suffered no abrasion from insect or illness. Her figure had thickened slightly, but it was still a neat, pleasing form which stood before James. The pale yellow of her gown suited her; she had always known how to dress.

"Is something troubling you Pernel? Is that why you have gone to such lengths to visit me?"

The servant came with a tray and the interval provided pause for James to try to fathom Pernel's mission.

"It is difficult James, running a vast plantation without help." She drummed her fingers on a nearby cupboard.

"Yes, I'm sure it is. At Wiseman's I failed to truly grasp that."

"Always there are decisions to be made. I have good advice. But the decisions rest with me."

"The responsibility is great."

She fell silent again before resuming, "There are things about the past James of which you know nothing."

"I'm sure there are. Tell me of them, Pernel. We are old friends, more than friends," he added in a lowered voice. "Tell me what's on your mind. It may not be in my power to help, but don't be afraid to ask."

A wave crashed through the floodgates. She grasped both his hands. "I have not told you that I have two children, twins. A boy and a girl. They were born after you left Jamaica. They are four years old." Her voice was ragged with suppressed emotions.

Not what he had been expecting. Money worries; troubles with the overseers; uppity slaves: these had been difficulties he had foreseen. But not children. "Twins?" He shrugged. "How can I help with that?"

"They're yours, James," she blurted. "Acelin and Isabeau. You had a relation called Acelin. And it is your second name. You mentioned it once and I liked the name. My Acelin is your son."

James was incapable of making the smallest noise. He stared down with mouth open.

"They're yours James, only yours."

"You can't know that."

"You should see them. They are very tall for their age. Everyone comments on it."

He looked away.

"And their eyes are mauve-blue."

A vision of his father's mauve gaze pierced James's mind. "Tom had blue eyes. And your father's eyes were blue. You told me so." The shadow of a net was threatening. "And my eyes are grey, not blue." James's heart was half-way home already. He didn't want to know about ties in the Americas. It was ties at home which were linked to his hopes now.

"It is their height you will recognize. They are only four years old, but they are very tall." She sprang up and went to a cupboard. Small portraits were taken out. "Look."

James did. The faces were like his father's. He turned to the window. The shock was too much for him to take in. Half an hour ago he had discovered that the Blizzards were to become parents; now he found that he already was one, and to twins at that. "Pernel, I can't make sense of this. You didn't send me any word. That day I said goodbye, you never hinted. Not a word."

"Of course not. With Tom alive why should I? I did not wish to cause him trouble. I cared for Tom. And I could not know for certain then who was father of the child I carried. But Tom is dead now and it is possible for you to do your duty to them."

Duty. A quake shook his hopes and assumptions.

"I want you to marry me. I wasn't sure when I came, but I have seen the hovel that you live in for myself. If you had been leading a wonderful life with hopes for marriage, I planned to go away and never tell you the truth. But by marrying me you will be giving nothing up. You will be bettering yourself."

Nothing except my restoration to home. He walked over to the fireplace and stared into the grate, as if the answer to this problem lay there. Years before, he hadn't needed even to propose to Kas, both their families had simply assumed they would marry and talked of it as a fait accompli. Now, years on, here he was, the recipient of a proposal of marriage. And he was as startled and blushing as any well-bred young lady...

"Pernel, I don't know what to say. I'm honoured - " Oh God, he even sounded like an untried girl.

"Tell me what you really feel, James."

"It's too sudden for me to tell you anything."

"Bah, James!"

Her foot would soon be stamping, he knew that of old. Sparks were glinting in her eye. The old Pernel was firing into life, now the news was broken.

"I didn't know I was a father till five minutes ago."

"I am not lying to you James. The children are yours. I would never play such a trick on anyone."

He believed her. She was an honest person and the portraits told their own story. If she was simply seeking a husband, she would come right out and declare it: I need a man I can trust to take over the estates. Take it or leave it, that's what she would say. He groaned and strode to the window. "Pernel. I cannot answer your question this minute. I have to think. If we were to marry, I could not stay here, nor go home. Your possessions are mostly in the Caribbean."

"We could live where you liked, James. Jamaica, Rhode Island, the Carolinas. I do not want the fogs of England, it is true, but England is not the whole world."

The whole world was how England had started to feel in James's emotions. Hill House, Roderick, Kas; he'd imagined returning to them... "I can't tell you now, Pernel. I have to think. I'm sorry." He moved to the door hastily.

"I shall be here another week or two." She was crestfallen; disappointment was written in all her features and in her sagging shoulders, too. "Today I shall say no more."

He seized his hat and nodded. For the moment, he had no more words.

Chapter Eighteen

A battle could have raged around him on the ride home and James would not have noticed. Pernel's own artillery shell had shredded to tatters all plans which had been generating in his mind. He did not doubt that she was telling the truth and he couldn't deny the moral argument that if the twins were his, he had a responsibility towards them. But it was a responsibility he didn't want.

Crisp was dripping with sweat when James leapt off. They had never made the journey back home so quickly. He settled Crisp in his stable and went directly to the house, where he was disconcerted by the sight of C.J Dodds planted before the kitchen table. Uncovering a rattlesnake in his bed could not have been less pleasing.

"Reverend Dodds. This is a pleasure."

"Mace. I am not on a social call. I am not even here to do my duty and remind you of your sins."

That was a surprise. "No?" What other purpose could he have?

"I will come to the point. There is ungodliness amongst us."

James took his gloves off. Too many of his own troubles swirled in his head for him to consider where Dodds was heading. He went to the door and called Vi, who was in the chicken pen. "Get Pink, I want him."

She hurried off.

In his tribulation, James confused Dodds's message with the twins he had just learnt of. "I know nothing of ungodliness but say your piece."

"It is your duty to confess all you know."

A horrible sniff of the truth reached James's nostrils.

"You are intimate with those sinners the Blizzards. What can you tell of their vile habits?"

James went to the cupboard, picked up the brandy bottle, then put it down. He thought for a very long second, scratched at his neck, ripped off his stock. "There is the door. Leave. Get out while you're on two feet."

Dodds's eyes opened wide, but for once his tongue failed. Those onyx black eyes travelled from James to the stock and back again.

"Go. Get out. Leave my house. You heard me."

"I've been watching you, Mace." Dodd's voice lacked its usual rasp and power. "My wife warned me what you are. I did not believe her." He backed away and out of the door. "A blasphemer, that was all I took you for. I have watched you. I have had my ears open. I have observed you when I have been out on the route to my chapel or to Watersmeet. You deserve the rope."

"So you have been snooping in these woods. I've long wondered if someone was spying." James stepped forwards menacingly, and Dodds edged away, though he did not flinch. "You always talk of sin, yet you gathered to yourself a girl young enough to be your grand-daughter. If that is not sin, I don't know what is!"

"How dare you! My union has been sanctioned by law and God!"

"So you say."

"I am a minister of religion."

"You think you are God. You muddle your power with his!"

Dodds's face empurpled. He sprang but did not reach James. With a crash he fell face first against the edge of the table, then crunched onto the floor.

For once, James's sharp reactions were blunted, then he rushed to aid the minister. Dodds struggled as if with some internal battle. His face was contorted and he clutched his chest.

"Help," James yelled. "Help. Vi, Pink, quickly. The reverend is ill!" Where were they?

He shot to the door. Vi was coming as quick as she could. In her haste she almost fell on the step. She knelt beside Dodds, looked into the onyx-black eyes which were half-open.

"He's gone, Sir, it's too late."

James stood. His hands were steady; his head was functioning at half-speed. There could be ramifications from this. He had not laid a finger on Dodds, but there were no witnesses to that. He could ask Vi to swear she had been in the kitchen. She would probably do so. He wasn't sure whether it was wise. Close questioning might expose the lie.

Pink came in, breathing hard. "In the privie, Sir, couldn't get here any quicker." He saw Dodds on the floor, looked at his master and Vi, who was standing with her apron to her face. "Reverend died 'av he, Sir?"

Pink's reaction steadied James.

"I'm afraid he has. He collapsed."

"Didn't look too grand in chapel last week."

"Pink, I do not want to ride back into town. Saddle Bobsworth and bring back Dr Blizzard. Tell Mr Anstruther too, or Mr Turner or any member of the vestry you can find. Then ride straight back. Be sure to find Dr Blizzard. It must be him who examines the reverend."

Kenton arrived ahead of Pink. His usually lustrous auburn hair was grey with dust thrown up from the track.

James heard the horse and was outside instantly to take the bridle. "I'm sorry Kenton. I didn't want to drag you here. He is inside." He took the lathered horse to the drinking trough and tethered him.

Kenton was terse. "Anything I should know?"

"He collapsed. That is all. I never touched him. We had an argument. We exchanged words."

Kenton met his eyes and James had the impression that he read his thoughts, though it could not possibly be true.

"This way."

Kenton knelt beside Dodds and examined him. "He has struck his face on the edge of the table. That much is clear. There is another mark where he has hit the floor. I can see these are not wounds inflicted by a fist." He stood up. "I should not reveal this to anyone James," he continued, "but I have expected Reverend Dodds to die for some months. He abandoned my services, but I knew he was ill. I will be able to give that testimony to the legal officials. You do not have anything to fear."

Relief. James sagged onto a chair. "Kenton, we were arguing because he came here demanding what I knew of your private life. He said his wife had called me a blasphemer and worse things. He has been watching me here, on the sly."

"What did he say about me?"

"I forget the words. I was too angry. I called him something. I told him he was the sinner."

Horses pounded to a halt outside. Raised voices summoned Pink and Vi. Booted feet stamped up the step. The door burst open without ceremony. Epiphany stood there. A cry escaped her.

"Mrs Dodds, I don't think - "

Her father pushed into the room a step behind and Bodelle followed. "Mace, what has happened?"

"Your son-in-law dropped dead, Mr Anstruther. I am sorry Mrs Dodds."

Kenton winced and Epiphany shot a hand up to her face. Shock was written there. But not grief, James thought.

"What is that mark on Caleb's face, father? He has been struck!" She shot furious eyes in James's direction. "That man has killed Caleb."

"I did not! You husband slumped and fell against the table."

"What was my husband doing here?"

"...Telling me to attend church. I reminded him that I have been ill. My physician will confirm that."

Pure venom crimped her features. "That is not why Caleb came here!"

Anstruther intervened. "That will be all, Epiphany. You are here as a wife, not to uphold the law."

"James Mace is a blasphemer! Now he has killed Caleb."

"All will be looked into. Leave us."

With many signs of anger, but few tokens of grief, Epiphany went outside, accompanied by Vi.

Kenton's expression was stern. "There is a mark on Reverend Dodds's face consistent with striking the table. I must tell you, Mr Anstruther, that the minister had received medical supervision from me. He abandoned my services some months ago, but I do not believe it possible that he improved in that time."

Anstruther said nothing.

"Reverend Dodds's body must be taken back to town, then I can do a thorough examination."

"That will not be necessary, Dr Blizzard. Dr Cartwright has been warned and is standing by. Mace we will need your cart."

"Both my horses need rest and feed."

"We are not in a rush. Poor Dodds is going nowhere. Where is your man? I want to question him."

Pink told the story they had rehearsed. Reverend Dodds had worked up a storm in the kitchen then collapsed against the table. Pink had heard the quarrel through the open door and seen him fall.

Anstruther asked what had enraged Dodds. Mr Mace's broken record of attending church and long-term failure to mend his ways, that had been the cause. Had Pink seen the moment when Dodds went down? Yes. He'd been walking towards the door and seen it. Had Mr Mace struck the minister. No. They had been on opposite sides of the table.

The story was a simple one to remember and not far from the truth. They had agreed on it while waiting for Kenton and the officials to come.

Anstruther put the same questions to Vi and got the same answers. Bodelle tried befuddling her by rephrasing the questions, but her story remained the same. It was after all, a simple story.

Dodds's earthly remains were loaded onto the cart with such dignity as could be mustered. Epiphany wiped her eyes, but James noted that Anstruther, though his face was drawn, paid no attention to her. Anstruther weighed her emotions at their true value, James guessed.

"Do not go anywhere, Mace. There may be further investigations. The same to you, Dr Blizzard, your testimony will be required."

Bodelle was watching James with intense scrutiny. He looked sharply about the farm, then accepted Kenton's help into the saddle. "You will hear more from us Mace."

"Walk on." Anstruther flicked the reins and Bobsworth moved forward with the cart and its unexpected cargo.

The last thing James saw, before they disappeared into the trees were Epiphany's eyes blazing at him.

Chapter Nineteen

Everything but the threatening danger was blasted from James's mind in the aftermath of Dodds's death. Pernel, the unwanted twins, even his crop, all were relegated. He had seen the hate in Epiphany's eyes and the covetousness in Bodelle's. He knew that the same company had focussed their malice on Kenton and Suzannah too. It was time for all of them to be gone out of the colony to safety.

"Thank Heavens we brought our plans forward," breathed Kenton, a day or two after the incident. "Things are moving a pace here. We have stayed too long."

"When your crop has paid, go James." It was Suzannah who spoke. "Go before that if you can afford it. Dodds was a focal point for malice, but life will not return to normal a while yet. He's unleashed something."

"I never touched Dodds. I swear it. I have witnesses." James had not told the Blizzards that Pink and Vi were lying for him; the less who knew, the safer it was for all. "I will surely not be imprisoned and sent to the supreme court."

A knock on the door made all of them start. An agitated voice was audible from the hall and someone was ushered speedily in.

"Roddy! I didn't expect you."

"Excuse me Dr, Mistress Blizzard." He spoke like a man with no time to lose. "James, I was in town and heard your horse had been seen coming here."

"This is Roddy Owen. He provided my first berth when I landed in Virginia. He's my friend, though one I don't see enough of."

Kenton reached for the brandy. The alcohol consumption of all of them had risen steeply in the last year. "A friend of James is a friend of ours."

"I've got to warn you all. I overheard talk and galloped here as fast as I could. I was going to - "

A peremptory hammering at the door cut him off. "It's too late. They're here! Out the back. Run!"

Angry voices and the muffled thud of someone being chucked aside told them escape was too late. Booted feet stamped from room to room. The intruders quickly located the right one.

Bodelle led the party. With him were Turner and four servants. Their expressions were grim yet satisfied.

"We are here on the worst of business. We know that we are in the presence of a witch!"

Someone gasped and Suzannah gave a stifled scream.

Kenton stepped forward. "Get out of my house! You have no authority here."

"The marks of a witch have been spied. We know what the old books say. Witches may be fair of face. Witches have marks upon them that may be recognized by honest Christians."

James moved in front of Suzannah.

"Mistress Dodds has identified the witch. It is you Mace! You are fair of face and you have a witch's mark."

Silence screamed through the house.

"Arrest him."

One of the servants shoved forward to take James. A whipped left hook which surprised the man with its speed and the wing from which it flew, sent the servant crashing. Another servant leapt in. He shot over the table with a spume of blood and teeth flying from his mouth.

"Get him! Get Mace. Don't just stand there!"

More feet rushed from the hall. Fists flew. Broadcloth ripped. A woman screamed. Someone was thrown bodily through the window. The kitchen was a wreck of fighting men and shattering crockery. James punched someone else. He didn't know who it was, but he made full-blooded contact. Roddy was grappling with a fat man next to him. A swift one-two from Roddy's hams put the man in the grate. Kenton wielded a pan. Someone else went down.

Then the lights went out.

Chapter Twenty

The smell of stagnant water was in his nostrils and his mouth tasted coppery. Feebly he coughed and opened his eyes. He was on the bank of a pond, that much he understood, though he didn't know what he was doing there. His head throbbed and viscous blood oozed into his eye. A small gathering of onlookers had assembled. Kenton's was the face he recognized first. A makeshift bandage - it looked like a shirt sleeve - was tied round Kenton's head. Roddy was there and blood was still seeping from his nose. He was being restrained by two burly men. The threat of danger sizzled through James's nervous system and he struggled to rise, with an immense throb of his head.

Then he realized his hands were tied. And his ankles. With effort he struggled into a sitting position, then gained his feet. Balance was just possible. He looked at the dark waters of the pond and the horrible truth hit home. Bodelle advanced. There were no bruises on him. He must have stayed safely at the back while others performed his work.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! The Good Book gives us an unequivocal command, Mace. But we are men of justice and are subjecting you to the water test. If you sink it will prove you are no - "

"It's not unequivocal." A different, reedy voice piped up. "There has to be a legal trial with witnesses."

"What are you doing here Bell? Get back to your parish!"

"He'll sink. He'll drown. Of course he will," wailed Bell. "He's a man. He's all bone and muscle. He can't float."

"Go back!" Epiphany Dodds, used to issuing commands, despite her youth and sex, entered the fray. "My husband elucidated that verse for me personally. It means execute the witch with no delay. Even this water test is superfluous justice. Caleb only believed Mace to be a blasphemer, or he would have moved against him before."

"Mrs Dodds has identified you as a witch, Mace. She has seen the witch's mark."

"Nonsense!" Kenton's voice was shaky. "She sees her own spite in the world around her, nothing else."

"He has a mark. On his neck!" Bodelle shouted. "Mistress Dodds saw it when he was without his stock."

"That is the scar of a musket ball, and you know it! I was an infantryman. I fought for my country at Blenheim. All you do is fight for your own profit."

James was powerless, balanced there with tied hands and feet. Bodelle approached him smiling venomously. "You charmed Easterby to make him sell you his land, when I could never persuade him."

At once the darkness beamed painfully bright and James understood all that motivated Bodelle.

"That's what all this is about."

"Witch!"

The woodpecker punch which James landed on Bodelle's nose produced a spray of blood and a crunching of bone. Bodelle fell back with a cry of shock, grasping his nose, and James toppled on top of him. Unknown hands ripped James away.

"Throw him in," screamed Bodelle. "Throw the witch in."

Other onlookers had been drawn to the fracas. Entertainment of this kind was a rare treat.

There was a further scuffle. Kenton tried to obstruct the men who had seized James. Roddy was hurling abuse at Bodelle but couldn't get free to take action. Bell was darting back and forth on the bank, quoting the New Testament.

"Our Lord Jesus Christ said, 'He that is without sin may cast the first stone.' Who - "

"Shut up Bell!"

They were the last words James heard. He was torn up and hurled bodily into the pond.

To keep afloat was his desperate instinct. He tried to hold his breath, but as Bell had predicted, he lacked buoyancy. His very thinness was a disadvantage. He rushed downwards into the murky water. Down. Down. Bubbles roared in his ears. He could hear but no longer see. Sounds were distorted. The outline of figures on the bank were no more. Pure horror. Terror. This was how his life had always been destined to end. From the moment of his birth, he had been heading here. Joining the First Foot Regiment; uprooting to Jamaica; choosing to farm in Virginia; every decision had brought him closer to this destiny. His lungs burned with the effort not to breathe in water. Like an eel he struggled.

Horror reached a crescendo. But after all it wasn't so bad... Even horror had its limits. It softened, blurred, diffused. His struggles weakened. The fight was lost and sensation numbed. His perceptions flared again momentarily, then faded into nothingness.

The taste, the smells, the textures of grass and mud. The blackness of the burial pit. His tombstone had not lied: the grave imprisoned him. Grief blubbered from his lips, turned into a heave of filthy water and vomit. Sounds echoed, human sounds. Voices. The world was audible, though nothing could be seen in its darkness. A finger flexed. Twitches reawakened his body and he drew breath. The familiar sound of coughing. The coughing was close, so close it felt as if he was hearing it from the inside. His eyelids flickered. Light. Wonderful light. He retched. Hands were pummelling his back.

"I think he may live!"

"Turn him over. Keep everyone back. He needs air. Go away! Stand back. Haven't you seen enough for one day?"

"James?" A rougher voice. A voice he knew.

"You are going to be alright James. Mr Anstruther is here. Suzannah summoned him. It is Bodelle who is in trouble now. James, did you hear?"

The voice reassured; the words signified nothing.

"It lies... Tell her..."

"What was that?"

Long hair tickled his face. Somebody was leaning very close.

"It lies," he breathed. "It lies. Kas - tell her my tombstone lies."

Chapter Twenty-One

"You said nothing untoward. Do not concern yourself on that score, James. Anxieties seem to have disturbed your rest, but you have really said nothing to regret."

Kenton was sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was clean, calm, reassuring, everything James needed after the murky waters of the ducking. Herbs in a bowl scented the air.

James remained sunk in the pillows. "I've dreamt and dreamt of mud and the burial pit."

Kenton went to a small table, poured water into a glass and added a few drops of tincture. He placed the glass besides James. "Your rest has been disturbed by nightmares. You were reliving, I think, the water test."

"No, not the ducking. The burial pit. I thought I was there. I could taste mud."

Anxiety clouded Kenton's eyes. "The pond waters perhaps. Or the turf. I pumped water from your lungs. You were face down on the mud."

"Lungs..."

Kenton leant forward. "You were hurled into the pond. Don't you remember?" He hovered waiting for a response which didn't come, then moved to leave his patient in peace.

"Don't go." James's voice was faint.

Kenton returned to the bed. "Would you prefer Suzannah sat with you?"

"No..." James regathered his strength. "How was I saved?"

"When they dragged you away to the pond, I urged Suzannah to stay safely in the house. In her condition it was imperative she didn't see you killed. I ordered Thomas to guard her." He paused to contemplate the full range of disasters which they'd avoided. "But she took the initiative. She raced to Anstruther's home in the hope that he might be there and met him riding back from the governor."

James drank in the details. "And I was hauled out?"

"Anstruther's servants did that. I thought you dead, but I pumped water from your lungs and discovered a spark of life. You were muttering about your tombstone, but there was no way I was going to let you slip away once I detected that spark."

A long shadow was cast from the doorway. Suzannah looked to Kenton and found reassurance in his eyes. "It is good to hear you talking rationally, James." Her voice was rich and warm.

Kenton rose, but Suzannah looped her arm though his to stay him.

A ghost of a smile stirred James's features. "You have a lump over your eye, Kenton."

"That was in the fight. I am not normally a man of violence."

"You should have seen him, James. He even hit that gnome Turner with a pan."

James's body was shaken by a feeble laugh. "I saw Turner go down." He swallowed. "But everything happened so fast. I didn't know who hit who."

"Your friend Owen was worth his weight. I kept him here overnight as he was knocked about, but he rode home as if nothing had happened. We even had Bell here for an hour."

"Bell? The minister? What was he doing?"

"He had been in town and chanced to be drawn to the fracas. The New Testament was his weapon to combat witch hunters. He fainted when you were slung in and we had him on our hands as well."

"Oh... And you are sure I will face no charges?"

"You are safe. It is Bodelle who is being held."

"Has Kenton told you about the extraordinary occurrence, James?"

There had been so many extraordinary occurrences. "Which one?"

"Concerning the woman."

James thumbed his disordered memory. "Epiphany?"

"Yes, and the other one."

"The crowd at the pond got bigger and bigger as word spread," took up Kenton. "You'd already been hauled out of the water and were lying on the bank like a dead fish, when a pretty little woman forced her way through. Epiphany was still squealing that you were a witch and you'd killed Dodds. The little woman went right up to her and gave her the greatest slap across the face which you've ever seen. Epiphany nearly ended up in the water too. You should have seen her. For once she hadn't a word to say."

Sleep was claiming James, but his tired mind made a last connection. "A yellow dress? Was the pretty woman in yellow?"

"Yes." Kenton exchanged a glance with Suzannah. Softly he answered, "She wore a fine gown. She must be very rich. She has been to the house here, to check that all was well. She knew you a little in Jamaica, she said. We took her for the old friend who you spoke of."

James had already drifted from the conscious world, where Suzannah and Kenton still conversed in low voices, but a small smile curled his lips.

Chapter Twenty-Two

James had plenty of time to reflect during his recovery at the Blizzard's house. His life in Virginia was approaching its end - it had almost come to an end in the absolute sense. Kenton and Suzannah had fixed their date for leaving, and it was imminent. Get his crop in the hogsheads and he'd be gone too.

He could go home, but there he would still have to watch Geoff sitting beside Kas at dinner, walking with her, talking with her, enjoying all the privileges of being her wedded mate, while James had no guarantee of ever turning up something similar.

But guarantee of a different sort had opened up: Pernel offered him a new life and the trauma of the ducking had made him reassess that offer. He didn't doubt that the children were his and he accepted that in creating them he had initiated an obligation. If Tom Eland had lived, that responsibility was hidden in the hands of others, but now Tom was dead it was time to step forward.

And there was Pernel, vivacious, bright, witty, very pretty. His great friend. She offered more than most women - and she wanted him. She did not represent the person he had really sought. She was nothing like Kas or Suzannah, but - but that train of thought needed to be snipped. He was almost twenty-nine now and couldn't wait forever hoping to stumble over some single woman possessing a tick list of Kas's qualities. No happiness lay down that route.

So he sent a spidery note as soon as he was able, assuring Pernel that his stay on earth was likely to continue longer and promising to call as soon as he could leave his bed.

Against Kenton's advice, he went to the Holly Tree at the first possible moment. The proprietor, Fosdyke, was expecting him.

"I thank God to see you alive and well, Mr Mace. We hope this talk of sorcery will be done with now Dodds is dead." Fosdyke remembered to drop his voice. "He was like a carbuncle which grew on my arse once and stopped me sitting down, till old Cartwright lanced it."

"Very apt."

"And Bodelle and Turner are in trouble. I never liked them, especially Bodelle. Entitled to everything, that's his attitude. Glad he's been brought down. I was told to give you a letter," he continued, recalling himself. "I knew you'd come." He went to a cupboard, unlocked it and drew out some sealed sheets. "Mrs Eland left it for you."

James's heart gave an irregular beat. Life had taught him to expect setbacks. He thanked Fosdyke and took the letter into a quiet corner.

Dear James

Events in Williamsburg have overtaken us, and I will have sailed when you read this. Ever to the point, thought James. I slapped the daughter of an important man and though I'm protected by my wealth, I think it best not to hang around. Watching that harpy screeching made me understand why you don't like people much. And so many idiots willing to listen to her!

James, I have not changed my mind. I want to marry you. Tom tied some of his money up in trusts for me and the children, so those portions can never be separated from us, but much will fall under the control of my husband, if I remarry. With most men it would be a risk, but you are honest and will deal fairly with my money, I know. I'd trust you above all men.

You know that I wanted you even when it would have meant running away from Tom with nothing at all. I wanted James the man. And I want you still. Time has changed us both, but I believe we can still be happy together.

I will never tell the children that you are their father. It would not be for the best, though they are young and will hardly remember Tom in future years. Admitting to being an adulteress would achieve nothing for me and might make them hostile to you too. If you marry me, you will simply be their stepfather.

I have plantations to run, a rum business to manage, much else that you could turn your great energies to. You will point to difficulties about the slaves. This can be worked out. James had forgotten that in his desire to change his life. I have already made a will freeing all of them on my death. More can be done.

Enclosed here is an address. James, write to me as soon as you know your own mind. I do not wish to bring pressure on your decision. That would not make for a happy future. But let me know as soon as your mind is made up.

Pernel Montoya Eland

Kenton evidently read something in James's expression when he came back from the Holly Tree. He was carefully packing medical instruments away in boxes with lots of felt padding. His medical rounds had stopped. He was dealing with nothing but emergencies now. Life in Virginia was already over for Kenton and Suzannah and they were investing nothing else in it. "Did you manage to thank your old friend?"

"...No. She has sailed. She feared consequences from striking Mistress Dodds."

That satisfied Kenton. "I don't think she needed to worry on that score. Thomas heard from a servant of Anstruther that her father is furious with her. He has packed her off to the country again. Anstruther is anxious that the lawlessness will reflect badly on him, no doubt. The governor himself is asking questions."

James opened the empty instrument cupboard. His expression was bleak.

"Is something wrong? Something else, I mean?"

"No, but the empty cupboard sums up a great deal in life."

"Ah, yes... Change... But I am starting to feel new optimism, James. I think you will too when you are out of here."

You haven't fully grasped yet that new beginnings don't automatically improve everything, thought James. And hard work isn't enough on its own either, you need luck, too.

"As you know, I was not best pleased by the prospect of a child in our unsettled state, but my views, or my feelings have changed. I am growing excited."

"Ah, I am pleased for your hopefulness then."

Kenton closed the last box and looked about the room which was empty except for the sparse furniture. "Well that is it. Nothing more to be done here."

These months James and Suzannah had exerted an iron will in staying apart, and it was only during the last day or two that he sought her in the garden, when he spotted her alone. The windows were shut, the wind was blowing: their voices would not carry if anyone was placed to overhear them. Her eyes were shy and uncertain when she saw him.

"I only made an excuse to come out here, James," she murmured, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. "This was where I was happiest, during our year in Virginia. It started as a bare yard and it will return to being a bare yard. These trees will never give us fruit."

"Someone else will benefit. All your efforts will not be lost." He took a breath. "Tomorrow I will ride back to the farm and get the cart. Then I will be ready to take you to the harbour. And I will take Oats and Mouser to Roddy. He is pleased of them."

She nodded and her shapely lips compressed. He longed to know what she was feeling in this moment but knew that she would keep all her emotions hidden. They had shared an hour of passionate connection, but that experience had, if anything, intensified not diluted her devotion to Kenton. It had clarified issues.

"As soon as I am finished with my tobacco I will be gone too."

"Home?"

A long silence. "That is why I wanted to speak to you." He paused, then plunged on, "Suzannah you mustn't think less of me, but I plan to marry." No point in beating about the bush.

She looked quickly away.

"I have told no lies about my life, but in Jamaica I knew a lady who has since become a widow. Mrs Eland visited me recently to reveal her changed circumstances. I would have told you all, but events ploughed me into the ground, and I had no chance. She is active about these parts on her late husband's business and was travelling to Rhode Island. It was Mrs Eland who smacked Epiphany Anstruther's face on the day of the ducking and called at your house afterwards." He dropped his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "Suzannah, if things could be different with you, Mrs Eland would belong to the past. But things cannot be different and I need my life to change. I've been alone in a shack for too long. I'm nearly twenty-nine and I've had enough of sitting on the outside of life looking in. I like Mrs Eland. She likes me. I am taking this chance. The future may bring no better opportunities."

She took a great breath, steadied herself. "I wish you well James. Truly I do." Ticks flickered about her face and her lips parted as if words wanted to be spoken, but with an effort of composure she suppressed those words and passed slowly into the house.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They sailed within days. James felt a complete spiritual inertia when the moment came to drive them to the harbour. He had experienced painful separations in the past, but youthful optimism had buoyed him up then. Optimism was no longer his automatic friend.

Their few boxes were stored on board, then the three of them stood near the gangplank living out their last moments of friendship.

"We will maintain contact," Kenton promised. "Though it may be difficult."

"If all else fails, send word to Hill House. My father is a discreet man with other people's secrets."

"We wish above all to find lasting security now," Kenton said.

The bell rang on the ship and a voice yelled for all to board.

"Goodbye James. This year would have been bland without you."

Mine would have been worse than that.

Suzannah took both James's hands, but seemed not to trust her voice. Their eyes met for a painful, super-concentrated moment, then she turned onto the gangplank. Kenton followed. They gave a last wave, a final backward glance.

James watched them disappear through the hatch to the lower deck and with the emptiest of hearts turned away.

When he pulled the cart up before his farm, he realized that he had no recollection of completing the journey. He had driven in a lonely daze, only wishing to be home, though little but duty awaited him there.

Pink came out when he heard the cart trundling and read his master's expression to the extent of stepping forward to deal with Bobsworth, for once. Despite his dust and ashes loneliness, James craved solitude and the Pinkertons left him to it as soon as supper was served.

When he was alone and brandy was fuming in the glass, James took a quill. For five minutes he only brushed the feather along his smooth cheek, then he began:

Dear Pernel

I decided almost at once to accept your proposal of marriage - Bah! It was true, but he couldn't write that. No woman would want to hear it. He tore the paper up and started again.

My dear Pernel

This phase of life is coming to a close. Soon the crop will be in the hogsheads and I will be free to leave Virginia. Believe it or not, I am even happier to quit this place than I was Jamaica.

Pernel I want to marry you and have you for my wife. That is the truth. I always cared for you and I know that you care for me...

He did not write a long letter. He did not say very much. When he was finished, he reread it three times, to be sure nothing could be misconstrued. Wax fastened the letter shut. Tomorrow he would convey it on its way. Once sent it could not be rescinded. He understood that.

He stared into the darkness beyond his candle flame. The candlelight created strange shapes of familiar objects. His coat and hat hanging on a peg cast a shadow oddly like the profile of C.J.Dodds. Nerves were not James's weakness. He disregarded the shadow. He picked up the letter, stroked it with his fingers, considered. It would be easy to burn it in the flames, but he didn't.

Tomorrow he could think again. If he liked.

###

Thank you for reading Tell Her My Tombstone Lies. If you enjoyed it, you may like to take a moment to leave a review. Think a friend might enjoy the story? Encourage them to download it from their favourite retailer.

Mi Ackland

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Discussion Questions

What motivates Epiphany Anstruther to accuse James?

James considers Kenton to be a better man than himself, how far do you agree with this?

Does C.J Dodds create trouble in Williamsburg, or merely provide focus to existing forces?

To what extent does James gain more self-knowledge in Virginia?

Why is Suzannah's devotion to Kenton deepened by the encounter she shares with James?
