tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37419501447002443532024-03-08T01:36:21.189-08:00AbergennyBy Jeannette Holland Austin, the author of 100 plus genealogy books. Find your Ancestors. Digital images of wills and estates, transcripts, marriages, traced families.....Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-69877518136181651802011-11-16T20:17:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:17:12.579-08:00Chapter 1 The castle Abergenny was a magnificent stone structure located in Wales, was awarded by the British crown to the first earl, George Nevil, for his service during the English wars. The barony passed in lineage to the 5th earl who died without an heir and thus the estate passed in abeyance to his sister, Matilda, wife of Sir George Manigault, duke of Cornwall.<br />
Matilda had suffered financially in her marriage to a faithless and impoverished duke washed clean of his titled inheritance by a long lineage of dukes who mismanaged the estates in Cornwall. They had combined their paltry fortunes to travel to the colonies and establish a mediocre plantation in Charleston, South Carolina. Too, when the American patriots won their war for independence at Yorktown and Lord Cornwallis made his hasty retreat, they found themselves in the company of other loyalists retreating to New Providence Island in Barbadoes. All that remained was the misery of waiting for Matilda to inherit her fortune from her older brother, the coveted Abergenny and its titles. When it finally happened, they were immensely relieved. Matilda rushed to sail to Wales while the duke stayed behind to retrieve the treasure he'd buried on the Charleston plantation and the one precious heirloom missing from her collection, the diamond brooch given to the first marquess of Abergenny and inscribed with the family crest. Her suspicions were that her husband had given the brooch to Miss Catherine Winship, a popular Charleston girl attempting to break into the aristocracy. A letter was sent by him from Port Royal announcing his delay in acquiring passage. She did not care how long he delayed or even if he had a tryst with Miss Winship but she did want the brooch. His personal ambition for the earldom would assure his arrival. Eventually she would see the coal black hair and greedy brown eyes pleading with her to understand him. In the meanwhile, she prepared the great house to receive a number of guests for an extended visit. That was her purpose, to spend large sums of money entertaining the nobility. <br />
Lord Manigault came running in the flustering haste of a coach over-powered by his excitement to view Abergenny. The coach wound itself through a village to an old stone wall which marked the boundaries of the old fiefdom. The coachman passed through an opening and maneuvered the ruts in an old field road which led to the castle. The journey seemed to be endless, but the duke comforted himself with the thought that he was the earl and all of this was his so long as Matilda lived. Then the ancient estate would revert back to the crown. He shoved back into the corners of his mind the worry that he might out-live her and be inconvenienced thusly. When the coach finally came to a stop in front of the castle, he brushed off his suit of clothes and awaited the coachman to assist him down. Then he stood admiring the vast stone steeples and spheres, counting to himself a hundred windows. It was a modern castle by all accounts. A set of steep steps was laid out before him. He was still beset by the injuries of his recent dual, so he took his silver-tipped cane and gently maneuvered himself up each step. It was a trying experience which he would blame on his infirmities and advancing age. <br />
The inside of the castle was elegantly drawn in the taste of the first earl. Generations had sublimely passed with few alterations. The Neville family crest was ornamented in the dark maghony wood and furnishings. It was something that all of his predecessors accepted, so Lord Manigault settled his mind to it. His trunks were dispatched into the old lord's chamber of thirteen adjoining rooms. "A place of great loneliness," he thought when he saw it.<br />
Matilda was waiting for him in his small parlor. It would be a rare appearance into his quarters. He folded his body to the waist, bowing only as deeply as the pain in his side would allow.<br />
"So pitifully unrefined. You must improve this shameful display before you present yourself to the king to be knighted!" She said disapprovingly.<br />
"Yes, my dear," he said while moving towards her to kiss her hand, but she swatted him away. "My dearest wife, how I cherish the vision of you once more and aspire to the hope of our love and mutual happiness at Abergenny."<br />
"First, explain your delay."<br />
"I suffered a long protracted delay in Port Royal. When finally an English ship arrived, it was a cargo vessel. Nevertheless, the captain took his bribe and transported me to Gravesend where...."<br />
"I do not care to learn of the sorted details of your inconveniences, sir."<br />
"I dug the treasure from our old garden in Charleston and packed it inside of two trunks."<br />
"Trifles, compared to Abergenny. Pray tell me about the brooch?"<br />
This was the moment that he dreaded; his face stung with a red flush. While he hesitated, she put a monacle to one eye and observed his shabby attire. During the long journey, the duke's wardrobe became shabby and he of necessity discarded his finest brocade vest, several lace shirts, cumberbuns, trousers and stockings. The vissitudes of duelling and subsequent bleeding through clothing had demanded its disposal. <br />
"Regretfully, I could not recover it, my dear."<br />
"Miss Winship possesses it!"<br />
He blushed again. "Yes, my dear."<br />
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her eyes were filled with resentment and disgust. "From henceforth," she said as an announcement, "there will be no more of your disgusting bantering and fourberie."<br />
"Yes\, my love."<br />
"Do not speak of love to me, your lordship!"Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-6180909564619255072011-11-16T20:16:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:16:39.298-08:00Chapter 2 The knighting process occurred at Westminster, an uncomfortable journey from Monmouth. A great preparation was made in fashioning a new wardrobe for the duke and he practised bending to his knees. When the moment finally arrived, he knelt with great awkardness before the king while a stabbing was sent jabbing throughout his hips and legs. Matilda hid her embarrassment, protracting high her aristocratic chin.<br />
"I dub thee, Lord Neville, 5th earl of Abergenny," the king said, droitly dubbing each shoulder with his sword.<br />
"Take heed my husband and know that you are George Neville, 5th earl." Matilda told him afterwards, still angry over the fact that she was unable to display the diamond brooch on her dress when she was presented to the king. "Do not speak to me of Manigault ever again. That name is a soiling memory in Cornwall and a humiliating influence in this great house."<br />
"Yes, my dear. Oh fain that I should remind the nobility that you stooped to marry a mere duke, a Manigault." The intonations of his voice were sarcastic, intended as an insult, yet said softly so the unclever Matilda did not know for certain. <br />
And so it was. The former life disappeared. The dreams of being Lord Neville had come true but the prospect of sharing it with the cold and arrogant Matilda was depressing. And for all of his cravings to be the earl, he had no idea of the responsibilities and hard work necessary to maintain a solvent estate of so many impoverished tenants. Nor did he understand the wealth required to staff such a large house and entertain the nobility. When he became emeshed in that burden, he soon forgot the ongoing quarrel between himself and Matilda, As a matter of fact he also forgot the promises that he had made to himself respecting being faithful to his wife. The duel with Angus McDonald served to teach him the lesson of discreetness, a challenge which he seemed to enjoy as he set upon himself the course of using unmarked coaches on his trips to the baudy houses in London. His adoption of an alias (George Mans) was a brilliant stoke of genius and was in frequent use. The fleeting comfort that he found with these whores was demeaning and shameful but surmised that so long as he was George Mans he could do anything and not get caught.<br />
Oh the flesh! So weary, so tired, so needy. Alas, the time arrived when his weary old bones were too exhausted to make frequent trips into London and he defied his own rules. As luck would have it, the young daughter of an older maid trained to clean the third floor was re-assigned to his quarters. In all of the years at Abergenny, Matilda had only visited him once so lowering the mantle of caution and secrecy was a rational conclusion that he could use this maid. Milly was too young, too cooperative and too anxious to please. All of these qualities went against her as she encountered an earl who could seduce and impress with power and influence. He was the age of her own dear father, but more dashing and handsome as he flaunted his silken dress robes and jewelled fingers. Not that she had ever entertained the idea of kissing an older face, but this one shone with a zest for life and told her stories of foreign lands. Too, it was well-known among the servants that the earl had never slept with the marquess. After awhile, Milly gave birth to their first child, a son. The earl counceled her into the utmost secrecy and to give the boy the name of her father, Trask Martain. He then sent the child to the family home in the village to be raised by her grandmother. With the child out of sight, Milly was less tearful over the fact that the child was a bastard of the earl and that she had to pretend that she'd slept with one of the boys from the village. Her permiscious nature thus established among the servants, the earl was satisfied. She gave birth to another child, and then another until finally Milly demanded more of him than his banishing her children to the village. She complained that her grandmother was too old to raise more children. He resolved the issue by retiring Milly's mother from Abergenny service and providing a pension adequate to support the family. But of course Milly would continue in service. The arrangement was pleasing to all parties. Did Matilda know? If she did, she never spoke of it. In fact, Matilda was so emeshed in entertaining her peers and the nobility that she was separated from the reality of the earl's labors to maintain the solvency of Abergenny. And the earl was well aware that he went unloved by his wife and his mistress. The middle-aged marquis examined his soul and emerged with deep probing questions as to his true purpose in life. And there was always his pragmetic self warning "take care, take care of the future".Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-17132005385196423332011-11-16T20:16:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:16:15.420-08:00Chapter 3 <br />
The years flew by and when rumors of another war with America pressed his ears he was half shocked and half delighted by the arrival of a letter from Catherine McDonald. Any news from Catherine was not to be mused but regarded with the utmost seriousness. <br />
The letter was presented on a silver tray by his secretariat.<br />
"What is this hand-writing?" He asked curiously.<br />
"A lady from Charleston, my lord," Potts said cautiously, aware of the earl's clandestiny and insistance upon privacy.<br />
"No need to wait. I shall draft a response later," he said shooing Potts away with fingers adorned in diamonds and rubies.<br />
Sitting alone in his morning room, a place of privacy and solace, he gingerly opened the letter and flattened it across his writing table. For a moment, though, he paused to remember her face, the opague doll-like skin and large brown eyes. Catherine Winship. The one woman with whom he would have had a serious affair, had she agreed.<br />
"Lord Manigault," she wrote. What? Do Americans not understand Engliish titles and rank? "As you hath no doubt heard, we are once again at war with Great Britain and the harbor in Charleston is in danger of being attacked. In the interest of safeguarding our property, my husband is a colonel in the militia and spends much time away from home. Too, our crops wilt in the fields for want of a vessel to get through the lines." The view of british man o-war ships in the Charleston harbor flashed in his mind. Although he thought so at the time, those days were of no hardship to him then. After all, he'd hob-nobbed with the soldiers, partied with the officers and adopted the political views of the british. During that blockage it was the local citizens who'd suffered a great loss of wealth. What did that matter to him? He had never felt ashamed or had a remorseful moment over it. He read on. "Several years hence my son Roderick chose to pursue his academic studies at Oxford University for which purpose my husband established a stipend to pay his necessities through our London factor, Mr. Biggers. Because of the current crisis, he is no longer able to send the stipend. Thereore, Roderick will of necessity quit the university. His last letter to me expressed a desire to remain abroad and because of the war my husband agrees. I write this letter for this reason, to ask you to kindly employ Roderick at some useful task at Abergenny. Your obedient servant, Catherine McDonald." <br />
Hmmm, so the boy is at least twenty years of age and having attained a love for the britons, cared not to return to his roots. The earl placed a clean parchment on the table and dipped his quill into an inkwell. His letter was addressed to the dean of Oxford. He would request that the dean send three students to Abergenny for an interview. When he had finishing writing the dean, he crumbled up Catheriine's letter and put it into a trash basket under his table. <br />
"Mr. Potts, do not forget to burn this trash in the fire," he said pointing to basket. Potts swept up the basket and burned Catherine's letter over the logs. His master had a fettish for the daily burning of trash. He had been sworn to secrecy in the earl's affairs and had learned to act quickly and never to reveal the name of the earl's friends.<br />
"Here is a letter you should deliver to the dean of the College of Oxford. He will show you a list of students having high grades. Select three from that list and interview them yourself. Make certain that one of them is Roderick McDonald and that you select him."<br />
"Shall I persuade master McDonald to accompany me to Abergenny?"<br />
"Yes, and do not leave Oxford until you hath his trunk in tow."<br />
Mr. Potts had been hired specifically to be privy to the earl's personal affairs. This assignment like so many others was secretive and required the utmost finesse and discretion. He was to pretend that he was making a selection from three students when he was sent after one person. He had an idea that Roderick McDonald would play an important part in the affairs of Abergenny, but never guessed how the young man would play such an integral part in his own life. He seemed admirably polite and possessed the American manners of the handshake rather than the bow. Americans had little regard for the nobility and Potts wondered if he would afford the earl his proper respect.<br />
Mr. Potts delivered Roderick into the little parlor and secured the double-doors behind him. The the earl knew at once that the young whelp with a thick head of red hair and flashing blue eyes was the son of Angus. The boy was tall and lean, several heads above his father, but he had that same electric energy and zest for life.<br />
Roderick was led through several corridors of dark oak wood and single candelabras attached to the walls before reaching the earl's plush study. His inquisitive eyes darted quickly about the room, noticing an excessive display of carvings of the Neville crest on the furniture and along the book shelves. Roderick figured that the whole of the English law library was contained on those shelves. The rafters in the ceiling, stone fireplace and wooden walls and floors reminded him of an old Irish solar where the warriors gathered to eat and drink after battle.<br />
The earl himself rested his back against the tall back of an ornately carved chair with a red velvet seat, a distinctive piece from an earlier era. His fingers were stretched across the cushioned arms, laden with a garish selection of garnet and ruby rings emeshed with diamond settings. His fingernails were manicured. He wore a satin morning coat wrapped at the neck with a purple sash which accentuated his dark brown eyes and coal black hair. <br />
"We are creatures of tradition," the earl said as Roderick absorbed the makings of the room.<br />
Roderick bowed politely. "Yes, your lordship."<br />
"One does not alter the past by changing its style. It is as much a part of us now as ever. That is what I believe."<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
"Thus Abergenny operates as a fiefdom with a substantial estate of tenants whose roots are planted as deeply as the first earl Neville and whose traditon it is to farm the land. When there is drought or too much rain or illness on the part of tenant then he produces very little which renders him unable to pay his rent. One does not remedy the situation by removing the tenant of his inherited tenure. There is a delicate skill in the management of such situations but my overseer is old and bears watching."<br />
"Would that be my employment, sir?"<br />
"Allow me to finish. You cannot imagine in your most posterous dreams how much tedium is required in this duty. I personally spend long hours each day laboring over ancient accounting practices. The whole system needs restructuring." <br />
"I am trained in bookkeeping with a degree in literature and the arts. Also, I can speak french," Roderick said proudly.<br />
"Hmmm, never mind the french as the gordy welsh accent is beyond anything which can be refined. Do you think that you can forget your American roots and emesh yourself in old traditions?"<br />
"You are asking if I can accept this way of life?"<br />
"I ask because England is in but another war with your country and you may resent that fact. How do you feel about it?"<br />
"Well, sir, my formitive years were spent in the boarding school of the academy of Charleston and then my father sent me to Oxford University that I might manage his plantation afterwards. I am already enmeshed in the old ways. And as you say, the war is meddlesome and preventing me from further study and returning home."<br />
The earl stood to his feet and taking the silver-tipped cane lying beside his chair hobbled across the room to the fireplace. The old dueling injury had taken its toll with the years. He appeared older than he actually was and vulnerable. "This old house can be chilly," he said warming his hands over a banked fire. For a few moments, he was quiet. Roderick was having regrets over his little speech.<br />
"I pray that I have not offended your lordship."<br />
"Oh no, I was only recalling the many occasions that I found myself adjusting to change. You see, I was a British citizen in your country at the time of the American Revolution." Roderick seemed confused. "Tis a rather long tale that I shall not bore you with. Suffice it to reveal that I was not always the earl of Abergenny and came into this circumstance due to my wife's inheritance. That, too, can change. Yes, my own situation seems to be in a constant state of change and adjustment, something I learned to accept.."<br />
Roderick nodded. "Should my employment not be permanent due to peculiar circumstances, I will adjust to that, sir."<br />
The earl's lips curled upward in an effort to smile. "Your discretion in all things must be absolute." <br />
Mr. Potts entered the room and emptied a full trash basket onto the fire. "May I introduce Mr. Potts. He is my personal secretariat and privy to my personal affairs. You will be sharing confidences. Follow his discretionary lead because he knows the art of silence."<br />
Potts bowed politely and made his exit.<br />
"Abergenny is on solid grounds, but your charge is to help me to establish a private investment account with Biggers & Company, one of the largest factoring companies in London."<br />
Roderick scratched his head. "I believe that is who handles my father's factoring."<br />
"Indeed! My information is that Ashley Loche is one of Mr. Bigger's largest accounts. That is one of the reasons that you were selected, my boy. Your influence should have a free hand there."<br />
Roderick seemed satisfied but not his curiosity. In the months which followed he would hear of an intricately woven plan to hoard money.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-54848381541454387742011-11-16T20:15:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:15:48.627-08:00Chapter 4 Roderick was given a bedchamber in the west wing where his trunk was already delivered and his wardrobe and toiletries already placed inside of a dark cherry french armoire. He took stock of his situation. He would sleep in a 4-poster bed with a wooden canapy. The mattress was somewhat lumpy from muskiness and moisture in the house and his pillow was a wooden bolster designed to maintain coiffures. <br />
After three years at Oxford, he possessed the accent of any high-bred gentleman and dressed accordingly. But when the money ran out he found himself scrimping and counting his shillings. He considered himself in good fortune to be resident of such a lavish estate and employed as the manager of the earl's assets. Obviously there was a great deal of trust and secrecy involved of which he was to learn more of such pecularities during the coming months. The earl observed the staunch traditions of the true englshman who never spoke publicly of his personal preferences and especially never shared his interests with the marquess. They existed in two different worlds, Lady Matilda in a constant flutter of entertaining her peers and the nobility. The earl likened her flamboyant display of the hereditary jewels strung around her neck as a a precious stone in a sow's ear. As for himself he was yet taunted by fearful memories of losing his duchy and after the long years of waiting for the death o Matilda's brother so that she could inherit, was determined not to fritter away an earldom. It was his<br />
attention to details which caused the fiefdom to prosper. So it was that as the months passed the earl's plan was drawn into Roderick's thinking. Whether he waited to find Roderick trustworthy and capable before he revealed it or it was because the physicians said that Matilda had a weak heart, he did not know. It simply took time to craft it.<br />
Late one afternoon the earl called Roderick into his rooms.<br />
"You may have heard me recount my genealogy as being the last heir to a badly mismanged and spoilt dukedom in Cornwall."<br />
"Yes, your lordship."<br />
"Before I attained the title of Lord Neville, I was known as Sir George Manigault, duke of Cornwall." He paused to see if Roderick recognized the name and when he did not, continued. "Thus, in order to handle my personal affairs expeditiously outside of Abergenney, I assumed an alias. George Mans. It is this alias that I prefer when you establish certain accounts for me in London."<br />
"Sir?"<br />
"Quite so. An alias is sometimes used by the nobility as a means to privacy. The uncertainty of us all! I wish for you to attend Mr. Biggers personally and establish an account for George Mans. He is to be told nothing, except that I am a british entrepreneur and adventurer on the high seas. Your deposits into this account will always be made in person. No one else will share the knowledge of this enterprise nor accompany you on your journeys to London. The deposits will be recorded in your own handwriting and you will hide the ledger in your room."<br />
"Is this my primary employment?" Roderick asked, wrinkling his brow.<br />
"Yes, all other duties take homage to it. However, to satisfy your curiousity a wee bit, I shall tell you this. Such deposits are the means of preserving a future income for my person. Remember what I told you. My estates and titles are only symbolic so long as the marquess lives. When she dies, it all reverts back to the king."<br />
Roderick had already surmised that even though the earl used a cane to support himself, his mental accuities were sharp and he was in far better health than the marquess. Yes sir, there was a great deal of living left for the earl!<br />
"I should expect Mr. Biggers to make wise investments for Mr. George Mans and to build upon his account with the profits. Yours is the utmost precaution. You must select your verbage carefully and no one, especially Mr. Biggers, must suspect my true identity. Do you understand me, Roderick?"<br />
The new responsibility commenced the next morning when Roderick was sent to London with a purse full of pound notes and without the personal seal of George Mans. The earl did not express it, but Biggers would have to establish an account based solely upon his word. To go unnoticed, he rode in an unmarked coach and refrained from conversation with strangers. Once in London, he went directly to the Sow's Ear where he arranged to spend the night. Then walked across the bridge to a row of warehouses facing the river front. The street was crowded with peasants delivering their crops to auctioneers, local merchants readying to auction and representatives from various factoring houses preparing to purchase or sell for their clientele. It was something which Mr. Biggers had done so well for his father's rice crops. The earl had venture capital to invest in the burgeoning agricultural markets.<br />
No one seemed to notice him as the commoners and traders knocked him about in the streets. It was a familiar scene to him. This was his favorite haunt when he needed college funds. He found Mr. Biggers bidding on a substantial stack of brightleaf tobacco recently arrived from a Virginia plantation. His eyes were studying the quality of the fire-cured leaves in still in good condition for auction considering its long delay at sea passing through the blockades. It was a lucrative investment which would easily sell at a premium price. Roderick observed Biggers' excitement and his bobbling head as he experienced the joy of bidding in the tobacco at a satisfactory price. He was a short unassuming statue of a man easily recognized and respected by his peers by his traditional well-worn gray peruke wig and a pair of round spectacles on his nose.<br />
"Roderick?" He said, first supposing that the boy wanted to arrange to be paid from the empty account of his father. "Why are you not at Abergenney?"<br />
"May I have a private audience with you, sir?"<br />
"You are in good time. Early this morning a letter was delivered from one of the vessels. It was addressed to you," he said walking ahead as Roderick, wedged in the crowd, followed from behind.<br />
"A letter for me?" He shouted.<br />
"That is what I said!" Biggers answered, his head bouncing ahead through the crowd. When he reached the wharf he paused momentarily to provide some instructions for the captain of a dutch vessel. His office was located inside one of the high-storied warehouses adjoining the wharf. "This is a busy season, everyone wants a cargo shipped to the West Indies. Some vessels were lost in the hurricane which ravaged your South Carolina and Georgia coast. The rice crops failed to get through. This news, commensurate with the Americans blockading Charleston is causing panic in the markets. Luckily a cargo of brightleaf Virginia tobacco got through in satisfactory condition, which needs transportation. Perhaps you should return in a day or so, my boy."<br />
Saying nothing, Roderick drew out the earl's heavy purse and laid it on the table. Biggers lifted it and weighing it in his hand, reconsidered. "You are on the earl's business."<br />
"Well no. Actually, I am come in behalf of Mr. George Mans, a wealthy entrepreneur and adventurer."<br />
Biggers nodded. He wasn't fooled. "Cash is a much needed commodity in today's markets, especially to bribe ship's captains to take risks. Exactly who is this George Mans?" <br />
"He is an international figure who wishes to remain anonymous and whose plans are to leave England at some time in the future. In the meanwhile, he is willing to place his money at risk for the sake of profits. He wishes for you to place this money into speculative investments and accumulate the proceeds in his name and he is willing to pay the optimum commission for your services."<br />
Biggers scratched his head. "Who is this George Mans?"<br />
"I can assure you that he is an honorable gentleman of economic wisdom and ...."<br />
"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. The boy had pestered him for extra shillings while at Oxford and spent frivolous amounts on entertaining himself. He knew Roderick like the back of his hand... he was the typical spoilt child of an American planter impressed by English traditions and titles but ignorant that it was the tradesmen who were the economic backbone of society. Also, he tended to rattle on while searching for the appropriate message. "You never were a good liar, my boy. Given your recent employment at Abergenny, the logical assumption is that Lord Neville hath taken an alias." He provided space for Roderick to answer when he paused and raised a thin hairy eyebrow over his right eye.<br />
"I am sworn to secrecy, sir." <br />
"Nobless oblige."<br />
"Yes sir. My schedule is to deliver another purse next Monday. I am required to review your written accounting of the investments. Might I add that Mr. George Mans is generous and will pay whatever commission that you ask."<br />
"Agreed. Twenty per cent," Biggers said quickly aware that the earl's funds would enable him to double the declining war-time profits of his factoring business.<br />
Roderick opened his hand to seal the bargain with a handshake, but Biggers thrust the letter into it instead.<br />
"This is from my mother," he said. "I wonder why she did not address me at Abergenny."<br />
Roderick fell silent as he read the letter several times over. <br />
"How is your mother?" Mr. Biggers asked.<br />
"She is well, but my father....but my father," his voice trembled as he choked back tears. "My father is dead. Twas an accident when he was on militia duty protecting the Charleston harbor...when the hurricane struck."<br />
"Tsk. Tsk. The casualties of war. I for one am nought happy with this little war...all that it does is impede trade and drive up prices. Before that, your father's rice plantation was forging ahead as a most profitable venture. He was a genius at turning a profit. And now your dear father is gone. I am sorry, my boy."<br />
"He was the bravest soldier....was at Yorktown when Cornwallis surrendered...but now, when he arose one last time to defend his country, gave his life for it."<br />
"Yes, the loss of trade is a financial loss for your family also. When this war ends, you best consider returning to Ashley Loche and recouping the losses. I shall be here, my boy, cheering you on."<br />
<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-36831607755708734732011-11-16T20:15:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:15:22.144-08:00Chapter 5 Roderick wasted a restless evening at the Sow's Ear imbibing a tankard of ale, something the earl had alerted him not to do as drunkenness could cause a slippery tongue. Mr. Biggers' uncomfortable truth of his ultimate necessity of returning to Ashley Loche was troubling. He worried over the damage caused by the hurricane. If the force of the wind and rain forced barges to float down the street, did its intense violence also wash away his father's hardy rice plants? The main economic thrust of a plantation. He'd played in the swampy the tall grass alongside his father as he supervised the hands, designed more paddies, had new ideas. Ashley Loche was in a constant state of planning and planting. "Is there ever enough land?" He once asked. "No," Angus said, "so long as we dream there is no end to anything. We must build on our hopes." His emotions were strung high and struggling for control, squeezed his eyes shut to recall that particular day and to see the expression on his father's face. It was locked inside his square jaw and determined eyes, an inner-strength of will. As he thought of it, he wept.<br />
Eventually however, he took his drunken self upstairs and fell across the bed. After awhile, another guest of the tavern slipped into the bed beside him and commenced generating a loud snore. That annoyance, too, was better than crying. Roderick crushed his pillow over his ears and struggled to sleep. He must have slept because the next morning he awoke well after the other guest had left. He washed his face, feeling a bit nauseated and searched his brain for any further instructions or duties before returning to Abergenny. <br />
As the coach left the bridge, a smoggy rain fell over London. A trail of dark clouds seemed to follow the coach as it went into the countryside. After awhile, the smoking chimneys of cottages splattered alongside the road with their lanes of wild entwining roses and meadow grasses blended into one panoramic view of English peasantry. As the coach criss-crossed the dirt roads, whispy breezes blew the seed heads of yellow dandelions for miles and miles in the fields. It was spring renewing itself in a strange majesty of beauty after a death. As the coach near Abergenny, he found himself observing the peasants as they worked with their shovels and hoes and women carrying baskets of laundry on their backs. They resided in cottages made of wood and field-stones with broken-down fences and a milch cow tied in the yard. Centuries of tradition that one could rely upon. The weary driver anxious to get to his cottage, reined the horses rather carelessly through a turn in the road throwing Roderick to the floor. When he found his seat again, he could see the manor house through a narrowly opened window. The ancient stone edifice with its dormer windows and pitched roofs sat majestically overlooking a grassy knoll as though it were the beginning and end of all journeys. They crossed over a dam and a lake to reach the gardens which surrounded it. The coachman drew his team to a jolting stop ontop a cobble-stone plateau in front of the house. Roderick groaned. His body was sore all over.<br />
Mr. Potts was alerted as to his arrival. "His lordship needs to see you at once," he said as soon as Roderick went to his rooms. But he went first to his closet and poured a full china bowl of water to bathe his face. He smelled under his arms and smelling the stink of ale, put on a fresh suit of clothes. Then as Mr. Potts watched him slick back his hair and tuck his mother's letter into his pocket, he remarked: "I wonder if his grace could afford to hire a new coachman." Potts chuckled.<br />
He found the earl isolated inside the study. He was seated at his davenport writing a letter. When Roderick entered the room, he folded it in half and embossed it with the seal of the earl of Abergenny. "This seal belonged to the first earl Neville and now it is just another treasure of this house. I never think of it as being mine."<br />
"What troubles you?" Roderick recognized the earl's pensive, retracting mood.<br />
"Consider that I am George Mans and advise him."<br />
"The fortune of Mr. Mans is in the capable hands of Mr. Biggers of London."<br />
"How so?"<br />
"Mr. Biggers is beset by the blockades in American ports and is scrambling to turn a profit with cargoes too long at sea. But he is quick to act ahead of his peers and hath a skilled eye in recognizing Virginia tobacco properly dried."<br />
"Would you say that Mr. Biggers is a shrewd investor?"<br />
"His reputation is such and you will pay a hefty commission for it."<br />
"And your advice to me?"<br />
"God speed the purse to London so that Mr. Biggers may concentrate himself on an enterprising profit during a lull in his business."<br />
The earl stood to his feet and leaning on his cane hobbled across the room. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and there appeared more strands of gray in his hair.<br />
"The marquess hath taken to her bed for a spell." Roderick understood. <br />
"I shall go again to London at your bidding. That is my advice to Mr. Mans. In the interim I must tell you that my father is dead. Mr. Biggers informs me that he hath received no cargo from the plantation since the war began. He said that I should consider returning to Ashley Loche and do what I can to resume the rice shipments."<br />
"Hmmm. Yes, understandable. How is your mother?"<br />
"It was she who wrote the letter."<br />
"If it is not an affront to your privacy, may I read her letter and assess the situation?"<br />
Roderick slipped the letter from his pocket and gave it to the earl.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-68051418327370077022011-11-16T20:14:00.002-08:002011-11-16T20:14:58.694-08:00Chapter 6 When the earl was alone, he sat to himself and read Catherine's tear-stained letter. The words were sadly poignant and heart-wrenching and a pang of emotion touched his heart as she explained the circumstances of the death of Angus to her only son. The untrenchable Angus McDonald, arising from his struggles with unwavering determination to conquer the circumstances of his birthright, fighting for American independence, building a personal empire in Ashley Loche and finally closing the pages of his life in one last fight against the British. The earl pressed his fingers into the old hip wound dug by the unskilled sword of the foiles of Angus McDonald. Tradition had not counted when blood was drawn for it was not the finely crafted gentleman's sword, rather the wide soldier's blade which cut him. And then there was Catherine who wanted to chase after her husband but who turned back when he begged her to stay and tend his wound. the only influence which he had over her was the blood splashed over his white ruffled sleeves and satin vest and the fact that he lay helpless and bleeding in a swamp. His defeat was monumental, the cocky certainty of killing Angus McDonald was gone forever. His desperation persuaded Catherine to stay behind and bind his wound and when she did so, his passion to have her dissipated in the ordeal and embarrassing sojourn at Port Royal where he had to lie about his identity and endure the reputation of having a mistress in his room. The shameful experience taught him to regret ever having pursued the woman.<br />
But then there was Catherine, nursing him well, looking after his needs in the face of prying eyes and gossiping tongues and having no prospects of her own. That made her sacrifice a true labor of love.<br />
But finally she wrote the dreaded letter to Angus that she was expecting his child. It was not easy for her. She was afraid that her husband would not come after her. But the invincible Angus McDonald chunked his pride and came for his wife.<br />
"The paddies are washed away," she wrote, "and your grandfather labors with his own hands to save the roots, but he is old and cannot accomplish what needs to be done. I pray that as soon as the seas are freed of our enemies that you should come home and take your place as master of Ashley Loche.."<br />
As he read, fresh ideas flashed inside of his head. Ashley Loche could be his redemption! <br />
"Mr. Potts! Bring Roderick McDonald into my rooms!"<br />
"But tis late, my lord. He sleeps."<br />
"Wake him! Bring him at once!"<br />
<br />
"Roderick, my boy, thank you for allowing me to read your mother's letter. I understand that you are sorely needed at home, but do not worry, my head is cranking up ideas to save us both."<br />
"Sir?" Roderick rubbed his eyes. He had been aroused from a deep sleep.<br />
"Can you not see it? We share parallel universes, you and I. You, with your Ashley Loche and I, with my Abergenny. Eventually this estate with its titles will matricate back to the crown. Although she is strong-willed, Lady Matilda's health is declining. I dare not hope that she will recover. Eventually we must endure the sickle of the grim reaper. Ashley Loche is in a state of deterioration. The plantations require intensive labor, strict supervision, and a sort of ingenuity which your father possessed and which cannot be replicated by others. When you are in a position to return to America, it will require a great deal of ingenuity and money to restore the plantation to its former glory. Do you agree?"<br />
"Yes, my mother wrote it."<br />
" I am satisfied that you possess the McDonald stuffings to accomplish it."<br />
"What is the plan, my lord?"<br />
"But you lack the necessary funds to begin again. That is where I merge into your universe. I, with amply funds but without a home. I will provide the funds necessary to restore the plantation."<br />
"Oh no sir, " Roderick protested.<br />
"It is not in the spirit of generosity that I gender this proposal. In exchange, I would expect to share in the ownership of Ashley Loche and also to reside there."<br />
"I should write my mother."<br />
"From the tone of your mother's letter she worries over a failing plantation and the knowledge that your aging grandfather cannot save it either. But you can, you hath not the tenacity of your father."<br />
"But I am nought like my father either!" Roderick said with great emotion as tears came into his eyes.<br />
The earl smiled. "Yes you are."<br />
"How do you know these things?"<br />
"You must believe that I am well informed on such things."Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-18367107731789184582011-11-16T20:14:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:14:31.851-08:00Chapter 7 Later on, Roderick reflected on how the earl knew so much about the personal side of his father and could recognize in him those same traits. But he was mostly troubled about his proposal to invade his American sanctuary. How could he ignore such splendid generosity? He was only somewhat acquainted with the earl's character and affectations. Yet, the earl's pending dilemma was transparently as real as his own. Should he accept the proposal there was the possibility that the earl would never reside at Ashley Loche. The earl surmised that he would survive his wife. Perhaps not. The longer that he considered the idea, the more he fretted over his mother and grandfather alone in the manor, stressing over their helplessness. The earl was a private person with many secrets. For the sake of an affluent and aristocratic lifestyle, he tolerated a stubborn and unloving wife. He insisted upon his personal privacy, doubtless he would do the same at Ashley Loche. He was clever and charted almost every aspect of his situation. Returning to America was somewhat of a gamble considering his name was on a traiter's list. This time he would gamble on his future prospects and Roderick would have to gamble also. Roderick's inexperience and immaturity was against such a union. All considered though, a partnership with the earl could prove useful. Roderick tossed all night in his sleep before deciding.<br />
"There are doubts in my mind," he told the earl, "and I wish I could speak to my grandfather Duncan about your proposal before deciding."<br />
"The uncertain future?"<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
"It would be comforting, would it not, to expect that our decisions would propel us forward on a safe untroubled journey? And so much more comforting to relax and await the happy journey. But such ease and relaxation would hone off the sharpness of our intelligence and cause us to fall into the very pit that we fear."<br />
"My own impulsiveness causes my restraints, your lordship."<br />
"Ah, yes! The first cracking of the egg and a glimpse of the strange new world! I will tell you this. Before the revolutionary war, I was a resident of Charleston. When Lord Cornwallis surrendered, my name was added to a traitor's list and my wife and I left your country in the dead of night before we were arrested. It was the price of being loyal to my own country at the wrong time in history. Yours is not the only risk. You see, my boy, there is a pit waiting for me to fall into, but I am confident in my ability to avoid it."<br />
"You were acquainted with my parents?"<br />
He nodded. <br />
"Then I accept your proposal with the stipulation that I will be sole master of Ashley Loche and that my mother will never be privy to this agreement."<br />
"I shall reserve my opinion as to its management and will only provide it should you ask." <br />
"Then it is a deal between gentlemen," Roderick said, shaking his hand.<br />
"In the meanwhile, I would prefer that you return to London at the end of the week after Mr. Potts collects the receipts. But first, there is a gift for you." He removed a diamond stick-pin from a small jewelry box. "My lady's birthday party is this evening and as this may be one of her last social appearance, I should like for you to discreetly listen in on any conversations which hath to do with Abergenny."<br />
"I understand." Actually, he did not understood the earl's peculiar need to snoop. In his bedchamber he found a change of clothes laid out for him across his bed, a white dress shirt with a ruffled collar and sleeves, a satin vest of shades of blue, a wide purple cumberbun and a silk gray craveat. He attached the sparkling stick-pin to the craveat and held it up to the light. It was no paltry diamond. After dressing, he realized that Mr. Potts had these clothes tailored for him. Every detail was immaculately gendered to pass him off as an aristocrat. Later on, when the earl accompanied him on one of his trips to London, he observed his ingenious knack for disguises. As the names of each guest along with their titles were announced, he worried that he might be recognized as the one blunder bluff in the room. Lady Matilda delayed her entrance for hours and when she finally appeared in the ballroom fanning her face with one hand and lifting the hem of her jewelled-studded gown with the other, everyone turned to stare at the grayish coiffured hair decorated with tiny ruby stones and the many strands of pearls around her neck. Her sickly face was heavily powdered and there was a thick layer of rouge on the cheeks. The earl hastened to her side.<br />
"Ah alas, the guest of honor!" He declared with some pride in her eloquent attire. "No one looks more beautiful than you, my dear."<br />
"What favors do you seek?"<br />
"Only to be at your side, my lady and to share the joyous event of your birthday."<br />
As he spoke those words, she was overcome with a weak spell and seeing her helplessness, he took her arm and eased her into a chair. The guests begans parading themselves before her, offering congratulations and presenting gifts. As a large stack accummulated at her feet, Roderick heard whispering.<br />
"The marquess is not in good health."<br />
"She looks older than the earl. Is she older? She looks so unhappy."<br />
"He was an inconsequential duke before he married her."<br />
" A fortitious marriage for him."<br />
"The South Carolina Governor banished him to the Barbadoes."<br />
"And now he is the last earl of Neville. Tsk. task."<br />
"But not for long. His majesty told one of his nieces that she is to have it in perpetuity."<br />
The rumors had it that Lady Matilda was soon to die. The next morning Roderick repeated the rumors.<br />
"Babberdash! The chattering fools are anxious to gain favors from the king's niece and using this great house to do it! <br />
"Is their danger before she passes on?"<br />
He shrugged his shoulders. "The king is surrounded by Intrigue and skull-duggery. Yes, it could happen." Then he removed a hefty purse of pound notes from the safe. "That shan't deter my purposes, however. For I alone maintain the solvency of Abergenny."<br />
Roderick nodded. Unlike his predecessors, since taking charge the earl had rendered the estates into a profitable enterprise by simply keeping tabs on its affairs. It was not as though he were stealing.<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-19258766199838981412011-11-16T20:14:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:14:09.673-08:00Chapter 8 1815. America's second war with Great Britain ended three years after it had begun. The word arrived at Abergenny as incidential news. <br />
"It is time for me to go, sir, the war is ended," Roderick said, placing his accounting book on the table.<br />
The earl frowned. "You must tone down your impulsive behavior."<br />
"Sir? Here is the letter rom my mother. In January a final battle was fought on Chalmette Plantation near New Orleans causing the whole British fleet to withdraw."<br />
"An astounding event, for sure. Once again the finest fleet in the world is defeated by Americans!" He said sarcastically.<br />
"And opened the seas to commerce....." Roderick added.<br />
"Upon your departure, there can be no more discussions. Any letter which you write me might not find me or fall into the wrong hands. Therefore, we must carefully calculate our plans forward." <br />
"I shall prepare one last deposit to put with Mr. Biggers before you sail."<br />
"Perhaps Mr. Potts could take charge of future deposits...."<br />
The earl waved him off with his hands. "No, no! You of all people should realize that one mistake could ruin our future prospects."<br />
"I apologize, your lordship."<br />
Roderick paused to think of Lady Matilda. He had not seen her since her birthday party two years earlier. The earl seemed extraordinarily nervous and fidgety. "I should inquire as to the health of Lady Neville."<br />
"The marquess is gravely ill and is taken to her bed. Her physician says that she is near death, but I tell you it is her stubbornness which keeps her alive."<br />
Roderick sighed deeply. "Then I shall keep a diligent lookout for Mr. George Mans."<br />
"Look first for the letter announcing his arrival."<br />
Roderick, feeling a profound respect for the earl, bowed deeply. "My lord," he said. "It hath been a great pleasure to serve you." His own imminent departure from Abergenny saddened him. As the coach left the cobblestone lane and turned into the dirt road, he turned once for a final glance at the great stone manor that had ruled the village and countryside for centuries. <br />
The earl slumped in his chair, a long train of disconnected calculated moves racing frantically through his head. He was weary and exhausted. He imagined a weight of a thousand tons upon his neck and shoulders. He had experienced an albatross of situations for his fifty years. Could he bear up yet another metamorphosis? After an hour or so he arose from his chair to visit Matilda in her bedchamber. The room cast dark flickering shadows across it from a large draped window. A permeating odor of flowers stung in his nostrils. Her personal servants surrounded the bed waiting to do her bidding the moment that she awoke. Her last several months in bed had been particularly annoying, with her need to be fed and turned.. She was irreconcilably demanding. He stared at her dying face. Her once hefty middle-aged figure was as boney as her cheekbones. He lifted the sheet to glance at the emaciated flesh of her arms and hands. She slept with her head propped against a wooden bolster as she'd always done, to protect her coiffure. He slipped it from under her neck so that she could rest easily. He had never shared this bed with this dominating figure. She lacked softness and submissiveness, a quality which he longed to know. But now, staring at her pitifiably wasting body, he whispered. "This cold-hearted lady hath never given herself to any man." Her eyes blinked open.<br />
"George?" She perceived that the bolster was gone. <br />
"I removed it, my lady, that you could rest easily. Your coiffure is still together."<br />
Her hands felt up her hair and then fell loosely to her sides snoozing momentarily. When she awoke again, her voice was stronger. "I want the brooch," she told him. She had not forgotten that he'd given to Catherine. It was the bone of their many contentions. She would never give up. "Fetch it to me. I wish to pin it onto my gown."<br />
"I shall soon deliver it to you, my lady," he lied. "But first, I give you a tray of correspondence from your friends wishing you good health."<br />
"Has anyone come to visit me, or did you turn them away?"<br />
"My dearest wife, tis your personal physician who turns away visitors. Now, before you nap again, I need to view your last will and testament and thus need the key to your safe." Oddly enough the key was attached to a chain which she wore over her nightgown and she clutched it as he spoke. "We hath shared a lifetime together, my wife, and waited many long years for your inheritance. Surely you can trust me now."<br />
"That is exactly the point. Abergenney is mine and the brooch was not yours to take. No! You shall not possess the key until you return the brooch!"<br />
Matilda's stubbornness generated the earl's determination to open the safe before she died. It was important that all of her valuables be collected before the crown retrieved the Neville jewels and titled documents so when she fell asleep he lifted her head and removed the chain.<br />
<br />
<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-38043198181793776842011-11-16T20:13:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:13:17.647-08:00Chapter 9 Mr. Biggers was away in the country for several days when Roderick arrived in London and took a room for himself at the Sow's Ear. This is where Mr. Pitts found him devouring a plate of fried trout and corn and washing it down with a glass of beer. <br />
"Pitts, is that you?"<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
"Is there news of Lady Matilda?"<br />
"No sir, her condition is not changed."<br />
Roderick scratched his head. "Then why are you in London?"<br />
"I came to see you, sir, before you left the country."<br />
"Would you have a glass of beer?"<br />
"No sir," Pitts said. Although Englishmen considered their beer as a healthy beverage, his cautious lifestyle did not suffer him to the prospect of drunkenness. He removed his waistcoat and draped it across the chair. When he did, Roderick observed his narrow his torso, thin shoulders and narrow chest. He carried a large black valeise which he snapped opened and withdrawing Roderick's account book gave it to him. "Lord Neville said that you forgot this ledger in your hasty departure and that he wished that it should be in your possesion and that you should continue your entries." He did not tell Roderick, but enroute to London he had read the list of deposits made with E. C. Biggers Trading House. That was when he conceived his own plan. " Lord Neville also sent this letter for Mr. Biggers."<br />
Roderick read the letter. It was a letter of credit disposing Roderick McDonald to full access of the funds in the account along with the stipulation that at his death, the account should be transferred to Roderick McDonald. Signed, Mr. George Mans. The little man fidgeted with his hands, a habit he'd gotten at Abergenny when he was sworn to secrecy. He stared at the young American, considering his words carefully before speaking again. "I do not have another trade save my position with Lord Neville, although working with the earl is peculiar, do you not agree?"<br />
Roderick chuckled. "Yes indeed! Would you share a tankard of beer?"<br />
"Well perhaps half a glass," Pitts said taking ease with the laughter. They shared common ground.<br />
"I am well acquainted with George Mans, you know."<br />
"No, I did not know that."<br />
"Yes, you see, in his younger years, I accompanied Mr. Mans into London to visit the saloons and bawdy houses." Roderick was surprised. This was an avenue of the earl's personality that he had not witnessed. "After all those journeys on the road seeing his loneliness for a good woman and the peculiar way that he sought comfort....well, you have the gist of it...."<br />
"You speak plainly enough."<br />
"Lord Neville bears a great burden, you know, being high born but not legitimately titled, and a wife with whom he hath never slept. How truly frustrating his circumstances."<br />
"Why are you making me privy to this information, Mr. Pitts?" Roderick asked impatiently.<br />
"Wait, please allow me to continue my analysis."<br />
"Analysis?"<br />
"I could not have shared that experience without observing the resourcefulness of Mr. Mans, or without guessing his next maneuver. You see, he is the type of person who contemplates his every move so as to not fall short of himself. The Lady Matilda lies near death. Perhaps today or tomorrow, or even next year, she shall pass on. He waits. Thus, his most logical step next is to go to America. I believe, sir, to Charleston, to your Ashley Loche. That is why I came to ask a favor of you before you embark."<br />
"There is more?"<br />
"There is more. I wish to assure my own future. As my employment is so thoroughly entrenched in the private life and circumstances of Lord Neville, I am aware that he cannot ask any Lady Matilda's friends to retain me and that his departure will go undetected. As we speak, he his trunks are being packed with his most valuable possessions. I expect that he will up and go in the night time before anyone suspects it. As for myself, I hath no prospects of finding work elsewhere. So you see, just as abruptly as Mr. Mans will be uprooted, so will I. Thus, it is my choice is to accompany him to America, to your Ashley Loche. If I may, sir." <br />
"From what you have told me, I see that there is a distinct disadvantage in your position."<br />
"Once he embarks, he will be gone forever."<br />
"I do not know how to answer you, Mr. Pitts. I hath no employment to offer you. According to Mr. Biggers, the war devastated the economy of my father's plantation."<br />
"I should expect no renumeration from you and I think that I should like the idea of doing what I can to help you rebuild your plation. My services are invaluable to a gentleman and I can be trusted to handle your personal affairs with adeptness and skill. Lord Neville allowed me to manage his most discreet enterprises, especially the collections of his rents. I alone hath a key to the vault. As I see it, you will need a require someone such as myself to be privy to the financial transactions between Mr. Mans and yourself and to correspond with Mr. Biggers, especially during the rebuilding and planting period."<br />
"Hmmm. I wonder what my mother will think, upon my bringing two strangers into the home."<br />
"I see it as an adventure, sir."<br />
Perhaps it was his sense of adventure or excitement of going home, but Roderick was convinced. "Then it is a deal, sir. Shall we shake on it?"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-22893726398597660782011-11-16T20:12:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:12:49.433-08:00Chapter 10 Roderick received word that Biggers had returned from his long needed rest in the country. After the blockades were lifted, he had suffered exhaustion after working long tedious hours to get his old back-logged shipments out. The stench of rotting crops inside the warehouse was nauseating. Roderick found him arranging for a cargo of bricks and blown glass to be shipped to one of the American plantations. "Do you smell it?" He asked Roderick.<br />
"What?"<br />
"The smell of rot still burns in my nostrils. I am surprised that you cannot smell it. Ah, so much was lost!" He meant lost profits. "I suppose that you are wanting passage to Charleston."<br />
"Could you arrange it?"<br />
Biggers exuded a frustrated sigh and threw up his hands. "Everyone wants to ship today!"<br />
"Where is this one going?" Roderick asked, pointing to the bricks.<br />
"New England."<br />
"I should be content with any passage," Roderick said while removing Lord Neville's letter from his coat pocket. "In the meanwhile, I brought another purse from Mr. Mans with instructions."<br />
Mr. Biggers read the letter carefully, then paused. There was a gleam in his eye. "So, it appears that the generosity of Mr. Mans is intent upon rescuing your Ashley Loche and with so rich an investment he would not like it if I sent you to New England to find your way home from there."<br />
"Yes sir, but I need your advice on something."<br />
"Come with me!" He said suddenly, stepping spritely outside of the warehouse and onto<br />
the wharf. A a cargo of cotton bales were being loaded onto a vessel. He reached his hand inside one of the wired bales and pulled out a fist full of white cotton. "This is pima, sea island cotton. Tis a perennial plant grown in the islands where frost is not a threat. It produces yellow flowers on a small, bushy tree and yields cotton with unusually long, silky fibers."<br />
Roderick squeezed a cotton ball in his fist. "Yes, it feels pleasant to the touch. Would it grow well in Charleston?"<br />
"Yes, I think so. It is being planted along the southern coasts where there is full sun, high humidity and rainfall. The plant is not susceptible to much insect or fungal damage and its black seeds should grow well in your brackish soil. Although the plant does produce some briars, your darkies could easily pick it and remove the seed. I am told that southern women are spinning it into thread and fashioning a popular cloth. Also, that the sea island variety is fetching premium prices."<br />
"How many acres do you suggest that I plant?"<br />
"My boy, I would plant everything in cotton. 500 acres should wet your appetite for this commodity and deliver you a crop by August or September! Once you get a taste of its easy profits, you will think of nothing else."<br />
"But what about my father's rice. Can you also acquire rice plants?"<br />
"Forget about redigging those paddies! All that is required for cotton is a plowed field! Cotton is king!" Biggers said excitedly, thinking of the lucrative commissions he would net from Ashley Loche.<br />
"There is one last thing, sir. This is the last deposit that I should deliver for Mr. Mans."<br />
"Yes, well according to his letter, you are appointed full access to his account and that fact guarantees your future in cotton!" Roderick stared at him, absorbing the words. "That means that you shall be rich, my boy!"<br />
"There is one more thing. Mr. Mans will soon be taking passage to my plantation."<br />
An amused smile smirked from the corners of Mr. Biggers' mouth. He was still convinced that George Mans was the same person as Lord Neville and was anxious to confirm this to himself. Alas! He would see the Earl of Abergenny. "Before you take leave of London, I wish to sit down and make a list of necessary items, a cargo to accompany you. I realize that you hath not seen the hurricane damage yet nor accessed the crop failure and can assure you that nothing is repaired."<br />
"Crop failure?"<br />
"Like so many other planters, your mother corresponded with me throughout the war wanting my opinion. From her description of the situation, you will need structural changes made to the fields and barns. That is why I suggested that you not waste time re-planting the paddies, rather push through a fast cotton crop. You need silos to store cotton and a machine to gin it."<br />
That afternoon Mr. Biggers made his list and Roderick took notes of all of his comments. Only afterwards did he realize the monumental responsibility ahead of it. Several weeks passed before Biggers arranged his passage to Charleston.<br />
<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-23778552776794916332011-11-16T20:12:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:12:30.283-08:00Chapter 11 A strong tide and favorable cross winds pushed the "Elizabeth" into the North Sea for its voyage to North America. On board were a number of families who had avoided the war by visiting European relatives and were returning home. Roderick bonded with a french family by the name of Bacot. The father was named for his french huguenot grandfather Nicholas Bacot who'd settled in Charleston two generations earlier. The Bacots located along the Cooper River in a settlement of other huguenots who developed enterprising merchandising companies in Charleston. In the olden days, they paddled up the river into the center of town where the tall wooden spires of their church commanded prominenance among the live-oaks. It was in this neighborhood that the french constructed a row of cement buildings to be used as tenement houses and stores. Business thrived in this district for many years, mostly due to their clandishness and genius for making a buck. Nicholas Bacot did a cash business in his store and it is said that he hoarded jars of old french coins in his house. Also, he was known for his thrifty nature and haggling. At the first news of the war, he locked the doors of his merchandising store and packed the family back to France where they lodged with an old grandmother. The long protracted absence of three years caused him to worry over what he would find when he returned to his tenement house and store.. He managed to purchase a small cargo of iron nails and other commodities which he figured might bring him profit after a blockade. For this reason, Roderick found a common thread of conversation and learned from him something of merchandising.<br />
"Monsieur Bacot, I might be interested in purchasing a keg of iron nails," Roderick said, remembering that he had a purse. "As a matter of fact, I should like for your family to visit my home, Ashley Loche."<br />
"Oh no, sir, we cannot accept your hospitality until we access our own situation, nevertheless, I shall have a keg of nails put ashore," he said pronouncing the vowels in the old french style.<br />
"Then when your affairs are in order, please visit the plantation and let us continue our friendship."<br />
Also of interest to Roderick was Bacot's curly-haired daughter, Suzette whom he had pursued around the ship for several days until she slapped his face hard. He'd tried to kiss her and she recoiled with her little delicate hand and swatted him a stinging blow. She was a petite beauty with entrancing blue eyes and long fluttering eyelashes, but strong-willed. Her olive skin was soft to touch, irresistably appealing. But the slap was a shocking set-back, especially because thereafter she avoided him and would not so much as glance at him. So he established the friendship with her father. In fact, his plans went far into the future. He would purchase all supplies from the Pacot Company. <br />
When the "Elizabeth" sailed down the Ashley River and dropped anchor on the dock of Ashley Locke, Suzette's eyes fixed on the large manor house whose commanding presence along the river rising in the midst of hundreds of ancient live-oaktrees draped in green leaves and entwined with gray moss slowly weaving its way to the top branches. Its white columned porches accentuated the dark-green storm shutters buckled to every window and the red brick chimneys which rose far above the roof. She was too young to know the story of the richest planter in the county, Angus McDonald, and his gala fox hunts and the luxurious plantation everyone craved to visit that he built for Catherine Winship in the hope that she would marry him. From a distance she could see smidgets of flowers blooming over fallen trellises and sunken ditches replacing the footpaths which once lined with flower beds. Yet the two-storied brick house rising through the trees with its brick chimneys and dormer windows seemed to invite her inside. She was disappointed when her father refused the invitation.<br />
If her father had guessed that she was impressed with grandeur he would have reminded her not to lust have riches. She watched as sailors unloaded Roderick's cargo as well as one keg of nails from Bacot, then as Roderick waved farewell to Mr. Bacot, she removed one of her white gloves and waved it after him. Roderick thus encouraged, he focused on the nails..<br />
"Some of the docks in these parts sank," a sailor observed as waited with the keg on his shoulders.<br />
"Not this one," Roderick said, pounding his feet hard on the boards to test its stability. "My grandpa and pa built this one. Nailed and glued every plank. No hurricane will ever upturn it!" He said proudly. As he spoke, Duncan McDonald came walking across the dock dressed in the McDonald plaids overing his lacy shirt. A slight hump had grown into his back since he had last seen him, and he seemed shorter than Roderick remembered. The moment that he saw him, he recognized himself in Duncan, the flaming red hair and blue eyes was a trademark of the McDonalds. He threw his arms around Duncan and gave him a man hug. <br />
"Aye, me wee grandson Roderick, home alas!" He answered with his thick Scottish brogue.<br />
"Grandpa!" Roderick cried, throwing his arms around the old gentleman.<br />
"Look at the wee cargo ye brought with ye!"<br />
"Yes sir, I brought what Mr. Biggers calculated we needed."<br />
Catherine began to make her way out onto the dock. The sight of his mother brought tears to his eyes. He did not know it until that moment, but he'd sorely missed his family. His spirits lifted when he hugged her and felt her soft motherly body..<br />
"I am happy to be home, mother," he said sweetkt, "and shall never leave this place again!"<br />
"Not even for a war, like your father?"<br />
"There won't be any more wars in these parts," he said confidently, "for our country is too big, even for the british."<br />
"I hope that you are correct, my son."<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-72870417375891209432011-11-16T20:11:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:11:16.516-08:00Chapter 12 Roderick was anxious to access the damage and his heart sank when he saw the dams and canals washed away into big ditches and no sign of the locks or other infrastructure. Biggers' accessment was correct...rebuilding the paddies was futile. He determined not to consider using land nearest to the river for anything other than flower gardens, focal points and foot paths, a place to stroll in the evenings.<br />
Except for some fodder raked up for the farm animals, the fields were sadly neglected with the uncleared rotten corn stalks and other vegetation. What had the overseer done for three years? Roderick shook his head, realizing that it was Angus who stirred the pot and made the plantation work. He would to somehow need to step into his father's boots and take charge. His studies at Oxford and employment with the earl would assist him in the financial aspect of it, but he knew nothing of farming, only what Biggers had told him of cotton. Suddenly he saw Lucas' lean figure walking in long strides towards him, swinging his arms and whistling a tune. The sight of his father's old partner gave him a sense of endearing appreciation for the older generation. Lucas would know what to do. <br />
"Lucas!" Roderick said, shaking his hand vigorously. "I am Roderick, returned from England."<br />
Lucas chuckled. "Ye nought 'ave told me that with yer flaming red hair and father's stride.. Welcome home, boy!"<br />
"Were you able to replant?" Roderick asked anxiously, recalling that he'd once had a substantial rice crop."<br />
"Well, there is time enough to speak of crops after you are settled except to say that had we gotten the sprigs to replant, no one could get their shipments out. So we just sat on the dead weeds. But I will tell you one thing, if ye father had lasted, I believe that he would have succeeded. What are your plans?"<br />
Roderick smiled and raising his hands sweeped a space from the river to where they stood. "I plan to plant sea island cotton as far as your eye can see. I brought barrels of the black seeds all the way from London and intend to share some with you."<br />
Lucas was excited. "They say that people are getting rich from it."<br />
"Cotton is king!" Roderick said, repeating the words of Mr. Biggers.<br />
They ambled towards one of the barns needing dire repair. "We are going to need more barns and silos to keep it dry. If you prefer, we can construct those buildings as a joint-enterprise and put them in the road between our plantations but still near the loading dock. Do you have any extra plank board?"<br />
Lucas nodded. The enthusiasm of Roderick's voice was energiziing. "You just show me the spot to haul it to!"<br />
Grandpa Duncan caught on to the idea and as the fields were being plowed and the big black seeds planted invited to Ashley Loche the widows he'd with whom he'd associated before the death of Angus. The summer passed with large pitchers of lemon aid being served to the ladies on the porch while they continually played their favorite card game and remarked on the spectacle of clouds blooming in little white puff balls. "It is heartening," Mrs. Sullivan said, to see so many acres in bloom despite the damage pounced upon us by the british." <br />
"Oh no, the british can never beat us nor destroy our spirit. Angus proved that when he went up against Lord Cornwallis!" Duncan said proudly. <br />
In the fall of the year just as Mr. Biggers had projected the land was covered with spindley yellow flowers and white cotton balls. The picking began with large sacks strapped to the shoulders of darkies who worked from dawn to dust. The vision of it provided hope for the surrounding plantations. As the seeds were ginned out, all that remained were wire bales of thick white balls of cotton. With Roderick and Lucas' crops baled and ready for shipment and the pleasantly cool afternoons, Catherine decided that she would have a barbecue that all of the neighbors could view their success. Roderick hastened to send an invitation to Mr. Bacot, adding the enticement that he wished to purchase another keg of iron nails and for Bacot to bring it along. Naturally, all members of the family were invited, his wife and children, and especially the fiesty Suzette. <br />
On the morning of the barbecue the cotton bales were stacked high and wide on the dock waiting for the arrival of a vessel which Biggers had promised to send during the first week in October. If Roderick knew Biggers, he'd already obtained some generous offers from some purchasers in the London markets. His trustworthiness and opinon was so valued among his peers that he could sell most anything, sight unseen. "I want canvas over that!" He shouted while pointing to the bales, thinking of Biggers' reputation and wishing to make a good impression for himself.<br />
The neighbors began arriving in wagons and carriages. Some were those who'd rode with his father in his fox hunts, others had attended the fabulous dinner parties and balls given by his mother. They all remembered the glistening crystal chandliers hanging from the high ceiling of the foyer and a set of white wooden columns as the place where Catherine and Angus stood greeting their guests. On special occasions a spinet and couches were rolled into the foyer transforming it into a ballroom. Roderick watched the river all morning for "the Prize", a small sloop belonging to Mr. Bacot and as the morning wore on, fretted that they might not attend. Everything had been arranged to impress Suzette. All morning he was prancing around singing to himself "I want that kiss! I want that kiss!" He could not forget the taste of her lips when he gave his impetious kiss. He was already ahead of himself on his feelings for her but there was need to slow down and gain her trust. It was a task that he would have to earn for himself because Suzette was quick-minded and would put him through the drill.<br />
When she arrived Roderick was seated on the porch playing a hand of whist with his grandpa and Mrs. Sullivan and one of the young girls was practising a sonat on the spinet. The banging sounds reverberated through the foyer to the outside. From this vantage he had a full view of Mr. Bacot as he carefully tied a knot around a post and helped his wife and two daughters onto the dock. The smell of roasting pigs was in the air. His eyes fell on several spits roasting pigs and chickens then from his huguenot spirituality momentarily studied the celebratory aspect of the barbecue to make certain that his daughters were in a proper environment. An expression of satisfaction and pleasure were caught in the vision of a friendly Roderick eagerly stepping forward to greet them. A big smile on his lips.<br />
"Roderick McDonald," he said, shaking his hand cautiously. The gentlemen had exchanged impersonal information about their business while onboard "the Elizabeth". If Roderick thought that Lord Neville was overly secretative in his affairs, Nicholas Bacot had the inconvenient mannerism of not revealing the slightest detail about himself. As the day developed, Roderick found himself seeking Bacot's approval at every turn, something he felt he needed if he were to win Suzette.<br />
The petite curly-haired Suzette Bacot was sharply aware that she was being pursued. She avoided his eyes by making a polite curtsey. Nicholas introduced his wife and daughters to the porch company. Duncan attempted to convince Mrs. Bacot into playing a game of whist, but she pronounced that card playiing was against her religion.<br />
"Is that also your way, Miss Suzette?" Roderick asked.<br />
"Indeed!" Unlike her quietly discerning father, Suzette was not afraid to express her opinion and in so doing, was somewhat overbearing. Perhaps her strong opinions and the fact that she held him at bey is what attracted Roderick. He did not truly understand it but in those first months of having social pleansantries with the Bacot family, he was careful never to stand too close to her. He did not wished to be slapped nor to have to deal with his own intolerant temper should she do it again.<br />
The afternoon passed without incident and Roderick promising to open an account with Bacot & Company. He walked the plantation with Roderick observing the improvements and questioning him regarding the market value of sea island cotton. Nicholas Bacot seemed satisfied.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-1464610662060674742011-11-16T20:10:00.002-08:002011-11-16T20:10:56.049-08:00Chapter 13 Every few weeks Roderick pitched sail on "the Belle" into the Charleston harbor and made excuses to purchase supplies. On such occasions his eyes sought out the lovely vision of the petite Suzette. Her dress was always plain with a silver cross around her neck fashioned with an open four-petal Lily of France forming the Maltese Cross. He asked her the meaning of the symbolism.<br />
"The four petals signify the four Gospels. Each petal of the periphery has two rounded points at the corners and signify the eight Beatitudes. The four petals are joined by four fleur-de-lis and represent the twelve apostles."<br />
"What is the open space shaped as a heart?"<br />
"The seal of John Calvin and the ring of gold under the center petal is a pendant dove, meaning the church."<br />
"Why do you always wear this necklace?"<br />
"Because my father wants to remember the suffering of our family in La Rochelle when they were forced into Catholicism."<br />
"Would you ever consider attending the reformed Anglican church here in Charleston?"<br />
Mr. Bacot overheard the conversation and chimed in. "Ours is a simple religion, Roderick, we believe that it is our faith which will get us into heaven and not ritualism."<br />
"I am not so much for ritualism either," he said, remembering the school requirement that he attend Sunday services in Oxford. Once he was employed at Abergenny, all that changed because the local rector could never gain an audience in the private quarters of the Earl of Neville who made his annual tithes without any sort of attendance. He and Mr. Biggers were part of the private world of the earl. <br />
The huguenot community was laced with old country customs and language issues. Roderick was one of the few anglicans who engaged in business practices with the huguenots so he was sort of a phenomena or test case. The more he was intwined in that society, however, he wondered how he would ever be permitted to court a huguenot daughter. Yet, Suzette was so enticing even in her plain clothes and the Lily of France around her neck. Her large protruding eyes, thick lashes and a head of brown bouncing curles set her apart from others. Interestingly enough, the moments that he was alone with her, the restraints of her religion did not seem to apply. She had a mind of her own and tended to be manipulative. For one thing, when the family attending parties at Ashley Loche and she saw the fancy gowns and jewels of the ladies, she hinted that it would be suitable for him to make her a present of jewelry. She particularly fancied the diamond brooch which his mother had pinned to her dress. He was oblivious to the circumstances of the brooch but was well aware that Catherine treasured it above all other jewelry. Afterwards, Roderick made it a habit to contribute little items to her jewelry box which she kept out of sight from the scolds of her father. The gifts were received with a slight curtsy and nothing more. One afternoon after presenting her with a small ruby ring, he impatiently said "I would have a kiss for this."<br />
His remark energized her with more self-confidence and smiling flirtatiously, quipped: "Only for the diamond brooch!" There it was. She would have nothing less than the famous heirloom of the marquess of Abergenny! <br />
"So long as my mother lives, I could never give you the brooch, but if you will marry me it will be yours as an inheritance."<br />
"You mean that becoming your wife is the only way to acquire that brooch for my dress?"<br />
"There are other advantages to such a position," he said assured of the prosperity that cotton was bringing to the plantation.<br />
"When my father trusts you completely, I shall consider it," she said, putting a condition, knowing full well that she had the power to weedle his permission.<br />
"I should have thought that your father would trust me by now," he said seriously, "owing to the fact that I trust him to provide my plantation needs."<br />
"When I am in the mood to know, I shall ask him."<br />
Roderick was insulted and he spoke his mind. "Well there is one thing that I do not approve of and that is playing games with feelings! Either your father trusts me or he does not. At any rate, I should like to know if it be not wise for me to continue my account with his store!"<br />
She smiled flirtateously and moved cagily towards him but he lifted his jaw and stood erect so that she could not make eye contact. <br />
Months passed and while Suzette held fast to the idea of acquiring the diamond brooch as an endearing bribe for her hand in marriage, Roderick mused over whether or not marriage was a good idea. Meanwhile his apparent fascination for her greweven though he tried to hide it. But an amorous young man can no sooner squelch his feelings than the moon turn purple. So he did a daring thing, took a chance upon purchasing another brooch, one inset with diamonds and rubies, hoping that it would satisfy her. The gesture was shocking and he was ashamed to tell his mother the cost of it. It nearing springtime when the family planned another barbecue. A bed of yellow daffodils opened their buds and bloomed in the yard alongside a rock foot path going to the focal point of the garden and surrounded by boxwood hedges. A cement bench was situated between two bronze statues.<br />
"Are you still angry with me?" Suzette sat on the bench and fanned herself with a plain fan tied at the bottom with two ribbons.<br />
"I suppose not."<br />
"I scarcely saw you all winter."<br />
"There is a great deal of important work to be accomplished on a plantation year-round. If you lived here, you would understand it."<br />
"Well I should like to live here."<br />
"Do you think that your father trusts me yet?" She raised a flirty brow and considered his intentions were to have his kiss, but he did not make his move. "You cannot keep me waiting forever on this matter," he insisted. <br />
"You fret too much over my father's opinion when you should be more concerned with my pleasure."<br />
"Oh but I am, Suzette," he said while removing the brooch from his pocket and putting it into the palm of her hand. She examined it carefully, turning it several times seemingly to measure the size of the stones. Then, she stood on her toes and kissed him gently on the lips. "Oh no!" He declared, "I shall do the kissing!" And with that, pulled her close and encountering no resistance delivered a long passionate kiss. "Then what is your answer?"<br />
"Yes, I will marry you."<br />
So it was that in June while the cotton bloomed its healthy crop of yellow flowers, Roderick was married to Suzette in her Huguenot church in downtown Charleston. The ceremony was simple, without the fanfare and elegance that she would have preferred. She wore a plain white gown, the Lily of France necklance, and a long veil which covered her face. She did not wear the brooch or other jewelry he had given her except at Ashley Loche. As for Roderick, he was relieved. At last he would be delivered into the arms of Venus to be smothered with the passionate kisses of human kindness and love, a place of enduring endearment and security!Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-2118863039148993102011-11-16T20:10:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:10:35.236-08:00Chapter 14 George Mans arrived on the wharf of Mr. Biggers' factory but not before having his tailor fashion him several new suits of clothes made of cotton and linen after the fashion of the Americans. He selected a wide-brim hat and replaced his silver-tipped cane with a plain wooden one. He replaced his silver-buckle shoes with unembellished leather, more suited to walking about the plantation. The silk craveat was replaced with a simple cloth cross-tie. His graying hair was trimmed in long side-burns and he wore no rings on his fingers. When he presented himself to Mr. Biggers, his disguise was the epitomy of a a southern plantation squire of moderate wealth. He still had a slight limp but his stride exuded with the impatient arrogance of the aristocracy expecting service and results. Biggers recognized the conceit and the disguise.<br />
"I am George Mans," he said tipping his hat.<br />
Biggers could not resist a big smile and clicking his heels with an affected bow. "Delighted, sir!" And he was, for Roderick's expenditures had netted him considerable profit and he wished to keep that going. "Come inside the warehouse and we can review your accounts." <br />
Mans followed him into a warehouse crammed full of cotton bales and then to a small locked room which he identified as his office. While removing a key from his vest pocket and working the lock, he said: "I am mostly handling cotton from the American plantations. You might be interested to know that Ashley Loche shipped several tons this year. It brings a substantial profit, you know."<br />
"No, I did not know," Mans answered with a bored voice, not caring about Mr. Biggers' factoring."<br />
"You should be aware, sir, this is the major thrust of your profits. Only two short years after the war and Ashley Loche is realizing profits. I think you should be pleased when you see what the boy hath accomplished." Biggers opened a large cloth book which documented a narrow column of flourishing figures written in the heavy india ink.<br />
Mans ran his fingers over a certain figure. "Is this my cash balance?"<br />
"Yes sir, but no need to worry, by this time next season you should be wealthy."<br />
Mans grumbled to himself. He was disappointed with the figure and decided not to relinquish control of his last stash from the Abergenny receipts to Biggers & Company. Also hidden inside his trunk was a large box of precious jewels and stones which had belonged to his deceased wife.<br />
"Is it still your wish for Roderick McDonald to have full access to the funds?"<br />
"Yes indeed, Roderick is a full partner." Mans said, thinking that without Roderick, he would not have a home. "How long will be my wait before you arrange my passage to Charleston?"<br />
"The 'Elizabeth' is crossing the channel now. She will take on cargo at Port Royal before going to Charleston and into the West Indies. The captain knows well the Ashley Locke plantation. I shall send you a note when she is ready." <br />
"Send it to me at The Sow's Ear," Mans said. In the interim, he figured that he would take a last visit to one of the baudy houses and that the tavern was a convenient address for a person wishing to travel incognito. They walked back to the wharf and Mans stared sentimentally at the bridge and the Thames River. "I shall probably never see London again," he announced in his crisp english accent. <br />
The big smile pressed again on the lips of Mr. Biggers. He was not fooled. Mans strolled across the bridge, pausing now and again to reflect upon his circumstances. He gave some thought to Matilda's last moments. He had been at her bedside for many days expecting a parting remark or treasure of some sort from her. She knew that he would be penniless, yet there was no sympathy or feeling inside her cold and bitter heart. He clasped her hand tenderly inside of his, but she cast it away. It was the fruits born by a loveless marriage. Still, he hated to watch the woman die. When her breath ceased and her chest was still, he leaned over her and whispered pitfully: "Goodbye, Matilda. I am sorry that we did not have love." There was a vendor selling tea cakes. He stopped and purchased one before walking on and continuing to be depressed by his memories. He rehashed the pitiful years of his dukedom, the house in Charleston where he pretended to have influence and wealth and the shameful experience of a traitor escaping to Barbadoes. He was always subject to the whims and selfishness of Matilda who even in her dying moments could not give him anything. All this, justified his gathering up her jewelry and storing it in his traveling chest. He did it to survive. Suddenly, he removed his glove and counted on his fingers the number of times that his circumstances were altered. The duke of Cornwall, a Charlestonian aristocrat, Barbadoes gentleman and Lord Neville. Now, extricated from that society, he was George Mans, an American planter. A chilling drizzling rain and fog caused him to draw up his collar around his neck and step lively towards the tavern. Mr. Potts was repacking some private papers which he'd been sent upstairs to retrieve before the King's soldiers arrived at Abergenny. No sooner than the body of the marquess was buried in the family vault than the soldiers rode on horseback towards the manor with orders to seize Abergenny. But two large trunks were already loaded onto a coach and Mans and Potts made fast their escape. <br />
That evening Mans would spend alone imbibing several tankards of ale, but even with his cautious disguises his eyes would watch keenly for any sign of soldiers. He required that Mr. Potts sit with him despite his complaints of being too sleepy to watch.<br />
The adventure was complete when they were safely onboard and "the Elizabeth" weighed anchor. Only then did he twist his lips in a dry, sad smile. There was some satisfaction in eluding the soldiers. He'd left the Neville seal on his desk along with the key to Matilda's safe and gave all of the other keys to the housekeeper. Mr. Potts sympathized with the unsuspecting staff of servants who would be replaced by the king's niece. <br />
"No need to worry, they shall retain their positions, except for Milly Martain whom I sent to the village for her own protection." Milly had left Abergenny with the suspicion that she was being replaced by a younger woman. She had borne the earl three children. Her figure no longer had the slender angles which drew men's eyes and the fatty rolls around her waist made her appear plump. Actually, he worried that she might be punished by the servants who'd guessed everything and branded her a whore. <br />
Potts nodded. The earl's mistress. His instructions had included making arrangements for the pension to continue for the benefit of the children so long as Milly's mother lived.<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-59364402409895319152011-11-16T20:10:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:10:10.893-08:00Chapter 15 The letter from George Mans notifying Roderick of Matilda's final illness and his pending departure from Abergenny arrived in the spring of the year. Roderick, aware that Mans could arrive at any time, alerted the servants to keep a lookout. Also, he contemplated how he would explain the situation to his mother and grandpa. The decision was to tell them that George Mans had furnished the money to restore the plantation and would be regarded as a favorite uncle. That seemed to fit for his mother, but Suzette resented the idea of sharing her home with strangers. However, she was second in authority to Catherine. <br />
"Mr. Mans is a wealthy gentleman of influence and authority. You must show respect to his privacy and not question him as to his affairs," he told her without providing further details. "I want you to assign him two adjoining bedrooms and a separate one for Mr. Potts."<br />
"That is more space than we have for ourselves," she complained.<br />
"Mr. Mans is to be given his privacy," he said firmly. "Besides, I am putting up a small structure near the garden to use for my office. You will have the old space inside the house to do as you please." Roderick had learned to deal with Suzette as he would a spolit child, hi's method for gaining cooperation always involved a material exchange.<br />
"Then I would have a parlor to myself, a place to write my letters and to receive my personal friends."<br />
He seemed pleased that Suzette found a niche for her hugenot friends and relatives. The reason that he was building the plantation office was that he wanted Suzette out of the wayof his business affairs and especially when he was in the presence of George Mans. Her personal parlor would resolve the issue of her meddling, or so he thought. <br />
When finally "the Elizabeth" dropped anchor in the river, Roderick called the family together in the foyer to greet him. Catherine took her place under the crystal chandelier which hung beside the white columns and Duncan stood in the old greeting area of where Angus once stood. George Mans' inquisitive eyes spanned the foyer as he entered the doorway and falling upon Catherine, paused to observe her delicate white skin, rosy cheeks and the array of soft brown curls nestled around her ears. Except for some frown lines and crow's feet around the eyes, she had changed very little. He would have recognized her anywhere and the sight of her prompted a warm surge of comfortable familiarity in seeing a friend from the past. Before Roderick could announce him, he stepped over to Catherine and kissed her hand. <br />
"Madam, at last!" <br />
She said nothing. <br />
"This is my good friend and secretariat, Mr. Potts." <br />
Then turning, he focused his attention on the one person keen enough to put together the puzzle, Duncan McDonald. <br />
"Your obedient servant, Mr. McDonald," he said while effecting another bow.<br />
"Welcome to Ashley Loche," Duncan responded graciously, shaking the hand of George Mans.<br />
In the meanwhile, Roderick had left the foyer to find his wife. He found Suzette dawdling in her little parlor and brought her into the foyer with some slow agitation.<br />
"Please allow me to introduce my wife, Suzette." Mans bowed once again, this time to conceal his surprise. Suzette's displeasure was apparent. Her lips were puckered and pouty and she scarcely answered. "Please take Mr. Mans to his rooms, my dear, and attend to his needs," Roderick said in high tones. He was embarrassed for her behavior. Mans said nothing and followed a sashy petite figure up the stairs and across to the west wing of the house where there was little daylight during the winter months. A stout servant woman followed behind. He was given two large adjoining rooms, one for the bed and the other, a sitting room with a desk. On one side of the wall was an large oak armoir with two open ends to drape his suits and a set of drawers with brass handles.<br />
"Is this enough space for your clothes, Mr. Mans?" She asked while eyeballing his two large travelling trunks. She took the woman by the hand and brought her into the room. "This is your personal servant, Minnie. She will arrange your wardrobe as you direct. Also, she can mend and sew."<br />
Then, like a flower faded too soon, her attractiveness wilted when she bluntly asked: "How long do you plan to stay?"<br />
Mans hesitated to answer. He was immensely disappointed at Roderick's choice of a wife, a rude little wench without ordinary decency or manners. He did not wish to insult her, however, was not going to acknowledge the authority that she demanded with rude mannerisms.<br />
"The wardrobe is sufficient, madam, and my stay in this house shall last until I finish my business in this country," he answered slowly, mimicking her own southern drawl.<br />
"How shall we address you?" She continued. <br />
"The children may call me Uncle George," he answered, excluding her.<br />
Her face turned red. She said nothing further and the gentlemen alone to sort out the trunks.<br />
She hurried to descend the stairs and issue her complains to Roderick.<br />
"I need to speak to you at once!" She said, her face still pink from the blush. He followed her into the parlor and expecting a tantrum closed the door.<br />
"Who is that snob?" <br />
He descends from a very old and distinguished noble family," he answered simply.<br />
"I do not believe you!"<br />
"And, Suzette.....he is my best friend."<br />
Those words burned in her craw. She took an immediate dislike to George Mans and regarded his presence in the house as a "take over" of the authority that she wielded over her husband. He appeared to dominate Roderick with a quiet, unassuming demeanor, a situation that she did not understand. <br />
"You cannot prefer him over me?"<br />
"There is a place for everyone in this house. Yours is to be my wife." His words infuriated her and she drew back her hand to slap him. But he caught the blow before it reached his cheek. "Lower your voice," he demanded.<br />
"You do not love me," she sobbed.<br />
"Now, now, Suzette, do not cry," he said, hugging her. "You know that I care for you."<br />
"But you do not love me?"<br />
"I do not know how to love you. I just do not know...."<br />
<br />
After dinner, George Mans lit up a cigar and took a stroll in the garden. While he thus walked and pondered his situation, he could see the white moonlight on Catherine's face and neck as she came outside and sat on the porch. She was one of the main reasons that he chose to return to Charleston. <br />
"Good-evening, Catherine," he said pleasantly. "Do you mind if I join you for a glass of lemonade?"<br />
"I would be agreeable to some conversation."<br />
"You do not know me, do you?"<br />
"Yes, you are the duke of Cornwall, or the earl of Abergenny."<br />
"Then you do remember!"<br />
"Certainly, but who is George Mans?"<br />
"I shall answer your question, my dear, because you hath kept our secret. Do you recall when I left Port Royal to join my wife in Wales?"<br />
"Yes, but before you tell me further, I want to know one thing? What if Angus had not come after me? Would you have left me stranded in Port Royal?"<br />
"No, No," he said with high emotion. "You risked your marriage to stay behind and nurse me to good health. And now that I know that yours was a painful uncertainty and doubt, that makes your sacrifice even more precious to me. No, I would have never left you, Catherine."<br />
"Then what would you have done...."<br />
"Oh my dear, I had resolved in my heart to take you with me to Abergenny should your husband not come for you despite my pledge of devotion to Matilda, and would have sheltered and protected you. Not for selfish reasons, but because you saved my life. And oddly enough, your compassion played a pivitol role in my affairs so that when I received your letter asking me to help your son, it gave me purpose and opened a new door for me, the opportunity to somehow repay your kindness. But little did I know that your son would awaken my crusty old heart to its intrinisic need of family and home. He gave me a sense of worthiness and belonging, something I think I never had. Roderick is so Angus, you know, with his indefatigueable energy. And he is brave and trustworthy. He helped me to change. Forgive me, Catherine, but I think of Roderick as my own son, someone to care for other than myself. How silly I was to think that all of my solutions would be resolved once I became the earl of Abergenny. That good fortune was not worth anything unless I could share it with someone. Roderick understood." He paused to remove a white linen handerchief from his pocket and wipe the sweat from around his eyes. " I was determined that Abergenny would not suffer the fate of the Cornwall duchy and would survive long after my tenure. You see, I worked long hours to bring the defunct estate into the profit margin and remunerated myself for it. Yes, that is what it was, payment for twenty something years of labor. As I said, there is no joy in laying up a fortune to myself. I wish to share in the joy of Roderick's dreams as he works to achieve his own Ashley Loche."<br />
"What is this partnership?" There was skepticism in her voice.<br />
"It is a simple agreement. He may use my fortune to rebuild this plantation in exchange for my having a home here."<br />
"Considering our past, It is difficult to believe you."<br />
"Yes, I know, but Catherine, there is no where else for me to go."<br />
She did not answer. <br />
"Please look into my eyes and see that I speak the truth. And that is not all. Before taking my leave of London I made arrangements with Mr. Biggers and his solicitor to make Roderick the heir to my accounts. I hath provided for him as though he were my own son. On the voyage to America, all that I thought of was you, Catherine and your kindness to me. Yours was probably a sacrifice that Angus never understood. I am no longer the chap who chases women. All that I care about now is family. If you do not believe me I shall trouble you no more. The agreement will be valid except that Mr. Potts and myself will take our leave to Cornwall."<br />
"Why is that you use the name George Mans?"<br />
"Oh yes, that. A necessary caution, especially if I am still regarded a traitor in your America."<br />
"Perhaps I do believe you, George."<br />
"Oh thank you, my dear," he said squeezing her hand.<br />
<br />
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Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-35465168928873140352011-11-16T20:09:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:09:45.283-08:00Chapter 16 George Mans stayed in the background as he had promised, except that Suzette was jealous of his lengthy conversations with Roderick and interest in the affairs of the plantation. His desire to please ajealous wife were diminishing and he threw himself into his work just as his father had done before him. There was some comfort and satisfaction in those ways. As the cotton spread a white blanket across every vacant field, the profits poured in. Success courted resentment.<br />
"All that you think of is planting cotton! You are obsessed with it!" She complained. "Eventually it will leech the soil of its nutrients, then what will you do?"<br />
"We rotate our crops here at Ashley Loche," he said answered sarcastically. Their relationship was going down the tubes and he had lost interest in pampering her.<br />
"You should not address me in those tones, especially now when I am carrying your child."<br />
Suzette sulked. She had lost her upper-hand and somewhere lurking in the depths of her mind a punishment was hatching to alienate the child from its father. But first, he would hear of her discomforts for seven long months. First, the nausea and vomiting and then napping long hours during the day so that she could not sleep in the evenings. He felt her enlarging restless body bumping up against him in the bed. As a result of so little physical activity, she gained an extra-ordinarily amount of weight. The mid-wife warned that she would have a difficult birth but she did not listen and when her time came she spent two days in labor trying to give birth. She blamed her dilemma on Roderick. It was a bitter pill to swallow when her husband after a long weary day fell into an exhausted sleep the very moment that she gave birth to a squatty, fat girl. It was the wee hours of the morning. The mid-wife presented the child in a blanket and retired from the room.<br />
"Roderick, please awaken," she pleaded. When he did not stir, she screamed his name so loud that her voice reverberated throughout the house. It caused him to fall all off the bed. <br />
"What?"<br />
"Your child came into the world while you slept! Poor little orphan without a father," she whined, pressing her cold nose against the baby's cheek. He lifted himself to his feet to see the child that Suzette held clutched to her breasts and when he got close, she drew the blanket over the babe's face and secured the wedge between them. "Isn't she lovely?" She said. He did not answer, still not permitted to see the face.<br />
"I suppose so," he grumbled.<br />
The child was named after Suzette's own father. The message was clear. Little Nickie was her child. The following year she gave birth to a son. An argument ensued when Roderick established his own territory by naming him Duncan. The boy would grow up with the nickname "Dunk" and followed in his grandather's footsteps. As the years spun by and Suzette attempted to elevate herself as sole mistress of the house, her disposition became more intolerable. She possessed a festering anger which had a spontaneous eruption. No one really liked her and she supposed it was because she raised her children in the huguenot church. But Catherine, having tenure, was loved by all of the servants and her opinion was sought after on all important matters.<br />
Roderick threw himself into the chore of managing a plantation which knew no bounds. The mild climate and rich black soil afforded a long growing season and dreams were realized all along the southern Carolina coast. The Sea Island cotton drove the American economy, enriching planters and farmers. The overflow of crops and goods built communities. Silks and satins were put away; home-spun cotton dictated styles. The South prospered. Eventually everyone needed more land.<br />
George Mans decided to look for land and persuaded Lucas to transport he and Mr. Potts on his sloop to Beaufort. Potts had fulfilled the measure of his agreement and was a vital asset to the partnership. For one thing he was a whiz in math and could render immediate solutions to problems. He stepped quickly onto the vessel, clutching a leather valaise filled with pencils and writing pads under his arm. The plan was to visit the quiet countryside of the village of Beaufort. The haunting memory of its beauty and charm lingered inside of his head from the time that he and Catherine were there. The plaintive cottages which sat in the crook of dirt roads and the land which bloomed green in the summer and orange in the fall resembled his own familiar English countryside. A sudden breeze swooped under his coat tails and blew dandelion spores across the meadow stitching the memories of the past into the present, into a world in which he found solace. If anywhere in America he preferred a landscape, it as this one that reminded him of Cornwall.<br />
The sight of the deserted Port Royal was a bit disconcerting until he reminded himself that he was an American now. The fort had been abandoned by the british after the last war but the village used its munitions buildings to store crops. In those days, the little island was a refuge to pirates who maneuvered the narrows to bury their treasures in the outer-banks. Mans relished the idea of its seclusion. He did not care about the awkwardness of the port; the family had at its disposal the most proficient factoring company in London. Mr. Biggers could gender a significant economy of merchant ships in the district. So he confidently purchased thousands of acres of the land.<br />
"What do you think, Mr. Potts?"<br />
"We could take our retreat here away from the malaria and fevers," he answered thinking of the heavy band of mosquitoes which frequented Ashley Loche during July and August.<br />
"Alas, I think that I hath found myself," Mans said whimsically. <br />
Lucas bent over and scooped up a fist of crumbling soil. "It is not likeour black sandy soil of the coast, but friable and heavy with nutrients. Cotton will grow here. We could plant this many a-year before allowing it to lie fallow. I want a piece of this land."<br />
Mans was overcome with affectionate exuberance and patted him on the back. "Yes indeed, and you shall have it! We shall be partners."Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-18780124206275647362011-11-16T20:08:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:08:49.500-08:00Chapter 17 Cotton took hold of the South. Its white bouls created a vision of fluffy clouds across every farmer's field. The conversation of raising corn and potatoes transitioned into how many acres of the fluff to plant and how much it would bring at auction. George Mans settled into his new lifestyle as a planter, spending most of the year in Beaufort. And he built a home along one of the orange dirt roads which circled around his property and named it "Manningham" after his Cornwall duchy. It was fashioned after the two-storied colonial homes in the village having a porch and white doric columns, a place to sit and fan himself in the evenings and discuss his profits with Mr. Potts. Lucas was also charmed by the landscape and spent most of his time in Beaufort, acting as an overseer and lending his expertise. <br />
"I love this land," Lucas would say as the three of them smoked their cigars on the porch.<br />
"When are the children coming?" Mr. Pitts asked curiously, missing seeing the tottlers, Nicky and Dunk."<br />
"Their pa will bring Dunk along soon," Lucas said confidently. "But I do not know about Nicky."<br />
At the time that they spoke there was a big argument railing at Ashley Locke. Suzette was stubbornly standing inside her little parlor, refusing to go to Manningham. Her face was red with fury and rage and she stomped her foot as she spoke. The fact was that she was expecting another child and was in miserable health, as with her other pregnancies had gained too much body weight, a plumpness which she would forever retain. She felt water-logged and was greatly agitated over the prospect of becoming seasick on "the Belle" as it sped across the choppy waves of the Ashley. But she did not present herself this way to Roderick. Instead, she complained about the fact that her children were referring to George Mans as their uncle.<br />
"He is not their uncle! Nothing about him is related to this family. Why do you all pretend that he is?"<br />
"It is a suitable endearment for a good friend of the family."<br />
"Well I do not want my children growing up thinking that he is related," she insisted.<br />
"Whether you realize it or not, he is also a true friend of the family," Roderick said, thinking of the wealth that Mans had poured into the plantation.<br />
"I shall never realize it. I do not like the man and never shall. And if you love me, you will quit pandering to him." Her words stung. After the birth of their first child, Roderick wondered how it was that he loved her. She was stubborn and selfish and prone to tantrums. He sucked in a deep breath and answered.<br />
"It is impossible to love you." He bit his lip, wishing to say more, but instead exercised great restraints. <br />
"You do not love me?"<br />
"No, Suzette."<br />
Her face turned crimson. She puckered her lips and mustering up the familiar stream of tears , began to sob loudly. "I have given birth to two of your children with another one is the way, and you say that you do not love me?"<br />
"That is correct." He said firmly, stepping away from her, determined not to yield no matter how bad the tantrum or how much she cried.<br />
"You deceived me, and now look what you have done to me!"<br />
<br />
Duncan appeared suddenly in the hallway. "What is wrong with Suzette?" He asked.<br />
"Nothing, grandpa. We are going to Manningham tomorrow. Are you packed?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
"Give me a moment, please, grandpa."<br />
As Duncan left the hallway, Roderick blocked the doorway. His brow was furled and his hands poised on his hips. "I shall ask you a question. Did you ever love me?"<br />
Her face turned beet red and she plunged towards him and with frailing arms pounded on his chest, but lost her footing. He reached to grab her wrists but her body plunged forward into the door jam and fell limply to the floor. Her frantic screams were heard throughout the house.<br />
"What happened?" Catherine came running. Suzette was crying hard and clutched her stomach as she did so. "Roderick, she is hurt! Take her to her bed and I will send for the midwife."<br />
"She is pretending again," he said coolly.<br />
"Come to your senses, son! She is seven months pregnant and the baby could come now."<br />
Lifting her into his arms, he swallowed his attitude and carried her up the stairs. "I hurt so much," she cried as he laid her across the bed.<br />
"Lie still and wait for the midwife."<br />
"Will you at least kiss your wife before ...."<br />
Roderick leaned over the bed. "Before what?"<br />
"Before you leave me to go to Manningham."<br />
"Suzette, we must stop these fights," he pleaded. " I so despise to argue."<br />
She had another pain in her stomach. "I cannot go to Manningham now and neither can you," she said defiantly.<br />
The midwife examined her. <br />
"Mr. Roderick, you best stay by as Miss Suzette will have her baby late dis evening."<br />
Roderick was surprised. She was not faking. Feeling ashamed of himself, he leaned over the bed and kissed her gently on the lips. "I shall not leave you, Suzette," he promised. She smiled, pleased that her circumstances had restored her control over him. As the evening progressed, she underwent a protracted labor to give birth to a premature baby girl. <br />
"The baby was not turned," the midwife told Roderick and Catherine. "When I turned the baby, the misses screamed and fainted dead away. The cord strangled on the baby's neck and when she got out it took some time for her to breathe."<br />
"Is the baby healthy?"<br />
"No ma'am, she ain't right. You can tell it when you looks into her eyes that she ain't right."<br />
"Will she live?" Roderick asked.<br />
"I 'speck so."<br />
Roderick observed the baby and sighed deeply. His unhappy marriage would have its own set of foils. The midwife wrapped the child inside a blanket and gave it to Suzette. The moment that she saw the cleft mouth, she began sobbing. The tears were real. Roderick motioned for the midwife to put the baby in the little freshly painted crib beside the bed. <br />
"Mother, it would be best for you and grandpa take the children to Manningham in the morning as planned," he spoke softly in choking, almost inaudible voice.<br />
"But we do not know if the baby will survive or how Suzette will....."<br />
"I pretty well know that she will blame me for it and possibly you and grandpa. If anyone can persuade her to be sensible and calm, it is me. That is why I want you to leave the house so that I can handle matters." Catherine appeared hesitant. "But for now, you need to get your rest. Please do not worry. I will stay in the house with Suzette."<br />
"How will we know if anything happens?"<br />
"You will not know anything except that I am determined to find an amicable solution to this unhappy situation."<br />
"My son," she said hugging him. "Your father would be proud of you now." <br />
Roderick was feeling drained from the emotionalism and went to his plantation office to be alone. He felt that he could no longer deal with Suzette's selfish demands and tantrums. And he made a decision which would affect him the rest of his life. There could be no more children. From that time forward, he would no longer sleep with his wife. <br />
<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-81795856602315775912011-11-16T20:04:00.003-08:002011-11-16T20:04:58.565-08:00Chapter 18 Lucas arrived early the next morning to fetch the family in the sixty-foot sloop that George Mans had purchased for the Manningham plantation. It was substantially adept at transporting the family on their trips up and down the Carolina coast. His eyes travelled to the house and watched Catherine, Duncan and the grandchildren woddle onto the dock.<br />
"Where is Roderick?" He asked.<br />
"Suzette had her baby," Catherine said cautiously. "Roderick will not come this time." It was a simple statement which Lucas accepted easily.<br />
"Ohhhh, uncle George will be sorely disappointed," he said in a silly voice, then tapped first the taller head of Nickie, then Dump. They giggled as he cast off and loosened sail enough to catch the wind. It was a lovely morning for sailing and the sloop cut a swarthing path across the blue rippling water which cracked against the wind. The sweaty heat and muginess of July was swept into the cooling breeze afforded by the speed of the vessel. Around noon when the sais were dropped in Beauord, the children were disappointed to feel the stifling heat on their skin.<br />
"Is that uncle Mans house?" Nickie asked while pointing to one of the Beaufort homes.<br />
"No, your uncle's home is in the country," Lucas answered.<br />
"But how will we get there?"<br />
"Don't you fret none about that. There is a horse and carriage waiting for us at the livery stable."<br />
"Oh goody! We are going to ride on a horse. Pa never let us."<br />
"You will ride inside the carriage," Catherine said gently as she glanced about at the familiar surroundings, just as she left them twenty years earlier. Then she spotted the tavern where they had temporarily resided and the unpleasant memories returned of her own foolishly ambitions and pride. Suddenly it was as though she were there, back in time, pregnant with Roderick, miserable, ashamed and experiencing the old fear that Angus would not come for her. But he did come. His was a heart of love and forgiveness. Tears came in her eyes. She had to remind herself that those days were slipped away into the portals of time, a place which no longer existed. She sat in the carriage prepared to endure a bumpy ride into the country and to listen to the happy shrieks of the grandchildren.<br />
"There is uncle Mans house!" Nickie cried as they approached a freshly painted white colonial house which resembled all of the others in Beaufort.<br />
"This is Mannington, also your home," Catherine said lovingly. She no longer thought of George in the old way. He was simply a kind and generous uncle.<br />
"Forever?" Dunk asked.<br />
"Yes, forever and ever."<br />
Uncle George greeted them on the front porch where he had been waiting in his rocker with a big fat cigar in his mouth and enveloped by ttrails of stinky smoke. He was dressed as a southerner in a white cloth suit of clothes and a diamond stick-pin fastened to a silk craveat tied around his neck. When they were on the porch, he swept off his broad-rimmed hat in a swirling motion.<br />
"You are a dandy!" Duncan said, admiringly.<br />
"I am a Carolina gentleman, sir" he corrected jovially. "And what about you, Catherine, what do you think of my new presona?"<br />
"I like it better than the duke," Catherine said before thinking.<br />
"What? Oh, tis better than a duke!" He said laughing and embracing her shoulders. "Come inside the house and see what I hath made of myself."<br />
The house had the style and graceful beauty of the typical Beaufort colonial home flanked by white doric columns surrounding a circular porch, long narrow windows which almost reached the floor and a fireplace in every room. <br />
"The stone for the fireplace and white sand for the hearth came from the creek," he said proudly. "And the floors are made from oak trees which were felled and hewn on the place. You see, all of the necessities of life are grown here on the land itself. All that one has to do is to make use of the resources." Nickie and Dunk played chase around his legs as he spoke. "This generation will have no need of Great Britain or any other country for that matter."<br />
"Then you do not miss your country?"<br />
"My dear! Look about this landscape and your heart will provide the answer."<br />
"Yes, tis beautiful."<br />
"This practical house has a bedroom for everyone. Yours is the one facing the garden, so that you may watch from your window the flowers as they bloom in their season. Having no preferences myself, I planted your favorites, even the tiny red roses and purple wisteria."<br />
"Thank you, George."<br />
"I fondest hope is that you share this house with me," he said wistully. "This is not the old duke speaking, rather your truest admirer."<br />
"There is something that I must tell you, George. Roderick had to stay behind with Suzette. There was an argument between them which resulted in her falling to the floor. She was delivered of a premature daughter."<br />
"Tsk. Tsk."<br />
"There is more. The child is retarded."<br />
"I see. I was not pleased with this marriage; he was too impulsive in his selection of this girl. I fear that there are many years of unhappiness ahead for your son. I am sorry, Catherine."<br />
"Roderick has taken the responsibility seriously. Suzette blames him, and he accepts that."<br />
"The seasons shall pass and Roderick shall do his duty. The crops require planting for the harvest cometh soon and we must scurry to pluck the fruits of our labor."<br />
"You speak poetically."<br />
"I am endeavoring to express something of great importance."<br />
"What is it, George?"<br />
"Forgive me, but you are the dearest lady of my life and my heart faints in the anticipation that you would marry me! Oh my dear, if you only knew how much I need you. I cannot pretend that I love you as much as Angus. No one has that strong a heart. But you are ever in my heart."<br />
"George, you agreed not to bring up old ghosts," she protested.<br />
"Yes, we do share shameful and wonderful memories, certain truths that we cannot tell anyone else. But we survived our tainted past. If I could remove the unpleasantness of it for you, I would. But as for myself those days strengthened my resolve and I am a better person for it. That is why my conscience is clear to ask you to marry me. It is only right, Catherine, we belong together."<br />
"After all these years?"<br />
"Yes.<br />
"But what about Angus?" She trembled and a flush of tears came into her eyes. <br />
"I once told you that you did not love your husband, but was wrong," he said sympathetically. "You know, my dear, most widows immortalize their husbands, but you simply pretend that he is still beside you. Angus McDonald was a man of the age, a soldier of the Revolution and of 1812. His sacrifice is embedded in the spirit of this country and like nothing I hath ever known, thrives in the hearts of all Charlestonians. Being British, I resented it at first but now I think that I am swept up in it. You see, Angus full-filled the measure of his creation on this earth and is gone on to better things. You are left to measure out your own cup."<br />
His words touched her and the tears flowed. "I cannot leave Ashley Loche. It was his dream; he built it for me."<br />
"Ashley Loche is Roderick's now."<br />
"I suppose so."<br />
"I will bury you in a grave beside him and on that stone write 'Here lies Catherine, wife of Angus McDonald'.<br />
That seemed to satisfy her. He took her arm led her upstairs to his bedchamber. There was an huge wooden poster bed canopied over with a dangling mosquito net and underneath its mattress, a trunk. He opened it and removed a large wad of jewelry wrapped inside of several old yellow-laced handkerchiefs. Then placed it carefully on the bed and unrolled it.<br />
"These jewels are all that is left of my mother's things," he said, taking up a pearl necklace, kissing it and arranging it carefully across the handkerchief. Each piece he handled in the same manner. The last item that he kissed was a gold locket. "I scarcely remember my mother except that she was kind and gentle. And now, to honor her memory I should like for you to wear it," he said placing it gently around her neck. <br />
"Oh George, so precious an heirloom!"<br />
"These jewels were passed down to all of the duchesses of Cornwall. None of these noble ladies married for love, but they wore the jewelry as a proud insignia of their conquest. I should very much like to make a present of it to you, Catherine." She seemed to stand frozen in time as she watched him reassemble the pieces and close up the lace handerkerchief. "You do not have to marry me to receive the the Cornwall jewels. Tis a gift for you to pass down to Nickie." Then he removed a rather heavy box from the chest and laid that on the bed. "Inside this box are fancifuls," he said showing her a collection of ornate necklaces, rings of every size and diamond stick pins. "Again, these jewels belonged to the dukes of Cornwall and is all that is left of my duchy. When my time comes, I should like for you to give them to Dunk." <span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span lang=""></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> "Oh no, George, all of your possessions to go to the McDonalds!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> "Well, I still retain the wax seal," he said drawing out another box and showing her the impression of the family crest. "The duchy is mine." Then he slipped the rings of the dukes on all of his fingers and spread them out. "Tis mine in perpetuity. No one can change that." It was a solemn moment. He seemed to be remembering something. When he came to himself again, he removed Catherine's white glove and gently kissed the palm of her hand. "What do you say, my dear?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> "Yes, I think that we belong together." </span>Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-46942794867625976012011-11-16T20:04:00.002-08:002011-11-16T20:04:39.403-08:00Chapter 19 At the end of the summer Catherine returned to Ashley Loche. The emotional onsloughts, tantrums and unpleasantness caused her to keep her plans to marry George Mans a secret.<br />
It was a horrible time of the year for Roderick and conversation with him was difficult. The fields were full of spindle pickers plucking cotton from open bolls and wearing long aprons. It was important to harvest the cotton before the rainy season spoiled its texture. Roderick was in the fields alongside the workers overseeing the operation. The first several days of picking was stored in gins for separation of lint and seed before being wire baled into modules shaped like giant bread loafs and stored in barns.<br />
Suzette was furious that Roderick was absent and passed long hours pouting in her room. She was developing an angry paranoia into her personality which she justified by his neglect of her since the birth of Martha. But he had provided preparations for the care of the child which did not involve Suzette. She had a wet-nurse and personal servant to wait her needs. The child would be kept separate from Nicky and Dunk and would be shut away in a room upstairs. <br />
While Roderick struggled to keep his vow not to sleep with Suzette, she spoke harshly and vindictively. Her unpleasantness was felt throughout the household, a person no one wished to engage.<br />
Catherine's desire to be helpful was thwarted by the strained atmosphere. As the stormy autumn months began to close in with rains and high winds, Roderick worked to secure a dry storage for his unshipped cotton bales. He fretted over the spoiling dampness and mold. But finally the ship arrived and the bales were loaded. Duncan came onto the dock to watch the process and chat with the crew. When he grew tired he sat on the porch and watched. But as the days faded and the ship weighed anchor, the old man well into his years slipped away into time immortal. Dunk found him dead on the porch and ran into the house to fetch the green and black stripped McDonald plaid.<br />
"This is my grandpa," he said as the others congregated on the porch. Then he carefully laid the plaid over the old man's shoulders while Nickie sobbed. "Our grandpa is gone on to another place," he told his sister. "Tis a place where he will no longer be old and feeble, but young and happy."<br />
"Do you promise?"<br />
"Yes, and grandmother he would want to buried with his plaid."<br />
Catherine agreed. "You are so wise."<br />
Late the next afternoon after Suzanne insisted upon a brief mourning period of hymn singing and praying, the plaid was placed over the body and he was buried in the graveyard beside Angus.<br />
"I regret to say that Duncan McDonald hath passed on," Catherine wrote to George. "The hearts o the little grandchildren are broken and they are too young to know how to grieve properly. Because of the family's stressful circumstances I am reluctant to mention our plans to marry and feel that the situation would best be served by the presence of Uncle George. Too, it is a somber reckening for Roderick, having moved into the position as head of the McDonald clan. He feels that it is encumbant upon him to teach Nickie and Dunk the traditional ways of the Scottish fathers."<br />
It meant something for Catherine too. She could no longer see a living resemblance of Angus in his father. Perhaps now she could forget Angus and move on with her life. After the funeral, she announced her plans to marry.<br />
Roderick was stunned, while Suzette expressed her pleasure by chatting agreeably and cooperating with Roderick. Several days passed before George Mans arrived. He came as soon as he received her letter. There was a smile on his lips and his limp did not seem as hindering. Indeed, it was a great moment for him because this poor soul was to experience love! She took him to the grave of Duncan and pointed to Duncan's name etched on a slate headstone. <br />
"I shall truly miss grandpa," George said sadky.<br />
"Yes, an era of McDonald's is closed. Initially, I held it against Angus for being from <br />
Moore County, North Carolina but grandpa Duncan helped me to understand his brave family's persecution in Scotland and the reason that they were of such poor circumstances when they cane to this country."<br />
"Does this close it for you?" George asked.<br />
"Yes," she said.<br />
His joy was full and impatience wanting as he drew her close and kissed her passionately on the lips. The old feelings were aroused, something that she did not expect. But it was so, she did care for him. She did know how far that those feelings stretched back in time. In fact, she was not quite sure when she stopped loving Angus. Suddenly she unbuttoned her bloude and unpinned the diamond brooch from her slip, then without a word, pressed it into his fist.<br />
"No, no, Catherine, this brooch is yours forever."<br />
The marriage ceremony was had at a local parish church in Charleston with the family attending. It was a simple private ceremony which went unnoticed by the community and following it, Catherine and Mans boarded his little sloop and sailed for Beaufort County and his "Manningham."<br />
As they sailed away in the wake of the waves, Suzette turned to Roderick and said viciously: "Now I am mistress of Ashley Loche!"<br />
Roderick hung his head low. "Oh God help us," he murmured. It was true. She was in control.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-53112823011807447042011-11-16T20:04:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:04:20.349-08:00Chapter 20 Mr. Pitts waited at the wharf in a brand new surry drawn by two fine thoroughbred horses. He sat wearing a fashionable top hat and a soft pair of leather gloves which enabled him to handle the team with finess and skill. Since the move to Beaufort, he was called upon to learn extraordinary skills, such as riding and hunting and was quite pleased with himself. It was a cold wintry day and he remembered to put two lap blankets inside the carriage and totie a third blanket around his shoulders. The horses were impatiently digging their hoofs into the dirt street. "Easy, girl. Easy girl," Potts said in a calming voice while patting the neck of one of the mares. He did not trust himself to tie up so waited several hours in the chilling wind. Eventually the sloop passed through the barrier islands and dropped its main sail. <br />
"Yah hoo!" He yelled excitedly as the team reared. "I did not say for you to trot," he said in his high-pitched british accent while reining them back, "tis simply an express of exuberance. Heads up me pretties, the lonely master hath taken a wife!"<br />
Mr. Potts led a charmed life in Beaufort. He was fond of his new mistress who preferred to write her own personal correspondence. The intimate details of the affairs George Mans would dissolve under her tender care. She was assisted into the surry by her anxious husband who pulled a lap blanket over her knees. "The wind can be daunting this time of year," he said, "but we are together at last." The ride to the house chilled every bone in Potts' body as he sat on his perch holding fast the reins with his gloved hands. The harder that the wind blew, the more spirited the horses hoofs were to break into a gallop. Mr. Potts tried to hold them in the canter, but blisters were rubbing together his fingers and he loosened his grip. When he did, the team broke into a full gallop. Mr. Potts pulled hard on the reins and when finally they reached the house, he somehow brought the team to a dead stop. Lucas saw his dilemma and rushed to take charge.<br />
"Not a good pair for a team," he said as he threw off the harnass. <br />
"Are you all right, Miss Catherine?" Potts asked.<br />
"Mr. Potts, you certainly gave us a scare."<br />
The first winter passed and then the cycle of life. George Mans had fourteen years of happiness with Catherine before they grew old. Nickie and Dunk were all grown up and the youngest, Martha, was fourteen. Nothing had changed for poor unwanted Martha since birth. She was a sweet child, but slow to comprehend and was virtually ignored by her parents. Her presence only served as a vivid reminder of a miserable marriage. Suzette did not changed her temperament, she continued her rantings. The peace-offerings had long since stopped. She could never be satisfied. <br />
And all the while Catherine was content to livein quiet repose with George Mans absent of the ego of her earlier years. George Mans was rich beyond his wildest dreams. The South Sea cotton <br />
yielded an era of a prosperity that they thought would last forever. The cloth saturated America and replaced all but the European fine satins and italian silks. It was the great year of 1822 when all of America was right with itself. It had forgotten its wars and began to breathe an economy of pleasure and prosperity. In the South most all the plantations threaded the needle and spun cotton. The ladies replaced the wide farthinggale girdle with fancy petticoats and hoop skirts, a fashion which would last for the next thirty years or so. Lucas never returned to Charleston and built himself a home nearby where he could continue to manage the partnership's Manningham.<br />
Late one afternoon in July, Catherine complaining of the humidity went to her room for a nap. When she did not come downstairs a late supper repass, George went to her bedroom and observed her lying peacefully on the bed. Her eyes were closed and the wrinkles which creased around them seemed to be gone. She resembled a younger version of herself. George remembering her that way almost called out the name "Catherine Winship", but then thinking himself too silly, said "Catherine, my dearest." When she did not stir, he leaned over the bed and kissed her on the lipss. He froze. For a moment he was terrified, the thought came into his head that his Catherine was dead. And he was correct.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-3694974845730508842011-11-16T20:04:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:04:02.161-08:00Chapter 21 Mr. Pitts and Lucas carefully loaded Catherine's coffin onto the Manningham sloop. George had meticulously dressed his wife for burial and pinned the diamond brooch on her dress. He had noticed Suzette eyeballing it and heard some whispering of Roderick having promised it to her after Catherine's death. "It belongs with you, my dear," he whispered. <br />
Lucas struggled with his part of the coffin. It was a stifling day, too muggy to be burying a person, he mused. His mind was filled with regret for the harshness he'd shown Catherine in her earlier years. He did not like her when she was Miss Winship, a haughty woman chucked full of schemes and intrigue. In fact, he found her especially distasteful after she married Angus for his money, one of the most honest men in Charleston. It was unknown when he'd changed his mind. It must have happened gradually over the years when he wasn't noticing. But he had no objection when she was married to his best friend, George Mans. Mr. Pitts stumbled as they lowered the coffin.<br />
"Oh sorry, chap," he said while grabbing a pair of round eyes glasses, "my spectacles are slipping from off my nose." <br />
"When ere you ever going to drop that british accent?" Lucas teased in a deep, slow-drawling voice.<br />
"Quite so,"he acknowledged. "One would never suspect that our Mr. Mans was british, now would they?"<br />
"No, he is part of the wood-work now."<br />
"I shall go ready him," Mr. Potts said.<br />
"He is up there on the porch, jest sittin."<br />
Mr. Pitts drove the carriage back to the house and tied up the team. George sat motionless on the front porch staring at the fluffy white cotton absorbing the streaming rays of the sun. He surmised from the size of the bouls that he would have a prosperous crop this year, perhaps the best ever.<br />
"Tell Lucas not to delay the harvest," he told Potts, pointing to some ominous storm clouds. "I smell rain. We will have many storms this year," he predicted.<br />
"Yes sir." Potts sat on the steps to rest for a spell. "Do you want that box to go?" <br />
George gently caressed the outside of a small box which contained the jewelry intended for Nickie. "Yes, please present it to Nickie. Tell her these are the heirlooms of my mother, the duchess of Cornwall."<br />
"You wish me to tell her about the duchy?"<br />
"Yes, please tell her so that she may know the true identity of her uncle George Mans but caution her not to reveal this personal information to her mother. Nickie is a sensible girl and will understand. Also, tell her that I would be most pleased if she wore my mother's pearl necklace on her wedding day."<br />
"What about Dunk?"<br />
"This other box contains but several heirlooms from Cornwall that he may wear, mostly rings and stickpins. The remainder of these valuables are to go to Roderick when I am dead." He spread out his hand that Potts could eyeball a large ruby stone on his forefinger and two tiny garnet rings on his pinkies. Potts was dazzled by his extravagent display, one he had not seen in years.<br />
"Does this mean that you are going to assume your titles again?" <br />
"Yes. Did you write the letter to Mr. Biggers in London?"<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
"Did you prepare the deed of Manningham to Lucas?"<br />
"Yes sir." The deeding of the Manningham plantation to Lucas clarified it for Potts that George Mans would not return to America. He had been with him too long not to sniff out his plans but this time he felt a pang in his heart. Potts went inside the house and packed a small trunk for himself. "I am ready, your lordship," he said sadly.<br />
"Do you mind so much?" George asked.<br />
"It is my pleasure to serve you, whereever it is. Tis only that I shall miss the grandchildren and this beautiful country." <br />
George nodded.<br />
Lucas complained when he perceived the additional weight to be packed inside the sloop but managed to arrange the trunks appropriately. The trip was painstakingly slow with almost no breeze. George Mans sat beside the coffin weeping. The pits of his arms sweated an odorous perspiration. Lucas was agitated over the fact that they had waited until mid-day before sailing and Mr. Potts sat wiping his foggy spectacles. When they finally put up at the Ashley Loche dock, George was trembling all over and his s knees shaking Mr. Potts gently took his arm and led him slowly across the dock, his cane falling into the cracks every other plank board. Meanwhile, Lucas waited on the dock until the family was told the dreadful news before having the coffin unloaded and taken to the graveyard. The grandchildren clung tenaciously to uncle George as though somehow expecting him to undo the death.<br />
"Are we going to have a service?" Nickie asked tearfully. She had grown into a fine young lady with a genteel nature and lovely manners. <br />
Lucas shook his head. "No, Miss Nickie. We must not delay in this humidity. She must be buried today."<br />
Roderick was grief-stricken, a pain which would nag him for years to come. "Mr. Potts, will you please take the children inside the house while the grave is being dug?"<br />
Potts nodded. He was fond of the children, especially Dunk but Martha had to be watched.<br />
"Who is that?" She asked pointing to the coffin.<br />
"This is your grandmother," he told her while hearing the instructions with George Mans gave for the headstone and manner of burial.<br />
"Here Lies Catherune Winship, consort of Angus McDonald."<br />
Roderick appeared confused. "I promised her that she would be remembered as your father's wife."<br />
Roderick burst into tears and clutching George's arm, said: "Oh what precious sacrifice that your posterity never know so genteel a prince!"<br />
The reaction caused them to spend several hours alone discussing their situations and weeping as they did so.<br />
That evening emotions were highly charged as the family prepared to take a walk single-file to the graveyard in the backyard behind the garden wall. Sobbing loudly into a white linen handerchief, Uncle George led the way. Behind him were Martha, Nickie and Dunk. Then came Roderick, Suzette and Lucas. A full moon lit the footpath and fell across the dug grave. A terracotta pot full of red geraniums had been placed at the head and at the foot a hand-picked bouquet of wild pink roses which he began to toss into the open grave. No one dared to assist except Martha who ran to his side and grabbed the thorny roses to finish the strewing. "I will do it for you uncle George." The thorns cut deep into her fingers but she did not cry. "For grandmother!" When he saw the blood, he moaned and his whole frame trembled. After the grave was covered, George walked to the barn and returned with a slate tombstone, finely etched in small letters.<br />
"We love you," Dunk said, old enough to comprehend the meaning of the inscription. "You are family."<br />
The grandchildren gathered for their hugs. "I shall remain outside for awhile," George said leaning on his cane. "Just to be alone with your mother. Mr. Potts, will you please deliver the heirlooms to the grandchildren now."<br />
After a little while, Roderick returned to the graveyard. George still stood standing over the grave, leaning on his cane. Roderick noticed that it was not the plain wooden one, rather the silver-tipped abergenny variety. <br />
"Mr. Potts delivered the gifts. I suppose that means that you are leaving us," he said sadly.<br />
"Yes."<br />
"Where will you go?"<br />
George took a deep breath and sighed. "I do not know. "I only know one thing and tis this: I am a man who experienced something which I thought I could never have, and that is love. The only woman who truly loved me was your mother but somehow I must forget her. Do you understand?"<br />
"Yes, It is too painful for you."<br />
"Oh, you are wise to know this."<br />
"Must you go?"<br />
"As Mr. Potts no doubt explained, I made certain financial arrangements to take care of the family. I hope that you don't mind that I gave the Manningham plantation to Lucas. Is it enough that you hath Ashley Loche?"<br />
"Certainly. This is where my heart is."<br />
"As for my other assets you will inherit them eventually. Mr. Biggers will disperse my estate when the time comes."<br />
"Will I learn of your whereabouts through him?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
"Are you ever coming back?"<br />
Mans swallowed hard to keep from starting another crying jag. "No."<br />
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Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-16707612145966960842011-11-16T20:03:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:03:36.139-08:00Chapter 22 The voyage to London across the sea encountered a flurry of August storms causing the journey to take a full three months. The belly of the ship's continuous rolling and tossing over cresting waves caused the several passengers to become ill. George Mans lost his balance countless times and his falling down aggravated an old hip injury. By the time they reached London, he leaned heavily on his cane, stumbling as he went along. There was a depressing heavy gray fog which hung low in the sky and cast rainy showers over the city.<br />
"Let us go straightway to the tavern for a rest," George suggested. "I wish to recoup my spirits before discussing my embrangled affairs with Mr. Biggers." Mr. Potts agreed. He was in no mood for such a conference, himself a bit haggardly from the viccitudes of a nauseating voyage. Once they were settled in their rooms, Mr. Pitts noticed that George Mans was more than haggardly, he had become thin from the vomiting and lack of proper nourishment. Also, his skin had assumed a chalky color and his hair was silvery gray. Aging was not that pleasant for him.<br />
George retired early but tossed all evening in his bed. The voyage had not extirpated the sad memories of Catherine ever present in his head. Nor the sight of his own country. The next morning, his wits still not culled, he chose to keep the windows shaded and take his meals in his room. Several days passed before he sent Mr. Potts to obtain an appointment with Mr. Biggers and his solicitor. On the day of the conference, George Mans arose early and dressed befitting his position as the duke of Cornwall. It was reassuring when he caught a glimpse of his old familiar self in the looking glass and his spirits were enlivened. <br />
"Good show!" Mr. Potts observed.<br />
"We are not outwardly changed by our experiences and because of this elusion still hath the power to present ourselves to our former friends and associates."<br />
Potts did not respond. The duke had put away his earlier years of greed and lust. Only when he assumed the title of an earl did he learn thrifty commerce. Then his experience as a southern gentleman gave him a softer, kinder heart. In 1820, he was a mellowed, generous soul. As Potts was soon to learn, the duke was in the process of righting the old wrongs.<br />
The meeting occurred inside the warehouse office of Mr. Biggers who recognized at once the family crest sewn into the duke's vest. Mr. Potts bowed slightly and said: "May I present, Lord Manigault, the duke of Cornwall, alias George Mans."<br />
Biggers coughed to hide his delight, then said, "My solicitor, Lord Hannis, is administering your affairs according to your instructions, your lordshop."<br />
A tall, splindly gentleman wearing a white peruke wig and still wearing his long black cape from a morning session of Parliament, bowed. "Your lordship, the documents are ready for your signature." He seated himself at a table and drew a series of documents from his valaise. "This document validates your hereitary titles."<br />
"I ordered repairs for your house and hired a staff of servants," Biggers interjected.<br />
"Repairs?"<br />
"The manor was vacant for forty odd years, your lordship, and required maintenance."<br />
"Yes, yes, of course."<br />
Lord Hannis drew out another document. "And this document acknowledges one, Trask Martain, as your illegitimate son, and heir of Cornwall."<br />
"And I wrote to Mr. Potts," Biggers interjected again, "An investigator was sent to Abergenny to locate Millie Martain and her three children. He found that Millie and her two daughters had died some years back and that Trask Martain resides alone in the grandmother's house."<br />
"What are his circumstances?"<br />
"He is dolefully ignorant, lazy and taken to drink."<br />
The duke dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head. <br />
"It is not necessary that you legitimize him," the solicitor said slowly, observing George as he lifted his eyes to study the words of the document. "Tis the legal language, my lord. I shall explain it to you."<br />
"No! I require no condescension, sir."<br />
"My apologies, my lord."<br />
George read the document carefully before dipping a feather pin into the inkwell and inscribing his signature in the thick, black ink. Mr. Potts stamped the Cornwall wax seal under the signature.<br />
"One final remark. As Mr. Martain can neither read nor write, I took the liberty of corresponding with the local vicar of Abergenny urging him to inform Mr. Martain that he may have some legal interests in Cornwall where he should inquire further. Further, I sent the vicar adequate funds for his transportation from Wales. " Lord Hannis rolled up the signed documents and left Mr. Biggers' office.<br />
"What happens now?" Potts asked Mr. Biggers.<br />
"Should Trask Martain not waste the trip money and trouble himself to to make the journey to Cornwall and should his decision be to assume the hereitary titles, then he should employ Lord Hannis to make a claim for him in the chancery court."<br />
"Then it is all in whether or not Trask Martain makes the journey to Cornwall."<br />
"I would not expect it," Biggers said, convinced that George Manigault was the last lord.of the duchy. "The man is in his forties and given to laziness."<br />
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Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-34025891060992419122011-11-16T20:03:00.000-08:002011-11-16T20:03:15.692-08:00Chapter 23 The duke reached his old home in Cornwall the first week in October. Red and brown leaves were blowing furiously across the landscape to unknown destinations, landing in the soil where they would crumble and complete the final stages of fall. Orange Pumpkins of every size lay in the fields waiting for the harvest moon. It was that time of year when the peasants celebrated by playing their fiddles in the orangish light of moon and dancing. The duke vaguely recalled these traditions. It was so long ago. Their coach brought them along the road to the manor house at dusk just as the moon lit a path to the front passage. One of the peasants waved at the coach and the duke instinctively returned the gesture. Someone said: "It's the old duke! He is returned!" A crowd gathered and followed the coach to the manor house. The door to the coach opened and the duke and Mr. Potts set down their feet on Cornish soil. The duke had returned to replenish his estates. Cheering commenced.<br />
"These are your people and they are pleased that you are returned to them," Potts said.<br />
The duke raised his hands to hush the cheering and when a profound silence occurred and without a person stirring, he spoke with sincerity. "Greetings, my friends. I wish you prosperity and happiness."<br />
"Are you returned to stay?" Someone asked.<br />
He considered the question momentarily and then with an emotional quiver in his voice, answered: "Yes." They cheered again. Indeed. They had their duke back and now prosperity would abound in the land. <br />
"I must do something to help these people," he whispered to Potts.<br />
The duke hobbled across the marble floor of the grand foyer and resting on his silver-tipped cane, greeted the household staff. "You are the head housekeeper?" He said to a stoutish cornish woman.<br />
"Your lordship, I am Mrs. Means, she answered with a respectful courtsey.<br />
"Mrs. Means," he said softly. "This gentleman is Mr. Potts, my personal secretariat, from whom your instructions will come." <br />
"Yes madam," Potts said sharply, "Come morning please provide a list of names of local farmers and merchants as well as a list of standard kitchen stores. And tomorrow as a celebration to the household his lordship would desire several pigs roasted in his honor to include sweet potatoes, pumpkins, and local seasonal vegetables."<br />
Mr. Potts paused to wipe his glove on a nearby table and to observe the general cleanliness of the house and hearing the sound of flames popping flames in the fireplace, he walkerd into the study.<br />
It was the old retreat of the Manigault dukes. Upon the walls were ancestral portraits. The mildew had been wiped clean from the canvases and the aged oil colors appeared vibrant. The duke pointed to a family portrait of his parents and siblings and especially to a keenly handsome boy having a full head of coal black hair. "That is me when I was about seven years of age," he said proudly. <br />
Mr. Potts was warming his hands over the fire. "There is a chill in the air," he said.<br />
"This old dungeon lacks the comforts of Abergenny," he sighed, "but, every crank and cranny of it is my home."<br />
"I understand, but it's neglected state will cost you more than a few shillings to restore."<br />
The duke seated himself in a large decorative wooden chair, possibly dating from the 14th century and stretched out his legs. His body was stiff and sore all over from the protracted coach journeys required to reach the isolated cornish manor. The moonlight was so bright that Potts opened the doors to the outside so that he could stare at it's great size. The house was near the sea and the incoming tide could be heard lashing against the rocks. "Nevertheless, I shall love taking my walks in the sand along the seashore," he said. He stood in the doorway for sometime staring at the moon and when he finally closed the door and returned to the fireplace noticed that the duke had fallen asleep in the hard wooden chair.<br />
Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-65436765958279512232011-11-16T20:02:00.002-08:002011-11-16T20:02:55.695-08:00Chapter 24 In the months which followed Lord Manigault seemed content with his situation and almost happy, as he made plans to bring prosperity to the region. It had been almost a hundred years since the impoverished peasants had paid rents to the duchy. They scarcely fed themselves from the worn-out land of their gardens. That was the problem of the last hundred years. He commenced ordering tools, plows, mules, horses, milch cows and chickens to work and fertilize the land. And sawyers came to cut down trees for fences and barns. The undertaking was monumental for a duke so far advanced in age, but it gave him purpose and satisfaction to restore the duchy to its former profits. His experience came from having created wealth at Abergenny, so he used that knowledge to the benefit of the village. His enthusiasm caught on. The peasants plowed, planted and constructed. The peasants proudly paid their crops to the duchy, every plant in its season.<br />
His fetish in restoring the desmesne and rebuilding the wall around the forecourt of the manor caused him to quit sorrowing for Catherine. So much time passed since Trask Martain was notified by the solicitor of his possible inheritance that the duke surmised that the money sent him for the long onerous journey from Abergenny to Cornwall was wasted. However, there was no certainty in the actions of Trask Martain. He was huskily built, his arms and calves carved with robust muscles, of medium height with broad shoulders and the physique of a fighter. A man in his forties spoiled by his appealing body, handsome face and a head of lusky black hair, he had no need to please the women who served him. Arrogant at times and surly, he infrequently set his hands to labor.<br />
But one morning out of nowhere a man of his statue promenaded through the village and coming to the wall plopped down on it where he sat for awhile absorbing the desmesne and manor. In his mind he was comparing it to the larger more ostentatious stone edifice of Abergenny with its showy gardens and brick bypaths. An hour passed before he slid off the wall and approached a large wooden door and pounded on it with a brass handle. An eternity seemed to pass before a short unassuming servant opened the door.<br />
"The deliveries are to the rear," he said attempting to close the door while Trask holding it open allowed himself in the foyer.<br />
"Is your master home?" <br />
"Wait." The servant said.<br />
Eventually a gentleman appeared. It was Mr. Potts prepared to rid the premises of the intruder but when he saw the face and hair, stood silently staring at him.<br />
"What ehyre ye staring at!" Trask said gruffly.<br />
"May I have your name, sir?"<br />
"Trask Martain. I am Trask Martain." He removed a crumbled letter from inside shirt. "This letter says that I should speak with the duke of Cornwall. It is business. My personal business."<br />
"Wait here, please." Potts dared not speak further. What happened next was up to the illegitimate son of George Manigault, the duke of Cornwall. He stepped lively into the duke's study and whispered the astonishing news in his ear. <br />
"Well, we shall see," the duke replied. "Place a chair in front of my desk that I may look directly into his eyes."<br />
The sound of Trask Martain's heavy boots following Potts into the study were heard throughout the inner-chambers of the house. His eyes fell uneasily on the duke's family portrait and he came to a halt before reaching the desk. The duke wiggled the gold and ruby rings on his fingers indicating the chair. Trask took his seat noisily. "Are you the one that I am to see...the duke of Cornwall?" He asked. The duke was careful not to answer suddenly and taking a deep breath observed the appearance of Trask Martain who, except for his lack of poise, was well-marked with Manigault traits. He nodded.<br />
"What is the name of your mother?" He asked.<br />
"Millie Martain."<br />
"I understand that she is dead. When did that occur?"<br />
"She passed on twenty years or so of the fever, as did one of my sisters."<br />
"You were born in the village of Abergenny?"<br />
"If you know this, why do you ask?"<br />
"I simply wish to acquaint myself with my son."<br />
"I always heard that I was the son of an earl."<br />
"And I am a duke."<br />
"Exactly."<br />
"Such matters are complicated and you have but to look into my face for the answer."<br />
"I see nothing save an old gray-haired man."<br />
"Your rudeness reflects your breeding," Mr. Potts uttered from the other side of the room. He could not help himself.<br />
"I was raised by my old grandmother, sir! Further, I seldom saw me own mother and ne'er knew a father!" <br />
"Ah, the sad tale, " Potts murmured.<br />
"Hath you labored in the spit of your own hands?" The duke asked suddenly.<br />
The question shook Trask loose from his objective, which was to sling a few insults at the duke and to ridicule his noble house and for this purpose had he walked the incredible distance from Wales to Cornwall. Not one shilling of the duke's money had he spent hiring coaches and purchased but one item, and that was a pair of sturdy boots which still had a good sole on them. The remainder gingled loosely inside the one tattered pocket of his trousers. He opened his large hands and displayed them first to Mr. Potts and then to the eyes of the duke. "I spit many a time on these hands to lift a wagon wheel or to plow a mule." The duke seemed puzzled by the gesture and he reaffirmed himself using an expression he figured the duke would comprehend. "I can take care of meself without the help of me betters."<br />
"Then you hath no interest in changing your birthright?"<br />
"I am a bastard," he answered.<br />
"Yes, naturally. Did the parson explain the solicitor's letter?"<br />
"I am illegitimate," he insisted.<br />
"You hath the option of being recognized as the legimate son of the duke, you fool!" Mr. Potts blurted.<br />
"What? Suddenly I can be as good as me betters?"<br />
"Perhaps not," Mr. Potts admitted.<br />
He turned his sobering black eyes on the duke. They were dark and foreboding, lit with generations of peasantry and the dismal fires of failure. "Why in God's Name would you want me to take your place in this dungeon? Are ye nought satisfied except to inject ye painful nobility upon me before ye die?"<br />
"I never supposed that you would refuse a life of wealth and pleasure," the duke said solemnly. "Is there nothing that I can give you?"<br />
He dug his fingers into the tattered pocket and flung the coins onto the floor, screaming angrily as he ran out of the house. "No! I do not want your stinking ways."<br />
Mr. Potts went to the window and observed Trask as he jumped over the wall and disappeared into the village.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3741950144700244353.post-81023744695188029882011-11-16T20:02:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:02:38.032-08:00Chapter 25 "He is gone," Mr. Potts said still staring from the window. Eventually the duke arose from his chair and joined him at the window. <br />
"He is so agile, invigorated with stubborn passion and angry resolve! And yet, he hath a fierce determination to cling to abject poverty."<br />
"Shall I correspond with Mr. Bigger's solicitor to say that the inheritance was refused?"<br />
"No, first allow me the patience to understand this odd passion. He wants to be who he is."<br />
Several days passed before they saw him again. He was sitting on the wall near the study splitting the ears of some corn cobs he had stolen and was eating it raw. His eyes were fasted on the sluggish activity of mules breaking the crusty surface of land which had laid fallow for generations and upon farmers dragging large bags of seed from their wagons into the dirt. A familiar scene to him in Abergenny, but here, in this far land where the peasants had slept away their lives, it was a peculiar sight. Had he known that the duke when he was the earl had been the one to regenerate and instill life into his own village, his opinion of the hauteur nature of the nobility might undergo some rethinking. But as it was, many long months would pass before he realized that it was the duke who inspired ambitition and that the peasants shared a certain pride in having their duke home alas to govern over them. He allocated many days on the wall thinking about it. Mr. Potts drew open the drapes every morning so that the duke come come to the window and observe the sentry figure of Trask Martain as it kept its vigil over the countryside and west gardens of the study.<br />
"What do the people say of this man?" The duke asked the head housekeeper.<br />
"They say that he is as a hawk who sits on the nest waiting to snatch his prey."<br />
"Then he is thought of as a vulcher?"<br />
"What else?" She shrugged.<br />
"What does he want?" Potts said.<br />
"He wants to phoenix above his dust and taste the bitterness in his mouth, but wonders if he can fathom his own destiny."<br />
"You say that he might accept legitimacy after all?"<br />
"He wants to be a man," the duke answered.<br />
"How do you know these things?"<br />
"I know that it is far easier to cling to the old ways than to light a candle. Perhaps becoming a duke is more than he can accept as a man."<br />
"When winter comes, the hawk will feather its nest," the housekeeper said, still listening.<br />
"There is a new overseer coming this afternoon," Mr. Potts said. "What is his charge?"<br />
"Should he be worthy of hire, I wish the old vegetable garden to be revived and the pastures fertilized and planted for horses and cattle. For the first time in centuries, we shall know a profit. Manningham is to live again."<br />
The trusting Mr. Potts nodded. He had seen the duke's handiwork in Abergenny, Ashley Loche and the Beaufort plantation. Now Manningham. It did not matter that the duke's prime years had passed, that his hair was gray and that his back was hunched and he depended upon a cane to walk. His determination would carry them through. Twas a wise choice which Potts made at Abergenny so long ago to accompany the duke whereever he went.<br />
The overseer planted a summer garden of squash, cucumbers and pumpkins and in the fall planted potatoes and peanuts. Cattle grazed inside a fenced pasture and stables were built for a string of fine thoroughbred horses. Mr. Potts selected a favorite and joined the local farmers in their fox hunting. Lord Manigault, no longer able to ride, waved him off from his west garden. As he stood there, waving and chuckling, the lone figure of Trask Martin approached him. His was a jolly gate, sauntering lightly through the dandelions dug into a footpath which led inside the desmesque.<br />
"The villagers are harvesting their pumpkins and planning a celebration," he said blitely. "There is a girl over there which catches me eye.... I think I should attend but excepting for these rags have no clothes for it."<br />
"Are you come begging?" The duke asked.<br />
" No my lord, I only want to bathe and a mirror to comb me woolly hair, if ye please."<br />
The duke glanced gingerly away to conceal a smile. "Granted."<br />
"And they want ye there," Trask said removing a crumbled paper from his pocket and delivering it to the duke. Lord Manigault was pleased. Moreso than he had ever been before.<br />
"These are my people," he answered. "I shall be delighted to attend."<br />
The duke dressed warmly to attend the outdoor celebration which began in an old cornfield and slowly gravitated towards the outside the wall of the Manningham desmesque. He was made the guest of honor and from his seat at the head of a long wooden table observed an array of fiddlers and dancing. Mr. Potts, still wearing his red hunt jacket, joined in a scottish reel. Platters of roasted pork and chick were continually placed before him as well as full tankards of ale. After awhile, a complacent smile appeared on his drunken lips. In the inner circle of the reel he caught a glimpse of Trask with his arm around a young girl. His robust black hair was combed neatly over his ears and he wore one of the duke's white ruffled shirts. It was unbuttoned halfway down his chest to the belly and he wore a belt to secure his old reggety pair of trousers. In a strangely peasant style, Trask was handsome and possessed a charming mannish personality preferred by women. . An overpowering sense of satisfaction was on his lips as he twirled the girl to his heart's content, then laughed at her dizzyness. After awhile he grabbed her waist with his large garish hands and led her into the woods, not to be seen again.<br />
When that happened, the duke struggled to his feet and commenced a series of short footsteps across the brick portico which led into the study. No one seemed to notice that the old baron had left the celebration. He went straight to his desk and pulled a page of parchment from the drawer, then taking his feather pen and dipping it into the inkwell, wrote: "Mr. Potts. I feel myself in a declining state of health, affecting me in the same consuetude which my wife Matilda suffered. For this reason, my conclusion is that I do not have the years for a painful observation of whether Trask Martain should prepare himself to secede me. . . ." He had mind of a plan but could not finish the instruction to Mr. Potts, and restoring his pen to the inkwell, went to his bed.Georgia Pioneershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09144807411526106518noreply@blogger.com0