Part 43 (1/2)
”Well. He's to be married again. The Widow Krieger from Albany.”
”Good, that's a fine thing.” Quent remembered Ely's daughter and her husband and the tiny baby, and the way the sawyer had looked as he stood over their bodies. ”The sawmill must be lonely after so much loss. And the Frankels, how are they?”
”Very well. But John thinks perhaps we won't have enough work to keep the gristmill and the sugarhouse busy next year. He says we may not be able to plant as much or trade as much and-”
”John couldn't be more wrong. About that like so much else. Madam, you're s.h.i.+vering. Come, let's go inside.”
It was well past the dinner hour but Kitchen Hannah plied him with johnnycakes and biscuits, and ham and parsnips and potatoes baked into a pie. ”Still warm enough,” she told him. ”Don't you be leaving any, saying it be too chilled to be good.”
”It's delicious, Hannah. Thank you.” When she had gone, he pulled his chair closer to Lorene's. ”Madam, I want to be gone before John gets back. Else ...”
”I know. But he's your bro-”
”We haven't time to talk about John. Just listen. You must see to it that every field is planted in the spring. Grow plenty of wheat, never mind what John says, and take in as much sugar as you can beg or buy. Tell Moses Frankel he's to make rum with the lot. As many jugs as they can manage. And don't send any more to Do Good than you must.”
”We're doing less and less trade at Do Good. The Indians seem to be withdrawing from us. At least that's what Esther s...o...b..rry says and she never lies.”
”Give Esther my warm regards. And don't worry about the Kahniankehaka, they've got their own concerns at the moment.” Some months back, before he went to London, Quent himself had given a Suki bead to Scarouady. He had accepted ayaapia, the elk buck, on behalf of the entire Iroquois Confederation. Just to be sure, Quent had also given eesipana, the rac.o.o.n, to the Kahniankehaka. ”Just do as I say, Madam.” Quent dropped his voice, speaking in a low and urgent tone. ”Next summer, everywhere in the province but particularly here, will be teeming with redcoats. More than you've ever seen, more than you can imagine. They'll need to be fed and supplied with drink and housed. You must have a quiet word with Ely and leave John out of it if you can. Tell Ely he's to cut and plank as much timber as possible over the winter. There will be barracks needed. The wood to build them can be sold from Shadowbrook.”
”Quent, I do not doubt that you know things about London's plans, but if we can indeed turn all this profit, what good will it do? The De Lanceys-”
”James and Oliver De Lancey will share in our profits, Madam. But not to any undue extent.”
”No, you don't understand. John made everything over as part of some mad scheme to get cane land. With Hamish Stewart dead it must be the De Lanceys who own the Patent. John says no, that with Hamish dead it's reverted to him, but-”
”John is right.” The words were bitter in his mouth. Everything he'd done had given the Patent back to his brother. John must die.
He handed her the original of the doc.u.ment she'd found crumpled up in the cold fireplace the night Hamish Stewart died. Lorene looked at each page, her eyes skimming the tiny print, then fastening on the signatures. Oliver De Lancey, James Alexander, Hayman Levy, and John Hale. ”But are you sure, Quentin, that it is now the only copy? And what of the deed that gave Hamish Stew-”
”Stewart's deed no longer exists. I burned it myself. And yes, I'm sure this is the only copy of the papers John signed.”
She turned away as if hearing him say it pained her. ”Your brother didn't mean to give up the Patent, only to add land in the Islands to what we already have.”
”It doesn't matter now. Things are as they were.”
”Yes, some things are. I am very pleased, Quentin. But ... do I want to know how you accomplished this?”
”It was nothing dishonorable, Madam.”
”Do you think I care for honor where snakes and liars and cheats like the De Lanceys are concerned? I do not.” She fairly spat out the words. ”I would see them all in h.e.l.l and dance over their graves. But they are not fools. Your brother, perhaps, but not the De Lanceys, and not you. What did you have to trade to get control of the Patent, Quentin Hale? That is my question.”
”James De Lancey cares more for power than money, Madam. And Oliver pretty much does his brother's bidding. I made certain alliances in London, and London is the source of the governor's writ here. So, fourteen percent of our profit for the next four years, Madam. It will not be difficult with so much coming in. And better to have the De Lanceys as allies than as enemies.”
She nodded. ”Your father would have said the same thing. But what am I to tell John?”
”As little as possible. John must not know the Patent is entirely free and clear again. It will make him impossible to control.”
”How can I keep such a thing secret?”
”You have been keeping secrets all your life, Madam,” he said softly. ”This one is probably easier than some.”
Lorene was silent for a time. She put her hand over his. ”He will know nothing. Not until you say he may.”
”Until this war's over and I can come home and ... deal with things.” John must die. ”You can manage this, Madam.” He smiled. ”You've always been able to manage the Hale men.”
Lorene nodded but did not return his smile. The price for arranging things as she knew they must be often turned out higher than she wished to pay.
”One last thing,” Quent said. ”The Scot. The De Lanceys were using him, of course, and he was so besotted with his desire to possess the Patent he let himself be used. But I need to know if he said anything other than that he was the new master of Shadowbrook. Stewart was a Jacobite with alliances to the papists in Quebec. I don't want any surprises. Could that have been why John killed him?”
”John has said nothing to me of such a thing. I don't believe Canada was ever mentioned. And your brother didn't kill Hamish Stewart. Taba, a little Ibo slave, did. She was bought after you left, so you don't know her.” Lorene told the story.
”This Taba,” he asked when she finished, ”is she still here? Perhaps it would be best if she were sold on.”
Lorene shook her head. ”No. That's not necessary. She is a fine seamstress. I am training her up myself; she'll be useful for many years. John won't-I gave him to understand that she had saved his life,” Lorene said mildly, only her eyes speaking the darker truths. ”He will not punish her for running away. And he's stopped ...” She let the words trail away.
Something else he could safely leave to his mother. He stood up. ”I must go.”
”When will you come back?” Lorene asked when they stood by the front door.
”As soon as I can. After this war's over for sure.” John must die. ”I nearly forgot, Madam. There's a woman in the town, Annie Crotchett. She's no better than she should be, but thanks to John she's lost what livelihood she had. She's usually at Peter Groesbeck's tavern. I promised a guinea every month or two. Can you find it? You always did have a bit put by the rest of us knew nothing about.”
Lorene smiled and lay her palm alongside his cheek. ”Any woman not an utter fool does the same. I'll find a bit for Annie Crotchett and see she gets it.”
The easy part was done. What remained was a great deal more difficult.
Book 4.
Quebec 1758-1759.
Chapter Twenty-Four.
SAt.u.r.dAY, JUNE 8, 1758.
LOUISBOURG, ILE ROYAL.
NEARLY SUMMER AND it was still s.h.i.+vering cold in this perverse h.e.l.l the devil had fas.h.i.+oned off the coast of Canada. Quent was in one of the most forward boats, stomach churning, blood roaring in his ears, praying this would not be another false start. There had been three aborted attempts, the men loaded into two hundred landing craft, then called back because they could make no headway.
Each longboat was manned by twenty oarsmen and carried sixty-three soldiers, plus a drummer lad amids.h.i.+ps to beat the stroke. They were twigs tossed about on the thundering waves, their flat bottoms and lack of serious heft continually punished by the boiling surf. Icy fog and whip-sharp salt spray added to the misery of men drenched to the skin, peering into the mist hoping for a sign of the beach with the smell of their own fear and their own vomit filling their noses.