“They being French, you see,” Weamish thought it wise to add. “But oh, had ever England a sweeter enemy?”
“You are a charmer, sir. I am beginning to feel quite at home in Nantucket.”
“You will all remain for dinner, I hope. I shall give Jenny orders at once.”
“Not I, thank you,” said Nicholas. “I’ve accounts to settle with Obed Coffin—that’s our cooper, Marquise, if I may use the low word.”
“And we had better unpack and dine quietly in our rooms today, which we have barely glimpsed. Another time, Judge.”
They were all rising from their chairs, when Jenny broke in again. It was decidedly a lucky day for Aimée, who was pondering, amidst all the niceties, the best way or ways of meeting and befriending her major prey; and there he was, being announced, and entering the room with a bow and a handshake with Nicholas. That he and the latter were related was immediately clear: a firm jaw, the straight shape of a nose, in both men, were sufficient to establish the resemblance. Introductions were made. Mayhew expressed the hope that the ladies would spend the summer on the island. “Not so,” said Aimée; “as soon as my Madeleine is restored to full health—she’s a delicate child, unlike her mother, who’s as sturdy as a jailer’s wife—we move to our place in Montreal and the good fight for our French liberties under the heavy-handed British yoke. But pardon my outburst. I am sure, Colonel, that you came on business.”
“I did indeed. First, to have a word with the Judge about another wearisome dispute concerning a sack of forbidden tea, and second, to take Young Nick home, to pore over our bills of lading.”
“Upstairs, to my library, sir,” said Weamish. “Will you wait for us, my dear ladies?”
When the two men had left, Aimée shook her head. “Do remind me, Nicholas—may I call you Nicholas?”
“No, Marquise—unless you allow me to call your daughter Madeleine.”
“Shall we petition her directly? Well, my child?”
“You may call me Madeleine, sir,” said the girl shyly.
“This is a high privilege.”
“Now Nicholas,” said Aimée, “tell me about this wearisome tea. Why such pother about something so very quotidian?”
“Have you forgotten, mother?”
Needless to say, she had not (that naive daughter of hers!).
“I forget what I’ve forgotten. I know so little about your politics, Nicholas. This tea….”
“A symbol, Marquise, nothing more. Our brothers in Britain granted themselves a monopoly of the tea trade in the colonies—”
“Ah, now I remember.”
“And the colonies object.”
“You men! If you cannot make war over the gold mines of Peru, you will do it over a tea leaf.”
“Tea leaf is perhaps unjust, Marquise. Our Whigs speak of Liberty.”
“Are you a Whig, Mr. Mayhew?”
“Like yourself, Marquise, I forget. I attend to my bills of lading.”
“You disappoint me. Or rather, I hope you are using discretion in front of two strangers, and there I commend you. I, who am here simply de passage, may freely confess that my heart pounds to the drums of liberty. But I pray you do not mention this to Judge Weamish, who, entre nous, appears to be an ultra on the Tory side.”
“I promise to keep the peace between you and our excellent magistrate.”
“Yes,” said Aimée, who believed in reinforcing a won position, “were I a man, I would swim away from this island if need be and make for the hottest sector of the battlefield!”
“You too, Madeleine?” asked Nicholas, looking at the girl with some tenderness.
“I am an obedient daughter,” she replied, smiling.
Upon the Judge and Mayhew reappearing, the little party finally broke up, with promises of further delightful meetings. Outside, as the Mayhews were helping the two ladies into their little carriage (Old Moses had fallen asleep sitting on the box, reins in hand), Nicholas exclaimed: “Why not an excursion as soon as you are both settled? While my dear uncle inspects barrels, sacks and hogsheads, I propose to take Old Moses’ place and show you our windy island.”
This was all the more readily accepted as it proved to Aimée that no immediate plot of escape existed (if any existed at all), and that her instructions to Sergeant Cuff could safely wait till tomorrow. After more niceties, uncle and nephew walked away while the chaise carried Aimée and Madeleine to the inn over the unpaved but decent Main Street. None had far to go. Swain’s Inn looked at the waters just above the North Wharf, and the Mayhew residence, with its considerable counting-house in the rear, stood nearby in Oak Street. A chaise, in these circumstances, was meant for dignity rather than for convenience.
That Aimée and Madeleine were the only guests at the inn would have surprised no one in Nantucket. Visitors to the island were almost invariably relations or business friends, and these were given hospitality in homes as a matter of course. Swain’s Inn catered principally to drinkers and diners, whether on the occasion of “important” meetings or without noble pretext. That was where Mr. Swain’s chief interest and profit lay. Still, the house had some fine rooms, occupied, after all, now and then by a voyager and his family. The elegant strangers, greeted with homely courtesy, could count on sufficient comfort.
As soon as the two gentlemen were alone among passers-by, with most of whom they exchanged tippings of the hat, the Colonel said to Nicholas, speaking casually as if the subject were merely the weather: “The captain of the New York packet told me that the whale-ship Enterprise will be mooring offshore in the very near future. A dinghy will enter the harbor. One of the men in it will be our own Henry Wallace. They will ask to be directed to Obed Coffin so they can purchase a few barrels for their sloop.”
Here the Colonel took his nephew’s arm. “Henry,” he continued, lowering his voice a little, “will give Obed important letters for us. That is all the captain knew.”
“And here I came storming after the mail!” said Young Nick with suppressed excitement. “Uncle!” he whispered, “They want you in command against Boston.”
“They can have me as a private,” said Mayhew simply.
General Gage had been no fool to send Aimée on her mission.
4
COLONEL MAYHEW cared about his island’s reputation for civilized courtesy and hospitality to newcomers and visitors. Besides, he could not fail to be fascinated by the mother and beguiled by the daughter. Accordingly, the morning after the ladies’ arrival—but not unseemly early—he walked over to Swain’s Inn and announced himself. Aimée graciously came downstairs, and the two went to sit in Swain’s homely but honest parlor. Mayhew wished to know, in his and his nephew’s names, whether the two women had rested and whether they found their accommodations satisfactory. “This is no château,” he quipped. He found that all was well. A girl had been hired to serve the ladies, and Madeleine, it seemed, already looked healthier than but a week ago in New York.
The main purpose of the Colonel’s visit, however, was to invite the ladies to tea at the Mayhew home that same late afternoon. It may be guessed that Aimée accepted with delight. “I do so want to see how you islanders live!” she exclaimed. Mayhew promised to introduce her to several of the leading Nantucket families. “I assure you that they will be as eager to meet you and your sweet daughter as you are to have a look at them.”
After expressing her thankful sense of the kindness she was being shown in Nantucket so soon after her arrival, Aimée thought it wise to tell the Colonel that, “unavoidably,” (as she put it), she had accepted Judge Weamish’s invitation