A Company of Rogues, page 11
Only Jem and Elsie Holworthy stayed off to the side: they were known to have a Puritan way of thinking, and would likely not approve of dancing at any time—but certainly not on a Sunday.
“To my mind,” Nicholas said when Kathryn pointed this out as they moved through the steps of the dance, “everyone’s principles must bend a bit, here in the colony. ’Tis rare enough to get a day when we can all rest from our work—especially when the fish is in. It could only be on a Sunday, and so Sunday must serve for all things: morning prayer, christening, marrying, burying, feasting, and even the dance. ’Tis not as if we are idle folk with time on our hands, nor as if Rafe and Hannah wanted to wait until winter, when there would have been leisure for a proper wedding.”
“And the minister could not have come in winter,” Kathryn pointed out. “Who is that Master Hayman, Nicholas? What is he doing here?”
Nicholas laughed. “All in good time, little wife,” he said as they parted company at the bottom of the set and changed partners.
When they lined up for the next dance, Master Hayman stood in front of her, holding out his hand. “Your husband has given me leave to partner you in this set, Mistress Guy. Would you do me the honour? I cannot pretend to much skill at these country dances, but on such a fine day and in good company, I want to take my turn.”
“Very well, sir—I will be honoured.” Whoever he was, he was clearly a man of some importance, and as his hostess she was bound to show him every welcome. She took his hand and led him out onto the grassy clearing that passed for a dance floor.
As it turned out, Master Hayman was a fine dancer, and he thanked her when the dance was over. “I hope to make your acquaintance better while I am here, Mistress Guy, for your husband tells me that you have a fine appreciation for plays, for poetry, and for tales of all kinds.”
“Oh—did he say that indeed? He flatters me. I love a good tale—and we have folks here who have the most amazing stories to tell, of the adventures they have had. When I was back in Bristol I loved to go see players and puppet shows when they came to town. But as for poetry, I have no learning.”
“But you have the interest, and that is more than I had hoped to find in this far place,” Master Hayman said. “I am something of a poet myself, you see, and a land as fair as this, with such unknown adventure stretching before us all—well, it was surely made to inspire a poet!” He relinquished her hand as he brought her back to Nicholas’s side. “We shall talk more of poetry when time allows, Mistress Guy.” And putting his hand on Nicholas’s arm to draw him aside, Master Hayman was gone, leaving Kathryn no wiser about who he was and what he was doing here.
But her curiosity was soon satisfied. When the dancing was done and the women brought out pitchers of ale for the thirsty guests, Nicholas stood up in front of the assembled party. He beckoned to Master Hayman, and the well-dressed gentleman came to stand beside Nicholas.
“I do believe you have all met Master Hayman throughout the course of this day. Master Hayman, I hope you will agree we have a fine colony here,” Nicholas said. “Today you have seen my plantation, and tomorrow I will take you to Harbour Grace, where Master Thomas Willoughby has his plantation. You know his father, Sir Percival, of course.”
“Yes, yes of course, I know your father well, young man.” Hayman looked at Thomas Willoughby and nodded. “He would be very pleased, very pleased indeed with the work you are doing, I think.” He drew a deep breath. “How lovely the air is in this country! So clear, so fresh—surely it has a healing effect on all those who live here. So much more beneficial than the air of England—do you not agree, Master Guy?”
“Indeed, it is a fine land—and today is a great day for all of us in this land!” Nicholas Guy turned back to address the gathering. “You all know that the merchants in Bristol who founded the colony at Cupids Cove have been in disputes these last few years with the London merchants, so much so that the Newfoundland Company has been on the verge of splitting apart entirely. For two years now the idea has been suggested that we Bristol men should form our own colony, to pursue our own interests—Bristol merchants supporting Bristol colonists.”
A ragged noise of approval came from the small gathered group; a few of the men cried, “Hear, hear!”
“I am here to tell you all today that the Bristol merchants have heard our wishes on this matter,” Nicholas went on. “They have drawn up a new charter. Our plantations here at Harbour Grace and Musketto Cove, with further land yet to be settled as far as Carbonear, are now under the ownership of the Bristol Newfoundland Company. For this new colony, entirely separate from the Cupids Cove colony, the company has chosen a new name. There was thought that it would be called Harbour Grace, as that will be its largest and principal settlement, but since it will include Musketto Cove and the southern part of Carbonear also, the company has chosen a name that represents what this colony is. As of today’s news from England, we are all planters of the new colony of Bristol’s Hope.”
Once again, there were a few cheers, which grew in enthusiasm. Thomas Willoughby looked like a man caught off-guard, though he joined in the cheering. Kathryn was certain he had known nothing of this announcement, despite his father’s investment in the colony.
Kathryn kept her eyes on Willoughby as her husband spoke again. “Along with this happy news of our new charter and our new colony,” Nicholas said, “it is my great pleasure to introduce to you the man the company has chosen to be our first governor: Master Robert Hayman!”
Now Hayman stepped forward to begin a long and flowery speech. So, Kathryn thought, the company has chosen for governor, not Thomas Willoughby and not my husband, but a man none of us has ever heard of, who has never set foot in this land before.
That was how things were done, of course; colonial governorships were prizes, given to men of good standing in England. But looking from her husband’s face to Thomas Willoughby’s, she knew there was more happening here than met the eye.
Long before Thomas Willoughby had thought of making a move, likely as far back as last summer, Nicholas—and perhaps Holworthy and Crowder too?—must have petitioned the masters back in England, asking them not only for a charter and a colony of their own, but for a governor as well. A governor who had come and presented himself first to Nicholas Guy at Musketto Cove; a governor about whom Thomas Willoughby knew nothing.
There was a subtle game being played here, and Kathryn knew she lacked the knowledge to grasp all the undercurrents of it. But it was a game that her husband was in control of, and the moves he was making left Willoughby at a disadvantage.
And that was as it should be. Anything that strengthened Nicholas’s position in the colony was surely good for Kathryn and her household, and she would shed no tears to see Thomas Willoughby put out of joint. Only she saw Willoughby’s eyes shift from Governor Hayman, to Nicholas, and then to herself. When he met her gaze across the sun-washed clearing, he held her eyes for a moment, then looked to the tangle of children on the ground, where Alice played with the boys.
When he looked back at Kathryn he did not need to speak a warning, not even a veiled one. The warm August afternoon chilled as if a cloud had passed over the sun.
Fourteen A Guest is Entertained
Musketto Cove, October 1618
Poets deserve, past all the human race,
Rev’rend respect and honour…
—Homer’s Odysseys, Book 8, 645–46
Nancy used an old shawl as a sling to carry Lizzie about while still keeping her hands free to work. The baby rarely cried, but she was wide-eyed and curious about the world around her. Since she was still several months away from being able to walk, carrying her about so she could see what was happening seemed the best solution.
It was not a perfect one: just the day before, Nancy had been wearing the sling with Lizzie in it when she went to the communal oven to take out her own loaves of bread. Lizzie had slipped loose, almost tumbling head-first into the oven before her mother caught her. For Nancy, who prided herself on being a capable housekeeper, it was strange how much the addition of a helpless infant made every task more difficult.
She stood now, shifting her weight from one foot to the other because that motion kept Lizzie happy, looking at the plot of land beside their house that Ned had cleared for a garden. Nothing was planted this year; they had only moved into the little house a fortnight ago. Next year there would be turnips, cabbage, peas and beans and carrots. She would not trouble with her own garden for herbs and medicines; Kathryn was the expert there and had a flourishing herb garden, which Nancy and Bess were both welcome to make use of. But Nancy could grow enough here to feed herself and Ned and Lizzie.
She had never fancied herself a farmer, but in these last years Nancy had learned to do a great many things she had never imagined herself doing. For a time, in the Bermuda Islands, she had even worn breeches and borrowed Ned’s name, to disguise herself, and had done a man’s work helping to build the fort there. Then, in Virginia, she had worn her own name and skirts again on John Rolfe’s plantation, where women helped with the hard labour of growing tobacco. Nancy had learned to make herself over many times, into whatever person the task at hand called her to be. She could do it again; she was doing it.
She was glad their new house was part of the larger plantation of Musketto Cove. If she and Ned had been off on their own land far from the other settlers, she would have felt very much alone when Ned was off fishing for the day. As it was, she had fallen into the pattern of doing her own housework in the morning, then crossing the beach to Kathryn’s house to help with the noon meal and afternoon’s work there.
She planned to go there in an hour or so, but was surprised to see little Jonathan Guy running across the beach. He relished the important task of delivering messages.
“Aunt Nancy! Mama wants you up at the house—she says Guv’nor is coming to visit.”
“The governor!” Nancy had not seen Master Hayman since his arrival back in August; after a couple of days at Musketto Cove he had taken up residence in Thomas Willoughby’s house at Harbour Grace. Master Nicholas had gone a few times to Harbour Grace on matters of business, but the governor had not returned to the Guys’ plantation.
“Hurry back, and tell her I am coming as quick as I might.” Nancy untied Lizzie from the sling and changed her apron, stained from the morning’s work, for a clean one. She tied a clean white coif around her hair and changed Lizzie’s clouts before making her way to Kathryn’s house.
Along the beach she had a view of the little round bowl of their cove, the morning sun dancing on the water. On the flakes, fish from the last few catches lay drying in the sun; more was stacked in the storehouse. She knew now that the flat white pieces of salted codfish were as valuable as heaps of silver coins; they were, thus far, the only thing produced in the colony that had value when sold in the markets of Europe. The Bristol merchants gave the colonists trade goods in exchange for fish at the end of the season. Goods were more useful than money, for there were no shops or markets in this land, no place yet to buy or sell.
Now that she had spent time in other colonies, Nancy had a better understanding of what the merchants and the colonists were trying to accomplish here. Codfish served the same place in the colonial economy as tobacco was beginning to do in Virginia; down there, the English had arrived believing they could find vast stores of gold and silver, but they had found that the native people could not point them to the longed-for gold mines. But the tobacco that the local people had been growing all along was in great demand back in England.
Here in the New Found Land, the wealth of codfish in the water had been known in England for a hundred years; the question was whether it was worth supporting colonies of English folk living here year-round, rather than simply sending the fishing fleet across in the summer and bringing them home every autumn.
Nancy did not know which side was right, in that great debate. All she knew was that she and her husband owned a piece of land with a house on it that was theirs by right—Ned showed her a paper Nicholas Guy had drawn up, granting the land to them, though neither Ned nor Nancy could read it. That land, that house, that paper, was all Nancy needed to know about the colony.
Governor Hayman came overland, accompanied by William Spencer, one of the Harbour Grace fishing servants, and a third man that Nancy had never seen before. Spencer had run ahead to bring word of the governor’s arrival, then come back to guide the visitors. When they came, Nancy, Daisy and Hannah were preparing a finer noon meal than was customary. Kathryn had put on her best gown, and Master Nicholas changed out of his working clothes into doublet and hose.
Master Hayman was similarly well attired, in forest-green doublet and gold-coloured hose, but his garments looked worse for wear after the trek along the woods path.
“Look at his cap!” Kathryn whispered behind her hand to Nancy. “Are those feathers in it, or did he walk through a bird’s nest along the way?”
“Hush,” Nancy said, trying to stifle her own laughter at the sight of the bedraggled governor. Despite the mud on his shoes and hose and the pine needles on his doublet, he carried himself with dignity as he greeted the master and mistress of Musketto Cove, bowing over Kathryn’s hand and brushing it with his lips as if she were a lady.
“Mistress Guy, how good to meet you again! I look forward to visiting your fine home and meeting your children and the folk of your household. May I present Captain Dermer, come from England by way of Cupids Cove? He wanted to see our fine new colony here at Bristol’s Hope, but he especially wants to meet with our native friend.”
Captain Dermer was dressed well, though more simply than the governor. Master Nicholas called Tisquantum over, and the men walked some distance away in private conversation.
After the meal and a stroll about the plantation, Governor Hayman settled on the bench outside the big house—he preferred to sit outside, he said, as it was such a lovely clear, fresh day, even though the bite of autumn was in the wind. “What a fair country this is!” he said as Nancy handed him a cup of wine, pulled from the master’s stores for a special occasion.
Unlike many men of his class who ignored servants as if they were part of the furniture, he met Nancy’s eye and thanked her as he took the cup. “Goodwife Perry, if I remember aright?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, dropping a curtsey.
“You are the brave woman who endured such hardships at the hands of pirates. I would hear more of your travels—mayhap you will tell me some tales by the fireside tonight?”
“I—I am not much of a teller of tales, sir. But I will answer any questions you might have.”
Kathryn, who had just come from the house, sat down beside the governor. “Nancy makes a great show of modesty and says she does not like to talk of her adventures, but ’tis true, sir, she has seen more of the world than most of us will do in a lifetime. Why, do you know that in Bermuda she went about disguised as a man, and did a man’s work in the colony there, to preserve her own virtue until she could get away from that place?”
“Is that so?” The governor looked up at Nancy with even greater interest. “Why, ’tis like something out of a play.”
“That is what put the thought in her head!” Kathryn said. “When we were girls in Bristol I used to drag her off to see the players. I love it here in the New Found Land, but in truth, ’tis one of the things I miss in England—the chance to see players, or strolling musicians, or any such thing. We must rely on those who have had adventures, like Nancy and Ned and Tisquantum, to tell us their tales.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Hayman nodded. “I remember you spoke before of your fondness for tales of adventure, and I have something with me that perhaps we may all enjoy this evening. I brought a few books out from England, and one of them is a new translation into English of a great Greek poet called Homer. Have you heard of the legends of Troy, and the voyages of Ulysses?”
Nancy, having little interest in Greek poets and seeing that she was no longer needed, went back to the house, where Daisy was clearing up from the noon meal and Hannah was rolling out pastry crust for supper. “The governor and that captain are staying the night and likely a few days more,” Hannah said, “so me and Rafe’ll be put out of our bed, I ’low, to give them a place.”
“I’d like to know what that Captain Dermer is up to,” said Daisy, “off in corners talking with Tisquantum. Making a load of promises he don’t intend to keep, if you ask me.”
“What promises would he be making?” Hannah said.
“I don’t doubt he’s promising that if Tisquantum goes on his ship as a guide, he’ll take him back to his own people, his own country.” Daisy’s tone was bleak, and Nancy darted a glance at her. She had seen, over the summer, the growing closeness—what she might almost call flirtation or even courtship, if it had been an Englishman—between Daisy and Tisquantum.
“Is Tisquantum like to agree to such an offer?” Nancy asked.
“’Tis not for me to say what he might or might not do. But I do know he wants to go home—more than…more than anything.”
“You can’t blame him—surely anyone would want the same.”
“Would they?” Daisy shot back, wringing out her dishcloth. “All of us here are an ocean away from home. We are content enough to make a life here—could not Tisquantum do the same?”
“Surely ’tis different for one such as him,” Hannah said. “He wants to be among his own kind.”
“We all chose to come out here,” Nancy said. “Tisquantum never chose to leave his home. We cannot all pick and choose our path in life, but to be taken from your home by force is—hard.” She thought of the plantation in Virginia, where she had had good work and been treated well. Thought of her friend Omar, who had saved her life in Bermuda—Omar, who would risk anything to avoid being captured back into slavery. Even the poorest and humblest person would surely prefer to chart their own path, if they could. “You cannot blame Tisquantum for wanting to go home.”
