The soldiers brought the body into the street and rolled it into the cart. The sergeant threw a tarpaulin over it. The negro sauntered into the empty doorway of a roofless house.
Marryot gave the slightest of bows and turned smartly away, gesturing to the sergeant to move off.
A moment, sir, if you please, I said.
The Major stopped and, for the first time, looked directly at me. He was below medium height but made up for his lack of inches in other ways, for he was broad in the chest and decisive in his movements.
What enquiries will you make in this matter? I asked.
Thats my business, sir. Mine and the City Commandants, unless Sir Henry Clinton decides otherwise.
Mine too, sir. Under the terms of my commission I am obliged to report on the administration of justice in the city in all its aspects and in particular upon the authority that the military power exercises over the civilian population.
Marryots colour darkened. Need I remind you that we are at war?
The American Department is well aware of that, sir. And so am I.
The Major glanced at Townley. Sir, would you have the goodness to explain to Mr Savill that this is a city under martial law? Capital crimes are tried in courts martial, as Lord George Germain knows from personal experience.
Townley smiled impartially and shrugged his shoulders.
I do not dispute that capital crimes come under military jurisdiction, sir. I spoke in an intentionally quiet voice, purged of emotion. I do not wish to interfere. Merely to have an oversight.
Marryots grip tightened around his cane. If wishes were horses, sir, then beggars would ride.
If you deny me in this, sir, I said quietly, I shall complain formally both to Sir Henry here in New York and Lord George Germain in London. My orders are signed by Lord George, and his authority in this matter derives directly from His Majesty.
Im damned if
I repeat, sir. I do not wish to interfere with the discharge of your duties in any way. My orders are to observe, nothing more. I have my commission here, if you would like a sight of it.
The Majors forehead was scored with three vertical lines that sprang from the bridge of his nose. When he frowned, the lines deepened. He did not speak for a moment. Then he held out his hand.
You may show me your wretched scrap of paper.
He read the commission slowly, while Townley paced up and down, fanning himself with his hat and whistling softly. The soldiers clustered around the cart in silence. They must have gathered something of what was going on, for Marryots voice was naturally loud and harsh, and he had made no attempt to moderate its volume.
He handed back the letter of authorization. I warn you, sir, it will be a waste of your time and mine. But what can one expect when our affairs in America are at the mercy of a man who hides behind a desk three thousand miles away?
I had no desire to fight other peoples battles. And how will you proceed in this matter?
Well find out who the man is, if we are lucky. Then at least he can be buried under his own name. As to his murderer: I do not hold out much hope there, sir, unless someone lays information. If a man looks for his pleasures in Canvas Town, he runs the risk of paying heavily for them.
Thank you, sir, I said. Im much obliged.
Townley smiled at us. Im rejoiced to see you such good friends, gentlemen. He pulled out his watch. Mr Savill, I do not wish to hurry you, but we should be on our way. I fancy the Wintours keep early hours.
Eh? Marryot said. You are engaged at Judge Wintours?
Townley bowed. In a manner of speaking. Mr Savill will be lodging there during his stay in New York.
Marryot coloured again. Pray ah pray give my compliments to the Judge and his ladies. Tell them that I hope to do myself the honour of calling on them to see how they do.
The three of us, followed by the soldiers and the cart, walked down to Broadway, where we separated. Townley and I turned left and made our way slowly eastwards in the direction of St Pauls Chapel.
Well, Townley said, you are quite the Daniel, I perceive, and have ventured into the lions den and emerged unscathed. I have seen Major Marryot make grown men quail. He smiled at me. But have a care, sir. He is a man of some importance in this city and you should mind how you cross him.
We strolled in silence the length of another block. Then Townley added: Oh and by the by they say he has a certain tendresse for young Mrs Wintour.
Chapter Six
The high-ceilinged room was a place of shadows. Despite the heat, the windows were shut and the curtains closed because, old Mrs Wintour said, the smell of the great fire was become intolerable and the street below so noisy.
Ten candles burned on brackets attached to the walls but they served mainly to accentuate the surrounding gloom. A heavy moth, drunk with desire, circled one of the flames. I could not drag my eyes away from it. The candle singed first one wing, then the other. At last, and with supernatural strength, the besotted insect reached the fatal flame again. There was a faint sizzling sound. The moth fell to the pier table immediately beneath the bracket and lay there, twitching.
More tea, sir? Mrs Wintour asked, pale and indistinct on a sofa.
Thank you, maam, but no.
I rubbed sweating palms on my breeches. The Judge let slip a long, rumbling snore from the recesses of his high-backed armchair. Only his legs were visible.
Having discharged her duties as a hostess, Mrs Wintour sat back and did not speak. I could not tell whether her eyes were open or closed. From somewhere below came a clatter as though a pot had fallen on the floor. The moth gave up its unequal struggle with the world and expired. The air in the room seemed to condense into a dark, swaying liquid, trapping the humans like three curious natural specimens suspended in alcohol.
Would it always be like this, I wondered? Would I sit in silence, night after night, in this smothering subaqueous fog? The memory of the corpse in the harbour drifted into my mind, and I saw again the decaying face of the merman. Perhaps the poor fellow now lay in just such a stifling semi-darkness at the bottom of the ocean.
It was past ten oclock. In a moment the grandfather clock in the hall must chime the quarter. It seemed as if days or even weeks had passed since it had last chimed the hour. A frugal supper had been served at nine by a manservant out of livery and a maid. I had been here since eight oclock. Townley had introduced me to the Judge and had then slipped away, promising to call for me in the morning.
The drawing-room door opened. Mrs Wintour twitched in her chair and emitted a little cry as though someone had pinched her. A lady entered.
Ah, my dear, the Judge said, levering himself up with the help of the tea table. There you are, Bella, bless my soul. Are you quite restored?
I rose to my feet. The light was so poor that the womans face was barely visible. I was aware only that she was small and slim, and she brought with her the smell of otto of roses.
You startled me, Mrs Wintour said. Why is everything so loud nowadays?
Bella, the Judge went on, allow me to name Mr Savill of the American Department. And, Mr Savill, here at last is my dear daughter, my sons wife, Mrs Arabella.
You startled me, Mrs Wintour said. Why is everything so loud nowadays?
Bella, the Judge went on, allow me to name Mr Savill of the American Department. And, Mr Savill, here at last is my dear daughter, my sons wife, Mrs Arabella.
I bowed over the ladys hand.
Mr Savill, she said in a low voice. I am happy to meet you.
Come and sit with us, my dear, the Judge said, stretching out his hand to her. We shall send for fresh tea.
Would you excuse me this once, sir? Mrs Arabella took the Judges hand in both of hers. My head is still splitting it is this terrible heat, I think. She stroked her father-in-laws hand as though it were a small animal in need of reassurance. I came down for a moment to welcome Mr Savill. I would not want him to think us unmannerly.
Never that, madam, I said. You are politeness itself. But I am sorry you are indisposed.
You must take something, the Judge said. Have Miriam mix you up a Jamess Powder. Im sure it will answer.
Yes, sir, you may be sure I shall.
Mrs Arabella kissed her parents-in-law. She curtsied to me and left the room.
The dear child should not overdo it, the Judge observed, sinking back into his chair.
The flurry of movement gave me the opportunity to withdraw. I had been up at dawn, I explained, and my first day ashore had been a tiring one.
Be so good as to ring the bell, sir, the Judge said. Josiah will bring a candle and take you up to your chamber.
The manservant conducted me up the stairs. My room was at the back of the house on the second floor. Square and low-ceilinged, it was dominated by a high bed with an enormous feather mattress. My bags and boxes had been brought up during the day.
I dismissed the man for the night. It struck me that it was only now, for the first time in over five weeks, that I was alone. Noak had always been there on the Earl of Sandwich, usually within arms reach. Even in the ships heads, someone else had generally been beside me or at least within sight and sound. Nor had I been alone today. Indeed, my overwhelming impression was that this was a city where it would be almost impossible to be solitary, for the streets and buildings were packed with people townsfolk, refugees, British and Loyalist soldiers, and the crowds of followers that accumulate around an army.
I undressed, allowing my clothes to lie where they fell. For a moment I stood naked at the foot of the bed, hoping for a draught to cool my skin. But the air was warm and motionless.
I was too tired to read. Leaving the bed-curtains tied back, I climbed into bed. I laid myself on top of the bedclothes. The mattress enveloped me. I pinched out the candle.
The darkness was soft and caressing. I found myself thinking of Mrs Arabella. Because the drawing room had been so dimly lit, and because she had not come close to any of the candles, I had not seen her face clearly it had been no more than a pale smudge floating above her body.
My impression of her derived from information provided by other senses. First, there had been the scent of otto of roses: but the smell of it had combined with the private odours of Mrs Arabella herself to form something richer and denser. Second, I remembered her voice, which had not been like any other I knew. This was partly because she spoke with an American accent, though it was not the broad twang used by so many people I had heard today. Also, of course, she was a woman, with the soft, insinuating tone that certain women possessed.
There had been no women aboard the Earl of Sandwich. To my surprise I felt my naked body responding even to this largely formless memory of Mrs Arabella with a rush of blood that both disconcerted and embarrassed me.
Hastily I directed my attention to my wife, Augusta. I imagined her walking in the park or reading or talking about the clothes and homes of other ladies, as she seemed interminably to do; and by degrees I grew calmer.
In the silence and the darkness, I thought about my daughter. Lizzie had wept when I left her. She was five now, and living with my sister in Shepperton, for her mother had remained in London. I prayed for my daughters happiness and for her preservation from all harm, as I did every night.
As I lay there, I became aware that the silence was no longer as absolute as it had been. Somewhere in the distance, a barely distinguishable sound rose and fell in volume in a series of irregular ululations.
The wind in the chimney? A bird of the night? An animal in pain? I did not recognize the sound but that was not strange in itself, for I was in a strange house in a strange city on the coast of a strange continent.
A minute or so slipped by. The sound grew fainter and then stopped altogether.
By that time I was sliding into sleep. My last conscious thought was that the sound might have been a weeping child. But, God be thanked, someone had dried her tears.
Chapter Seven
My Dear Daughter
I put down the pen and stared out of the window. How did I find the words that would speak directly to a five-year-old child? How could I assure my Lizzie at a distance of three thousand miles of my paternal care and love for her?
After a voyage of five weeks I arrived here without any accident and in as good health as when I left you in Shepperton. The conviction that you will derive more benefit from where you are than if still with me has consoled me greatly on my parting from you.
Dull, I thought dull, dull, dull. But I must write something to let her know I am safe and that she is in my thoughts. Anything was better than nothing.
Pray give my service to your aunt and ask her to write to me every week to tell me how you all do.
I reminded myself that a father should provide moral guidance to his children. In the rearing of the young, the tender emotions should be, by and large, the province of the tender sex.
If you love me, strive to be good under every situation and to all living creatures, and to acquire those accomplishments which I have put in your power, and which will go far towards ensuring you the warmest love of your affectionate father,
E. Savill
I threw down the pen more violently this time. Ink drops spattered across the table. A moment later, I picked up the pen again, dipped it in the inkpot and wrote in a swift scrawl:
Postscriptum: It feels strange to be on dry land. It does not wobble like the sea. New York is monstrous hot and busy. It is full of our soldiers, and very brave and gay they look in their fine uniforms. I saw many great ships in the harbour. Last night I slept in a featherbed that was as big as an elephant.
I folded the letter, addressed it, and put it to one side, ready to be sealed. It was still early in the morning and the sun was on the other side of the house. I took a fresh sheet and wrote:
My dear Augusta We are safely arrived in New York, after a passage of some five weeks and two days. The
I paused again. At this moment, I could think of nothing to write after The. Augusta would not wish to know that the weather was hot or that my mattress was as big as an elephant. Nor perhaps would she wish to hear that I was lodging in a house with a woman who smelled of otto of roses.