~~~
“Mr Read, ma’am.”
Both ladies stood to greet the gentleman. In yet another signal they had worked out over the months, they stood close enough that Anne could give subtle cues to her friend. In this case, a light graze across the back of Lizzy’s hand with two knuckles allowed the two ladies to execute perfectly synchronised curtsies, which never failed to impress the easily captivated.
Empty showmanship rarely impressed Mr Read, yet he found himself struck by the signs of a close and loving relationship between two ladies who, by Miss de Bourgh’saccount, had met only a year ago. Had they been introduced as the most loving of sisters, he would have believed them.
“Mr Read, welcome to our home.”
He appreciated the greeting, as well as the inclusiveness.
“Mr Read, may I please acquaint you with my dearest friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and my other good friend, Mr Eldridge Hopkinson.”
Mr Hopkinson would not pass muster as a ‘gentleman’ in England, but here he would do just fine. In fact—
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet and Mr Hopkinson. I have heard a great deal about you and none of it seems exaggerated.”
Elizabeth laughed at that. “Yes, I assume Anne mentioned a battered and bruised companion. She is always precise that way.”
The gentleman joined their mirth. He was happy to see they were not afraid to laugh; the simpering giggles some English girls exhibited set his teeth on edge.
“She seems to have neglected one or two points in her description—” he finally answered.
Anne—he struggled to think of her as anything but Anne—had omitted the salient detail that her friend wasblind. There had been a great deal of discussion about Miss Bennet, but that particular fact had not arisen. Some might consider it a bad sign—omitting such an important detail about someone in their household—but he did not hold to that view. Anne simply considered it unimportant, to her credit.
The trio sat in the parlour. Being quite an observant man, Mr Read noticed a few of their signs immediately. It took only the slightest brush of a hand to have Miss Bennet and Miss de Bourgh seated simultaneously. Miss Bennet appeared a knowledgeable woman who could thoroughly dominate a conversation if she chose, yet she did not. She participated,listening carefully; though he suspected she listened to him more closely than to Anne. He wondered if the blind truly could hear more, or wring more meaning out of what was said than others, but that conversation must wait for another day.
“What brings you from Ohio to New York, Mr Read?” asked Miss Bennet after they had taken tea.
Read watched Miss de Bourgh carefully. They had touched on this and a few other subjects lightly the night before, but he had been so fascinated with her tales of England that he had not explored it in depth.
“A canal. I am the quintessential American success story. I am an only child, left with no real fortune, but I have my wits about me, and I have made a reasonable success moving things from people that have them to those that want them. I would like to improve that process to my own profit and that of my neighbours, so I am here to help get a grand canal built.”
He looked for the telltale sneer common among the English upper classes he had done business with—the look that suggested they considered ‘trade’ beneath them, despite the fact that they would not be talking to him were they not already engaged in it themselves. Few people were more able to turn a blind eye to their own foibles and inconsistencies than the English gentry, but his observations were for naught. Neither of the ladies seemed to think there was the slightest stench to trade. In fact, they both looked fascinated.
Miss Bennet in particular, looked like one of the bears he had once seen in the Canadas, pouncing on a fish in a stream. She wanted to know all about his business, and he suspected by that she meantallof his business.
“There is a proposal to build a great canal from New York to Ohio. It would be three hundred miles or so with several locks, much like your Brightwater canal in England. I want to help build one here.”
The ladies leaned forward, eager for details, and he cautiously began a tale of intrigue and politics, bribes and winners and losers, elevations and drainage, locks and waterways and economics.
“Ohio grows a great deal of grain. Grain is heavy and difficult to move, which makes it expensive; so, a good deal of it is made into whisky, which is less profitable and heavily taxed, but easier to move. I want to help transport it to cities like this one that need bread to engage in trade of all sorts. I also believe my neighbours might engage in all types of industries if they could get the goods to market. I want to do my part to build this nation. It is a mercantile nation, founded on trade and industry, especially here in the North, and trade requires things to be moved. We want to build an artificial river, ladies… or at least a stream.”
Elizabeth was fascinated, and Anne interested; though an hour into it, neither lady could be torn away from the discussion. It seemed Mr Read was a man of significant ambitions. The canal could be the making or ruin of an entire territory. The increased trade alone might be enough to drive the place towards statehood, and he was there at the very beginning. His dreams were vast. First, move the considerable bounty of the fields, and then follow with some of the new manufactories and mills that were starting to change the world.
After a time, Anne said, “Since you stand not on ceremony, would you consider staying for luncheon, Mr Read?”
All three laughed, and Mr Read observed both ladies carefully while accepting their invitation. A bell pull was rung, and a footman came to arrange the meal, while the three carried on their conversation. Mr Hopkinson had joined them some time earlier, and he turned out to possess certain knowledge that might be useful.
“Mr Read, I apologise I missed the first part of your discussion. There was a crisis involving a pianoforte, and apparently damage to ears matching Lizzy’s damage to her head.”
Mr Read looked puzzled, until Mr Hopkinson surprised everyone when he walked over to the pianoforte and played a simple tune. He played it correctly, but the sound issuing from the instrument would have put a cat off a mouse.
Mr Read laughed. “Crisis, indeed. The world in general, and particularly every dog in the neighbourhood, will thank you, Mr Hopkinson. I can see why Miss Bennet was so offended she decided to try to destroy the instrument with her head.”
The two men laughed good-naturedly, and Mr Hopkinson carried on. “My son actually worked for a time both building and running the Brightwater canal in England. I learned a few things about canals, and would be happy to arrange an introduction.”
Mr Read took that news with eager interest, as did the ladies, and they carried on for quite some time, trying their best to draw every salient detail Mr Hopkinson could remember.
