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“Very romantic,” she commended him. “Toll-loll! Ask her yourself. And if either of you has the slightest of doubts, we, your parents and guardians, will listen to you.” She smiled. “Children used to obey their parents without question. But times have changed. No one is being forced into anything.”
“She will not be ordered?”
“Not at all.”
“You will not order me?”
“My son, I think only of your happiness.”
“You are a rather surprising parent, you know,” he told her with a ghost of a smile. “Last time I came to the palace, I was saving the queen from a rebellion, now you tell me I am to propose marriage. Do you think we might discuss these matters before they are off at a gallop?”
She laughed. “Sometimes, time is of the essence. And I am not a woman of patience.”
REEKIE WHARF, LONDON, SPRING 1688
The warehouse was closed and the wharf was quiet, the sun sinking low over the city. Alys had the new package of receipts from Johnnie’s sales in Barbados spread over the parlor table. She always kept arunning tally in her head of the stock she had sent out to him. But now, she saw the fortune that Johnnie was making from reselling the goods. The most recent ship had brought in hogsheads of best sugar, and this package of notes of credit from Barbados planters to be redeemed at their London agents.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Alys heard Tabs, the cook, open the top half and then exclaim, “Well, I never! God bless us! What a fine sight!”
She rose to her feet, knowing at once that it must be Ned. Only Ned always came to the yard, as if the front door were for gentry visitors. “Is that you, Uncle Ned?” she asked, stepping over the parlor doorsill as he came into the hall with Tabs exclaiming behind him.
He was looking well, far stronger than when he had left, his face tanned and deeply grooved with lines, the pale scar of his wound puckered at his temple. He had gained weight in the months that he had been away, and he stood taller. His smile, still lopsided, was warm and untroubled. “Well, here’s the wharfinger, doing her business!” he exclaimed, taking in the account books spread on the table. “You look just as you did when I left you.”
“God bless you, Uncle. You’ve not brought Johnnie with you?”
“No, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he is well and happy there, and he sent you his love and a little gift for you, and—which you will want more—receipts and an order for goods which he made me swear to give you at once.” Ned plunged into the pocket of his sea jacket and brought out a crumpled roll of papers.
“He’s not had the fever?”
“No, he’s taking Alinor’s tea.”
“And he’s happy? I can tell from the receipts that he’s doing well.”
“He’s settled in, he has friends. He likes the life there.”
She saw the shadow that went across his face. “So what’s wrong? He didn’t find Rowan, and neither did you?”
“She’s escaped,” Ned said. “I’m glad of it. She’s taken her own freedom. I’d have been glad to free her; but she’s a woman who can find her own path.”
“She wasn’t dead?”
“Not her.”
“And Johnnie doesn’t mind?”
“He did at first; but she’d never have worked in his shop. She’d never have commanded slaves, she’d never’ve married a man who was a slave driver.”
“Johnnie owns slaves now?” Alys could not keep the respect from her voice.
“He hires ’em. He tells me he’ll not buy his own. But I think it unavoidable.”
She saw the weariness in his face. “Here am I! Questioning you in the hall like a landlady. Take your bags upstairs to your old room, and come down and I’ll have some small ale for you and I’ll get dinner on. Or would you rather punch? Are you drinking rum now?”
“Nay,” he said. “I don’t take sugar. I won’t take coffee, or tobacco. I’ve seen how it’s grown, and I won’t benefit.”
She made a little gesture at the warehouse, at the parlor table and the account books. “We can’t help but benefit,” she said. “It’s how the world is. There is no profit in equality.”
He nodded. “I know that all wealth flows from one to another, but I’ll do what I can to keep my own hands clean.”
