Page 111 of The Summer Country

“A good friend gave his life on the peninsula, fighting Bonaparte.”

There was a ragged chorus of “Here, here!” and a “Damn the French!” from the florid captain that earned him an elbow in the ribs from his wife, causing his cheer to end in a hiccup.

Charles turned the glass around and around in his fingers, as if he might distract his audience with the glow, like a gypsy with a glass ball. “He leaves behind him a daughter, by a Portuguese woman. The child is now doubly an orphan, with the loss of her mother.” For a moment, his eyes met Jenny’s, behind Mary Anne’s chair, and then flinched away again. “It seems that he expressed a wish that I raise the child.”

“Doesn’t the man have family of his own?” inquired the maiden cousin, lifting her lorgnette.

“They were estranged,” said Charles briefly.

“Don’t wonder,” murmured the captain, “if he was consortin’ with Portugee beauties.”

“Were they married?” demanded Mrs. Poole avidly. She was only just a wife herself, wearing a plunging décolletage with all the recklessness of new maturity.

“I believe so,” said Charles cautiously.

“If a marriage to a papist can be accounted a marriage,” said the captain’s wife, in a voice that carried.

“The child,” said Charles, raising his voice to be heard above the commentary, “will be taking ship from Lisbon as soon as the winds are favorable. I look forward to welcoming Carlota St. Aubyn to Barbados, and hope you will too.”

Robert lifted his glass. “The more the merrier, what? Portuguese brats and Redlegs. What next? Shall we open the dining room to the slaves and have ’em to supper?”

“Robert,” Mary Anne hissed. To Charles, she said, “How old is the child?”

“I don’t know precisely,” said Charles apologetically. “Communications from Portugal have been, as you can imagine, hurried and fraught. She’s quite little, I gather. One or two years old? But that’s all I know.”

“How do you know it’s not a hoax?” Robert demanded. “Zounds, anyone with a sad story could touch you for cash and you’d open the coffers for them.”

“I trust you will believe me when I say that I have investigated the claims with the resources at my disposal and found nothing amiss.” Charles betrayed no signs of anger but Jenny had noticed that he sounded more and more like a lawyer the closer he was to losing his temper.

“Ha! Just hand out the family silver, why don’t you?”

“If I wanted to,” said Charles quietly, “it would be within my gift.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely that you’re taking in a poor little orphan,” said Mary Anne brightly. “She can be a companion for Neddy.”

“If you think I’m letting my son—” Robert broke off, wincing, as Mary Anne’s foot connected with his shin.

“Christian charity is always to be lauded,” said Mrs. Boland seriously. “Those of us who have much have a duty to those who have little.”

Mrs. Poole played with her emeralds. “Yes, but so many have so little. If one started like that, where would it end, I ask you?”

“With no one hungry?” said Mrs. Boland.

“Mrs. Boland,” said Mr. Fenty, speaking for the first time, his voice warm with admiration, “has made a gift to the parish council to see assistance given to all worthy families in want.”

Mrs. Boland nodded to him in acknowledgment, and a look passed between them, plainer than words. “One does what one can,” she said.

“They bring it on themselves,” said Robert, draining his glass again, his eyes darting from one to the other. “Shiftless, that’s what they are. Begging and scraping instead of doing an honest day’s work.”

“What work? What work is there for them?” asked Charles.

“There’s a little man who goes from plantation to plantation peddling,” offered Mrs. Poole, her silks and jewels glimmering. “I think most of it is stolen, but one does have to admire the dedication in all that walking from place to place. He hasn’t any shoes either.”

Charles glanced at Mrs. Boland. “That’s another piece of news. Mrs. Boland has been kind enough to join me in a pet scheme of mine. A model plantation. Our workers will be paid for their time, with the option of staying on as tenant farmers.”

“You plan to have Redlegs plant sugar?” Robert demanded.

“Some Redlegs, yes. But also slaves.” Charles met his brother’s eyes. “Their wages will go to purchasing their freedom. Mrs. Boland has agreed to advance the sum for the sugar. We believe there are those in England who will be glad to buy sugar grown so.”