Mack followed her in but stood back, by the door, his face in shadow.
A man came through a doorway from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel, and said: “What can I bring you, sir—Oh! A lady!”
“Nothing, thank you,” Lizzie said in a clear voice, and the room went quiet.
She looked around at the upturned faces. Lennox was in the corner, bent over a shaker and a pair of dice. The little table in front of him had several piles of small coins. His face showed resentment at being interrupted.
He carefully scooped up his coins, taking his time, before he stood up and took off his hat. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Jamisson?”
“I didn’t come to play dice, obviously,” she said crisply. “Where is Mr. Sowerby?”
She heard one or two approving murmurs, as if others in the place would like to know what had happened to Sowerby; and she saw a gray-haired man turn in his chair and look at her.
“He’s run off, it seems,” Lennox answered.
“Why haven’t you reported this to me?”
Lennox shrugged. “Because there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I want to know about such things, all the same. Don’t do it again. Is that clear?”
Lennox made no reply.
“Why did Sowerby leave?”
“How should I know?”
The gray-haired man piped up: “He owed money.”
Lizzie turned to him. “Who to?”
The man jerked a thumb. “Lennox, that’s who.”
She turned back to Lennox. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why did he borrow money from you?”
“He didn’t, exactìy. He lost it to me.”
“Gambling.”
“Yes.”
“And did you threaten him?”
The gray-haired man gave a sarcastic laugh. “Did he? I’ll swear.”
“I asked for my money,” Lennox said coolly.
“And that drove him away.”
“I tell you I don’t know why he left.”
“I believe he was frightened of you.”
A nasty smile crossed Lennox’s face. “Many people are,” he said, and the threat in his voice was hardly veiled.
Lizzie felt scared as well as angry. “Let’s get something clear,” she said. There was a tremor in her voice and she swallowed to get it under control. “I am the mistress of the plantation and you will do what I say. I shall now take charge of the place until my husband returns. Then he will decide how to replace Mr. Sowerby.”
Lennox shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m Sowerby’s deputy. Mr. Jamisson has told me quite particularly that I’m in charge if Sowerby should fall ill or anything. Besides, what do you know about tobacco growing?”
“As much as a London tavern keeper, at least.”
“Well, that’s not how Mr. Jamisson sees it, and I take my orders from him.”
Lizzie could have screamed with frustration. She would not let this man give orders on her plantation! “I’m warning you, Lennox, you’d better obey me!”
“And if I don’t?” He took a step toward her, grinning, and she smelled his characteristic ripe odor. She was forced to step backward. The other customers in the tavern sat frozen to their seats. “What will you do, Mrs. Jamisson?” he said, still coming toward her. “Knock me down?” As he said this he lifted his hand over his head, in a gesture that might have been an illustration of what he was saying but could just as easily have been a threat.
Lizzie gave a cry of fear and jumped back. Her legs came up against the seat of a chair and she sat down with a bump.
Suddenly Mack was there, standing between Lennox and her. “You’ve raised your hand to a woman, Lennox,” he said. “Now let’s see you raise it to a man.”
“You!” Lennox said. “I didn’t know it was you, standing in the corner like a nigger.”
“And now that you know, what are you going to do?”
“You’re a damn fool, McAsh. You always take the losing side.”
“You’ve just insulted the wife of the man who owns you—I don’t call that clever.”
“I didn’t come here to argue. I came to play dice.” Lennox turned and went back to his table.
Lizzie felt as angry and frustrated as she had when she arrived. She stood up. “Let’s go,” she said to Mack.
He opened the door and she went out.
She had to know more about tobacco growing, she decided when she had calmed down. Lennox was going to try to take over, and the only way she could defeat him was by persuading Jay that she would do a better job. She already knew a good deal about the running of the plantation but she did not really understand the plant itself.
Next day she got out the pony and trap again and went over to Colonel Thumson’s place, with Jimmy driving her.
In the weeks since the party, the neighbors had been cool to Lizzie and Jay, particularly to Jay. They had been invited to big social occasions, a ball and a grand wedding reception, but no one had asked them to a small celebration or an intimate dinner. However, when Jay left for Williamsburg they seemed to know, for since then Mrs. Thumson had called and Suzy Delahaye had invited Lizzie to tea. It distressed her that they preferred her on her own, but Jay had offended everyone with his opinions.
As she drove through the Thumson plantation she was struck by how prosperous it looked. There were rows of hogsheads on the jetty; the slaves looked active and fit; the sheds were painted and the fields were neat. She saw the colonel across a meadow, talking to a small group of hands, pointing to show them something. Jay never stood in the fields giving instructions.
Mrs. Thumson was a fat and kindly woman past fifty. The Thumson children, two boys, were both grown-up and living elsewhere. She poured tea and asked about the pregnancy. Lizzie confessed that she had occasional backache and constant heartburn, and was relieved to hear that Mrs. Thumson had suffered exactly the same. She had also noticed slight bleeding once or twice, and Mrs. Thumson frowned and said that had not happened to her, but it was not uncommon, and she should rest more.
But she had not come to talk about pregnancy, and she was glad when the colonel came in for tea. He was in his fifties, tall and white haired, and vigorous for his age. He shook her hand stiffly but she softened him with a smile and a compliment. “Why does your plantation look so much more impressive than anyone else’s?”
“Well, it’s kind of you to say so,” he replied. “I’d say the main factor is that I’m here. You see, Bill Delahaye is always going away to horse races and cockfights. John Armstead would rather drink than work, and his brother spends every afternoon playing billiards and throwing dice at the Ferry House.” He said nothing about Mockjack Hall.
“Why do your slaves look so energetic?”
“Now, that depends what you feed them.” He was obviously enjoying sharing his expertise with this attractive young woman. “They can live on hominy and corn pone, but they’ll work better if you give them salt fish every day and meat once a week. It’s expensive, but not as bad as buying new slaves every few years.”
“Why have so many plantations gone bankrupt recently?”
“You have to understand the tobacco plant. It exhausts the soil. After four or five years the quality deteriorates. You have to switch the field to wheat or Indian corn and find new land for your tobacco.”
“Why, you must be constantly clearing ground.”
“Indeed. Every winter I clear woodland and open up new fields for cultivation.”
“But you’re fortunate—you have so much land.”
“There’s woodland aplenty on your place. And when that runs out you should buy or rent more. The only way to grow tobacco is to keep moving.”
“Does everyone do that?”