“No. Some get credit from merchants, and hope the price of tobacco will go up to save them. Dick Richards, the previous owner of your place, followed that road, which is how come your father-in-law ended up owning the place.”
Lizzie did not tell him that Jay had gone to Williamsburg to borrow money. “We could clear Stafford Park in time for next spring.” Stafford Park was a piece of rough land separate from the main estate, ten miles upriver. Because of the distance it was neglected, and Jay had tried to lease or sell it, but there had been no takers.
“Why not start with Pond Copse?” said the colonel. “It’s close to your curing sheds and the soil is right. Which reminds me.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I have to visit my sheds before it gets dark.”
Lizzie stood up. “I must get back and speak to my overseer.”
Mrs. Thumson said: “Don’t do too much, Mrs. Jamisson—remember your baby.”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m going to take plenty of rest too, I promise.”
Colonel Thumson kissed his wife then walked out with Lizzie. He helped her onto the seat of the trap, then rode with her as far as his sheds. “If you’ll forgive my making a personal comment, you’re a remarkable young lady, Mrs. Jamisson.”
“Why, thank you,” she said.
“I hope we’ll see more of you.” He smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled. He took her hand, and as he lifted it to kiss it his arm brushed her breast, as if by accident. “Please send for me any time I can help you in any way.”
She drove off. I do believe I have just received my first adulterous proposition, she thought. And me six months pregnant. The wicked old man! She supposed she ought to be outraged, but in fact she was pleased. Of course she would never take him up on his offer. Indeed, she would be careful to avoid the colonel from now on. But it was flattering to be thought desirable.
“Let’s go faster, Jimmy,” she said. “I want my supper.”
Next morning she sent Jimmy to summon Lennox to her drawing room. She had not spoken to him since the incident in the Ferry House. She was more than a little afraid of him, and she considered sending for Mack as protection. But she refused to believe she needed a bodyguard in her own house.
She sat in a big carved chair that must have been brought from Britain a century ago. Lennox arrived two hours later, with mud on his boots. She knew the delay was his way of showing he was not obliged to jump when she whistled. If she challenged him he was sure to have some excuse, so she decided to act as if he had come immediately.
“We’re going to clear Pond Copse ready for tobacco planting next spring,” she said. “I want you to begin today.”
For once he was taken by surprise. “Why?” he said.
“Tobacco farmers must clear new land every winter. It’s the only way to maintain high yields. I’ve looked around, and Pond Copse seems the most promising. Colonel Thumson agrees with me.”
“Bill Sowerby never did that.”
“Bill Sowerby never made any money.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the old fields.”
“Tobacco cultivation exhausts the land.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “But we manure heavily.”
She frowned. Thumson had not mentioned manuring. “I don’t know.…”
Her hesitation was fatal. “These things are best left to men,” he said.
“Never mind the homilies,” she snapped. “Tell me about the manuring.”
“We pen the cattle in the tobacco fields at night, for the manure. It refreshes the land for the next season.”
“It can’t be as good as new land,” she said, but she was not sure.
“It’s just the same,” he insisted. “But if you want to change you’ll have to speak to Mr. Jamisson.”
She hated to let Lennox win, even temporarily, but she would have to wait until Jay returned. Feeling irritated, she said: “You can go now.”
He gave a little smile of victory and went out without another word.
She forced herself to rest for the remainder of the day, but on the following morning she made her usual tour of the plantation.
In the sheds, the bundles of drying tobacco plants were being taken down from their hooks so that the leaves could be separated from the stems and the heavy fibers stripped out. Next they would be bundled up again and covered with cloth to “sweat.”
Some of the hands were in the woods, cutting wood to make barrels. Others were sowing winter wheat in Stream Quarter. Lizzie spotted Mack there, working alongside a young black woman. They crossed the plowed field in a line, distributing the seed from heavy baskets. Lennox followed, hurrying the slower workers with a kick or a touch of the whip. It was a short whip with a hard handle and a lash two or three feet long made of some flexible wood. After he noticed Lizzie watching, he began to use it more freely, as if challenging her to try to stop him.
She turned away and started back toward the house. But before she was out of earshot she heard a cry and turned back.
The hand working next to Mack had collapsed. It was Bess, an adolescent girl about fifteen years old, tall and thin: Lizzie’s mother would have said she had outgrown her strength.
Lizzie hurried toward the prone figure, but Mack was nearer. He put down his basket and knelt beside Bess. He touched her forehead and her hands. “I think she’s just fainted,” he said.
Lennox came up and kicked the girl in the ribs with a heavily booted foot.
Her body jerked with the impact but her eyes did not open.
Lizzie cried out: “Stop it, don’t kick her!”
“Lazy black bitch, I’ll teach her a lesson,” Lennox said, and he drew back the arm that held the whip.
“Don’t you dare!” Lizzie said furiously.
He brought the whip down on the back of the unconscious girl.
Mack sprang to his feet.
“Stop!” Lizzie cried.
Lennox lifted the whip again.
Mack stood between Lennox and Bess.
“Your mistress told you to stop,” Mack said.
Lennox changed his grip and slashed Mack across the face.
Mack staggered sideways and his hand flew to his face. A purplish weal appeared immediately on his cheek and blood trickled between his lips.
Lennox raised his whip hand again, but the blow never fell.
Lizzie hardly saw what happened, it was so quick, but in a moment Lennox was flat on the ground, groaning, and Mack had the whip. He took it in both hands and snapped it over his knee, then contemptuously threw it at Lennox.
Lizzie felt a surge of triumph. The bully was broken.
Everyone stood around staring for a long moment.
Then Lizzie said: “Get on with your work, everyone!”
The hands turned away and recommenced sowing seed. Lennox got to his feet, staring at Mack evilly.
“Can you carry Bess to the house?” Lizzie asked Mack.
“Of course.” He picked her up in his arms.
They walked back across the fields to the house and took her into the kitchen, which was an outbuilding at the back. By the time Mack put her in a chair she had recovered consciousness.
Sarah, the cook, was a middle-aged black woman always in a sweat. Lizzie sent her to fetch some of Jay’s brandy. After a sip Bess declared she felt all right except for bruised ribs, and she could not understand why she had fainted. Lizzie told her to have something to eat and rest until tomorrow.
Leaving the kitchen, she noticed that Mack looked solemn. “What is it?” she said.
“I must have been mad,” he said.
“How can you say that?” she protested. “Lennox disobeyed a direct order from me!”
“He’s a vengeful man. I shouldn’t have humiliated him.”
“How can he take revenge on you?”
“Easily. He’s the overseer.”
“I won’t allow it,” Lizzie said decisively.