After grace the talk took to less commercial matters. Adam's previous return had been so brief and withal so eventful that he was not well posted on conditions in Newport, any more than the Seldens were posted on conditions as he'd found them in Jamaica.
The kitchen was wondrously bright, and the conversation matched it. Obadiah himself didn't talk much, but Deborah was downright chatty. As for Adam, he became a clam only when they asked him what he thought of London. "Well, it's different."
"You mean, better than you expected? Or worse?" "Well-different."
The meal itself lived up to the earlier odors. In addition to the vension, with potatoes, they had baked fresh pickerel; and the oyster pie, served with some creamy meat sauce, was a masterpiece. Adam said as much, roundly.
He looked at Deborah as often as he dared. Not only was she mighty handsome, she had always been that, but her trimness flummoxed him. She'd had nobody to help her—Adam several times had peeked into the kitchen—yet when she sat down, after putting the food on the table, she was cool and trig. No hair was loose, her hands weren't red, there was not a fleck of spilled gravy anywhere on her. Adam liked things that way, shipshape.
Still the girl wasn't at ease. Though there was no scrape in her voice to show the strain, Adam was sure she was holding herself in. She didn't tremble, but she darn' near shook.
Adam would not have mentioned Seth Selden, but Obadiah himself brought up this subject, asking what had happened to his brother. Obadiah knew, of course; but he wished to hear Adam say it.
Adam was blunt. He said that Seth was now, to the best of his knowledge, on Providence island in the Bahamas, a nest of piracy that might last through the war or might get wiped out at any time, depending on Admiral Benbow. But that camp would certainly be flattened immediately after peace was declared, Adam added. He said he doubted that Seth would ever come back.
Obadiah nodded, and changed the subject.
The meal was sumptuous by Newport standards, yet Adam, watchful, sensed that this was the way the Seldens ordinarily ate. He was impressed. The table was covered with a linen cloth, and they were even given individual small squares of linen to wipe their hands on. There were no trenchers: everything was served on pewter. As head of the family Obadiah Selden even sat in a chair. He seldom picked his teeth during the meal, and Deborah never did, so Adam didn't.
They had a sweet pudding, and then the men returned to the parlor, where the biggest surprise of all awaited Adam. He and his host had brandy, real French brandy, and they had it not in leather jacks or in mugs but in cups made of glass.
They talked again of trade. Obadiah Selden was a sound merchant, one who knew his market, and he asked a great many questions.
"I don't go in for smuggling any more'n I have to," Adam told him. "But you can't get away from it for all." He dinged his glass with a forefinger. "I'll warrant this very brandy came in at the cove, sir?"
Obadiah said nothing.
"Some of the owners wondered how I got that molasses so cheap. Well, it was French, that's why. The French planters used to throw their molasses away until a little while ago."
"It came in English barrels."
"Aye. I bought the barrels already branded, only empty. Then I arranged through a friend of mine down there, a Mr. Cartwright, who's a lawyer, to get assigned to a flag-of-truce fleet that was going over to Guadeloupe to dicker with the Frenchies—I never did find out what about. It cost me twenty pounds to get that assignment. I put it on my list as entertainment expenses."
"But—I don't understand."
"Guadeloupe's French. The way they see the law in Jamaica it's not dealing with the enemy if you do some business while there's a flag-of-truce talk going on, provided you're a part of the official party. That's why they have so many of 'em there, to exchange prisoners and all like that. And that's why it costs so much to get assigned to one. We went as a supply vessel. I don't know what we was supposed to supply."
"And—you bought molasses?"
"Fleet was only there half a day, so we had to move brisk. But we got all the barrels filled—a thruppence a gallon, about half what we'd've paid in Kingston. I just mention this to give you an idea of how thev do things down in the islands."
"I see."
"Why, down that way Englishmen buy their own wool from Frenchies.
That's right! There's French vessels that stand off Dover, and the 'owlers' run out and stock 'em with woolens. You've heard of the owlers?"
"Aye."
"Then they take the bolts to Jamaica or the Barbados and spirit em ashore. First the stuff's smuggled out of England, to avoid the export duties, and then it's smuggled into an English colony to avoid the import duties. Sometimes some of that stuff gets smuggled out of Jamaica again and into one of the mainland colonies here. That makes three full sets of smuggling, as you might say. And still it's cheaper than if you bought it legitimate. Though not much cheaper by that time," Adam added. "Not enough to make it worth the risk."
"I am glad to hear you say that. Captain. The penalties for violating the Navigation Acts are getting more severe all the time, and that man Dudley up to Boston means business."
"I'm perfectly clear!"
"I'm sure you are. And I'm sure you'll stay that way." He put a hand on Adam's shoulder, an act in him as astonishing as a kiss. "Our fortunes are tied up together now, and you must watch your reputation."
"Just because I bladed with that collector—"
"It ain't that. I'd say most folks think the better of you for that. There was lot out in the street heard what Wingfield said. But you mustn't forget that these are touchy times. The Lords of Trade over there can do pretty much anything they want with us, if they get to supposing we're a rabble of pirate lovers. And you're vulnerable. Captain. You've never denied that you've helped unload, out at Contraband Cove."
"I had heaps of company there!"
"Sure. But there's still those who say it's odd you jumped right from apprentice to invester."
"There was no coin involved! I got an interest in the schooner because I worked so much to build her, and everybody knows that. And I had the right to collect. Only I can't prove that now. Mr. Sedgewick is dead."
"I don't question a thing you say. I'm only reminding you that there are folks who'll go right on whispering that you might have been Tom Hart's agent here—that that's how you got your start."
It graveled Adam to hear that old charge. There'd never been an ounce of truth in it. He knew who had been Thomas Hart's agent here! If he ever fetched out that deposition— But he said nothing.
Deborah, skirt rustling, eyes dowTicast, came in with some needlework and sat at the other end of the bench before the fire. Obadiah picked up the brandy bottle and went to the back of the house. Soon Obadiah returned—in nightrail, nightcap, dressing robe.
"Bed's turned over but it's cold."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Father!"
She put down the needlework and sped out, to return with a v.'arm-ing pan into which she scraped embers. She went out with this.
Obadiah came into the room, walking with that peculiar widespread walk of his. He looked mighty silly in the nightcap, but that robe, Adam reckoned, must have cost sixteen shillings.
"We must talk about this some other time. Captain. This—and other matters. Good night now."
"Good night, sir."
Deborah came back and picked up her needlework and sat down on the bench, the same bench Adam sat on. The needlework was something fancy, Adam reckoned. Anyway the needle made a hollow bouncy "pong!" each time it went through. Now and then a flurry of leaves would click against the window, or a piece would fall off a burning log, to sink sheepishly among the deeper embers, and a shower of sparks would go spitting up the chimney. These were the only sounds.