Taking Liberties Read Online Free

Martha’s writing, which had begun neatly, began to sprawl as agitation seized her so that making sense of it caused the Dowager’s brow to wrinkle. She got up from the dressing-table stool and went to the lamp on the Louis Quinze table to turn up the wick, unconscious that she was doing so. ‘. . . such a desire that all may have Liberty as has caused Concern to his . . . nothing would satisfy but that he Volunteer for our navy . . . John Paul Jones in France to take possession of a new vessel built there . . .’
    Now the relief of a new page, though the penmanship was worse and punctuation virtually nonexistent.
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O Diana word has it the Sam Adams is Captured and its Men taken to England and imprisoned for rebels while I say Nothing of this for it is War yet there are tales of what is done to men captured by King George’s army here in the South as would break the Heart of any Woman, be she English or American . . .
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Here, again, the interruption of the water stain.
    whether my husband would have me write, but he is dead these . . . I beseech you, in the name of Happier days, as you are a Mother and a . . . will know him if you remember my Brother whom you met that once at . . . the Likeness is so Exact that it doth bring Tears every time I . . . you can do if you can do any Thing for my boy in the name of Our . . .
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Here the writing became enormous: ‘For you are my long hope, dear soul . . . I am in great fear . . . as you too have a son . . . for our old friendship . . .’ Slowly, the Dowager smoothed the letter flat and put it between the leaves of the bible lying on the table.
    Yes, well.
    She could do nothing, of course. Would do nothing. As her daughter-in-law said, the letter was an impertinence. Martha had expressed no regret for her adopted country’s rebellion; indeed, supposing her own interpretation to be correct, the woman had actually referred to the American fleet as ‘our navy’.
    If the boy Forrest—what like of name was that?—is so enthusiastic to get rid of his rightful King, let him enthuse in prison as he deserves.
    Somewhat deliberately, the Dowager yawned, stepped out of her mourning and went to bed.
    Seagulls yelping. Petticoats pinned up. Rock pools. Martha’s hair red-gold in the sun. The tide like icy bracelets around the ankles. A near-lunacy of freedom. The stolen summers of 1750 and 1751.
    The Dowager got up, wrapped herself in a robe, read the letter again, put it back in the bible, tugged the bell-pull. ‘Fetch Tobias.’
    Too much effort, Martha, even if I would. Which I won’t. Too tired.
    â€˜Ah, Tobias. I’ve forgotten, did his lordship buy you in Virginia?’
    â€˜Barbadoth, your ladyship. Thlave market. He liked my lithp.’
    Another of Aymer’s japes, this time during his tour of his plantations; he’d sent the man back to England with a label attached to the slave collar: ‘A prethent from the Wetht Indieth.’ It was sheer good fortune that Tobias, bought as a joke, had proved an excellent and intelligent servant.
    â€˜Not near the Virginian plantations, then. Tobacco and such.’ She had no idea of that hemisphere’s geography.
    â€˜Only sugar in Barbadoth, ladyship.’
    â€˜Very well. You may go.’
    She was surprised at how very much she’d wished to discuss the letter with Tobias, and with Joan, but even to such trusted people as these she would not do so; one did not air one’s concerns with servants.
    Diana went back to bed.
    She got up and sat out on the balcony. As if it were trying to make up for her discontent with the day, the night had redoubled the scent of roses and added new-mown grass and cypresses, but these were landlocked smells; the Dowager sniffed in vain for the tang of sea.
    She had long ago packed away the summers of ’50 and ’51 as a happiness too unbearable to remember, committed them to dutiful oblivion in a box that