The Flight of Sarah Battle Page 10

  It’s certainly not grand. The gradualness of Robert’s success is evident in sparse furniture and few carpets. But there is no shortage of fuel for any of the fireplaces and Tom and Sarah buy themselves a feather-filled mattress.

  With neither curtains nor inside shutters, they grow to love moonlight. And the lesser silence of dawn.

  A tree grows near their window. They stand together looking out. A bird like a thrush with a red breast sings an unknown song.

  ‘When I was a girl I often watched birds from my window. Kneeling on my bed.’

  ‘Now you’re Mrs Cranch I’ll watch with you.’

  They never tire of one another.

  Although it is hard not to wake at first light, Robert rises so very early that he’s always breakfasted before them. On Sundays he attends the Second Presbyterian Church in Arch Street with its elegant, slender steeple.

  ‘It can help a man’s path in life to belong to one of our well-established churches, Tom. You should consider that. We Presbyterians are not abstemious like the Baptists.’

  ‘So I noticed!’ They’re drinking Robert’s favourite peach brandy. ‘I was raised a Quaker,’ Tom adds.

  ‘Och, you, a broadbrim? You’ve been keeping it dark, man. But you’ve come to the right place: Penn’s city. You’ll have noticed Quakers are still the main men. So that’s why you chose to come here, eh?’

  ‘No, it’s not, and I’ve not been a follower for some time.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking you’re one of The Atheist crew.’

  ‘I am. But Sarah …’

  ‘When I was a girl I went to St Mary-le-Bow with my mother. My father wouldn’t let her worship as a Methodist.’

  ‘And now?’ The ice-blue eyes will not let her escape. ‘All women belong to one church or other. Outnumber the men.’

  ‘I have not attended a church for some time.’

  ‘That won’t do here, young woman. You must find one if you’re to be accepted.’

  She says nothing. To join pews of stiff-bonneted women dulled by complaisance – no! For she is yet like a child entering the world, or a bird making its first flight.

  Once, she’d detached a broken nest from above her window at Battle’s and was amazed at the tiny space, jumping with insects, in which the young birds lived before they flew. Mud-solid, but cracked. Her life, too, was enclosed, dark.

  Love has opened everything for her. She won’t be confined again.

  Before long, she tells Tom that Martha is free.

  ‘I asked her straight out: she didn’t mind. She said she was Robert’s slave once. He bought her when he arrived, but freed her. Manumitted her.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a relief. I found out that the Pennsylvania law was not for total abolition of slavery. Those who were slaves before 1780 are slaves for life.’

  ‘You see it’s not the land of liberty, Tom.’

  They are sitting at their table in fading light.

  ‘Come now, they try their best. There are many good men here.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Sarah, there will come a time when all men and women in the world will be virtuous, wise and happy, I’m sure of it. When we’ve removed inequality. Life will be gentle, there’ll be no war, no crime, no superstition.’ He is unusually still.

  ‘How can you think so? That’s a description of heaven.’

  ‘I’ve known many good people. Haven’t you?’

  She sifts memories. Tells him about Ben Newton. ‘I loved being with him when he drew.’

  ‘Would it had been me!’

  ‘You can’t draw!’

  ‘Was he a good man, Sarah?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was just a child, I couldn’t tell. Sometimes I thought he was sad, preoccupied. Now I think he was certainly a radical, though of course he wouldn’t say so to me. We used to laugh at people in the coffee house, especially the odd ones, comical ones. His drawings were so funny.’

  She says to him: ‘After Newton was killed I was never happy again until I met you. You were blithe like the birds I saw through my window or on my way to the coffee house when I was married and left so early in the morning. Tom, you’re like a blackbird singing from the roof.’

  ‘My Quaker father thought it wrong to sing and dance, you know. My mother went along with his views, but as soon as he was in the shop, then she’d sing.’

  ‘What was your father?’

  ‘A bookseller. In a very small way. He was not a success.’

  ‘Are they alive?’

  ‘Both dead. Worn out. They worked hard. Yet they were happy with each other and somehow I understood that, even as a boy.’

  ‘Why aren’t you a Quaker any more?’

  ‘I realised that I could not believe in a god who demanded worship while allowing so much injustice. I was strongly influenced by Tom Paine of course. And I went to Newington Green and heard Dr Price. It’s from him that I’ve taken the belief that human nature improves. But let me tell you that Quakers believe men and women have equality of soul.’

  She says: ‘Is that why you’re so good to me?’

  ‘If I’m good to you it’s because I love you, my dearest. Though, yes, of course men and women are equal. In Quaker marriages, you know, husbands and wives strive to recreate the equality of Adam and Eve in Paradise.’

  ‘Ah, Tom. I think we are living life before the Fall.’

  *

  Spring comes suddenly, overnight.

  Tom and Robert are in the shop planning a round of pamphlets. Tom is to hand them out at building sites. It’s no good distributing them to the well heeled in the Indian Queen who don’t need to be informed. He’ll sell them, even give them to labourers and craftsmen, men, women whose lives must be changed for the better.

  Sarah’s Guide is progressing. She’s almost finished the section on coffee houses in London; knows that soon she’ll have to visit coffee houses in Philadelphia and dreads the reception she’ll get. They are not places where women often go, especially on their own. She will be treated with suspicion from the start. That she comes from London might further antagonise the owners and in any case when would they have time to answer her questions?

  Martha knocks.

  ‘Mrs Cranch, a visitor. I put him in the big room.’

  ‘Thank you, Martha. Call me Sarah. Please. I’m not the mistress of the house.’

  ‘Mr Wilson, he like to keep the forms, he say.’ She laughs.

  ‘Who is it?’ Sarah asks as they go down stairs.

  ‘He say he tell you himself.’

  ‘Oh. It isn’t my father is it?’ Entirely unlikely, this is a fear that occasionally surfaces.

  ‘No! He not old.’

  Sarah recognises the man immediately: the aggressive lawyer from the Indian Queen. Who suggested Tom share his wife.

  ‘William Leopard, Mrs Cranch.’ He offers a hand. What can she do but take it?

  He’s stout, pocked, his black hair lank. His clothes are of good cloth, his hand hot, his glance sharp as broken glass. She wishes Tom were there.

  ‘I hope you will accept my apology, Mrs Cranch. One night in the Indian Queen soon after you and your husband arrived, I asked some impertinent questions.’

  ‘You should apologise to him.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He waves his hand, dismissing Tom. ‘But you were offended perhaps.’

  She feels strong irritation, refuses to return his persistent smile.

  ‘If you wish to make an apology I insist it be made to Mr Cranch.’

  ‘But your husband is not at home, I think.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The republicans at the Indian Queen are respectable men, Mrs Cranch.’

  ‘You hardly need tell me that.’

  ‘They are men of substance, long-standing, have wives and children, are pillars of their churches.’

  ‘Have you come to tell me what is obvious and known, Mr er… Leopard?’

  ‘I merely set out the premises, Mrs Cranch. It is true that the moral reputati
on of Philadelphia is not wholly good. I heard of it soon after I arrived and have now observed it fully. Yet that is exactly why those with power and influence, the men of substance, those republicans whom you have met, believe so strongly in the necessity for public virtue. Reason, they believe, will always rule, and behaviour will be restrained.’

  ‘Mr Leopard. I did not ask you to come here; I certainly did not ask to be lectured. I have work to do. Please make your point or leave.’

  ‘Mrs Cranch, of course!’ She sees the flash of charm as he strikes.

  ‘I understand that you and Mr Cranch are not actually married. That in fact legally you are Mrs Wintrige. I am correct?’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’

  ‘The men of substance do not like adultery. Mrs Wintrige.’

  Sarah sits down.

  Leopard remains standing. ‘The men of substance, our fine Democratic Republicans at the Indian Queen, are not merely not fond of adultery. Most of them do not practise it themselves. And they might be particularly displeased when two Britons, so recently arrived, popular and increasingly prominent, are found to practise it under the guise of marriage.’

  Sarah feels her skin blaze, her stomach turn.

  ‘Of course you will say that these men of substance contradict themselves. That they uphold liberty for all while condemning those who act freely, doing no harm to others, for no doubt no one is harmed by your action. That they uphold toleration and forget that in his Rights of Man Paine declared toleration as much a despotism as intolerance.

  ‘You’d be quite right that they contradict themselves. As a lawyer I am alert to consistency and the lack of it.

  ‘I am well acquainted with these men. What I know, Mrs Wintrige (or perhaps you’d rather I addressed you as Miss Battle?) is that these worthy republicans might prefer to exclude those Britons, currently so salient; might prefer not to buy their writings or anything published by them or their friend, Mr Wilson. That is, all those things might follow were they to hear of the adultery.’

  ‘I must speak to Mr Cranch about this.’

  ‘By the time he arrives here it could be too late. And by the time you have sought him at Wilson’s shop and made your complaint to him, the news might be out.’

  Oh surely Tom will know what to do! And Robert. Though, no! It will be useless telling Robert for she and Tom have not yet confided in him. He, too, might disapprove. Might even make them leave the house. She’s never known fear like this; she wishes he’d go, go. His horrible smile, so grimy, so charming.

  ‘What shall I give you to go away and not return?’

  ‘You could give me thirty dollars today and the men of substance would not hear. And I shall go immediately. But I might come back on some occasion in the future. The new world is a tangle of inconsistency. As a republican myself it is my duty to point out contradictions.’

  ‘But only to those who must pay you for it!’

  ‘We need to make a living, we immigrants, as you know yourself.’

  Pay him now, pay him, she thinks. Get him out. Talk to Tom soon, soon.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Cranch. I shouldn’t tell Mr Cranch if I were you. He’ll not have a solution to your difficulty even if you do. Good day.’

  *

  Tom is furious, Sarah tearful. It’s the first time she’s seen him angry: a detonation of loathing shoots through his whole being.

  ‘Why did you give him any money? Why did you? Why? The man is no better than a rat, feeding off others. Or like those repulsive pigs gorging on filth in the streets here. He must be exposed and driven from the party, the country. Sent back to the pit of corruption – Pitt’s corruption! – out of which he leaked. Foul effluent! That he goes under the name of republican is repugnant!’

  His face contorts; a fierce ridge appears between his brows. ‘To speak of his duty as a republican! Ach! What hideous hypocrisy!’

  He rages about the room as if he would rid himself of his own body. Throws off his jacket, tears at his red neckerchief, beats his fists on the table, grabs chairs by their backs and bangs them up and down on the floorboards. Fortunately, Robert has yet to return, is not below.

  The energy that she knows from his love for her, that fires his optimism for mankind, now drives a savage hatred. For a moment, she is afraid.

  ‘What could I do? I had to get him out of the house. It was the only way. You were not there.’

  ‘You should never have let him in! Why did you? Why? Did Martha let him in? Of course he came when he knew I wouldn’t be there! Probably he even watched me leave the house. He approached you because he thought a weak woman could not resist him. And you didn’t!’

  ‘What could I do?’ she repeats, but he ignores her question.

  ‘It’s intolerable! I’ll not have it! I’ll not be threatened by a criminal oozing out of the slime of the old country!’

  By now he’s at the window, thumping on the sill. ‘A stupider man than I would challenge him. Shoot him like the vermin he is!’

  He’s not looked at her once. Will not.

  ‘Tom, I’m sorry. But he’s right: they have accepted us, they approve of us. We are doing so well. If they think we have deceived them they may indeed reject us. And we have deceived them!’

  He stops pacing.

  ‘But our love is greater than all the respectable marriages piled in a heap as high as the spire of Arch Street Church!’ He looks at her at last. Rushes to her, holds her to him. ‘Is that not so?’

  ‘It is.’

  The wild anger leaves him.

  ‘Oh Sarah, Sarah! You had to pay, of course you did. I understand how you had to. I understand. But damn him! Damn the man! Damn him to hell! How dare he threaten you like that! Ah, my dearest Sarah, if only I’d been there.’

  ‘What would you have done?’

  ‘I’d have faced him down.’

  ‘But if malice drives him he would not have cared.’

  ‘Yes, it’s true we don’t know if he merely wants money or wants to destroy us. He was profoundly hostile at the Indian Queen. I’ll talk to Robert. But no, I can’t! Robert is a well-dressed widower who attends his church each Sunday. And we’ve been deceiving him all this time. We still haven’t told him.’

  ‘It’s too late for us to live separately.’

  ‘Oh, dearest, no! Don’t speak of it. No.’

  His face suddenly shines. He finds strength when she can only despair. It is a great virtue in him.

  ‘Look. We have paid the sum, so let us now forget as far as we can. I concede that no joy comes without alloy. To that extent I allow you your view! But we shall not let it harm us. And if we must pay again, let’s regard it as a negligible penalty. A penalty for our happiness.

  ‘We’ll find the money, we’ll pay it. It will not break us. If it is only money he wants, he’ll not ask too much: no blackmailer would ruin his source of revenue. Sarah, compared to everything we have in our life, it is small. Compared to what we have, thirty dollars is nothing. Nothing! Let’s forget it. We shall not be intimidated. Our life will not change.

  ‘In time I may be able to speak to Robert about it. In time we may find a way to remove the wretch, though police here are useless. Meanwhile, let’s continue as we began, with our life, our married life, the best thing in the world.’

  3

  The century has little time left to run and in London threat of French invasion is back once more. Sam Battle skims the first page of the pile of eight newly delivered newspapers for a report of yesterday’s meeting.

  9 February 1798

  The merchants, bankers and traders of the city of London met in the square at the Royal Exchange, where a hustings was erected for their accommodation, for the purpose of promoting the voluntary subscription for the defence of the country.

  The meeting was very numerous. Mr Bosanquet, alderman Curtis and some other gentlemen, addressed the meeting upon the subject of the present state of the country, urging the necessity of opposing vigorous exertion
s to the inveterate hostility of an implacable foe, and of patriotically coming forward, with our aid, in support of everything dear to us as Britons and as freemen.

  The speeches were received with universal applause; and, on the meeting being dissolved, four books were opened, in which a great number of names were immediately subscribed. Mr Boyd annexed £3,000 to his name and the other contributions were proportionably liberal. Previous to meeting, the committee who were appointed to conduct the business of the day, met at the Mansion-house, where upwards of £20,000 were subscribed.

  At the end of the meeting yesterday, as he’d expected, customers flooded down Change Alley to be greeted at Battle’s by its morose proprietor. He approves of their views, of course, especially since his married daughter ran off with a second Jacobin. Secretly he thinks she’s safer out of the country, but his resentment towards his wife for foolishly getting herself killed has also extended to his daughter. As if to underline his utter distrust of women he employs a surly replacement for Sarah behind the bar, competent and only slightly less bad-tempered than he.

  Little is known about Sarah. It’s believed she’s not written to her father, though no one dares to ask him, for fear of an explosion. Out of Sam’s hearing, a traveller returning from Hamburg assures his listeners that he saw an Englishwoman with blushing cheeks on the arm of a man in a revolutionary cap, presumably ‘citizen’ Cranch. Another man with a correspondent in Philadelphia says that the streets are full of Red Indians and that Sarah has definitely married one of them.

  Around the main fireplace, within Sam’s hearing, the talk is loud.

  ‘They say Bonaparte’s assembling his best troops at all the ports, ready to board.’

  ‘Thinks he can outwit Nelson!’

  ‘He declares he’ll spread the flame of liberty to England as well as Greece and Egypt and the deserts of Arabia, eh, Thynne? Do you look forward to a good singeing?’