great care and in haste. Nevertheless from the very first line of the text, Thomas was drawn in.
Kingston, May 6, 1783
Some Negroes fervently believe they will return to the Country of their origin when they die in Jamaica. They therefore have little regard for their own deaths, so convinced are they that they shall be free from the white man’s shackles once more. To enable this to pass, I have heard many cut their own throats. Whether they die by their own hand, or naturally, their kindred people make a great show of lamentations, mournings, and howlings.
Thomas looked up from the page and felt his own breath judder. He thought of the Carfaxes’ dead child slave, thousands of miles away from his native land. No one would be attending his grave.
Chapter 16
Boughton Hall
Brandwick
Oxfordshire
November 1, 1783
My Dearest Thomas,
As I write to you the first snows of winter have fallen early. We have endured frosts for many days but we awoke this morning to find the hills and vales covered in a thick carpet of white. From my study window the chapel spire looks like a needle piercing through a crisp linen sheet and the twigs on the trees are draped in lace. I wish you could be here to share the view with me, my love.
L ydia looked up from the piece of paper on her desk and glanced toward the fire blazing in the grate. Richard was lying on his stomach on the hearth rug, his legs bent upward, waving restlessly in the air. He was playing with some tin soldiers Howard had found in the attic. They had once belonged to her late brother, Edward. But she knew their novelty would wear off in a few minutes and her son would seek some new adventure. She took up her pen once more.
Richard continues to prosper. His arm grows stronger by the day, thanks to the exercises you showed him. I am teaching him to read and write and to count, although he is not a very willing pupil. He would much rather be outside on the estate.
She was about to write riding with Mr. Lupton, but checked herself.
When Richard had woken that morning and looked out onto the snow-covered landscape, his first reaction was one of wonder and delight. This was not the first snow he had ever seen, but such was his joy that it took all of Nurse Pring’s strength to stop him from rushing downstairs and out of doors in his nightshirt.
Over breakfast Lydia had promised to venture out with him herself, although she was worried that the icy air would harm his already delicate lungs. So now, almost every ten minutes or so, he asked her the same question. When could they go out into the snow? And when she replied, as she always did, that she would take him out after she had finished writing her letter to Dr. Silkstone, he sulked and moaned and knocked down the soldiers in a display of temper that she found understandable but unseemly. And here it came again. Her son shifted himself up onto one elbow. Only this time his question was more strategic in its phrasing. It showed the military tactics worthy of a good general.
“Can Mr. Lupton take me out in the snow?”
Her pen hovered over the paper. Lupton. For some reason she had not thought to mention the new estate manager in her last letter to Thomas. She felt he was settling in well. He had been in post for just over a week and was getting to grips with the day to day management of Boughton. Richard also seemed to have taken to him. Ever since they had ridden out together, her son had continually asked if he could accompany Lupton in his duties. Not a day had gone by when Richard had not stood by the front door in his riding boots, waiting to saddle up with his new friend, only to be told he could not.
“Mr. Lupton is a very busy man, my sweet,” Lydia would say, adding: “Besides, you have your letters to learn.” That riposte was never well received and the child would whine and trail his feet into the study to sit sullenly while his mother taught him his alphabet. She knew full
Kingston, May 6, 1783
Some Negroes fervently believe they will return to the Country of their origin when they die in Jamaica. They therefore have little regard for their own deaths, so convinced are they that they shall be free from the white man’s shackles once more. To enable this to pass, I have heard many cut their own throats. Whether they die by their own hand, or naturally, their kindred people make a great show of lamentations, mournings, and howlings.
Thomas looked up from the page and felt his own breath judder. He thought of the Carfaxes’ dead child slave, thousands of miles away from his native land. No one would be attending his grave.
Chapter 16
Boughton Hall
Brandwick
Oxfordshire
November 1, 1783
My Dearest Thomas,
As I write to you the first snows of winter have fallen early. We have endured frosts for many days but we awoke this morning to find the hills and vales covered in a thick carpet of white. From my study window the chapel spire looks like a needle piercing through a crisp linen sheet and the twigs on the trees are draped in lace. I wish you could be here to share the view with me, my love.
L ydia looked up from the piece of paper on her desk and glanced toward the fire blazing in the grate. Richard was lying on his stomach on the hearth rug, his legs bent upward, waving restlessly in the air. He was playing with some tin soldiers Howard had found in the attic. They had once belonged to her late brother, Edward. But she knew their novelty would wear off in a few minutes and her son would seek some new adventure. She took up her pen once more.
Richard continues to prosper. His arm grows stronger by the day, thanks to the exercises you showed him. I am teaching him to read and write and to count, although he is not a very willing pupil. He would much rather be outside on the estate.
She was about to write riding with Mr. Lupton, but checked herself.
When Richard had woken that morning and looked out onto the snow-covered landscape, his first reaction was one of wonder and delight. This was not the first snow he had ever seen, but such was his joy that it took all of Nurse Pring’s strength to stop him from rushing downstairs and out of doors in his nightshirt.
Over breakfast Lydia had promised to venture out with him herself, although she was worried that the icy air would harm his already delicate lungs. So now, almost every ten minutes or so, he asked her the same question. When could they go out into the snow? And when she replied, as she always did, that she would take him out after she had finished writing her letter to Dr. Silkstone, he sulked and moaned and knocked down the soldiers in a display of temper that she found understandable but unseemly. And here it came again. Her son shifted himself up onto one elbow. Only this time his question was more strategic in its phrasing. It showed the military tactics worthy of a good general.
“Can Mr. Lupton take me out in the snow?”
Her pen hovered over the paper. Lupton. For some reason she had not thought to mention the new estate manager in her last letter to Thomas. She felt he was settling in well. He had been in post for just over a week and was getting to grips with the day to day management of Boughton. Richard also seemed to have taken to him. Ever since they had ridden out together, her son had continually asked if he could accompany Lupton in his duties. Not a day had gone by when Richard had not stood by the front door in his riding boots, waiting to saddle up with his new friend, only to be told he could not.
“Mr. Lupton is a very busy man, my sweet,” Lydia would say, adding: “Besides, you have your letters to learn.” That riposte was never well received and the child would whine and trail his feet into the study to sit sullenly while his mother taught him his alphabet. She knew full
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