Mama needn’t have worried that my mouth would ward off potential suitors. I never even had the chance to hold back. While I had noticed a few second glances, I feared most of them were out of curiosity. John Laurens, while not always part of the Charles Town society elite, obviously served enough of the families in his merchant capacity for his spurned outrage to have had far-reaching consequences. In fact, I saw him chatting with Mr. Manigault and wondered if John Laurens was, perhaps, borrowing to buy some land of his own, having lost his chance with me. Or at least looking for a deal from someone who couldn’t redeem his mortgage. Perhaps he’d get his hands on our property after all. I forced back a shudder of worry.
Andrew Deveaux was a welcome sight, and I approached as soon as Mama had taken her umpteenth trip to the punch table to soothe her headache.
“Miss Lucas.” He beamed. “What a delight. Tell me your news.”
“It’s most gratifying,” I told him. “And I must thank you for all your counsel regarding seeds and such in the past.”
“Nonsense. I’d hardly say I gave you much direction behind cheering you along.”
“Even the little pointers helped. And don’t underestimate what your support of my endeavors has done for me.”
“In that case, you are welcome.”
I quickly and eagerly filled him in on the progress of my indigo and promised him some seeds for next season.
Mother returned and after chatting with Mary Chardon and her mother, we sought out the gracious hostess of our stay in town, Mrs. Pinckney.
Mrs. Pinckney, Mrs. Cleland, Miss Bartlett, and I had occasion to find ourselves alone when Mama finally repaired to the ladies’ rest area for respite.
I took the opportunity to thank them.
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Pinckney.
“Thank us for what?” asked Miss Bartlett. At barely seventeen years of age, I still enjoyed her youthful enthusiasm and also her obliviousness to underlying current. Though I rather thought that was less to do with her age and more her design. It was part of what I found so wonderful about her. She was a true friend. There were no hidden meanings behind her words or her actions.
I smiled, not really sure how to explain.
“You’ll find,” said Mrs. Cleland, addressing me, “that we have nothing to prove. We are both well, and grandly, married. Mr. Pinckney is so very well respected in town, in spite of his shenanigans in court this week, but frankly none could be his equal in understanding of the law. That gives he and Mrs. Pinckney a certain inoculation against petty social grievances. For my part, I simply don’t care.” She fluttered her hand-painted chinoiserie fan. “I think you are wonderfully smart, Eliza. And a dear, dear girl. Would that we all had been given your opportunity. I am your largest, most vocal supporter,” she finished and took a small sip of her punch.
My chest expanded to bursting, and I was quite unable to respond.
“Well said.” Mrs. Pinckney smiled. “I’d say I am too. But I do believe we both lose that title to Mr. Pinckney.” She laughed.
At that moment, the man in question was upon us. “My ears are burning and I do believe I heard my name. What is afoot?” He laid a hand fondly upon his wife’s shoulder, and I felt a shot of melancholic yearning to know what it felt like to have such a relationship. So trusting. So mutually uplifting. So tender. Or to at least know what it would be like to be the offspring of such a tender union. Even though I knew Papa was tender with my mother, it was clear to me in that moment that my parents did not even come close to the magic that flowed between this man and his wife. The simple physical affection alone was enviable. A brief vision of Ben gently touching my wrist startled me, and I shook it away.
“Oh, do dance with me, Uncle,” Miss Bartlett pleaded. “I can’t keep up with the cryptic conversation of these ladies.”
Charles chuckled. “Come along then. And, Miss Lucas, do you wish for a turn about the floor when I am done?”
My face flared with searing heat.
“Oh, do go on,” said Mrs. Pinckney. “Charles does so love to hear about your latest exploits. Take pity on the man.”
“All right.” I nodded, even though the thought of making a spectacle of myself by dancing with Charles Pinckney caused my stomach to knot upon itself. “I’ll wait here.”
Miss Bartlett giggled as Mr. Pinckney bowed formally over her hand, and then they were off.
“You are sweet to correspond with my niece.” Mrs. Pinckney sighed after them.
“It is a pleasure, I assure you. And I’m sure you know it is as much a way to keep your husband up to date on my endeavors as Miss Bartlett.” My eyes flicked to Mrs. Cleland at my admission, but she looked unsurprised.
“We surmised as much,” said Mrs. Pinckney, also glancing at Mrs. Cleland, and then smiling gently at me. She squeezed my hand. “Tell me, Eliza, do you keep up much with politics?”
“As much as I hear or that affects my plantation business,” I answered with a shrug.
“Then you must have heard of Oglethorpe’s tyrannical government at Georgia. And also the late act of Parliament that extends to all America to dissolve our private banks or be liable to lose our estates and put ourselves out of the King’s protection.”
My blood chilled in my veins. “What d—does that mean?”
“Oh, you won’t be losing land, I doubt. You’ll have to ask Charles. He was quite forthright before the judges this week. He was held in contempt, and the six of them unanimously fined him twenty shillings!”
“And poor man,” said Mrs. Cleland. “To fall off his horse and get in trouble with the judges in the same week. Luckily his pride is robust. He’s quite right though,” she added. “It’s ridiculous for some act of Parliament in London to apply to us. We are already underfunded in the war against the Spanish, and now they seek to tell us how we best conduct our affairs?”
My head swung between the two of them. We, the Lucas family, had our money in the private bank. I’d needed the ease of paper money to transact. We had personally become dependent on the paper money system, and our accounts were in good standing, thanks to my pained efforts to keep them so.
“Of course, regardless of his thoughts on the matter, Charles’ associates did stop issuing notes upon learning unofficially of the law.”
“Are you all right? You look quite pale.” Mrs. Pinckney dipped her head toward me.
“She does,” added Mrs. Cleland, reaching to squeeze my hand. “Shall we repair to the ladies’ resting area?”
“I’m fine. I, uh, I have so much plantation business on my mind. And I do wonder how this will affect us.”
At that moment Charles Pinckney returned with Miss Bartlett.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Miss Bartlett gushed. “Oh, Auntie, I do believe there are several handsome men here tonight. Who is that, for example?” She pointed across the room. Mrs. Pinckney immediately took her niece’s hand and lowered it, causing her to giggle. “Sorry.”
We all looked across the room, and I saw Middleton and Drayton talking, their heads bent together. “Well, only John Drayton is still unattached.” Mrs. Cleland had raised her monocle on a stem and was peering across the room. “And barely so. A fortnight or so and he will be married to Lieutenant Governor Bull’s daughter, Charlotte, of Ashley Hall.”
“Oh, drat,” breathed Miss Bartlett. “They shall all be married off by the time I’m of age next year.”
“I daresay there’ll be another crop of young bucks gallivanting about by then,” offered Mrs. Pinckney.
Mrs. Cleland clucked. “As long as they are not all sent to their deaths fighting the Spanish under Oglethorpe.”
I shuddered and squeezed Miss Bartlett’s hand. “I wish all men were as great cowards as myself, it would make them more peaceably inclined.” I thought of my papa, and then of dear George already following in his footsteps. “I could moralize for half an hour on the wickedness and folly of war and bloodshed, but I do believe Mr. Pinckney offered me a turn about the room.” My mind was still racing at the news about the private banks, my skin feeling at once sweaty with panic.
Charles Pinckney was grinning with amusement at me, and no doubt at my outspoken opinions. He leaned down to give his wife a brief touch to her cheek with his and then stood and held out a hand for me, his head bowed. Again I was struck by how much their public affection for each other affected me.
I dropped into a curtsy before allowing my friend’s husband to lead me to the dancing area. My eyes must have looked like the rabbits I surprised sometimes in the early morning, catching them in Togo’s vegetable garden.
We paused as the small accompaniment struck up a minuet.
“I see you are fully recovered from your fall off Chickasaw?” I posed the statement as a question.
Mr. Pinckney nodded gravely but with a twinkle in his eye. “Indeed, it was my pride that was most bruised. Blasted horse.” He stepped forward and the dance began.
“Please tell me about the private banks,” I asked, unable to wait a moment longer. “And how this will affect us.”
Charles Pinckney raised his eyebrows.
“Mrs. Pinckney and Mrs. Cleland,” I explained.
He chuckled. “I should have known. I did mean to discuss it with you before you heard the news and panicked. Are you all right?”
I bit my lip as I realized it would tremble in my attempt to speak. Swallowing, I shook my head slightly, blinking and pasting a smile on my face as we turned by the edge of the floor and near to watchful eyes.
“I—” I swallowed my words.
“How is your indigo scheme coming along?” Mr. Pinckney asked as he stepped forward again, purposely diverting my mind.
“We just completed the harvest.” I tried to keep up with the intricate steps as I spoke, grateful to speak of indigo while I composed myself. “We transferred the plants to the vats before I left with Mama.”
“Will they wait to continue until you return?”
“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid the process apparently requires expediency and vigilance.” I grimaced at my disappointment.
“Oh,” he sympathized. “After waiting so long to learn the process, I’m sure you were loath to miss out by attending the ball.”
“Well.” I smiled at him as we crossed paths. “Yours and Mrs. Pinckney’s company more than made up for it.”
“Somehow, I think that is not entirely true. But I shall wallow in your flattery.”
My worries of our earlier conversation must have still been painted on my face, for his smile turned thoughtful as he appraised me. “I’m afraid there will be a devaluation in our currency,” he confirmed. “Though I hope it’s temporary.”
“The rice values have gone down somewhat too,” I said. “I’m sorry to unburden myself so. But I … we,” I corrected, “are quite precariously balanced at the moment, and I’m not sure we can sustain a devaluation in currency as well as our exports.” I blinked again rapidly as my chest tightened and my eyes stung.
Glancing up at Mr. Pinckney, I saw his eyes fixed heavily on mine.
“I would that I could comfort you,” he said quietly as we passed each other again.
My heart squeezed painfully. Me too.
“We all need someone to share our burdens,” he said. “To verbalize them, at the very least. I’m painfully aware that you have no one at home to whom you can turn.”
I nodded. At any moment I could be in over my head and drowning. I needed Father to tell me everything would be all right. I needed someone’s embrace. I’d never felt the need so strongly. It quite took my breath away.
“Or tell you all will be well.”
My eyes pricked under the weight of worry. For the millionth time, I thanked God our indigo harvest was underway. “Me too.”
“How precarious is it? Your situation? If you don’t mind my asking.”
I shook my head. “Both Wappoo and Waccamaw are heavily mortgaged. And Starrat refuses to send more tradable goods regularly. I believe the Garden Hill estate up on the Combahee is the only one unencumbered at present. And Murry has been most excellent. Thank heavens for him. His boat came daily in the summer months. And we expect the last rice harvest of the year from him in the coming weeks, and I do hope the income from that, despite the lowered price, will see us through until one of these other ventures bears fruit.”
“I hope so too,” Charles Pinckney said gently.
The dance came to its conclusion, and a quick look saw that my companions must have retired to the ladies’ resting area to join up with my mother.
“I’ll walk you to them,” Mr. Pinckney answered my unspoken question. He offered his elbow and I slipped my gloved hand into the crook of his arm.
His warmth seeped through to my chilled fingers. Fear had taken hold of me again in the wake of admitting the state of our affairs.
“I do have people who comfort me,” I said softly. “Though it may not seem proper. And perhaps they are unaware they do it.”
“Your slaves,” he guessed, his kind eyes burning down to mine.
I breathed out. “Yes. Is it strange I consider them friends of a sort? I trust them more than I trust almost anyone else. You excepted, of course.”
“I hope you know you can always trust me, Eliza.”
“I do.”
“Let me know how the indigo endeavor goes. I have a man in town who may be able to test the quality. Or I could send some to England to my contact on the stock exchange.”
Some of the tension eased from around my chest. “You would do that? I would be most grateful.”
“I imagine we could get you an evaluation and perhaps a promise of an order quite quickly. Do you think that might help with the instability you are currently experiencing?”
Relief danced a pirouette through my head, making me dizzy. “Yes,” I exclaimed, glancing up at his handsome side profile. “Yes, it would. Thank you so much.” The promise of an order would allow Papa to invest in more seed, and after we learned from this harvest, we would be well prepared for next year.
My fingers reflexively squeezed Mr. Pinckney’s arm as I said another thank you to God.
He patted my hand. “I said I would help you, Eliza.”
Warmth spread through me at his affection. “And you have helped. So much. I’m forever grateful.”
I had a plan now. Despite my father’s expensive ambition, Starrat’s stubbornness, Cromwell’s resistance, and a volatile financial world around me, I had a plan.
Ben was on my side, making indigo in spite of Cromwell’s stalling.
Charles Pinckney was on my side, giving me an avenue of opportunity upon the success of this indigo venture.
I would put my family back on stable and hopefully lucrative footing. I would see to the success of this indigo crop, wait for our final rice export of the year to pay off and simply hang on. Perhaps, after next year’s crop, we could even release the mortgages. George would come to South Carolina still, of course, but it would be I who ran the day-to-day business. He was young, after all. Even if he married and another woman became mistress of Wappoo, he would still leave me in charge of business. I was sure of it.
“You know,” Mr. Pinckney said. “There are quite a few of us who are rooting for your success with indigo. Not just for you, but for what it might do for our colony.”
I swung my face up to look at him.
“Several of you?”
“Some planter families.” He pursed his lips. “Some you know, some you don’t. The thing is, Eliza, this currency issue, among other things, serves to remind us that our King does not always have South Carolina’s best interests at heart. At some point or another, as our fledgling colony flourishes, we may find their governance a hindrance to our progress.”
I sucked in a breath. What sedition at the King’s own Birthday Ball! The feeling of being out of my depth took over me again. And this time, the water seemed so much deeper. “What are you saying?” I whispered, again pasting a smile upon my face as we moved toward the stairs up to the resting areas. Never in my plans for trying to save our family fortunes and stabilize my own future had I need to worry over affairs of state.
“Just that we will all have to diversify in order to survive as a colony … as you know rice will continue to devalue … and to build wealth, we will have need of other crops. Silk perhaps …” He raised an eyebrow.
“Or indigo,” I murmured.
“Or indigo,” Charles agreed.
I couldn’t wait to return and see the fruits of our labor. So very much depended on it.