Chapter 7 Common Law
Chapter Seven
Common Law
Despite the carriage ride not being particularly rough, Benjamin’s wound grew aggravated from the constant rocking.
By the time they parked by a brick building with a well-kept, embellished wooden sign reading J.
Boyd, Esq. in fine cursive, Benjamin was already in a foul temper.
His upper lip curled at the sight. Even Boyd’s bloody sign was ostentatious.
Taking the lead, Jedediah stepped from the carriage and inhaled the sultry spring air. “Ah, take that all in!” he exclaimed. “That, my boy, is the smell of success!”
More like the smell of hot air coming from your arse, Benjamin thought. Plastering on a good-humored smile, he eased himself from the carriage, mindful of his wound, before coming to a stop at the other man’s side. “What are we doing first, sir?” he asked.
“Patience, Philip! Today’s guest is someone you’ve already met.”
“Oh?”
Considerably chipper, or at least, chipper for a man of Jedediah’s usual temperament, the attorney led Benjamin into the building, then through a foyer for hats and coats before heading into his main office. “Ensign?” he called, opening the double doors. “I apologize for our tardiness…”
When Benjamin entered and beheld the back of a proud, swarthy redcoat, a seed of unease took root in his chest and he froze, watching in bemusement as the ignorant boob from the party, Eleazor Thomas, rose from his chair.
“Ah, Mr. Ashby!” the ensign exclaimed, grinning broadly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Today, he’ll begin learning the ways of law,” Jedediah said. “And if he impresses me enough, I’ll personally see to it that he gets the proper schooling to become my right-hand man.”
“Well, that’s certainly exciting news! I know I already feel much better about America’s future.” With a throaty chuckle, Eleazor stepped forward and clapped Benjamin on the shoulder. “Are you abreast of Jed’s latest endeavor?”
When Benjamin spared Jedediah a questioning look, the attorney said, “He is not, but it’s never too late to start.
” He nodded toward his desk. “Ensign, in there, you will find the affidavits to deliver.” To Benjamin, he explained, “David, or Mayor Mathews, to you, despite being able to draw up affidavits himself, has enlisted my help in taking off some of the heat. At present, he’s under suspicion of visiting prisons and writing affidavits that deny prisoner abuse and neglect.
Naturally, I don’t mind putting my name out there.
Because truly, is it so unlawful when these rebels have repeatedly broken our king’s laws?
If they wish to behave like animals, then they will be treated accordingly! ”
Scandalized, a sharp twinge of anger swelled between Benjamin’s ribs, his eyes blinking in shock. No words escaped him. If they had, he surely would have given himself away.
Eleazor nudged him. “As luck would have it, we’ve already had several British officers swear the American prisoners are well-fed and comfortable, and I’m about to be one of them.” He flashed a smarmy grin. “I’m here to give my account.”
Benjamin felt sick. How could God allow this?
Men like Boyd and Eleazor were free to abuse innocent civilians, yet heroes like Daniel swung from the gibbet?
While it was true that some patriots were violent toward their neighbors, he knew that surely, not everyone they were punishing deserved their sentence. Daniel certainly hadn’t.
While Benjamin fumed silently, Jedediah fetched his decanter of sherry and poured them each a glass. “Pray, don’t just stand there, Philip!” he crowed. “Come drink with us. David is going to get what he’s owed!”
As are you, Benjamin furiously thought. Forcing a grin, he stepped forward and accepted the drink. “To Mayor Mathews’s good fortune!” he exclaimed, raising his glass.
The other men followed suit, then drank with gusto.
Lowering his glass with a long, drawn-out sigh, Eleazor grinned and tapped his stomach. “A good year, Jed! A good year, indeed!” Chuckling, he added, “While I’m here, might I trouble you about the produce pick-up?”
Jedediah set down his glass with a harrumph. “I thought I told Major Markham that Mr. Collins was tending to your produce needs. Is it not enough that I’ve supplied you with livestock, hay, and every other bloody requirement you see fit?”
Eleazor grew aghast. “But sir…it’s for the Cr—”
“Our king would never be so careless with provisions, and of that I can assure you,” Jedediah snarled. Sighing, he amended, “Forgive me, Ensign. You know I’d do absolutely anything for the Crown, but you are all bleeding me dry. Save some for my family, won’t you?”
“Of course, Jed.” Eleazor pursed his lips. “Sooo, Mr. Collins will be the one providing our produce?”
“Yes. If you send your men sometime within the next couple days, he’ll have everything prepared.”
Benjamin listened silently to this exchange. While the two men worked out the details, he worked out his own. If he couldn’t save the prisoners from their fate, he would certainly ensure Eleazor’s regiment went hungry.
Clara was annoyed. Not only because of her perplexing encounter with Philip Ashby—why was that clotpole so charming?—but because for the past two hours, she’d overseen the proper care and maintenance of the household.
With Deborah hungover and unwilling to come downstairs, the title of “lady of the house” ultimately fell upon Clara’s shoulders.
When Charlotte was home, as the eldest, the job had gone to her.
Deborah’s drunken stupors were tragically commonplace; with Charlotte visiting Philadelphia, the servants had all turned to Clara for guidance.
After assigning the kitchen staff what she prayed to be suitable menus, she moved on to distributing the mending, laundry, farm and gardenwork, and general upkeep.
This only further proved to her she wasn’t suitable housewife material.
Gossip, gowns, and hosting events were all delightful, but the actual upkeep of a manor was hardly entertaining enough to suit her tastes.
“Mademoiselle?”
The redhead sighed, her shoulders sagging as Angélique approached. Hiding in the library hadn’t worked, after all… “Yes, what is it now?”
Wincing at her tone, the handmaiden said, “William’s asking if you require the silver to be polished? It hasn’t been done since the party, so—”
“Yes, yes, polish whatever fork, candlestick, and insufferable knob you all see fit,” Clara groused.
Catching the Frenchwoman’s hurt, she quickly amended, “Forgive me, Angélique. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.
You all are doing an exceptional job, I just—” The door opened, then admitted none other than Philip Ashby.
“—have a lot on my mind,” she concluded.
He being at the top of that execrable list.
Ever mercurial, Clara’s agitation melted away, and her eyes glittered as she teased her guest, “You know, we really need to stop running into each other like this.”
Philip snorted. “What, you mean in your own home? The mind wonders…” Looking between both women, he apologized, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude. I only came to find a book.”
Clara’s expression grew smug. “Was Rueff’s text not enough to satisfy your curiosities? Or did he perhaps inflame them?”
Philip flushed a faint pink, and Angélique was quick to intervene.
“Mademoiselle,” she warned, clearly embarrassed.
“Oh, fie! It’s all in good fun,” Clara complained. “And with you overseeing our chat, I hardly think I’m speaking out of turn.”
“But when you speak, who does get a turn?” Philip volleyed. Despite the clear barb, there was a certain warmth to his eyes that proved he wasn’t sincere.
Opening her mouth, Clara was cut off by a brisk knock at the front door. She huffed, straightening her stance. “Angélique, please see who that is.”
The Frenchwoman bristled. “With all due respect, mademoiselle, I cannot leave you two alone.”
“Oh, I’ll get it,” Philip offered. “Really, I don’t mind. I—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clara admonished. “You are a guest, not a servant.” Annoyed, she assured Angélique, “I will accompany you. Heaven forbid I am left alone with a man for ten whole seconds. Why, that’s scarcely enough time for a woman to draw up her skirts!”
Pleased when both Philip and Angélique became sufficiently scandalized, she followed the latter out into the hallway, and remained by the staircase while her handmaiden approached the door.
After it was opened, Clara arched a brow once a petite, dark-skinned girl was revealed on the other side, her eyes guarded and a basket of freshly-cut flowers in hand.
“Yes?” Angélique asked, sounding skeptical.
The girl dipped into a curtsy. “Hullo, Miss,” she greeted. “I’se here for Mr. Philip Ashby. Said he wanted to buy a flower.”
Angélique hummed. “And who is the flower for?”
“I surely don’t know, Miss. I don’t make a habit of askin’ strangers ’bout their business.”
Humming anew, Angélique turned and called, “Monsieur Ashby?”
Philip was already in the hallway, seeing how he must have overheard the conversation. “I’m here,” he assured them. His tone sounded a bit rattled. Perhaps he was still on edge from his attack?
Curious, Clara watched him approach with a brisk stride to his step.
Philip thanked Angélique before dismissing her, then lowered his voice so he couldn’t be overheard. He and the young girl conversed, both of their tones equally hushed, and Philip passed the girl something, some coin, Clara presumed, before he received three stems of peonies in return.
Philip thanked the girl and shut the door, turning toward Clara with a sheepish smile. “Flower girl,” he explained.
“Yes, so I saw,” Clara wryly said. With an impish twinkle to her eyes, she asked, “Are those for me?”
“You, Catherine, and your mother, actually,” Philip affirmed. “I saw the girl in town yesterday—er, before my incident—and I asked her to stop by today.”
With a glimmer of intrigue, Clara asked, “And which one’s mine?”