A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [157]
They did not, evidently, and so arrogant were they that no one protested when Jay took a seat at the back of the room, although many there knew he was loyal to the Crown.
One of the hotheads was speaking, and Jay recognized George Washington, a former army officer who had made a lot of money in land speculation. He was not much of an orator, but there was a steely determination about him that struck Jay forcibly.
Washington had a plan. In the northern colonies, he said, leading men had formed associations whose members agreed not to import British goods. If Virginians really wanted to put pressure on the London government they should do the same.
If ever I heard a treasonable speech, Jay thought angrily, that was it.
His father’s enterprise would suffer further if Washington got his way. As well as convicts, Sir George shipped cargoes of tea, furniture, rope, machinery and a host of luxuries and manufactures that the colonists could not produce themselves. His trade with the North was already down to a fraction of its former worth—that was why the business had been in crisis a year ago.
Not everyone agreed with Washington. Some burgesses pointed out that the northern colonies had more industry and could make many essentials for themselves, whereas the South depended more on imports. What will we do, they said, without sewing thread or cloth?
Washington said there might be exceptions, and the assembly began to get down to details. Someone proposed a ban on slaughtering lambs, to increase the local production of wool. Before long Washington suggested a small committee to thrash out the technicalities. The proposal was passed and the committee members were chosen.
Jay left the room in disgust. As he passed through the hall Lennox approached him with a message. It was from Murchman. He was back in town, he had read Mr. Jamisson’s note, and he would be honored to receive Mr. Jamisson at nine o’clock in the morning.
The political crisis had distracted Jay briefly, but now his personal troubles came back to him and kept him awake all night. At times he blamed his father for giving him a plantation that could not make money. Then he would curse Lennox for overmanuring the fields instead of clearing new land. He wondered if his tobacco crop had in fact been perfectly all right, and the Virginian inspectors had burned it just to punish him for his loyalty to the English king. As he tossed and turned in the narrow bed, he even began to think Lizzie might have willed the stillborn child to spite him.
He got to Murchman’s house early. This was his only chance. No matter where the fault lay, he had failed to make the plantation profitable. If he could not borrow more money his creditors would foreclose the mortgage and he would be homeless as well as penniless.
Murchman seemed nervous. “I’ve arranged for your creditor to come and meet you,” he said.
“Creditor? You told me it was a syndicate.”
“Ah, yes—a minor deception, I’m sorry. The individual wanted to remain anonymous.”
“So why has he decided to reveal himself now?”
“I … I couldn’t say.”
“Well, I suppose he must be planning to lend me the money I need—otherwise why bother to meet me?”
“I daresay you’re right—he hasn’t confided in me.”
Jay heard a knock at the front door and low voices as someone was admitted.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“I think I’ll let him introduce himself.”
The door opened and in walked Jay’s brother, Robert.
Jay leaped to his feet, astonished. “You!” he said. “When did you get here?”
“A few days ago,” Robert said.
Jay held out his hand and Robert shook it briefly. It was almost a year since Jay had seen him last, and Robert was getting more and more like their father: beefy, scowling, curt. “So it was you who loaned me the money?” Jay said.
“It was Father,” Robert said.
“Thank God! I was afraid I might not be able to borrow more from a stranger.”
“But Father’s not your creditor anymore,” Robert said. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Jay