A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [5]
Underneath the tall pines the forest floor was clear of bushes. Streamlets and marshy patches were frozen hard, and the ground was dusted white. Lizzie urged her pony into a canter. After a moment the gray horse passed her. She glanced up and saw a challenging grin on Jay’s face: he wanted to race. She gave a whoop and kicked the pony, who sprang forward eagerly.
They dashed through the trees, ducking under low boughs, jumping over fallen trunks, and splashing heedlessly through streams. Jay’s horse was bigger and would have been faster in a gallop, but the pony’s short legs and light frame were better adapted to this terrain, and gradually Lizzie pulled ahead. When she could no longer hear Jay’s horse she slowed down and came to a standstill in a clearing.
Jay soon caught up, but there was no sign of Robert. Lizzie guessed he was too sensible to risk his neck in a pointless race. She and Jay walked on, side by side, catching their breath. Heat rose from the horses, keeping the riders warm. “I’d like to race you on the straight,” Jay panted.
“Riding astride I’d beat you,” she said.
He looked a little shocked. All well-bred women rode sidesaddle. For a woman to ride astride was considered vulgar. Lizzie thought that was a silly idea, and when she was alone she rode like a man.
She studied Jay out of the corner of her eye. His mother, Alicia, Sir George’s second wife, was a fair-haired coquette, and Jay had her blue eyes and winning smile. “What do you do in London?” Lizzie asked him.
“I’m in the Third Regiment of Foot Guards.” A note of pride came into his voice and he added: “I’ve just been made a captain.”
“Well, Captain Jamisson, what do you brave soldiers have to do?” she said mockingly. “Is there a war in London at the moment? Any enemies for you to kill?”
“There’s plenty to do keeping the mob under control.”
Lizzie suddenly remembered Jay as a mean, bullying child, and she wondered if he enjoyed his work. “And how do you control them?” she asked.
“For example, by escorting criminals to the gallows, and making sure they don’t get rescued by their cronies before the hangman does his work.”
“So you spend your time killing Englishmen, like a true Scots hero.”
He did not seem to mind being teased. “One day I’d like to resign my commission and go abroad,” he said.
“Oh—why?”
“No one takes any notice of a younger son in this country. Even servants stop and think about it when you give them an order.”
“And you believe it will be different elsewhere?”
“Everything is different in the colonies. I’ve read books about it. People are more free and easy. You’re taken for what you are.”
“What would you do?”
“My family has a sugar plantation in Barbados. I’m hoping my father will give it to me for my twenty-first birthday, as my portion, so to speak.”
Lizzie felt deeply envious. “Lucky you,” she said. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to go to a new country. How thrilling it would be.”
“It’s a rough life out there,” he said. “You might miss the comforts of home—shops and operas and French fashions, and so on.”
“I don’t care for any of that,” she said contemptuously. “I hate these clothes.” She was wearing a hooped skirt and a tight-waisted corset. “I’d like to dress like a man, in breeches and shirt and riding boots.”
He laughed. “That might be going a bit far, even in Barbados.”
Lizzie was thinking: Now, if Robert would take me to Barbados, I’d marry him like a shot.
“And you have slaves to do all the work,” Jay added.
They emerged from the forest a few yards upstream from the bridge. On the other side of the water, the miners were filing into the little church.
Lizzie was still thinking about Barbados. “It must be very odd, to own slaves, and be able to do anything you like to them, as if they were beasts,” she said. “Doesn’t it make you feel strange?”
“Not in the least,” Jay said with