New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [166]
In the month of October, John Master received another letter from Vanessa in London. He read it several times to satisfy himself that he had understood what it really meant.
Whatever her words, Master considered, it was very clear from her actions that James’s wife had little interest in either her husband or her son. To him such a thing might be inexplicable, but the evidence was plain to see. “If Vanessa loved her little boy,” he’d remarked to Abigail, “she’d have turned up here by now.”
Her latest letter contained the usual pious hopes for little Weston’s welfare, a pained inquiry as to whether her husband had yet had the decency to abandon the rebel cause, and asked him whether he was planning to stay in New York or, as her cousin Captain Rivers had told her he might, depart for civilization with his family and her little son. In short, was little Weston about to return to London? And as he perused her letter, and read between the lines, Master reckoned he saw what was on her mind.
She needed to know if she would have to look after her little son, or whether she might remain undisturbed. And the most likely reason for her wanting to know, Master surmised, must be that she had taken up with another man. If she has a lover in her house, he thought, the little boy would be a decided inconvenience. Almost as bad as a husband.
With some care, therefore, he composed a letter back in terms of equal insincerity. He knew, he said, how she must long to see her son, but at present, with Patriot pirates out on the high seas, he felt it was better to keep the boy here in New York.
He wondered whether to convey the contents of the letter to James, but decided there was no point. He did not even pass on Vanessa’s expressions of affection to little Weston. The boy seldom spoke of his mother now, and perhaps it was better that way.
For Abigail, the months that followed were quiet enough. She had plenty to do with running the house. She would take charge of Weston when he was not attending school, and every few weeks she would write out a detailed report of Weston’s activities, together with a little family news, and convey it through Susan to James. And though these letters took some time to reach West Point, she knew that he received them gratefully.
Grey Albion and his fellow officers were back in the house. For a short time, it had seemed that Grey would be sent down to Georgia, but General Clinton had changed his mind and kept him in New York. But he was so busy that she saw less of him now. As winter approached, Clinton had put him in charge of ensuring that all the troops were kept warm. “I’m afraid,” Albion remarked one December day, “that we’re going to have to cut down some fine stands of trees on the estates north of the city. I hate to do it, but there’s no choice.” Often he was away for days. Abigail didn’t take particular notice of his comings and goings, but she had to admit that when he went off in his greatcoat, wearing a fur hat and carrying an axe, he looked quite handsome.
When he was in the house, he’d play with little Weston just as before, and accompany her on walks with the boy, and make himself agreeable. But she noticed a certain change in his manner. The easy arrogance that had sometimes irritated her before seemed to be muted now. The brief skirmish with the Patriots on the way back from Philadelphia in the spring had given him more respect for them. “They acquit themselves like proper troops now,” he admitted. “We shall get some hard knocks at the next engagement.”
She noted also that his tone toward herself had changed. If he had treated her as a little sister before, he would talk to her now of more serious things—the progress of the war, the chances for peace, and the future of the colonies. Not only that, he would ask her what she thought, and seemed to give her opinion quite equal weight with his own.
“I wish I could show you London, Miss Abigail,” he once remarked.
To make conversation, she asked him what he liked best about London. She knew about the great sights from her father, but