Judas Flowering by Jane Aiken Hodge

Author:Jane Aiken Hodge
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1988-10-19T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Slipping back into the house on Oglethorpe Square as quietly as she had left it, Mercy found a scene of confusion. Saul Gordon had just arrived with the news that Hart was on the fireship, and this had been the signal for competitive hysterics on the part of Mrs Mayfield and Miss Bridget. While Claire and Abigail were doing the best they could with sal volatile, burnt feathers, and sympathy, Mrs Purchis was sitting bolt upright in a chair, her face rigid, fighting for composure.

Mercy, who knew how bad anxiety was for her, flashed a furious look at Saul Gordon and hastened to reassure her that all but one of the men had got safely back on board the boats.

“That will be Hart.” His mother spoke with a kind of dry despair. “I’ve had a feeling in my bones all day. Oh, why did this horrible war have to happen? Why must we fight our own kith and kin? And how in the world do we think we are ever going to beat them? If it isn’t today, it will be tomorrow. I shall lose my son, my home, everything!”

“But not the cause!” Bridget sat up and dried her tears. “Dear Mrs Purchis, we must not be unworthy of your gallant son! Just think how horrified he would be if he were to hear you say such things.” She crossed the room and sat down by Mrs Purchis on her sofa, holding her hand and whispering consolation.

“Mercy.” Abigail’s voice was low and strained. “The British. Could you see?”

“Only their red coats and white breeches, dear. I’m sorry. I expect most of them got away across the marsh, and some were safe enough on board the ships that got clear.”

“They are bound to have sent Giles,” said Abigail. “He knows the island so well. Oh, Mercy, suppose he and Hart should have met!”

“Impossible.” This at least was true. “It was all long range,” she explained. “No hand-to-hand fighting.”

“They might have killed each other just the same,” said Abigail, and Mercy could not deny it.

Instead, she applied herself to persuading her companions into a more cheerful frame of mind, and even managed to get them to eat a little supper, pointing out that when he returned Hart would not wish to find them already mourning him as dead. It won her a look of reluctant respect from Mrs Purchis and a moan of “quite heartless,” from Bridget, but even she found herself able to toy with a few smoked oysters and drink a glass of Madeira.

“Admirable Miss Phillips.” Saul Gordon had taken advantage of the general confusion to join them at their supper. “What would we do without you?”

“Very well, I expect.” Her tone was sharp with irritation and anxiety. He must know as well as she did that Hart should have been home long since. And there he sat, his white hands tucking smoked oysters into the too-red lips as if nothing in the world was the matter. Hours passed. Minutes? How could she tell.

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