A Place Called Freedom (1995)

Thumson seemed to disagree. He said stiffly: “I trust the burgesses were not unwise.”

“His Majesty certainly thought so,” Jay rejoined. He did not explain how he knew what the king thought, but left room for them to suppose the king had told him personally.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Thumson, not sounding sorry at all.

Jay felt that he might be on dangerous ground, but he wanted to impress these people with his acumen, so he went on. “I’m quite sure the new governor will demand that the resolution be withdrawn.” He had learned this before leaving London.

Bill Delahaye, younger than Thumson, said hotly: “The burgesses will refuse.” His pretty wife, Suzy, put a restraining hand on his arm, but he felt strongly, and he added: “It’s their duty to tell the king the truth, not mouth empty phrases that will please his Tory sycophants.”

Thumson said tactfully: “Not that all Tories are sycophants, of course.”

Jay said: “If the burgesses refuse to withdraw their resolution, the governor will have to dissolve the assembly.”

Roderick Armstead, soberer than his brother, said: “It’s curious how little difference that makes, nowadays.”

Jay was mystified. “How so?”

“Colonial parliaments are constantly being dissolved for one reason or another. They simply reassemble informally, in a tavern or a private house, and carry on their business.”

“But in those circumstances they have no legal status!” Jay protested.

Colonel Thumson answered him. “Still, they have the consent of the people they govern, and that seems to be enough.”

Jay had heard this sort of thing before, from men who read too much philosophy. The idea that governments got their authority from the consent of the people was dangerous nonsense. The implication was that kings had no right to rule. It was the kind of thing John Wilkes was saying back at home. Jay began to get angry with Thumson. “In London a man could be jailed for talking that way, Colonel,” he said.

“Quite,” Thumson said enigmatically.

Lizzie intervened. “Have you tried the syllabub, Mrs. Thumson?”

The colonel’s wife responded with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Yes, it’s very good, quite delicious.”

“I’m so glad. Syllabub can so easily go wrong.”

Jay knew that Lizzie could not care less about syllabub; she was trying to move the conversation away from politics. But he had not finished. “I must say I’m surprised by some of your attitudes, Colonel,” he said.

“Ah, I see Dr. Finch—I must have a word with him,” Thumson said, and moved smoothly, with his wife, to another group.

Bill Delahaye said: “You’ve only just arrived, Jamisson. You may find that living here for a while gives you a different perspective.”

His tone was not unkind, but he was saying Jay did not yet know enough to have a view of his own. Jay was offended. “I trust, sir, that my loyalty to my sovereign will be unshaken, no matter where I may choose to live.”

Delahaye’s face darkened. “No doubt,” he said, and he too moved away, taking his wife with him.

Roderick Armstead said, “I must try this syllabub,” and turned to the table, leaving Jay and Lizzie with his drunk brother.

“Politics and religion,” said John Armstead. “Never talk about politics and religion at a party.” And with that he leaned backward, closed his eyes and fell flat.

Jay came down to breakfast at midday. He had a headache.

He had not seen Lizzie: they had adjoining bed rooms, a luxury they had not been able to afford in London. However, he found her eating grilled ham while the house slaves cleaned up after the ball.

There was a letter for him. He sat down and opened it, but before he could read it Lizzie glared at him and said: “Why on earth did you start that quarrel last night?”

“What quarrel?”

“With Thumson and Delahaye, of course.”

“It wasn’t a quarrel, it was a discussion.”

“You’ve offended our nearest neighbors.”

“Then they’re too easily offended.”

“You practically called Colonel Thumson a traitor!”

“It seems to me he probably is a traitor.”

“He’s a landowner, a member of the House of Burgesses, and a retired officer—how in the name of heaven can he be a traitor?”

“You heard him talk.”

“That’s obviously normal here.”

“Well, it’s never going to be normal in my house.”

Sarah, the cook, came in, interrupting the argument. Jay ordered tea and toast.

Lizzie got the last word, as always. “After spending all that money to get to know our neighbors you succeeded in making them dislike you.” She resumed eating.

Jay looked at his letter. It was from a lawyer in Williamsburg.

Duke of Gloucester Street

Williamsburg

29 August 1768

I am commanded to write to you, dear Mr Jamisson, by your father, Sir George. I welcome you to Virginia and hope that we shall soon have the pleasure of seeing you here in the colonial capital.