A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“Jay Jamisson,” he said with a bow. “Robert’s cleverer brother. How could you forget?”

“Oh!” She had heard he had arrived late last night, but she had not recognized him. Five years ago he had been several inches shorter, with pimples on his forehead and a few soft blond hairs on his chin. He was handsomer now. But he had not been clever then and she doubted if he had changed in that respect. “I remember you,” she said. “I recognize the conceit.”

He grinned. “If only I’d had your example of humility and self-effacement to copy, Miss Hallim.”

Robert said: “Hullo, Jay. Welcome to Castle Jamisson.”

Jay looked suddenly sulky. “Drop the proprietorial air, Robert. You may be the elder son but you haven’t inherited the place yet.”

Lizzie intervened, saying: “Congratulations on your twenty-first birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it today?”

“Yes.”

Robert said impatiently: “Are you going to ride to church with us?”

Lizzie saw hatred in Jay’s eyes, but his voice was neutral. “Yes. I’ve told them to saddle a horse for me.”

“We’d better get going.” Robert turned toward the stable and raised his voice. “Hurry up in there!”

“All set, sir,” a groom called from within, and a moment later three horses were led out: a sturdy black pony, a light bay mare, and a gray gelding.

Jay said: “I suppose these beasts have been hired from some Edinburgh horse-dealer.” His tone was critical, but he went to the gelding and patted its neck, letting it nuzzle his blue riding-coat. Lizzie saw that he was comfortable with horses and fond of them.

She mounted the black pony, riding sidesaddle, and trotted out of the yard. The brothers followed, Jay on the gelding and Robert on the mare. The wind blew sleet into Lizzie’s eyes. Snow underfoot made the road treacherous, for it hid potholes a foot or more deep that caused the horses to stumble. Lizzie said: “Let’s ride through the woods. It will be sheltered, and the ground is not so uneven.” Without waiting for agreement she turned her horse off the road and into the ancient forest.

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.”