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  He was quiet for a long time. Around them the crickets took up their monotonous song again. Then, ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’

  The straightforward question, which she had asked herself so often and so fruitlessly, took her aback. ‘I – don’t know.’

  ‘That, at least, seems to be a good sign?’

  ‘Don’t take it as such.’ She shook her head grimly. ‘It simply means that I don’t know what I can do at the moment. The blockade precludes, for the time being at least, any possibility of my returning to England.’ She saw the swift shock in his eyes at that, and coolly ignored it. ‘It had occurred to me to suggest a visit to Aunt Bess in Savannah –’

  He lifted his head sharply, frowning. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. The city’s bound to be a target if the Yankees decide to attack from the sea. I won’t have you exposing yourself to that kind of danger.’

  ‘With respect,’ Mattie snapped back, very coldly, ‘is my welfare, or my marriage, any of your business?’ and knew, with an odd mixture of misgiving and sudden, astonished mirth, that possibly no-one had ever spoken to Logan Sherwood in such a manner in his whole, privileged life.

  The thought must also have occurred to him. He stood, unfolding his spare frame, his brows a straight, repressive line above pale eyes that glinted anger. Straight-backed and belligerent, she faced him, chin up. For a moment it seemed he might explode into wrath; then, completely unexpectedly, he flashed a frank, swift smile so like Johnny’s that it was as if a knife had been turned in her heart. Thoughtfully he rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek in characteristic gesture. ‘Darned if that son of mine isn’t a greater fool than I took him for,’ he said.

  Jake had found his stick again and was playing with it, tossing it into the air and then pouncing on it.

  Mattie, disconcerted, ducked her head, watching the dog.

  Johnny’s father came to her then, put a big hand lightly on her shoulder. His voice when he spoke was less certain, less assertive, than she had ever heard it. ‘Mattie, please – I want you to promise me something?’

  She turned her head to look at him.

  ‘Don’t do anything hasty. Don’t take any decisions. Not yet. Wait. Be patient. And above all, don’t leave Pleasant Hill. We’ve grown very fond of you, girl. We need you. You’re part of the family – yes!’ Mattie had been unable to prevent the fierce and bitter shake of her head. His grip on her shoulder tightened, preventing her from pulling away from him. ‘Yes, I say! In God’s name, girl, what do I have to say? I’m askin’ you to stay. I’m askin’ you – and I know what I’m askin’ – not to do anythin’ until things return to normal, until Johnny’s had time to come to his senses. Mattie, I know what the boy’s done to you. I know he deserves nothin’ from you! But, whatever you think, however he’s hurt you, this is no time to come to hasty decisions. He’s at war, Mattie! He’s riskin’ his life –’

  That was too much. She wrenched herself from his grip, turned on him in outrage. ‘You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know that every minute of every day and every night? You think I don’t know that with every miserable breath I take? Who do you think you are to tell me what I should think, how I should feel, what I should do? Go away! Will you please go away!’

  He shook his head. ‘Not until you answer me. Not until you agree to stay. At least to give that idiot boy of mine another chance.’

  She shook her head, tiredly. ‘He doesn’t want one.’

  ‘Perhaps he doesn’t know he wants one.’

  She studied him. ‘You can’t manipulate everyone, you know.’

  He smiled again, that quick, unexpected smile that each one of his sons had inherited. ‘You’re sure teachin’ me that, Mattie,’ he agreed, in graceful and devious capitulation. And in that moment they both knew he had won.

  They walked back to the house together, Logan leading Dancer, the dogs at their heels. They talked of the uncertain progress of the war – for every Confederate advance news came, it seemed, of a setback and the hoped-for recognition from Britain and France still had not materialized, though hearts were still high and conviction of eventual victory unshakeable. The three Sherwood boys had not seen battle since Bull Run and were champing at the bit. Rumours grew, every day, of the possibility – at one time regarded as totally unacceptable – of conscription in the South. ‘What will Robert do?’ Mattie asked, glancing up at her father-in-law. ‘If conscription comes, I mean?’

  A small nerve throbbed at the base of the man’s jaw, but his voice was equable. ‘Why, Mattie, he’ll join his brothers, of course. What else would he do?’ Ahead of them the elegant bulk of Pleasant Hill rose, white against its setting of dark, moss-hung trees. From the direction of the slave cabins came the sound of children playing. Woodsmoke drifted in the heavy air. ‘Look at that, Mattie.’ Logan Sherwood came to a sudden halt, put his arm about her shoulders, drawing her to him. ‘Look at it! Isn’t that worth fighting for?’ He relinquished Dancer’s reins to Sol, who had come from the house at first sight of them.

  ‘Anything’s worth fighting for, Mr Sherwood,’ she found herself saying, ‘if you love it enough.’ And wished immediately that she’d kept a still tongue.

  ‘That’s the girl!’ He squeezed her shoulder delightedly. ‘That’s the girl!’

  Cissy sat, rocking herself a little, upon a chair on the porch, Liddie beside her with the inevitable palmetto fan, watching them as they climbed the steps together. Since her illness, her moods had become more unpredictable than ever. Today her colour was high and her eyes held a waspish brightness. ‘My!’ she said, lightly, ‘y’all looked real friendly walkin’ across there!’

  ‘An’ why shouldn’t we, Cissy my dear?’ Logan Sherwood bent to drop a fatherly kiss on her cheek. ‘We’re all one big family here, aren’t we?’

  Cissy’s bright, hostile gaze rested squarely upon Mattie’s face. ‘Really?’ she asked, innocently enough, and laughed.

  Mattie, deciding that murder was no way out of her predicament, reached down to Jake’s collar. ‘I’d best take him round the back.’

  As she left the sound of the charming, childish voice followed her; ‘I heard from Mama an’ Papa today, Mr Sherwood. They both send their best wishes. Mama is flndin’ the war just so tryin’! She’s wearin’ last season’s bonnets made over! Not that she minds that of course – it’s for the Cause, after all – but she says she truly dreads the comin’ of winter, with no trip to Europe to look forward to. They’re talkin’ of leavin’ N’ Orleans an’ movin’ down to Florida for the duration of the war. Mama says she’s just sure there won’t be any fightin’ down there – she says if the Yankees come we must be sure to go join them. Liddie, go get my medicine, will you? Why, Florida always sounds just such a charmin’ place to me, don’t you think, Mr Sherwood?’

  Logan Sherwood’s reply was lost as Mattie turned the corner of the house. She slowed her steps a little. From the steep-roofed kitchen the delicious smell of the stew called gumbo drifted. Prudence’s voice could be heard, scolding, and another answered. A wagon creaked towards the stables, one of the field hands, straw hat flopping, sprawled upon the driving bench, two others on the tailboard, legs swinging, half asleep in the autumn sun. The scene looked absurdly idyllic. To all intents and purposes nothing had changed; she had noticed no open difference in the attitudes of the slaves to their masters, no sign that these people knew or understood what was going on around them. But could it possibly be so? In the months since the war began, two field hands had absconded, a rare event at Pleasant Hill, and the runaways had not been recaptured. Mattie knew many of the local planters had tightened security and taken on extra overseers. If, as everyone so confidently predicted, the South held her own and successfully defended her independence, then the likelihood of real trouble from the slave population would presumably be slight, though a few incidents had been reported. But if not? The very thought, she knew, would be counted treachery, not to say heresy, by most. She snapped her f
ingers at Jake, calling him away from Joshua’s geese. What a strange and fearful muddle it all was.

  Over by the stable buildings two men stood deep in conversation. As always she was struck by the resemblance each bore to the other. Joshua stood, erect and graceful, the sun gleaming blue-black in his hair. As always she wondered: what does he really feel? What stirs in him when he looks at his brothers and sees them free? Where, now, does his allegiance lie? Yet, watching them now, of one thing she was certain: the link of kinship between these two transcended even that most brutal of gulfs. Whatever else was certain, Logan Sherwood could not live for ever. Mattie had been long convinced that Joshua’s eventual freedom, if Robert had any hand in it at all, must be assured. She would, she realized, probably never know. Before any such thing could happen she planned, Logan Sherwood’s pleas notwithstanding, to be far from here; back, safe and quiet, in Coombe House.

  * * *

  As the months dragged on and the war showed no obvious signs of coming to an end, the tensions between Robert and his father became more obvious and open. When in November the towns of Beaufort and Port Royal, barely fifty miles from Charleston, fell to Union attacks from the sea and the plantations of family friends were seized by the Union, the bitter row between the two over Robert’s continuing adamant refusal to join his brothers in Virginia could be heard all over the house, and the atmosphere was frigid for days. When the news came through a couple of days later of the Confederate victory at Belmont, Missouri, tempers were lost again. And when Russell, to his father’s open and unusually demonstrative delight, fought his way home for a few days through roads that had dissolved into liquid mud in the rains of December, it was noticeable that even he had become cooler towards his brother. Through it all Robert remained obdurately and quietly determined; he would not fight. Upon the persistent and growing rumours that by the spring the Confederacy would have its conscription laws and he might be forced into service he would not comment; time enough to make a decision when it happened.

  Mattie, meanwhile, one chill wet winter’s day, was faced with an unexpected problem of her own.

  She had in the past months taken a great interest in the Infirmary; at least she felt here was a place where she could be of active help. It was late one afternoon when she realized that she had left the notebook, in which she had been making notes about the effectiveness or otherwise of the various medicines and treatments administered to the sick, in the drawer of the little desk that she had taken as her own in the cubbyhole of an office at the back of the Infirmary. While she was retrieving it she heard a noise in the room beyond, where the medicines and herbs were kept and in which no-one, at this time of day, had any business to be. Upon opening the door she was surprised to see Liddie, wide-eyed and obviously frightened, one hand tucked swiftly behind her back.

  ‘Liddie? What are you doing here? What’s that you’ve got?’

  The girl stood, mute and terrified.

  ‘Liddie, I asked you a question.’ Mattie stepped forward, hand outstretched. ‘Give it to me, please.’

  Liddie shook her head and stepped back.

  Irritated, Mattie sharpened her voice. ‘Liddie, I insist!’ She held her hand out again. ‘Give it to me!’

  ‘Oh, Miss Mattie – no! – I cain’t –’tisn’t my fault, Miss Mattie, I swears it!’

  ‘What isn’t? What are you talking about? Liddie – will you give me whatever it is you have there, or do I have to call Mister Sherwood to deal with you?’

  The girl burst into tears.

  Mattie leaned forward, took her hand and prised the fingers open, taking the small bottle that had been hidden in her palm.

  She looked at it for a long time as Liddie sobbed noisily beside her, her apron to her face. ‘’Tisn’t my fault, Miss Mattie, oh, ’tisn’t my fault! Miss Cissy said I had to! She said I done dropped the other bottle an’ broke it – but I didn’t, Miss Mattie, I swears I didn’t. Don’t let them whup me, Miss Mattie, I didn’t mean no harm –’

  ‘Do be quiet, Liddie. Of course I wouldn’t have you whipped.’ Mattie held up the bottle. ‘You say that Miss Cissy sent you for this? Why didn’t she ask me for it?’

  The wailing, which had subsided, began again. ‘She done said no-one was to know. She done said she’d have me whupped for breakin’ the other one – but I didn’t, Miss Mattie! I didn’t! – an’ oh, Miss Mattie, doan’ tell Miss Cissy you done seen me, please! She’ll whup me her own self if you do.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Mattie pocketed the phial. ‘I think perhaps I should see Miss Cissy myself about this. She’s in her rooms?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Mattie. But, oh, she’ll have my hide off me for this!’

  ‘No, she won’t.’ Mattie’s voice was flat. ‘I’ll see to that at least.’

  Cissy was seated in a comfortable chair before the fire in her little sitting room. Her small hands rested upon an open book in her lap, but her eyes were fixed in distant reverie upon the flames. She did not look round when the door opened. ‘Liddie? You have it? Bring it here, girl, for goodness’ sake, don’t –’ She looked round then, and stopped. ‘Mattie? What do you want?’

  Mattie advanced into the room. Held out her hand. The small green bottle lay in her palm.

  There was a very long silence.

  Cissy lifted pale, raging eyes. ‘Spyin’? You’re spyin’ on me now? Don’t y’all have anythin’ better to do with your time, Mattie Sherwood?’

  ‘No, Cissy, I’m not spying on you. But when it comes to sending Liddie to the Infirmary to steal laudanum for you –’

  ‘Steal? You accusin’ me of stealin’? How dare you?’

  ‘What else would you call it? Why didn’t you ask for it in the normal way?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to get that stupid cat into trouble, that’s why! She dropped the bottle –’

  ‘She says she didn’t.’

  ‘Well she would, wouldn’t she? You takin’ her word against mine?’ Blazing, the girl came to her feet, snatched at the bottle, but Mattie was too quick for her. She put her hand behind her back, out of reach. For one astonishing moment she thought her furious sister-in-law might physically attack her. After a moment Cissy turned from her, wide skirts swirling angrily. Mattie waited for a moment, but the other girl did not speak.

  ‘Cissy? Why are you taking laudanum still? It’s been months since you were sick.’ Her voice was quiet, almost gentle.

  ‘It’s for my nerves. Doc Morrison said I needed it for my nerves.’

  ‘He said nothing to me.’

  Cissy turned on her. ‘Why should he? What business is it of yours?’

  ‘You’ve been taking it – ever since the summer? Ever since you were ill?’

  The moment’s hesitation was damning. ‘No. Of co’se not. It’s just – sometimes I need it. For my nerves. I told you.’

  ‘And – the other bottle? The one you said that Liddie broke?’

  ‘She did! She did I tell you!’

  ‘Where did that come from? I’d have noticed if it had gone from the Infirmary.’

  ‘So you admit I didn’t –’ Cissy cast her a withering look ‘– steal that?’

  ‘From Macon?’ Mattie asked, steadily. ‘You’ve been getting it from Macon?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘But, Cissy, it is!’ Mattie stepped forward, taking the other girl’s arm. ‘Cissy, don’t you see? Laudanum is addictive! It’s dangerous!’ On the slow walk from the Infirmary to the house, many things had become clear: Cissy’s extreme swings of mood, the later and later mornings, the missed meals, the disappearances, sometimes for hours at a time, to ‘rest’. ‘Dangerous,’ she said again, ‘if it’s misused.’

  ‘An’ you’re accusin’ me of misusin’ it?’ Cissy’s eyes glittered dangerously. She threw Mattie’s hand from her arm with a contemptuous gesture.

  ‘No. No, of course not. I’m just not sure that you understand –’

  ‘Oh, I understand, all right. I understand
that you can’t keep your pryin’ nose out of my affairs!’ She was shaking. ‘Now – get out! An’ stay out! Of my rooms an’ of my business! Liddie! Liddie!’ Her voice rose to an ungovernable shriek.

  Mattie had to recognize defeat. The bottle still firmly in her hand, she turned. At the door she hesitated. ‘One thing, Cissy. I don’t want to hear of Liddie being punished for this. It wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘Liddie’s none o’ your business either. I’ll do as I like with her.’

  ‘No. No, you won’t. Not this time.’

  ‘Oh? You figgerin’ on stoppin’ me?’

  ‘Yes. I am. You lay a finger on that girl and I take this bottle straight to Mr Sherwood. You can explain to him what happened to the other bottle – I assume you have the pieces since you are so certain that it was broken and not used up? And you can explain to him why you sent Liddie over there to take it instead of asking for it. I mean it, Cissy. I promised the girl she wouldn’t be punished, and I’m going to make damn sure she isn’t.’

  The look Cissy sent her verged on hatred. Had it been a dagger, Mattie had no doubt whatsoever that it would have struck straight for the heart.

  She took to locking the medicines into the Infirmary cupboard after that, though she had no doubt at all that Cissy had another source of laudanum, probably in Macon. She thought of approaching Doctor Morrison, but with every other medical practitioner in the town now away with the army the man was so overwhelmed with work that she hesitated to bother him. Nor could she bring herself to approach Logan Sherwood with such a delicate problem. And as for Robert – he had troubles enough of his own. The person who really should be told was Will; but not by letter. She would wait, wait until Will came home again – it surely couldn’t be too long? – and then she would tell him. Meanwhile her relationship with her sister-in-law, never close or particularly friendly, had now deteriorated into enmity. Another reason to get away from Pleasant Hill. To go home.

  If only this wretched war would end.