“So you and the lovely Miss Kent have a date this morning for a music lesson!” he said as he filled his plate.
“We do,” I managed to say, despite that I was having second thoughts, fearful still of making a fool of myself in front of Rowland. Nevertheless, I determined I would not be intimidated. “She so kindly offered that it seemed uncouth not to accept,” I added.
Carrot laughed again. “Uncouth. God knows, no one should be uncouth!” Then he leaned forward, closer. “Must you really leave tomorrow? You have only just gotten here.”
“I warned it could only be a day or so.”
“But, Jam,tomorrow? Do you know that Rowland is leaving tomorrow as well? Surely you won’t leave me on my own with these two girls? Whatever shall I do with them?”
“I’m sorry, but I must go back,” I said. “I have responsibilities there.”
He nodded, though I imagined he had no idea what a working life was like. “We have a lot behind us, you and I,” he said. “A lot of history. But now, tell me: what is your future?”
That stopped me. I longed to be the determiner of my own fate, but, unlike Frank inRob Roy, I hadn’t the courage—or the foolhardiness—to turn my back on what was being offered, and to strike out on my own. Carrot, I told myself, had also chosen the way that his father had given him. As had Rowland. But I was the second son and had to take the lesser portion, whatever it turned out to be. I hadn’t the vision for myself that Frank had, and now, only partway through the first book, one did not even know how it would turn out for him. “I don’t know for sure. It’s in Jamaica, I think,” I said.
“But—Jamaica!—it’s the place you always dreamed of.” He beamed at me.
“Yes, it is.”Though not as much as it used to be,I thought.
“How soon will you go?”
“I don’t know. Not soon, I’m sure. Actually, it’s in my father’s hands.”
He put his hand on my arm. “I’m glad if your father has taken an interest in you. I remember—” He didn’t finish, but I knew he was thinking of all the years that his own father had not publicly claimed him.
“AndIremember your saying one must take the hand one is dealt,” I said.
“Ah yes. And I have to admit that in the end I was dealt a fine one indeed. As you have been.”
I stared at him for a moment.I?Dealt a fine hand? What was he thinking?
“Jam,” he said, “what could have been better for a boy than the time we had at Black Hill? We were fed, were we not? And most of the time we were warm enough. And the things we did! The siege engine we built, the blue face paint—what did he call that stuff?”
“Woad.”
“Yes: woad. And the weapons we fashioned, and reenacting the battles; what fun we had with all that! It was as if everything were a game. I have met many a man who would give his right arm to have had the time we had at Black Hill. There are so many worse places of education.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way,” I said.
“My God, Jam. It was heaven. And, now, look at you, the manager of a woolen mill! I could not imagine how to do the things you must do every day. Your father has done you well, hasn’t he?”
“I suppose he has.” It was all I could think to say. Carrot saw my whole life so differently from how I did.
He touched his finger to the side of his nose. “Trust me, Jam. Things usually turn out much better than one fears. And you will return for a visit. Soon.”
Miss Kent came in just then, dressed in white muslin, her curls tied back with a blue ribbon. We both watched her cross to the sideboard and pour herself a cup of tea. “Up so early?” Carrot asked her.
She laughed. “How can one sleep on such a lovely day! I’m hoping for an outing with the pony trap. We could take a picnic lunch.” She placed a dainty slice of ham, a single egg, and a piece of dry toast on her plate, and sat opposite me at the table.
“I thought you two were doing music lessons today,” Carrot said, saving me the embarrassment of asking.
“Well, yes, of course we are,” she said, smiling gaily at me. “But not all morning, I should think?”
“Not at all. I’m not expecting to turn into another Farinelli,” I said, pleased with my ability to throw out the name of a famous opera singer.
Miss Kent’s hand rose to her mouth and her face turned red, and at the same moment Carrot burst out laughing. “And thank God for that, is all I have to say,” he managed to get out between guffaws. Miss Kent grew redder as Carrot laughed, and she suddenly pushed back her chair, rose, and ran from the room.
I had no idea what had caused those reactions or even how to upend them. Clearly, my attempt to impress Miss Kent had gone badly amiss. At last Carrot stopped laughing, and giving me a final, merry look, he said, “Farinelli!Well, one would hope not.”
