Washington had a plan. In the northern colonies, he said, leading men had formed associations whose members agreed not to import British goods. If Virginians really wanted to put pressure on the London government they should do the same.

If ever I heard a treasonable speech, Jay thought angrily, that was it.

His father’s enterprise would suffer further if Washington got his way. As well as convicts, Sir George shipped cargoes of tea, furniture, rope, machinery and a host of luxuries and manufactures that the colonists could not produce themselves. His trade with the North was already down to a fraction of its former worth—that was why the business had been in crisis a year ago.

Not everyone agreed with Washington. Some burgesses pointed out that the northern colonies had more industry and could make many essentials for themselves, whereas the South depended more on imports. What will we do, they said, without sewing thread or cloth?

Washington said there might be exceptions, and the assembly began to get down to details. Someone proposed a ban on slaughtering lambs, to increase the local production of wool. Before long Washington suggested a small committee to thrash out the technicalities. The proposal was passed and the committee members were chosen.

Jay left the room in disgust. As he passed through the hall Lennox approached him with a message. It was from Murchman. He was back in town, he had read Mr. Jamisson’s note, and he would be honored to receive Mr. Jamisson at nine o’clock in the morning.

The political crisis had distracted Jay briefly, but now his personal troubles came back to him and kept him awake all night. At times he blamed his father for giving him a plantation that could not make money. Then he would curse Lennox for overmanuring the fields instead of clearing new land. He wondered if his tobacco crop had in fact been perfectly all right, and the Virginian inspectors had burned it just to punish him for his loyalty to the English king. As he tossed and turned in the narrow bed, he even began to think Lizzie might have willed the stillborn child to spite him.

He got to Murchman’s house early. This was his only chance. No matter where the fault lay, he had failed to make the plantation profitable. If he could not borrow more money his creditors would foreclose the mortgage and he would be homeless as well as penniless.

Murchman seemed nervous. “I’ve arranged for your creditor to come and meet you,” he said.

“Creditor? You told me it was a syndicate.”

“Ah, yes—a minor deception, I’m sorry. The individual wanted to remain anonymous.”

“So why has he decided to reveal himself now?”

“I … I couldn’t say.”

“Well, I suppose he must be planning to lend me the money I need—otherwise why bother to meet me?”

“I daresay you’re right—he hasn’t confided in me.”

Jay heard a knock at the front door and low voices as someone was admitted.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“I think I’ll let him introduce himself.”

The door opened and in walked Jay’s brother, Robert.

Jay leaped to his feet, astonished. “You!” he said. “When did you get here?”

“A few days ago,” Robert said.

Jay held out his hand and Robert shook it briefly. It was almost a year since Jay had seen him last, and Robert was getting more and more like their father: beefy, scowling, curt. “So it was you who loaned me the money?” Jay said.

“It was Father,” Robert said.

“Thank God! I was afraid I might not be able to borrow more from a stranger.”

“But Father’s not your creditor anymore,” Robert said. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Jay sat down again abruptly. The shock was profound. Father was not yet fifty. “How …?”

“Heart failure.”

Jay felt as if a support had been pulled away from beneath him. His father had treated him badly, but he had always been there, consistent and seemingly indestructible. Suddenly the world had become a more insecure place. Although he was already sitting down Jay wanted to lean on something.

He looked again at his brother. There was an expression of vindictive triumph on Robert’s face. Why was he pleased? “There’s something else,” Jay said. “What are you looking so damned smug about?”

“I’m your creditor now,” Robert said.

Jay saw what was coming. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “You swine,” he whispered.

Robert nodded. “I’m foreclosing on your mortgage. The tobacco plantation is mine. I’ve done the same with High Glen: bought up the mortgages and foreclosed. That belongs to me now.”

Jay could hardly speak. “You must have planned this,” he said with a struggle.

Robert nodded.

Jay fought back tears. “You and Father …”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been ruined by my own family.”

“You’ve been ruined by yourself. You’re lazy and foolish and weak.”

Jay ignored his insults. All he could think of was that his own father had plotted his downfall. He remembered how the letter from Murchman had come just a few days after his arrival in Virginia. Father must have written in advance, ordering the lawyer to offer a mortgage. He had anticipated that the plantation would get into difficulties and he had planned to take it back from Jay. His father was dead but had sent this message of rejection from beyond the grave.

Jay stood up slowly, with a painful effort, like an old man. Robert stood silent, looking scornful and haughty. Murchman had the grace to act guilty. With an embarrassed look on his face he hurried to the door and held it for Jay. Slowly Jay walked through the hall and out into the muddy street.

Jay was drunk by dinnertime.

He was so drunk that even Mandy, the barmaid who was falling in love with him, appeared to lose interest. That evening he passed out in the bar of the Raleigh. Lennox must have put him to bed, for he woke up in his room the following morning.

He thought of killing himself. He had nothing to live for: no home, no future, no children. He would never amount to anything in Virginia now that he had gone bankrupt, and he could not bear to go back to Britain. His wife hated him and even Felia now belonged to his brother. The only question was whether to put a bullet into his head or drink himself to death.

He was drinking brandy again at eleven o’clock in the morning when his mother walked into the bar.

When he saw her he thought perhaps he was already going mad. He stood up and stared at her, frightened. Reading his mind, as always, she said: “No, I’m not a ghost.” She kissed him and sat down.

When he recovered his composure he said: “How did you find me?”

“I went to Fredericksburg and they told me you were here. Prepare yourself for a shock. Your father’s dead.”

“I know.”

That surprised her. “How?”

“Robert is here.”

“Why?”

Jay told her the story and explained that Robert was now the owner of both the plantation and High Glen.

“I was afraid the two of them were planning something like that,” she said bitterly.

“I’m ruined,” he said. “I was thinking of killing myself.”

Her eyes widened. “Then Robert didn’t tell you what was in your father’s will.”

Suddenly Jay saw a gleam of hope. “Did he leave me something?”

“Not you, no. Your child.”

Jay’s heart sank again. “The child was stillborn.”

“A quarter of the estate goes to any grandchildren of your father born within a year of his death. If there are no grandchildren after a year, Robert gets everything.”

“A quarter? That’s a fortune!”

“All you have to do is make Lizzie pregnant again.”

Jay managed a grin. “Well, I know how to do that, anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure. She’s run away with that coal miner.”

“What?”

“She left, with McAsh.”

“Good God! She’s left me? And gone off with a convict?” It was deeply humiliating. Jay looked away. “I’ll never live this down. Good God.”