“That child is with them, Peg Knapp. They took a wagon and six of your horses and enough supplies to start several farms.”

“Damned thieves!” He felt outraged and helpless. “Couldn’t you stop them?”

“I tried the sheriff—but Lizzie had been clever. She gave out a story that she was taking gifts to a cousin in North Carolina. The neighbors told the sheriff I was just a cantankerous mother-in-law trying to stir up trouble.”

“They all hate me because I’m loyal to the king.” The seesaw of hope and despair became too much for Jay and he sank into lethargy. “It’s no good,” he said. “Fate is against me.”

“Don’t give up yet!”

Mandy, the barmaid, interrupted to ask Alicia what she would like. She ordered tea. Mandy smiled coquettishly at Jay.

“I could have a child with another woman,” he said as Mandy went away.

Alicia looked scornfully at the barmaid’s wiggling rear and said: “No good. The grandchild has to be legitimate.”

“Could I divorce Lizzie?”

“No. It requires an act of Parliament and a fortune in money, and anyway we don’t have the time. While Lizzie is alive it has to be her.”

“I’ve no idea where she’s gone.”

“I do.”

Jay stared at his mother. Her cleverness never ceased to amaze him. “How do you know?”

“I followed them.”

He shook his head in incredulous admiration. “How did you do that?”

“It wasn’t difficult. I kept asking people if they had seen a four-horse wagon with a man, a woman and a child. There’s not so much traffic that people forget.”

“Where did they go?”

“They came south to Richmond. There they took a road called Three Notch Trail and headed west, toward the mountains. I turned east and came here. If you leave this morning you’ll be only three days behind them.”

Jay thought about it. He hated the idea of chasing after a runaway wife: it made him look such a fool. But it was his only chance of inheriting. And a quarter of Father’s estate was a huge fortune.

What would he do when he caught up with her? “What if Lizzie won’t come back?” he said.

His mother’s face set in grim lines of determination. “There is one other possibility, of course,” she said. She looked at Mandy then turned her cool gaze back on Jay. “You could make another woman pregnant, and marry her, and inherit—if Lizzie suddenly died.”

He stared at his mother for a long moment.

She went on: “They’re headed for the wilderness, beyond the law. Anything can happen out there: there are no sheriffs, no coroners. Sudden death is normal and no one questions it.”

Jay swallowed dryly and reached for his drink. His mother put her hand on the glass to prevent him. “No more,” she said. “You have to get started.”

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand.

“Take Lennox with you,” she advised. “If worse comes to worst, and you can’t persuade or force Lizzie to come back with you—he will know how to manage it.”

Jay nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

37

THE ANCIENT BUFFALO-HUNTING TRACK KNOWN AS Three Notch Trail went due west for mile after mile across the rolling Virginia landscape. It ran parallel to the James River, as Lizzie could see from Mack’s map. The road crossed an endless series of ridges and valleys formed by the hundreds of creeks that trickled south into the James. At first they passed many large estates like the ones around Fredericksburg, but as they went farther west the houses and fields became smaller and the tracts of undeveloped woodland larger.

Lizzie was happy. She was scared and anxious and guilty, but she could not help smiling. She was out of doors, on a horse, beside the man she loved, beginning a great adventure. In her mind she worried about what might happen, but her heart sang.

They pushed the horses hard, for they feared they might be followed. Alicia Jamisson would not sit quietly in Fredericksburg waiting for Jay to come home. She would have sent a message to Williamsburg, or gone there herself, to warn him of what had happened. Were it not for Alicia’s news about Sir George’s will, Jay might have shrugged his shoulders and let them go. But now he needed his wife to provide the necessary grandchild. He would almost certainly chase after Lizzie.

They had several days’ start on him, but he would travel faster, for he had no need of a wagonload of supplies. How would he follow the fugitives’ trail? He would have to ask at houses and taverns along the way, and hope that people noticed who went by. There were few travelers on the road and the wagon might well be remembered.

On the third day the countryside became more hilly. Cultivated fields gave way to grazing, and a blue mountain range appeared in the distant haze. As the miles went by the horses became overtired, stumbling on the rough road and stubbornly slowing down. On uphill stretches Mack, Lizzie and Peg got off the wagon and walked to lighten the load, but it was not enough. The beasts’ heads drooped, their pace slowed further, and they became unresponsive to the whip.

“What’s the matter with them?” Mack asked anxiously.

“We have to give them better food,” she replied. “They’re existing on what they can graze at night. For work like this, pulling a wagon all day, horses need oats.”

“I should have brought some,” Mack said regretfully. “I never thought of it—I don’t know much about horses.”

That afternoon they reached Charlottesville, a new settlement growing up where Three Notch Trail crossed the north-south Seminole Trail, an old Indian route. The town was laid out in parallel streets rising up the hill from the road, but most of the lots were undeveloped and there were only a dozen or so houses. Lizzie saw a courthouse with a whipping post outside and a tavern identified by an inn sign with a crude painting of a swan. “We could get oats here,” she said.

“Let’s not stop,” Mack said. “I don’t want people to remember us.”

Lizzie understood his thinking. The crossroads would present Jay with a problem. He would have to find out whether the runaways had turned south or continued west. If they called attention to themselves by stopping at the tavern for supplies they would make his task easier. The horses would just have to suffer a little longer.

A few miles beyond Charlottesville they stopped where the road was crossed by a barely visible track. Mack built a fire and Peg cooked hominy. There were undoubtedly fish in the streams and deer in the woods, but the fugitives had no time for hunting and fishing, so they ate mush. There was no taste to it, Lizzie found, and the glutinous texture was disgusting. She forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls, but she was nauseated and threw the rest away. She felt ashamed that her field hands had eaten this every day.

While Mack washed their bowls in a stream Lizzie hobbled the horses so that they could graze at night but not run away. Then the three of them wrapped themselves in blankets and lay under the wagon, side by side. Lizzie winced as she lay down, and Mack said: “What’s the matter?”

“My back hurts,” she said.

“You’re used to a feather bed.”

“I’d rather lie on the cold ground with you than sleep alone in a feather bed.”

They did not make love, with Peg beside them, but when they thought she was asleep they talked, in low murmurs, of all the things they had been through together.

“When I pulled you out of that river, and rubbed you dry with my petticoat,” Lizzie said. “You remember.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“I dried your back, and then when you turned around …” She hesitated, suddenly shy. “You had got … excited.”

“Very. I was so exhausted I could hardly stand, but even then I wanted to make love to you.”

“I’d never seen a man like that before. I found it so thrilling. I dreamed about it afterward. I’m embarrassed to remember how much I liked it.”