Free Caxton by Edward Cline

long as the company and musicians can stand!”
More guests appeared at the door, and the host was obliged to break off to greet
them. Mr. Stannard took his guests on a round of introductions, and before half
an hour had passed, everyone knew who the strangers were and their business
in Caxton. And to every query concerning their plans to purchase Brougham Hall,
Hugh and his companion demurred an answer.
Hugh easily fit into the company. Colonial society, though mindful to observe
contemporary rules of polite decorum, was made more enjoyable by the relaxation
of many of those rules. Thus, Hugh was able to converse with married women without
arousing anyone’s suspicions or offending social protocol. Unattached women,
however, remained unapproachable, even for the most innocuous conversation,
except in the company of their parents, guardians, or elders, or during a dance.
A modest and well-bred young lady could not look a man directly in the eye and
not expect to be taken for a libertine extending an invitation to license. It
was a supposition impervious to reason.
The three most brilliantly lit rooms were the ballroom, the supper room, and
the gaming room. Each boasted a score and a half of double sconces, while from
the ballroom and super room ceilings were suspended lustres, or crystal chandeliers,
such as Hugh had seen only in London and Danvers. These, however, each had the
added feature of a silver cupola, filigreed with gold, fixed above the lustre’s
chain to absorb the candles’ heat and soot. And both the ballroom and the supper
room were furnished with Dutch “warming machines,” great, black, ornamented
iron stoves connected to their own chimneys with sealed tin pipes. The gaming
room was warmed by a standard fireplace, and contained a billiard table, a bar,
and several round tables for card and dice games.
Hugh and Otis Talbot toured the rooms with Barbara Vishonn, the host’s wife,
and then, by mutual agreement, separated to find their own company. Hugh returned
to the ballroom and studied the lustre overhead. Ian McRae approached him. They
shook hands again, and the Scotsman apologized for his absence earlier in the
day. Hugh said, gazing up at the crystal, “What a novel idea! I have not seen
its like elsewhere.”
“It was Mr. Vishonn’s innovation,” remarked McRae. “I believe he grew tired
of seeing the ceiling blackened by the smoke.”
“Not only does the crystal magnify the light, but the device above it reflects
and distributes it. Further, the cupola reduces the risk of fire.”
Mr. McRae laughed. “I’m certain that Mr. Vishonn would like to hear it so complimented,
Mr. Kenrick.” He put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Come, you’ve not met my wife
and daughter. They’re in the far corner there.”
As they crossed the room, they passed the space where the musicians would play.
On the light blue-papered wall behind the pianoforte, harp, music stands, and
chairs, was a large Great Union, suspended from the bases of two sconces. Hugh
nodded to it and remarked, “And that is a decoration I’ve not seen elsewhere
— at least, not in anyone’s residence.”
“It once flew atop the Capitol here,” McRae said, “until it was in tatters.
Mr. Granby’s son, William, who is one of the county’s burgesses, procured it
from the keeper and presented it to Mr. Vishonn, whose wife prettily repaired
it.” In a lower voice, McRae added, “It is said of Mr. Vishonn that he is more
patriotic than Mr. Pitt.” He paused. “Have you met our two burgesses, Granby
and Edgar Cullis?”
“I’ve not yet had the pleasure, sir.”
“A word of advice, then, sir, whether you elect to purchase Brougham Hall or
not: Steer clear of politics with them, unless you agree with them.”
Madeline McRae was an elegant, captivating woman whose dark eyes seemed to sum
up Hugh with approval. Etáin, fifteen years old, was a younger