I did manage to join the Cambridge Union Society, and although I was told I had a good voice and a quick wit, I no longer had the patience for the study that was required for a killing argument. And I joined a theatrical group, finding it soothing somehow to dress up as another, to play a role, to forget for a time that I was Edward Rochester, alone in the world. As well, I took up riding, my one pleasure above all else in those years. I loved feeling the power of a horse beneath me, the wind in my hair, the sun on my back, as if I were in another world entirely, as if I were totally free of all care or burden.
After years of drifting, of late parties and groggy mornings; of simple romances with town girls that never led to anything, of mad rides over the downs, and, finally, five days of eight-hour exams, I did manage to pass my tripos—if just barely—and come down from Cambridge with exactly what I had been sent there for. There was much I could have learned that I did not, but I did learn two things: that one can hide oneself behind a mask, and that, more than anything else, I longed for a real home of the sort that I had had for such a short time at Maysbeck, and for companionship that I had not known since Black Hill.
Chapter 17
My father came for my graduation, and although he frowned at my apparent lack of zeal as a student, he said nothing, which I took to mean either that that meant little to him or that I had not done any worse than Rowland. Over dinner that evening, he informed me that I was ticketed on the Badger Guinea in two weeks’ time, bound for Jamaica. After all that had passed in the preceding years, the lure of Jamaica had faded for me, but as it became clear that he was not to accompany me, my perspective changed. I would be on my own; I would, for the first time, be free.
Perhaps sensing the direction of my thoughts, he cautioned me: “This is a serious business, and I presume that you are up to it.”
“Yes, sir, I am, sir,” I said, hoping to hide my excitement.
“You must know what Jamaica is: it’s a gold mine, but the gold is white—‘white gold,’ they call it in fact, whole fields of it, growing higher than a man’s head. I have a plantation there—a small one, and without an estate house at the moment, but you will have the opportunity to vastly expand that holding if you are wise enough to do so. And a shipping business in addition, as you already know. For”—he leaned across the table—“the ‘gold’ must be brought to market, must it not? You will take over these interests; they will become yours. Any profit will be yours, any loss yours as well. It is your future, son, to do with as you choose. As you know, my interests in England are Rowland’s, but those in Jamaica are entirely yours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
“I am aware that you spent too much of your time at university in pursuits other than studies, but that is past now. Now you are a man who will sink or swim on his own merits. If you end up having to rent yourself out as a book-keeper, or, worse, if you return to England in rags and penniless, that is your own account. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Fine,” he said, tucking into his roast, “we understand each other. Two weeks from today you depart. Whatever must be done must be completed by then.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked up at me suddenly. “You haven’t made any promises to any young ladies, I presume.”
“No, I have not.” Miss Phillips had been married to David Wilson for nearly two years, and I had no idea what had happened to Miss Kent.
“Good,” he said, taking another bite. “Because there is a young lady you must meet when you get to Spanish Town. A beautiful and charming person, really, and her father and I have had several business dealings together. He is interested in seeing her married, as his health is not the best, and his wife is…gone. The girl has a brother, but he has not the head for business that you have already shown, and the father—Mr. Jonas Mason by name—is quite interested in you as a possible successor. Mason is thrilled that you have finished with Cambridge and made a good accounting of yourself there. A beautiful wife and an extremely generous arrangement: I cannot recommend this situation highly enough.” This last was accompanied by a shake of his fork to emphasize each word. “You will find,” he went on, “once you get to Jamaica, that a young man who arrives there with nothing but his good name and a willingness to work will find no position of value open to him. The best he can hope for is to be hired as a book-keeper at a plantation—the basest position for a white man, for he works directly with the slaves. If, on the other hand, he arrives with letters of recommendation to individuals of substance on the island, he will find a welcome. And if, as you are positioned to do, he comes with connections and with a plantation and a town house in Spanish Town, and shipping interests already in hand, nothing can stop him from making the very best of himself, unless he does not take advantage of all that is waiting for him.” His eyebrows rose at the end of that last phrase, but I had caught his meaning well enough.
I nodded, as it seemed there was not much more to be said on the subject, and he dove again into his plate, while I fiddled with my food, my heart already pounding with enthusiasm and anxiety at the opportunities before me.
My father said nothing else until he had finished eating. As he placed his fork down, he said, “I shall be leaving on the coach for London in the morning. I have business there, but I shall return to Liverpool in less than a week. I trust you will have arrived by then.”
“Yes, indeed, I will.”
“Fine. You have sufficient funds, I presume.”
“I believe so,” I said, wondering in fact if I did.
He rose and started away, but turned suddenly back, pulling out his purse as he did so. “Young men never have sufficient funds, I have come to learn,” he said. He laid a couple of banknotes on the table for me. “This should take care of whatever debts you may have around town and get you back to Liverpool. You will give me an accounting when you return. Take care you are not delayed.” And with that he left.
*
I had not known my father to be a generous man, but he was a businessman and he knew the value of a good name. I did have a few debts, and what he gave me would more than cover them, and I was grateful for that. I had nearly gotten used to my father’s abruptness, but I felt sure that underneath his manner, he truly did care about me and my future, or else he would not have taken such pains—and expense—to prepare me for it. I left the inn nearly as soon as he did, but I saw no sign of him, and by the end of the day I had indeed paid off my debts and was packed and ready to leave.