“Not in a bishop’s close, Boland.”
“No, not in a bishop’s close, nor in an archdeacon’s garden. For of all places on earth where they defy religion, this is the worst, your honour. There’s as much religion here as you’ll find in a last year’s bird’s-nest. Gallivanting—where should he gallivant?”
The governor waved a contemptuous hand. “It doesn’t need ingenuity to find a place, for some do it on their own estate. I have seen it.”
Darius spoke sharply. “Your honour, there’s naught on Mr. Calhoun’s estate that’s got the taint, and he’s not the man to go hunting for it. Drink—well, suppose a gentleman does take his quartern, is it a crime? I ask your honour, is that a crime in Jamaica?”
“It’s no crime, Boland; nevertheless, your Mr. Calhoun will have to take his fill on his own land from the day I send him the command of the London Government.”
“And what day will that be, your honour?”
To be questioned by one who had been a revolutionary was distasteful to the governor. “That day will be when I find the occasion opportune, my brave Boland,” he said sourly.
“Why ‘brave,’ your honour?” There was an ominous light in Darius’ eye.
“Did you not fight with George Washington against the King of England—against King George? And if you did, was that not brave?”
“It was true, your honour,” came the firm reply. “It was the one right good thing to do, as we proved it by the victory we had. We did what we set out to do. But see, if you will let a poor man speak his mind, if I were you I’d not impose the command on Mr. Calhoun.”