“The news from Boston is ominous. More ships are about to 298 sail, bearing more troops and cannon. I know not how it will end! Ay — but I do know, and so must every thinking man. Praemonitus praemunitus!
“Michael, I have had a most strange and unpleasant letter from Sir Peter Warren, who encloses with it certain amazing documents which he has carefully perused, to his great mortification and discontent. These papers were lately sent to him from Chatham dockyard, having been discovered under the cabin flooring of the war-ship Leda, which his brother lately commanded and which is now repairing at Chatham.
“The documents concern Felicity — and us all — and I wish you to know that I no longer approve of your union with her, at least not until both she and you are fully acquainted with the contents of these documents.
“And now, dear son, I can but wait for you to come. The house is dull without you. I have sometimes sought to drown care in the river, whither I go with gillie Bareshanks to fly-fish for trouts. But I am growing sad and old, and nothing pleases, though I do throw my flies as I did at thirty, looping each cast without a splash.
“Always yr affectionate
“Wm. Johnson, Bart.
“Post Scriptum. — On yr return I have planned a fishing-trip to the Kennyetto at Fonda’s Bush, where, report is, a monstrous trout hath been seen to jump frequently in that bend of the stream due east from the sugar bush on the hill.
“W. J.”
My eyes were swimming when I lifted them from the sheets of paper, now damp with dew. For a moment I rested my head on my hands, feeling the rising tide of homesickness choking me. Then that subtle courage, which a word from Sir William ever infused, warmed my blood and calmed my beating heart.
I rose serenely, and laid the letter to the candle’s flame, watching it burn and crisp and fall in flakes which no prying spy might decipher. Then I looked at my new watch, and was amazed to find that it lacked but a few moments to the time set for our departure from the “Virginia Arms.”
Rolfe had already lighted the chaise-lamps; Shemuel had crawled inside with our weapons, and Renard sat his post-saddle, adjusting the stirrups; while Mount was preparing to climb into the saddle of the nigh leader.
“Is it dark out there in the square?” I asked of Rolfe.
“I guess the lanthorns swing a-light on every seventh,” 299 he said. “I darkened mine, but the watchman came battering and bawling tew the door and made me light up again.”
Mount was now in his saddle; I held my ticking time-piece under the coach-lamp, eyes following the slow pointers travelling towards the hour.
And, as I stood there, there came creeping a woman into the alley, cloaked and bareheaded, halting and crouching to scan our chaise-lamps under her inverted hand. Ere Rolfe or I could stop her she ran to the horse on which Mount was sitting and caught the forest-runner by the fringe on his sleeve. Then, in the rays of the chaise-lamp, I knew her for the thief-taker’s child.
“Hoity-toity, what the devil’s tew pay?” said Rolfe. “Darn the ruddled vixens who come a-drabbing into my mews, with a hussy tew hail you afoot and a baggage tew boot on the boot—”
“Keep quiet!” I said, sharply. “There’s trouble abroad somewhere!”
“Oh, Mr. Cardigan,” called Mount, softly, “Sir Timerson and a gang o’ cudgels is coming up Pitt Street and Bully Bishop’s with them!”
The girl turned her frightened face to me:
“They came for father to take Jack Mount; I ran out the back door, sir. Oh, hasten! hasten!” she wailed, looking at Mount and wringing her hands.
The big fellow stooped from his saddle and deliberately kissed her.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said; “I’ll come back for another before I die. Au large, Jimmy! Up with you, Mr. Cardigan!”
“Turn those horses! Take their heads!” whispered Rolfe. “There’s one back way tew every mews, and half a dozen to this!”
The next moment I had wheeled the chaise-and-four back into the darkness and around a rambling row of sheds and stables, following Rolfe, then to the left, then a demi-tour to the right, which brought us up against a heavy stockade. But already Rolfe had set a creaking gate swinging loosely, and we bumped out into a field, hub-deep in buttercups.
“I’ll keep the scratch-wigs amused,” whispered Rolfe, as I 300 climbed to the forward seat and picked up my rifle; and away we jolted across the star-lit pasture and out into a narrow, unlighted cattle lane, which we followed to the bars. These Shemuel let down, popping back into the chaise like a jack-o’-box, and Mount rode our horses out into the dark Boundary Road.
There was not a soul to be seen, not a light, not a sound but the hum of our turning wheels and the slapping trot of our horses.
Presently, on a dark hillock to our right, I saw lighted windows glimmering among trees, and I called in a low voice to Mount and sprang noiselessly to the road. A lane led around the hillock to the right; up this dim path I conducted the chaise-and-four until I found room to turn them back, facing the Boundary Road again. Here our chaise might lie concealed from passing folk on the highway, and here I quietly bade Mount and Renard await me, while Shemuel held the horses’ heads.
The night was warm and fragrant under the great June stars as I passed silently along the lane, climbed the hillock and entered the orchard. Through the dim trees I stole towards the house, where two windows on the ground floor were lighted up.
Then, as I leaned breathless against a tree, in the distant gloom the fortress bell struck slowly, eleven times.
Second after second passed, minute followed minute, and my eyes never left the closed door under the pillared porch. Presently I looked at my watch; a quarter of an hour had passed. The seconds began to drag, the minutes loitered. Time seemed to stand still in the world.
Far away in the fortress the bell struck the half-hour, and on the west breeze came the dull cry of sentinels calling from post to post under the summer stars.
Suddenly the dark door opened; a heavy figure appeared in silhouette against the light. My heart stood still; it was Black Betty.
The negress peered out into the darkness, north, west, south, and finally looked up at the stars. Then, as though summoned from within, she turned quickly and entered the house, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Impatience was racking me now; I waited until I could wait no longer; then, in the shadow of the trellis-vines, I stole up to the porch. The hallway was empty; I stepped to the sill, crossed it, and surveyed the empty stairway and the gallery above. There was not a soul in sight. Now alarm seized me, a swift, overpowering dread which drove me on to seek and face whatever was in store for me. A door on my right stood open; I looked in, then entered the smaller of two rooms, which were partly separated from each other by folding doors. Candles burned in gilt sconces; glass cabinets glittered; mirrors reflected my full length so abruptly that I started at the apparitions and clutched my hunting-knife.
Treading on the velvet carpet I passed into the farther apartment which, by a little gallery and waxed floor, I knew to be the ballroom. Not a soul to be seen anywhere. Glancing hurriedly at the empty ranks of gilded chairs, I strove to crush out the fear which was laying icy fingers on my breast, and I had already turned to re-enter the smaller room when I heard the front door close and voices sounding along the outer hallway. I stepped behind a gilt cabinet and drew my heavy knife, perfectly aware that I was trapped like a fox in a snap-box.
Through the carved foliage of the cabinet I saw three people enter the room. The skin all over my body roughened at the sight of them; and what held me back I do not know — perhaps that kind Providence which watches over fools — for I began to tremble in every contracting muscle as do cats in ambush when their quarry passes unsuspecting.
There they stood in low-voiced consultation — Lady Shelton, my Lord Dunmore, and my mortal enemy, Walter Butler, tricked out in lace and velvet. He stood so near to me that my hot hand could have fastened on his throat-strings where I cro
uched. He turned towards Dunmore with a gesture.
“Sir Timerson should find them to-night,” he said; “your thief-taker, Bully Bishop, is with them, I understand.”
“They are to search every rebel rat-hole in town,” cried Dunmore, eagerly; “they should claw them ere dawn, Captain Butler. Vive Dieu, nous allons les clouer en terrain bouché!”
Lord Dunmore leered at Lady Shelton, and then contemplated 302 his small French hat as though seeking countenance for his halting tongue.
“If I am to conduct Miss Warren,” said Butler, gloomily, “you had best see her without delay, my Lord.”
His round, amber eyes of a bird were fixed on Dunmore.
“Come now,” said Dunmore, slyly, “I am half minded to conduct her myself, Captain Butler, curse me if I am not. I hear you once vowed to wed her in spite of Sir William and me too! Damme, I’ve a notion you mean me ill, you rogue!”
“Your Lordship is merry,” sneered Butler, but I saw his blank eyes contracting as he spoke.
“Faith, I am not over-merry,” said Dunmore, plaintively, drawing a diamond pin from his wig and contemplating it. “I like not this night journey to Williamsburg, that’s flat! — and I care not if you know it, Captain Butler.”
“Then I pray you to release me from this duty,” sneered Butler.
Dunmore eyed him askance, twirling his jewelled pin.
“If I merit your suspicions,” added Butler, icily, “I beg to wish you good fortune and good-night!” And he bowed very low and turned curtly towards the door.
“No! Damme if I suspect you!” cried Dunmore, hastily. “Come back, Captain Butler! Oh tally, man! — is there no wit in you that you freeze at a jest from an over-fond suitor? You shall conduct Miss Warren to Williamsburg. I say it! I mean it! Body o’ Judas! am I not to follow as soon as I hang this fellow Mount and his rabble o’ ragged pottle-pots?”
Butler came back, and — oh, the evil in his fixed stare as his kindling eyes fastened on Dunmore again!
“Will you be pleased — to — to receive Miss Warren immediately?” asked Lady Shelton, in a flutter of jellyfied excitement. “I have her closely watched wherever she takes a step. She has her boxes packed, the wilful child! Lud! she would have been gone these two hours had not Captain Butler’s man caught my footman with a guinea!”
“I have a copy of her letter,” squeaked Dunmore, angrily. “Faith, I could scratch her raw for what she wrote to that dirty forest-running fellow, Cardigan!”
“Fie! Fie!” tittered Lady Shelton, hysterically, shaking a 303 fat finger at the painted beau. “Over-fond lovers should forgive!”
“Curse me if I forget, though,” muttered his Lordship. “If I have to wait till Innocents’ day, I’ll birch the little baggage yet!”
He turned nervously to Butler:
“You had best attend in the ballroom, Captain Butler. Gad! I can persuade her, I think, within the half-hour. Lady Shelton, you will be in one of your cursed twitters if you remain here, and those same twitters set me dancing. Damme, madam! you are twittering now! I sha’n’t endure it! I can’t endure it! Pluck me bald if I can!”
“I — I will send her to you,” stammered the dowager, curtseying in a panic.
“And stay away until you’re wanted,” added Dunmore, brutally.
Lady Shelton stared at him with frightened eyes; then her little fat feet set themselves in motion, and she pattered hastily out of the room. The men exchanged sneers.
“I’ll be rid o’ that ruddled sack o’ lollypops now,” observed Lord Dunmore, complacently. “Will you not take your turn, Captain Butler? No? Well, I owe thanks to Sir Timerson then. Pst! There’s some one on the stairs! Give me joy, Captain Butler, and mind you keep closed eyes, you rogue!”
Butler gave him a contemptuous stare, then swung on his heel, and balancing his thin hand on the hilt of his small-sword, walked noiselessly into the dim ballroom.
Dunmore stood listening, passing the diamond pin back through his wig, and shaking out the long, delicate lace on his cuffs.
Nobody came. He raised his spy-glass and tiptoed over to the mirror, primping, preening, smirking, and ogling himself, occasionally turning his good ear to the door to listen.
Presently he began to pace the velvet, fanning his nose with a lace handkerchief, and simpering all to himself.
The extravagance of his dress might have amused me had not my mind been filled with deadly thoughts. He was all in yellow, silk coat, and silver-shot waistcoat, with breeches of gold brocade and white silk stockings. Lace tumbled in soft cascades over his claw-like fingers; a white sash and star, 304 set with brilliants, covered his breast; a gorgeous stock glittered under the fluffy lace at his withered throat.
I noted these features, one by one, but my thoughts had flown up-stairs to seek throughout this shameful house for the dear maid who had given herself to me.
Suddenly she appeared at the door, so suddenly that Lord Dunmore started from the mirror with a suppressed squeal of surprise. As for me, I quivered in my lurking-place, and for a moment could scarce see her for the mist in my eyes.
Yet there she stood, hesitating, smiling, her hands busy with the buckle of a travelling-coat adorned with row on row of dainty capes. Under the silvery gray coat I could see her little doe-skin shoon peeping out. Now, with gloved hands, she began widening the hood on her head, to tie it beneath her chin, with a sidelong glance at the mirror and a faint smile for her mirrored face.
Never, never had I seen her so lovely, never had her eyes so thrilled me, nor her sweet, dumb lips called to me more clearly. For a moment I thought she had perceived me through the cabinet’s gilded foliage; but my presence was still all unsuspected.
At first sight of her hood and travelling-coat, Lord Dunmore had scowled. Then, fascinated, he pretended to a trance and clasped his hands, rolling his rheumy eyes towards heaven. Seeing her face fall, however, he recovered quickly enough and leered at her from head to toe.
“Cruel one,” he piped out in ecstasy, mincing towards her. “Cruel one, what do you ask that I may adore?”
“Your Lordship’s pardon,” she said, gravely; “I am here to ask forgiveness.”
“Granted! You have it,” protested Dunmore, eagerly, leading her to a chair and bowing above her as she was seated. “You have grieved me, but man was made to grieve. I forgive, and give my love as guerdon.”
“You are too generous,” said Silver Heels, sorrowfully; “I may keep only your forgiveness, my Lord.”
She would have spoken again, but Dunmore bent his stiff joints and dropped on both knees, ogling her with watery eyes.
She half rose and drew back with a pleading gesture, but 305 the infatuated fool drowned her protests with his shrill prattle, and clasping his transparent hands together under the lace, pleaded his suit so passionately that my gorge rose and I could scarce contain myself.
At last his chatter died away in miscellaneous noises, sniffs, gulps, and senile sounds; and he tried to seize her gloved hand, making a clacking smack with his thin, dry lips.
Silver Heels shrank deep into her chair, hiding her hands from him under her chin, and begging him to rise, which he did at last, scowling his displeasure.
Then, very gravely and pitifully, she told him that she did not love him, that she had given her love to another, and that she could now only ask his forgiveness, yet never forgive herself for the wickedness she had so wilfully practised.
He stood listening in silence at first, then his faded eyes narrowed with fury, and in his worn cheeks, under the rouge, a sickly colour stained the flesh. The change in the man was frightful.
“D’ye mean to throw me over for that wood-running whelp, Cardigan?” he burst out. “Oh no, my lady, that cock won’t fight, d’ye hear?”
The startling coarseness of the outbreak brought Silver Heels to her feet in frightened astonishment. Horror mantled throat and cheeks with crimson; she shrank back, catching support on a marble table beside her.
All ov
er Dunmore’s scowling visage the enamel was cracking; he paced the carpet like one demented, chattering and scratching at the air.
“I will not be so used! Curse me if I will!” he snarled, biting his polished nails. “Hell’s fury! madam; do you think to throw me over for a hind of buckskin? Damn me if you shall! — and Lady Shelton saw him kiss you on the knoll at that! Fine sport, madam! Fine sport! So you think to make me the laughing-stock o’ Virginia? So you write letters to your buckskin lout and plan to run off with him in a post-chaise — eh? Damned if you shall! Damned if you do!”
“Pray — pray let me pass,” gasped Silver Heels, choking with fright.
He caught the door in his hand, closing it, and planted 306 himself with his back against it. Then he fumbled behind him for the key, but it was in the other side of the door.
“Oh no, not yet,” he said.
“I must pass that door,” repeated Silver Heels, breathlessly.
“By God, you shall not!” he cried. “You shall stay here all night, d’ye hear? Ay, and folk shall hear of it and gossip, too, and the whole world shall know how the Governor of Virginia bundled to win a worthless wife! I tell you I mean to have you, and if you wed me not fair you shall wed me compromised, and thank me, too, for my name to cloak your shame withal!”
His voice ended in a shriek; the door behind him burst open, flinging him forward, and Black Betty appeared, eyes ablaze and teeth bared. The next instant Silver Heels sprang through the portal, the door banged, and I heard the key turn on the other side with a click.
Dumfounded, I looked stupidly through the window behind me, then my heart leaped up, for there, at the foot of the garden, stood a post-chaise and four, lamps lighted, and postilions sitting their horses. There, too, were Silver Heels and Betty, setting foot to the chaise step. Dark figures aided them, the chaise door shut. I thanked God silently and turned to deal with these wicked men whom He had given into my hands.
Dunmore, insane with fury, was clawing at the window to raise it; Butler came swiftly from the ballroom and tried the door. Finding it locked, he looked at Dunmore with a ghastly laugh.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 113