Audrey

by Mary Johnston

  CHAPTER XII

  THE PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN

  June came to tide-water Virginia with long, warm days and with the odor ofmany roses. Day by day the cloudless sunshine visited the land: night bynight the large pale stars looked into its waters. It was a slumberousland, of many creeks and rivers that were wide, slow, and deep, of tobaccofields and lofty, solemn forests, of vague marshes, of white mists, of ahaze of heat far and near. The moon of blossoms was past, and the redmen--few in number now--had returned from their hunting, and lay in theshade of the trees in the villages that the English had left them, whilethe women brought them fish from the weirs, and strawberries from thevines that carpeted every poisoned field or neglected clearing. The blackmen toiled amidst the tobacco and the maize; at noontide it was as hot inthe fields as in the middle passage, and the voices of those who sang overtheir work fell to a dull crooning. The white men who were bound servedlistlessly; they that were well were as lazy as the weather; they thatwere newly come over and ill with the "seasoning" fever tossed upon theirpallets, longing for the cooling waters of home. The white men who werefree swore that the world, though fair, was warm, and none walked if hecould ride. The sunny, dusty roads were left for shadowed bridle paths;in a land where most places could be reached by boat, the water wouldhave been the highway but that the languid air would not fill the sails.It was agreed that the heat was unnatural, and that, likely enough, therewould be a deal of fever during the summer.

  But there was thick shade in the Fair View garden, and when there was airat all it visited the terrace above the river. The rooms of the house werelarge and high-pitched; draw to the shutters, and they became as cool ascaverns. Around the place the heat lay in wait: heat of wide, shadowlessfields, where Haward's slaves toiled from morn to eve; heat of the greatriver, unstirred by any wind, hot and sleeping beneath the blazing sun;heat of sluggish creeks and of the marshes, shadeless as the fields. Oncereach the mighty trees drawn like a cordon around house and garden, andthere was escape.

  To and fro and up and down in the house went the erst waiting-woman to myLady Squander, carrying matters with a high hand. The negresses who workedunder her eye found her a hard taskmistress. Was a room clean to-day,to-morrow it was found that there was dust upon the polished floor, fingermarks on the paneled walls. The same furniture must be placed now in thisroom, now in that; china slowly washed and bestowed in one closettransferred to another; an eternity spent upon the household linen,another on the sewing and resewing, the hanging and rehanging, of damaskcurtains. The slaves, silent when the greenish eyes and tight, vixenishface were by, chattered, laughed, and sung when they were left alone. Ifthey fell idle, and little was done of a morning, they went unrebuked;thoroughness, and not haste, appearing to be Mistress Deborah's motto.

  The master of Fair View found it too noisy in his house to sit therein,and too warm to ride abroad. There were left the seat built round thecherry-tree in the garden, the long, cool box walk, and the terrace with asummer-house at either end. It was pleasant to read out of doors, pacingthe box walk, or sitting beneath the cherry-tree, with the ripening fruitoverhead. If the book was long in reading, if morning by morning Haward'sfinger slipped easily in between the selfsame leaves, perhaps it was thefault of poet or philosopher. If Audrey's was the fault, she knew it not.

  How could she know it, who knew herself, that she was a poor, humble maid,whom out of pure charity and knightly tenderness for weak and sorrowfulthings he long ago had saved, since then had maintained, now was kind to;and knew him, that he was learned and great and good, the very perfectgentle knight who, as he rode to win the princess, yet could stoop fromhis saddle to raise and help the herd girl? She had found of late that shewas often wakeful of nights; when this happened, she lay and looked out ofher window at the stars and wondered about the princess. She was sure thatthe princess and the lady who had given her the guinea were one.

  In the great house she would have worked her fingers to the bone. Herstrong young arms lifted heavy weights; her quick feet ran up and downstairs for this or that; she would have taken the waxed cloths from thenegroes, and upon her knees and with willing hands have made to shine likemirrors the floors that were to be trodden by knight and princess. Butalmost every morning, before she had worked an hour, Haward would call toher from the box walk or the seat beneath the cherry-tree; and "Go,child," would say Mistress Deborah, looking up from her task of themoment.

  The garden continued to be the enchanted garden. To gather its flowers,red and white, to pace with him cool paved walks between walls of scentedbox, to sit beside him beneath the cherry-tree or upon the grassy terrace,looking out upon the wide, idle river,--it was dreamy bliss, a happinesstoo rare to last. There was no harm; not that she ever dreamed there couldbe. The house overlooked garden and terrace; the slaves passed andrepassed the open windows; Juba came and went; now and then MistressDeborah herself would sally forth to receive instructions concerning thisor that from the master of the house. And every day, at noon, the slavesdrew to all the shutters save those of the master's room, and theminister's wife and ward made their curtsies and went home. The latter,like a child, counted the hours upon the clock until the next morning; butthen she was not used to happiness, and the wine of it made her slightlydrunken.

  The master of Fair View told himself that there was infection in thislotus air of Virginia. A fever ran in his veins that made him languid ofwill, somewhat sluggish of thought, willing to spend one day like another,and all in a long dream. Sometimes, in the afternoons, when he was alonein the garden or upon the terrace, with the house blank and silent behindhim, the slaves gone to the quarters, he tossed aside his book, and, withhis chin upon his hand and his eyes upon the sweep of the river, firstasked himself whither he was going, and then, finding no satisfactoryanswer, fell to brooding. Once, going into the house, he chanced to comeupon his full-length reflection in a mirror newly hung, and stopped shortto gaze upon himself. The parlor of his lodgings at Williamsburgh and thelast time that he had seen Evelyn came to him, conjured up by the memoryof certain words of his own.

  "A truer glass might show a shrunken figure," he repeated, and with aquick and impatient sigh he looked at the image in the mirror.

  To the eye, at least, the figure was not shrunken. It was that of a manstill young, and of a handsome face and much distinction of bearing. Thedress was perfect in its quiet elegance; the air of the man composed,--atrifle sad, a trifle mocking. Haward snapped his fingers at thereflection. "The portrait of a gentleman," he said, and passed on.

  That night, in his own room, he took from an escritoire a picture ofEvelyn Byrd, done in miniature after a painting by a pupil of Kneller,and, carrying it over to the light of the myrtle candles upon the table,sat down and fell to studying it. After a while he let it drop from hishand, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

  The night air, rising slightly, bent back the flame of the candles, aroundwhich moths were fluttering, and caused strange shadows upon the walls.They were thick about the curtained bed whereon had died the elderHaward,--a proud man, choleric, and hard to turn from his purposes. Intothe mind of his son, sitting staring at these shadows, came the fantasticnotion that amongst them, angry and struggling vainly for speech, might behis father's shade. The night was feverish, of a heat and lassitude tofoster grotesque and idle fancies. Haward smiled, and spoke aloud to hisimaginary ghost.

  "You need not strive for speech," he said. "I know what you would say._Was it for this I built this house, bought land and slaves?... Fair Viewand Westover, Westover and Fair View. A lady that will not wed theebecause she loves thee! Zoons, Marmaduke! thou puttest me beside mypatience!... As for this other, set no nameless, barefoot wench where satthy mother! King Cophetua and the beggar maid, indeed! I warrant youCophetua was something under three-and-thirty!_"

  Haward ceased to speak for his father, and sighed for himself. "Moral:Three-and-thirty must be wiser in his day and generation." He rose fromhis chair, and began to walk the room. "I
f not Cophetua, what then,--whatthen?" Passing the table, he took up the miniature again. "The villain ofthe piece, I suppose, Evelyn?" he asked.

  The pure and pensive face seemed to answer him. He put the picture hastilydown, and recommenced his pacing to and fro. From the garden below camethe heavy odor of lilies, and the whisper of the river tried the nerves.Haward went to the window, and, leaning out, looked, as now each night helooked, up and across the creek toward the minister's house. To-nightthere was no light to mark it; it was late, and all the world without hisroom was in darkness. He sat down in the window seat, looked out upon thestars and listened to the river. An hour had passed before he turned backto the room, where the candles had burned low. "I will go to Westoverto-morrow," he said. "God knows, I should be a villain"--

  He locked the picture of Evelyn within his desk, drank his wine and water,and went to bed, strongly resolved upon retreat. In the morning he said,"I will go to Westover this afternoon;" and in the afternoon he said, "Iwill go to-morrow." When the morrow came, he found that the house lackedbut one day of being finished, and that there was therefore no need forhim to go at all.

  Mistress Deborah was loath, enough to take leave of damask and mirrors andornaments of china,--the latter fine enough and curious enough to remindher of Lady Squander's own drawing-room; but the leaf of paper whichHaward wrote upon, tore from his pocket-book, and gave her providedconsolation. Her thanks were very glib, her curtsy was very deep. She washis most obliged, humble servant, and if she could serve him again hewould make her proud. Would he not, now, some day, row up creek to theirpoor house, and taste of her perry and Shrewsbury cakes? Audrey, standingby, raised her eyes, and made of the request a royal invitation.

  For a week or more Haward abode upon his plantation, alone save for hisservants and slaves. Each day he sent for the overseer, and listenedgravely while that worthy expounded to him all the details of thecondition and conduct of the estate; in the early morning and the lateafternoon he rode abroad through his fields and forests. Mill and ferryand rolling house were visited, and the quarters made his acquaintance. Atthe creek quarter and the distant ridge quarter were bestowed the newlybought, the sullen and the refractory of his chattels. When, after sunset,and the fields were silent, he rode past the cabins, coal-black figures,new from the slave deck, still seamed at wrist and ankle, mowed andjabbered at him from over their bowls of steaming food; others, who hadforgotten the jungle and the slaver, answered, when he spoke to them, instrange English; others, born in Virginia, and remembering when he used toride that way with his father, laughed, called him "Marse Duke," andagreed with him that the crop was looking mighty well. With the dark hereached the great house, and negroes from the home quarter took--hishorse, while Juba lighted him through the echoing hall into the lonelyrooms.

  From the white quarter he procured a facile lad who could read and write,and who, through too much quickness of wit, had failed to prosper inEngland. Him he installed as secretary, and forthwith began acorrespondence with friends in England, as well as a long poem which wasto serve the double purpose of giving Mr. Pope a rival and of occupyingthe mind of Mr. Marmaduke Haward. The letters were witty and graceful, thepoem was the same; but on the third day the secretary, pausing for thenext word that should fall from his master's lips, waited so long that hedropped asleep. When he awoke, Mr. Haward was slowly tearing into bits thework that had been done on the poem. "It will have to wait upon my mood,"he said. "Seal up the letter to Lord Hervey, boy, and then begone to thefields. If I want you again, I will send for you."

  The next day he proposed to himself to ride to Williamsburgh and see hisacquaintances there. But even as he crossed the room to strike the bellfor Juba a distaste for the town and its people came upon him. It occurredto him that instead he might take the barge and be rowed up the river tothe Jaquelins' or to Green Spring; but in a moment this plan also becamerepugnant. Finally he went out upon the terrace, and sat there the morningthrough, staring at the river. That afternoon he sent a negro to thestore with a message for the storekeeper.

  The Highlander, obeying the demand for his company,--the third or fourthsince his day at Williamsburgh,--came shortly before twilight to the greathouse, and found the master thereof still upon the terrace, sittingbeneath an oak, with a small table and a bottle of wine beside him.

  "Ha, Mr. MacLean!" he cried, as the other approached. "Some days havepassed since last we laid the ghosts! I had meant to sooner improve ouracquaintance. But my house has been in disorder, and I myself,"--he passedhis hand across his face as if to wipe away the expression into which ithad been set,--"I myself have been poor company. There is a witchery inthe air of this place. I am become but a dreamer of dreams."

  As he spoke he motioned his guest to an empty chair, and began to pourwine for them both. His hand was not quite steady, and there was about hima restlessness of aspect most unnatural to the man. The storekeeperthought him looking worn, and as though he had passed sleepless nights.

  MacLean sat down, and drew his wineglass toward Mm. "It is the heat," hesaid. "Last night, in the store, I felt that I was stifling; and I leftit, and lay on the bare ground without. A star shot down the sky, and Iwished that a wind as swift and strong would rise and sweep the land outto sea. When the day comes that I die, I wish to die a fierce death. It isbest to die in battle, for then the mind is raised, and you taste all lifein the moment before you go. If a man achieves not that, then strugglewith earth or air or the waves of the sea is desirable. Driving sleet,armies of the snow, night and trackless mountains, the leap of thetorrent, swollen lakes where kelpies lie in wait, wind on the sea with theblack reef and the charging breakers,--it is well to dash one's forceagainst the force of these, and to die after fighting. But in this cursedland of warmth and ease a man dies like a dog that is old and hath lainwinter and summer upon the hearthstone." He drank his wine, and glancedagain at Haward. "I did not know that you were here," he said. "Saundersontold me that you were going to Westover."

  "I was,--I am," answered Haward briefly. Presently he roused himself fromthe brown study into which he had fallen.

  "'Tis the heat, as you say. It enervates. For my part, I am willing thatyour wind should arise. But it will not blow to-night. There is not abreath; the river is like glass." He raised the wine to his lips, anddrank deeply. "Come," he said, laughing. "What did you at the storeto-day? And does Mistress Truelove despair of your conversion to _thee_and _thou_, and peace with all mankind? Hast procured an enemy to fill theplace I have vacated? I trust he's no scurvy foe."

  "I will take your questions in order," answered the other sententiously."This morning I sold a deal of fine china to a parcel of fine ladies whocame by water from Jamestown, and were mightily concerned to know whetheryour worship was gone to Westover, or had instead (as 't was reported)shut yourself up in Fair View house. And this afternoon came over in aperiagua, from the other side, a very young gentleman with money in handto buy a silver-fringed glove. 'They are sold in pairs,' said I. 'Fellow,I require but one,' said he. 'If Dick Allen, who hath slandered me toMistress Betty Cocke, dareth to appear at the merrymaking at ColonelHarrison's to-night, his cheek and this glove shall come together!''Nathless, you must pay for both,' I told him; and the upshot is that heleaves with me a gold button as earnest that he will bring the remainderof the price before the duel to-morrow. That Quaker maiden of whom you askhath a soul like the soul of Colna-dona, of whom Murdoch, the harper ofColl, used to sing. She is fair as a flower after winter, and as tender asthe rose flush in which swims yonder star. When I am with her, almost shepersuades me to think ill of honest hatred, and to pine no longer that itwas not I that had the killing of Ewin Mackinnon." He gave a short laugh,and stooping picked up an oak twig from the ground, and with deliberationbroke it into many small pieces. "Almost, but not quite," he said. "Therewas in that feud nothing illusory or fantastic; nothing of the qualitythat marked, mayhap, another feud of my own making. If I have found thatin this latter case I took a wraith and dubbed it
my enemy; that, thinkingI followed a foe, I followed a friend instead"--He threw away the bits ofbark, and straightened himself. "A friend!" he said, drawing his breath."Save for this Quaker family, I have had no friend for many a year! And Icannot talk to them of honor and warfare and the wide world." His speechwas sombre, but in his eyes there was an eagerness not without pathos.

  The mood of the Gael chimed with the present mood of the Saxon. As unlikein their natures as their histories, men would have called them; and yet,far away, in dim recesses of the soul, at long distances from the flesh,each recognised the other. And it was an evening, too, in which to takecare of other things than the ways and speech of every day. The heat, thehush, and the stillness appeared well-nigh preternatural. A sadnessbreathed over the earth; all things seemed new and yet old; across thespectral river the dim plains beneath the afterglow took the seeming ofbattlefields.

  "A friend!" said Haward. "There are many men who call themselves myfriends. I am melancholy to-day, restless, and divided against myself. Ido not know one of my acquaintance whom I would have called to bemelancholy with me as I have called you." He leaned across the table andtouched MacLean's hand that was somewhat hurriedly fingering thewineglass. "Come!" he said. "Loneliness may haunt the level fields as wellas the ways that are rugged and steep. How many times have we heldconverse since that day I found you in charge of my store? Often enough, Ithink, for each to know the other's quality. Our lives have been verydifferent, and yet I believe that we are akin. For myself, I should beglad to hold as my friend so gallant though so unfortunate a gentleman."He smiled and made a gesture of courtesy. "Of course Mr. MacLean may veryjustly not hold me in a like esteem, nor desire a closer relation."

  MacLean rose to his feet, and stood gazing across the river at thetwilight shore and the clear skies. Presently he turned, and his eyes werewet. He drew his hand across them; then looked curiously at the dew uponit. "I have not done this," he said simply, "since a night at Preston whenI wept with rage. In my country we love as we hate, with all the strengththat God has given us. The brother of my spirit is to me even as thebrother of my flesh.... I used to dream that my hand was at your throat ormy sword through your heart, and wake in anger that it was not so ... andnow I could love you well."

  Haward stood up, and the two men clasped hands. "It is a pact, then," saidthe Englishman. "By my faith, the world looks not so melancholy gray as itdid awhile ago. And here is Juba to say that supper waits. Lay the tablefor two, Juba. Mr. MacLean will bear me company."

  The storekeeper stayed late, the master of Fair View being an accomplishedgentleman, a very good talker, and an adept at turning his house for thenonce into the house of his guest. Supper over they went into the library,where their wine was set, and where the Highlander, who was no greatreader, gazed respectfully at the wit and wisdom arow before him. "ColonelByrd hath more volumes at Westover," quoth Haward, "but mine are of thechoicer quality." Juba brought a card table, and lit more candles, whilehis master, unlocking a desk, took from it a number of gold pieces. Thesehe divided into two equal portions: kept one beside him upon the polishedtable, and, with a fine smile, half humorous, half deprecating, pushed theother across to his guest. With an, imperturbable face MacLean stacked thegold before him, and they fell to piquet, playing briskly, and withoccasional application to the Madeira upon the larger table, until ten ofthe clock. The Highlander, then declaring that he must be no longer awayfrom his post, swept his heap of coins across to swell his opponent'sstore, and said good-night. Haward went with him to the great door, andwatched him stride off through the darkness whistling "The Battle ofHarlaw."

  That night Haward slept, and the next morning four negroes rowed him upthe river to Jamestown. Mr. Jaquelin was gone to Norfolk upon business,but his beautiful wife and sprightly daughters found Mr. Marmaduke Hawardaltogether charming. "'Twas as good as going to court," they said to oneanother, when the gentleman, after a two hours' visit, bowed himself outof their drawing-room. The object of their encomiums, going down river inhis barge, felt his spirits lighter than they had been for some days. Hespoke cheerfully to his negroes, and when the barge passed a couple offishing-boats he called to the slim brown lads that caught for theplantation to know their luck. At the landing he found the overseer, whowalked to the great house with him. The night before Tyburn Will hadstolen from the white quarters, and had met a couple of seamen from theTemperance at the crossroads ordinary, which ordinary was going to getinto trouble for breaking the law which forbade the harboring of sailorsashore. The three had taken in full lading of kill-devil rum, and TyburnWill, too drunk to run any farther, had been caught by Hide near PrincessCreek, three hours agone. What were the master's orders? Should the roguego to the court-house whipping post, or should Hide save the trouble oftaking him there? In either case, thirty-nine lashes well laid on--

  The master pursed his lips, dug into the ground with the ferrule of hiscane, and finally proposed to the astonished overseer that the rascal belet off with a warning. "'Tis too fair a day to poison with ugly sightsand sounds," he said, whimsically apologetic for his own weakness. "'Twilldo no great harm to be lenient, for once, Saunderson, and I am in the moodto-day to be friends with all men, including myself."

  The overseer went away grumbling, and Haward entered the house. The roomwhere dwelt his books looked cool and inviting. He walked the length ofthe shelves, took out a volume here and there for his evening reading, andupon the binding of others laid an affectionate, lingering touch. "I havehad a fever, my friends," he announced to the books, "but I am about tofind myself happily restored to reason and serenity; in short, to health."

  Some hours later he raised his eyes from the floor which he had beenstudying for a great while, covered them for a moment with his hand, thenrose, and, with the air of a sleepwalker, went out of the lit room into acalm and fragrant night. There was no moon, but the stars were many, andit did not seem dark. When he came to the verge of the landing, and theriver, sighing in its sleep, lay clear below him, mirroring the stars, itwas as though he stood between two firmaments. He descended the steps, anddrew toward him a small rowboat that was softly rubbing against the wetand glistening piles. The tide was out, and the night was very quiet.

  Haward troubled not the midstream, but rowing in the shadow of the bank tothe mouth of the creek that slept beside his garden, turned and went upthis narrow water. Until he was free of the wall the odor of honeysuckleand box clung to the air, freighting it heavily; when it was left behindthe reeds began to murmur and sigh, though not loudly, for there was nowind. When he came to a point opposite the minister's house, rising fiftyyards away from amidst low orchard trees, he rested upon his oars. Therewas a light in an upper room, and as he looked Audrey passed between thecandle and the open window. A moment later and the light was out, but heknew that she was sitting at the window. Though it was dark, he found thathe could call back with precision the slender throat, the lifted face, andthe enshadowing hair. For a while he stayed, motionless in his boat,hidden by the reeds that whispered and sighed; but at last he rowed awaysoftly through the darkness, back to the dim, slow-moving river and theFair View landing.

  This was of a Friday. All the next day he spent in the garden, but onSunday morning he sent word to the stables to have Mirza saddled. He wasgoing to church, he told Juba over his chocolate, and he would wear thegray and silver.