Joscelyn Cheshire Part 15

Out in the crowd the sentiment against the girl instantly changed, and all but Amanda Bryce applauded Janet's words.

"Eustace Singleton writes her naught but love-letters--let her keep them!" cried another girl. "Methinks I should not want the world to be reading my sweetheart's letters and counting the kisses he sends me."

"No, nor those he gives you," said Martha Strudwick, with a merry wink, and instantly there was a great laugh, for the girl had been caught kissing her lover the winter day on which the troops had marched, for which imprudence her mother had soundly boxed her ears.

"And now," cried Joscelyn, when the laugh had pa.s.sed, "to prove that there is no treason in this letter, I shall let Betty Clevering--as good a Continental as the best of you--sit down yonder on the bench and read every word of it before I myself have seen it. Here, Betty, be you the judge whether what is herein writ is of treasonable import; and mind you skip nothing, particularly the love pa.s.sages." She laughingly pushed Betty upon the bench, and leaving Eustace's letter in her hands, came back to Janet's side.

"My letter was from my brother, Joscelyn; and he said he knew not where Richard had been sent. He himself is in the old Sugar House in New York; what he suffers he will not say, but we can guess, since so much has been said of the place."

Joscelyn kissed the tearful face softly. "Perchance your imagination is over-vivid. It grieves me to the quick that any of our townsfolk should suffer."

"It will be a great relief to his mother to know that Richard is not in the Sugar House."

"Yes, there is only one worse prison in the country, and that is for the captured seamen."

"Do not let us talk of its horrors."

So the conversation went on until Betty Clevering, her face like a budding rose, came forward again.

"This letter," she said, holding up the missive, "is one of friends.h.i.+p merely; in it I find absolutely nothing against our cause, save a curse on the war that keeps the writer from--from her he loves."

"Dear me, to see her blush one would think it were Betty's love-letter, not Joscelyn's."

"How shy she looks!"

"Betty, was it writ so tenderly that you, who are but an outsider, are abashed to read it? Truly, I wish Master Singleton would give lessons in love writing. My man talks so much of General Was.h.i.+ngton and his doings that he quite forgets to put in the love pa.s.sages."

"And 'tis for those that a woman reads her letters," said Mistress Strudwick. "The 'I love yous' and 'dears' and 'kisses' scattered through the pages mean more to her heart than the announcement of a victory. In faith, old woman as I am, I always read the last sentence first, knowing it will be the sweetest, if so the writer is in his senses."

"That is why I wanted so much to read Joscelyn's letter. I knew Eustace would never plot against his own town any more than she would, but an ardent love-letter makes good reading, no matter to whom it may be writ," laughed Dorothy Graham, breaking a glowing rose from a nearby bush, and holding it playfully against Betty's cheek, looking archly at her companions as she tapped first one and then the other with her finger, whereupon the laugh again arose, for some had long ago guessed at Eustace's pa.s.sion.

Meantime, Joscelyn, drawing somewhat apart, took the strange letter from her dress and broke the wafer. The missive covered but one scant page, but those who watched as she read saw her face grow pale and her lip tremble.

MISTRESS JOSCELYN CHEs.h.i.+RE, in Hillsboro'-town:

Richard Clevering, with ten of his comrades, taken at Monmouth field, lies in one of the prison-s.h.i.+ps in Wallabout Bay. If he is aught to you,--you know best whom _he_ loves,--bestir yourself for an exchange, for only that can save him from the sure death that lurks in those accursed hulks. I, one of the guard that carried him there, promised him that you should know, and at the risk of discovery and punishment I thus keep my promise. He is brave and generous. It were a pity to let him die.

JAMES COLBORN.

NEW YORK, this tenth day of July, 1778.

Even in the far southern towns the infamy of those prison-s.h.i.+ps had been told, and with a sudden gesture of compa.s.sion the girl stretched her arms toward the opposite house.

"Aunt Clevering, poor Aunt Clevering!" and thrusting the letter into Mistress Strudwick's hands, she exclaimed: "Here read it--read it aloud, then take it over yonder--I cannot." And gathering Betty close in her arms she listened while the letter was read to the sorrowing women.

"Who are the others? Called he no names?"

"Oh, mayhap one is my son!"

"And another may be my husband!"

"Even the Sugar House had been easier than this! Mark you what we have heard of the ferocity of the jailers, the foulness of the food, the loathsomeness of the s.h.i.+ps! They will die, our brave lads will all die there!"

"Will die?--Nay, perchance they are already dead; 'tis a month since this letter was writ, and two months since Monmouth fight."

And the letter went the rounds of the town, carrying sorrow everywhere and a miserable dread and uncertainty into many homes, for all of the men missing from Monmouth were not yet accounted for. Whose dear ones were suffering with Richard, mine or thine, or our neighbour's?

All the afternoon, Joscelyn paced her floor, her brows knitted, her fingers clenched. She knew best whom he loved? Yes, she knew. Every day for the past year he had let her see his heart; even in their quarrels over the war, he had not forgotten that he loved her. At first she had taken it for a pa.s.sing fancy, and had treated him with laughing coquetry, fanning his love later on into the white flame of pa.s.sion with that groundless jealousy of Eustace. Then it was she realized what it was with which she was playing.

And now he was lying in that loathsome s.h.i.+p, with the fever on one side and the harsh keepers on the other. Did she care as he wanted her to care? No, but her anger against him for his persistent a.s.sumption of her acquiescence in his suit was all forgotten; she remembered only the happy side of their friends.h.i.+p, and that he was Betty's brother. She could not put aside the appeal in Colborn's letter, for it was an appeal from Richard himself; and yet what could she, a mere girl without aid or influence, do to set him free? That was why her hands were clenched and she paced her floor with quick steps. Then at last she sat down, and opening her portfolio she wrote for half an hour, covering sheet after sheet. When they were done she gathered them up quickly and ran downstairs and crossed the street to the opposite house. There all was sadness and tears because of Colborn's news.

"Here, Betty," she said, placing the folded sheets upon the table; "Eustace Singleton is on Lord Cornwallis's staff and must have influence with him, and through him, with General Clinton. I have written Eustace to use all effort and despatch in Richard's behalf, but you must add a postscript to make the plea effective."

"And why, I pray you, should he heed a postscript from Betty?" asked her mother, angrily, forgetful for a moment of her grief.

"Because," Joscelyn answered, facing her calmly, "he loves her, and the few words she writes will outweigh all my pages."

"What! That Loyalist, the son of Joseph Singleton, our old enemy, in love with my daughter? This is some mockery."

"It is the sober truth."

"I do not believe it; but if it be so, then will Richard and I have a word to say in the matter. Betty, put down that quill; I will not have you stoop to ask a favour of that family."

"Not even for Richard's life and freedom, Aunt Clevering?"

"I do not believe he has any influence. In love with my daughter--what impudence!"

"Rather what good fortune, since it may save your son."

"Mother, it seems our one chance; bid me write." And Joscelyn joined in the girl's plea.

The older woman's features worked spasmodically, but presently she nodded slowly. "For Richard's sake, Joscelyn, yes; but mind you, Betty will set him out in short order if ever he presumes to declare himself.

She knows her duty; no Singleton blood comes into my family."

She could not see Betty's face, for Joscelyn stood between them; but two weeks later Eustace kissed the blots where the tears had fallen just under her pleading little postscript:--

"Because of all you said to me in Joscelyn's parlour, because of your red roses which I wore in the privacy of my room until they faded, I beseech you, save my brother!"

"But oh, Joscelyn, suppose he can do nothing?"

"Then, dear, we must carry our plea to Lord Cornwallis. My father and he were friends in England; perhaps we may gain his ear through that old-time acquaintance."

"And how will you reach Cornwallis?" Mistress Clevering asked doubtfully.

"If need be, Betty and I will seek him in General Clinton's camp."

Betty put her cheek close to the girl's. "Joscelyn, after all you are not indifferent to Richard," she whispered, half wistfully, half joyously.

But Joscelyn's face was almost stern. "This letter from Colborn is in truth a plea from Richard, since he must have bid the man write. Think you I could let such a thing pa.s.s unanswered--and from your brother, too?"