The Reckoning Part 4

"I am overwhelmed," I said, "and can offer no excuse for this frowsy dress. If you had any idea how mortified I am you would have mercy on me."

"My hair not being dressed a l'Iroquois, I consent to show you mercy,"

she said. "But you came monstrous near frightening me, too. Do you know you turned white, Mr. Renault? Lud! the vanity of men, to pale at a jest touching their status in fopdom as proper macaroni!"

"I do love to appear well," I said resentfully.

"Now do you expect me to a.s.sure you that you _do_ appear well? that even the dress of a ragged forest-runner would detract nothing from your person? Ah, I shall say nothing of the sort, Mr. Renault! Doubtless there are women a-plenty in New York to flatter you."

"No," I said; "they prefer scarlet coats and spurs, as you will, too."

"No doubt," she said, turning her head to the sunset.

There was enough wind to flutter the ribbons on her shoulders and bare neck, and to stir the tendrils of her powdered hair, a light breeze blowing steadily from the bay as the sun went down into the crimson flood. Bang! A cloud of white smoke hung over Pearl Street where the evening gun had spoken; the flag on the fort fluttered down, the flag on the battery followed. Out on the darkening river a lanthorn glimmered from the deck of the _Jersey_; a light sparkled on Paulus Hook.

"Hark! hear the drums!" she murmured. Far down Broadway the British drums sounded, nearer, nearer, now loud along Dock Street, now lost in Queen, then swinging west by north they came up Broad, into Wall; and I could hear the fifes shrilling out, "The World turned Upside-down," and the measured tread of the patrol, marching to the Upper Barracks and the Prison.

The drummers wheeled into Broadway beneath our windows; leaning over I saw them pa.s.s, and I was aware of something else, too--a great strapping figure in a drover's smock, watching the British drums from the side path across the way--my friend of Na.s.sau Street--and clinging to his arm, a little withered man, wrinkled, mild-eyed, clad also like a drover, and snapping his bull-whip to accent the rhythm of the rolling drums.

"I think I shall go down," said a soft voice beside me; "pray do not move, Mr. Renault, you are so picturesque in silhouette against the sunset--and I hear that silhouettes are so fas.h.i.+onable in New York fopdom."

I bowed; she held out her hand--just a trifle, as she pa.s.sed me, the gesture of a coquette or of perfect innocence--and I touched it lightly with finger-tip and lip.

"Until supper," she said--"and, Mr. Renault, do you suppose we shall have bread for supper?"

"Why not?" I asked, all unsuspicious.

"Because I fancied flour might be scarce in New York"--she glanced at my unpowdered head, then fled, her blue eyes full of laughter.

It is true that all hair powder is made of flour, but I did not use it like a Hessian. And I looked after her with an uncertain smile and with a respect born of experience and grave uncertainty.

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSEHOLD

About dusk Sir Peter arrived from lower Westchester while I was dressing. Warned by the rattle of wheels from the coach-house at the foot of the garden, and peering through the curtains, I saw the lamps s.h.i.+ning and heard the trample of our horses on the stable floor; and presently, as I expected, Sir Peter came a-knocking at my door, and my servant left the dressing of my hair to admit the master of the house.

He came in, his handsome face radiant--a tall, graceful man of forty, clothed with that elegant carelessness which we call perfection, so strikingly un.o.btrusive was his dress, so faultless and unstudied his bearing.

There was no dust upon him, though he had driven miles; his clean skin was cool and pleasantly tinted with the sun of summer, spotless his lace at cuff and throat, and the buckles flashed at stock and knee and shoe as he pa.s.sed through the candle-light to lay a familiar hand upon my shoulder.

"What's new, Carus?" he asked, and his voice had ever that pleasant undertone of laughter which endears. "You villain, have you been making love to Elsin Grey, that she should come babbling of Mr. Renault, Mr.

Renault, Mr. Renault ere I had set foot in my own hallway? It was indecent, I tell you--not a word for me, civil or otherwise, not a question how I had 'scaped the Skinners at Kingsbridge--only a flutter of ribbons and a pair of pretty hands to kiss, and 'Oh, Cousin Coleville! Is Mr. Renault kin to me, too?--for I so take it, having freely bantered him to advantage at first acquaintance. Was I bold, cousin?--but if you only knew how he tempted me--and he _is_ kin to you, is he not?--and you are Cousin Betty's husband.' 'G.o.d-a-mercy!' said I, 'what's all this about Mr. Renault?--a rogue and a villain I shame to claim as kin, a swaggering, diceing, c.o.c.k-fighting ruffler, a-raking it from the Out-Ward to Jew Street! Madam, do you dare admit to me that you have found aught to attract you in the company of this monument of foppery known as Carus Renault?'"

"Did you truly say that, Sir Peter?" I asked, wincing while my ears grew hot.

"Say it? I did not say it, I bellowed it!" He shrugged his shoulders and took snuff with an air. "The minx finds you agreeable," he observed; "why?--G.o.d knows!"

"I had not thought so," I said, in modest deprecation, yet warming at his words.

"Oh--had not thought so!" he mimicked, mincing over to the dressing-table and surveying the array of perfumes and pomades and curling irons. "Carus, you shameless rake, you've robbed all Queen Street! Essence, pomade-de-gra.s.se, almond paste, bergamot, orange, French powder! By Heaven, man, do you mean to take the lady by storm or set up a rival shop to Smith's 'Sign of the Rose'? Here, have your man leave those two puffs above the ears; curl them loosely--that's it! Now tie that queue-ribbon soberly; leave the flamboyant papillon style to those d.a.m.ned Lafayettes and Rochambeaux! Now dust your master, Dennis, and fetch a muslinet waistcoat--the silver tambour one. Gad, Carus, I'd make a monstrous fine success at decorating fops for a guinea a head--eh?"

He inspected me through his quizzing gla.s.s, nodded, backed away in feigned rapture, and presently sat down by the window, stretching his well-shaped legs.

"Damme," he said, "I meant to ask what's new, but you chatter on so that I have no chance for a word edgeways. Now, what the devil is new with you?"

"Nothing remarkable," I said, laughing. "Did you come to terms with Mr.

Rutgers for his meadows?"

"No," he replied irritably, "and I care nothing for his d.a.m.ned swamps full of briers and mud and woodc.o.c.k."

"It is just as well," I said. "You can not afford more land at present."

"That's true," he admitted cheerfully; "I'm spending too much. Gad, Carus, the Fifty-fourth took it out of us at that thousand-guinea main!

Which reminds me to say that our birds at Flatbush are in prime condition and I've matched them."

I looked up at him doubtfully. Our birds had brought him nothing but trouble so far.

"Let it pa.s.s," he said, noticing my silent disapproval; "we'll talk to Horrock in the morning. Which reminds me that I have no money." He laughed, drew a paper from his coat, and unfolding it, read aloud:

"1 pipe Madeira @ 90 per pipe--90 1 pipe Port @ 46 per pipe--46 20 gallons Fayal @ 5s. per gal.-- 20 gallons Lisbon @ 5s. per gal.-- 10 gallons Windward I. rum @ 4s. per gal."

He yawned and tossed the paper on my dresser, saying, "Pay it, Carus.

If our birds win the main we'll put the Forty-fifth under the table, and I'll pay a few debts."

Standing there he stretched to his full graceful height, yawning once or twice. "I'll go bathe, and dress for supper," he said; "that should freshen me. Shall we rake it to-night?"

"I'm for cards," I said carelessly.

"_With_ Elsin Grey or _without_ Elsin Grey?" he inquired in affected earnestness.

"If you had witnessed her treatment of me," I retorted, "you'd never mistake it for friendly interest. We'll rake it, if you like. There's another frolic at the John Street Theater. The Engineers play 'The Conscious Lovers,' and Rosamund Barry sings 'Vain is Beauty's Gaudy Flower.'"

But he said he had no mind for the Theater Royal that night, and presently left me to Dennis and the mirror.

In the mirror I saw a boyish youth of twenty-three, dark-eyed, somewhat lean of feature, and tinted with that olive smoothness of skin inherited from the Renaults through my great-grandfather--a face which in repose was a trifle worn, not handsome, but clearly cut, though not otherwise remarkable. It was, I believed, neither an evil nor a sullen brooding face, nor yet a face in which virtue molds each pleasing feature so that its goodness is patent to the world.

Dennis having ended his ministrations, I pinned a brilliant at my throat--a gift from Lady Coleville--and shook over it the cobweb lace so it should sparkle like a star through a thin cloud. Then pa.s.sing my small sword through the embroidered slas.h.i.+ng of my coat, and choosing a handkerchief discreetly perfumed, I regarded myself at ease, thinking of Elsin Grey.

In the light of later customs and fas.h.i.+ons I fear that I was something of a fop, though I carried neither spy-gla.s.s nor the two watches sacred to all fops. But if I loved dress, so did his Excellency, and John Hanc.o.c.k, not to name a thousand better men than I; and while I confess that I did and do dearly love to cut a respectable figure, frippery for its own sake was not among my vices; but I hold him a hind who, if he can afford it, dresses not to please others and do justice to the figure that a generous Creator has so patiently fas.h.i.+oned. "To please others!" sang my French blood within me; "to please myself!" echoed my English blood--and so, betwixt the sanguine tides, I was minded to please in one way or another, nor thought it a desire unworthy. One thing did distress me: what with sending all my salary to the prisons, I had no money left to bet as gentlemen bet, nor to back a well-heeled bird, nor to color my fancy for a horse. As for a mistress, or for those fugitive affairs of the heart which English fas.h.i.+on countenanced--nay, on which fas.h.i.+on insisted--I had no part in them, and brooked much banter from the gay world in consequence. It was not merely lack of money, nor yet a certain fastidiousness implanted, nor yet the inherent shrinking of my English blood from pleasure forbidden, for my Renault blood was hot enough, G.o.d wot! It was, I think, all of these reasons that kept me untainted, and another, the vague idea of a woman, somewhere in the world, who should be worth an unsullied love--worth far more than the best I might bring to her one day. And so my pride refused to place me in debt to a woman whom I had never known.

As for money, I had my salary when it was convenient for Sir Peter; I had a small income of my own, long pledged to Colonel Willett's secret uses. It was understood that Sir Peter should find me in apparel; I had credit at Sir Peter's tailor, and at his hatter's and bootmaker's, too.

Twice a year my father sent me from Paris a sum which was engaged to maintain a bed or two in the Albany hospital for our soldiers. I make no merit of it, for others gave more. So, it is plain to see I had no money for those fas.h.i.+onable vices in the midst of which I lived, and if I lost five s.h.i.+llings at whist I felt that I had robbed some wretched creature on the _Jersey_, or dashed the cup from some poor devil's lips who lay a-gasping in the city prison.

My finery, then, was part and parcel of my salary--my salary in guineas already allotted; so it came about that I moved in a loose and cynical society, untainted only through force of circ.u.mstance and a pride that accepts nothing which it may not return at interest.