Part 14 (1/2)
Again that menacing glare came into his eyes as he stood staring at me.
But I cared not; he was not my guest, and he had outraged no roof of mine that the law of hospitality must close my mouth lest I betray the salt he had eaten within my walls.
”I am thinking,” he said slowly, ”that we did well to burn a certain house in Tryon Bush.”
”Think as you please, Captain Butler,” I said, bowing. ”The door swings open yonder for your convenience.”
He surveyed me scornfully. ”I trust,” he said pleasantly, ”to resume this discussion at a time more opportune.”
”That also shall be at your convenience,” I said. Suddenly such a loathing for the man came over me that I could scarce return his salute and maintain that courteous calm which challenged men must wear at such a moment.
He went away; and I, pacing my chamber lightly, whistled for Dennis, and when he came bade him curl and frizz and powder and perfume me as he had never done before. So to my bath, and then to court the razor, lathered cheek and chin, nose in the air, counting the posies on the wall, as I always did while Dennis shaved me of the beard I fondly feared might one day suddenly appear.
And all the while, singing in my ears, I heard the meaning phrase he used at parting. Challenged? Not quite, but threatened with a challenge. The cards were mine to play--a pretty hand, with here and there a trump. Could I meet him and serve my country best? Aye, if I killed him. And, strangely, I never thought that he might kill me; I only weighed the chances. If I killed him he could not blab and danger me with hints of meddling or of rank disloyalty; but if I only maimed him he would never rest until suspicious eyes must make my mission useless. Suddenly I was aware that I had been a fool to anger him, if I wished to stay here in New York; nay, it was patent that unless I killed him he must one day work a mischief to our cause through me. A sneaking and unworthy happiness crept slowly over me, knowing that once my mission terminated here I was free to hoist true colors, free to bear arms, free to maintain openly the cause I had labored for so long in secret. No more mole's work a-burrowing into darkness for a sc.r.a.p to stay my starving country's maw; no more slinking, listening, playing the stupid indifferent!
And all the while my conscience was at work, urging me to repair the damage my forgetful pa.s.sion had wrought, urging me to heal the breach with Butler, using what skill I might command, so that I could stay here where his Excellency had set me, plying my abhorred trade in useful, unendurable obscurity.
It was a battle now 'twixt pride and conscience, 'twixt fierce desire and a loathed duty--doubly detested since I had spied a way to freedom and had half tasted a whiff of good free air, untainted by deception.
”O Lord!” I groaned within myself, ”will no one set me free of this pit of intrigue and corruption in which I'm doomed to lurk? Must I, in loyalty to his Excellency, repair this fault--go patch up all with Butler, and deceive him so that his hawk's eyes and forked tongue may not set folk a-watching this house sidewise?”
But while Dennis's irons were in my hair I thought: ”Nevertheless, I must send a belt to our allies, the Oneidas; and then I dare not stay!
Oh, joy!”
But the joy was soon dashed. My belt must go first to Colonel Willett, and then to his Excellency, and it might be that he would judge it best to let the Oneidas fight their own battles and so decline to send my belt.
By the time I had arrived so far in my mental argument Dennis had curled, powdered, and tied my hair in the most fas.h.i.+onable manner, using a black flamboyant ribbon for the clubbed queue, a pearl-gray powder a la Rochambeau; but I was not foolish enough to permit him to pa.s.s a diamond pin into my hair, for I had once seen that fas.h.i.+on affected by Murray, Earl of Dunmore, that Royal Governor of Virginia who had laid Norfolk in ashes out of pure vindictiveness.
My costume I shall describe, not, I hope, from any unworthy vanity, but because I love beautiful things. Therefore, for the pleasure of others who also admire, and prompted alone by a desire to gratify, I neither seek nor require excuses for recalling what I wore that night at the Artillery ball. The lace at the stock was tied full and fastened with brilliants; the coat of ivory silk, heavily embroidered with golden filigree, fell over a waistcoat of clouded ivory and gold mesh, fas.h.i.+onably short, and made by Thorne. My breeches were like the coat, ivory silk, buckled with gold; the stockings were white silk, a bunch of ribbon caught by the jeweled buckles at either knee; and upon my double-channeled pumps, st.i.tched by Ba.s.s, buckles of plain dull gold.
There was blond lace at throat and cuff. I confess that, although I did not wear two watches, a great bunch of seals dangled from the fob; and the small three-cornered French hat I tucked beneath my arm was laced like a Nivernois, and dressed and c.o.c.ked by the most fas.h.i.+onable hatter in Hanover Square.
The mirror before which I stood was but half long enough, so I bade Dennis place it upon the floor, whence it should reflect my legs and gilded court-sword. Pleased, I obtained several agreeable views of my costume, Dennis holding two mirrors for me while I pondered, hesitating where to place the single patch of black.
”Am I fine, Dennis?” I asked.
”Now G.o.d be good to the ladies, sir!” he said, so seriously that I laughed like a boy, whisked out my sword, and made a pa.s.s at my mirrored throat.
”At all events,” I thought, ”I'll be handsomely clothed if there's a scratch-quarrel with Walter Butler--which G.o.d avert!” Then for the first time it occurred to me that it might not be Walter Butler, but I myself, lying stretched on the lawn behind the Coq d'Or, and I was comforted to know that, however low misfortune might lay me, I should be clothed suitably and as befitted a Renault.
CHAPTER V
THE ARTILLERY BALL
When I descended from my chamber to the south drawing-room I found there a respectable company of gentlemen a.s.sembled, awaiting the ladies who had not yet appeared. First I greeted Sir Henry Clinton, who had at that moment entered, followed by his staff and by two glittering officers of his Seventh Light Dragoons. He appeared pale and worn, his eyes somewhat inflamed from overstudy by candle-light, but he spoke to me pleasantly, as did Oliver De Lancey, the Adjutant-General, who had succeeded poor young Andre--an agreeable and accomplished gentleman, and very smart in his brilliant uniform of scarlet loaded with stiff gold.
O'Neil, in his gay dress of the Seventeenth Dragoons, and Harkness, wearing similar regimentals, were overflushed and frolicksome, no doubt having already begun their celebration for the victory of the Flatbush birds, which they had backed so fortunately at the Coq d'Or. Sir Peter, too, was in mischievous good spirits, examining my very splendid costume as though he had not chosen it for me at his own tailor's.
”Gad, Carus!” he exclaimed, ”has his Majesty appointed a viceroy in North America--or is it the return of that Solomon whose subjects rule the Dock Ward still?”