Kitabı oku: «Barbara Ladd», sayfa 13
"I had thought to surprise you, – a harmless little play, Robert, to see if you would recognise an old, old friend grown up!" she said, in a cool voice. "But since you are so dissatisfied, we had better not talk about it. You may call and see me some day soon, if you like. I am just around the corner, on State Street. Uncle Bob will give you the address. Will you take me back to my seat, Mr. Waite? Thank you so much for the punch."
Robert could not believe his ears. Was he dismissed for the evening? The blood began to beat fiercely in his head.
"But, Barbara," he exclaimed, "aren't you going to give me at least one dance? – Hold on, Waite, just a minute, will you! – You can't be engaged for all so early in the evening. I came at the very first, in hopes of catching you and getting several."
Barbara paused. By this time the thought of that other woman, for whom he had fought, – for whom he was wounded, – for whom he carried now this pallor, – for whom he had been too impatient to talk to Miss Betty behind the curtain, – the thought of that other woman was gnawing at her brain in a way to confuse her judgment. She was not exactly in love with Robert, but she was intensely interested, and in the course of the years a sense of proprietorship had grown up. The idea of another woman, with a prior claim, outraged her pride at the same time that it wrenched her heart with a sense of irremediable loss.
"You are not dancing, I understand, Robert," she said, looking coldly into his eyes.
Robert's heart gave an exultant leap. She knew about the duel, then!
"I had thought, my lady," said he, softly, "that you might, under the circumstances, consent to forego a dance or two, and talk with me about old times."
The circumstances, indeed! Barbara's eyes blazed in spite of all her efforts at self-control. This was insolence. Yet she could in no way show she recognised it. For a second or two she held her tongue.
"I hear you have been greatly distinguishing yourself, Robert," she answered, in a voice of somewhat artificial sweetness, "and have taken some hurt in the affair, and really should not be here at all!" She looked at her tablets with hypocritical care. "You should have found me earlier. I shall not be free to give you a dance for hours yet, – not till quite near the last. You will probably not be able to stay so long!"
Robert grew tenfold whiter than before, and his mouth set itself like iron. She knew, – it was clear she knew, – and yet she could act in this hopelessly light, cruel, merciless way. It was inhuman. Had she no spark of womanly tenderness? He would trouble her no more.
"No, I shall not stay," he said, quietly. "Good-night, Mistress Ladd! Good-night, Waite!" He took her outstretched hand so lightly that she saw rather than felt that he had taken it; bowed over it, so low that he seemed to kiss it, yet did not actually touch it with his lips; then nodded civilly to Waite, strode off down the side of the room, through the door, and was gone. Barbara little guessed the many eyes that had watched and wondered at the episode. She imagined that all were quite engrossed in the dancing.
"Now please take me to the other room, Mr. Waite!" she commanded. "I fear I was engaged for this very dance, and my partner will think me rude!"
Waite was in hopeless bewilderment. He particularly liked and admired Robert Gault. He was silent for a few moments, and then exclaimed with seeming irrelevance: "Women do beat me!"
Barbara looked up at him quickly, as she took her seat.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon, most fair and inexplicable Mistress Ladd," replied Waite, who had been puzzled almost out of his manners, "but, – if you will permit me to say it, – if this be the fate of your friends, what, oh, what must be the fate of your enemies!"
"I don't understand you!" said Barbara, haughtily. "Pray explain yourself!" But just then a young scarlet-coated officer, Nevil Paget, came up, claiming the hand of Mistress Ladd; and Jerry Waite, who had begun to realise that he was in deep water, hailed the rescue gladly.
"I shall have the honour to claim you again, gracious mistress," said he, "and I shall explain myself then, if you bid me. Meanwhile, I make way for those more fortunate than I."
And now, in her bitterness and disappointment, Barbara flung herself heart and soul into the folly. When the young Englishman started to speak of a duel, she shut him up so mercilessly that for five minutes he durst not open his mouth. But she proceeded to flirt and bedazzle him, half flouting, half flattering, till in five minutes more he was nigh ready to fling all the pedigree of all the Pagets at her small, light-dancing feet and beg her to dance upon it her whole life long. She danced everything, and between the dances held a court more crowded and more devoted than that which had paid her homage at the Van Griffs'. She was deaf to all attempts to lure her out upon the fairy terraces, because when she first saw them she had decided that Robert should take her out there to tell her what a wonderful surprise she had given him. But the men whom she refused were not driven away by her denial. She mixed bitter and sweet for them all so cunningly that none could tell in which of the twain lay the magic that held them thrall. And all the while her heart smouldered in her breast like a hot coal in the ash.
At length came her minuet with Glenowen; and after it her uncle, who thought he detected something feverish in her gaiety, and felt moved to cool it a little if he might without damage, asked her if she had seen Robert.
"For a moment or two," she answered, with an indifference beyond reason.
Glenowen had heard all the story of the duel, and wondered what had gone wrong.
"Why did he go home, sweetheart, so soon after our coming?" he inquired.
"Did he go home?" she queried, casually. "You know he was hardly fit to be out. Even heroes can't stand the loss of blood!"
"What did you do to him, child?" persisted Glenowen.
This questioning chafed on Barbara's raw and bleeding nerves.
"Robert made himself very disagreeable," she replied, crisply. "I showed that I was disappointed in him, and he seems to have got angry and gone home!"
"Disappointed in him!" exclaimed Glenowen. Then he hesitated, and went on: "Really, Barbara, are you quite human? Forgive me if I – "
Barbara faced him squarely, and he felt, though he could not see, the flood of tears pent up behind her shining eyes.
"Uncle Bob!" she whispered, in a tense voice, "if you are going to criticise, take me home right away. I can't stand one thing more!"
Glenowen knew her better than any one else ever could, and his displeasure melted as he caught signal of a distress which he did not understand. Yet he knew better than to be too sympathetic, having more than once experienced the perilous relaxing powers of sympathy.
"Well, well, sweetheart," he laughed, lightly, "forgive me. I've no doubt it would seem all right if I knew. And what does it matter to me about Bobby Gault, anyhow, so long as my little girl is happy?"
"She isn't happy, Uncle Bob! But that isn't your fault, you dear, not ever in the world!"
As they moved apart from the promenading throng, and paused at an open window overlooking the terraces, Barbara's ears, acute as those of the furtive kindred in Westings forest, again caught a word that was not intended for them. She saw two painted and tower-headed dames, sitting not far from the window, point her out to another who had just taken a seat beside them; and she heard the newcomer remark, behind her fan:
"That ugly little rebel! Insult an officer of the king's troops for her!"
Barbara's face flushed scarlet, and she looked at her uncle. But he had heard nothing, – and she remembered that her ears were keener than those of other people. The remark, however, puzzled her, and started a vague, troublesome misgiving. Thereafter she found it difficult to resume the spontaneous fervour of her gaiety. Fits of abstraction would take her unawares; but her courtiers thought them merely another touch of art, effective as they were unexpected. She was now looking forward to the dance with Jerry Waite, and the explanation which he had so rashly promised. She had intended to snub him severely, but when he came for her at last he found her altogether gracious.
"Would you mind very much if we sat somewhere and talked, instead of dancing?" she asked. And Waite, nothing loth, led her to a seat just beyond the long windows, – nearer to the terrace than any other man had succeeded in getting her to go. This filled him with elation, and he was glad, rather than otherwise, that she had refused to go out among the walks and arbours. Here his triumph was visible every moment to his disappointed rivals. He was, of course, like the rest, half infatuated with Barbara; but being a sane youth, with a sense of humour, he knew the difference between infatuation and half infatuation. He imagined there was more between Barbara and Robert than there really was; and he did not hold himself any match for Robert in a race for hearts. Therefore, he was capable of thinking of his own prestige. And to heighten that he had an inspiration. When, after waiting till she could wait no longer, for him to bring up the subject, Barbara asked him to give her the promised explanation of his remark, he fenced cleverly till the time was close at hand when he knew she would be claimed by another partner. He saw this prospective partner, Cary Patten, eyeing her hungrily, ready to swoop down and take possession at the first permissible moment. Then he said: "In very truth, fair mistress, the explanation necessitates a long story. To tell you a little would leave me in a worse light than I could endure you to behold me in. The story comes first, – and then the explanation follows with ease!"
"When will you explain? My curiosity has been most artistically aroused!" said Barbara, maintaining with an effort her tone of sprightly merriment.
"If I might have the honour of waiting upon you to-morrow, I am bold to hope I might succeed in interesting you!" suggested Waite.
"You may come in the morning," answered Barbara, promptly. "Say about eleven o'clock."
The delighted Jerry was ceremoniously bowing his gratitude for this command, conscious that it would make him the envied of all the gallants of Manhattan, when Cary Patten came up and carried Barbara off with rather more eagerness than ceremony. He had been most hard hit of all her victims at the Van Griffs' ball, and had experienced deep dejection over the rumour which had that day associated her name with Robert Gault's. Robert's early departure from the ball had somewhat cheered him, however; and now, with that simplicity, not unlike Barbara's own, born of secure family position and careless disregard of convention, he determined to find out if the field were open. He saw that Barbara was distinctly friendly to him, – whether for his own sake or for what Glenowen had told her of his sympathies, – and he trusted to his directness to disarm her possible resentment of his questioning.
"If you will pardon me, gracious lady," he began, after the customary interchange of compliment, "I am going to ask you something about our friend Gault. Carberry was accounted till to-day the best sword in the colony. Now he stands second best! It took uncommon high courage or uncommon deep interest in the quarrel, to cross swords with such a master, – but, of course – "
Barbara's face changed, and she interrupted him crisply. His first phrases had been interesting enough, but at the words "uncommon deep interest in the quarrel," the vision of that unknown woman floated up and laughed in her face.
"I am weary of the subject, Captain Patten. It seems to me it should be possible to talk of something else. If not, let us listen to the music, please!"
Never before had Cary Patten been so snubbed. The experience was novel to him, and he did not like it. But he found more than ample compensation in the thought that Barbara's words showed no impassioned interest in Robert Gault! If such a fight, and in such a cause, left her indifferent, then surely he need have no great fear of Robert as a rival. To be sure, he thought Barbara's indifference a little cruel, a little heartless, – but so much the greater the reward if he could awaken heart in this flashing, audacious, irresistible little witch. Cary Patten had small knowledge of the feminine heart, being much absorbed in his boyish ambitions, his dreams of splendid daring; and he had a healthy, well-founded faith in his own powers. His bright, handsome face looked glum for a moment or two; then he laughed frankly and cried:
"Served me just right, for being so bold, sweet mistress. I implore you forgive me, and be friends! On bended knee I sue – to speak figuratively. I dare not do it in fact, you know, else all the men in the room would be on their knees about you, which would look singular!"
Yes, he was a nice boy, and Barbara not only forgave him, but tried to resume her old gaiety for his pleasure. So far as his pleasure was concerned, she succeeded; though older and keener eyes than Cary Patten's would have seen that her mirth was forced. He left her feeling that he had made no small progress; and he trod on air in his elation because she had promised him no less than three dances at the very next ball at which they should meet. His succeeding partners found him tender but absent-minded, – a combination which they interpreted to their advantage or otherwise, according to their knowledge of men's hearts.
But as for Barbara's heart, it was now yielding to the strain, and she felt that she could keep up the play no longer. Her anger had given out before the need of it, as a stimulant to flirtation, was past. Only pain, humiliation, disappointment, remained to her, and she felt that if she did not get away at once something would happen. With all the obstinate force of her will she kept a hold upon her imperious vivacity, and would hear no appeals when her next partner was bidden to fetch her uncle and call her coach.
"Take me home, please, Uncle Bob!" she pleaded; and he, after a glance into her eyes, yielded comprehendingly. Her reason for going, indeed, he did not comprehend; but her need of going he comprehended instantly. Till the very last moment she kept herself at pitch, laughing, sweetly jibing, taunting, provoking, inviting, so that the men who insisted on helping Glenowen escort her to her coach felt that the glitter had gone from the dance with her departure. But once safe inside the coach, and beyond the lights, she flung herself upon Uncle Bob's neck and broke into a storm of sobbing. She vouchsafed no explanation, and the sagacious Glenowen asked no questions; and she wept, intermittently, all the way to the high-stooped old Dutch house on State Street. To such a bitter end had come the evening, the wondrous evening, of which she had hoped, expected, claimed so much!
CHAPTER XXVI
Barbara slept little, but lay late, and Glenowen was away about business ere she appeared. By the time her caller arrived she was fairly herself, only subdued in spirit, sorrowful, and homesick. She had taken pains, however, that her morning toilet should be becoming; and Jerry Waite thought her pallor, the shadows about her great grave eyes, the wistfulness of her scarlet mouth, even more enchanting than her radiance and sparkle of the night before.
"This is most gracious of you, fair lady, to let me come so soon!" he murmured ecstatically, over the rosy brown tips of her slim fingers. "Did the other men but know of it, I should have feared for my life to come without a guard!"
Barbara smiled faintly, willing to appreciate his flatteries, but in no mood for badinage and quip.
"Nay, sir!" she answered, "do not lay it to my graciousness, which is scant to even so charming a gentleman as Mr. Waite, but to my curiosity, which I acknowledge to be great and insistent. Tell me this wonderful thing you promised to tell me!"
Jerry Waite assumed an air of mock supplication.
"I implore you, dear lady, suffer me for one moment to delude myself with the ravishing dream that 'twas for my company, no less than for my story, that you permitted me to come. – What, no, not for one moment the sweet delusion?"
Barbara shook her head resolutely.
"No, first deserve favour, before you presume to claim it, sir!" she retorted. "Earn my grace by a story as interesting as you have led me to expect. Then, perhaps, I may like you well enough to let you stay awhile, for the sake of your company!"
"So be it, if so the queen decrees!" said Waite. "My little story is about a duel, of which, as I gathered last night, the fairest but – pardon me – not always the most gracious of her sex knows a little, but not the most interesting details!"
"I have heard too much already of this duel!" interrupted Barbara. "I do not understand how it concerns me!"
"Oh, lady, this impatience of yours!" said Waite, watching her keenly. "How can you expect to understand the manner in which it concerns you, if you will not let any one tell you the story? I stand pledged to make the story interesting on pain of forfeiting your good will!"
"Well," agreed Barbara, with seeming reluctance. In very truth she was trembling with eagerness for him to go on. "But, I pray you, be as brief as is consistent with justice to your claim as a narrator!"
"I will be most brief!" said Waite. "For the merit lies in the story itself, not in the fashion of the telling. Yesterday, a little after the noon hour, some half-score gentlemen were gathered by chance in Pym's Ordinary, where many of us frequent for the latest bit of gossip. There was talk of this, that, and the other, but most of the charms of a lady whom we know and reverence – "
"Who was she?" asked Barbara.
But Waite, intent upon his story, paid no heed.
"The praises, the compliments, the eulogiums," he went on, "that were heaped upon this magical name seemed to show that every man was at her feet. All but Carberry. Captain Carberry is a chill-souled, carping, sarcastical fellow, and arrogant withal, by reason of the unmatched agility of his blade. It had pleased him to be displeased by certain sweet, if a trifle pungent, sprightlinesses of the lady in question; and now his comments ran sharply counter to those of the rest of the company. He did not admire her at all, – which was, of course, within his undoubted rights, however it discredited his taste. But presently his criticisms became a trifle harsher than was fitting; and there was a moment of uneasy silence. Then, clear upon the silence, Gault spoke, – Gault, who had hitherto been listening without a word.
"'Carberry,' said he, quietly, 'you have said just enough. One word more will be too much!'
"Every one held his breath. There was an ugly look about Gault's mouth, and we trembled for him. He is liked, you know; while Carberry, a man ten years older, is feared. Carberry looked Bob over, with a supercilious smile, which meant mischief, as we knew, and then drawled slowly:
"'I shall say whatever it may please me to say about that damned little – ' But no one was to hear the sentence finished. We can never have our curiosity certainly satisfied as to that word, which just then got smashed beyond recognition behind Carberry's teeth. It was probably not so very bad a word, if the truth were known. Bob was taking no risks on that score. His blow was straight as a bullet; and Carberry went sprawling over two chairs and a table.
"When he picked himself up he was quite cool, – collected and businesslike. That we knew to be his deadly way, and we trembled for Bob. Bob, however, seemed as easy in his mind as Carberry. The two of them, indeed, were so deuced civil you might have thought they were arranging to marry each other's sisters. There was no time lost, you may be sure. Seconds were chosen, terms agreed upon, a doctor sent for, and we promptly made up a little pleasure party to the woods.
"As for the fight, dear lady, I spare your gentle soul the details. It lacked just one element of interest to the connoisseur, – both combatants fought in one fashion. There was no contrast, such as one might have expected between a boy of twenty-three and a veteran of thirty-six. At the very first Carberry had attacked with fury, – but when he felt the quality of Bob's wrist he saw it was not a case for bluster, and settled down to business. Both fought smiling, alike cool, wary, dangerous, sure of the result. Where and when Bob learned it, we none of us knew. He is a queer, reticent chap in some ways. But learned it he had, – and I, who like to study faces, saw the tinge of surprise in Carberry's face pass to admiration. His rage was forgotten in the exhilaration of his favourite game. I never again expect to see two blades so nicely matched. The excitement to us watchers grew intense, till our knees felt weak. But they two seemed as fresh as when they started.
"At last – 'a touch!" said Carberry, – and then, by the slight hissing of the words between his teeth I realised the strain.
"'Not at all!' answered Robert, – and his words, too, came hissingly, for all the easy smile upon his lips. Then both grew white. And for a few minutes there was no change. And it seemed to us that our eyes could follow the blades no longer. And then – for the life of me I could not see how it happened – a red stain came on the shoulder of Bob's shirt; and in the next second Carberry, letting his sword fall, dropped in a heap.
"Before we could recover our astonishment, Robert and the doctor together were bending over the wounded man, and had his shirt ripped open. 'I've got it, eh?' said Carberry, faintly. 'A fair, clean thrust, an' served me damn well right!' And he held out his hand to Bob, – who grasped it with both his, and looked now, all of a sudden, like a boy ready to cry.
"'Stuff and nonsense, Captain!' exclaimed the doctor. 'You've not got your quietus with this bare bodkin. You'll be all right, sound as ever, in a month, a fortnight maybe!'
"'Thank God!' cried Robert.
"'My sentiments exactly!' said Carberry, his voice stronger with the knowledge that he was not dying. 'Gault, my compliments, with my best apologies! Great sword, my boy, great – ' and with that he swooned from the pain and loss of blood. And we, very happy that all had ended so happily, got him to the coach, and so home. And the rest, dear Mistress Ladd, you know!"
"A mighty interesting story, I admit!" said Barbara. "But still I ask, of what especial, immediate interest to me?"
Waite looked at her curiously. Was it possible she could be so blind? But her wide eyes were innocent of all comprehension. It suddenly occurred to him that, new come to town as she was, she found it impossible to imagine her name the theme of tongues. He began to understand.
"You know the lady," said he, and paused.
"Well, sir, 'tis possible. I have met many in the few days that I have been in New York. What is her name – since you seem to hold it an important matter."
"Her name, dear lady – her name is one that stirs a thrill of admiring homage in all our hearts. It is —Mistress Barbara Ladd!"
Barbara caught her breath, and her eyes dilated.
"What?" she cried, though she had heard quite clearly.
"Her name is Mistress Barbara Ladd!" repeated Jerry Waite.
"Oh, Mr. Waite. No! No! Don't tell me it was on my account that Robert fought. Impossible! He might have been killed! And I thought – " but she stopped herself in time, without saying what it was she had thought.
Jerry Waite became serious.
"It seems to me, dear lady, that your thought, whatever it was, did Gault an injustice," said he, gently. "And that is my explanation. Am I forgiven?"
Barbara conquered her distress. This was the easier – after the first pang of remorse – because the fact that Robert had not failed her soon overtopped in her mind the fact that she had failed Robert. That unknown woman – the hateful vision vanished in a burst of light. The ache of loss was healed in her heart. She was reinstated, too, in her self-esteem. New York grew bright again. Her conquests were once more worth while. Robert should behold them all, – and be one of them, – the most subjugated of them all. At last her face grew radiant, – her eyes dancing, her teeth flashing, her mouth the reddest rose, her clear brown cheeks softly aflush.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Waite," she cried, holding out her hand. "It is a beautiful story, and wins you a very high place in my regard. You may stay and talk to me till dinner-time, if you like; and then my uncle will be glad to have you dine with us!"
The first part of the invitation Waite accepted with alacrity, and cursed himself bitterly that he had an engagement to prevent him staying for dinner. In the conversation that followed Barbara gained him and chained him fast, not as a mad, intoxicated lover, but as one of the best and most loyal of her friends. But the moment he was gone she rushed to her scrutoir and in fierce haste scribbled a note. It ran:
"DEAR ROBERT: – I did not understand at all. I thought something quite different from the truth. I have just found out about things. Please come and talk to me till dinner-time, if you like; and then let me tell you how perfectly horrid I think myself.
"BARBARA."
This she sealed with a care that contrasted curiously with the haste with which she had written it. Then she called her maid and sent it around to the stately-doorwayed office on Bowling Green.
The answer that came was merely a bunch of dark red roses, with never a written word; but Barbara found it quite satisfactory. To Robert it would have seemed superfluous to have said he would come. Barbara made her toilet with especial care, selecting everything with a view to making herself look as nearly as possible like the Barbara of the old Second Westings days. As she surveyed herself in the glass, she was astonished at the result. Had she really put the hands of time back five years? As she remembered, she had looked just so on the afternoon when Robert came, and found her in the apple-tree reading "Clarissa." It was three o'clock already, – and Robert had been waiting already half an hour in the drawing-room below, – but she took yet a few minutes more for a finishing touch. She basted up a deep tuck in her petticoat, – about half an inch off for each year blotted from her calendar, – and then, with flaming eyes and mouth wreathed in laughter, she ran down to receive her guest. It was the direct obverse of the meeting she had planned.
"Did you ride over, Robert? Or did you come in the canoe?" she asked, as if she had but that moment jumped down out of the apple-tree.
"Barbara!" he cried, and seized and kissed both hands.
"I was beginning to fear that you had forgotten the way to Second Westings!" she went on, in gay reproach. "Why, it is weeks since you were over; and the young catbirds in the currant bush have grown their wings and flown; and the goldenrod's in flower; and the 'Early Harvests' are beginning to turn red on the old apple-tree over by the gate; and how will you explain your long absence, sir, to Aunt Hitty, and Doctor John, and Doctor Jim, I'd like to know!"
Robert was devouring her with his eyes as she spoke. "Oh, you do indeed look just as you did that day I found you in the apple-tree!" he cried, at last. "So weary long ago, – yet now, sweet lady, it seems but now!"
"Let us play it is but now," laughed Barbara.
"Yes," said Robert, – "but please don't send me right away to Doctor Jim, as you did that morning! I will try not to incur your displeasure. And don't be in such a hurry to get back to 'Clarissa' as you were then!"
So all the afternoon they talked the language and the themes of Second Westings, with the difference that Barbara was all graciousness, instead of her old mixture of acid and sweet. And when Glenowen came in to supper he was admitted to the game, and played it with a relish. And when, after supper, the three went riding, they took what they swore to be the Westings Landing Road, – though certain of the landmarks, as they could not but agree, looked unfamiliar. Almost they persuaded themselves that on their return they might entreat Mistress Mehitable to brew them a sack posset.
It was not till three days later, when Robert was begging more than his share of dances for a ball to be given that night at Government House, that Barbara explained – lightly and laughingly, but in a way that suffered Robert to understand – her quite inadequate reasons for having treated him so cavalierly on the evening after his duel.
