A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story

Lord Medway's straightforward proposal cleared all the clouds away. It gave her a position at once that even her grandfather respected. She was no longer a selfish child, whose vanity and folly had nearly ruined her family. She was the betrothed wife of a rich and powerful nobleman, and she knew that even socially reprisals of a satisfactory kind would soon be open to her. The dejected, self-effacing manner induced by her culpable position dropped from her like a useless garment; she lifted her handsome face with confident smiles; she was going, not only to be exonerated, but to be set far above the envy and jealousy of her enemies. For Medway had asked her to go sleighing with him on the following day, and she expected that ride to atone for many small insults and offenses.

Twice during the night she got up in the cruel cold to peep at the stars and the skies. She wanted a clear, sunny day, such a day as would bring out every sleigh in the fashionable world; and she got her desire. The sun rose brilliantly, and the cold had abated to just the desirable point; the roads, also, were in perfect condition for rapid sleighing, and at half-past eleven Medway entered the parlor, aglow with the frost and the rapid motion.

His fine presence, his hearty laugh, his genial manners, were irresistible. He bowed over Madame's hand, and then drew Maria within his embrace. "Is she not a darling? and may I take her for an hour or two, grandmother?" he asked. And Madame felt his address to be beyond opposition. He had claimed her kinship; he had called her "grandmother," and she gave him at once the key of her heart.

As they stood all three together before the fire, a servant man entered and threw upon the sofa an armful of furs. "I have had these made for you, Maria," said Medway. "Look here, my little one! Their equals do not exist outside of Russia." And he wrapped her in a cloak of the finest black fox lined with scarlet satin, and put on her head a hood of scarlet satin and black fox, and slipped her hands into a muff of the same fur lined with scarlet satin; and when they reached the waiting sleigh he lifted her as easily as a baby into it, and seating himself beside her, off they went to the music in their hearts and the music in the bells; and the pace of the four horses was so great that Madame declared "all she could see was a bundle of black fur and flying scarlet ribbons."

That day Maria's cup of triumph was full and running over. Before they had reached the half-way house they had met the entire fashionable world of New York, and every member of it had understood that Maria Semple and Lord Medway would now have to be reckoned with together. For Medway spoke to no one and returned no greeting that did not include Maria in it. Indeed, his neglect of those who made this omission was so pointed that none could misconstrue it. Maria was, therefore, very happy. She had found a friend and a defender in her trouble, and she was, at least, warmly grateful to him. He could see it in her shining eyes, and feel it, oh, so delightfully! in her unconscious drawing closer and closer to him, so that finally his hands were clasping hers within the muff of black fox, and his face was bending to her with that lover-like, protecting poise there was no mistaking.

"Are you satisfied, Maria? Are you happy?" he asked, when the pace slackened and they could talk a little.

"Oh, yes!" she answered. "But why did you wait so long? I was suffering. I needed a friend; did you not understand?"

"But you had a sorrow I could not share. I did not blame you for it. It was but natural you should weep a little, for the young man had doubtless made some impression. He was a gallant fellow, and between life and death carried himself like a prince. I am glad I was able to save his life; but I did not wish to see you fretting about him; that was also natural."

She did not answer, nor did he seem to expect an answer. But she was pleased he did not speak slightingly of Harry. Had he done so, she felt that she would have defended him; and yet, in her deepest consciousness she knew this defense would have been forced and uncertain. The circumstances were too painful to be called from the abyss of past calamity. It was better everything should be forgotten. And with the unerring instinct of a lover, Medway quickly put a stop to her painful reverie by words that seldom miss a woman's appreciation. He told her how much he had longed to be with her; how tardily the weeks had flown; how happy it made him to see her face again. He called her beautiful, bewitching, the loveliest creature the sun shone on, and he said these things with that air of devoted respect which was doubly sweet to the girl, after the social neglect of the past weeks. Finally he asked her if she was cold, and she answered:

"How can I be cold? These exquisite furs are cold-proof. Where did you get them? I have never seen any like them before."

"I got them in St. Petersburg. I was there two years ago on a political embassy, and while I was waiting until you partly recovered yourself I had my long coat cut up and made for you. I am delighted I did it. You never looked so lovely in anything I have seen you wear. Do you like them, Maria, sweet Maria?"

She looked at him with a smile so ravishing that he had there and then no words to answer it. He spoke to the driver instead, and the horses bounded forward, and so rapid was the pace that the city was soon reached, and then her home. Neil was at the gate to meet them, and Medway lifted Maria out of the sleigh and gave her into his care. "I will not keep the horses standing now;" he said, "but shall I call to-morrow, Maria, at the same time?" And she said, "Yes," and "I have had a happy drive." So he bowed and went away in a dash of trampling horses and jingling bells, and Maria watched him a moment or two, being greatly impressed by his languid, yet masterful, air and manner, the result of wealth long inherited and of social station beyond question.

With a sigh – and she knew not why she sighed – Maria went into the house. She was now quite forgiven; she could feel that she was once more loved without reservation, and also that she had become a person of importance. It was a happy change, and she did not inquire about it, or dampen the pleasure by asking for reasons. She took off her beautiful furs, showed them to her grandmother and grandfather, and told at what personal sacrifice Lord Medway had given them to her. And then, drawing close to the hearth, she described the people they had met, and the snubs and recognitions given and received. It was all interesting to Madame, and even to the Elder; the latter, indeed, was in extraordinary high spirits, and added quite as much salt and vinegar to the dish of gossip as either of the women.

In spite, therefore, of the bitter weather and the scarcity of all the necessaries of life, the world went very well again for the Semples; and though at the end of December, Clinton sailed southward, Lord Medway had a furlough for some weeks, so that in this respect the military movement did not interfere with Maria's social pleasures. Two days before the embarkment of the troops Colonel DeLancey called one morning on the Elder. He had sold a piece of property to the government, and in making out the title information was wanted that only Elder Semple, who was the original proprietor, could give. DeLancey asked him, therefore, to drive back with him to the King's Arms and settle the matter, and the Elder was pleased to do so. Anything that took him among his old associates and gave him a little importance was particularly agreeable, and in spite of the cold he went off in the highest spirits.

The King's Arms was soon reached, and he found in its comfortable parlor General Ludlow, Recorder John Watts, Jr., Treasurer Cruger, Commissioners DeGeist and Housewert, and Lawyer Spiegel. After Semple's arrival the business which had called them together was soon settled, and it being near noon, Ludlow called for a bottle of old port and some beef sandwiches. The room was warm and bright, the company friendly and well informed on political matters, and a second bottle was drunk ere they made a movement to break up the pleasant meeting. Then Ludlow arose, and for a few minutes they stood around the blazing fire, the Elder very happy in the exercise of his old influence and authority. But just as they were going to shake hands the door was flung open and Captain Macpherson appeared. For a moment he stood irresolute, then he suddenly made up his mind that he had chanced upon a great opportunity for placing himself right with the public, and so, advancing toward Elder Semple, who had pointedly turned his back upon him, he said:

"Elder, I am grateful for this fortunate occasion. I wish before these gentlemen to assure you that I did my duty with the most painful reluctance. I beg you to forgive the loss and annoyance this duty has caused you."

Then Semple turned to him. His eyes were flashing, his face red and furious. He looked thirty years younger than usual, as with withering scorn he answered:

"Caitiff! Out of my sight!"

"No, sir," continued the foolish young man, "not until you listen to me. As a soldier and a gentleman, I had a duty to perform."

"You hae covered the names o' 'soldier' and 'gentleman' wi' infamy. Duty, indeed! What duty o' yours was it to examine a letter that came to a house where you were making an evening call? No matter how the letter came – through the window or by the door – you had nae duty in the matter. It was your cursed, curious, spying impertinence. No gentleman would hae opened it. The letter was not directed to you, – you admitted that in court. God in Heaven! What right had you to open it?"

"Allow me to ask, Elder, what you would have done if you had been an officer in His Majesty's service and had been placed in the same circumstances?"

"Done? Why, you villain, there was only one thing to do, and an officer, if he was a gentleman, would have done it, – given the letter to Miss Bradley unopened. She was the mistress of the house, and entitled to see the letters coming to it. What had you to do wi' her letters? If you had kept your fingers frae picking and your e'en frae spying, you would not have put yoursel' in an utterly shamefu' dilemma."

"In these times, sir – "

"In this case the times are nae excuse. Mr. Bradley was believed by everybody to be a friend of His Majesty. You had nae reason whatever to suppose a treasonable note would come to his house. You did not suppose it. My God, sir! if our letters are to be examined by His Majesty's officers, wha is safe? An enemy might throw a note full o' treason through a window, and if you happened to be calling there – "

"Mr. Semple, you are insulting."

"I mean to be insulting. What right had you to speak to me? You Judas! who could eat my bread, and borrow my siller, and pretend to love my granddaughter. You have smirched your colors and dishonored your sword, and you deserve to be drummed out o' your regiment; you do that, you eternal scoundrel, you!"

By this time the Elder's voice filled the room, and he brought his cane down as if it were twenty. "Out o' my sight," he shouted, "or I'll lay it o'er your shoulders, you blackguard aboon ten thousand."

"Your age, sir! your age!" screamed the enraged young fellow; but his words almost choked him, and de Geist and Cruger took him forcibly out of the room.

Then DeLancey filled a glass with wine. "Sit down and drink it, Elder," he said. "Afterward I shall have the great honor and pleasure of driving you home." And the approval of every one present was too marked to be misunderstood. Semple felt it in every handclasp, and saw it in every face.

Also, Semple had his own approval, and the result of it in his voice and manner troubled Janet. She was ignorant of its cause, and the Elder was not prepared to tell her. "The fool may think himself bound to challenge me," he thought, "and I'll e'en wait till he does it, or else till Clinton carries him awa' to fight rebels."

But he was nearly betrayed by Neil, who entered the parlor in an almost buoyant manner for one so naturally grave. "Why, father," he said, "what is this I hear?" and then he suddenly stopped, having caught his father's warning glance.

"You hae heard many things doubtless, Neil," answered the Elder, "and among them that I and DeLancey were driving together. We had a rather cheerful time at the King's Arms o'er a bit of transferring business. The government must hae clear titles, you ken, to the property it buys."

"A clear title is beyond the government," interrupted Madame, "and the government needna' fash itsel' about titles. Nane that can be made will hold good much longer for the government. Sit down, Neil, and see if you can steady your father a bit; he's as much excited about a ride wi' auld DeLancey as if King George himsel' had gien him a ride in his chariot;" and she flipped her dress scornfully to the words as she left the room to give some household order.

"You vera near told tales on me, Neil," said the old man gleefully; "and there's nae need to mention the bit o' scrimmage till we see if it's finished. The lad might send me a challenge," he added with a little mirthful laugh.

"Not he, father! If he did, I should quickly answer it."

"You would mind your ain business, sir. As long as I bide in this warld I'll do my ain fighting, if I die for it."

"There's none can do it better, father. Errol told me your scorn overwhelmed Macpherson; and he said, moreover, that if the quarrel had come to blows he had no doubt you would have caned the scoundrel consumedly. They are talking of the affair all over town, and DeLancey is quite beyond himself about it. I heard him say that, though your hands quivered with passion, you stood firm as a rock, and that there were a few minutes at the last when no man could have tackled you safely." Then there was a sudden pause, for Madame reëntered, and the Elder looked at her in a way so full of triumph and self-satisfaction that he troubled her. "To think o' Alexander Semple being sae set up wi' DeLancey's nod and smile," she thought.

Then Neil turned the conversation on the social events of the day, and the topic allowed Madame some scope for the relief of her annoyance. Yet her anxiety about her husband continued, for the Elder was in extraordinarily high spirits. His piquant, pawkie humor finally alarmed Madame. "Alexander," she said, "you had better go awa' to your bed. I dinna like to hear you joking out o' season, as it were. What has come o'er you, man?"

"Hear to your mother, Neil!" he answered. "When I sit still and silent, she asks, 'Have you naething to say, auld man?' and when I say something she doesna' like my way o' joking, and is for sending me awa' to bed for it, as if I was a bairn. However, the day is o'er, and we hae had the glory o' it, and may as weel get rested for the day to come."

He left the room in his old sober fashion, with a blessing and a "Good-night, children," and Madame followed him. Maria rose with her; she was anxious to carry her thoughts into solitude. But Neil sat still by the fireside, dreaming of Agnes Bradley, and yet finding the dream often invaded by the thought of the retributive scene in the parlor of the King's Arms. And perhaps never in all his life had Neil loved and honored his father more sincerely.

When Madame returned to the room he came suddenly out of his reverie. He saw at once that his mother was strangely troubled. She sat down and covered her face with her thin, trembling hands, and when Neil bent over her with a few soothing words she sobbed:

"Oh, my dear lad, I'm feared your father is fey, or else he has been drinking beyond his reason; and goodness knows what nonsense he has been saying. The men who brought sae much wine out may have done it to set him talking; and anyway, it shames me, it pains me, to think o' Alexander Semple being the butt o' a lot o' fellows not worthy to latch his shoe buckles. But he's getting auld, Neil, he's getting auld; and he's always been at the top o' the tree in every one's respect, and I canna bear it."

"Dear mother, never has father stood so high in all good men's opinion as he stands this night. He has a little secret from you, and, I dare say, it is the first in his life, and it is more than wine to him. It is the secret, not the wine."

"What is it, Neil? What is it?"

Then Neil sat down by his mother's side, and looking into her face with his own smiling and beaming, he told her with dramatic power and passion the story of "the bit scrimmage," as the Elder defined the wordy battle, adding, "There is not a man, young or old, in New York, that this night is more praised and respected for his righteous wrath than Alexander Semple. As for Quentin Macpherson, he may go hang!"

And long before the story was finished Madame was bridling and blushing with pride and pleasure. "The dear auld man! The brave auld man!" she kept ejaculating; and her almost uncontrollable impulse was to go to him and give him the kiss and the few applauding words which she knew would crown his satisfaction. But Neil persuaded her to dissemble her delight, and then turned the conversation on the condition of the city.

"It is bad enough," he said. "Famine and freezing will soon be here, and the town is left under the orders of a hired mercenary – a German, a foreigner, who neither understands us nor our lives or language. It is a shameful thing. Was there no Englishman to defend New York? Every citizen, no matter what his politics, is insulted and sulky, and if Washington attacks the city in Clinton's absence, which he will surely do, they won't fight under Knyphausen as they would under a countryman. Even DeLancey would have been better. I, myself, would fight with a DeLancey leading, where I would be cold as ice behind Knyphausen."

"When men are left to themselves what fools they are," said Madame.

"They don't think so. You should hear the talk about what Clinton is going to do in the South, and he will find Cornwallis too much for him."

"How is that? Cornwallis?"

"Cornwallis hates Clinton passionately; he will sacrifice everything rather than coöperate with him. Clinton successful would be worse than his own disgrace. Yet Clinton is sure he will succeed in subduing the whole South."

"And Knyphausen?"

"Is sure he will capture General Washington, though Clinton failed in his alert for that purpose. The four hundred light horsemen he despatched came back as they went twenty-four hours after they started full of confidence."

"What frightened them?" asked Madame with a scornful laugh.

"The guides. They lost the road, – rebels at heart, doubtless, – the cold was intense, the snow deep, and the four hundred came home all. The wretched rebel army must have had a hearty laugh at Clinton's 'alert' – the alert which was to end the war by the capture of Washington."

"How could they expect such a thing?"

"Well, Washington was living in a house at Morristown, some distance from the huts occupied by the army. The army were in the greatest distress, nearly naked, hungry and cold, and the snow was deep around them. There was every reason to hope four hundred men on swift horses might be alert enough to surprise and capture the man they wanted."

"Nae! nae!" cried Madame. "The tree God plants no wind hurts; and George Washington is set for the defense and freedom o' these colonies. Cold and hungry men, snow-strangled roads, and four hundred alerts! What are they against the tree God plants? Only a bit wind that shook the branches and made the roots strike deeper and wider. And sae Clinton's alert having failed, Knyphausen is trying for another; is that it, Neil?"

"Yes. He considers Washington's capture his commission."

"And if he should capture him, what then?"

"If he is taken alive he will die the death of a traitor."

"And then?"

"Then the war would be over, the idea of independence would be buried, and we should be English subjects forever."

"And after that comes a cow to be shod. One thing is as likely as the other. The idea of independence will never be buried; we shall never again be subjects of the King o' England. In spite of all the elements can do, in spite of what seems to us impossibilities, the tree God has planted no wind shall hurt. Many a day, Neil, I have steadied my soul and my heart as I went to and fro in my house singing or saying this bit verse, and I wrote it my ain sel':

No wind that blows can ever killThe tree God plants;It bloweth east; it bloweth west;The tender leaves have little rest,But any wind that blows is best.The tree God plantsStrikes deeper root, grows higher still,Spreads wider boughs for God's good will,Meets all its wants."

Neil sighed, and rising suddenly, said, "Let us go upstairs; the room is growing very cold. And, mother, do not let father know I have told you about his 'bit scrimmage.' It would rob him of the triumph of his own recital."

"I'll not say a word, Neil; you may be sure o' that."

And she did not say a word. Nevertheless, the Elder looked queerly at Neil the following evening, and when he found an opportunity, said, "You've been telling tales on me, lad. Your mother hasna petted me a' the day lang for naething. Some one has whispered a word in her ear. I can see it in her e'en and hear it in her voice, and feel it in the stroke o' her hand. I wonder who it was."

"A bird of the air often carries such matters, sir. It would be but the generality; the particulars can come from yourself only."

"Aye, to be sure!" And he smiled and seated himself comfortably in his chair before the blaze, adding, "It was a wonderfu' bit o' comfort, Neil, and you'll stand by me if your mother thinks wrong o' it?"

"Shoulder to shoulder, sir. You did quite right."

CHAPTER X.

MARIA GOES TO LONDON

As the days lengthened, the cold strengthened, and New York experienced a winter of unparallelled severity. Food could only be procured with hard money, and at exorbitant prices, and the scarcity of fuel added greatly to the general distress. Wall Street surrendered most of its beautiful century-old shade trees, to warm the family of the German General Riederel, and before Spring, the streets and lanes of the city, the gardens and pleasure grounds of the burghers, were shorn of their finest fruit and shade trees. The aged, the very young, the men in the prisons and hospitals perished in great numbers, and the deathly cold of the atmosphere was full of the unspeakable misery everywhere present.

These distressing conditions were intensified by the fear of an attack from Washington. The waters around New York were for several weeks so hard frozen that the heaviest artillery could easily have crossed on them; and the city in losing its insular position, lost its chief advantage for defense. Knyphausen constantly expected Washington to cross the ice, and refugees and citizens alike, were formed into companies and subjected to garrison duty. During the dark, bitter watches, men sometimes froze at their posts, and women in their unheated rooms, knelt listening to the children's breathing, for the atmosphere was so deadly cold that the babes shivered, even in the covert of their mothers' breasts.

Yet, in this city of frost, and famine, and suffering, a hectic and most unnatural gaiety was kept up. Maria would have little part in it. She could find no pleasure in listening to comedies and songs, in a freezing temperature, and the warmth induced by dancing was generally followed by a most uncomfortable and dangerous chill. Her status in society also led her to feel more content in withdrawing from it a little. She was not yet to be classed among the married belles, nor was she quite at one with the girlhood that surrounded her. Her engagement to Lord Medway had set her a little apart; it was understood that she could not be in perfect sympathy with the plans and hopes of either maids or wives.

Yet her life was far from unhappy. She visited Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. Jacobus a great deal; and the latter delighted in making little lunches and dinners, where the three ladies were joined by Lord Medway, and Neil Semple, and very often also by Major André, whose versatile gifts and cheerful temperament were the necessary and delightful antitheses to Neil's natural gravity and Medway's cultivated restraint. The splendid rooms of Madame Jacobus were warm, her dinners well cooked, her wines of the finest quality, her good nature never failing. She made a pet of Maria, and Lord Medway – reclining with half-closed eyes in some luxurious chair – watched his betrothed managing this clever woman, so much older than herself, with infinite satisfaction and amusement. He foresaw that she would be equal to any social position, and it never occurred to him that it was likely she would manage Lord Medway quite as thoroughly as she managed Madame Jacobus. Occasionally, Medway gave return dinners, at which Madame Semple presided, and then Maria sat at his right hand, and he proved himself to be the most charming of hosts, and the most devoted and respectful of lovers.