"SEARCH MY LADY'S WARDROBE."
"Sweetheart? not she whose voice was music-sweet,
Whose face loaned language to melodious prayer;
Sweetheart I called her.--When did she repeat
Sweet to one hope or heart to one despair?"
--CAWEIN.
To the man crouching behind the door which Joscelyn had left open, the
minute it took her to traverse the hall and gain the head of the stairs
at the far end, seemed a lifetime. Even in his dire peril the thought of
a bygone day came back to him--"loyal, though a Loyalist," he had said
of her, and had believed it. What a sweetheart to have coddled in one's
thoughts and dreamed of, waking and sleeping,--this girl who would in
cold blood hand him over to death because of a fancied duty! Escape by
the way he came was impossible; he could only wait here and sell his
life at the highest price. Ay, there should be left in this room a
memory that would exile her from it forever; the blood that had beat for
her and which she had betrayed, should redden her floor and stain the
dainty things she loved.
His sword had been thrown away when he quitted his horse, since it
cumbered his flight; but his pistols and dirk were still upon him, and
he made ready for their use. Then through the crevice of the hinge, he
beheld Joscelyn as she faced about in the brighter light at the head of
the stairs, and the weapon well-nigh slipped from his hand as he saw her
hold up the bit of shard she still carried, and say, with a smile, to
those below:--
"'Tis not worth while your coming. What need to waste time on the
senseless offender when the offence is beyond repair? My very last
flowering almond is a hopeless wreck, and I had nursed it with such
care!" She ended with a sigh and a pretty pout, and went slowly down the
stair out of Richard's sight; but the voices from below reached him
distinctly, so that he heard the officers' condolences and her laughing
replies. Great drops of perspiration broke out upon his brow as the
joyous truth dawned fully upon him.
She did not intend to betray his presence in the house to the
scarlet-coated bloodhounds who would tear him limb from limb!
How could he ever have mistrusted her, this one woman whom he had loved
with the passion of youth and of manhood? He sank to a sitting posture
upon the floor, propping himself against the wall, for he was
desperately weary with the long, hard chase, and this relief was as the
opening of Paradise before his aching eyes. His limbs relaxed; but his
ears were strained to catch every sound that came up the stairway. The
game of cards had been renewed, and the merriment was at its height,
when twenty minutes later there was again a commotion in the street and
a loud summons at the door.
"May it please your lordship," said Tarleton's voice, "the fellow hath
give us the slip and is in hiding with some of his sympathizers. We wish
a permit to search the houses in this neighbourhood, for hereabouts he
must be, since he was seen last at yonder corner."
There arose a perfect Babel of voices, out of which Richard could make
nothing clearly; but he knew the permit was given, for in a few minutes
Tarleton opened the street-door, and ordered his men to begin the search
at the house on the lower corner, and proceed thence up the street,
missing no dwelling. Every other street and alley in the town had been
sentinelled, so he assured Cornwallis.
The soldiers at the door dispersed, and a breathless silence filled the
house. Richard dared not move lest his stiff joints pop, or his boots
creak and betray him. He knew flight was impossible; for there was a
stamping of horses in the rear court, proving that the house was
surrounded. It were wiser to wait and face the fate that came to him,
than go out to meet it on the way.
The minutes that followed seemed interminable. He felt that his doom was
sealed, and then there came upon him an overmastering desire to hear
Joscelyn's voice once more. Why did she not come to him on some feigned
pretext or other? Surely she must know how he suffered! Death were not
so hard to meet, if he could but first hold her in his arms and hear her
say some tender word.
Then the noise in the street grew louder, and he knew that the search
was drawing near. His nerves were strained to tautness, when presently
he heard the party stop in the street below, and a voice downstairs
cried out gayly:--
"They be going to call upon your kinsfolk, the Cleverings, Mistress
Joscelyn. Let us out to the balcony and see the fun."
In the confusion of scraping chairs and opening doors, Richard got to
his feet. The cold and weariness in his limbs were forgotten in anxiety
for his mother. A-tiptoe he crossed the room in the shadow of the
furniture and gained Joscelyn's front window,--that window out of which
he had seen her lean in her scarlet bodice the day he marched away so
long ago. It was an easy thing to hide himself in the folds of the heavy
curtains which had been drawn for the night; and thus concealed, to
watch, through a crescent slit in the blind, the scene below, for the
veranda was open with no roof to intervene.
It was full moon, and the figures in the street, twenty men-at-arms,
were plainly visible. Three of these passed silently to the rear of his
mother's house, while the others drew up in line before the door. Then
the leader smote the panels until they rang like a drum. Twice was the
summons repeated ere a voice from an upper window demanded what might
be the matter.
"Matter enough that I knock," replied the man, so insolently that
Richard's blood took fire, for every word could be distinctly heard from
his coign of vantage.
"Nay, we be but two lone women in this house, and we open not but to the
proper authorities."
"Well, and we be the authorities," answered the man less rudely, for
there was that in Mistress Clevering's voice that brought him to his
senses. "We have here an order from the commander-in-chief to search
this house for a rebel spy. Open the door and read the writ for
yourself."
The window above was closed, and presently the click of the lock was
heard, and then the door opened partially and Mistress Clevering, candle
in hand, stood before them. Betty cowered behind like a frightened
child.
"No one is here save my daughter and myself; to search the house were
wasted time." And in her heart, Joscelyn thanked Heaven she could speak
thus truly; but the soldier said brusquely:--
"We have judged the matter differently; lead the way, and see to it that
you open every door. We will put up with no deception."
As they passed into the house, Joscelyn's voice from over the way cried
out shrilly, "Neglect not to search the closet by the attic chimney;
'tis just of a size to hold a man, and perchance contains him whom you
seek."
Mistress Clevering turned angrily toward the door as though she would
answer, but the soldiers urged her on, and so it was Betty who called
back:--
"That is neighbourly! Tell all you know about your best friends,
Mistress Ingrate; we have naught to fear."
At this Joscelyn laughed loudly, but to Richard the laugh was more
hysterical than mirthful, like one under a great nervous strain. He felt
his hands involuntarily groping for his pistols, as the opposite light
flashed from window to window and he knew his mother was being ordered
about by those insolent Redcoats. The candle lingered longest in the
attic; but at last it descended, and soon the disappointed soldiers
stood in the street empty handed. Tarleton was furious and swore a great
oath, but the soldiers protested they had overlooked no nook or corner
where a man might conceal himself.
"'Tis a bootless errand, sir; unless, indeed, the man be in this house,"
said Tarleton, riding up to Joscelyn's door. "What say you, shall we
search here also?"
Upstairs Richard's heart stood still, while down below Joscelyn's head
swam. Then her laugh rippled out mockingly.
"Truly, your lordship, that is a reflection upon you and those of your
gallant officers who have done me the honour to spend the evening under
my roof! I pray you, gentlemen all, turn your pockets wrong side out
that Colonel Tarleton may be sure you have not hidden his spy."
"I jest not, mistress," answered Tarleton, who owed her a grudge in that
she had manifested much personal dislike to himself. "What says your
lordship?"
Cornwallis started to reply, and then hesitated; whereupon Joscelyn
broke in haughtily:--
"An your lordship doubts my loyalty, pray let the search proceed--the
doors are open."
"Ay, search; and fail not to look in my Lady Ingrate's wardrobe; 'tis
just of a size to hold a man," came with a scornful laugh from over the
way; for Betty was still at her door, and the street was not so wide but
that the opposite voices reached her clearly.
"Of course," said Joscelyn, with the same haughty dignity; "search the
wardrobe by all means; here are the keys." She threw the bunch at
Tarleton's feet, calling to her mother to do the same, and then walked
into the hall, her head up and her eyes aglow. Richard could not see
her, and so ground his teeth in an impotent rage that she would thus
tamely yield him up. But the next moment he guessed her purpose,
realizing this was her surest way to avert suspicion, and he blessed her
under his breath. If they found him, they should never know that she had
for a moment connived at his concealment.
Tarleton stooped to pick up the keys, but Cornwallis interposed.
"Nay, sir; to search this house would be an affront to so loyal a
subject as Mistress Joscelyn. Besides, the idea that the miscreant is
hiding here is preposterous. He must have seen us through the windows,
and to enter would have been to rush into the lion's jaws. Spies as a
rule are wise men; not the fools of an army. Search the stable if you
will, leave a guard in the alley; but enter not the house. And now,
Mistress Cheshire, I see the ladies are going; we will also withdraw
after returning thanks to you and your daughter for your charming
hospitality."
Richard clutched at the window-frame to steady himself as he realized
the present peril had passed. What a glorious girl Joscelyn was, for all
her Toryism and scoffing!
Joscelyn stood at the door, courtesying to her departing guests,--the
picture of dainty, decorous hospitality. As Tarleton lifted his hat
sullenly, she looked him straight in the eyes, and said graciously:--
"I will leave this door unbolted, that your sentry may come in and warm
himself by the fire in the rear room as the night grows chilly."
To doubt her after that were impossible; and he excused his former
brusqueness by saying a soldier's duty was oftentimes most displeasing
to himself. She accepted the apology with a smile, and stood in the door
until they all, even Barry, who was always tardy over his leave-taking,
had gotten to horse; and then with a final good night, she shut them
out. She did not stop in the hall, but went straight on to the stair,
saying to her mother as she ran up:--
"Will you see to the lights down here, mother? I will go up and look
after your fire."
This was a reversal of the usual order of things, but her mother was too
used to her caprices to take any notice. In the room above, Richard had
already replenished the fire, and was waiting for her on the rug with
eager, outstretched arms.
"Joscelyn!" he cried; but she silenced him with a gesture.
"Quick--off with your boots--mother must not know; there will be further
inquiry to-morrow, and for very anxiety she could not keep the secret.
Now, come." In the hall she leaned over the banister to ask her mother
to leave something on the table for the sentry to eat; and when the old
lady was gone back to the pantry, Joscelyn unlocked the door of the
shed-like attic at the rear of the hall, and giving Richard the lighted
candle she held, she pushed him in. "There are plenty of blankets on the
shelves at the far end--make your bed on a pile of carpet that is behind
the cedar chest."
"But, Joscelyn--"
"H-u-s-h, not so loud. As you know, the attic has no windows, so your
candle cannot be seen outside. There is mother--I will come back if I
can."
She was gone, and he knew that she had locked the door from without.
Along with his sense of relief came an exquisite joy that he was her
prisoner, that it was she who must minister to him,--she to whom he owed
his life. It was some minutes before he remembered her injunction and
set to work to make himself comfortable. He left the candle on the floor
beside his boots and, wrapping himself in the blankets, found a cosey
resting-place behind the big cedar chest. What thoughts and visions
crowded his mind as he lay there under the spider-hung rafters that
dropped almost to his head! Five days before he had quitted his
command--impelled by a thirsty desire to see Joscelyn's face--to
undertake the dangerous mission of his chief, and ascertain Cornwallis's
actual strength. Unable to learn anything definite by hearsay, and
catching idle rumours of Joscelyn's popularity among the English
officers, the daring design had come to him to play the part of a
Loyalist seeking enlistment in the British army, trusting to what little
disguise he could add to his own altered looks to shield him. Following
out this plan, and gaining at the parade all the knowledge necessary, he
had stolen from the field, and would have effected his escape had he but
taken the longer bridle-path around the mountain, rather than the
shorter one directly over it. Joscelyn's accident had delayed him
somewhat, and trusting to his citizen's dress, and the preoccupation of
the whole force at the parade, he had thought to be beyond sight or
pursuit ere the review was over. That his reckoning failed, has been
already shown. Tarleton's henchmen, set on by Linsey, had headed him off
and driven him back into the town. Passed through the peril, and strong
man that he was, he yet shuddered as he thought how near to death he had
been when he leaped from his horse at the corner yonder, and with a
fierce cut sent the animal as a decoy down the dark adjacent street,
while he plunged into the shadowy alley. At Mistress Cheshire's rear
gate he had recognized his bearings, and entering without hesitation, he
had crossed the yard, and by means of a grape-trellis climbed to the
roof of the rear porch. To open the window was not difficult, but in
entering he had upset that flower jar and betrayed his presence. He had
heard the talk and laughter as he climbed up, and guessed who Joscelyn's
guests were; but he trusted to her mother to hide him. How infinitely
sweeter it was to know that, instead, it was her own hand that had saved
him.
For nearly an hour he lay thus, stretched at full length upon the
restful pallet. Then, all at once, although he was conscious of no
sound, he felt that she had come. Rising hastily, he met her as she
slipped through the half-opened door. She shaded her eyes for a moment
to concentrate the light, the candle was so dim; then crossing over to
the chest, she placed on it a platter of food and a pitcher of milk.
"You must be half famished;" and although but a whisper, her voice was
studiously polite. "I have brought you ample supply; for it may be late
ere you get your breakfast in the morning, seeing I have to smuggle it
to you."
Never had he seen her so beautiful. The shining brocade set off every
curve of her figure; under the lace of her bodice her bosom rose and
fell with suppressed excitement, and her eyes were full of the starry
lights he knew so well. And yet there was something about her that held
in check the fire that leaped through his pulses. For the first time as
he gazed thus upon her, he realized fully the menace he had brought upon
her.
"Joscelyn, I should never have come here."
"It was, as you said, your only chance."
"I should not have taken that chance; rather I should have died beside
my horse before bringing this danger to you."
"Hush! they will not harm me." Her head went up with a little triumphant
fling as she said this; for she was thinking of Barry, and how, if
detection came, he would surely save her.
"You do not know the penalty one pays for harbouring a spy; I will go
this very night and free you from this menace."
"No, no," was the hasty answer. "We should both be undone--Tarleton's
men will watch the house all night. To-morrow night perchance, or the
night after; but not to-night. You are safe here for the present, for
his lordship's orders will be obeyed."
He came close to her, so close that he saw the pallor of her face, and
the perfume of her dress rose with a sweet intoxication to his nostrils.
"Joscelyn, is it for love of me that you have done this thing?"
"No."
"For what, then?"
"For sake of our old comradeship and for Betty. Besides, you saved my
life this afternoon--a return of favours leaves no burden of obligation
on either of us."
"Nay; you risk more for me than I did for you."
She shrugged her shoulders. "The accounts balance." Then glancing about
solicitously, she added, "I would I could make you more comfortable, but
our first care must be to avert suspicion. Good night."
She was moving to the door, but he caught her wrists just below the
hanging lace of her sleeve; and holding her thus, he told her in a few
graphic sentences all his thoughts as he had rested under the rafters
behind the chest--the reason and the history of his scouting venture,
the mental trysts he had held with her so often. All the intensity of
his strong nature went into that appeal; it seemed as if a heart of ice
must have melted in it; and for a moment her head did droop and her
hands tremble, then she shrugged her gleaming shoulders again, saying:--
"It had certainly been more soldier-like to have come for love of your
cause, rather than for sake of a girl's eyes."
"For sake of both did I come."
"A spy--"
But she got no further; something in her tone stung him to the quick.
"You need not speak so disparagingly. A spy's work may not be pleasant,
but it is absolutely necessary. Without the information he sends his
general, false steps might be taken and hundreds of lives needlessly
sacrificed. A spy has a humane as well as a dangerous mission."
"'Tis well you think so highly of your calling. Good night again."
"Joscelyn, do not leave me thus; this day we have each looked into the
eyes of death--let us at least part as friends."
She turned back, her face dimpling with a smile that was like a gleam of
sunshine, "Good night, Richard, and a safe awakening."
Then she was gone; and he threw himself down to sleep the sleep of utter
weariness.
Joscelyn sat on the rug before her almost burned-out fire, trying to
disengage the attic key from the big bunch her mother habitually wore at
her belt, and thinking rapidly of the events of the day. She knew that
the end had not been reached, but she was determined to brave it out;
there was nothing else to do,--there had been nothing else from the
first. And she must stand alone. Fresh inquiry would be instituted
to-morrow, and her mother's veracity could not stand the strain to which
it might be put if she knew all. Neither could the secret be shared
with Aunt Clevering, for her mother-heart might betray its anxiety, and
so would another family be involved. She must bear the burden herself;
must evade, pretend, even _lie_, if need be, to keep the knowledge from
any one else. The man had fled to her for sanctuary; which were worse,
she asked herself bitterly, to soil her lips with an untruth, or her
hands with a betrayal, a breach of trust and of hospitality? From Betty
and Aunt Clevering she could expect no mercy of neglect, because of that
hasty speech about the attic closet. It had been made thoughtlessly, to
establish her own footing more securely by a great show of loyalty; but
would, she knew, act as a two-edged sword, cutting away part of her
safety. To-morrow she would not dare leave the house all day lest
something terrible transpire in her absence; she must feign some pretext
for staying indoors--perchance a headache from the effects of her
fright.
And then having planned her course fully and carefully, woman-like she
began to cry tempestuously at the position in which she found herself;
blaming with equally unreasoning impatience the band, Richard, and her
horse for her predicament. If she were only a Whig, doing this thing for
her country, or else if she were but in love with Richard, how
beautiful, how romantic, it would all be! But--but--
And even after she was in bed, she went on sobbing softly to herself.