Croyden, with Dick as guide and old Mose as forerunner and
shutter-opener, went through the house, even unto the garret.
As in the downstairs, he found it immaculate. Josephine had kept
everything as though the Colonel himself were in presence. The bed
linen, the coverlids, the quilts, the blankets were packed in trunks,
the table-linen and china in drawers and closets. None of them was
new--practically the entire furnishing antedated 1830, and much of them
1800--except that, here and there, a few old rugs of oriental weaves,
relieved the bareness of the hardwood floors.
The one concession to modernism was a bath-room, but its tin tub and
painted iron wash-stand, with the plumbing concealed by wainscoting,
proclaimed it, alas, of relatively ancient date. And, for a moment,
Croyden contrasted it with the shower, the porcelain, and the tile, of
his Northumberland quarters, and shivered, ever so slightly. It would
be the hardest to get used to, he thought. As yet, he did not know the
isolation of the long, interminably long, winter evenings, with
absolutely nothing to do and no place to go--and no one who could
understand.
At length, when they were ready to retrace their steps to the lower
floor, old Mose had disappeared.
"Gone to tell his wife that the new master has come," said Dick. "Let
us go out to the kitchen."
And there they found her--bustling around, making the fire, her head
tied up in a bandana, her sleeves rolled to the shoulders. She turned,
as they entered, and dropped them an old-fashioned curtsy.
"Josephine!" said Dick, "here is Mr. Croyden, the new master. Can you
cook for him, as well as you did for Colonel Duval?"
"Survent, marster," she said to Croyden, with another curtsy--then, to
the agent, "Kin I cooks, Marster Dick! Kin I cooks? Sut'n'y, I kin.
Don' yo t'inks dis nigger's forgot--jest yo waits, Marster Croyden, I
shows yo, seh, sho' nuf--jest gives me a little time to get my han' in,
seh."
"You won't need much time," Dick commented. "The Colonel considered her
very satisfactory, sir, very satisfactory, indeed. And he was a
competent judge, sir, a very competent judge."
"Oh, we'll get along," said Croyden, with a smile at Josephine. "If you
could please Colonel Duval, you will more than please me."
"Thankee, seh!" she replied, bobbing down again. "I sho' tries, seh."
"Have you had any experience with negro servants?" Dick asked, as they
returned to the library.
"No," Croyden responded: "I have always lived at a Club."
"Well, Mose and his wife are of the old times--you can trust them,
thoroughly, but there is one thing you'll have to remember, sir: they
are nothing but overgrown children, and you'll have to discipline them
accordingly. They don't know what it is to be impertinent, sir; they
have their faults, but they are always respectful."
"Can I rely on them to do the buying?"
"I think so, sir, the Colonel did, I know. If you wish, I'll send you a
list of the various stores, and all you need do is to pay the bills. Is
there anything else I can do now, sir?"
"Nothing," said Croyden. "And thank you very much for all you have
done."
"How about your baggage--can I send it out? No trouble, sir, I assure
you, no trouble. I'll just give your checks to the drayman, as I pass.
By the way, sir, you'll want the telephone in, of course. I'll notify
the Company at once. And you needn't fear to speak to your neighbors;
they will take it as it's meant, sir. The next on the left is Major
Borden's, and this, on the right, is Captain Tilghman's, and across the
way is Captain Lashiel's, and Captain Carrington's, and the house
yonder, with the huge oaks in front, is Major Markoe's."
"Sort of a military settlement," smiled Croyden.
"Yes, sir--some of them earned their title in the war, and some of
them in the militia and some just inherited it from their pas. Sort of
handed down in the family, sir. The men will call on you, promptly,
too. I shouldn't wonder some of them will be over this evening."
Croyden thought instantly of the girl he had seen coming out of the
Borden place, and who had directed him to Clarendon.
"Would it be safe to speak to the good-looking girls, too--those who
are my neighbors?" he asked, with a sly smile.
"Certainly, sir; if you tell them your name--and don't try to flirt
with them," Dick added, with a laugh. "Yonder is one, now--Miss
Carrington," nodding toward the far side of the street.
Croyden turned.--It was she! the girl of the blue-black hair and
slender silken ankles.
"She's Captain Carrington's granddaughter," Dick went on with the
Southerner's love for the definite in genealogy. "Her father and mother
both died when she was a little tot, sir, and they--that is, the
grandparents, sir--raised her. That's the Carrington place she's
turning in at. Ah----"
The girl glanced across and, recognizing Dick (and, it must be
admitted, her Clarendon inquirer as well), nodded.
Both men took off their hats. But Croyden noticed that the older man
could teach him much in the way it should be done. He did it shortly,
sharply, in the city way; Dick, slowly, deferentially, as though it
were an especial privilege to uncover to her.
"Miss Carrington is a beauty!" Croyden exclaimed, looking after her.
"Are there more like her, in Hampton?"
"I'm too old, sir, to be a competent judge," returned Dick, "but I
should say we have several who trot in the same class. I mean,
sir----"
"I understand!" laughed Croyden. "It's no disrespect in a Marylander, I
take it, when he compares the ladies with his race-horses."
"It's not, sir! At least, that's the way we of the older generation
feel; our ladies and our horses run pretty close together. But that spirit
is fast disappearing, sir! The younger ones are becoming--commercialized,
if you please. It's dollars first, and _then_ the ladies, with them--and
the horses nowhere. Though I don't say it's not wise. Horses and the
war have almost broken us, sir. We lost the dollars, or forgot about
them and they lost themselves, whichever way it was, sir. It's right that
our sons should start on a new track and run the course in their own
way--Yes, sir," suddenly recollecting himself, "Miss Carrington's a
pretty girl, and so's Miss Tayloe and Miss Lashiel and a heap more.
Indeed, sir, Hampton is famed on the Eastern Sho' for her women. I'll
attend to your baggage, and the telephone, sir, and if there is
anything else I can do, pray command me. Drop in and see me when you
get up town. Good day, sir, good day." And removing his hat with a bow
just a little less deferential than the one he had given to Miss
Carrington, he proceeded up the street, leisurely and deliberately, as
though the world were waiting for him.
"And he is a real estate agent!" reflected Croyden. "The man who,
according to our way of thinking, is the acme of hustle and bustle and
business, and schemes to trap the unwary. Truly, the Eastern Shore has
much to learn--or we have much to unlearn! Well, I have tried the
one--and failed. Now, I'm going to try the other. It seems to promise a
quiet life, at least."
He turned, to find Moses in the doorway, waiting.
"Marster Croyden," he said, "shall I puts yo satchel an' things in de
Cun'l's room, seh?"
Croyden nodded. He did not know which was the Colonel's room, but it
was likely to be the best in the house, and, moreover, it was well to
follow him wherever he could.
"And see that my luggage is taken there, when the man brings it," he
directed--"and tell Josephine to have luncheon at one and dinner at
seven."
The darky hesitated.
"De Cun'l hed dinner in de middle o' de day, seh," he said, as though
Croyden had inadvertently erred.
And Croyden appreciating the situation, answered:
"Well, you see, Moses, I've been used to the other way and I reckon you
will have to change to suit me."
"Yass, seh! yass, seh! I tell Jose. Lunch is de same as supper, I
s'pose, seh?"
Croyden had to think a moment.
"Yes," he said, "that will answer--like a light supper."
"There may be an objection, after all, to taking over Colonel Duval's
old servants," he reflected. "It may be difficult to persuade them that
he is no longer the master. I run the chance of being ruled by a dead
man."
Presently his luggage arrived, and he went upstairs to unpack. Moses
looked, in wonder, at the wardrobe trunk, with every suit on a separate
hanger, the drawers for shirts and linen, the apartments for hats, and
collars, and neckties, and the shoes standing neatly in a row below.
"Whar's de use atak'in de things out t'al, Marster Croyden!" he
exclaimed.
"So as to put the trunk away."
"Sho'! I mo'nt a kno'd hit. Hit's mons'us strange, seh, whar yo mon't
a' kno'd ef yo'd only stop to t'ink. F' instance, I mon't a kno'd yo'd
cum back to Clarendon, seh, some day, cuz yo spends yo money on hit.
Heh!"
Then a bell tinkled softly from below.
"Dyar's dinner--I means lunch, seh," said Moses. "'Scuse me, seh."
"And I'm ready for it," said Croyden, as he went to the iron
wash-stand, and then slowly down stairs to the dining-room.
From some place, Moses had resurrected a white coat, yellow with its
ten years' rest, and was waiting to receive him. He drew out Croyden's
chair, as only a family servant of the olden times can do it, and bowed
him into his place.
The table was set exactly as in Colonel Duval's day, and very prettily
set, Croyden thought, with napery spotless, and china that was thin and
fine. The latter, if he had but known it, was Lowestoft and had served
the Duvals, on that very table, for much more than a hundred years.
There was cold ham, and cold chicken, lettuce with mayonnaise, deviled
eggs, preserves, with hot corn bread and tea. When Croyden had about
finished a leisurely meal, it suddenly occurred to him that however
completely stocked Clarendon was with things of the Past, they did not
apply to the larder, and _these_ victuals were undoubtedly fresh and
particularly good.
"By the way! Moses," he said, "I'm glad you were thoughtful enough to
send out and purchase these things," with an indicating motion to the
table. "They are very satisfactory."
"Pu'chase!" said the darky, in surprise. "Dese things not pu'chased.
No, seh! Dey's borro'd, seh, from Majah Bo'den's, yass, seh!"
"Good God!" Croyden exclaimed. "You don't mean you borrowed my
luncheon!"
"Yass, seh! Why not, seh? Jose jes' went ovah an' sez to Cassie--she's
de cook, at de Majah's, seh--sez she, Marster Croyden don' cum and
warns some'n to eat. An' she got hit, yass, seh!"
"Is it the usual thing, here, to borrow an entire meal from the
neighbor's?" asked Croyden.
"Sut'n'y, seh! We borrows anything we needs from the neighbors, an'
they does de same wid us."
"Well, I don't want any borrowing by _us_, Moses, please remember,"
said Croyden, emphatically. "The neighbors can borrow anything we have,
and welcome, but we won't claim the favor from them, you understand?"
"Yass, seh!" said the old darky, wonderingly.
Such a situation as one kitchen not borrowing from another was
incomprehensible. It had been done by the servants from time
immemorial--and, though Croyden might forbid, yet Josephine would
continue to do it, just the same--only, less openly.
"And see that everything is returned not later than to-morrow," Croyden
continued.
"Yass, seh! I tote's dem back dis minut, seh!----"
"What?"
"Dese things, heah, whar yo didn' eat, seh----"
"Do you mean--Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Croyden.
"Never mind, Moses. I will return them another way. Just forget it."
"Sut'n'y, seh," returned the darky. "Dat's what I wuz gwine do in de
fust place."
Croyden laughed. It was pretty hopeless, he saw. The ways they had,
were the ways that would hold them. He might protest, and order
otherwise, until doomsday, but it would not avail. For them, it was
sufficient if Colonel Duval permitted it, or if it were the custom.
"I think I shall let the servants manage me," he thought. "They know
the ways, down here, and, besides, it's the line of least resistance."
He went into the library, and, settling himself in a comfortable chair,
lit a cigarette.... It was the world turned upside down. Less than
twenty-four hours ago it was money and madness, bankruptcy and divorce
courts, the automobile pace--the devil's own. Now, it was quiet and
gentility, easy-living and refinement. Had he been in Hampton a little
longer, he would have added: gossip and tittle-tattle, small-mindedness
and silly vanity.
He smoked cigarette after cigarette and dreamed. He wondered what
Elaine Cavendish had done last evening--if she had dined at the
Club-house, and what gown she had worn, if she had played golf in the
afternoon, or tennis, and with whom; he wondered what she would do this
evening--wondered if she thought of him more than casually. He shook it
off for a moment. Then he wondered again: who had his old quarters at
the Heights? He knew a number who would be jumping for them--who had
his old table for breakfast? it, too, would be eagerly sought--who
would take his place on the tennis and the golf teams?--what Macloud
was doing? Fine chap was Macloud! the only man in Northumberland he
would trust, the only man in Northumberland, likely, who would care a
rap whether he came back or whether he didn't, or who would ever give
him a second thought. He wondered if Gaspard, his particular waiter,
missed him? yes, he would miss the tips, at least; yes, and the boy who
brushed his clothes and drew his bath would miss him, and his caddie,
as well. Every one whom he _paid_, would miss him....
He threw away his cigarette and sat up sharply. It was not pleasant
thinking.
An old mahogany slant-top escritoire, in the corner by the window,
caught his eye. It had a shell, inlaid in maple, in the front, and the
parquetry, also, ran around the edges of the drawers and up the sides.
There was one like it in the Cavendish library, he remembered. He went
over to it, and, the key being in the lock, drew out pulls and turned
back the top. Inside, there was the usual lot of pigeon holes and small
drawers, with compartments for deeds and larger papers. All were empty.
Either Colonel Duval, in anticipation of death, had cleaned it out, or
Moses and Josephine, for their better preservation, had packed the
contents away. He was glad of it; he could use it, at least, without
ejecting the Colonel.
He closed the lid and had turned away, when the secret drawer, which,
sometimes, was in these old desks, occurred to him. He went back and
began to search for it.... And, presently, he found it. Under the
middle drawer was a sliding panel that rolled back, when he pressed on
a carved lion's head ornamentation, and which concealed a hidden
recess. In this recess lay a paper.
It was yellow with age, and, when Croyden took it in his fingers, he
caught the faint odor of sandal wood. It was brittle in the creases,
and threatened to fall apart. So, opening it gently, he spread it on
the desk before him. Here is what he read:
"Annapolis, 10 May, 1738.
"Honoured Sir:
"I fear that I am about to Clear for my Last Voyage--the old
wounds trouble me, more and more, especially those in my head and
chest. I am confined to my bed, and though Doctor Waldron does
not say it, I know he thinks I am bound for Davy Jones' locker.
So be it--I've lived to a reasonable Age, and had a fair Time in
the living. I've done that which isn't according to Laws, either
of Man or God--but for the Former, I was not Caught, and for the
Latter, I'm willing to chance him in death. When you were last
in Annapolis, I intended to mention a Matter to you, but
something prevented, I know not what, and you got Away ere I was
aware of it. Now, fearing lest I Die before you come again, I
will Write it, though it is against the Doctor's orders--which,
however, I obey only when it pleases me.
"You are familiar with certain Episodes in my Early Life, spent
under the Jolly Roger on the Spanish Main, and you have
maintained Silence--for which I shall always be your debtor. You
have, moreover, always been my Friend, and for that, I am more
than your debtor. It is, therefore, but Mete that you should be
my Heir--and I have this day Executed my last Will and Testament,
bequeathing to you all my Property and effects. It is left with
Mr. Dulany, the Attorney, who wrote it, to be probated in due
Season.
"But there still remains a goodly portion which, for obvious
reasons, may not be so disposed of. I mean my buried Treasure. I
buried it in September, 1720, shortly after I came to Annapolis,
trusting not to keep so great an Amount in my House. It amounts
to about half my Fortune, and Approximates near to Fifty Thousand
Pounds, though that may be but a crude Estimate at best, for I am
not skilled in the judging of Precious Stones. Where I obtained
this wealth, I need not mention, though you can likely guess. And
as there is nothing by which it can be identified, you can use it
without Hesitation. Subject, however, to one Restriction: As it
was not honestly come by (according to the World's estimate,
because, forsooth, I only risked my Life in the gathering,
instead of pilfering it from my Fellow man in Business, which is
the accepted fashion) I ask you not to use it except in an
Extremity of Need. If that need does not arise in your Life, you,
in turn, may pass this letter on to your heir, and he, in turn,
to his heir, and so on, until such Time as the Need may come, and
the Restriction be lifted. And now to find the Treasure:--
"Seven hundred and fifty feet--and at right angles to the water
line--from the extreme tip of Greenberry Point, below Annapolis,
where the Severn runs into the Chesapeake, are four large Beech
trees, standing as of the corners of a Square, though not
equidistant. Bisect this Square, by two lines drawn from the
Corners. At a Point three hundred and thirty feet,
North-by-North-East, from where these two lines intersect and at
a depth of Six feet, you will come upon an Iron Box. It contains
the Treasure. And I wish you (or whoever recovers it) Joy of
it!--as much joy with it as I had in the Gathering.
"Lest I die before you come again to Annapolis, I shall leave
this letter with Mr. Dulany, to be delivered to you on the First
Occasion. I judge him as one who will respect a Dead man's seal.
If I see you not again, Farewell. I am, sir, with great
respect,
"Y'r humb'l & obed't Serv'nt
"Robert Parmenter.
"To Marmaduke Duval, Esq'r."
Below was written, by another hand:
"The Extremity of Need has not arisen, I pass it on to my son.
"M.D."
And below that, by still another hand:
"Neither has the Need come to me. I pass it to my son.
"D.D."
And below that, by still another hand:
"Nor to me. I pass it to my son.
"M.D."
And below that:
"The Extremity of Need brushed by me so close I heard the
rustling of its gown, but I did not dig. I have sufficient for
me, and I am the last of my line. I pass it, therefore, to my
good friend Hugh Croyden (and, in the event that he predecease
me, to his son Geoffrey Croyden), to whom Clarendon will go upon
my demise.
"D.D."
Croyden read the last endorsement again; then he smiled, and the smile
broadened into an audible laugh.
The heir of a pirate! Well, at least, it promised something to engage
him, if time hung heavily on his hands. The Duvals seem to have taken
the bequest seriously--so, why not he? And, though the extremity of
need seems never to have reached them, it was peculiar that none of the
family had inspected the locality and satisfied himself of the accuracy
of the description. The extreme tip of Greenberry Point had shifted, a
dozen times, likely, in a hundred and ninety years, and the four beech
trees had long since disappeared, but there was no note of these facts
to aid the search. He must start just where Robert Parmenter had left
off: with the letter.
He found an old history of Maryland in the book-case. It contained a
map. Annapolis was somewhere on the Western Shore, he knew. He ran his
eyes down the Chesapeake. Yes, here it was--with Greenberry Point just
across the Severn. So much of the letter was accurate, at least. The
rest would bear investigation. Some time soon he would go across, and
take a look over the ground. Greenberry Point, for all he knew, might
be built up with houses, or blown half a mile inland, or turned into a
fort, or anything. It was not likely to have remained the same, as in
Parmenter's day; and, yet, if it had changed, why should not the Duvals
have remarked it, in making their endorsements.
He put the letter back in the secret compartment, where it had rested
for so many years. Evidently, Colonel Duval had forgotten it, in his
last brief illness. And Fortune had helped him in the finding. Would it
help him to the treasure as well? For with him, the restriction was
lifted--the extremity of need was come. Moreover, it was time that the
letter should be put to the test.
V