THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER
About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement
on Gray Goose River--Fort Beatrix it was called--the sky clouded, the
voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By
Trigget's advice--and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the
plantation--the pelts and gear of the _Pelican_ were removed to the
storehouse.
"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your
plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye
couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper.
"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell.
Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he
answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out
o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to
spare for your men, what with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and
boat-buildin'."
So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of
winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he
would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons
expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that,
Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit
him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from
agreeable to the French adventurer.
When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still
falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil
of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred
by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting
wilderness.
Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal,
and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two
gentlemen had an hour of private conversation.
"This Captain d'Antons--what of him?" inquired Kingswell.
"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago,
before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in
London. He was reported rich. He had sailed many voyages to the West
Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold
Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a
child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing
else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her
dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but
here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or
two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little
hand--and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip,
lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my
trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all
the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring
voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for
land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A
boat-load of armed men left the pirate--yes, that's what she was, a damn
pirate--and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of
her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he
knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said
was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and
joined our expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with
his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung
to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show
his hoof now and again, I'd like it better--for then we would all be on
our guard."
"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be
reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell.
"Has he a stake in the colony?"
The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my
secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended
some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other
reason than that he is in love with my daughter."
"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly.
"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had
us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which
he now sues, he accepted my word of honour--mark you, he accepted what I
had scarce the face to offer--that I would not withstand his suit, nor
allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my
hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman."
"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly.
"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared
that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his
game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God
that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But
no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword
would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should
kill me, for my men hate him."
"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell.
"You do not understand--you cannot understand--how delicate a thing to
keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without
honour," replied the other, sadly.
"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find
his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St.
John's."
"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to
escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as
a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years."
"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind
to it," retorted Kingswell. "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being
billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a
monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of
Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer."
"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation,
even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I
have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but
that Time may shuffle the pack before long?"
Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay
gowns--in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled--by which her girlish
beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a
brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were
bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and
dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and
skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To
all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched
her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her
gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner
of the bench by the hearth, gazed at this vision of loveliness with
wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons
and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the
Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a
woman--a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black
Feather's squaw--no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to
note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet.
She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head.
But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members
of this flashing young divinity.
"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the
dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the
great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any
more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked
upon such beauty and such raiment?"
His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his
amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on
the bench.
"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not notice you before. So you
are Master Kingswell's ward?"
Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's
hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question.
"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell.
"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress
Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend."
"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend."
"And my friend, too?" asked the girl.
"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so--so--like he called the sky one
morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell.
"What was that?" she queried.
"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling.
"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa.
Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said.
"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very
provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss
Westleigh.
"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles."
The girl could not deny it, for the table was spread in the same
room,--a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a
fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had
been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard.
The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china
dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well
served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all
was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence--potent magic enough to a
young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women
of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the
gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate
painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the
vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was
lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly,
and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked
puzzled for a moment,--then confused,--then, with a little,
indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder.
"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a
compliment for, oh, ever so long." She looked across the table at
Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and
darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling.