ROGER CARRINGTON.
"Wasn't it queer that Lieutenant Ralston should happen in!" exclaimed
Jaqueline at the breakfast table. "We were just going in to supper, and
Madam Carrington would have him join us. She is a charming old lady,
and Mrs. Carrington, the daughter-in-law, is bright and entertaining.
They're some way back connections of our own mother's, of both
mothers," with a bright blush, nodding over at Patricia. "And there are
two sons, fine young men--one is private secretary to Colonel Monroe.
We shall see him to-night. Only what do you think? He advises us to
wait until Mrs. Madison is in the White House. And Mr. Ralston said,
See her in her own house."
"Jack," said her father, using the detested cognomen, "your tongue is
hung in the middle and swings both ways. Jane, Mrs. Carrington sent her
regards to you, and would like very much to meet you, since both of her
grandsons are acquainted with Arthur. The relationship seems to puzzle
most people, and they take you for my daughter. Do I really look old
enough for a grandfather?"
Mrs. Jettson laughed at that. It was rather confusing at times.
"And they begged us to come over and make a visit. Both ladies are so
fond of girls. Madam Carrington said they tried to keep someone with
them all the time. And, Annis, they were so much interested in hearing
about you, and wished you had been brought along."
Annis raised her eyes to her mother with a soft reproach in them.
"But I am the oldest," said Varina with jealous dignity.
"When next I go out to supper I shall have to take a caravan," declared
Mr. Mason humorously. "Jane, _do_ you think you can manage these girls
for a few days and keep them out of the clutches of the young men? You
will have your hands full. But I am needed at home, and I feel that we
must go. So after breakfast we will gather up the small fry. Charles,
have you seen enough of Washington?"
"Not half enough, but I'll come back some time. And I think I'll be a
senator."
"What--not President!"
"I should have to be Vice President first," he returned gravely, at
which they all laughed.
"I do not see why you should hurry!" exclaimed Jane. "The house is
large enough for you all."
"There's a storm brewing, for one thing, and it's a busy season. Then
we do not desire to drive you into insanity."
"My brains are on a more solid foundation than that would imply,"
retorted Jane.
There was quite a confusion when they rose. The squire was always in a
hurry when any arrangement was settled upon. And since Jane was like an
elder sister to the girls----
"You will have to keep them over to next week," he began. "I shall not
be able to get away before--well, the very last. You might let them
spend a day or two with the Carringtons."
"Oh, we shall get along all right, never fear!"
"They're only children, you know," and the squire knit his brow over
a phase of fatherhood he could not make plain to himself, much less
explain to another. "I had an idea Catharine would sober Jaqueline down
a little, being a clergyman's wife and all that, but she's just as much
of a child as ever."
"Oh, you need not feel worried about Jaqueline. And it will be very
nice for them both to see the President and Mr. Jefferson, who is sure
to be there. Everybody is rushing to do them honor. I wish you could
stay."
"I've seen them both many a time, Jane, and every other President. Your
father is right in one thing, Washington _was_ a grand man. There--do
not let the girls run wild."
Annis scarcely let her mother out of her sight. Mrs. Jettson kissed
her and said she was a nice little thing and must come again. Charles
was enthusiastic over his good time, and had much to talk about on the
homeward journey.
"You have used your eyes to some purpose," said his mother with smiling
commendation.
Mr. Evans thought so, as well. He was very proud of his pupil.
Annis enjoyed the great world out of doors more than she did her
lessons. When they were over she and Charles rambled about the
beautiful country-sides, gathering armfuls of flowers, listening to the
singing birds that filled the woods. The whole plantation was astir
with life. Corn and tobacco, wheat and oats, were the great staples,
but there was much besides in fruit and vegetables, in flocks and
herds. Slaves were busy from morning to night; it seemed as if the
place was dotted with them. Randolph Mason was an easy master. Mrs.
Mason found the care of so large a household no light thing. It was
truly a colony of people depending upon them for advice and training
of all sorts, for comfort in sorrow or death, for a willing ear in all
troubles.
It was a full fortnight before Mr. Mason could find time to go for his
girls. Jaqueline had sipped pleasure continually. The reception had
indeed been a crush and an informal affair, a mere calling upon the
head of the nation in a congratulatory way. Yet there were beautifully
gowned women, and famous men, and Mrs. Madison was cordial and affable.
In the dining room the table was replenished continually, and the
smiling waiters seemed at everyone's elbow.
After that Mr. Jefferson had gone to his beloved Monticello, although
there was no wife to welcome him, and only one daughter now. And the
new President was established at the White House. First there was
a state dinner to the ministers and the official family, and then a
levee.
Jaqueline and Patricia were surprised by a call from Mrs. Carrington,
who had driven over with her son to give her invitation in person and
take them back with her to Georgetown.
A quaint old house full of nooks and corners, and a garden laid out
with curious winding walks, full of old-fashioned flowers and shrubs,
some having been brought from the royal gardens of Paris, and one queer
space with clipped yews and a great tulip bed, so sheltered from the
wind and with such a sunny exposure that it was showing color in the
buds already.
Patricia, with her girlish eagerness, went to the heart of Madam at
once. She was so frank and chatty, and laughed with such an inspiriting
sound, that it gave the quiet house ripples of gayety.
Jaqueline and Mrs. Carrington fraternized in a delightful manner. She
was a rather small, fair woman, whose education abroad and whose family
had been her chief virtues in the eyes of her mother-in-law, who was a
great stickler for birth. She had made a good wife and mother, though
it must be confessed that when Madam Carrington lost her son she took
complete possession of her grandsons. In spite of strong patriotism
Roger had been sent to Oxford for three years, and had taken his degree
at law in Baltimore. Ralph was quite a bookworm, but extremely fond of
agriculture.
The longing of both women had been for a daughter. Though they seldom
compared notes on the subject, Roger's wife was a matter of much
speculation to them. Early marriages were the rule rather than the
exception; and though they were ready to invite relatives and friends
for visits and select admirable girls, Roger was single at twenty-four,
an admirer of the sex and quite fond of pleasure, and ever ready to
make himself agreeable.
Squire Mason had insisted that his girls were but children, but
Jaqueline was assuming the graces of womanhood rapidly. Mrs. Carrington
admired her slim, lithe figure, her pretty face with its fine
complexion and laughing eyes that often twinkled from an overflow
of mirth. There was in the young people of that day a very charming
deference to elders, and with all Jaqueline's wildness and love of fun
there was the innate touch of good breeding, the debt it was considered
one positively owed to society.
Mr. Ralph had gathered quite a menagerie of small pet animals; and, as
no one was allowed to disturb the birds, the garden and strip of woods
still remaining were filled with their melody. There was a summerhouse
that, while it looked light and was overrun with blossoming vines, was
secure from rain and had one furnished room which was a great favorite
with the young man.
The little eminence gave a fine view of Rock Creek and the wilder
country to the northward. When improvements begin, as is often the
case, an estate not large enough for a farm becomes unprofitable. The
town was growing rapidly; indeed, it had been a refuge when the first
Congress met in Washington, as there were so few houses in the Capital.
The patrician resort, where men of note had mingled and discussed the
interests of the country over their choice Madeira and before the
blazing fire of their host, was Suter's tavern, which kept its old
reputation, being one of the historic places while history was yet so
new. And the Convent of the Visitation was still a favorite with those
who did not want to send their daughters away from home, or were of
the same faith. Maryland had been settled largely by Roman Catholics,
and Virginia was the first State to insist on equal rights for all
denominations, while her people were generally stanch Churchmen.
There was a cordial, attractive, and refined element in Georgetown,
and much gayety among the young people. It was quite a common thing for
foreigners to sneer at the lack of courtly usage in the Colonies, and
the want of fine distinctions one found in foreign life, which were the
outgrowth of years of training and experience, and where common people
were held in awe by the "divinity that doth hedge a king." But the men
who had fought side by side, slept on the ground, endured all kinds of
hardships for the sake of a free country, were imbued with that sense
of equality quite different from the mushroom adjustment of the French
Revolution. There was a more generous culture of the soul, and much
more intelligence than the period is credited with. When one looks
back at the long line of statesmen, all more or less identified with
the great struggle and the pioneer mode of life, one finds a galaxy of
noble men that few lands can equal, and who built an enduring name for
themselves in building their country.
Many of the young people had been educated abroad, but Harvard, King's
College, Nassau Hall, and William and Mary were even now taking a high
stand in educational matters. And both Boston and Philadelphia had
some finishing schools, while the Moravian Seminary was already quite
celebrated for the repose and refinement of manner young girls acquired
within its nun-like seclusion. But the ideal training of women had not
gone far beyond what was considered the strictly feminine boundary: to
be graceful and attractive, with a certain freshness of repartee, to
dance well, to entertain, and to order a household. For in the higher
circles one might have to receive a count or a traveling lord or a
French marquis, or be sent abroad as the wife of some minister.
Georgetown had the advantage of more stability than Washington, and had
grown up around home centers. Representatives came and went, often not
considering it worth while to bring their families. Senators were still
largely interested in the welfare of their own States, rather than that
of the distant Capital. Thus it came to pass that Georgetown was really
attractive and rapidly improving. Streets had a more finished look.
Gardens were large and well kept, as there was no need of crowding.
The Carrington young men had seen the progress of advancement and
yielded to it with a sense of foresight. The outlying land had been
cut up into squares--some places sold, some rented. Roger had many
excellent business traits. Enough was left for beauty and a boundary of
fine forest trees on two sides, a third a prettily diversified space
sloping down to the creek, the other commanding a fine view of the
town.
"You ride, of course?" Roger had said the next morning after their
arrival.
"What Virginia girl does not?" Jaqueline returned with a gay smile.
"It bids fair to be a pleasant, sunny day, mother. What is that
despondent song you sing so much?
"'Many a bright and sunshiny morning
Turns dismal'--
and he paused----
"'Turns to be a dark and dismal day.'
"Well, don't sing it to-day, and I will come home early if I can get
away, and take Miss Jaqueline out. Ralph, you might invite Patricia.
We will go up the creek road. The birds are out in force already; the
shore larks and the thrush are making melody that would rejoice the
heart of Robin Hood."
"But--I have no habit," replied Jaqueline, her bright face shadowed
with disappointment.
"Oh, mother can look you up something. We have attire that came over
with my Lord de la Ware's ships. Why shouldn't we be as proud as of
old _Mayflower_ tables and cups and cloaks that the New Englanders dote
on?"
"I can find something, I am sure," was the motherly reply.
"Come out and take a breath of this delicious air."
That was meant for Jaqueline, who followed the young man out on the
porch, down the steps, and then they loitered through the garden walk.
The old white-haired gardener was clearing up the garden beds.
"Mornin', massa and young missy," he said, with a touch of his hand to
his head, that looked like a wig of crinkly wool.
Roger paused and gave some orders. Then he gathered a few wild violets
and gave them to the girl with a graceful gesture.
His mother was watching. "If he only would come to care for someone!"
she mused. He was a general admirer of the sex, as the young men of
that day were wont to be. "And the Masons are a fine family. I would
like nothing better."
How many times she had given anticipatory consent!
Jaqueline sent him off with a pretty smile that he forgot all about
when Ajax whinnied and thrust his nose into his master's hand. He had
been waiting the last fifteen minutes for the well-known voice.
"Fine old fellow!" his master said, with a caressing touch of the hand.
"And now we must be off, or the colonel will be in a fume."
"I'll go up in the storeroom," began Mrs. Carrington, glancing the
young girl over. "Mother, I do believe that green velvet jacket would
fit Miss Jaqueline. You wouldn't believe that I was once quite as slim
as you?" to the young girl.
"I'm sure you're not to be called stout now," said the madam, who
despised a superabundance of flesh and yet hated leanness. She was a
fine, perfectly proportioned woman, straight as an arrow, in spite of
her more than seventy years.
"But it always was tight in the shoulders. You see, my dear, when
things are ordered abroad there's not an inch to alter them with--and
then I went in mourning. Would you like to come upstairs with me?"
Patricia had gone off to look at the guineas and peacocks who had
stoutly insisted upon early broods. Madam had gone over to the open
window with some fine needlework. Jaqueline followed her hostess up the
broad stairway, through the spacious hall lighted by the cupola above,
and into an ell where the main storeroom was snugly hidden.
What big old chests, with brass and iron clamps and binding and hinges!
A row of deep drawers that held the best family linen and napery,
some of it saved from destruction thirty years ago in the war that was
already half forgotten. There was a sweet scent about the room, made by
bunches of lavender, rosemary, and a sweet clover, much cultivated in
gardens, and the fragrance of dried rose leaves.
"There have been so many things laid by. We hoped there would be girls
to take them," and Mrs. Carrington gave a soft sigh. "What a merry
household you must be! There are younger girls----"
"Yes, Varina, our own sister, and Annis, mother's little girl."
"I am much interested in your new mother. She seems a very kindly,
amiable person. Back some distance she was connected with the
Carringtons, you know."
"And she was our own mother's cousin. Oh, we are all in love with her,
I assure you. And it is quite delightful for father to have someone
to consider him first of all. It's funny what marriage does to a
woman," and Jaqueline gave a light laugh. "I suppose we _did_ try Aunt
Catharine, but she used to nag at father until sometimes he would lose
his temper. And now she is always quoting and admiring Mr. Conway, and
runs around after him as if he was a child. I am sure father is much
more delightful to live with, he is so merry and full of fun. Not but
what Mr. Conway is a gentleman and kind of heart."
"But your aunt was no longer a young girl."
"And falling in love is a queer happening. Love is writ blind," and
Jaqueline laughed daintily.
"The little girl of your mother's?--I was sorry not to see her. Is she
like her mother?"
"She is a shy, dainty little thing, with a sweet temper and a kind of
homesick way now and then, as if she longed to fly away somewhere with
her mother. Of course we all like her, and father has taken her to
his heart. Charles thinks her a nonesuch, since she is never weary of
hearing him read aloud. And though Charles is the youngest, Varina has
always been the baby, and I think she is jealous. It is very amusing at
times."
"I am glad you get along so well together. It must be a great pleasure
to your father to have a companion of his very own. And you girls will
presently marry."
"I mean to have a good, merry time first. What a pity the winter is
gone just as we have a new President! Congress will soon be adjourned,
and Jane says Washington is dismal in the summer."
She opened a box, where the garment had lain many a year, being taken
out at the annual cleaning, brushed carefully, and laid away again. It
had a high collar and lapels worked with veritable gold thread that had
not tarnished.
"Yes--many people do go away. The town has not improved as we all hoped
it would. But there is an old adage that Rome was not built in a day.
And we are a comparatively new country. Oh, here is the jacket!"
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Jaqueline.
"The buttons want rubbing up. We will take it to Betty, who can tell
if it needs altering. I keep the sleeves stuffed out with cotton so it
will not wrinkle or mat. A London tailor made it, yet it looks fresh as
if it had just been sent over."
They found Betty, who was supervising some of the sewing girls. Most of
the ordinary wearing clothes of the family and the servants' belongings
were made in the house. There was fine mending and darning, and much
drawn work done by some of the better-class house slaves.
Jaqueline tried on the pretty jacket, and there was not much alteration
to be made in it. The young girl felt curiously gratified as she
studied her slim figure in the mirror. She had never owned anything so
fine, and certainly it was most becoming.
"Then, Betty, alter the band of my black cloth skirt. That is the best
we can do just now."
"Oh, you are most kind!" and Jaqueline took both hands in a warm clasp,
while the glancing eyes were suffused with delight.
"And now if you both like we will go out for an airing, as I have some
errands to do."
Jaqueline was ready for any diversion. Ralph proposed to drive them, as
he had a little business to attend to.
There were several attractive shops in Georgetown, and the hairdressing
seemed to be brisk, judging from numerous signs. In one window were
wigs of various colors from fair to dark. Indeed, there had been a
great era of wigs for both men and women, and especially among the fair
sex, who thought even two wigs much cheaper than the continual bills of
the hairdresser, when they were crisped into curls, pinned up in puffs,
and a great crown laid on top of the head, built up in the artifices
known to fashion, to be surmounted by feathers. The wide hoop was
diminishing as well, and graceful figures were likely to be once more
the style.
The dinner-hour in most society families was at two, and at the
Carringtons' it was quite a stately meal, with often an unexpected
guest, made just as welcome as if by invitation. And to-day a Mr. and
Mrs. Hudson had driven up from Alexandria--old friends who had many
things to inquire about after a winter of seclusion, and most eager to
learn how the new President had been received, and whether there would
really be war.
No one was in a hurry. People truly lived then. Patricia thought it
rather stupid, as no one referred to her with any question or comment;
even Mr. Ralph, who had proved so entertaining all the morning,
scarcely noticed her, as he had to play the host. But Jaqueline quite
shone. When Mrs. Hudson heard she had been at the reception, she must
describe not only the ladies and their gowns, but whether Mr. Jefferson
was as ready to lay down the cares of state as most people said, and if
Mrs. Madison had not aged by the continual demands that had been made
upon her.
"For she is coming quite to middle life," said Mrs. Hudson.
"And could discount fully ten years," returned Ralph.
"They all paint and powder, I have heard. So much dissipation cannot be
good for women. But, then, she has no children to look after. Her son
is at school. It does make a difference if one brings up half a dozen
children and has to think of getting them settled in life."
She had had her share, good Mistress Hudson. Three daughters to marry,
which she had done well; one son to bury; one rambling off, whether
dead or alive no one knew; and one still left, a prop for declining
years, but his mother was as anxious to keep him single as Mrs.
Carrington was that her sons should marry.
They had risen from the table, and the horses had been ordered when Mr.
Carrington came in. He saw how Jaqueline's face lighted up.
"The days are a little longer, and we will have our ride yet," he said
in a whispered aside. But there was still some talking to do. Jaqueline
made her adieus and went to put on her habit. Standing in the hall
above, she waited until patience was a lost virtue.
Then Roger Carrington called to her.
"I thought they would never go, they prosed and prosed so!"
"We shall be old ourselves some day," he returned with a smile, "and
perhaps prose while young people are waiting."
Then he turned her around with gentlemanly grace, admiration in his
eyes.
"Is it the jackdaw that appears in borrowed plumes--some bird I
have heard tell of. Why birds should borrow plumes--I am shamefully
ignorant, am I not?" raising her eyes with a spice of mischief.
"Let us go and ask Ralph," he said with assumed gravity. "It will not
take him long to run through two or three tomes."
"And ride by moonlight?"
"There is no moon."
"Does she not look well, Roger? A tailor could not have fitted the
habit better. Do not go very far, for the air might grow chilly again."
"We will go up the creek a short distance."
Then he mounted her upon the pretty mare, his brother's favorite, for
Ralph had not cared to ride. Patricia looked on a little disappointed,
yet she did not really wish to go, for Madam Carrington had been
telling her a curious love story about a little maid who had been sent
over with a number of redemptioners, as those who were bound for a
number of years were called. She had attracted the pity of a kindly
man, who had purchased her years of service for his wife. Then the son
had fallen in love with her, which had roused the mother's anger, when
she sent her son to England to be educated and perhaps fall in love
with a cousin. The little maid was rather hardly treated, when someone
came to the colony in search of her, and it turned out that she was
well born and heiress to a grand estate, held by a relative who had
formed a villainous plot against her and reported her dead. Now that he
was dying without heirs, he was desirous of making tardy reparation.
There were few story books to fall into girls' hands in those days.
Swift and Sterne and Smollett were kept out of reach. Miss Burney was
hardly considered proper, and Miss Austen had not been heard of in the
Colonies.
Patricia was fond of old legends and ghost stories, with which the
plantation was rife, and which had grown up about old houses. Unhappy
lovers had a weird, fascinating interest for young girls, even if
the lives of the day were the reverse of sentimental. All through the
dinner she had been wondering if the little maid met her lover again;
but that she came back to America, she knew, for her portrait hung in
the hall among the Carrington ladies.
Ajax and Daphne rubbed noses, flung up their heads, and started off.
Tame enough now is the winding creek, which was rough and rapid then,
and which traveled from the upper edge of Maryland, gathering in many a
little stream, rushing along in some places over great stones, winding
about placidly in others, and then joining the Potomac.