THE NINETEENTH OF FEBRUARY
"That's true," quoth Gaudylock. "It's the cracked I pitcher that goes
oftenest to the well, and a delicate lady that's lain a-dying on her bed
this twenty year may live to see you and me and the blacksmith buried!
There never was a Churchill that I didn't like, and I'm certainly glad
she's better this morning. If you're going to Greenwood, I'll bear you
company for a bit. I'm bound for Roselands myself."
Ludwell Cary dismounted and, with his bridle across his arm, walked
beside the hunter. "Albemarle has not seen you for a long while," he
said pleasantly. "The county is fond of you, and glad to have you home
again."
"So a lady told me the other day!" answered Adam. "It has been a year
since I was in Albemarle,--but I saw you, sir, last winter in Richmond."
"Last winter? I don't recall--"
"At Lynch's Coffee House. The twentieth of February. The day the
Albemarle Resolutions were passed."
"Ah!" breathed Cary. The two walked on, now in sun, now in shade, upon
the quiet road. The drouth was broken. There had been a torrential rain,
then two days of sunshine. A cool wind now stirred the treetops; the
mountains drew closer in the crystal air, and the washed fields renewed
their green. So bright and sunny was the morning that the late summer
wore the air of spring. Cary stood still beside a log, huge and mossy,
that lay beside the road. "Let us rest here a moment," he said, and,
taking his seat, began to draw in the dust before him with the butt of
his whip. "I do not remember seeing you that day. I did not know that
you were in Richmond."
"I was there," answered Adam cheerfully, "on business." He took an acorn
from the ground and balanced it upon a brown forefinger. "It's a
handsome place--Lynch's--and, my faith, one sees the best of company! I
was there with Lewis Rand."
"Ah!"
The sound was sharp, and long like an indrawn breath. Adam, who could
read the tones of a man's voice, glanced aside and remembered the
quarrel. "Thin ice there, and crackling twigs!" he thought. "Look where
you set your moccasin, Golden-Tongue!" Aloud he said, "You and your
brother came in out of the snow, and read your letters by the fire. It
had fallen thick the day before."
"Yes, I remember. A heavy fall all day, but at night it cleared."
"Yes," went on the other blithely. "I was at Lewis Rand's on Shockoe
Hill, and when I walked home, the stars were shining. What's the matter,
sir?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"I thought," quoth Adam, "that some varmint had stung you." He looked
thoughtfully at the acorn. "You are a schollard, Mr. Cary. Is the whole
oak, root, branch, and seed, in the acorn--bound to come out just that
way?"
"So they say," answered Cary. "And in the invisible acorn of that oak a
second tree, and that second holds a third, and the third a fourth, and
so on through the magic forest. Consequences to the thousandth
generation. You were saying that you were at Mr. Rand's the night of the
nineteenth of February."
"Was I?" asked Adam, with coolness. "Oh, yes! I went over to talk with
him about a buffalo skin and some antlers of elk that he wanted for
Roselands--and the stars were shining when I came away." To himself he
said, "Now why did he start like that a moment back? It wasn't because
the snow had stopped and the stars were shining. Where was _he_ that
night?"
Cary drew a circle in the dust with the handle of his whip. "You were at
Lynch's with Mr. Rand the next afternoon. And immediately after that you
returned to the West?"
Adam nodded. The acorn was yet poised upon his finger, but his keen blue
eyes were for the other's face and form, bent over the drawing in the
dusty road. "Ay, West I went," he said cheerfully. "I'm just a born
wanderer! I can't any more stay in one town than a bird can stay on one
bush."
"A born wanderer," said Cary pleasantly, "is almost always a born good
fellow. How long this time will be your stay in Albemarle?"
"Why, that's as may be," answered Adam, with vagueness. "I'm mighty fond
of this country in the fall of the year, and I've a hankering for an
old-time Christmas at home--But, my faith; wanderers never know when the
fit will take them! It may be to-morrow, and it may be next year."
"You and Mr. Rand are old friends?"
"You may say that," exclaimed the hunter. "There's a connection
somewhere between the Gaudylocks and the Rands, and I knew Gideon better
than most men. As for Lewis, I reckon there was a time when I was almost
his only friend. I've stood between him and many a beating, and 'twas I
that taught him to shoot. A fine place he's making out of Roselands!"
"Yes," agreed Cary, with a quick sigh; "a beautiful place. The West is
in a ferment just now, is it not? One hears much talk of
dissatisfaction."
"Why, all that sort of thing is told me when I come home," said Adam.
"The Indians call such idle speech talk of singing birds. My faith, I
think all the singing birds in the Mississippi Territory have flown
East! In the West we don't listen to them. That's a fine mare you're
riding, sir! You should see the wild horses start up from the prairie
grass."
"That would be worth seeing. Have you ever, in your wanderings, come
across Aaron Burr?"
Adam regarded the other side of the acorn. "Aaron Burr! Why, I wouldn't
say that I mayn't have seen him somewhere. A man who traps and trades,
and hunts and fishes, up and down a thousand miles of the Mississippi
River is bound to come across a mort of men. But 'twould be by accident.
He's a gentleman and a talker, and he was the Vice-President. I reckon
he runs with the Governor and the General and the gentleman-planter and
the New Orleans ladies." Adam laughed genially. "I know a red lip or two
in New Orleans myself, but they're not ladies! and I drink with the
soldiers, but not with the General. What's your interest, sir, in Aaron
Burr?"
"The common interest," said Cary, rising. "When you quit Albemarle this
time, you quit it alone?"
Gaudylock tossed aside the acorn. "That is my fortune," he answered
coolly.
Cary swung himself into his saddle. "The woods, I see, teach but half
the Spartan learning. We'll part here, I think, unless you'll come by
Greenwood?"
"Thank you kindly, sir, but I've a bit of a woodsman's job to look after
at Roselands. What was the Spartan learning?"
"You are going," replied the other, "to the house of a gentleman who
knows the classics. Ask him. Good-day!"
"Good-day," said Adam somewhat abruptly, and with a thoughtful face
watched the other ride away. "He has been listening," thought the
hunter, "to singing birds. Now when, and where, and to how loud a
singing? The nineteenth of February--and the snowstorm--and the stars
shining as I walked home from Shockoe Hill. He didn't know that I was in
Richmond! Then, was he on Burr's trail? Humph! Where _was_ Mr. Ludwell
Cary the night of the nineteenth of February?" Adam took up his gun and
coonskin cap. "I'll see if Lewis can make that light," he said, and
turned his face to Roselands.
Ludwell Cary rode to Greenwood, dismounted, and, going into the library,
took from the drawer of his desk a letter, opened it, and ran it over.
"As to your enquiries," said the letter, "Swartwout and Bollman are
believed to be in New Orleans, Ogden in Kentucky, and Aaron Burr himself
at a Mr. Harman Blennerhassett's on the Ohio. Rumour has it that Burr's
daughter and her son are travelling to meet him. It says, moreover, that
a number of gentlemen in the East are winding up their affairs
preparatory to leaving for the West. One and all look more innocent than
lambs, but they dream at night of sénoritas, besieged cities, and the
mines of Montezuma! There's a report to-day that Burr is levying troops.
That's war. If these men go, they'll not return." Cary laid down the
letter. "If these men go, they'll not return. Is Lewis Rand so fixed in
Albemarle?"
He moved from the desk to an old chess table and, sitting down, began to
move the pieces this way and that. "The nineteenth of February--the
nineteenth of February." He saw again a firelit room, and heard the
tapping of maple boughs against a window. There she sat in her dress of
festive white, listening to a denunciation of Aaron Burr and those
concerned with him--and all the time the man beneath her roof! Cary
sighed impatiently and moved another piece. Adam Gaudylock, who had let
slip that he had been there as well--and then had been careful to let
slip no other fact of value, except, indeed, the fact that he was thus
careful! Cary covered his lips with his hand and sat staring at the
board. The problem, then, was to construct from the hunter's character
the hunter's part. A keen trader, scout, and enthusiast of the West,
known to and knowing the men of those parts, and able to bend the
undercurrents--a delighter in danger, with a boy's zest for intrigue,
risk, and daring--an uncomplex mind, little troubled by theories of
political obligation, political faith and unfaith, loyalty to government
or its reverse--a being born to adventure, but to adventure under
guidance, skilled and gay subaltern to some graver, abler leader--that,
he thought, would be Adam Gaudylock. An old, old friend of Lewis
Rand's--"There's a connection somewhere between the Gaudylocks and the
Rands."
Cary put out his hand and moved a piece with suddenness. "Granted the
connection," he said aloud. His eye gleamed. "That night Rand agreed
with Burr. Gaudylock would have been there to give information;
probably, seeing that he went West immediately afterwards, to receive
instructions. But he is an asset of Lewis Rand's, not of Burr's."
His hand touched the piece again. "An asset of Lewis Rand's--Rand and
Burr--Rand and Burr. What was it that they plotted that night while she
talked to me of the new song she had learned? An expedition against
Mexico, an attack upon the dominions of the King of Spain with whom we
are at peace? Or a revolution in the country west of the Ohio? The one's
a misdemeanour; the other's treason." He moved a rook. "Most like 'twas
both--the first to mask the second. The boldest, simplest, most
comprehensive stroke; there, there would show the mind of Lewis Rand!"
He rose and paced the long, cool room, then came back to the chess
table. "They parted. Burr to the North, as I found the next morning;
this trader, as he says, back to the West; Lewis Rand quiet in Richmond,
quiet here in Albemarle. Quiet! That speech of his--those letters in the
Enquirer. How long has he been breaking with Mr. Jefferson? That
journey, too, to Philadelphia--whom did he see there? Swartwout,
Bollman, perhaps Burr himself? Home he comes to Albemarle and begins
improving Roselands. Cases too, in court, and a queue of waiting
clients, and Richmond to return to in November. Granted there's a
strange emigration West; but Lewis Rand--Lewis Rand's as fixed in
Virginia as are the Churchills and the Carys!"
He slowly lifted and as slowly moved a queen. "And what other course,
from time out of mind, does the disloyal pursue? A mask--all a mask. He,
too, is for the West. He goes to join Burr; goes, if his fate stands
true, to supplant Burr. Matters draw to a point, and he has little time
to spare! Say that he goes"--A movement of his arm, involuntary and
sharp, jarred the table and disarranged the board. "Will he go alone?"
Cary rose and walked the floor. "I must know--I must know." He paused at
a western window, and with unseeing eyes gazed into the blue distance.
"Were he Ludwell Cary, would he fare forth on his adventure alone?
Perhaps. Being Lewis Rand, will he go without her, leave her behind? A
thousand times, no! Even now this daughter of Burr's is hurrying by day
and by night over rough and over smooth, to join her father; how much
more, then, shall lover go with lover, the faithful wife with the
all-conquering husband! She shall be there to buckle on our armour, to
heal us with her kiss when the long day's work is over!" He bent his
brow upon his arm. "O God, O God!"
From the hall without there sounded a clear whistle, and Fairfax Cary
appeared in the library door. "Are you there, Ludwell? It's all dark in
here after the sun outside. I am going to town."
The elder brother left the window. "Wait a little, Fair. I want to talk
to you. Do you remember the night of the nineteenth of February?"
"Yes," said the other. "It had been snowing, and then it cleared
brilliantly. I went to the Mayos, and I stopped by Bowler's Tavern. It
was the night that Aaron Burr slept in Richmond. I told you, you know,
that he was supping out."
"Yes. With Lewis Rand."
There was a silence, then, "So!" exclaimed Fairfax Cary, with a long
whistle.
"You are not surprised?"
"No. It explains."
"Yes," assented the other sombrely, "it explains. Fair, I want to find
out when Adam Gaudylock goes West."
"Gaudylock!" cried the other; then after a moment, "Well, I'm not
surprised at that, either. I can tell you now when he's going. In two
weeks' time."
"How do you know?"
"Unity sent a message about some work or other to Tom Mocket's sister
Vinie. I gave the message, and the girl fell to talking about Adam. She
was wearing a Spanish comb which he had brought her. I told her 't was
pretty, and she said 'Yes: 'twas from New Orleans, and if Miss Unity
would like one, Mr. Adam was going there again in two weeks.'"
"Two weeks!" brooded the other. "Fair, would you not say from every
appearance that Lewis Rand is as fixed in Albemarle and in Virginia as
you or I or any honest man? He improves Roselands; he has an important
case coming on; it is supposed that in November he will return to
Richmond. I happen to know that he has retaken the house on Shockoe
Hill." He moved restlessly. "Why should I dream that he is preparing a
moonlight flitting? dream that I see him in the gold southwest, treading
his appointed road, triumphant there as here? A moonlight flitting! When
he goes, he'll go by day--walk forth in bronze and purple, unconcerned
and confident, high and bold as any Cæsar! From what egg did he spring
that he can play the traitor and the parricide--and yet, and yet the
rose bend to his hand? Does it look, Fair, as though he were in marching
order?"
The other considered. "Do you believe that he is going West to join
Burr?"
"I do. And yet this week he is defending a case in court, and there are
others coming on. He is busy, too, at Roselands, and he has taken the
Richmond house. I am, perhaps, a suspicious, envious, and vindictive
fool."
"Roselands and the Richmond house might be a mask, He refused the
nomination for Governor."
Ludwell Cary started violently. "I had forgotten that! You have it,
Fair. He would do that--he would refuse the nomination. Lewis Rand,
Lewis Rand!"
"Have you any proof that he is conspiring with Burr?"
"None that I could advance--none. I have an inward certainty, that is
all. Nor can I--nor can I, Fair, even speak of such a suspicion. You see
that?"
"Yes, I see that."
"I repented last winter of having written that letter signed 'Aurelius.'
I _knew_ nothing, and it seemed beneath me to have made that guesswork
public. That he was my enemy should have made me careful, but I was
under strong feeling, and I wrote. He has neither forgotten nor
forgiven. Denounce him now as a conspirator against his party and his
country? That is impossible. Impossible from lack of proof, and
impossible to me were proofs as thick as blackberries! But if I can help
it, he shall not leave Virginia."
"Is it your opinion that he would take her with him?"
"Yes, it is."
"Would she go?"
Cary rose, moved to the window, and stood there a moment in silence.
When, presently, he came back to the table, his face was pale, but
lifted, controlled, and quiet. There was a saying in the county,--"The
high look of the Carys." He wore it now, the high look of the Carys.
"Yes, Fair, she would go with him."
There was a silence, then the younger spoke. "She is at Fontenoy. Mrs.
Churchill may linger long, and her niece is always with her. Rand could
not take his wife away."
"It's a check to his plans, no doubt," said the other wearily.
"He's frowning over it now. He'll wait as long as may be. He would sin,
but he would not sin meanly. In his conception of himself a greatness,
even in transgression, must clothe all that he does. He'll wait, gravely
and decently, even though to wait is his heavy risk." He made a gesture
with his hand. "Do I not know him, know him well? Sometimes I think that
for three years I've had no other study!"
"You should have let me challenge him that first election day," said
Fairfax Cary gloomily. "If we had met and I had put a bullet through
him, then all this coil would have been spared. What do you propose to
do now?"
"At the moment I am going to Fontenoy."
"I would speak, I think, to Major Edward."
"Yes: that was in my mind. If there is any right, it lies with the men
of her family. Fair, on the nineteenth of February I was at Lewis
Rand's!"
"Ah!" exclaimed his brother.
"I was admitted, as I have since come to see, by mistake, and against
orders. I found her alone in her drawing-room, and we sat by the dying
fire and we talked of this very thing, this very plot, this very Aaron
Burr--yes, and of the part a stronger than Burr might play in the West
and in Mexico! She told me that her husband was busy that night--excused
him because he was engaged with a client from the country. A client from
the country! and I, who would have taken her word against an angel's, I
sat there and wondered why she was distrait and pale! She was pale
because there was danger, she was absent because she was contriving how
she might soonest rid the house of one who was not wanted there that
night! She was dressed in gauze and gems; she had supped with Aaron
Burr--"
"I see--I see!"
"When at last I perceived, though I could not guess the reason, that she
wished to be alone, I bade her good-night, and she watched me--oh,
carefully!--through the hall and past the other doors and out of the
house. I came home through the starlight and over the snow to the Eagle.
I found you there by the fire, and you told me that Aaron Burr was in
Richmond. Then, then, Fair, I _knew_. I knew with whom Lewis Rand was
engaged, I knew who was the client from the country! The next morning I
made my inquiries. Burr had gone at dawn, muffled and secret and
swift--one man to see him off. That man, I learned to-day, was Adam
Gaudylock. He, too, was at Rand's the night before. A triumvirate, was
it not? Well, she knew, she knew--and women, too, have dreamed of
crowns!"
He rose. "I'm going to ride to Fontenoy. You can bear me witness that
I've kept away since her return. Now I shall keep away no longer. I will
speak to Major Edward. Her family may draw a circle out of which she may
not step."
"There's been," said the other, "no true reconciliation. She's only at
Fontenoy because the Churchills could not refuse a dying woman. They
speak to her as to a stranger to whom, as gentlemen, they must needs be
courteous. And she's proud, too. Unity says they are far apart."
"I know. But though the Churchill men are stubborn, they are Virginians
and they are patriots. This touches their honour and the honour of their
house. If Rand plots at all, he's plotting treason. How much does she
know, how little does she not know? God knows, not I! But they may make
a circle she cannot overstep--no, not for all the magician's piping!" He
rested his forehead upon his clasped hands. "Fair, Fair, she was my
Destiny! Why did he come like a shape of night, with the power of night?
And now he draws her, too, into the shadow. He's treading a road
beset--and they are one flesh; she travels with him. Oh, despair!"
"Have out a warrant against him."
"What proofs? and what disgrace if proved! No, Fair, no."
"Then let me challenge him."
The other smiled. "Should it come to that, I will be the challenger! I
am your senior there. Don't forget it, Fair." He rose from the table.
"Do you remember that first day we rode to Fontenoy when I came home
from England? The place was all in sunshine, all fine gold. She was
standing on the porch beside Major Edward; she lifted her hand and
shaded her eyes with a fan--there was a flower in her hair. Three years!
I am worn with those three years." For a moment he rested his hand on
the other's shoulder. "Fair, Fair, you know happy love--may you never
know unhappy love! I am going now to Fontenoy. Is there a message for
Unity?"