A BIRTHNIGHT BALL
It was the evening of Romney's dance. Lights blazed from every window
of the Huntoon mansion, and outside the moon hung her yellow lantern in
honor of the merry-making.
Already the guests were gathering. At the wharf lay a flock of
white-sailed boats, billing together like a covey of friendly swans.
Around the door huddled a motley group of men and boys, holding
the bridle of horse and donkey, and in the midst, the centre of
observation, stood the lumbering yellow coach with a crest on the panel
of its door, the state carriage of the Governor of the province and
used only on occasions of ceremony.
On the shore, in front of the house, a great bonfire flamed up,
a beacon that could be seen far out on the river. Above the fire
stretched two parallel bars supported on forked stakes. On one of the
bars hung a huge moose figuring in place of the ox that would have
adorned a barbecue in England. On the other bar hung a string of wild
birds, duck, heron, and bittern, alternating with raccoon, squirrel,
and possum. On the ground around the fire sat a throng of Indians and
negroes interspersed with white servants, eagerly watching the game
hissing on the spit. In the centre, Philpotts crouched, resting on his
heels and holding out his hands to the cheerful blaze.
"I tell you, Cupid," he said, turning to a negro seated beside him,
"this is a sight for sore eyes, yet would I give more than all, if one
I wot of could get the good of it with the rest of us."
Cupid answered by raising his eyebrows in question and jerking his
thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a lighted window against
which Neville's figure was outlined.
"Ay," answered Philpotts, as if he had spoken, "it's my master I was
thinking of. It's my very life I'd give to see him himself again. You
did never see such a man as he was in his prime, Cupid, and that's not
long since. My brother knew him when he was little more than a boy, and
he says he was the bravest and the blithest lad in all the shire of
Somerset. But he fell in love, Cupid. He fell in love, and that's how
all a man's troubles begin."
Cupid grinned so widely that all his shining row of white teeth showed
against the blackness of his face like a row of candles.
"Massa Romney he no tink so. See!"
Following Cupid's eyes, Philpotts saw Master Romney standing on the
terrace below the little white bedroom, and flinging roses against the
window, from which Peggy was leaning and laughingly dodging the flowers
as they struck.
"Come down, mistress mine. Thou art late, and the company is half
gathered already."
"Go away, then, and do not break my window, and then leave me to thy
mother's reproof."
With the words she shut to the casement and flung down a rose which had
landed on the sill. Romney stooped, picked it up, kissed it, and thrust
it into the breast of his coat.
Philpotts and Cupid looked at each other and burst into a shout of
laughter.
"Come, Cupid, we must in and help about the horses. Youth will be
youth, and fools will fall in love while the world lasts."
Within the house the girls were hastily donning their finery, shaking
out their skirts, and making ready to flutter down to the foot of the
stairway where their escorts awaited them, while such of the men as
had ridden made use of the time to unloop the tails of their coats,
prudently fastened back for their ride over forest trails.
"Girls, have any of you seen this Maryland maid who is staying with
Mistress Huntoon?" asked Mistress Nancy Lynch, as they came down the
stair, buttoning their gloves.
"Why," answered Polly Claiborne, "once I caught a glimpse of her
standing on the terrace with Romney. I thought no great things of her.
She was too brown, and but for a pretty trick of the eyes she had no
claims."
"Yet they say at the chapel of ease the parson can scarce go on with
the service for gazing on her, and when in the litany he comes to 'Have
mercy upon us' he looks straight at her in the Huntoon pew."
"Well, there is one lucky thing, all the men are dead set against
Maryland now. I dare say the poor thing will have scarce a partner at
the ball."
"You would not care to dance with a girl from Maryland, would you,
Captain Snow?" said Mistress Polly, leaning over the railing to where
the young officer stood smoothing back his cuffs.
"Not while Virginia holds her own as she does to-night. You have
promised me the first reel, remember. Faith! 'tis as fine a hall as
ever I saw for dancing."
"Ay, that it is!" echoed Nancy Lynch, and straightway the whole bevy of
girls and men fell to echoing the praises of the house, and voting it
the finest in the province, next to the Governor's.
On the outside Romney was but a settler's house, noteworthy only in
size and fine proportion; within, it was an English mansion, for all
the furnishings of Romney Hall in Devonshire had been brought over and
placed as nearly as possible in their relative position in the new
house.
Chairs and tables of black carved oak stood about. On the south side of
the great hall hung a tapestry worked by the maids of Mary of Scotland
in her captivity; in the corner stood a great bronze vase, wrought by a
famous Florentine of an earlier day. Over the mantel breast scowled a
portrait of Sir William Romney, and opposite him his wife smiled down,
as if she wished she were alive, and could take part in the festive
scene in the hall, lighted by the many candelabra and sconces and the
hissing, sparkling, high-flaming fire on the broad hearth.
The portrait bore a striking resemblance to the hostess, who stood
under it in her gown of silver brocade over yellow satin, receiving her
guests with that graciousness which made each one believe himself the
one most desired, where all were welcome. Each girl felt that now _she_
had come, the ball was sure to be a success; each man, that it was upon
_him_ Mistress Huntoon counted as her chief aid.
Just now she was listening with an air of absorbed interest to the
talk of Sir William Berkeley, who dispensed his compliments upon just
and unjust alike. True to the cavalier ideal, his theme was always
"lovely woman." If the particular woman with whom he was talking was
lovely she must like to be told so, if not, she must like it all the
more.
In the case of Elizabeth Huntoon the strain upon his conscience was
less than usual, and if she smiled at his elaborate flatteries, it was
only after his back was turned.
"I trust, Madam," he was saying, "that I am to be favored with this
white hand in the first measure--that is, if no other partner has been
selected by the queen of the ball."
"Where the Governor asks there can be no other," answered Elizabeth,
sweeping her best courtesy; "but I am only queen dowager to-night, and
Your Excellency must honor some of the rising beauties by asking of
them in the dance."
"Ay, after you," he said, tapping his gold snuff-box; "but when one is
looking upon the sun, one has no mind to be put off with satellites."
Then, breaking off and looking toward the staircase, he exclaimed, "In
the name of Venus and Cupid, who is _that_?"
Following his eyes Elizabeth saw naughty Peggy, who should have been
ready an hour ago, coming slowly down the winding stair, her figure
showing lithe and erect against the oak panelling, her head thrown
back, her nostrils dilated with the elation of a race-horse coming in
sight of the grand stand.
For the last year she had drooped into a Yorkshire rose, but to-night
she glowed in full Lancastrian splendor. Her cheeks were flushed with
carnation, her lips redder still, and her eyes flashing with a sense of
untried power and latent consciousness of crescent beauty. She was like
a young empress looking down upon a roomful of men destined to be her
subjects, though as yet they knew it not.
The girls looked up at her and instinctively fell to arranging
their lovelocks, and wondering if they had not abandoned the mirror
prematurely. The men looked up and straightway forgot themselves and
their partners, or wondered only how soon they could civilly be rid of
them.
"That girl not a beauty!" whispered Nancy reproachfully to Polly. "Why,
then, where's the use of being beautiful. Look at the men!"
In truth, it was as if the company had seen a comet. All faces were
turned upward, all eyes upon that figure which came slowly down the
stair with as calm an assurance as if her life had been spent in courts.
"This satellite," said Elizabeth, with amused emphasis on the word,
and drawing the girl toward her as she spoke, "is Mistress Peggy
Neville, Your Excellency."
"I had never thought of her having a name," said the Governor, bowing
low, "unless, indeed, it were Flora or Proserpine, or some of those
goddesses who appeared now and then to man in old days to show him what
goddesses were like. May I hope that Flora will tread the pavan with me
later?"
Peggy blushed rosier than ever and courtesied to the ground. The
twanging of the fiddles was in her ears celestial music, the candles
were the lights of paradise, and _this_ was life.
"Good-evening, Sir William!"
"Ah! Huntoon, I have not seen you since my return from England."
"How did you leave affairs there?"
"Badly enough. His Majesty is hard pressed. I urged upon him a
temporary withdrawal to his dominions on this side of the water, and if
things go much worse with him I believe he may consider of it."
"Come, gentlemen," broke in Elizabeth, "the fiddles are tuned, and the
young people cannot brook waiting while you settle the fate of the
nation."
In truth, to one little maid it did seem as though the dancing would
never begin. What was the fun of having men struggle for the privilege
of talking with her? Old ladies could talk. She could talk better at
forty-eight than at eighteen; but to _dance_, to sway to the music, and
feel the blood keeping time as it swept along; to promenade down the
hall with all eyes fixed upon one; to wheel the gallants in the reel
and feel the lingering pressure of fingers reluctant to let go their
transient grasp; to feel the light of the candles reflected in one's
eyes and the perfume of roses caught in her breath; to live and move
and reign the princess of love,--this was the glorious privilege of
youth and womanhood, the guerdon which kind Fate in atonement for many
hard blows had flung at the feet of Peggy Neville.
At last the march began,--Sir William and Mistress Huntoon leading, the
master of the house following with Lady Berkeley; and when Romney held
out his hand to Peggy, she was glad to be alive. As she looked down at
her gown she experienced that satisfaction which the young knights of
old knew in donning their maiden armor, for is not dress the armor of
the social battle?
Never in her short life of eighteen years had Peggy Neville looked
as lovely as she did to-night. Never had her eyes been so bright,
never her cheeks so red, never had Romney felt himself so helplessly
her slave, and, alas! the poor boy thought, never had she looked so
indifferently upon him.
It would not perhaps have encouraged the lad to know that instead of
thinking of him with indifference, she simply was not thinking of him
at all, her entire attention being fixed upon the scene around her and
the actors in it. Such beautiful girls, in their jewels and laces and
brocades and high-heeled slippers! Such magnificent men, with rainbow
colors in sashes and velvet coats, with ruffles of costly embroideries
and buckles reflecting the light of the candles! Most gorgeous of all,
Sir William Berkeley!
It quite took Peggy's breath away when this elegant courtier bowed
before her and begged her hand for the pavan. Yet there he was,
sweeping the floor before her with the white plumes of his hat and
craving the honor of the dance. Whatever might be thought of Sir
William's powers of governing, there could be no doubt that he
understood the art of dancing, and, final test of skill, of making his
partner dance well. Holding the tips of Peggy's fingers lightly, but
firmly, he led her to the head of the hall, where the host and hostess
stood. These they saluted gravely, she with a deep courtesy, he with an
equally deep bow, his hat clasped to his heart. Then sweeping down the
room they paused again before the portrait of the King, and Berkeley
saluted with his sword; then on again, the hautboys keeping time while
the company marked the rhythm by singing together, after the fashion
introduced by Queen Henrietta's French courtiers--
[Illustration (music):
Bel - le qui tiens ma - vie - e cap - ti - ve
dans tes yeux, Qui m'as l'â - me ra - vi - e d'un
sou - rire gra - ci - eux, Viens tôt me se - cou
rir ou me faud - ra mou - rir.
]
At the end of the measure, the advance being ended, the retreat began,
the Governor walking behind and leading his partner backward, always
with delicately held finger-tips, the raised arm and rounded wrist
showing every graceful curve as the girl walked.
"Where did she learn it," wondered Romney, "and she never at Court?"
For Peggy the most trying period in the ordeal was when she was left
standing alone while her cavalier, with gliding steps and deep bows,
retreated to the centre of the room, where, sweeping a grave circle
with his rapier, he faced about and again advanced toward her with the
proud peacock-motion that gave the dance its name. At first she had not
the courage to look up to his face at all, but kept her eyes fixed upon
the scarlet cross-bands embroidered with gold across his breast and the
jewel-studded hilt of his rapier.
Apparently His Excellency found the view of her eyelashes and lowered
lids unsatisfactory, for as they paced down the room between the
rows of gallants he compelled her to look up by asking how she liked
Virginia.
"Virginia much, but Virginians more," she answered.
"That is doubly a compliment, coming from a dweller across the border,"
said the Governor, with a smile. "For our part, whatever quarrels we
may have with the men of your province, we are forced to lower our
swords before its women. Beauty is the David who slays his tens of
thousands, where strength, like Saul, counts its thousands only. It is
not every one," he added, with a look which older men permit themselves
and call impertinence in a youth,--"it is not every one who can move in
a ball-room as if it were her birthright to be admired."
"Thank you," said Peggy, and then blushed crimson. "What a dolt I am,"
she thought; "as if he meant me!"
To cover her confusion she fixed her eyes upon a soldierly man at the
head of the room.
"Can you, who know every one, tell me," she asked, "who is the cavalier
who dances with an abstracted air, as though his thoughts were fixed
on serious subjects, and his mind only permitted his body to dance on
condition that it made no demand on his attention?"
"Ah, you mean Councillor Claiborne."
"Not Master William Claiborne?"
"Why not?"
"Why--why--" stammered Peggy, "I thought he would look like a
cut-throat or a pirate."
The Governor laughed so loud that every one turned and wondered what
the girl talking with him could have said that was so mightily clever,
and thus her blunder did the new-comer more good in social repute than
the finest wit.
"So the Maryland picture of poor Claiborne supplies him with all the
attributes of the devil, except the horns and hoof? And you would never
have known him as different from half the worthies here to-night. Well,
I'll tell you privately what Master William Claiborne really is,--a
good friend, an able secretary of the Council, and a damned obstinate
enemy. When Baltimore undertook to oust him from Kent Island he might
better have thrust his hand into a nest of live wasps. Ah, what? Our
turn again. Why, young lady, your talk is so beguiling I had quite lost
myself."
Peggy smiled behind her fan at the Governor's notion that it was she
who had done the talking. She wished--she did wish Christopher could
have heard him say it, though. But Christopher, when she begged him
to be present at the dance, had shaken his head and answered that he
should not know how to carry himself at a ball. Peggy, remembering her
mother's stories of Christopher at court, and how Queen Henrietta had
asked to have him presented to her as the finest gallant at Buckingham
Palace, had fallen to crying then. Even now, following her little
vanity came a great rush of pity and tenderness that brought the quick
tears, and made her glad when the dance was ended, and Sir William,
bowing low over her hand, led her to her seat with a kiss.
"Uncle William has resigned her at last," said the Governor's niece,
who was talking with Romney in a corner under the musician's balcony.
"Do you admire her as much as the other men do?"
"_Her?_" asked Romney, with a fine show of indifference.
"Mistress Neville, I mean, that they all talk of as if nothing like her
was ever seen before."
"Do they?"
"Ay, Master Lawrence says she lights the hall more than all the
candles, while Colonel Payne says that her dancing is poetry and her
talk is music."
"Indeed!"
"Ay, and Captain Snow is worst of all, for he follows her about with
his eyes opened twice as big as usual, lest he lose a single glance. If
you doubt me, look at Polly Claiborne, who thought she had him safely
landed for a husband, and now sees him drifting in the tow of another
bark. She is furious."
"She looks calm enough."
"In the face, yes, but look at her hands; they are wringing that
unlucky lace kerchief as if 'twere her rival's neck. But you have not
said what you think of this paragon."
"I was looking at you."
"_Toward_ me, not _at_ me, and ever and anon your eyes took a holiday
and wandered off to the Beauty. Oh, it is fine to be a Beauty with a
capital letter. Yet I think really it is more her manner that charms
than her looks. She has the air of being so pleased with each man she
meets, and so more than pleased that he finds pleasure in looking at
her."
"She does."
"It looks like vanity. Say you not so?"
"It surely does--like coquetry, which is the very essence of vanity."
"'Tis well she hears you not."
"I will go over now, and you shall see me tell her so," Romney said, as
a man joined them.
"It was a shrewd device; but it fails to deceive me," thought his
companion. "He is in love, and he is jealous."
"It is like the days at old Romney Hall, is it not, sweetheart?" said
the master of the house, standing beside his wife, as they watched the
lines of men and maidens gliding down the length of the room, their
gorgeous brocades and glistening jewels reflected as in a mirror in the
polished floor.
"Ay," answered Elizabeth, "and the county of Devon could not show more
pretty faces than are here to-night. Nancy Lynch is a beauty, and Kitty
Lee has the loveliest crinkly hair."
"But Peggy is the queen of the ball," said Huntoon, with a satisfied
nod. "See the saucy baggage smiling at her own reflection in the glass."
"I fear she is vain."
"No doubt, being pretty, and a woman."
"She is neglecting Romney."
"But is she not having a fine time! I vow it makes my slow, old blood
dance to watch her."
"But it is Romney's dance, and he enjoys it not."
"And if the boy wants the moon, this being his birthnight, his mother
must get it for him. See, Peggy is throwing a rose at Romney. It hit
him squarely in the breast and she is smiling at him."
"Stupid!" said Elizabeth. "Why does he not ask her for the galliard?"
"He has; see how glum the others look. Call you that hospitality, to
keep the best for himself?"
"Oh, the others were best occupied in talking with the girls. But no,
they must hang about looking at Peggy, as though the sun rose and set
over her shoulder."
Yet Elizabeth smiled.
Meanwhile Peggy, having had her fill of admiration, turned gracious and
bethought herself of the other damsels. She would fain have persuaded
some of her superfluous partners to betake themselves across the hall
to where Polly Claiborne was sitting in solitude against the settle;
but such curious creatures are men, that they prefer to hover on the
frigid rim of the outermost circle of success rather than to bask in
the welcoming smiles of the neglected.
One held Peggy's fan, another her kerchief, a third her roses, the ones
Romney had gathered for her this afternoon, and now viewed with wrath,
seeing them picked to pieces by the idle fingers of young Captain
Richard Snow, who, having won a place in the inner line by her side,
showed a determination not to abandon it before supper.
"Never before did I know that the Huntoons were selfish!" he was
murmuring.
"That they could never be!" ejaculated Peggy, with anger in her voice.
"Yet they have kept you to themselves for a whole year, you that should
have shone like the sun over all Virginia."
"Poor Virginia!" mocked Peggy; "she has indeed been sadly cheated."
"You need not shine long to warm the province," said a second gallant,
"since you have melted Snow in a single evening."
"Ah," answered Peggy, "snow in this part of the world never stays
long, but," with a side glance under her lashes, "it is lovely while
it lasts;" then catching too a self-satisfied smile upon the Captain's
face, she added pertly, "but somewhat soft."
The Captain colored and glowered at his rival. "It is a misfortune," he
said, stiffly, "to have a name that lends itself to jests."
"Oh," said Peggy, feeling that she had taken a liberty and anxious to
make amends, "I do admire your name much."
"Really!"
"Really and truly."
"You have only to take it; I assure you it is quite at your service."
At this a shout of laughter went up from the circle of men about.
"What is the jest?" asked Romney, joining the group from which he had
been vainly striving to abstract his eyes and interest.
"Why, an offer of marriage from Snow, which Mistress Neville has not
yet answered."
Romney showed his vexation by tapping with his foot on the floor and
biting his lip.
"Yes," added another, "we are all waiting eagerly to try our own
chance."
"I am sorry," said Romney, stiffly, "to cut short your lottery, but my
mother has sent me to conduct Mistress Neville to the supper-table, and
begs that you gentlemen will find partners."
Peggy, knowing that she was not behaving well, was incensed with Romney
for showing that he knew it too.
"The hero of a birthnight is no more to be denied than the King
himself," she said, turning for a last smile at her court. Then as soon
as they were out of hearing, "Romney, what is the matter? Have I a
black smooch on my nose, or did I talk too much or laugh too loud that
you look so--so--so righteously disapproving?"
"If you are satisfied with your conduct I shall not presume to
disapprove."
"If I _were_ satisfied with my conduct I should not care a halfpenny
whether you disapproved or not. It's just because I am not satisfied in
the least that it makes me so vexed that you do presume to disapprove.
See you not why I cannot bear to have you think ill of me?"
Romney's heart beat thick and fast.
"Why, Peggy? Will you not tell me why?"
"Because if you do your mother will, and then I should have only your
father for my friend, and by and by--perhaps--who knows?--he would give
me up too."
Romney's spirits, which had risen to boiling point at her question,
sank to freezing at her answer. The lights seemed to fade out of
the hundred candles and leave the hall gloomy; he heard the fiddles
scraping out the tune of "Oil of Barley," and he hated the music ever
after. In silence he stalked on to the door of the supper-room. Within
was a merry din of talk and laughter.
"Come, Peggy," said the hostess, "I was looking for you. We are waiting
for you to cut the birthday cakes. Good friends all," she continued,
turning to the company, "we have here two birthday cakes, and in each
lies hid one half of a gimmal ring, which, as you know, is made of two
rings that do fit together to form one. On the man's ring is inscribed
'_to get_,' and on the maid's, '_her_,' and being united they read
'_together_.' Come, Peggy, cut and choose first lot for the maid's
ring!"
Amid much shouting and laughter the lots were cast, and when it was
found that the lucky numbers had been drawn by Mistress Neville
and Captain Snow, all the company save one found the result vastly
diverting. The Captain fastened his half conspicuously over his breast,
and Peggy mischievously slipped hers upon the marriage finger.
Humphrey Huntoon, seeing the gathering cloud on Romney's brow, filled
a goblet from the great punch-bowl which stood in the centre of the
table flanked by candelabra bearing twenty candles each.
"A toast, my boy! a toast!" he called out, and under his breath he
murmured, "Forget not that to-night you are host first and lover
afterward."
Romney colored but took the goblet, raised it and said, bowing to all
corners of the room,--
"To my guests, one and all!"
"I give you 'The Ladies of Virginia!'" called Colonel Payne.
"Here's to Maryland! Confusion to her men, but long life to her women!"
It was Claiborne who spoke, and Captain Snow capped the toast by
clinking his new ring against his goblet and crying, "I drink to Her!"
Peggy, seeing Romney's face darken again, took her courage in both
hands and with it her goblet, which she lifted, saying in a soft voice
which could yet be heard over all the room,--
"To Master and Mistress Huntoon, the kindest hostess and the noblest
host, and--" here she stretched out her hand to Romney, "to the hero of
the night, the best comrade in the world!"
A chorus of "Long life to them all!" greeted the toast, and the goblets
clinked merrily; but to Romney it might have been water or wine or
poison they were drinking, for all he knew or cared.
At last, when supper was ended Sir William Berkeley rose in his place,
and with a solemnity quite different from his jovial manner of the
evening hitherto he said, "One last toast, and we will, if you please,
drink it standing. The King, God bless him!"
Fifty men sprang to their feet, fifty goblets flashed in air. Then
utter silence fell. It was as if the shadow of the scaffold at
Whitehall already cast its gloom over the loyal hearts of the colonial
cavaliers.
The guests broke up into little groups of two and three and wandered
back to the dancing-hall, where the fiddles were still working away
for dear life at the strains of "The Jovial Beggar" and "Joan's Ale is
New." The long lines of reel and brantle formed again, and the dancers
refused to give over their merry-making till the gray dawn came peeping
in at the window, turning the yellow candlelight to an insignificant
glimmer, and hinting of the approaching day and its humdrum duties.
As the guests, one by one, came up to bid their hosts a good-night,
which might more appropriately have been a good-morning, Master
Claiborne drew Huntoon aside a moment, asking,--
"Will you be at home to-morrow--I mean to-day?"
"Ay."
"Then I may come to see you?"
"Why not stay now, since 'tis already day?"
"Because there be others I must see first, but I will be back before
noon."
"And I glad as always to see you, but too sleepy, I fear, to give heed
to any business."
"Then get your sleep before, for it is business of moment touching
which we need your aid and counsel."
Before Huntoon could answer, another guest claimed his attention, and
he followed to the door to help the ladies, who had donned their hoods
and safeguards, to mount their horses or embark in the boats.
As they rode or sailed away into the gray dawn, Peggy, wrapped in her
red cloak, stood with Romney watching them from the porch.
"It has been _such_ a beautiful ball!" she sighed.
"You think so?"
"Of course I do; but then, you see, I never saw a real, big ball
before. Do you think they are all like that?"
"To girls like you, yes, and I suppose to men like me."
"But there are so few men like you."
Romney's eyes looked a question.
"So persistent and so jealous and so--dear--"
With this Peggy pulled the ring off her finger and, tossing it lightly
toward the lad, whispered,--
"Catch! and keep it if you can! It is my birthday gift."
"I take the dare and I take the gift, and I will yet take something
else. So there, Peggy!"
But ere he had finished she had vanished up the stairway and the ball
was over.