I have endeavored to tell an old story in a modern fashion. Wherein I have failed, I beg indulgence; wherein I have succeeded, even a little, I have to thank the Spirit of the Past, which still lingers in the ancient capital and its environs.
To Mrs. Story, the present owner, who graciously permitted me to inspect Whitehall; to Mrs. Dugan, Prudence R.—a direct descendant of John Ridout, the Commissary-General—who gave me much information concerning Governor Sharpe; and to Miss Shaffer, the State Librarian, in whose charge are the Maryland Gazettes of the period, as well as to the Gazettes themselves, I wish to express my sincere appreciation.
J. R. S.
Gettysburg, Penna., 6 June '10.
| PAGE | |
| "MISS STIRLING, IS SIR EDWARD DANGEROUS, AS WELL AS FASCINATING, OR SIMPLY FASCINATING?" ASKED MISS MARBURY | Frontispiece |
| "IT IS A QUEER TRADE, MONSIEUR, THIS OF A PIRATE," HE SAID | 144 |
| "WHAT WERE YOU AND SIR EDWARD TALKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT?" HE ASKED | 306 |
THE IMPOSTOR
Martha Stirling came slowly down the steps into the garden, pausing for a moment, on each step, lest the Governor hear her; then she sped quickly across the lawn, and, bending over, kissed him on the cheek.
"Good morning, your Excellency!" she laughed.
Colonel Sharpe looked up, with a start.
"Bless me, girl! have some regard for your uncle's dignity," he said, drawing her down on the arm of the chair. "It seems to me, young lady, that you are a trifle clever in the kissing art, to never have been kissed yourself."
"For shame, sir! You, a royal Governor—no, I mean a Lord Baltimore's Governor—to intimate so scandalous a thing. It may be, sir, that, as to you, I could truthfully not intimate.... Tell me, who is the young man that came with Mr. Dulany."
"Ho, ho! That is the reason for the kiss: to make me amenable. Why did you not say, 'the handsome young man'?"
"The handsome young man, then; indeed, the very handsome young man."
"He is a stranger in Annapolis."
"I know that."
"And what else?"
"What my eyes saw—graceful, easy, handsome, a man of the world."
"Oh, you women! Graceful, easy, handsome, a man of the world! You judge by externals."
"And pray, sir, what else had I to judge by?" springing up; "I but saw him—you spoke with him. How far am I amiss?"
The Governor smiled. "Not by the fraction of a hair, so far as I can make it," he said. "He is Sir Edward Parkington, come from London for his pleasure. He brought with him letters of introduction to Mr. Dulany and myself. He seems to have been in a rather hard case, too. He took passage from The Capes to Annapolis in The Sally, a bark of small tonnage and worse sail. They ran into a storm; the bark foundered, and all on board were lost, except Parkington; or, at least, he saw none when, more dead than alive, he was cast ashore near Saint Mary's."
"The poor fellow! Did he lose everything?"
"Everything but the letters, which were in his pocket—and his charm of manner and good looks."
"At least, we shall appreciate the latter."
The Governor looked at her rather quizzically. "Yes, I reckon you will," he said. "At least, if you do not, it will be the first time." His eyes fell on one, in the red and blue of the Royal Americans, who just emerged from the house, and was hesitating on the piazza, as though uncertain whether to descend. "It seems to me there is something familiar in that personage. Do you know him?"
Martha turned and looked.
"Oh!" she said, "I do not want to see him. Why does he pester me?"
"Nevertheless, my dear, he is there; and I see he is coming here. So take him off and make game of him, playing him this way and that; a bit of encouragement, a vast disdain; and, then, send him off again a little more securely hooked than ever.... Good morning, Captain Herford, were you looking for us, or, rather, were you looking for one of us?"
Charles Herford bowed, elaborately, his hand upon his sword-hilt, his hat across his heart.
"If your Excellency please, I was," he said.
"Which one: Mistress Martha Stirling or Horatio Sharpe?" asked the Governor, arising.
"Mistress Stirling, so please you," said Herford, with another bow.
"Then, I bid you good morning!" the Colonel laughed, and returned to the house.
"Well, sir," said Miss Stirling, after a moment's silence, "what can I do for you—or, rather, what can I do with you?"
"Treat me just faintly nice."
"Oh," she said, looking at him through half-closed eyes, "is that it; humble, this morning!"
"Yes, humble, grovelling, anything to win your favor."
She turned, and they passed slowly among the flowers.
"Is humbleness the way to win a woman's favor?" she asked.
"I do not know. It seems to me the proper way—or, if not proper, the more expedient way. Perchance, you will tell me."
A faint smile crossed her lips. "I?" she said. "I can tell you nothing. My favor is not for your winning, Mr. Herford, nor for any one's else in the Colony." She stopped, and plucked a rose. "Come, come, sir, be sensible! Why cannot you be alone with me without thinking of favor or love? Enjoy the morning, and the flowers, and these beautiful gardens, sweeping away to the Severn, and the golden Severn itself, or the silver Severn, whichever way you will have it; I am not particular."
"Do you mean," he said, with a laugh, "that I should go down and throw myself off the dock?"
"No, nothing quite so bad as that; you know what I mean. Now, come along, and not another word on the forbidden subject. Here!" and gave him the rose.
"A thousand thanks!" he said, and kissed her hand.
"Sir Edward Parkington is a very handsome man," she observed, presently; "don't you think so?"
"I am willing to accept your judgment on him."
"But what is your own judgment?"
"I have not any. I do not know Sir Edward Parkington."
"And have not seen him?"
He shook his head.
"Nor ever heard of him," he said.
"Is it possible that you blades of the Coffee-house must come to a woman to learn the last gossip—and him a Sir?"
"It would seem so," he answered. "Who is this Sir Edward Parkington, and from where?"
"From London—come to Annapolis with letters to his Excellency and to Mr. Dulany. A very elegant gentleman, indeed."
"To have gained your favor, he must have been all that."
"Oh!" she said, "I just saw him for a moment, but it was quite sufficient."
"I wonder," he said, watching her narrowly, "I wonder if he has a wife?"
She laughed, gaily. "Meaning that, if he had not, I might be his lady?"
Herford bowed. "Since it may not be in the Colony, best back to London for the Colony's own good."
"Are you not a bit premature? Sir Edward may be married, and, even if he is not, I may not suit him for a wife."
"I was assuming him to be a man of taste; of 'the high kick of fashion' in all things."
"And so he is. I saw him only cross the lawn, to where Colonel Sharpe was standing, but such ease and grace I never have seen exceeded—even your Mr. Dulany appeared awkward, by comparison."
"Sometime, I hope to meet him and acquire a bit of polish," he said, with a laugh in which good nature was just touched with scorn. "Meanwhile, it were just as well to be a good soldier and retire."
"Not going, Captain Herford."
"Yes, going; you are in a teasing mood, this morning. You go to the races to-morrow?"
"I certainly shall."
"And I may ride beside the coach?"
"If you wish," she said; "with Mr. Paca, and Mr. Hammond and——"
"And a score of others, of course."
He bowed over her hand a moment, then strolled away, singing softly the chorus of the old troop song:
Martha Stirling listened until the singing ceased, then she shrugged her shoulders, and went slowly back to the house.
A month before she had come out from England to visit her uncle—Colonel Horatio Sharpe, Governor of Maryland—and instantly became the toast of all the young men of the Colony. There was nothing surprising, possibly, in that; Governor Sharpe's niece would have been popular if she had been without any particular attraction, but Miss Stirling had attractions in abundance.
Under a great mass of jet black hair, piled high on her head, was a face of charming beauty, with blue eyes that warmed and sparkled—though on occasion they could glint cold enough—a perfect nose, and a mouth made for laughter alone. In figure, she was just above the average, slender and lithe. This morning, her gown was of pink linen, and, as she passed up the steps into the mansion, one could see a finely turned silk ankle, with white slippers to match.
Crossing the wide entrance hall, she knocked on a door, waited a moment, and, receiving no reply, knocked again, then entered. It was the Governor's room, but he was not in presence. As she turned away, old Joshua, the white-haired negro who was his Excellency's body-servant, appeared.
"Where is Colonel Sharpe?" she asked.
"Gone to the State House, Mis' Marfa."
She nodded in dismissal and went in, leaving the door open behind her. Seating herself at the great, broad table, her glance fell on a letter, opened and spread wide. Not thinking what she did, she read:
London, 10th March, 1766.
My Dear Sir:
This letter will Introduce to you Sir Edward Parkington for Whom I bespeak your most courteous Attention and Regard. Extend him all the Hospitality in your power. I am, Sir,
Your humble and ob'd't servant,
Baltimore.To
His Excellency, Col. Horatio Sharpe,
Governor of Maryland.
"So!" she said, "Baltimore himself sponsors Sir Edward Parkington; which may mean much for his responsibilities but little for his morals.... Well, he will serve to irritate Captain Herford; but can I use him to draw Richard Maynadier one little step along?"
For a space she sat there, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. She did not hear the voices at the front door, nor the footsteps that crossed the hall, until they entered the room; then she glanced up, and a smile of welcome shone from her eyes, as the man, who was in her thoughts, stood before her.
"Mr. Maynadier!" she said, extending her hand across the table.
He bowed over it with easy grace. "His Excellency leaves a fair deputy."
"And what can that deputy do for you?"
"Much," he said. "Much that I dare not even hope. So I'll ask for only that package on the table, there."
"Take it," she said—"take anything."
"Anything on the table, that is?"
The smile rippled into a laugh. "Take anything in the room," she said; "there is none of them mine."
He drew a chair up to the table.
"May I," he said, "sit here a moment, while the Council waits?"
"If you wish," she answered; "you will have to answer to the Council."
He leaned back, and looked at her silently.
"Miss Stirling," he said, presently, "you are a flirt."
"What is that to you, sir?" she demanded.
He ignored the question. "You have half the young men of Annapolis ready to pink one another, and praying but for an excuse."
"Again, sir, what is that to you?"
"You have Mr. Hammond, and Mr. Paca, and Mr. Jennings, and Mr. Constable, and Captain Herford mad about you."
She gave him her sweetest smile. "You have forgotten Mr. Richard Maynadier," she said.
"Mr. Maynadier is not in the running. He is content to look on——"
"With an occasional word of advice," she cut in.
"With an occasional word of advice," he agreed. "Meanwhile, content to stand afar off and view the struggle."
She put both elbows on the table and leaned across.
"Why view it from afar," she said, sweetly; "why not join in the struggle?"
"For several reasons," he said. "First, I am too old."
"I should never have guessed it."
"Second, I have not the graces that are requisite."
"I had not noticed it."
"And, lastly, I have not the inclination."
"That, I should never have guessed."
"No, I suppose not. We all are game for a pretty woman. Let a man but bow and kiss her hand, and, behold! another suitor."
She sat up sharply.
"Mr. Maynadier, I will make a compact with you," she said. "You say you are too old, have not the graces, and have not the inclination—so be it. A flirt may have her friends. We will be comrades—I to use no art of coquetry upon you, you to speak no word of love to me. Is it a bargain?"
He regarded her with an amused smile.
"If you wish it," he said. "I think we both of us are safe enough without it—though, who knows. At any rate, the flag of truce will hold us.... Now, I will back to the Council. I will see you at the races, to-morrow, of course."
"Yes; and I have a pistole or two which you may put on Figaro for me," she said, accompanying him to the door.
She stood and watched him, as he went down the walk toward North-East Street, and disappeared.
"I wonder," she said, "I wonder.... Well, Mr. Richard Maynadier, we shall see if you cannot be taught to have the inclination."
That night, the Annapolis Coffee-house was unusually popular. The General Assembly was in session, and representatives of all the prominent families of the Colony were in attendance. The Maryland Gazette had just appeared, announcing that it would not print Samuel Chase's answer, to the Mayor and Aldermen of the City, lest it be libelous, and that Chase could issue it himself. The whole controversy was of little moment and aimed at nothing. Nevertheless, it had stirred up all the latent ill feeling, that had existed for some time between Chase and his followers, on one hand, and the old residents of Annapolis, on the other.
"Chase always was a firebrand!" exclaimed young Mr. Paca; "some day, he will ignite the magazine on which he is sitting, and blow himself up."
"And the quicker he does it the better," suggested Mr. Hammond. "Chase has ability, but he does not use it for good."
"That is what gives me no patience with him," said Mr. Worthington. "He plays to the rabble—a queer trait for the son of a clergyman of the Church of England."
"It is all for effect," said Mr. Paca; "to get clients, to get prominence; down in his heart he has the same view as we have."
"That's it," said Mr. Cole, who was a bit the worse for liquor. "The fellow isn't honest."
"Who is not honest?" asked a medium-sized, heavy-set man of twenty-five, who had entered the room unnoticed.
"You!" returned Cole. "You don't believe what you say; you are playing to the rabble."
Chase looked at Cole closely for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not argue with a drunken man, much less quarrel with one," he said. "Do any of you other gentlemen endorse his words?"
"Not as spoken," said Mr. Paca; "but what we did say, is that we do not endorse your course as an official. You are the Public Prosecutor, and we do not approve of the way you use your office.—That we said, and that we stand behind."
"I am very sorry if I have not pleased you," said Chase, indifferently, taking a chair beside Paca; "I understand that a public official is a free subject for criticism, and the public may impugn his motives and his judgment—with that I find no fault."
"You said I was drunk," exclaimed Cole.
"Did I?" said Chase. "Well, you're not—you're not. I was mistaken. I apologize."
"It's granted," said Cole. "Have a drink with me.—Everybody have a drink with me. Here, Sparrow—where the devil's the fellow—take the gentlemen's orders.—Ah! sir," as a stranger appeared in the doorway, "come in; we're just going to have a drink. What will you have?"
The newcomer let his eyes rest, casually, on Cole.
"Permit me to decline," he said; "I was looking for some one."
"Your pardon, sir," said Mr. Paca, stepping forward; "are you not Sir Edward Parkington?"
"I am," he said; "at your service."
Mr. Paca extended his hand. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am William Paca; this is Mr. Hammond, and Mr. Worthington, and Mr. Cole, and Mr. Chase."
Parkington acknowledged the introduction with a sweeping bow, and took the proffered chair.
"What is your order, sir?" Cole persisted.
"A little rum and water, if you won't excuse me."
"I won't excuse you.—I won't excuse anybody," Cole averred. "Sparrow, some rum and water for Sir Edward Parkington, and make haste."
"Are you here for any time?" inquired Mr. Hammond.
"I should say that I am," replied Parkington. "If the hospitality I have received to-day is any test, you will not be quit of me for a year."
"You honor us," said Mr. Paca.
"No, I do not; I simply appreciate you. We have not got a more charming man, in London, than your Mr. Dulany; while as for your Governor, he is a true officer of his Majesty."
"We have never had so popular a Governor. He is a natural leader," said Mr. Worthington. "And now, that he has bought Whitehall, and erected a spacious mansion overlooking the Bay, he has become one of us. The only pity is that we have not been able to provide him with a wife."
"Not for want of charming women, I warrant."
"No, not on that account—Annapolis will yield to none in the beauty of her daughters. It is said there is an old wound that rankles still."
"An old wound! got in England?"
"No, got in Maryland, the very day he landed at the dock, from the good ship 'Mollie.' It is common rumor, and I violate no confidence by telling. There came with him, as secretary, one John Ridout—now, the Honorable John Ridout. He was met at the wharf by the Honorable Benjamin Tasker, President of the Council and acting Governor, who had with him his grandchild, Mary Ogle—then a mere slip of a girl of fourteen, but giving promise of rare beauty in the future. It is said, the Governor and John Ridout both fell in love that day, while they walked up Green Street, and along the Spa to the Tasker residence. Five years later, she chose the secretary, and gave the Governor nay."
"And Ridout remained the Governor's secretary?" Parkington asked.
"There showed the measure of the man. He is, to-day, the Commissary-General of the Province, and member of his Excellency's Council, and no one is so close to Governor Sharpe as is he."
"A pretty enough story," said Parkington; "do you think it is true?"
"We have no doubt of it."
"Well," observed Parkington, "one warms to him marvelously easy. What ailed the lady, that she chose the subaltern when she could have had the master?"
Mr. Paca laughed. "Women are a law unto themselves!" he said; "and Ridout is marvelously handsome and nearer her own age." A gurgle, ending in a prolonged snore, came from the chair beside him. "Ah! Cole slumbers. We shall hear from him no more to-night."
Presently, the talk veered over to politics. Notice of the Stamp Act being repealed had come to the Colony a month before, and had been made the occasion for an ardent demonstration, though, as a matter of fact, it had been a dead statute and unenforcible, in Maryland, from the moment of its passage. An act, once it is off the books, may be condemned in most disloyal language, and no offense be given, even if it were the pet measure of a sovereign. But George the Third was a stubborn monarch, and no sooner was the Stamp Act null and void, than a new hobby was his, and one that required no legislation to support it. And Samuel Chase, with a fine ignoring of the proprieties, soon hit upon it.
"I understand," said he, "that recently an application for land, beyond the Allegheny Mountains, was refused by the Board of Trade, in London."
Parkington was silent. Paca and Hammond both tried to change the conversation, but Chase would not have it.
"The Board of Trade will find itself ignored," he said. "There will not be any applications. The people will simply settle, and, when they are settled, nothing but a royal army will move them off; and when a royal army invades this country, for such a purpose, it means war."
With that, the rest broke in. Mr. Paca declared Chase spoke for himself alone, and Mr. Hammond that he was anticipating trouble; but Sir Edward Parkington surveyed Chase with a tolerant smile, and waved the matter aside.
"Do not concern yourself to soften the views the gentleman has just expressed," he said. "They give me no offense. I am a loyal subject of his Majesty, but I think that the quicker we free America, the better for both America and England. You will leave us some day, as the child leaves the parent when it reaches maturity; the only question is, when that time comes. I take it, that Mr. Chase is not trying to be offensive, and, if no offense be intended, none is given." He arose. "If any of you are going in the direction of Reynolds' Tavern, I shall be glad for your company."
Mr. Paca and Mr. Worthington attended him as far as Saint Anne's, where they parted; the two former going to their homes, on Prince George Street, while Parkington continued around the Circle to the tavern.
"Send a mug of ale to my room," he said, to the man in the ordinary....
The fellow lighted the candles, put the drink on the table, and, after a moment's wait, withdrew.
Parkington unbuckled his long rapier and flung it on the bed. Then he seated himself and took a sip of the ale, stretched out his slender legs, and laughed.
"Verily, the game is easier than I thought!" he soliloquized. "The real Parkington could not have played it better; I think I shall enjoy my visit to Annapolis. 'You are an unmitigated scoundrel, sir,' said my esteemed father. 'I have paid your debts for the last time; I shall give you passage to America, and one hundred pounds. Never let me look upon your face again—and, if there be a shred of decency about you, you will change your name. The De Lysles are done with you forever; have the goodness to be done with them.'" He took another sip at the ale, and laughed again. "Behold! my name is changed. I am Sir Edward Parkington, now—and Baltimore himself vouches for me. It was a lucky storm that sent the crazy 'Sally' to the bottom, and every one to the devil, save only me; but it was a luckier fortune that washed the real Sir Edward Parkington and me on the beach together, with him dead and me alive—and the letters on his person. 'There is no one in the Colony who knows me,' he had said, that very day. So, presto! Behold Sir Edward Parkington risen, and me dead.... It would be devilish awkward, if there is some one in the Colony who knows me—but that is in the future." He drew out a copy of Lord Baltimore's letter to his Excellency. "'Bespeak your most courteous attention and regard. Extend him all the hospitality in your power.' I was shipwrecked; I lost everything but the clothes on my back, and the letters, which were wrapped in oilskin, in my pocket. Therefore, I think the Governor's hospitality will have to be pressed for a loan. What, with him and Mr. Dulany, and a certain natural ability of my own at the card-table, I should be able to live very comfortably, here, for a year, at least. This Annapolis is a neat enough town—I was astonished at it; and they seem to do things reasonably well. The Coffee-house is quite the equal of any we have in London, and the Governor's mansion and Mr. Dulany's, near-by, are excellent.... This suit of clothes, I got in Saint Mary's, will answer until Pinkney can replace my wardrobe—lost when the ship went down!" He chuckled, softly, to himself. "And the fellow is not half bad; his styles are six months behind the fashion, but that is a small matter, when every one is wearing them.... Altogether, I think Sir Edward Parkington will have a pleasant year—at least, he is going to enjoy it while it lasts. After that, the deluge."
Miss Stirling fastened the cross-shaped watch to the left side of her gown, pressed into place a patch near her eye and another near her dimple, and, with a last look in the glass, arose.
Her gown was of blue lustring, long-waisted and laced over a stomacher, exquisitely guimped and pinked. A sacque, of the same material, hung from her shoulders to the ground and formed a train, and on her head was a large chip hat, with feathers and pinks.
She crossed to the window and drew aside the curtain. The coach was waiting, and beside it were Mr. Paca and Mr. Worthington and Captain Herford. She went back to the glass, took another survey, dabbed a bit of powder, here and there, on her face, smiled at her reflection, and turned away. It was race day, in Annapolis.
The Governor was ascending the stairs, as she came out of her room; when he reached the landing, he stopped and looked at her. She made him a bit of a curtsy.
"Will I do?" she asked.
"Yes, you will do," he said; "even I can see that. I am sorry for the macaronies down in front."
"They do not deserve any sympathy."
"I suppose not," he said; "at least, they do not get much from you. You may take the coach; I shall ride to the course—and do not wait for me. They are sufficient to escort you."
She gave him a bright smile, and went down and out to the coach.
"Good afternoon!" she said, as they sprang forward to meet her.—"No; we will dispense with anything but a bow." They all tried to hand her in, but she waved them aside. "I cannot choose, so I will let the footman do his office."
The young men leaped to horse. There were but two windows to the coach and three men, and Mr. Paca and Mr. Worthington got the places beside them, leaving Captain Herford to ride behind, and sulk.
"You are a dream, a perfect vision!" said Mr. Paca.
"An angel, rather!" Mr. Worthington assured her.
"Why not be sensible, and tell the truth. Why not say, I am looking very well, to-day; that would be the truth, more than that is rank exaggeration. One of you let Captain Herford come up; I want to hear what he will say.... Do you hear? I said, one of you give place to Captain Herford."
"Paca, you hear?" said Worthington.
"Worthington, you hear?" said Paca.
Miss Stirling laughed. "Meanwhile, Captain Herford rides behind."
"And is likely to ride behind to the race ground," said Worthington.
"And should ride behind forever, if we controlled it," added Mr. Paca.
They proceeded out of the Governor's grounds, and along King George Street, to the Ogle corner at Tabernacle Street. Here, the coach was before the door, and Mrs. Ogle and Miss Elizabeth were just about to enter. Miss Stirling waved her hand, and called a greeting, while the young men doffed their hats. The Ogles answered, and then their equipage joined the procession.
Arrived at the Course, and occupying the place reserved for the Governor, Miss Stirling was astonished at what she saw. Here was no ordinary gathering, of Annapolitans and their neighbors. Instead, a vast concourse of people, with more than fifteen hundred horses hitched around the track, and not less than one hundred coaches parked within the enclosure.
"Why," she said, "I had no notion it was anything such as this. I thought it would be like the small affairs in England. This rivals Carlisle, itself."
"The Annapolis races are the best in this country," said Mr. Worthington. "We have not only all the families of Maryland represented here, but scores of the gentlemen of Virginia, with not a few from Pennsylvania. The races last almost a week. Courts are adjourned, schools dismissed—everybody takes a holiday; and the Assembly, which happens to be in session, has risen until they are over."
"What are the entries for the first race?" she asked.
Mr. Paca consulted his card. "Dr. Hammond's Figaro, Mr. Hall's Trial, Mr. Yeldell's Chester, Mr. Gnatt's Britannia, Mr. Heath's Merry Andrew and Major Sims' Terror."
"And what are the weights?"
"Rising four years, fourteen hands, eight stone; five years, nine stone; six years, ten stone, and aged, eleven stone; to give and take, at the rate of seven pounds, for every one under or above fourteen hands."
"Is fourteen hands the average size?" she asked. "Rather small, it seems to me."
"They make it up in speed, however," said Mr. Worthington; "and Figaro is fifteen hands. He has run at Carlisle and at Preston, in your country, and won everything. In fact, he has never been beaten."
A roar from the crowd announced the appearance of the horses. "What is the black?" she asked.
"Trial."
"And the chestnut?"
"Chester."
"And the sorrel?"
"Merry Andrew."
"And the bay?"
"Figaro."
She took six pistoles, from her reticule.
"Captain Herford, will you do me the favor to place this on Figaro?—What are the odds?"
"Three to one, last night, at the Coffee-house."
"Very good," she said. "A horse that won at Carlisle and Preston ought not to have much trouble, here. What is the distance?"
"Four times around the track, about three miles," said Mr. Paca; "the best two in three."
Old Jonas Green had taken his place in the judge's stand, and the horses were forming for the break. The next moment, they thundered down the track, got the word, and were away. A blanket could have covered them, as they swept around the course for the first two times. Then, Terror slowly lagged; and, presently, Merry Andrew and Britannia had followed suit. The other three were running neck to neck. At the turn into the stretch, Chester drew away, and won by length from Figaro, with Trial third.
Instantly there was a turmoil. Chester was a good horse, and the weights were in his favor, but no one had supposed him capable of besting Figaro.
"Had I waited, I would have gotten longer odds," said Miss Stirling. "Mr. Paca, see if you can put these five pistoles to better advantage—on Figaro, mind you."
"I think Figaro will win," said Mr. Worthington. "He has the bottom, and his age will favor him."
Mr. Paca returned to announce that he had placed the money at two to one, and received, in exchange, a most dazzling smile; whereat Herford swore under his breath. Then there descended upon them all the young women, from the near-by coaches, and the young gentlemen who attended, to make their devoirs to the Governor's niece.
And, presently, came Colonel Sharpe himself, and with him Sir Edward Parkington. Pinkney had not failed the latter. His coat was of dark blue silk with embroidered cuffs, the breeches and stockings to match; his waistcoat, of white broadcloth, covered with gold lace. His hair was dressed and powdered, and tied in a bagwig behind. A solitaire was round his neck; a kevernois hat, decorated with gold buttons, lace and loop, was under his arm; and a long black rapier lifted the skirt of his coat.
"My dear," said Colonel Sharpe, "I want to present Sir Edward Parkington, whom you have heard me mention, and for whom I bespeak your best consideration."
Miss Stirling gave him her hand; Parkington bowed over it with inimitable grace.
"Sir Edward is very lucky in his sponsor," she said; "his Excellency's wishes are our law. Mr. Paca, will you present Sir Edward to our friends."
He met them all, then came back to her.
"I think I saw you in the Row, one day last Autumn," he said. "You were riding with Captain Symington, of the Blues; I was riding with my Lord Baltimore."
She shook her head. "I have not the honor of Captain Symington's acquaintance; it was not I."
"It may be I am mistaken as to Symington, but I cannot be mistaken as to you; once seen is never to be forgotten."
"Are you sure it was last Autumn?" she asked.
"Perfectly, oh, perfectly!"
"Then, you must guess again," she said. "I have not ridden in the Row for a year. I spent all of last Autumn in the North."
"But I saw you somewhere, sometime," he insisted.
"What matters it?" she asked; "since you see me now.—There, the second heat is starting!"
This time there were but three—Britannia, Merry Andrew and Terror had been distanced—and, again, the three ran close together until they reached the stretch, for the last time. Then Trial came away, and, under a tremendous drive, won by length from Figaro, with Chester third.
"The favorite seems outclassed," said Parkington. "The weight is just a trifle too much, I fancy."
"You do not know Figaro," said Mr. Paca. "I will wager you five pistoles, that he gets the next heat."
"Taken. The weight will tell more upon him the next time."
"Again, you do not know Figaro!" laughed Paca. "It will tell less—or, rather, it will tell on the others more. Figaro has lost two heats, before, but he never lost the third."
"Mr. Paca says that Figaro has raced in England, at Carlisle and Preston three years ago, and won everything," said Miss Stirling. "Did you know it?"
"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Parkington. "This is not that Figaro?"
"The same," said Mr. Paca.
"I would never have wagered against him, had I known it. However, there is always a chance of the horse falling dead in the stretch, or of something else happening; and past records never win the next race."
"I will lay you another five pistoles, if you wish," offered Mr. Worthington.
"And I!—And I!" came from around him.
"Such unanimity of opinion breeds caution," said Parkington, with a laugh; "and I will profit by it. No more, gentlemen, no more."
"Captain Herford," said Miss Stirling, "I will have another little bet on Figaro. Will you place these two pistoles for me?"
"At what odds?" said Herford.
"Whatever you can get; they ought to be about even, now."
"You too, then, believe in Figaro?" asked Parkington.
"I do," she said; "six pistoles at three to one, five pistoles at two to one, and two pistoles at even odds—it will keep me in spending money for a few weeks."
"Or make you without spending money for a month."
"I shall not lose," she said; "I shall not lose.... Ah, Mr. Maynadier, do you know Sir Edward Parkington?"
Maynadier turned, and, for a moment his eyes rested on Sir Edward with an uncertain and hesitating recognition. Then, he shook his head.
"I do not know," he said. "There is something familiar in his face, yet I can not say. I met so many people in London, at one time, that it is difficult to remember. I trust Sir Edward Parkington will understand. But whether or not we have ever met before, I am very glad to meet him now."
"I think you are right," said Sir Edward, taking Maynadier's hand; "or, at least, if we met, I have no recollection of it. Indeed, I have no recollection of having met any one from Annapolis—much, as I see now, to my loss."
"The horses are at the post!" exclaimed Miss Stirling, and each was glad for a moment of respite.
This time, Figaro showed his blood. They ran easily enough, and together, but any one could see that the others had shot their bolts. In the last hundred yards, the red and white of Dr. Hammond went to the front and won handily.
"It is Figaro's race," said Mr. Paca.
"If he wins the next heat," observed Sir Edward.
"The others are out of it," said Paca. "I am sorry, Sir Edward, but they are, and Figaro will get better; we have seen it happen before, in other races."
And Mr. Paca was right. Figaro won the next heat even easier than the last, and Dr. Hammond led him off, while the men cheered, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs.
"Will you ride back with us?" Miss Stirling asked, as Maynadier made his adieu.
"And have myself put down as rival to these young men," he said, with a smile.
"What do you care, since you are not."
"True enough, but the public would not believe it."
"The public believes what suits it."
"Just so, but it does not suit me that the public should have any cause to believe me smitten."
"You care for the public?" she said.
"Yes and no. No, where there is truth behind it; yes, when it is foundationless."
"You are frank," she said.
"Such was our compact."
"And is it, then, so great a disgrace to have it said you rode beside my carriage?"
"If they would stop with that, no; but they will not. I will ride beside your carriage any time, when you are alone; I will not jostle for a place with any one."
"Then you will never ride, I fear."
"I know it; I shall never ride."
She looked at him with an artless smile, that was the refinement of coquetry.
"I shall see you at the dance, to-night?" she asked.
"I shall be there."
"I have saved the third for you. You do not deserve it, but I saved it, none the less."
He bowed low. "Only the third?"
"Only the third," she said, as the coach rolled away.
"And what have you saved for me?" said Parkington, who overheard the last words.
"Whatever you like," she answered, "except the third."
"Then I take as many as I may; I want them all."
"You are modest," she said.
"You are the first that ever told me so."
"And am likely to be the last," she retorted.
"You said that you would give no dances before the ball," Captain Herford interposed.
"I did," she admitted; "but, then, I did not know of our guest from England. The dance I have given Mr. Maynadier, you may charge up to the right that every woman has to change her mind."
He leaned down to the carriage door. "Change your mind for me," he said.
She appeared to ponder, as though undecided.
"Just one," he pleaded, "just one!"
"Just one, then," she said, with a captivating smile.
She turned to Parkington, who rode on the other side of the coach; as a guest, of course, he had the place without a struggle.
"How long are you from London?" she asked.
"Ten weeks."
"Who came out with you—any one of prominence?"
"No; mainly shop-keepers and the like—a most uninteresting lot."
"You must have had a pleasant ten weeks!" she laughed.
"I tried to make the best of it. Some amusement is to be got of a row of graven images, if one try hard enough; and, even a shop-keeper beats a graven image."
"Tell me of your shipwreck," said she.
"I have forgotten," he said; "forgotten everything but the salt water—I swallowed so much, I can taste it still."