CHAPTER XI
AUDREY OF THE GARDEN
The creek that ran between Fairview and the glebe lands was narrow anddeep; upon it, moored to a stake driven into a bit of marshy ground belowthe orchard, lay a crazy boat belonging to the minister. To this boat, ofan early, sunny morning, came Audrey, and, standing erect, pole in hand,pushed out from the reedy bank into the slow-moving stream. It moved soslowly and was so clear that its depth seemed the blue depth of the sky,with now and then a tranquil cloud to be glided over. The banks were lowand of the greenest grass, save where they sank still lower and reedsabounded, or where some colored bush, heavy with bloom, bent to meet itsreflected image. It was so fair that Audrey began to sing as she went downthe stream; and without knowing why she chose it, she sang a love songlearned out of one of Darden's ungodly books, a plaintive and passionatelay addressed by some cavalier to his mistress of an hour. She sang notloudly, but very sweetly; carelessly, too, and as if to herself; now andthen repeating a line twice or maybe thrice; pleased with the sweetmelancholy of the notes, but not thinking overmuch of the meaning of thewords. They died upon her lips when Hugon rose from a lair of reeds andcalled to her to stop. "Come to the shore, ma'm'selle!" he cried. "See, Ihave brought you a ribbon from the town. Behold!" and he fluttered acrimson streamer.
Audrey caught her breath; then gazed, reassured, at the five yards ofwater between her and the bank. Had Hugon stood there in his huntingdress, she would have felt them no security; but he was wearing his coatand breeches of fine cloth, his ruffled shirt, and his great blackperiwig. A wetting would not be to his mind.
As she answered not, but went on her way, silent now, and with her slenderfigure bending with the motion of the pole, he frowned and shrugged; thentook up his pilgrimage, and with his light and swinging stride keptalongside of the boat. The ribbon lay across his arm, and he turned it inthe sunshine. "If you come not and get it," he wheedled, "I will throw itin the water."
The angry tears sprang to Audrey's eyes. "Do so, and save me the trouble,"she answered, and then was sorry that she had spoken.
The red came into the swarthy cheeks of the man upon the bank. "You loveme not," he said. "Good! You have told me so before. But here I am!"
"Then here is a coward!" said Audrey. "I do not wish you to walk there. Ido not wish you to speak to me. Go back!"
Hugon's teeth began to show. "I go not," he answered, with somethingbetween a snarl and a smirk. "I love you, and I follow on your path,--likea lover."
"Like an Indian!" cried the girl.
The arrow pierced the heel. The face which he turned upon her was the faceof a savage, made grotesque and horrible, as war-paint and feathers couldnot have made it, by the bushy black wig and the lace cravat.
"Audrey!" he called. "Morning Light! Sunshine in the Dark! Dancing Water!Audrey that will not be called 'mademoiselle' nor have the wooing of theson of a French chief! Then shall she have the wooing of the son of aMonacan woman. I am a hunter. I will woo as they woo in the woods."
Audrey bent to her pole, and made faster progress down the creek. Herheart was hot and angry, and yet she was afraid. All dreadful things, allthings that oppressed with horror, all things that turned one white andcold, so cold and still that one could not run away, were summed up forher in the word "Indian." To her the eyes of Hugon were basiliskeyes,--they drew her and held her; and when she looked into them, she sawflames rising and bodies of murdered kindred; then the mountains loomedabove her again, and it was night-time, and she was alone save for thedead, and mad with fear and with the quiet.
The green banks went by, and the creek began to widen. "Where are yougoing?" called the trader. "Wheresoever you go, at the end of your pathstand my village and my wigwam. You cannot stay all day in that boat. Ifyou come not back at the bidden hour, Darden's squaw will beat you. Comeover, Morning Light, come over, and take me in your boat, and tie yourhair with my gift. I will not hurt you. I will tell you the French lovesongs that my father sang to my mother. I will speak of land that I havebought (oh, I have prospered, ma'm'selle!), and of a house that I mean tobuild, and of a woman that I wish to put in the house,--a Sunshine in theDark to greet me when I come from my hunting in the great forests beyondthe falls, from my trading with the nation of the Tuscaroras, with thevillages of the Monacans. Come over to me, Morning Light!"
The creek widened and widened, then doubled a grassy cape all in theshadow of a towering sycamore. Beyond the point, crowning the low greenslope of the bank, and topped with a shaggy fell of honeysuckle and ivy,began a red brick wall. Half way down its length it broke, and six shallowsteps led up to an iron gate, through whose bars one looked into a garden.Gazing on down the creek past the farther stretch of the wall, the eyecame upon the shining reaches of the river.
Audrey turned the boat's head toward the steps and the gate in the wall.The man on the opposite shore let fall an oath.
"So you go to Fair View house!" he called across the stream. "There areonly negroes there, unless"--he came to a pause, and his face changedagain, and out of his eyes looked the spirit of some hot, ancestral Frenchlover, cynical, suspicious, and jealously watchful--"unless their masteris at home," he ended, and laughed.
Audrey touched the wall, and over a great iron hook projecting therefromthrew a looped rope, and fastened her boat.
"I stay here until you come forth!" swore Hugon from across the creek."And then I follow you back to where you must moor the boat. And then Ishall walk with you to the minister's house. Until we meet again,ma'm'selle!"
Audrey answered not, but sped up the steps to the gate. A sick fear lestit should be locked possessed her; but it opened at her touch, disclosinga long, sunny path, paved with brick, and shut between lines of tall,thick, and smoothly clipped box. The gate clanged to behind her; tensteps, and the boat, the creek, and the farther shore were hidden from hersight. With this comparative bliss came a faintness and a trembling thatpresently made her slip down upon the warm and sunny floor, and lie there,with her face within her arm and the tears upon her cheeks. The odor ofthe box wrapped her like a mantle; a lizard glided past her; somewhere inopen spaces birds were singing; finally a greyhound came down the path,and put its nose into the hollow of her hand.
She rose to her knees, and curled her arm around the dog's neck; then,with a long sigh, stood up, and asked of herself if this were the way tothe house. She had never seen the house at close range, had never been inthis walled garden. It was from Williamsburgh that the minister had takenher to his home, eleven years before. Sometimes from the river, in thoseyears, she had seen, rising above the trees, the steep roof and the upperwindows; sometimes upon the creek she had gone past the garden wall, andhad smelled the flowers upon the other side.
In her lonely life, with the beauty of the earth about her to teach herthat there might be greater beauty that she yet might see with a dailyround of toil and sharp words to push her to that escape which lay in aworld of dreams, she had entered that world, and thrived therein. It was aworld that was as pure as a pearl, and more fantastic than an Arabiantale. She knew that when she died she could take nothing out of life withher to heaven. But with this other world it was different, and all thatshe had or dreamed of that was fair she carried through its portals. Thishouse was there. Long closed, walled in, guarded by tall trees, seen atfar intervals and from a distance, as through a glass darkly, it hadbecome to her an enchanted spot, about which played her quick fancy, butwhere her feet might never stray.
But now the spell which had held the place in slumber was snapped, and herfeet was set in its pleasant paths. She moved down the alley between thelines of box, and the greyhound went with her. The branches of awalnut-tree drooped heavily across the way; when she had passed them shesaw the house, square, dull red, bathed in sunshine. A moment, and thewalk led her between squat pillars of living green into the garden out ofthe fairy tale.
Dim, fragrant, and old time; walled in; here sunshiny spaces, there coolshadows of fruit-trees; broken by circle
s and squares of box; green withthe grass and the leaves, red and purple and gold and white with theflowers; with birds singing, with the great silver river murmuring bywithout the wall at the foot of the terrace, with the voice of a man whosat beneath a cherry-tree reading aloud to himself,--such was the gardenthat she came upon, a young girl, and heavy at heart.
She was so near that she could hear the words of the reader, and she knewthe piece that he was reading; for you must remember that she was notuntaught, and that Darden had books.
"'When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight'"--
The greyhound ran from Audrey to the man who was reading these verseswith taste and expression, and also with a smile half sad and halfcynical. He glanced from his page, saw the girl where she stood againstthe dark pillar of the box, tossed aside the book, and went to her downthe grassy path between rows of nodding tulips. "Why, child!" he said."Did you come up like a flower? I am glad to see you in my garden, littlemaid. Are there Indians without?"
At least, to Audrey, there were none within. She had been angered, sick atheart and sore afraid, but she was no longer so. In this world that shehad entered it was good to be alive; she knew that she was safe, and of asudden she felt that the sunshine was very golden, the music very sweet.To Haward, looking at her with a smile, she gave a folded paper which shedrew from the bosom of her gown. "The minister sent me with it," sheexplained, and curtsied shyly.
Haward took the paper, opened it, and fell to poring over the crabbedcharacters with which it was adorned. "Ay? Gratulateth himself that thisfortunate parish hath at last for vestryman Mr. Marmaduke Haward; knoweththat, seeing I am what I am, my influence will be paramount with saidvestry; commendeth himself to my favor; beggeth that I listen not tocharges made by a factious member anent a vastly magnified occurrence atthe French ordinary; prayeth that he may shortly present himself at FairView, and explain away certain calumnies with which his enemies havepoisoned the ears of the Commissary; hopeth that I am in good health; andis my very obedient servant to command. Humph!"
He let the paper flutter to the ground, and turned to Audrey with akindly smile. "I am much afraid that this man of the church, whom I gavethee for guardian, child, is but a rascal, after all, and a wolf insheep's clothing. But let him go hang while I show you my garden."
Going closer, he glanced at her keenly; then went nearer still, andtouched her cheek with his forefinger. "You have been crying," he said."There _were_ Indians, then. How many and how strong, Audrey?"
The dark eyes that met his were the eyes of the child who, in thedarkness, through the corn, had run from him, her helper. "There was one,"she whispered, and looked over her shoulder.
Haward drew her to the seat beneath the cherry-tree, and there, while hesat beside her, elbow on knee and chin on hand, watching her, she told himof Hugon. It was so natural to tell him. When she had made an end of herhalting, broken sentences, and he spoke to her gravely and kindly, shehung upon his words, and thought him wise and wonderful as a king. He toldher that he would speak to Darden, and did not despair of persuading thatworthy to forbid the trader his house. Also he told her that in thissettled, pleasant, every-day Virginia, and in the eighteenth century, amaid, however poor and humble, might not be married against her will. Ifthis half-breed had threats to utter, there was always the law of theland. A few hours in the pillory or a taste of the sheriff's whip mightnot be amiss. Finally, if the trader made his suit again, Audrey must lethim know, and Monsieur Jean Hugon should be taught that he had anotherthan a helpless, friendless girl to deal with.
Audrey listened and was comforted, but the shadow did not quite leave hereyes. "He is waiting for me now," she said fearfully to Haward, who hadnot missed the shadow. "He followed me down the creek, and is waiting overagainst the gate in the wall. When I go back he will follow me again, andat last I will have to cross to his side. And then he will go home withme, and make me listen to him. His eyes burn me, and when his hand touchesme I see--I see"--
Her frame shook, and she raised to his gaze a countenance suddenly changedinto Tragedy's own. "I don't know why," she said, in a stricken voice,"but of them all that I kissed good-by that night I now see only Molly. Isuppose she was about as old as I am when they killed her. We were alwaystogether. I can't remember her face very clearly; only her eyes, and howred her lips were. And her hair: it came to her knees, and mine is just aslong. For a long, long time after you went away, when I could not sleepbecause it was dark, or when I was frightened or Mistress Deborah beat me,I saw them all; but now I see only Molly,--Molly lying there _dead_."
There was a silence in the garden, broken presently by Haward. "Ay,Molly," he said absently.
With his hand covering his lips and his eyes upon the ground, he fell intoa brown study. Audrey sat very still for fear that she might disturb him,who was so kind to her. A passionate gratitude filled her young heart; shewould have traveled round the world upon her knees to serve him. As forhim, he was not thinking of the mountain girl, the oread who, in the dayswhen he was younger and his heart beat high, had caught his light fancy,tempting him from his comrades back to the cabin in the valley, to lookagain into her eyes and touch the brown waves of her hair. She was ashes,and the memory of her stirred him not.
At last he looked up. "I myself will take you home, child. This fellowshall not come near you. And cease to think of these gruesome things thathappened long ago. You are young and fair; you should be happy. I will seeto it that"--
He broke off, and again looked thoughtfully at the ground. The book whichhe had tossed aside was lying upon the grass, open at the poem which hehad been reading. He stooped and raised the volume, and, closing it, laidit upon the bench beside her. Presently he laughed. "Come, child!" hesaid. "You have youth. I begin to think my own not past recall. Come andlet me show you my dial that I have just had put up."
There was no load at Audrey's heart: the vision of Molly had passed; thefear of Hugon was a dwindling cloud. She was safe in this old sunnygarden, with harm shut without. And as a flower opens to the sunshine, sobecause she was happy she grew more fair. Audrey every day, Audrey of theinfrequent speech and the wide dark eyes, the startled air, the shy,fugitive smiles,--that was not Audrey of the garden. Audrey of the gardenhad shining eyes, a wild elusive grace, laughter as silvery as that whichhad rung from her sister's lips, years agone, beneath the sugar-tree inthe far-off blue mountains, quick gestures, quaint fancies which shefeared not to speak out, the charm of mingled humility and spirit; enough,in short, to make Audrey of the garden a name to conjure with.
They came to the sun-dial, and leaned thereon. Around its rim were gravedtwo lines from Herrick, and Audrey traced the letters with her finger."The philosophy is sound," remarked Haward, "and the advice worth thetaking. Let us go see if there are any rosebuds to gather from the bushesyonder. Damask buds should look well against your hair, child."
When they came to the rosebushes he broke for her a few scarce-openedbuds, and himself fastened them in the coils of her hair. Innocent andglad as she was,--glad even that he thought her fair,--she trembledbeneath his touch, and knew not why she trembled. When the rosebuds werein place they went to see the clove pinks, and when they had seen theclove pinks they walked slowly up another alley of box, and across a grassplot to a side door of the house; for he had said that he must show her inwhat great, lonely rooms he lived.
Audrey measured the height and breadth of the house with her eyes. "It isa large place for one to live in alone," she said, and laughed. "There's abook at the Widow Constance's; Barbara once showed it to me. It is allabout a pilgrim; and there's a picture of a great square house, quite likethis, that was a giant's castle,--Giant Despair. Good giant, eat me not!"
Child, woman, spirit of the woodland, she passed before him into a dim,cool room, all littered with books. "My library," said Haward, with a waveof h
is hand. "But the curtains and pictures are not hung, nor the books inplace. Hast any schooling, little maid? Canst read?"
Audrey flushed with pride that she could tell him that she was notignorant; not like Barbara, who could not read the giant's name in thepilgrim book.
"The crossroads schoolmaster taught me," she explained. "He has a scar ineach hand, and is a very wicked man, but he knows more than the Commissaryhimself. The minister, too, has a cupboard filled with books, and he buysthe new ones as the ships bring them in. When I have time, and MistressDeborah will not let me go to the woods, I read. And I remember what Iread. I could"--
A smile trembled upon her lips, and her eyes grew brighter. Fired by thedesire that he should praise her learning, and in her very innocence boldas a Wortley or a Howe, she began to repeat the lines which he had beenreading beneath the cherry-tree:--
"'When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll'"--
The rhythm of the words, the passion of the thought, the pleased surprisethat she thought she read in his face, the gesture of his hand, allspurred her on from line to line, sentence to sentence. And now she wasnot herself, but that other woman, and she was giving voice to all herpassion, all her woe. The room became a convent cell; her ragged dress thepenitent's trailing black. That Audrey, lithe of mind as of body; who inthe woods seemed the spirit of the woods, in the garden the spirit of thegarden, on the water the spirit of the water,--that this Audrey, in usingthe speech of the poet, should embody and become the spirit of that speechwas perhaps, considering all things, not so strange. At any rate, andhowever her power came about, at that moment, in Fair View house, a greatactress was speaking.
"'Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the skies, And Faith'"--
The speaker lost a word, hesitated, became confused. Finally silence;then the Audrey of a while before, standing with heaving bosom, shy as afawn, fearful that she had not pleased him, after all. For if she had doneso, surely he would have told her as much. As it was, he had said but oneword, and that beneath his breath, "_Eloisa!_"
It would seem that her fear was unfounded; for when he did speak, therewere, God wot, sugar-plums enough. And Audrey, who in her workaday worldwas always blamed, could not know that the praise that was so sweet wasless wholesome than the blame.
Leaving the library they went into the hall, and from the hall looked intogreat, echoing, half-furnished rooms. All about lay packing-cases, many ofthem open, with rich stuffs streaming from them. Ornaments were huddled ontables, mirrors and pictures leaned their faces to the walls; everywherewas disorder.
"The negroes are careless, and to-day I held their hands," said Haward. "Imust get some proper person to see to this gear."
Up stairs and down they went through the house, that seemed very large andvery still, and finally they came out of the great front door, and downthe stone steps on to the terrace. Below them, sparkling in the sunshine,lay the river, the opposite shore all in a haze of light. "I must gohome," Audrey shyly reminded him, whereat he smiled assent, and they went,not through the box alley to the gate in the wall, but down the terrace,and out upon the hot brown boards of the landing. Haward, stepping into aboat, handed her to a seat in the stern, and himself took the oars.Leaving the landing, they came to the creek and entered it. Presentlythey were gliding beneath the red brick wall with the honeysuckle atop. Onthe opposite grassy shore, seated in a blaze of noon sunshine, was Hugon.
They in the boat took no notice. Haward, rowing, spoke evenly on, histheme himself and the gay and lonely life he had led these eleven years;and Audrey, though at first sight of the waiting figure she had paled andtrembled, was too safe, too happy, to give to trouble any part of thismagic morning. She kept her eyes on Haward's face, and almost forgot theman who had risen from the grass and in silence was following them.
Now, had the trader, in his hunting shirt and leggings, his moccasins andfur cap, been walking in the great woods, this silence, even with othersin company, would have been natural enough to his Indian blood; butMonsieur Jean Hugon, in peruke and laced coat, walking in a civilizedcountry, with words a-plenty and as hot as fire-water in his heart, andnone upon his tongue, was a figure strange and sinister. He watched thetwo in the boat with an impassive face, and he walked like an Indian on anenemy's trail, so silently that he scarce seemed to breathe, so lightlythat his heavy boots failed to crush the flowers or the tender grass.
Haward rowed on, telling Audrey stories of the town, of great men whosenames she knew, and beautiful ladies of whom she had never heard; and shesat before him with her slim brown hands folded in her lap and therosebuds withering in her hair, while through the reeds and the grass andthe bushes of the bank over against them strode Hugon in his Blenheim wigand his wine-colored coat. Well-nigh together the three reached the stakedriven in among the reeds, a hundred yards below the minister's house.Haward fastened the boat, and, motioning to Audrey to stay for the momentwhere she was, stepped out upon the bank to confront the trader, who,walking steadily and silently as ever, was almost upon them.
But it was broad daylight, and Hugon, with his forest instincts,preferred, when he wished to speak to the point, to speak in the dark. Hemade no pause; only looked with his fierce black eyes at the quiet,insouciant, fine gentleman standing with folded arms between him and theboat; then passed on, going steadily up the creek toward the bend wherethe water left the open smiling fields and took to the forest. He neverlooked back, but went like a hunter with his prey before him. Presentlythe shadows of the forest touched him, and Audrey and Haward were leftalone.
The latter laughed. "If his courage is of the quality of his lace--What,cowering, child, and the tears in your eyes! You were braver when you werenot so tall, in those mountain days. Nay, no need to wet your shoe."
He lifted her in his arms, and set her feet upon firm grass. "How longsince I carried you across a stream and up a dark hillside!" he said. "Andyet to-day it seems but yesternight! Now, little maid, the Indian has runaway, and the path to the house is clear."
* * * * *
In his smoke-filled, untidy best room Darden sat at table, his drinkbeside him, his pipe between his fingers, and open before him a book ofjests, propped by a tome of divinity. His wife coming in from thekitchen, he burrowed in the litter upon the table until he found an openletter, which he flung toward her. "The Commissary threatens again, damnhim!" he said between smoke puffs. "It seems that t'other night, when Iwas in my cups at the tavern, Le Neve and the fellow who has Ware Creekparish--I forget his name--must needs come riding by. I was dicing withParis. Hugon held the stakes. I dare say we kept not mum. And out of purebrotherly love and charity, my good, kind gentlemen ride on toWilliamsburgh on a tale-bearing errand! Is that child never coming back,Deborah?"
"She's coming now," answered his wife, with her eyes upon the letter. "Iwas watching from the upper window. He rowed her up the creek himself."
The door opened, and Audrey entered the room. Darden turned heavily in hischair, and took the long pipe from between his teeth. "Well?" he said."You gave him my letter?"
Audrey nodded. Her eyes were dreamy; the red of the buds in her hair hadsomehow stolen to her cheeks; she could scarce keep her lips from smiling."He bade me tell you to come to supper with him on Monday," she said. "Andthe Falcon that we saw come in last week brought furnishing for the greathouse. Oh, Mistress Deborah, the most beautiful things! The rooms are allto be made fine; and the negro women do not the work aright, and he wantssome one to oversee them. He says that he has learned that in EnglandMistress Deborah was own woman to my Lady Squander, and so should knowabout hangings and china and the placing of furniture. And he asks thatshe come to Fair View morning after morning until the house is in order.He wishes me to come, too. Mistress Deborah will much oblige him, hesays, and he will not forget her kindness."
Somewhat out of breath, but very happy, she looked with eager eyes fromone guardian to the other. Darden emptied and refilled his pipe,scattering the
ashes upon the book of jests. "Very good," he said briefly.
Into the thin visage of the ex-waiting-woman, who had been happier at myLady Squander's than in a Virginia parsonage, there crept a tightenedsmile. In her way, when she was not in a passion, she was fond of Audrey;but, in temper or out of temper, she was fonder of the fine things whichfor a few days she might handle at Fair View house. And the gratitude ofthe master thereof might appear in coins, or in an order on his store forsilk and lace. When, in her younger days, at Bath or in town, she hadserved fine mistresses, she had been given many a guinea for carrying anote or contriving an interview, and in changing her estate she had notchanged her code of morals. "We must oblige Mr. Haward, of course," shesaid complacently. "I warrant you that I can give things an air! There'snot a parlor in this parish that does not set my teeth on edge! Now at myLady Squander's"--She embarked upon reminiscences of past splendor,checked only by her husband's impatient demand for dinner.
Audrey, preparing to follow her into the kitchen, was stopped, as shewould have passed the table, by the minister's heavy hand. "The roses atFair View bloom early," he said, turning her about that he might bettersee the red cluster in her hair. "Look you, Audrey! I wish you no greatharm, child. You mind me at times of one that I knew many years ago,before ever I was chaplain to my Lord Squander or husband to my LadySquander's waiting-woman. A hunter may use a decoy, and he may also, onthe whole, prefer to keep that decoy as good as when 'twas made. Buy notthy roses too dearly, Audrey."
To Audrey he spoke in riddles. She took from her hair the loosened buds,and looked at them lying in her hand. "I did not buy them," she said."They grew in the sun on the south side of the great house, and Mr. Hawardgave them to me."