CHAPTER XXVIII
REBECCA AND I FALL OUT
M. Radisson had carried his rare furs to the king, and I was at SirJohn Kirke's door to report the return of her husband to MadameRadisson. The same grand personage with sleek jowls and padded calvesopened the door in the gingerly fashion of his office. This time heushered me quick enough into the dark reception-room.
As I entered, two figures jumped from the shadow of a tapestried alcovewith gasps of fright.
"Ramsay!"
It was Rebecca, the prim monkey, blushing a deal more than herinnocence warranted, with a solemn-countenanced gentleman of the clothscowling from behind.
"When--when--did you come?" she asked, all in a pretty flutter that sether dimples atrembling; and she forgot to give me welcome.
"Now--exactly on the minute!"
"Why--why--didn't you give us warning?" stammered Rebecca, putting outone shy hand.
At that I laughed outright; but it was as much the fashion forgentlemen of the cloth to affect a mighty solemnity in those days as itwas for the laity to let out an oath at every other word, and the youngdivine only frowned sourly at my levity.
"If--if--if you'd only given us warning," interrupts Rebecca.
"Faith, Rebecca, an you talk of warning, I'll begin to think you neededit----"
"To give you welcome," explains Rebecca. Then recovering herself, shebegs, with a pretty bobbing courtesy, to make me known to the ReverendAdam Kittridge.
The Reverend Kittridge shakes hands with an air as he would sound mydoctrine on the spot, and Rebecca hastens to add that I am "avery--_old--old_ friend."
"Not so _very_ old, Rebecca, not so very long ago since you and I readover the same lesson-books. Do you mind the copy-heads on thewriting-books?
"'_Heaven to find. The Bible mind. In Adam's fall we sinn'ed all.Adam lived a lonely life until he got himself a wife._'"
But at that last, which was not to be found among the head-lines ofBoston's old copy-books, little Rebecca looked like to drop, and with afrightened gesture begged us to be seated, which we all accomplishedwith a perceptible stiffening of the young gentleman's joints.
"Is M. Radisson back?" she asks.
"He reached England yesterday. He bade me say that he will be hereafter he meets the shareholders. He goes to present furs to the kingthis morning."
"That will please Lady Kirke," says the young gentleman.
"Some one else is back in England," exclaims Rebecca, with the air ofnews. "Ben Gillam is here."
"O-ho! Has he seen the Company?"
"He and Governor Brigdar have been among M. Radisson's enemies. YoungCaptain Gillam says there's a sailor-lad working on the docks here cangive evidence against M. Radisson."
"Can you guess who that sailor-lad is, Rebecca?"
"It is not--no--it is not Jack?" she asks.
"Jack it is, Rebecca. That reminds me, Jack sent a message to you!"
"A message to me?"
"Yes--you know he's married--he married last year when he was in thenorth."
"Married?" cries Rebecca, throwing up her hands and like to faint fromsurprise. "Married in the north? Why--who--who married him, Ramsay?"
"A woman, of course!"
"But--" Rebecca was blushing furiously, "but--I mean--was there achaplain? Had you a preacher? And--and was not Mistress Hortense theonly woman----?"
"No--child--there were thousands of women--native women----"
"Squaws!" exclaims the prim little Puritan maid, with a red spotburning on each cheek. "Do you mean that Jack Battle has married asquaw?" and she rose indignantly.
"No--I mean a woman! Now, Rebecca, will you sit down till I tell youall about it?"
"Sir," interjects the young gentleman of the cloth, "I protest thereare things that a maid ought not to hear!"
"Then, sir, have a care that you say none of them under cloak ofreligion! _Honi soit qui mal y pense_! The mind that thinketh no eviltaketh no evil."
Then I turned to Rebecca, standing with a startled look in her eyes.
"Rebecca, Madame Radisson has told you how Jack was left to be torturedby the Indians?"
"Hortense has told me."
"And how he risked his life to save an Indian girl's life?"
"Yes," says Rebecca, with downcast lids.
"That Indian girl came and untied Jack's bonds the night of themassacre. They escaped together. When he went snow-blind, Mizzahunted and snared for him and kept him. Her people were all dead; shecould not go back to her tribe--if Jack had left her in the north, thehostiles would have killed her. Jack brought her home with him----"
"He ought to have put her in a house of correction," snapped Rebecca.
"Rebecca! Why would he put her in a house of correction? What had shedone that she ought not to have done? She had saved his life. He hadsaved hers, and he married her."
"There was no minister," said Rebecca, with a tightening of herchildish dimpled mouth and a reddening of her cheeks and a littleindignant toss of the chin.
"Rebecca! How could they get a minister a thousand leagues away fromany church? They will get one now----"
Rebecca rose stiffly, her little lily face all aflame.
"My father saith much evil cometh of this--it is sin--he ought not tohave married her; and--and--it is very wrong of you to be telling methis--" she stammered angrily, with her little hands clasped tightacross the white stomacher.
"Very unfit," comes from that young gentleman of the cloth.
We were all three standing, and I make no doubt my own face went as redas theirs, for the taunt bit home. That inference of evil where noevil was, made an angrier man than was my wont. The two moved towardsthe door. I put myself across their way.
"Rebecca, you do yourself wrong! You are measuring other people'sdeeds with too short a yardstick, little woman, and the wrong is inyour own mind, not theirs."
"I--I--don't know what you mean!" cried Rebecca obstinately, with abreak in her voice that ought to have warned; but her next wordsprovoked afresh. "It was wicked!--it was sinful!"--with an angrystamp--"it was shameful of Jack Battle to marry an Indian girl----"
There I cut in.
"Was it?" I asked. "Young woman, let me tell you a bald truth! When awhite man marries an Indian, the union is as honourable as your ownwould be. It is when the white man does _not_ marry the Indian thatthere is shame; and the shame is to the white man, not the Indian----!"
Sure, one might let an innocent bundle of swans' down and baby cheekshave its foibles without laying rough hands upon them!
The next,--little Rebecca cries out that I've insulted her, is infloods of tears, and marches off on the young gentleman's arm.
Comes a clatter of slippered heels on the hall floor and in bustles myLady Kirke, bejewelled and befrilled and beflounced till I had thoughtno mortal might bend in such massive casings of starch.
"La," she pants, "good lack!--Wellaway! My fine savage! Welladay!What a pretty mischief have you been working? Proposals are amaking atthe foot of the stairs. O--lud! The preacher was akissing that littlePuritan maid as I came by! Good lack, what will Sir John say?"
And my lady laughs and laughs till I look to see the tears stain therouge of her cheeks.
"O-lud," she laughs, "I'm like to die! He tried to kiss the baggage!And the little saint jumps back so quick that he hit her ear bymistake! La," she laughs, "I'm like to die!"
I'd a mind to tell her ladyship that a loosening of her stays mightprolong life, but I didn't. Instead, I delivered the message fromPierre Radisson and took myself off a mighty mad man; for youth can beangry, indeed. And the cause of the anger was the same as fretteth theOld World and New to-day. Rebecca was measuring Jack by old standards.I was measuring Rebecca by new standards. And the measuring of the oldby the new and the new by the old teareth love to tatters.
Pierre Radisson I met at the entrance to the Fur Company's offices inBroad Street. His steps were of one on steel springs
and his eyesafire with victory.
"We've beaten them," he muttered to me. "His Majesty favours us! HisMajesty accepted the furs and would have us at Whitehall to-morrownight to give account of our doings. An they try to trick me out ofreward I'll have them to the foot o' the throne!"
But of Pierre Radisson's intrigue against his detractors I was notthinking at all.
"Were the courtiers about?" I asked.
"Egad! yes; Palmer and Buckingham and Ashley leering at Her Grace ofPortsmouth, with Cleveland looking daggers at the new favourite, andthe French ambassador shaking his sides with laughter to see the womenat battle. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, got us access topresent the furs. Egad, Ramsay, I am a rough man, but it seemedprodigious strange to see a king giving audience in the apartments ofthe French woman, and great men leering for a smile from that huzzy!The king lolls on a Persian couch with a litter of spaniel puppies onone side and the French woman on the other. And what do you think thatblack-eyed jade asks when I present the furs and tell of our capturedFrenchmen? To have her own countrymen sold to the Barbadoes so thatshe may have the money for her gaming-table! Egad, I spiked thatpretty plan by saying the Frenchmen were sending her a present of furs,too! To-morrow night we go to Whitehall to entertain His Majesty withour doings! We need not fear enemies in the Company now!"
"I'm not so sure of that," said I. "The Gillams have been workingagainst you here, and so has Brigdar."
"Hah--let them work!"
"Did you see _her_?" I asked.
"_Her_?" questions Radisson absently. "Pardieu, there are so many_hers_ about the court now with no she-saint among them! Which do youmean?"
The naming of Hortense after such speech was impossible. Without moremention of the court, we entered the Company's office, where sat thecouncillors in session around a long table. No one rose to welcome himwho had brought such wealth on the Happy Return; and the reason was notfar to seek. The post-chaise had arrived with Pierre Radisson'sdetractors, and allied with them were the Gillams and Governor Brigdar.
Pierre Radisson advanced undaunted and sat down. Black looks greetedhis coming, and the deputy-governor, who was taking the Duke of York'splace, rose to suggest that "Mr. Brigdar, wrongfully dispossessed ofthe fort on the bay by one Frenchman known as Radisson, be restored asgovernor of those parts."
A grim smile went from face to face at Pierre Radisson's expense.
"Better withdraw, man, better withdraw," whispers Sir John Kirke, hisfather-in-law.
But Radisson only laughs.
Then one rises to ask by what authority the Frenchman, Radisson, hadgone to report matters to the king instead of leaving that to theshareholders.
M. de Radisson utters another loud laugh.
Comes a knocking, and there appears at the door Colonel Blood, fatherof the young lieutenant, with a message from the king.
"Gentlemen," announces the freebooter, "His Majesty hath bespoke dinnerfor the Fur Company at the Lion. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York,hath ordered Madeira for the councillors' refreshment, and now awaitsyour coming!"
For the third time M. Radisson laughs aloud with a triumph of insolence.
"Come, gentlemen," says he, "I've countered. Let us be going. HisRoyal Highness awaits us across the way."
Blood stood twirling his mustaches and tapping his sword-handleimpatiently. He was as swarth and straight and dauntless as PierreRadisson, with a sinister daring in his eyes that might have put theseal to any act.
"Egad's life!" he exclaimed, "do fur-traders keep royalty awaiting?"
And our irate gentleman must needs haste across to the Lion, whereawaited the Company Governor, the Duke of York, with all the merryyoung blades of the court. King Charles's reign was a time of license,you have been told. What that meant you would have known if you hadseen the Fur Company at dinner. Blood, Senior, I mind, had adrinking-match against Sir George Jeffreys, the judge; and I risk notmy word on how much those two rascals put away. The judge it was whowent under mahogany first, though Colonel Blood scarce had wit enoughleft to count the winnings of his wager. Young Lieutenant Blood stoodup on his chair and bawled out some monstrous bad-writ verse to "afair-dark lady"--whatever that meant--"who was as cold as ice andcombustible as gunpowder." Healths were drunk to His Majesty KingCharles, to His Royal Highness the Duke of York, to our councillors ofthe Company, to our governors of the fur-posts, and to the captains.Then the Duke of York himself lifted the cup to Pierre Radisson'shonour; whereat the young courtiers raised such a cheering, the grimsilence of Pierre Radisson's detractors passed unnoticed. After theDuke of York had withdrawn, our riotous sparks threw off all restraint.On bended knee they drank to that fair evil woman whom King Louis hadsent to ensnare King Charles. Odds were offered on how long her powerwith the king would last. Then followed toasts to a list ofsecond-rate names, dancing girls and French milliners, who kept placeof assignation for the dissolute crew, and maids of honour, who were nomaids of honour, but adventuresses in the pay of great men to advancetheir interest with the king, and riffraff women whose names historyhath done well to forget. To these toasts Colonel Blood and PierreRadisson and I sat with inverted glasses.
While the inn was ringing to the shouts of the revellers, thefreebooter leaned across to Pierre Radisson.
"Gad's name if they like you," he mumbled drunkenly.
"Who?" asked Radisson.
"Fur Company," explained Blood. "They hate you! So they do me! Butif the king favours you, they've got to have you," and he laughed tohimself.
"That's the way with me," he whispered in drunken confidence to M.Radisson. "What a deuce?" he asked, turning drowsily to the table."What's my boy doing?"
Young Lieutenant Blood was to his feet holding a reaming glass high ashis head.
"Gentlemen, I give you the sweet savage!" he cried, "the Diana of thesnows--a thistle like a rose--ice that burns--a pauper that spurns--"
"Curse me if he doesn't mean that saucy wench late come from your northfort," interrupted the father.
My hands were itching to throw a glass in the face of father or son,but Pierre Radisson restrained me.
"More to be done sometimes by doing nothing," he whispered.
The young fellows were on their knees draining bumpers; but ColonelBlood was rambling again.
"He gives 'em that saucy brat, does he? Gad's me, I'd give her toperdition for twopenny-worth o' rat poison! Look you, Radisson, 'tiswhat I did once; but she's come back! Curse me, I could 'a' done itneater and cheaper myself--twopenny-worth o' poison would do it, Picotsaid; but gad's me, I paid him a hundred guineas, and here she's comeback again!"
"Blood . . . Colonel Blood," M. Picot had repeated at his death.
I had sprung up. Again M. Radisson held me back.
"How long ago was that, Colonel Blood?" he asked softly.
"Come twenty year this day s'ennight," mutters the freebooter. "'Twasbefore I entered court service. Her father had four o' my fellowsgibbeted at Charing Cross, Gad's me, I swore he'd sweat for it! Shewas Osmond's only child--squalling brat coming with nurse over HounslowHeath. 'Sdeath--I see it yet! Postillions yelled like stuck pigs,nurses kicked over in coach dead away. When they waked up, curse me,but the French poisoner had the brat! Curse me, I'd done better tofinish her myself. Picot ran away and wrote letters--letters--letters,till I had to threaten to slit his throat, 'pon my soul, I had! Andnow she must marry the boy----"
"Why?" put in Radisson, with cold indifference and half-listening air.
"Gad's life, can't you see?" asked the knave. "Osmond's dead, theboy's lands are hers--the French doctor may 'a' told somebody," andColonel Blood of His Majesty's service slid under the table with thejudge.
M. Radisson rose and led the way out.
"You'd like to cudgel him," he said. "Come with me to Whitehallinstead!"