Part 2

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."

III

THE RACES

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."

"It shall be the business of Annapolis to obliterate the taste."

"It is obliterated, now," he said, bending down. "Henceforth, Annapolis follows after London, with nothing whatever between--and you are Annapolis."

"Oh, no! I am not. I have nothing to do with Annapolis, other than as a guest."

"That should make you kind to the stranger."

"If the stranger be kind to me," she said, archly; then, before he could make answer, added: "Take supper with us, this evening. You can retire in time to change your clothes for the Ball."

"Gladly," he exclaimed, "gladly! Though, as to clothes, this suit will have to pass; Pinkney can get me no more for a day or two. Even this was a great favor."

"You should hope, sir, that the rest will be as becoming," she murmured, as the coach drew up.

"Good-bye," she said, waving her fan to Mr. Paca and Captain Herford and Mr. Worthington; "I will see you at the Ball, to-night."

And, giving Sir Edward her hand, they went up the steps, and into the mansion.

IV

THE MARBURYS

Sir Edward Parkington slept late, the following morning. When he awoke, the sun was high above the Severn, and busy Annapolis was well into another day.

For a while, he lay and watched the golden light as it flickered through the leaves, now here, now there, frisking about on the carpet like a sprite.

"Well, Sir Edward, you are enjoying yourself," he said, with a bit of a smile. "You danced every dance, and you went in to supper with Miss Stirling. Every one, from the Governor down, did his best to entertain you, except that fool Herford, and he is jealous. I compliment you, sir, upon the favorable impression you have made.... But, where the devil, have I seen that fellow Maynadier, before? Somewhere, I am perfectly sure, but where?--where? And I cannot make out whether he recognized only something familiar about me, or whether he did not recognize me at all. At any rate, I hope it was the latter. Herford is one with whom I would best be careful--not for what he knows, but on general principles. He is in love with Miss Stirling, and cannot see she does not care a rap for him. With Maynadier, it is a casual interest, nothing more. He would not cross the street to make sure of her. And, even if he knew I was a masquerader, I question whether he would do more than to warn me out of Maryland. With Herford, it is very different; he would proclaim me, from the State House, as an impostor and a thief--and all because of Mistress Martha Stirling! Well, for that I cannot blame him. She is marvelously pretty, and an arrant flirt. She cares no more for me than she does for Herford; but I can see it, and he cannot. The girl annoys me, too, with her self-complacency; she is so frank withal, and yet so alluring. I do not wonder that she has all the young men, of the town, bound to her chariot's wheels. She has started to bind me.--Good, we shall see who is bound, when the binding cease."

He stretched, and yawned; then arose, dressed himself, and went down to the Coffee-house for breakfast.

"It's a fine day, sir," said Sparrow, as he took his order.

"Now that you draw my attention to it, I observe that it is a very fine day." Then he laughed. "Sparrow, why is it that every innkeeper says the same thing to a guest--a fine day or a nasty day, as the case may be? It is neither informing nor original. Why, the devil, do you not get a new greeting?"

"I don't know, sir--I don't know. It is easy to say, and does not give offense. You are the first, begging your pardon, sir, who ever found fault with it. I used the same in London."

"You come from London?" said Sir Edward, carelessly.

"Three years ago, on Saint Jamina's day last past. I remember I waited on you one night at the Golden Lion."

"Your memory is better than mine," looking at him more closely.

"Like enough--like enough, sir. It is much more natural that I should remember. I dare say, you did not so much as look at me."

Parkington shook his head.

"Who else was in the party?" he said.

"I did not know any of them, sir, you or any of the others. But I knew your face the moment I clapped eyes on it, last evening."

"Oh, I see," breathing easy, again.

His breakfast finished, Sir Edward paid his score, and was escorted to the door by Sparrow, who bowed him out.

For a little while, he watched the people, the tradesmen, mechanics and shopkeepers, who made Church Street and the dock below it the busiest place in America.

This was the business section. All trade was confined within its limits. There was no trespassing on Prince George Street, or King George, or Tabernacle, or Duke of Gloucester, or Charles, or North-East Streets; they were reserved for the aristocracy. The land along them belonged to the Bordleys, the Collohans, the Ogles, and the Lloyds, the Pacas, the Brices and the Taskers, the two Charles Carrolls, the Worthingtons, the Hammonds and the Ridouts. They cared for no intrusion on their privacy; and, on occasion of a rout or ball at their town houses, they roped off the street in which it was located, to keep the common people out.

Presently, Parkington sauntered up Church Street to the Circle, and, attracted by a large placard which was posted on the church, he crossed to read it:

It was a notice by the wardens of the parish.

"_All the laws of the Province and the English statutes relating to religious worship, particularly Section 14, Chapter 2, of First Elizabeth, oblige all persons not having a lawful excuse to resort to their parish church or chapel on every Sunday, and on other days ordained to be kept as holy days, and then and there to abide in decent manner during the time of common prayer, preaching or other services of God._"

"Rather unusual," said young Mr. Brice's voice, behind him.