CHAPTER VIII

The Governor's Ball

Tuesday passed as rapidly or as slowly as one would have had the last day before a long-looked-for event. Sir Charles rode away in the early morning, but returned to the plantation in the afternoon, to find even Vincent busy over a package of finery sent out, at Madam Trevor's order, from the _Baltimore_. Sir Charles himself was not interested. His spotless full-dress uniform, his orders, his finest ruffles, his paste buckles and silk stockings were quite ready, and there were no further touches that he could add to the costume. During the afternoon and evening he paid no attention at all to Deborah, but was, on the contrary, so attentive to his _fiancée_ that Madam Trevor softened and grew voluble with pleasure.

Wednesday dawned clear and hot, and from earliest morning every household in the county was in a moil of final preparation. Governor Bladen was to give a dinner to the commissioners and his own staff and officials before the ball. To this, of course, Sir Charles had been bidden, and he, therefore, was to leave the house at four in the afternoon, fully dressed for the evening, wrapped about in a long and voluminous cloak to protect him from the dust and the foam of his horse. As he passed through the sitting-room on his way out to the portico, where his animal waited, he found Deborah standing by a tableful of moss-roses which she was sorting. Passing close to her side he said, gallantly: "Faith, Debby, you'll be no fairer to-night in the satins than you are now in calico." And, while he stopped to take a bud from the heap, he added, in a rapid undertone: "If you'd not drive me mad, little girl, bring your courage with you to-night, and see that you trust to me truly, as I do to you."

Then he passed on, and Deborah, unconscious of what she did, followed him slowly out to the portico and stood gazing after him as he galloped away down the dusty drive. Strange words he had spoken--and the first that he had given her all day. Yet she was not surprised by them. Words were oftentimes superfluous with Deborah, for she had the power of knowing men's thoughts. Dreamily her eyes wandered down the road at the little cloud of dust that lingered after him. She was soon to follow on that way. And how--how was she to return? She could not answer the question, and it was as well that Lucy at that moment called her from the house:

"Come, Debby, come and pack your things for the doctor's to-night. And 'tis nearly time to dress; and oh, Deb! Think of the dancing, and the lights, and our dresses--and all, and all, and all!" And with sober John Whitney gone quite out of her mind for the moment, Lucy fluttered away to her room, leaving Deborah to follow as she would.

His excellency John Bladen, like most colonial governors, knew how to give a dinner to any one, and, most particularly, a dinner to men only. To-night twenty sat at his table: the seven returned commissioners, the gubernatorial staff, the speaker of the Burgesses, the under-secretary, Mr. Robert King, Dr. Charles Carroll (this last from friendship purely), and, for the sake of the Church, the Reverend George Rockwell. The select company ate mightily, but, later, drank more cautiously than usual out of respect to the forthcoming festivities; and finally they sat about the disordered table with some pipes of fine Virginia tobacco, presented by Governor Gooch in lieu of his own presence, some bottles of Madeira from the same patronizing source, and certain good stories, not quite invented for the ear of the Church, but apparently in no way distasteful to the eminent rector of St. Anne's, who, indeed, to be frank, told the best of them himself. It was a man's dinner, an official dinner, where, none the less, the weight of ordinary dignity was for once dropped off, and all went merry as a marriage bell. Sir Charles was seated opposite to Benedict Calvert, with a brother lieutenant on either side of him. His wit was poignant, his laughter ready, and his head cool, albeit there was enough work in his brain to have made a man less careless too anxious to eat. Rockwell being several seats away, it was impossible to speak with him on personal topics; but the moment it was announced that Lady Bladen waited in the drawing-room, Rockwell and Fairfield sought each other through the little throng, as if by mutual understanding.

"You're prepared to go through with it, George?" asked the young man, putting one hand on the rector's shoulder.

"Egad, if you can go it, I can, Sir Charles."

"You'll miss something of the festivity--but you'll be ten pounds heavier in pocket to-morrow, George."

"Ay. And so the lady's consented? Faith! She well may! It's such a chance as she never dreamed of."

"The lady does not know, yet. I'll take her to-night, in the heat of the evening, when her blood will be up. She's rare, George, she's rare! Odds my life that such another woman does not live! I--"

"Tut! Then you're still determined--that--"

"What?"

"It shall be legal?"

"Zounds, man, not another word! What do you take me for? She's a cousin, I tell you, George. And I'm already engaged to Miss Trevor."

"The devil you are!"

"Ay. I couldn't escape. 'Twill be all out to-night. But I'll have little Deborah if I have to fight Annapolis single-handed."

"Um. About the ceremony--Miriam Vawse will witness for one, but 'tis usual to have two--"

"There's the Frenchman. Faith, that would be a stroke! He's led me a jealous dance for months. We'll have him down from his room to sign the articles--or whatever you do. To think that I'll be a Benedict by morning! Lord! Lord! Congratulate me, George!"

"Come away, man. You've too much Jamaica in you, and the ladies are beginning to arrive. I hear Mistress Paca's voice on the stairs. Come and make your compliments to the Governor's lady."

Having performed this duty as punctiliously as only he was able, Sir Charles left Rockwell's side and strolled slowly up the big, candle-lit room, at one end of which a band of musicians were already tuning their instruments. After a moment or two of indecision he joined a little company of officers who sat together in a corner, talking lightly among themselves, and commenting on the guests who were beginning to arrive.

"Ouf! On my soul, there's Cradock with Rockwell. How do they stand it?"

"Oh, the chaplain's been off so long that he's forgotten how they once struggled for St. Anne's--"

"Or else he wants to hear the story that George wouldn't tell over the Madeira."

"Yes, I've listened to it fourteen times, but always with Jamaica to back it."

"There's Dorothy Mason and her mother."

"Egad, she's got on green again! 'Tis the only color that does not become her. Why--"

"Oh, doubtless young Thomas likes it."

"There he is--"

"With Caroline Harwood. Poor Dorry!"

"I'll go comfort her."

One of the young men left the group and joined the knot of ladies who stood talking at a little distance from the door.

"Oh, good-evening, Lieutenant Henry!" cried a piquant-looking damsel in a gown of rather brilliant green satin, with flounced petticoat of white.

"Your most obedient, Mistress Mason. I can see you will have small mercy on hearts to-night."

"Lord, Mr. Henry, you're the most open flatterer! I vow I never looked worse."

"Oh, I protest! I call the gods to witness! Are you engaged for the minuet?"

Dorothy wriggled her shoulders, colored, glanced swiftly towards Robin Thomas, who still lingered by Miss Harwood, saw that the case was hopeless for her, and so replied, in a provoked manner: "La! How should I be engaged when we've seen no one for a week? Our plantation's such a distance from the river."

"You'll honor me, then?"

"Oh, with thanks. Look, there are the Trevors. They were just in the dressing-room when I came down. You've heard the news?"

"No. Tell it me."

"Ginny Trevor's engaged at last."

"What! Not to--"

"Sir Charles Fairfield."

"Monstrous! Monstrous! Why, he's been eating with us for three hours and never told! Lord! If 'twere any but you had told me, I swear I'd discredit it. There he goes to them now."

Madam Trevor, her daughters, Vincent, and Deborah were just entering the room. They had arrived fifteen minutes before, and no time, certainly, had been wasted in the announcement of Virginia's engagement. The room was in a buzz of conversation, and not a little of it was relative to the two young people who now stood rather uncomfortably side by side, Virginia straight and cold, her companion cursing inwardly at women's tongues, and staring at the back of Deborah, who was laughing with Will Paca.

"You will give me the minuet, at least, Virginia?" he asked, with considerate nonchalance.

She shrugged slightly, as she rejoined: "Go and engage Debby for a country-dance, then, before she is all bespoken."

Fairfield glanced at her sharply, with surprise in his look. She was smiling at him in the most unconcerned manner possible. After an instant's hesitation he bowed deeply, and left her side, but made his way first to Lucy, who was manoeuvring to avoid Rockwell. From her he obtained two country-dances, for it was the fashion to change partners after the opening minuet and every two dances thereafter. Then he proceeded to Deborah, with whom Carleton Jennings was speaking.

"Ah, lieutenant!" cried that youth, merrily, at Charles's approach. "Miss Travis is just recounting your happiness. I'm in the same estate myself, you know, and--you have my congratulations. Miss Trevor cannot fail to grace whatever station in life she may attain to. I--"

"There now, that's quite enough, Jennings. Go and engage her for a dance, and pour a few of my graces into her ears. I've come to claim some attention of Miss Travis," cried Fairfield, with such unabashed good-nature that Jennings could not be angry. Thereupon, with a smile and an earnest injunction to Deborah not to forget the promised dances, he went off to Virginia.

The instant that he was alone with Deborah, Fairfield's artificial manner dropped from him, and he betrayed the extent to which he had keyed his nerves.

"You'll give me the fourth and fifth, and the eighth and ninth, Deborah?" he whispered, huskily, drawing her a little towards the wall.

The girl looked keenly into his pale face. "Two are enough. Why do you ask more of me?" she inquired.

"Because I have so much to explain to you. Because so much must happen to-night. You'll grant me the dances?"

"If you like. What is to happen to-night?"

He leaned over her and looked straight down into her steady eyes. "I am going to marry you to-night," he whispered, quietly.

Deborah did not change color. She scarcely realized what he had said.

"How? Where?" she asked, a faint smile curling her lips.

"No--I mean it. I will tell you when we dance."

Pausing a moment, undecidedly, after those words, he presently turned and left her there, staring at the opposite wall, not perceiving the little throng of officers who had set upon Charles with sudden elaborate congratulations, a good deal of chaff, and some expostulation, just across the room. Nor did she see Will Paca, her partner for the minuet, till she found him demanding the subject of her meditations.

The first strains of the opening minuet came from the orchestra up the room. The moving throng suddenly resolved into order, and various sets of sixteen were formed. The two Trevor girls were excellent dancers, both showing appreciation of natural harmony by the way in which they managed themselves: Lucy lightly, with an occasional added step; Virginia, with languorous grace, keeping perfect time, yet moving more leisurely than any other woman in the room. As to Deborah, her dancing was, ordinarily, the delight of her partner; for, no matter how lively her conversation, she had never been known to halt at a step. To-night it appeared as though she had forgotten the very rudiments of the accomplishment. She failed on all the returns, stumbled in her courtesies, walked upon the train of the lady in front of her, and, withal, maintained such unbreakable silence throughout the dance that her partner breathed with relief when the last chord was struck and the old people prepared to retire to cards. When Will Paca had left her and Robin Thomas approached for the first country-dance, Deborah shook herself vigorously, and vowed that for twenty minutes, at least, she would forget the existence of Sir Charles, in favor of her partner of the moment.

In the mean time Lucy had stumbled into a most unfortunate situation. The minuet over, she and her companion, talking and laughing together after the breaking up of the set, passed out of the large drawing-room into the hall, across which were the card-rooms. Towards these Madam Trevor, with Mrs. Harwood and Mr. King, was making her way, chatting volubly. As Lucy and her cavalier passed these three, the gentleman stopped her, smiling:

"Soho! This is the maid who had the impertinence to be engaged before her elder sister! Little minx! And how d'ye like Mistress Virginia's great match with your cousin? And will love keep the rectory warm for you while the windows of Castle Fairfield are blazing with lights in old England? Eh, small puss?"

Madam Trevor looked extremely ill at ease during this tasteless speech, especially as Mr. King did not drop Lucy's arm at the end of it, but seemed to hold her to reply. Lucy's face was flushed scarlet, and, to crown the affair, George Rockwell, with Vincent at his elbow, suddenly joined the group.

"I am not engaged, Mr. King," said Lucy, clearly.

"Not engaged, Lucy! Why, how now! We had all heard from thy mother, here, that Mr. Rockwell was the happiest of men," cried Mistress Harwood, noting madam's discomfort with a spice of malice.

"Faith, Mistress Harwood, my happiness is small enough to-night," remarked the portly George, coming forward. "The lady would not even grant me one Sir Roger."

Mistress Harwood raised her brows in amusement. "For an accepted husband, you are gentle not to command one," she said, laughing.

"Lucy, name Mr. Rockwell his dances at once, if he would still have them from any one so discourteous. I blush for you, indeed!" interposed her mother, sharply.

"Oh, coquetry--coquetry, madam! Youth is light o' heart. Come now, fair Lucy, and make this man happy," put in Mr. King, detaining her still.

Little Lucy raised her head, and caught Vincent's eyes upon her. His glance was not unkind. "I shall not grant Mr. Rockwell any dance to-night, and--and I am engaged, indeed, but not to him."

"What!"

"I am. I am engaged to Will Paca for the next dances." Lucy Lucy was stumbling now, fear at her daring sweeping suddenly over her.

Mr. King, in the midst of his laughter, found breath to say: "Will Paca for the dances, but who for the wedding, little Lucy--who's for that?"

Once more Lucy Trevor caught her brother's gaze, and she clung to it, unheeding Madam Trevor's angry face and Rockwell's mortified one.

"I shall wed John Whitney--the Puritan. Let me go, Mr. King! Mr. Chase is waiting!"

And Lucy, frightened, triumphant, proud of her faith in the man she loved, more proud of her certainty of his love for her, tore herself from Mr. King's loosened grasp, and, giving her hand to Jerry Chase, fairly ran away.

The group that she left behind was silent. Madam Trevor, utterly overcome, had not a word left at her command. Rockwell was in much the same state. Vincent, not a little astonished at his gentle sister's boldness, and deciding that the feeling which prompted it must be strong, was making a decision that was rather remarkable in, and exceedingly creditable to, a man of those narrow times. Mistress Harwood planned a morning's gossip on the morrow with a neighbor, at Antoinette Trevor's expense, and Mr. King decided that, were he a young blade again, it would be a girl of such spirit that he would have for his wife. And then, as the strains of the first reel sounded from the ballroom, the little group broke up.

Sir Charles, with cool forethought, had engaged no partner for these next two dances, but bent his steps upstairs through the house on an exploring expedition. He wandered through ladies' cloak-rooms, round halls and narrow corridors, finally discovering and descending a steep flight of stairs that took him down to the first floor, through a small passage, and out of the house into the yard at the back. This was what he had sought. The little door was open, for slaves and servants had been passing in and out of it through the whole evening; and so, satisfied in this direction, he returned to the front of the house at the close of the third dance.

Deborah, just finishing a round of laughter with Carleton Jennings, received Sir Charles with admirable self-possession, and they took their place silently in the set, which was a minuet. It was now that Fairfield had determined to set before the girl his arrangements for the evening's reckless finale. Under cover of the first slow strains of music and the first careful steps, he began:

"Have you any partners after the ninth dance?"

"No," said Deborah, steadily, understanding him at once.

"Do you--know of anything to come after the ninth dance?"

"No," she replied again, in a lower tone.

"Deborah--have you courage for an adventure?"

They saluted each other and gravely crossed over.

"I have courage, Sir Charles, if I have the will."

"Ah, Deborah--I entreat you to gain the will to-night!"

"For what?" she asked, softly.

"You know."

"Say it."

"To become--my wife."

Deborah flushed scarlet, and then the color fled, leaving her deathly white. There was a necessary silence between them, owing to the dance. When they came together again her partner went on:

"Would you fear, Debby, to walk from here to Mistress Vawse's house alone at midnight?"

Deborah looked at him quickly: "Why must I do that?"

"Listen." Again the courtesy and bow, and he continued: "After the seventh dance--you are engaged to me for the eighth and ninth--you must go up-stairs, put on your cloak and hood, and leave the dressing-room by the door that leads into the hall at the back. There I will meet you and conduct you down the servants' stairs, and you can escape the house by the little door into the yard. You know your way round the garden and out upon Church Street. From there 'tis easy to Miriam's."

"Ah!"

Fairfield went on, without heeding the faint exclamation: "Mistress Vawse expects you. I have seen her. She will make you comfortable till I come. I will give your excuses to Vincent, telling him that Carroll's black has taken you home since you have--a headache, or a torn ruffle, or a megrim--anything. I fancy he'll not follow you. As soon as I can, I will go after you with Rockwell. At the tavern he will marry us by book, Debby, and after--after I'll take you to the doctor's, and all will be well. 'Tis not difficult, Debby. Come--you will make me live among the gods to-night?"

He pressed to her side for the answer; but the dance presently separated them and she had not given it. Deborah's blood was running fast; her head was hot, her eyes brilliant, her cheeks flushed, none of which things would have been had she had no thought of considering this wild proposition. Nevertheless, she hesitated. Become Lady Fairfield, and, some day, something higher? She had dreamed of it, it must be confessed, before she ever suspected that such a thing could actually be. She had even fancied, long ago, that she wanted nothing more than Sir Charles; for, as men went, he was, to her, perfection. But this idea had undergone a change, some time since. How long since? Did she care to reckon the days? Perhaps they needed no reckoning. Perhaps Deborah knew very well that since the hour when her eyes had first met those of Claude de Mailly, Charles Fairfield had changed for her forever. But Deborah had been hurt by Claude. She would think of him no more, after that day when, in the midst of the thunder-storm, they had sat alone in Miriam's tavern, and he had laid bare before her his life at the Court of France. Claude de Mailly belonged, heart and soul, to another life. Here was Sir Charles, who could give one to her. Lady Fairfield--Deborah Fairfield--the name pleased her.

"Debby, will you not answer?" came a tremulous whisper from beside her. Sir Charles was becoming anxious.

All at once she flung debate, prudence, the conventions, and--the other man, alike away from her in a jumbled heap, and made reply, clear, firm, unhesitating, to his question:

"Yes, Sir Charles. I grant your wish. Shall we walk a little?"

A curious tone in which to decide one's destiny, and a curious choice of words to express such decision. But they were within possible hearing now, and, besides, Deborah was peculiar. The dance had ended before she spoke, and now they proceeded slowly down the room, side by side, silent, save when they stopped to answer some remark from others. Neither of them was ever after very clear as to how the ensuing hour passed. Both were with other partners, surrounded with other forms, moving, passing, talking, laughing, as though each present moment were supreme. Only when, out of the kaleidoscopic mass, one caught an instant's glimpse of the other's figure, distant or near at hand, a sudden heart-thrill would reclaim them from insensibility, and thrust them once more under the warm shadow of that near-approaching, veiled Future, that seemed to portend so much to both.

In the interval between the eighth and ninth dances Sir Charles again sought Deborah, and his manner banished a lingering partner from her side. She did not once look up as Fairfield led the way out into the hall by the open card-rooms, and then up the distant, deserted staircase.

"You are not afraid?" he asked once.

[Illustration: "DEBORAH PERMITTED HIM TO LEAD HER FROM THE BALL-ROOM"]

She shook her head with a faint smile; but her hands were cold.

He put her light cloth cape about her, saw her tie a small hood over her powdered hair, and then he led the way into the empty hall back of the room. Down the steep flight of stairs she glided before him, stopping at last before the closed door, she less nervous than he. "You know the way? Are you not afraid?"

"The moon is up. Why should I fear?"

Without reply, he softly opened the little door, and his face was very pale as he bent over her: "You'll not fail me, Debby? I love you, dear."

She let him take her hand. Then he bent farther and kissed her swiftly on the lips, for the first time. Her eyes had looked into his for one startled instant. Afterwards--she went forth into the night.

Fairfield's heart was on fire as he watched her disappear down the garden path. Then he closed the door, breathed long and painfully, and made his way back again to the ballroom, with its throng of dancers, the candles dripping wax, the musicians mopping their brows, and Vincent Trevor and George Rockwell side by side in the doorway, looking on together. These Sir Charles approached upon his errand.

"Ah, Vincent--" with a very fair assumption of carelessness--"Deborah is gone home--that is, to Dr. Carroll's."

Vincent turned. He had been watching Mary Chase. "Deborah! Why, what for, Charlie? Surely you've not been quarrelling? She's not--"

Sir Charles laughed nervously. '"Tis nothing but a most vile headache, got from the heat of the room and too much dancing. She wouldn't have me as escort, so I--I sent one of the house-servants with her. She took no chair, saying that the walk in the fresh air would benefit her. She begs that you'll not disturb Madam Trevor till the cards are over."

"Oh, very well. I'm sorry, of course. Er--I'm engaged for the next dance. I leave Rockwell to you." And Vincent darted off abstractedly, after a lively young woman in blue satin, who seemed in no particular need of his attentions, being much absorbed in Will Paca.

"Come, Rockwell, come; we must hurry--she's gone!" whispered Fairfield agitatedly, pulling his companion's sleeve.

The rector stood still. "What the--oh! Your young one, eh? Must I come now?"

"Of course. She's waiting, I say."

Rockwell, who had not yet moved, turned on him suddenly: "Listen, Sir Charles; if you marry Deborah Travis, I marry her cousin, Lucy Trevor--you understand?"

"Deuce take it, man, marry whom you please--except Deborah. Why should I care?"

"You'll promise to take my part to-morrow against that Puritan, John Whitney?"

"Whatever you like, man. Come!"

And so the two men, one still muttering Lucy Trevor's name, the other feverishly anxious for the coming scene, passed up-stairs, and down again presently at the back, where they left the Governor's palace and the ball behind them, to follow in the footsteps of Deborah Travis, towards the ordinary of Miriam Vawse.