Milady at Arms/Chapter 5
THE dingy room grew dim before Sally's eyes. She had the feeling of being in a dreadful nightmare. Surely she must waken presently in her own little room beneath the eaves at Master Todd's with Mary's warm, chubby body nestling against her in the big feather bed they shared. But Cunningham's harsh voice brought her back to grim realities. She opened her eyes to stare at the two men who could so callously consider such a punishment as Stockton had suggested for her.
"Captain Stockton," said Cunningham tonelessly, "ye be not practical, sir. General Howe would not permit such a course as ye ha' devised."
Stockton gnawed his fingernails for a thoughtful moment. "Ye do admit my idea be a good one, Marshal Cunningham?" he asked presently.
The other nodded morosely. "Aye, the idea be good enough. The rebels must be taught a lesson. I know that General Howe had destined young Lawrence for a promotion soon. The rebels be both daring and presumptuous in thus detaining him in their midst," he responded in a level voice.
"But, sir" began Sally desperately, for the third time.
"Will ye be silent, mistress!" Stockton hurled the words at her and Sally gave up her attempt to tell them that Jerry had escaped from his captors.
A pointed silence then ensued. Finally Stockton moved restlessly. "Would ye consent to the maid being placed i' the stocks?" he asked, casting a shifty side glance upon the other.
Cunningham shook his head. "Captain Stockton, it seems not feasible to exhibit the girl in any public manner. General Howe will not permit it, I tell ye!"
"What would ye suggest, then?" snarled Stockton at last, glancing maliciously at Sally, who, white-cheeked and silent, now, from sheer horror, stood gazing helplessly at Cunningham and him.
Cunningham pondered. "The rebels must be taught a lesson; but not by maltreating this maid—publicly!" he said, emphasizing the last word of his sentence in a sinister fashion that made Sally's blood run cold.
Stockton looked at him quickly. "I understand," he said then, with a cruel smile. "The rebels will be notified; but New York Town will know—nothing. Is that it, sir?"
"Exactly." Cunningham waved his hand negligently and stifled a yawn. "Ho, there, guard!" he called. When the soldier who had accompanied Sally hither reëntered the room to stand at ramrodlike attention, the marshal addressed him. "Remove this maid to the Long Room," he ordered, "and return here for further instructions."
Sally closed her eyes again, shuddering. She had heard of the Long Room, so called from its dimensions. It was an apartment set aside in one of the New York prisons—the Bridewell—for female culprits. The prison itself was a new one, built but a few years before, in 1775, because of overcrowded conditions in the New Gaol; and being unfurnished in many respects, especially as to windows through which the winter's cold could sweep, it had caused much suffering to those unfortunates who had been confined there. The Bridewell was a small stone structure; and like the New Gaol, it faced the Fields, that stretch of land noted before the war as a common outdoor gathering place for the citizens of New York. The Long Room was partitioned across its center, the rear half being reserved for Negro women and the front half for white; but except for the occasional patriot, like Sally, who was confined in it by underhanded means, the prisoners were of the lowest class, criminal rather than political, and woe to the person of refinement who was detained among them! No wonder poor Sally tried now to thrust away the repulsive pictures her active mind immediately conjured up before her!
Her guard poked her in the side with the butt of his musket. "Forward!" he ordered roughly.
Sally faced the door and moved forward upon leaden feet. Her eyes were open and set and staring. But halfway across the room the heavy door into the hall was thrust violently open and a soldier stepped inside. "General Howe!" he bawled, and stood aside, petrified into immobility after he had presented arms.
The two men behind the table barely had time to exchange guilty glances when a fine-looking man in full-dress uniform, followed by a gay party of ladies and gentlemen, swept across the threshold. Sally, meeting the former face to face, stopped automatically until he had stepped around her, then continued upon her unseeing way to the door. Both Stockton and Cunningham saluted; and the marshal, assuming an air of delighted surprise, moved to meet his superior.
"How now. Marshal Cunningham!" greeted Howe, his keen glance taking in every detail of the scene. He stepped behind the table into Cunningham's place and nodded sharply. "Halt the maid!" he snapped.
The guard touched Sally upon the shoulder and she stopped.
"Ye were engaged wi' this girl?" asked the British general.
"She is a Newark maid, a servant i' a rebel family, and brought to New York Town, sir, on the charge"
General Howe held up his hand, and Cunningham subsided into silence. Howe turned to the group of visitors standing in the corner, who were looking on with curious eyes. "Ye wished to visit the New Gaol and the Bridewell," said Howe smilingly to them. "Observe how they exist and how we conduct our business. Bring the girl before me!" He turned commandingly to Stockton.
Stockton, saluting, hesitated only for the fraction of a second, and then, moving forward, he placed his hand upon Sally's arm. Shuddering a little, she turned slowly around and fixed her vacant gaze upon him. "General Howe would speak wi' ye!" he told her politely; then he added beneath his breath: "Beware!"
Sally, however, looked at him uncomprehendingly as, obedient to his touch, she returned to her place before the table. There, slender and drooping, she stood with her hopeless eyes fixed upon the floor. Stockton saluted again and moved over to stand beside Cunningham, who was gazing on the proceedings with a cynical smile. The others present, silent and interested, watched.
"What are the charges lodged against the prisoner?" asked Howe. He interrupted himself by motioning to one of the ladies, a beautiful woman in the laces and satins of a belle, to come forward from the group and stand beside him. "Ye were especially interested, Lady Holden," he said, smiling at her gallantly, as she responded. "I wish ye to have full opportunity to witness our justice."
Lady Holden! Through her daze of misery and fright the name came to the prisoner like a thunderbolt. Sally raised her eyes, and as she did so, a gentleman disengaged himself also from the group of visitors and came forward. "I protest, my wife cannot ha' all the honor thus, sir!" he observed jokingly. But Lady Holden, with a dainty gesture of her white hand, hushed him, and the business of the Court proceeded.
When General Howe had been made acquainted with the charges brought against Sally, he frowned. "How do ye identify this girl?" he asked Stockton curtly.
"By her hair, sir. She hath auburn hair, as ye can see, an she remove the bonnet she doth wear!" answered Stockton promptly, with an air of candour.
"Remove your bonnet!" said General Howe to Sally.
Raising a trembling hand, the girl untied her bonnet strings and jerked the ugly thing from her head. As she did so, her thick mop of curls came tumbling down around her face, and a little murmur of admiration swept through the room. Even Howe's face, for he was ever susceptible to feminine beauty, was softened as he regarded her.
Sally, however, was not looking at him. Her eyes, wide, staring, were fixed upon Lady Holden's face as that gentlewoman stared back at her. All at once the lady reeled and would have fallen but for her husband's outflung hand.
"The heat!" he murmured hastily; and stooping, he caught up his wife's slight figure in his arms and left the room.
General Howe, quite upset, brought the proceedings to an abrupt close. "The maid is discharged for lack o' evidence," he said sternly. "Set her free!" And he left the room, followed by his guests.
Free! Sally, upon the somber threshold of the New Gaol, stood undecided for a moment, staring across the Fields. Far down the street she could see the procession of sedan chairs in which General Howe and his party were being conveyed home. She wondered vaguely in which one sat Lady Holden, felt again that thrill of inexplicable and overwhelming intimacy which had swept over her when her eyes had met the lady's, and she started down the street instinctively in the direction taken by the sedan chairs. She had no plan for returning to Newark, as yet. Her thoughts were still in a tumult, and she hurried along Broadway blindly.
But as Sally proceeded down the wide lane that was filled with an afternoon throng, her steps slowed to a saunter. The sedan chairs, carried by swift slaves, had long since disappeared; and now, interested and excited, Sally became engrossed in the busy street scenes all about her.
Broadway was then, as now, the principal thoroughfare in New York. But then wealth had erected beautiful residences along each side of it, and it was not until she came to the ruins of Trinity Church, burned the year before, that a blank space occurred in the blocks which the girl trod.
Each fine home had its stone stoop built before its entrance. Here were gathered the ladies of the household, ostensibly out to enjoy the air, really to bow prettily to the British officers who passed by. There were few carriages, many sedan chairs, and now and then an officer on horseback dashed up or down the street. No signs here of lack or hardship of warfare! Sally, remembering the homespun gowns, the busy hands at home incessantly knitting stockings for the soldiers, looked in amazement at the gay satins and silks of the New York ladies.
But now, as she walked along, she became aware, disagreeably, of someone at her side. Even before she had glanced up, she knew that she would see the furtive face, the cruel eyes of Stockton. She stopped angrily and, regardless of passers-by, faced him with hostile words. "Why do ye follow me?" she demanded. "General Howe ordered that I be set free. I call not this freedom—to be followed thus!"
Seizing her elbow with iron fingers, Stockton forced her to walk on beside him, so that to the average gaze they might have been like any other strolling couple, out sauntering for pleasure.
"See ye aught o' friends?" whispered Stockton threateningly. "Be silent, or it will be the worse for ye, mistress!"
Sally, staring about her despairingly, looked in vain for a friendly face. No one paid the least attention to her. Hard faces, careless faces, selfish faces—each seemed busy with its own petty concerns, and the girl tramped on beside Stockton, not daring to call for help.
So they passed down Broadway and turned east toward the river at last. Here the houses were not quite so elegant. Side streets of more modest residences opened off from the thoroughfare Stockton had chosen. But here, too, were groups of ladies surrounded by the red uniforms of British officers. One lady, seated alone and knitting comfortably, attracted Sally's attention as they went by her stoop. Something familiar about the kind, plain, sensible face, the stout figure, called out to the girl. Then, suddenly, she remembered. The lady was Mistress Van Houten, and here the house where Sally had tarried before going out to the Mountain settlement with Parson Chapman more than three years ago.
Sally stopped, and Stockton had to stop, too. But before he could grasp her intention, the girl had broken away from him, and, darting back with a little cry, she ran up the steps of Mistress Van Houten's stoop, to throw herself down upon her knees before that astonished lady.
"Save me, madam!" choked Sally. "This man be persecuting me!"
Stockton took off his hat and, bowing low, approached with an oily smile. "The lass be demented, madam," he said, waving a sorrowful hand, supposing that Sally had appealed to a stranger for help. "I be taking her to my sister's. 'Tis a very sad case! Come, we must go, my dear!"
He reckoned, however, without the lady's shrewd Dutch mind and her very excellent memory. As he put out his hand to take Sally's arm. Mistress Van Houten stared at him with cold eyes and rose suddenly to her feet.
"Begone, sir! I know ye do not speak the truth!" she answered sternly. "I know this child's history and exactly where she belongs. Go into the house, Sally! I ha' bid you begone, sir! Why do ye still tarry? 'Tis a low pursuit for an officer o' His Majesty's army to stoop to! But quite worthy an ally o' Cunningham, as I do now recognize ye to be!"
"'Tis rather dangerous to air one's opinion o' Marshal Cunningham, madam," returned Stockton threateningly.
"Aye?" responded the lady in a sarcastic voice. "Mayhap the fact o' friendship wi' Lord Howe and General Clinton might offset the danger, sir!"
Stockton started. He knew that friendships existed between the British commanders and certain New York families; and staring fiercely into the lady's calm eyes, he now decided to play the game safely. So, with another sweep of his hat, he bowed low. "Madam, your pardon an I ha' offended ye!" he craved with a surliness he tried in vain to change into suavity. "I will leave the maid, then, i' your charge for a while, an ye desire."
"I do so desire," answered Mistress Van Houten decidedly. She stood awaiting Stockton's departure, then, with such an obvious show of patience that he was forced to bow again and reluctantly turn away. Mistress Van Houten watched him until she was convinced that he meant no treachery for the nonce.
Sally, meanwhile, standing bashfully in the center of the long, narrow parlor, was looking about her with reminiscent eyes. It was a plain, cheerful room like its mistress, bright with chintz hangings and chintz-covered furniture and gay wall paper with scenes of waterfalls and castles and friendly forests upon it. The fragrance of pansies and heliotrope came from boxes in the open windows, while in an adjoining room a green-and-red cockatoo squawked upon his perch, making a vivid splash of color in the late afternoon sunshine.
It was the cockatoo that she remembered the most distinctly, perhaps, for it had been the cockatoo which had engrossed the little frightened maid's attention those three long years ago when the poverty and death of Grannie Haggerty had set her drifting in the cruel world until, out of the torrid waters of neglect. Parson Chapman had lifted her to this haven that was his friend's home, before removing her to his own home in New Jersey.
Now Sally felt the same trust and liking for Mistress Van Houten that had enveloped her before, when that lady entered her parlor hurriedly and seated herself in a wing chair. She motioned Sally to draw near and, while the girl told her story, kept uttering little clucking cries of pity and horror. When the tale was ended, she closed her eyes and pondered, while Sally watched her anxiously. Suddenly Mistress Van Houten's eyes flew open, and she fixed them keenly upon the girl's wistful face.
"'Tis plain to be seen, Sally, that Parson Chapman did make a mistake when he placed ye in Mistress Todd's family. It can be seen that she hath no patience wi' ye, and dear knows," a smile spread over the lady's face, "dear knows a girl o' your age doth take much patience!"
"I see not why," began Sally, rather nettled.
Mistress Van Houten held up her hand humorously. "Spare me, I prithee!" she said in a good-natured voice. "Enough when I say 'tis so, my lass. Mayhap the lady is not to be over-envied, either! However, it be now our concern to get ye back safely to New Jersey once more!"
Rising from her chair, she passed out of a rear door into a little narrow hallway; and going to the top of the basement stairs, she called to someone below: "Cudje! Cudje!"
"Yas'm, Missy! Ah'm jes' cleanin' the brasses like yo' done tole me to!"
"Let the brasses wait, now, Cudje, and come upstairs. I wish ye!"
"Yas'm!"
Returning to the parlor. Mistress Van Houten placed her stout, middle-aged figure once more in her wing chair and awaited her Negro slave's appearance. Soon his shuffling step sounded upon the stairs, and a few moments later he was standing in front of her, showing the whites of his eyes as he rolled them curiously in Sally's direction. Sally, gazing at him in return, beheld an old colored man of uncertain years, clad in the knee breeches and the waistcoat of his dead master, for Mistress Van Houten was of thrifty Dutch extraction and saw no reason for purchasing lackey's uniform when she had a whole chestful of clothes upstairs. The only drawback was that Master Van Houten had been both tall and broad, while Cudje was neither, so that now the master's waistcoat flopped somewhere about Cudje's legs. The colored man's enormous dignity overcame this slight defect, however, and he now stood waiting for his mistress to speak.
"Cudje," Mistress Van Houten looked up at him appealingly, "canst think o' any way to get little Mistress Sally here, back to Newark?"
Cudje turned in the girl's direction and bowed beamingly. "Ef it ain't H'l Missy Sally! Ah done declare to ma's ef when Ah come in dis hyar room dat's who it was, but"
"But she hath grown a bit since Parson Chapman brought her here, eh, Cudje?" interrupted his mistress tolerantly.
"Yas'm!" Cudje's white teeth showed in another grin.
"Well, canst think o' any way for her to return?" Mistress Van Houten turned to explain to Sally, who, seated upon the edge of her chair, was watching them anxiously: "Cudje does most o' my marketing at the docks and comes into contact wi' many Jersey farmers. I thought he might know o' someone."
"I do. Missy," said Cudje simply. "Mas'r Crane do be returning early i' the mawnin' to Newark on his boat. Ef li'l Missy likes to go that way" He paused and looked inquiringly at Sally, who nodded slowly.
"The very thing!" exclaimed her hostess. "Run ye and make arrangements, Cudje. But, mind ye—a shilling, no more! Tell Master Crane only a shilling!" When the aged darky had hurriedly departed, she turned complacently to Sally. "I knew Cudje could help us. He hath been such a comfort since Hans departed this life!"
The next morning found Sally wending her way toward the dock where Cudje told her lay Master Crane's little schooner. The old darky, who escorted her, was garrulous, as usual; but the young girl was silent and downcast. Scarcely admitting it to herself, she had been hoping against hope almost up to the last moment of being bidden farewell by Mistress Van Houten that, after hearing her pathetic tale, the wealthy, childless widow might offer to relieve the Todds of their unwelcome burden. Life in the quiet, orderly city house might have been very pleasant, thought Sally wistfully, tramping along in the gray dawn. She would have missed the companionship of little Mary, of course; but perhaps Mistress Van Houten would have allowed the child to come in for a visit. Sally pictured showing the wide-eyed little girl the sights and wonders of New York Town and going home afterward to have goodies in the pleasant room of the green-and-red cockatoo.
Sally's heart sank. Home! That was what she had never known in all her life! Grannie Haggerty's poor, bare room might have been home had the old woman shown more than the grudging care she had bestowed upon the little unwelcome waif brought to her by her son. The farmhouse at the foot of the Newark Mountains might have been home to Sally had Mistress Todd welcomed her a little more heartily to it three years ago! As it was, the girl felt, and truly, that she had never shared anyone's home. And now, lonely and desolate, she was being shunted back to a place where no one really wanted her. She would not admit that she had been watching every moment since leaving the New Gaol yesterday afternoon for Jerry's smiling face, that she hated to go back to New Jersey because it probably no longer contained him!
Cudje broke into Sally's sad little reverie with a cheerful chuckle. "Thar she be. Missy—Mas'r Crane's boat! Hi, thar, Mas'r Crane!"
A tall, broad-shouldered man looked up, and, perceiving him, Sally's heart sank. It was Jeremiah Crane, one of the rabid Tories of New Jersey. His welcoming smile also died away into a dour look as he recognized the girl in turn, and he looked threateningly at Cudje.
"Ye gave me to understand 'twas one o' Mistress Van Houten's own family who desired to go to Newark," he said in an ugly tone.
"So 'tis, Mas'r," answered Cudje ingratiatingly.
"How so?" demanded the other with a frown. "I know this lass—she belongs i' that rebel Todd's family at the Mountain."
"She's been a-visitin' Mistress Van Houten, a gues' dere, which be all de same as part o' the fambly," interrupted Cudje. "See here, Mas'r Crane, you-all doan' like ma tryin' t' get a passenger fo' yo' schoonah, jes' say so! Ah hab plenty othah people Ah kin go fo' passage and fo' marketin'!"
At this, Master Crane suddenly realized that he was speaking to a representative of one of his best customers, for Mistress Van Houten both loved to eat and loved to entertain her friends. His manner underwent an abrupt change. "Oh, of course, Cudje, of course," he said, with pseudo heartiness. "I was but surprised, for I thought 'twould be Mistress Van Houten herself, mayhap!"
"Aye, sir," answered Cudje affably. He turned to Sally and took off the ridiculously large hat which had been his late master's. "Good luck, li'l' Missy," he said simply. His kind brown eyes followed the young girl when she went up the schooner's gangplank, and he sighed. He, too, had been hoping that his mistress might think to offer Sally a home; but apparently the thought had not occurred to her; and so the dull house was not to retain the gleam of sunshine that was Sally's hair, nor the lilting melody that was her happy laughter.
As for Sally, she stood in the stern of the little schooner a few moments later, when its sails captured the morning breeze that sent it dancing out from shore, and gazed back at Cudje, waving to her in friendly farewell from the dock. Responding, her glance shifted carelessly to a group of passengers being discharged from a craft made fast to the dock behind the Negro. There were some British soldiers and a few prisoners walking in their midst, with their hands tied behind their backs. The girl started. Was one of those prisoners Master Todd?