Читать книгу Arnold's Tempter - Benjamin F. Comfort - Страница 5

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On the morning after the assembly Barclugh awoke as though from a dream. After leaving the French Minister’s mansion he went to his bachelor’s quarters on Front Street and sat in his chair trying to dispel the pictures of Mollie Greydon. Reason as he might—that she was a mere girl and he a man of the world, and he ought not to allow his fancy to dwell upon affairs of his heart when he had sterner duties to perform—still the image of that being who had awakened a new life for him clung to his brain and he could not forget it. It gave him no rest.

But the morning of the following Thursday when he was to see her again, he bounded out of bed and felt as though he could not wait for the hour to arrive. To take the carriage to Dorminghurst was his overpowering desire.

The old Colonial mansion of Dorminghurst had been the scene of many brilliant receptions; but this one, when Mollie felt that her fate was to be settled, seemed of far-reaching influence. The servants arranged the china and the tea-urn on a round mahogany table in the center of the drawing-room. Tables and chairs arranged for groups of ladies and gentlemen to sit around and sup their tea and gossip, were placed in the corners of the large room. Mollie was taking a last look at her gown when she heard the first carriage rattle along the roadway and came down the grand staircase to take her place with her parents.

The Greydons held a position of unquestionable influence in the upper society of Philadelphia. James Greydon, Mollie’s grandfather, had been Secretary of William Penn, the founder; then deputy Governor, then executor of Penn’s vast landed estate. Consequently, the Greydons were lordly proprietors, for the thrifty grandfather had bought his lands from the Indians. Thus a card for a reception at Dorminghurst became almost a command.

On this serene afternoon in May the broad avenue of hemlocks seemed more beautiful than ever. The liveried equipages of the FitzMaurices, the Millings, the Redmans, the Binghams, the Adamses, the Chews, the Carrolls, the Pinckneys, the Shippens, the Peterses, the Arnolds came rolling up to the pillared entrance and gay guests alighted, passed hurriedly to the boudoirs and came down to greet Dr. and Mrs. Greydon, and not the least,—Miss Mollie.

That young lady was in an anxious mood. She greeted each arrival in a very sweet and cordial manner, but she cast constant glances out into the arched hallway to see if Roderick Barclugh were among the latest arrivals. She eagerly scanned every face and at last saw him come with James Wilson, the lawyer.

Mollie watched him ascend the curved staircase on one side and return with the line of guests on the other. He was fashionably dressed in his powdered wig and queue and his shining buckles and lace frills. No gentlemen present bore a more distinguished appearance than Roderick Barclugh. She watched him shake the hand of her father and her mother, and, when her turn came, she offered her hand with delight in her eyes as she said:

“I am so glad that you remembered my special invitation.”

There was a slight flush in her cheeks, and she knew that Barclugh approved of her gown and her hair by the satisfied glances that his eyes made. He looked into her eyes as he said softly:

“This is a great pleasure, to see you again.”

Roderick Barclugh bowed profoundly and passed among the guests. He was in the midst of a group who were gossiping about the Arnolds.

“What do you think, Mr. Barclugh,” asked Anne Milling, approaching Barclugh in her most bewitching manner, “the court-martial of General Arnold has found him guilty of misconduct in his office as Commander of Philadelphia and General Washington has been ordered to make a public reprimand. The dear, brave General! He has been made to endure more than he can stand. Don’t you think so, Mr. Barclugh?”

“General Arnold surely is brave, but has he not been extravagant?” was Barclugh’s reply in a tone indicating his aversion to the subject.

“I have little sympathy with him as he has become very imperious and overbearing of late, since he married Peggy Shippen. He did not have the fortune or the position in society to marry such an ambitious girl as Margaret; she needed a baronet,” volunteered Mrs. FitzMaurice, who had the faculty of speaking her mind.

“It is a question which one has the most ambition, Mrs. Arnold or the General, since they have moved into their new country home, ‘Mount Pleasant’ on the Schuylkill. Have you attended any of their gorgeous entertainments? No wonder his ambition runs away with him. They both love luxury and they need money,” chimed in Sally Redman, who loved to have people realize that she knew a few things about the gay world.

“Let me whisper something. It must never be repeated. The French Minister refused General Arnold a loan. I have it from very direct sources,” volunteered Charles Bingham.

“Did he go to the French Minister himself?” queried Barclugh.

“Yes,” replied Bingham, and the whole group laughed heartily.

“Hush! Here they come now,” whispered Anne Milling as she gave Mr. Bingham a touch on his arm.

The General and his wife came up arm in arm, all smiles when the group just referring to them turned and greeted the Commander of Philadelphia and his wife most cordially:

“Why, how do you do, General? How do you do, Peggy, my dear? I am so glad to see you,” said Mrs. FitzMaurice in her sweetest tones and with a smile for both of them.

Mrs. Arnold at once addressed herself to Roderick Barclugh and the General to M. de la Luzerne, who had just joined the group.

“I hope that we may see you out to ‘Mount Pleasant’ very soon, Mr. Barclugh. My sister, Bessie, is now visiting me and it would give us the greatest pleasure to see you. Tuesdays are our days. Then, I must tell you”—in her most pleasing tones—“the General has taken a very great interest in you of late.”

“I thank you, Madam; it will be not your pleasure alone, but mine.”

In times of war very little of the drawing-room satisfied the men of affairs; so, when the ladies and the macaronis were fairly aglow with gossip over the tea-cups, John Adams, Dr. Greydon and Charles Thompson found themselves together in the doctor’s office and began to discuss serious affairs over their pipes and mugs of home ale.

“By thunder! That trading house of Milling and FitzMaurice brought home a fat prize, William,” remarked Charles Thompson. “One of their privateers secured a British ship worth eighty thousand pounds sterling.”

“Is it possible? No wonder they can live in luxury. They are growing fat out of the war. That one prize would pay back one half that they have loaned to Congress,” continued John Adams.

“I always was opposed to war on general principles,” argued Dr. Greydon, “but if we must fight, all right. Yet, when private individuals can go out on the high seas and take other private individuals’ substance it seems like licensed robbery.”

“I venture to say riches thus gained will never profit the gainer. Robert FitzMaurice has made fabulous riches out of his piratical enterprise but he will lose it all, some day,” reasoned the Secretary of Congress.

“Heigho there!” exclaimed John Adams, “do you know that FitzMaurice and Milling are now planning to start a bank and to do all the financing for Congress? They want a charter.”

“That’s fine,” began Dr. Greydon. “First, Congress grants letters of Marque and Reprisal to these enterprising merchants, in order for them to hold up their neighbors’ ships and rob them; now, when they grow rich out of the war, we will license them to hold our hands when they can go into our pockets and rob us. Oh! That’s a fine scheme to throttle our war. They could tell us then to lay down our arms if the bank was not pleased. Never let us get into the clutches of these financiers. The power of the purse must always belong to Congress, the representatives of the people.”

Thus spoke Dr. Greydon, and then Charles Thompson added:

“The money of our Congress maybe depreciated, but if the people of our country accept it, which the patriots do—maybe the Tories do not—we will prosper; but if we give ourselves into the hands of the bank, they would take nothing but specie for payment and we would be paralyzed. We could do nothing but surrender.”

“Here! Here! William, we are forgetting our ladies,” said John Adams, and they arose and joined the guests in the drawing-room.

Mollie was helping her mother serve the tea; the guests were seated at the tables; but she did not lose sight of Barclugh. Although the large drawing-room and the library were thronged with guests, she could not let him out of her sight. Members of Congress, generals, their sons and daughters, and French diplomats thronged the rooms but they soon began to depart.

At the first opportunity Barclugh left his tea-cup and found his way to the side of Mollie. She turned and said spiritedly:

“You must miss your gay society in Paris, Mr. Barclugh? They must be so different from our society? I would be delighted to travel abroad again; I was so young when papa took me to England.”

“Society is very much the same the world over,” answered Barclugh,—“so insincere.”

“Are all people insincere, Mr. Barclugh?” returned Mollie.

“By no means. There is one whom I know to be sincere.”

Mollie Greydon.

“But, do you really, Mr. Barclugh, enjoy your sojourn in America?” insisted Mollie.

“I would leave to-morrow if it were not for the tete-a-tetes that I have with one whom I meet too seldom.”

“That is exasperating, Mr. Barclugh. Who can it be? Is it Mrs. Arnold?” sallied Mollie.

“Oh! no! no! She is too imperious. Can you not guess?” and Barclugh looked so appealingly into Mollie’s eyes that her pulse seemed to cease.

She grew pale and could scarcely venture a reply.

“I would not dare to guess,” she said softly, “for fear that I might be mistaken.”

The Secretary of Congress, Charles Thompson, came up to Mollie at this juncture to bid her good-bye and she was drawn into the duties of bidding the guests farewell; Roderick Barclugh left Dorminghurst that afternoon, determined to win the heart of Mollie Greydon; but little did he know what stirring events would intervene before he could offer himself to the one he loved.