Читать книгу The Golden Bees - Daniel Henderson - Страница 3
ОглавлениеPROPHECY
A coach and four stirred the red dust of the Towson road. Its driver, a white-gloved negro whose high black silk hat was no more darkly lustrous than the face beneath it, cracked his whip unceasingly—to the discomfort of the squirming young slave who served as postilion.
Elizabeth Patterson, driving with her younger brothers and sisters to visit the Caton girls at their father's country-seat outside of Baltimore, tried to exercise over the turbulent youngsters the authority of her seventeen years and when she failed, looked out on the blossoming road and gave her thoughts to romance. Bluebirds dipped into pink orchards; the road ran through woods that had just become aware of the miracle of fresh, unfolding leaves; a glinting stream twisted through a meadow clouded with buttercups. The thoughts of this exquisite girl-woman were as vivid as the springtime scene.
Her arrival at the Catons', where the entire family had assembled on the front porch to greet Betsy and her noisy company, heightened her contentment. The prosperous plantation; the wide halls; the grounds bright with tulips, crocus, iris and daffodils; the sun glowing on green lawns and valleys; the gracious old ladies who, in tarlatan caps, sat knitting and talking on the veranda; the fluttering servants as eager for visitors as their young mistresses; the wafers and quince marmalade brought by the ceremonious black butler—here was an atmosphere that intensified the dreaming girl's happy mood.
Upstairs, in the girls' spacious rooms, amidst the high bedsteads, the tall mirror-topped bureau and spindle-legged washstand, Betsy's spirits bubbled into sprightly chatter—of concerts and tableaux and dancing and beaux.
The Caton sisters were younger. Betsy, for all their background of family, felt infinitely superior to them. Yet eagerly she gossiped.
"Who do you think is home from the sea, Mary?" Betsy asked.
"I could guess a dozen persons," said Mary pertly, "but I'll say James Duncan, that young Scotch skipper your father employs."
"I don't know where he is—and I care not," said Betsy. "All I like in him is his tongue—bringing me tales of foreign ports. I am thinking, instead, of an older person, but still a very gallant one—Commodore Barney."
"Commodore Barney," echoed Mary. There was infinite boredom in her silvery young voice.
"Commodore Barney," as indifferently repeated Elizabeth Caton.
"Oh, yes, he's an ancient," Betsy Patterson agreed, "but it's not him I'm interested in—he brought news of a fairy prince sailing from the West Indies to Baltimore, and"—loftily—"if I am truly informed, this personage has asked especially to meet me!"
The indifference of the Caton trio vanished.
"You don't mean Jerome Bonaparte!" cried Mary.
"I mean no one else," said the calmly triumphant Betsy. "How fortunate that I've kept up my friendship with the Pascaults. They may seem too French for some people, but I think they add grace to our town. When dear Henrietta Pascault married that handsome Frenchman General Rewbell, it might have been anticipated that the pair would interest the princely Jerome in Baltimore and its people. Did I tell you that Henrietta wrote me from Martinique, where they joined young Bonaparte's suite, that she had spoken of me to him? I'd blush to tell you what she said, but anyway—Jerome really did express himself as eager to meet me."
Mary, Elizabeth and Louisa gazed with awe at the demure, lovely face of their visitor.
"You wouldn't encourage him, Betsy—you wouldn't marry a foreigner?"
"Wouldn't I? Have you heard that Napoleon intends to make himself Emperor of France? Do you realize that when it happens Jerome will be a prince, and perhaps a king! It is quite probable that I should encourage him!"
"But," said Mary Caton, "Father says that war may break out again between England and France. In that case the French officers would be recalled from America!"
"That would be magnificent! Think of exchanging dull Baltimore for glorious Paris! Think of exchanging the company of dull young men who talk only of barter and shipping for the companionship of dukes and princes! But I haven't come to the climax of my tale yet. Jerome Bonaparte is really on his way to New York, and is likely to come here. Commodore Barney, who was Jerome's companion-in-arms in the West Indian campaign, has sent word to him by stagecoach that he must come to Baltimore with his entourage. There'll be other gallant young Frenchmen in his suite. Girls, there may be a fairy prince for each of us!"
"I don't fancy marrying a Frenchman," Mary Caton said, "but if a young English nobleman should appear—that would be something to think about!"
"There's more fun to be had in Paris than in London. Napoleon's going to be a modern Cæsar—a new Charlemagne. How splendid it would be to be one of his train and live at Versailles!"
So chatted seventeen and younger—for early romances and marriages were the fashion in their day.
The sun dipped toward the western oaks of the plantation.
The Patterson coachman came to announce that the hour set for the return had arrived.
"Very well, Isham," said Betsy, reluctant to leave an audience in which she knew she had created envy and awe, "but first gather up the younger Pattersons."
"Yas'm, Miss Betsy," said Isham, "you kin talk on fo' some time yit, because dat sholy is a flock to congregate."
At last, however, the Patterson children, attended by worshipful small servants, were tucked in the Patterson coach, which drove away with Betsy sitting among them as regally as became one who entertained such magnificent dreams.
*****
Probably Elizabeth Patterson and the Caton sisters soon forgot this chat, yet for all of them it was prophetic, since the sisters, with beauty scarcely less devastating than that of Betsy, and with wealth as great, were destined to rival her in society abroad. One was to marry the Duke of Leeds; another, after varied fortunes, was to marry into a family as outstanding in history as the Bonapartes—none other than that of Napoleon's dethroner, the Duke of Wellington.
