II
"'Thou hast it now,—king, Cawdor, Glamis, all——'" remarked Arnold to his wife as they made their way from the dining-room into the spacious hallway that ran through the house.
"Yet it was not foully played," replied Peggy. "The tourney was fair."
"I had thought of losing you."
"Did you but read my heart aright at our first meeting, you might have consoled yourself otherwise."
"It was the fear of my letter; the apprehension of its producing a contrary effect that furnished my misgiving. I trembled over the consent of your parents."
"Dost know, too, that my mother favored the match from the start? In truth she gave me every encouragement, perhaps awakened my soul to the flame."
"No matter. We are in the morning of our bliss; its sun is about to remain fixed. Wish for a cloudless sky."
They were now in the great drawing-room which ran the full depth of the building, with windows looking both east and west. In the middle of the great side wall lodged a full-throated fireplace above which rose imposingly an elaborately wrought overmantel, whose central panel was devoid of any ornamentation. The door frames with their heavily molded pediments, the cornices, pilasters, doortrims and woodwork rich in elaboration of detail were all distinctive Georgian, tempered, however, with much dignified restraint and consummate good taste.
"We can thank the privateer for this. Still it was a fair profit and wisely expended, wiser to my mind than the methods of Robert Morris. At any rate it is the more satisfactory."
"He has made excellent profits."
"Nevertheless, he has lost as many as an hundred and fifty vessels. These have affected his earnings greatly. Were he not so generous to an ungrateful people, a great part of his loss might now have been retrieved."
"I have heard it said, too, that he alone has provided the sinews of the revolt," said Peggy.
"Unquestionably. On one occasion, at a time of great want, I remember one of his vessels arrived with a cargo of stores and clothing, whose whole contents were given to Washington without any remuneration whatsoever. And you, yourself, remember that during the winter at Valley Forge, just about the time Howe was evacuating the city, when there were no cartridges in the army but those in the men's boxes, it was he who rose to the emergency by giving all the lead ballast of his favorite privateer. He has made money, but he has lost a vast amount. I made money, too, just before I bought this house. And I have lost money."
"And have been cheated of more."
"Yes. Cheated. More generosity from my people! I paid the sailors their share of the prize money of the British sloop that they as members of the crew had captured, that is, with the help of two other privateers which came to their assistance. The court allowed the claims of the rival vessels but denied mine. I had counted upon that money but found myself suddenly deprived of it. Now they are charging me with having illegally bought up the lawsuit."
He was seated now and lay back in his chair with his disabled limb propped upon a stool before him.
"They continue to say horrid things about you. I wish you were done with them," Peggy remarked.
He removed his finely powdered periwig and ran his heavy fingers through his dark hair.
"I treat such aspersions with the contempt their pettiness deserves. I am still Military Governor of Philadelphia and as such am beholden to no one save Washington. The people have given me nothing and I have nothing to return save bitter memories."
"I wish we were away from here!" she sighed.
"Margaret!" He never called her Peggy. He disliked it. "Are you not happy in this home which I have provided for you?"
His eyes opened full.
"It isn't that," she replied, "I am afraid of Reed."
"Reed? He is powerless. He is president of the City Council which under English law is, in time of peace, the superior governing body of the people. But this is war, and he must take second place. I despise him."
Peggy looked up inquiringly.
"Suppose that the worst should happen?" she said.
"But—how—what can happen?" he repeated.
"Some great calamity."
"How—what do you mean?" he asked.
"If you should be removed, say, or transferred to some less important post?"
A thought flashed into his mind.
"Further humiliated?"
"Yes. What then?"
"Why,—I don't know. I had thought of no possible contingency. I wished for a command in the Navy and wrote to Washington to that effect; but nothing came of it. I suppose my increasing interest in domestic affairs in the city, as well as my attentions to you, caused me to discontinue the application. Then again, I thought I was fitted for the kind of life led by my friend Schuyler in New York and had hoped to obtain a grant of land in the West where I might lead a retired life as a good citizen."
"I would die in such a place. The Indians would massacre us. Imagine me hunting buffalo in Ohio!"
Her face wore a sardonic smile. It was plain to be seen that she was in a flippant mood.
"Have you given the matter a thought? Tell me," he questioned.
"No! I could not begin to think."
"Are you not happy?"
"Happiness springs not from a large fortune, and is often obtained when often unexpected. It is neither within us nor without us and only evident to us by the deliverance from evil."
He glanced sharply. There was fire in his eye.
"I know of what you are thinking. You are disturbed by these persistent rumors about me."
She gave a little laugh, a chuckle, in a hopeless manner.
"Yes, I am. Go on." She answered mechanically and fell back in her chair.
"You need not be disturbed. They are groundless, I tell you. Simply engendered by spite. And I blame partly the Papist Whigs. Damn 'em."
"It isn't that alone."
"That is some of it. The origin of the hostility to me was the closing of the shops for a week under an order direct from Washington himself, and a resolution of the Congress. Yet I was blamed. The next incident pounced upon by them was my use of the government wagons in moving stores. As you know I had this done to revictual and supply the army. But I permitted the empty wagons to bring back stores from the direction of New York and was charged with being in communication with the enemy."
"Which would be more praiseworthy."
He paid no attention to her remark but continued:
"I was honest in supposing the goods to be bonafide household goods belonging to non-combatants. As a matter of fact some of the decorations at our wedding were obtained in this manner. What followed? A public complaint."
"I know."
"Then that scheming interloper Matlack! You know of him?"
"I think so."
"You've heard of his father, of course!"
"No."
"The Secretary to Reed, the President of the Council? Timothy Matlack? His social aspirations were somewhat curtailed by my interest in public affairs. He has borne me in mind and evidently intends my ruin."
"In that he differs not from many other so-called friends."
"I did all in my power to soothe his ruffled feelings in a long, considerate letter in answer to his note of grievance. Only later I learned that it was his son whose haughty nature had been offended."
"You were no party to the offense. In fact you knew naught of it until the episode had been concluded."
"True, but Franks had taken part in it, and Franks was my head aide-de-camp. It was trivial. He wanted a barber and sent young Matlack who was doing sentry duty at the door to fetch one. Naturally I defended his action in my letter of reply."
"I tell you, they do not want you here. Can't you sense that? Else these charges would never have been uttered. They are mere pretexts. They are weary of you and desire your resignation."
She talked rapidly, violently. Her face assumed a stern expression.
He did not reply but peered into the distance.
"The 'American Fabius', I suppose, is still watching General Clinton," Peggy continued.
"He has thrown a cordon about him at New York. With a sufficient force he might take him."
"Never! The Americans never were a match for His Majesty's well-trained troops. The longer the struggle endures the sooner this will be learned."
"Time is with us, dear. The mother country knows this."
She looked at him. It was astonishing to her that he could be so transparent and so unaware of it. Really he was not clever.
"Why do you say that?" she asked. "Every day our lot grows worse. The troops perish from misery; they are badly armed; scarcely clothed; they need bread and many of them are without arms. Our lands lie fallow. The education of a generation has been neglected, a loss that can never be repaired. Our youths have been dragged by the thousands from their occupations and harvested by the war; and those who return have lost their vigor or have been mutilated for life."
"You are partly right," he mused. "America lost the opportunity for reconciliation immediately after my victory at Saratoga. Since then, as you say, the land has become a waste of widows, beggars and orphans. Then came the French Alliance, a sacrifice of the great interests, as well as the religion of this country to the biased views of a proud, ancient, crafty and priest-ridden nation. I always thought this a defensive war until the French joined in the combination. Now I look with disfavor upon this peril to our dominion, this enemy of our faith."
Peggy became interested immediately. She sat straight up in her chair.
"You never spoke these thoughts to me before!" she exclaimed.
"I feared it. You are a Tory, at least at heart. And I knew that you would only encourage me in my manner of thought. God knows, I am unable to decide between my perplexities."
"You know how General Monk decided?"
"My God! He was a traitor!"
"He restored Charles," insisted Peggy.
"And sold his soul."
"For the Duchy of Albemarle."
"Good God! girl, don't talk thoughts like that, I—I—— He has endured universal execration. It was an act of perfidy." He scowled fiercely. He was in a rage.
Peggy smiled. She did not press the subject, but allowed it to drop.
"My! How dark it has become!" she exclaimed.
She struck a light and touched the wicks of the candles.