Book: 54 40 or Fight

E >> Emerson Hough >> 54 40 or Fight




How the Baroness von Ritz--beautiful adventuress as she was sometimes
credited with being, charming woman as she was elsewhere described,
fascinating and in some part dangerous to any man, as all
admitted--could care to be concerned with this purely political question
of our possible territories, I was not shrewd enough at that moment in
advance to guess; for I had nothing more certain than the rumor she was
England's spy. I bided my time, knowing that ere long the knowledge must
come to me in Calhoun's office even in case I did not first learn more
than Calhoun himself.

Vaguely in my conscience I felt that, after all, my errand was
justified, even though at some cost to my own wishes and my own pride.
The farther I walked in the dark along Pennsylvania Avenue, into which
finally I swung after I had crossed Rock Bridge, the more I realized
that perhaps this big game was worth playing in detail and without
quibble as the master mind should dictate. As he was servant of a
purpose, of an ideal of triumphant democracy, why should not I also
serve in a cause so splendid?

I was, indeed, young--Nicholas Trist, of Maryland; six feet tall, thin,
lean, always hungry, perhaps a trifle freckled, a little sandy of hair,
blue I suppose of eye, although I am not sure; good rider and good
marcher, I know; something of an expert with the weapons of my time and
people; fond of a horse and a dog and a rifle--yes, and a glass and a
girl, if truth be told. I was not yet thirty, in spite of my western
travels. At that age the rustle of silk or dimity, the suspicion of
adventure, tempts the worst or the best of us, I fear. Woman!--the very
sound of the word made my blood leap then. I went forward rather
blithely, as I now blush to confess. "If there are maps to be made
to-night," said I, "the Baroness Helena shall do her share in writing on
my chief's old mahogany desk, and not on her own dressing case."

That was an idle boast, though made but to myself. I had not yet met the
woman.




CHAPTER IV

THE BARONESS HELENA

Woman is seldom merciful to the man who is timid.
--_Edward Bulwer Lytton_.

There was one of our dim street lights at a central corner on old
Pennsylvania Avenue, and under it, after a long walk, I paused for a
glance at the inscription on my sealed document. I had not looked at it
before in the confusion of my somewhat hurried mental processes. In
addition to the name and street number, in Calhoun's writing, I read
this memorandum: "Knock at the third door in the second block beyond M
Street"

I recalled the nearest cross street; but I must confess the direction
still seemed somewhat cryptic. Puzzled, I stood under the lamp,
shielding the face of the note under my cloak to keep off the rain, as I
studied it.

The sound of wheels behind me on the muddy pavement called my attention,
and I looked about. A carriage came swinging up to the curb where I
stood. It was driven rapidly, and as it approached the door swung open.
I heard a quick word, and the driver pulled up his horses. I saw the
light shine through the door on a glimpse of white satin. I looked
again. Yes, it was a beckoning hand! The negro driver looked at me
inquiringly.

Ah, well, I suppose diplomacy under the stars runs much the same in all
ages. I have said that I loved Elisabeth, but also said I was not yet
thirty. Moreover, I was a gentleman, and here might be a lady in need of
help. I need not say that in a moment I was at the side of the carriage.
Its occupant made no exclamation of surprise; in fact, she moved back
upon the other side of the seat in the darkness, as though to make room
for me!

I was absorbed in a personal puzzle. Here was I, messenger upon some
important errand, as I might guess. But white satin and a midnight
adventure--at least, a gentleman might bow and ask if he could be of
assistance!

A dark framed face, whose outlines I could only dimly see in the faint
light of the street lamp, leaned toward me. The same small hand
nervously reached out, as though in request.

I now very naturally stepped closer. A pair of wide and very dark eyes
was looking into mine. I could now see her face. There was no smile upon
her lips. I had never seen her before, that was sure--nor did I ever
think to see her like again; I could say that even then, even in the
half light. Just a trifle foreign, the face; somewhat dark, but not too
dark; the lips full, the eyes luminous, the forehead beautifully arched,
chin and cheek beautifully rounded, nose clean-cut and straight, thin
but not pinched. There was nothing niggard about her. She was
magnificent--a magnificent woman. I saw that she had splendid jewels at
her throat, in her ears--a necklace of diamonds, long hoops of diamonds
and emeralds used as ear-rings; a sparkling clasp which caught at her
white throat the wrap which she had thrown about her ball gown--for now
I saw she was in full evening dress. I guessed she had been an attendant
at the great ball, that ball which I had missed with so keen a regret
myself--the ball where I had hoped to dance with Elisabeth. Without
doubt she had lost her way and was asking the first stranger for
instructions to her driver.

My lady, whoever she was, seemed pleased with her rapid temporary
scrutiny. With a faint murmur, whether of invitation or not I scarce
could tell, she drew back again to the farther side of the seat. Before
I knew how or why, I was at her side. The driver pushed shut the door,
and whipped up his team.

Personally I am gifted with but small imagination. In a very matter of
fact way I had got into this carriage with a strange lady. Now in a
sober and matter of fact way it appeared to me my duty to find out the
reason for this singular situation.

"Madam," I remarked to my companion, "in what manner can I be of service
to you this evening?"

I made no attempt to explain who I was, or to ask who or what she
herself was, for I had no doubt that our interview soon would be
terminated.

"I am fortunate that you are a gentleman," she said, in a low and soft
voice, quite distinct, quite musical in quality, and marked with just
the faintest trace of some foreign accent, although her English was
perfect.

I looked again at her. Yes, her hair was dark; that was sure. It swept
up in a great roll above her oval brow. Her eyes, too, must be dark, I
confirmed. Yes--as a passed lamp gave me aid--there were strong dark
brows above them. Her nose, too, was patrician; her chin curving just
strongly enough, but not too full, and faintly cleft, a sign of power,
they say.

A third gracious lamp gave me a glimpse of her figure, huddled back
among her draperies, and I guessed her to be about of medium height. A
fourth lamp showed me her hands, small, firm, white; also I could catch
a glimpse of her arm, as it lay outstretched, her fingers clasping a
fan. So I knew her arms were round and taper, hence all her limbs and
figure finely molded, because nature does not do such things by halves,
and makes no bungles in her symmetry of contour when she plans a noble
specimen of humanity. Here _was_ a noble specimen of what woman may be.

On the whole, as I must confess, I sighed rather comfortably at the
fifth street lamp; for, if my chief must intrust to me adventures of a
dark night--adventures leading to closed carriages and strange
companions--I had far liefer it should be some such woman as this. I was
not in such a hurry to ask again how I might be of service. In fact,
being somewhat surprised and somewhat pleased, I remained silent now for
a time, and let matters adjust themselves; which is not a bad course for
any one similarly engaged.

She turned toward me at last, deliberately, her fan against her lips,
studying me. And I did as much, taking such advantage as I could of the
passing street lamps. Then, all at once, without warning or apology, she
smiled, showing very even and white teeth.

She smiled. There came to me from the purple-colored shadows some sort
of deep perfume, strange to me. I frown at the description of such
things and such emotions, but I swear that as I sat there, a stranger,
not four minutes in companionship with this other stranger, I felt swim
up around me some sort of amber shadow, edged with purple--the shadow,
as I figured it then, being this perfume, curious and alluring!

It was wet, there in the street. Why should I rebel at this stealing
charm of color or fragrance--let those name it better who can. At least
I sat, smiling to myself in my purple-amber shadow, now in no very
special hurry. And now again she smiled, thoughtfully, rather approving
my own silence, as I guessed; perhaps because it showed no unmanly
perturbation--my lack of imagination passing for aplomb.

At last I could not, in politeness, keep this up further.

"_How may I serve the Baroness?_" said I.

She started back on the seat as far as she could go.

"How did you know?" she asked. "And who are _you_?"

I laughed. "I did not know, and did not guess until almost as I began to
speak; but if it comes to that, I might say I am simply an humble
gentleman of Washington here. I might be privileged to peep in at
ambassadors' balls--through the windows, at least."

"But you were not there--you did not see me? I never saw you in my life
until this very moment--how, then, do you know me? Speak! At once!" Her
satins rustled. I knew she was tapping a foot on the carriage floor.

"Madam," I answered, laughing at her; "by this amber purple shadow, with
flecks of scarlet and pink; by this perfume which weaves webs for me
here in this carriage, I know you. The light is poor, but it is good
enough to show one who can be no one else but the Baroness von Ritz."

I was in the mood to spice an adventure which had gone thus far. Of
course she thought me crazed, and drew back again in the shadow; but
when I turned and smiled, she smiled in answer--herself somewhat
puzzled.

"The Baroness von Ritz can not be disguised," I said; "not even if she
wore her domino."

She looked down at the little mask which hung from the silken cord, and
flung it from her.

"Oh, then, very well!" she said. "If you know who I am, who are _you_,
and why do you talk in this absurd way with me, a stranger?"

"And why, Madam, do you take me up, a stranger, in this absurd way, at
midnight, on the streets of Washington?--I, who am engaged on business
for my chief?"

She tapped again with her foot on the carriage floor. "Tell me who you
are!" she said.

"Once a young planter from Maryland yonder; sometime would-be lawyer
here in Washington. It is my misfortune not to be so distinguished in
fame or beauty that my name is known by all; so I need not tell you my
name perhaps, only assuring you that I am at your service if I may be
useful."

"Your name!" she again demanded.

I told her the first one that came to my lips--I do not remember what.
It did not deceive her for a moment.

"Of course that is not your name," she said; "because it does not fit
you. You have me still at disadvantage."

"And me, Madam? You are taking me miles out of my way. How can I help
you? Do you perhaps wish to hunt mushrooms in the Georgetown woods when
morning comes? I wish that I might join you, but I fear--"

"You mock me," she retorted. "Very good. Let me tell you it was not your
personal charm which attracted me when I saw you on the pavement! `Twas
because you were the only man in sight."

I bowed my thanks. For a moment nothing was heard save the steady patter
of hoofs on the ragged pavement. At length she went on.

"I am alone. I have been followed. I was followed when I called to
you--by another carriage. I asked help of the first gentleman I saw,
having heard that Americans all are gentlemen."

"True," said I; "I do not blame you. Neither do I blame the occupant of
the other carriage for following you."

"I pray you, leave aside such chatter!" she exclaimed.

"Very well, then, Madam. Perhaps the best way is for us to be more
straightforward. If I can not be of service I beg you to let me descend,
for I have business which I must execute to-night."

This, of course, was but tentative. I did not care to tell her that my
business was with herself. It seemed almost unbelievable to me that
chance should take this turn.

She dismissed this with an impatient gesture, and continued.

"See, I am alone," she said. "Come with me. Show me my way--I will
pay--I will pay anything in reason." Actually I saw her fumble at her
purse, and the hot blood flew to my forehead.

"What you ask of me, Madam, is impossible," said I, with what courtesy I
could summon. "You oblige me now to tell my real name. I have told you
that I am an American gentleman--Mr. Nicholas Trist. We of this country
do not offer our services to ladies for the sake of pay. But do not be
troubled over any mistake--it is nothing. Now, you have perhaps had some
little adventure in which you do not wish to be discovered. In any case,
you ask me to shake off that carriage which follows us. If that is all,
Madam, it very easily can be arranged."

"Hasten, then," she said. "I leave it to you. I was sure you knew the
city."

I turned and gazed back through the rear window of the carriage. True,
there was another vehicle following us. We were by this time nearly at
the end of Washington's limited pavements. It would be simple after
that. I leaned out and gave our driver some brief orders. We led our
chase across the valley creeks on up the Georgetown hills, and soon as
possible abandoned the last of the pavement, and took to the turf, where
the sound of our wheels was dulled. Rapidly as we could we passed on up
the hill, until we struck a side street where there was no paving. Into
this we whipped swiftly, following the flank of the hill, our going,
which was all of earth or soft turf, now well wetted by the rain. When
at last we reached a point near the summit of the hill, I stopped to
listen. Hearing nothing, I told the driver to pull down the hill by the
side street, and to drive slowly. When we finally came into our main
street again at the foot of the Georgetown hills, not far from the
little creek which divided that settlement from the main city, I could
hear nowhere any sound of our pursuer.

"Madam," said I, turning to her; "I think we may safely say we are
alone. What, now, is your wish?"

"Home!" she said.

"And where is home?"

She looked at me keenly for a time, as though to read some thought which
perhaps she saw suggested either in the tone of my voice or in some
glimpse she might have caught of my features as light afforded. For the
moment she made no answer.

"Is it here?" suddenly I asked her, presenting to her inspection the
sealed missive which I bore.

"I can not see; it is quite dark," she said hurriedly.

"Pardon me, then--" I fumbled for my case of lucifers, and made a faint
light by which she might read. The flare of the match lit up her face
perfectly, bringing out the framing roll of thick dark hair, from which,
as a high light in a mass of shadows, the clear and yet strong features
of her face showed plainly. I saw the long lashes drooped above her dark
eyes, as she bent over studiously. At first the inscription gave her no
information. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"I do not recognize the address," said she, smiling, as she turned
toward me.

"Is it this door on M Street, as you go beyond this other street?" I
asked her. "Come--think!"

Then I thought I saw the flush deepen on her face, even as the match
flickered and failed.

I leaned out of the door and called to the negro driver. "Home, now,
boy--and drive fast!"

She made no protest.




CHAPTER V

ONE OF THE WOMEN IN THE CASE

There is a woman at the beginning of all great things.
--_Lamartine_.

A quarter of an hour later, we slowed down on a rough brick pavement,
which led toward what then was an outlying portion of the town--one not
precisely shabby, but by no means fashionable. There was a single lamp
stationed at the mouth of the narrow little street. As we advanced, I
could see outlined upon our right, just beyond a narrow pavement of
brick, a low and not more than semi-respectable house, or rather, row of
houses; tenements for the middle class or poor, I might have said. The
neighborhood, I knew from my acquaintance with the city, was respectable
enough, yet it was remote, and occupied by none of any station.
Certainly it was not to be considered fit residence for a woman such as
this who sat beside me. I admit I was puzzled. The strange errand of my
chief now assumed yet more mystery, in spite of his forewarnings.

"This will do," said she softly, at length. The driver already had
pulled up.

So, then, I thought, she had been here before. But why? Could this
indeed be her residence? Was she incognita here? Was this indeed the
covert embassy of England?

There was no escape from the situation as it lay before me. I had no
time to ponder. Had the circumstances been otherwise, then in loyalty to
Elisabeth I would have handed my lady out, bowed her farewell at her own
gate, and gone away, pondering only the adventures into which the
beckoning of a white hand and the rustling of a silken skirt betimes
will carry a man, if he dares or cares to go. Now, I might not leave. My
duty was here. This was my message; here was she for whom it was
intended; and this was the place which I was to have sought alone. I
needed only to remember that my business was not with Helena von Ritz
the woman, beautiful, fascinating, perhaps dangerous as they said of
her, but with the Baroness von Ritz, in the belief of my chief the ally
and something more than ally of Pakenham, in charge of England's
fortunes on this continent. I did remember my errand and the gravity of
it. I did not remember then, as I did later, that I was young.

I descended at the edge of the narrow pavement, and was about to hand
her out at the step, but as I glanced down I saw that the rain had left
a puddle of mud between the carriage and the walk.

"Pardon, Madam," I said; "allow me to make a light for you--the footing
is bad."

I lighted another lucifer, just as she hesitated at the step. She made
as though to put out her right foot, and withdrew it. Again she shifted,
and extended her left foot. I faintly saw proof that nature had carried
out her scheme of symmetry, and had not allowed wrist and arm to
forswear themselves! I saw also that this foot was clad in the daintiest
of white slippers, suitable enough as part of her ball costume, as I
doubted not was this she wore. She took my hand without hesitation, and
rested her weight upon the step--an adorable ankle now more frankly
revealed. The briefness of the lucifers was merciful or merciless, as
you like.

"A wide step, Madam; be careful," I suggested. But still she hesitated.

A laugh, half of annoyance, half of amusement, broke from her lips. As
the light flickered down, she made as though to take the step; then, as
luck would have it, a bit of her loose drapery, which was made in the
wide-skirted and much-hooped fashion of the time, caught at the hinge of
the carriage door. It was a chance glance, and not intent on my part,
but I saw that her other foot was stockinged, but not shod!

"I beg Madam's pardon," I said gravely, looking aside, "but she has
perhaps not noticed that her other slipper is lost in the carriage."

"Nonsense!" she said. "Allow me your hand across to the walk, please. It
is lost, yes."

"But lost--where?" I began.

"In the other carriage!" she exclaimed, and laughed freely.

Half hopping, she was across the walk, through the narrow gate, and up
at the door before I could either offer an arm or ask for an
explanation. Some whim, however, seized her; some feeling that in
fairness she ought to tell me now part at least of the reason for her
summoning me to her aid.

"Sir," she said, even as her hand reached up to the door knocker; "I
admit you have acted as a gentleman should. I do not know what your
message may be, but I doubt not it is meant for me. Since you have this
much claim on my hospitality, even at this hour, I think I must ask you
to step within. There may be some answer needed."

"Madam," said I, "there _is_ an answer needed. I am to take back that
answer. I know that this message is to the Baroness von Ritz. I guess it
to be important; and I know you are the Baroness von Ritz."

"Well, then," said she, pulling about her half-bared shoulders the light
wrap she wore; "let me be as free with you. If I have missed one shoe, I
have not lost it wholly. I lost the slipper in a way not quite planned
on the program. It hurt my foot. I sought to adjust it behind a curtain.
My gentleman of Mexico was in wine. I fled, leaving my escort, and he
followed. I called to you. You know the rest. I am glad you are less in
wine, and are more a gentleman."

"I do not yet know my answer, Madam."

"Come!" she said; and at once knocked upon the door.

I shall not soon forget the surprise which awaited me when at last the
door swung open silently at the hand of a wrinkled and brown old
serving-woman--not one of our colored women, but of some dark foreign
race. The faintest trace of surprise showed on the old woman's face, but
she stepped back and swung the door wide, standing submissively, waiting
for orders.

We stood now facing what ought to have been a narrow and dingy little
room in a low row of dingy buildings, each of two stories and so shallow
in extent as perhaps not to offer roof space to more than a half dozen
rooms. Instead of what should have been, however, there was a wide
hall--wide as each building would have been from front to back, but
longer than a half dozen of them would have been! I did not know then,
what I learned later, that the partitions throughout this entire row had
been removed, the material serving to fill up one of the houses at the
farthest extremity of the row. There was thus offered a long and narrow
room, or series of rooms, which now I saw beyond possibility of doubt
constituted the residence of this strange woman whom chance had sent me
to address; and whom still stranger chance had thrown in contact with me
even before my errand was begun!

She stood looking at me, a smile flitting over her features, her
stockinged foot extended, toe down, serving to balance her on her
high-heeled single shoe.

"Pardon, sir," she said, hesitating, as she held the sealed epistle in
her hand. "You know me--perhaps you follow me--I do not know. Tell me,
are you a spy of that man Pakenham?"

Her words and her tone startled me. I had supposed her bound to Sir
Richard by ties of a certain sort. Her bluntness and independence
puzzled me as much as her splendid beauty enraptured me. I tried to
forget both.

"Madam, I am spy of no man, unless I am such at order of my chief, John
Calhoun, of the United States Senate--perhaps, if Madam pleases, soon of
Mr. Tyler's cabinet."

In answer, she turned, hobbled to a tiny marquetry table, and tossed the
note down upon it, unopened. I waited patiently, looking about me
meantime. I discovered that the windows were barred with narrow slats
of iron within, although covered with heavy draperies of amber silk.
There was a double sheet of iron covering the door by which we had
entered.

"Your cage, Madam?" I inquired. "I do not blame England for making it so
secret and strong! If so lovely a prisoner were mine, I should double
the bars."

The swift answer to my presumption came in the flush of her cheek and
her bitten lip. She caught up the key from the table, and half motioned
me to the door. But now I smiled in turn, and pointed to the unopened
note on the table. "You will pardon me, Madam," I went on. "Surely it is
no disgrace to represent either England or America. They are not at war.
Why should we be?" We gazed steadily at each other.

The old servant had disappeared when at length her mistress chose to
pick up my unregarded document. Deliberately she broke the seal and
read. An instant later, her anger gone, she was laughing gaily.

"See," said she, bubbling over with her mirth; "I pick up a stranger,
who should say good-by at my curb; my apartments are forced; and this is
what this stranger asks: that I shall go with him, to-night, alone, and
otherwise unattended, to see a man, perhaps high in your government, but
a stranger to me, at his own rooms-alone! Oh, la! la! Surely these
Americans hold me high!"

"Assuredly we do, Madam," I answered. "Will it please you to go in your
own carriage, or shall I return with one for you?"

She put her hands behind her back, holding in them the opened message
from my chief. "I am tired. I am bored. Your impudence amuses me; and
your errand is not your fault. Come, sit down. You have been good to me.
Before you go, I shall have some refreshment brought for you."

I felt a sudden call upon my resources as I found myself in this
singular situation. Here, indeed, more easily reached than I had dared
hope, was the woman in the case. But only half of my errand, the easier
half, was done.

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