A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story

As the days went on, she began to wonder at Lord Medway's absence. At least, if she was to be his wife he ought to show her some care and attention. She remembered that in their last important interview she had told him not to trouble her; but he ought to have understood that a woman's words, in such trying circumstances, meant much less or much more than their face value.

Household anxieties of all kinds were added to these personal ones. Madame Semple was sick and full of domestic cares. Never had there been known in New York such bitter frost, such paralyzing cold. Snow lay four to six feet deep; loaded teams or galloping cavalry crossed the river safely on its solid ice. Neil had made arrangements for wood in the summer months, but only part of it had been delivered; the rest, though felled, could not be extricated from the frozen snowdrifts. The sale of the Mill Street property had left them a margin of ready money, but provisions had risen to fabulous prices and were not always procurable at any price. New York was experiencing, this cruel winter, all the calamities of a great city beleaguered both by its enemies and the elements.

Yet the incessant social gaiety never ceased. Thousands were preparing for the battlefield; thousands were dying in a virulent smallpox epidemic; thousands were half-frozen and half-fed; the prisons were crowded hells of unspeakable agonies; yet the officers in command of the city, and the citizens in office, the rich, the young and the beautiful, made themselves merry in the midst of all this death and famine, and found very good recreation in driving their jingling sleighs over the solid waters of the river and the bay.

In these bad times Neil was the stay and comfort of the Semple household. He catered for their necessities cheerfully, but his heart was heavy with anxious fear; and when he saw those he loved deprived of any comfort, he reproached himself for the pride which had made him resign offices so necessary for their welfare. This pinch of poverty, which he must conceal, made his whole being shrink with suffering he never named to any one. And besides, there was always that desolate house to pass and repass. How was it that its shut door affected him so painfully? He could only feel this question; he could not answer it. But, though he was not conscious of the fact, never had Neil Semple in all his life been at once so great and so wretched: great because he was able to put his own misery under the feet of those he loved; to forget it in noble smiles that might cheer them and in hopeful words, often invented for their comfort.

One day as he was walking down Broadway he saw a sleigh coming toward him. It was drawn by four black horses blanketed in scarlet, glittering with silver harness and tossing their plumed heads to the music of a thousand bells. As it drew nearer a faint smile came to his lips. He saw the fantastically-dressed driver and footman, and the brilliant mass of color surrounded by minever furs, and he knew it was Madame Jacobus, out to defy any other sleigh to approach her.

He expected only a swift, bright smile in passing, but she stopped, called him imperatively, and then insisted that he should take a seat beside her. "I have caught you at last," she said with a laugh. "It is high time. I asked you to come soon and see me, and you said you would. You have broken your word, sir. But nothing is binding where a woman is concerned; we have to live on broken scraps of all kinds, or perish. You are going to dine with me. I shall take it very ill if you refuse;" then, more soberly, "I have some important things to say to you."

"It will be a great pleasure to dine with you," answered Neil.

"First, however, we will gallop a mile or two, just to show ourselves and get an appetite;" and the grave smile of pleasurable assent which accepted this proposition delighted her. In and out of the city ways they flew, until they reached the Bowery road; there they met the sleighs of generals and governors, dandy officers and wealthy commissioners, and passed them all. And Neil shared the thrill of her triumph and the physical delight of a pace no one could approach. Something like his old expression of satisfied consideration came into his face, and he was alive from head to feet when he reached Madame's fine house in lower Broadway, – a handsome, luxurious house, filled with treasures from every part of the world; no shadow of limitation in anything within it. The lunch, elaborately laid for Madame, was instantly extended for the guest, and Neil marvelled at the dainty liberality of all its arrangements. It was, indeed, well known that the Jacobus wealth was enormous, but here was a room warmed as if wood was of no great value; broiled birds, the finest of wheat bread, the oldest and best of wines.

"You see, I take good care of myself, Neil," said Madame. "I don't wish to die till the war is over. I am resolved to see Troy taken."

"You mean New York."

"I mean New York, of course."

"Do you really think the rebels will take New York?"

"The Greeks got into Troy by trying. I think others can do the same."

This was the only allusion made to public events during the meal; but when it was over and the servants had disappeared she set her chair before the roaring fire, spread out her splendid scarlet skirt, and, holding a gemmed fan between her face and the blaze, said:

"Now we will talk. You must tell me everything, Neil, without holdbacks. You are a lawyer and know that everything must be told or nothing. Do you feel that you can trust me?"

Then Neil looked into the dark, speaking face, bending slightly toward him. Kindness lighted its eyes and parted its lips, but, above all, it was a countenance whose truth was beyond question. "Madame," he answered, "I believe you are my friend."

"In plain truth, I am your friend. I am also your mother's friend. She is the best of women. I love her, and there's an end of it. When I came to New York first I was a stranger and people looked curiously, even doubtfully, at me. Janet Semple stood by me like a mother just as long as I needed her care. Do I forget? That is far from Angelica Jacobus. I never forget a kindness. Now, Neil, I have known you more than twenty years. What can I do for you?"

"O Madame, what can you not do? Your sympathy has put new life into me. I feel as if, perhaps, even yet there may be happy days in store."

"Plenty of them. I hear you paid the fines immediately. Did they pinch you much?"

"No. Jacob Cohen bought a piece of land from me. I do believe he bought it out of pure kindness."

"Pure kindness and good business. He knows how to mingle things. But that Jew has a great soul. Jacobus has said so often, and no one can deceive Jacobus. But what are these stories I hear about your lovely niece? Is there any truth in them?"

"None, I'll warrant," answered Neil warmly. "But I will tell you the exact truth, and then you may judge if little Maria deserves to be treated as people are now treating her."

Then Neil succinctly, and with clearness and feeling, told the story of Maria's entanglement with Harry Bradley, laying particular stress on the fact that she never had met him clandestinely, and that his note had been a great offense and astonishment to her. "I was present," he said, "when my father told her of the note, and of its being read in the Police Court, and I shall never forget her face. It is an easy thing to say that a person was shocked, but Maria's very soul was so dismayed and shocked that I seemed to see it fly from her face. She would have fallen had I not caught her. Why was that note written? I cannot understand it."

"It was never intended for Maria. It was written to wound the vanity and fire the jealousy of that Scot. As soon as Maria left the room the opportunity was seized. Can you not see that? And Harry Bradley never dreamed that the kilted fool would turn an apparent love-tryst into a political event. He wished to make trouble between Macpherson and Maria, but he had no intention of making the trouble he did make. He also was jealous, and when two jealous men are playing with fire the consequences are sure to be calamitous. But Macpherson is sorry enough now for his zeal in His Majesty's affairs. He is thoroughly despised by both men and women of the first class. I, myself, have made a few drawing-rooms places of extreme humiliation to him."

"Still, others think the man simply did his duty. A Scotsman has very strong ideas about military honor and duty."

"Fiddlesticks! Honor and duty! Nothing of the kind. It was a dirty deed, and he is a dirty fellow to have done it. There was some decent way out of the dilemma without going through the Police Court to find it. Grant me patience with such bouncing, swaggering, selfish patriotism! A penny's worth of common-sense and good feeling would have been better; but it was his humor to be revengeful and ill-natured, and he is, of course, swayed by his inclinations. Let us forget the creature."

"With all my soul."

"The stories are various about Maria going to General Clinton and begging her lover's life with such distraction that he could not refuse it to her. Which story is the true one?"

"They are all lies, I assure you, Madame. It was Lord Medway who begged Harry Bradley's life."

"But why?"

Neil paused a minute, and then answered softly, "For Maria's sake."

"Oh, I begin to understand."

"She has promised to marry him when she is of age – then, or before."

"I am very glad. Medway is a man full of queer kinds of goodness. When the Robinsons and Blundells, when Joan Attwood and Kitty Errol and all the rest of the beauties, hear the news, may I be there to see? Is it talkable yet?"

"No, not yet. Maria has told no one but me, and I have told no one but you. Medway is to see my father and mother; after that – perhaps. He has not called since the arrangement; he told me 'he was doing the best thing under the circumstances.'"

"Of course he is. Medway understands women. He knows that he is making more progress absent than he would present. Come, now, things are not so bad, socially. Mrs. Gordon and Angelica Jacobus will look after Maria; and, though women can always be abominable enough to their own sex, I think Maria will soon be beyond their shafts. Now, it is business I must speak of. Patrick Huges, my agent, is robbing me without rhyme or reason. I had just sent him packing when I met you. The position is vacant. Will you manage my affairs for me? The salary is two hundred pounds a year."

"Madame, the offer is a great piece of good fortune. From this hour, if you wish it, I will do your business as if it were my own."

"Thank you, Neil. In plain truth, it will be a great kindness to me. We will go over the rascal's accounts to-morrow, and he will cross the river to-night if he hears that Neil Semple is to prosecute the examination."

Then Neil rose to leave. Madame's sympathy and help had made a new man of him; he felt able to meet and master his fate, whatever it might be. At the last moment she laid her hand upon his arm. "Neil," she asked, "Has not this great outrage opened your eyes a little. Do you still believe in the justice or clemency of the King?"

"It was not the King."

"It was the King's representatives. If such indignity is possible when we are still fighting, what kind of justice should we get if we were conquered?"

"I know, I know. But there is my father. It would break his heart if I deserted the royal party now. They do not know in England – "

"Then they ought to know; but for many years I have been saying, 'England was mad'; and she grows no wiser."

"Englishmen move so slowly."

"Of course. All the able Englishmen are on this side of the Atlantic. Lord! how many from the other side could be changed for the one Great One on this side. What do you think? It was my silk, lace, ribbons and fallals Harry Bradley was taking across the river. The little vanities were for my old friend Martha. I am sorry she missed them."

Neil looked at her with an admiring smile. "How do you manage?" he asked.

"I have arranged my politics long since, and quite to my satisfaction. So has Jacobus. He left New York flying the English flag, but the ocean has a wonderful influence on him; his political ideas grow large and free there; he becomes – a different man. Society has the same effect on me. When I see American women put below that vulgar Mrs. Reidesel – "

"Oh, no, Madame!"

"Oh, yes, sir. In the fashionable world we are all naught unless Mrs. General Reidesel figures before us; then, perhaps, we may acquire a kind of value. See how she is queening it in General Tryron's fine mansion. And then, this foreign mercenary, Knyphausen, put over American officers and American citizens! It is monstrous! Not to be endured! I only bear it by casting my heart and eyes to the Jersey Highlands. There our natural ruler waits and watches; here, we wait and watch, and some hour, it must be, our hopes shall touch God's purposes for us. For that hour we secretly pray. It is not far off." And Neil understood, as he met her shining eyes and radiant smile, that there are times when faith may indeed have all the dignity of works.

Then the young man, inexpressibly cheered and strengthened, went rapidly home; and when Madame heard her son's steps on the garden walk she knew that something pleasant had happened to him. And it is so often that fortune, as well as misfortune, goes where there is more of it that Neil was hardly surprised to see an extraordinarily cheerful group around an unusually cheerful fireside when he opened the parlor door. The Elder, smiling and serene, sat in his arm-chair, with his finger-tips placidly touching each other. Madame's voice had something of its old confident ring in it, and Maria, with heightened color and visible excitement, sat between her grandparents, an unmistakable air of triumph on her face.

"Come to the fire, Neil," said his mother, making a place for his chair. "Come and warm yoursel'; and we'll hae a cup o' tea in ten or fifteen minutes."

"How cheerful the blazing logs are," he answered. "Is it some festival? You are as delightfully extravagant as Madame Jacobus. Oh, if the old days were back again, mother!"

"They will come, Neil. But wha or what will bring us back the good days we hae lost forever out o' our little lives while we tholed this weary war? However, there is good news, or at least your father thinks so. Maria has had an offer o' marriage, and her not long turned eighteen years auld, and from an English lord, and your father has made a bonfire o'er the matter, and I've nae doubt he would have likit to illuminate the house as weel."

The Elder smiled tolerantly. "Janet," he answered, "a handsome young man, without mair than his share o' faults and forty thousand pounds a year, is what I call a godsend to any girl. And I'm glad it has come to our little Maria. I like the lad. I like him weel. He spoke out like a man. He told me o' his castle and estate in Lancashire, and o' the great coal mines on it; the lands he owned in Cumberland and Kent, his town house in Belgrave Square, and forbye showed me his last year's rental, and stated in so many words what settlement he would make on Maria. And I'm proud and pleased wi' my new English grandson that is to be. I shall hold my head higher than ever before; and as for Matthews and Peter DuBois, they and their dirty Police Court may go to – , where they ought to have been years syne, but for God Almighty's patience; and I'll say nae worse o' them than that. It's a great day for the Semples, Neil, and I am wonderfully happy o'er it."

"It's a great day for the Medways," answered Madame. "I could see fine how pleased he was at the Gordon connection, for when I told him Colonel William Gordon, son o' the Earl o' Aberdeen – him wha raised the Gordon Highlanders a matter o' three years syne – was my ain first cousin, he rose and kissed my hand and said he was proud to call Colonel Gordon his friend. And he knew a' about the Gordons and the warlike Huntleys, and could even tell me that the fighting force o' the clan was a thousand claymores; a most intelligent young man! And though I dinna like the thought o' an Englishman among the Gordons, there's a differ even in Englishmen; some are less almighty and mair sensible than others."

"He spoke very highly o' the Americans," answered the Elder. "He said 'we were all o' one race, the children o' the same grand old mother.'"

"The Americans are obligated for his recognition," replied Madame a trifle scornfully. "To be sure, it's a big feather in our caps when Lord Medway calls cousins with us."

"What does Maria say?" asked Neil. And Maria raised her eyes to his with a look in them of which he only had the key. So to spare her talking on the subject, he continued: "I also have had a piece of good fortune to-day. I met Madame Jacobus, went home with her to dinner, and she has offered me the position of her business agent, with a salary of two hundred pounds a year."

"It's a vera springtide o' good fortune," said the Elder, "and I am a grateful auld man."

"Weel, then," cried Madame, "here comes the tea and the hot scones; and I ken they are as good as a feast. It's a thanksgiving meal and no less; come to the table wi' grateful hearts, children. I'm thinking the tide has turned for the Semples; and when the tide turns, wha is able to stop it?"

The turn of the tide! How full of hope it is! Not even Maria was inclined to shadow the cheerful atmosphere. Indeed, she was grateful to Lord Medway for the fresh, living element he had brought into the house. Life had been gloomy and full of small mortifications to her since the unfortunate Bradley affair. Her friends appeared to have forgotten her, and the dancing and feasting and sleighing went on without her presence. Even her home had been darkened by the same event; her grandfather had not quite recovered the shock of his arrest; her grandmother had made less effort to hide her own failing health. Neil had a heartache about Agnes that nothing eased, and the whole household felt the fear and pinch of poverty and the miserable uncertainty about the future.

Maria bore her share in these conditions, and she had also began to wonder and to worry a little over Lord Medway's apparent indifference. If he really loved her, why did he not give her the recognition of his obvious friendship? His presence and attentions would at least place her beyond the spite and envy of her feminine rivals. Why did he let them have one opportunity after another to smile disdain on her presence, or to pointedly relegate her to the outer darkness of non-recognition? When she had examined all her slights and sorrows, Lord Medway's neglect was the most cutting thong in the social scourge.

Madame Jacobus, however, was correct in her opinion. Medway was making in these days of lonely neglect a progress which would have been impossible had he spent them at the girl's side. And if he had been aware of every feeling and event in the lives of the Semples, he could not have timed his hour of reappearance more fortunately, for not only was Maria in the depths of despondency, but the Elder had also begun to believe his position and credit much impaired. He had been passed, avoided, curtly answered by men accustomed to defer to him; and he did not take into consideration the personal pressure on these very men from lack of money, or work, or favor; nor yet those accidental offenses which have no connection with the people who receive them. In the days of his prosperity he would have found or made excuses in every case, but a failing or losing man is always suspicious, and ready to anticipate wrong.

But now! Now it would be different. As he drank his tea and ate his buttered scone he thought so. "It will be good-morning, Elder. How's all with you? Have you heard the news? and the like of that. It will be a different call now." And he looked at Maria happily, and began to forgive her for the calamity she had brought upon them. For it was undeniable that even in her home she had been made to feel her responsibility, although the blame had never been voiced.

She understood the change, and was both happy and angry. She did not feel as if any one – grandfather, grandmother, Lord Medway, or Uncle Neil – had stood by her with the loyal faith they ought to have shown. All of them had, more or less, suspected her of imprudence and reckless disregard of their welfare. All of them had thought her capable of ruining her family for a flirtation. Even Agnes, the beginning and end of all the trouble, had been cold and indifferent, and blamed, and left her without a word. And as she did not believe herself to have done anything very wrong, the injustice of the situation filled her with angry pain and dumb reproach.

Lord Medway's straightforward proposal cleared all the clouds away. It gave her a position at once that even her grandfather respected. She was no longer a selfish child, whose vanity and folly had nearly ruined her family. She was the betrothed wife of a rich and powerful nobleman, and she knew that even socially reprisals of a satisfactory kind would soon be open to her. The dejected, self-effacing manner induced by her culpable position dropped from her like a useless garment; she lifted her handsome face with confident smiles; she was going, not only to be exonerated, but to be set far above the envy and jealousy of her enemies. For Medway had asked her to go sleighing with him on the following day, and she expected that ride to atone for many small insults and offenses.

Twice during the night she got up in the cruel cold to peep at the stars and the skies. She wanted a clear, sunny day, such a day as would bring out every sleigh in the fashionable world; and she got her desire. The sun rose brilliantly, and the cold had abated to just the desirable point; the roads, also, were in perfect condition for rapid sleighing, and at half-past eleven Medway entered the parlor, aglow with the frost and the rapid motion.

His fine presence, his hearty laugh, his genial manners, were irresistible. He bowed over Madame's hand, and then drew Maria within his embrace. "Is she not a darling? and may I take her for an hour or two, grandmother?" he asked. And Madame felt his address to be beyond opposition. He had claimed her kinship; he had called her "grandmother," and she gave him at once the key of her heart.

As they stood all three together before the fire, a servant man entered and threw upon the sofa an armful of furs. "I have had these made for you, Maria," said Medway. "Look here, my little one! Their equals do not exist outside of Russia." And he wrapped her in a cloak of the finest black fox lined with scarlet satin, and put on her head a hood of scarlet satin and black fox, and slipped her hands into a muff of the same fur lined with scarlet satin; and when they reached the waiting sleigh he lifted her as easily as a baby into it, and seating himself beside her, off they went to the music in their hearts and the music in the bells; and the pace of the four horses was so great that Madame declared "all she could see was a bundle of black fur and flying scarlet ribbons."

That day Maria's cup of triumph was full and running over. Before they had reached the half-way house they had met the entire fashionable world of New York, and every member of it had understood that Maria Semple and Lord Medway would now have to be reckoned with together. For Medway spoke to no one and returned no greeting that did not include Maria in it. Indeed, his neglect of those who made this omission was so pointed that none could misconstrue it. Maria was, therefore, very happy. She had found a friend and a defender in her trouble, and she was, at least, warmly grateful to him. He could see it in her shining eyes, and feel it, oh, so delightfully! in her unconscious drawing closer and closer to him, so that finally his hands were clasping hers within the muff of black fox, and his face was bending to her with that lover-like, protecting poise there was no mistaking.

"Are you satisfied, Maria? Are you happy?" he asked, when the pace slackened and they could talk a little.

"Oh, yes!" she answered. "But why did you wait so long? I was suffering. I needed a friend; did you not understand?"

"But you had a sorrow I could not share. I did not blame you for it. It was but natural you should weep a little, for the young man had doubtless made some impression. He was a gallant fellow, and between life and death carried himself like a prince. I am glad I was able to save his life; but I did not wish to see you fretting about him; that was also natural."

She did not answer, nor did he seem to expect an answer. But she was pleased he did not speak slightingly of Harry. Had he done so, she felt that she would have defended him; and yet, in her deepest consciousness she knew this defense would have been forced and uncertain. The circumstances were too painful to be called from the abyss of past calamity. It was better everything should be forgotten. And with the unerring instinct of a lover, Medway quickly put a stop to her painful reverie by words that seldom miss a woman's appreciation. He told her how much he had longed to be with her; how tardily the weeks had flown; how happy it made him to see her face again. He called her beautiful, bewitching, the loveliest creature the sun shone on, and he said these things with that air of devoted respect which was doubly sweet to the girl, after the social neglect of the past weeks. Finally he asked her if she was cold, and she answered:

"How can I be cold? These exquisite furs are cold-proof. Where did you get them? I have never seen any like them before."

"I got them in St. Petersburg. I was there two years ago on a political embassy, and while I was waiting until you partly recovered yourself I had my long coat cut up and made for you. I am delighted I did it. You never looked so lovely in anything I have seen you wear. Do you like them, Maria, sweet Maria?"

She looked at him with a smile so ravishing that he had there and then no words to answer it. He spoke to the driver instead, and the horses bounded forward, and so rapid was the pace that the city was soon reached, and then her home. Neil was at the gate to meet them, and Medway lifted Maria out of the sleigh and gave her into his care. "I will not keep the horses standing now;" he said, "but shall I call to-morrow, Maria, at the same time?" And she said, "Yes," and "I have had a happy drive." So he bowed and went away in a dash of trampling horses and jingling bells, and Maria watched him a moment or two, being greatly impressed by his languid, yet masterful, air and manner, the result of wealth long inherited and of social station beyond question.

With a sigh – and she knew not why she sighed – Maria went into the house. She was now quite forgiven; she could feel that she was once more loved without reservation, and also that she had become a person of importance. It was a happy change, and she did not inquire about it, or dampen the pleasure by asking for reasons. She took off her beautiful furs, showed them to her grandmother and grandfather, and told at what personal sacrifice Lord Medway had given them to her. And then, drawing close to the hearth, she described the people they had met, and the snubs and recognitions given and received. It was all interesting to Madame, and even to the Elder; the latter, indeed, was in extraordinary high spirits, and added quite as much salt and vinegar to the dish of gossip as either of the women.

In spite, therefore, of the bitter weather and the scarcity of all the necessaries of life, the world went very well again for the Semples; and though at the end of December, Clinton sailed southward, Lord Medway had a furlough for some weeks, so that in this respect the military movement did not interfere with Maria's social pleasures. Two days before the embarkment of the troops Colonel DeLancey called one morning on the Elder. He had sold a piece of property to the government, and in making out the title information was wanted that only Elder Semple, who was the original proprietor, could give. DeLancey asked him, therefore, to drive back with him to the King's Arms and settle the matter, and the Elder was pleased to do so. Anything that took him among his old associates and gave him a little importance was particularly agreeable, and in spite of the cold he went off in the highest spirits.

The King's Arms was soon reached, and he found in its comfortable parlor General Ludlow, Recorder John Watts, Jr., Treasurer Cruger, Commissioners DeGeist and Housewert, and Lawyer Spiegel. After Semple's arrival the business which had called them together was soon settled, and it being near noon, Ludlow called for a bottle of old port and some beef sandwiches. The room was warm and bright, the company friendly and well informed on political matters, and a second bottle was drunk ere they made a movement to break up the pleasant meeting. Then Ludlow arose, and for a few minutes they stood around the blazing fire, the Elder very happy in the exercise of his old influence and authority. But just as they were going to shake hands the door was flung open and Captain Macpherson appeared. For a moment he stood irresolute, then he suddenly made up his mind that he had chanced upon a great opportunity for placing himself right with the public, and so, advancing toward Elder Semple, who had pointedly turned his back upon him, he said:

"Elder, I am grateful for this fortunate occasion. I wish before these gentlemen to assure you that I did my duty with the most painful reluctance. I beg you to forgive the loss and annoyance this duty has caused you."

Then Semple turned to him. His eyes were flashing, his face red and furious. He looked thirty years younger than usual, as with withering scorn he answered: