 | CHAPTER XXIV.
WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM THE SQUIRE. The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion |  |
24. CHAPTER XXIV.
WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM THE SQUIRE.
Just as Charles Waters left the door of the inn, and while
the stranger was still looking after him, with a curious expression
upon his finely-moulded lips, the door of No. 7
young gentleman, who had just been refreshing himself
with a cup of chocolate, served to him in bed—was clad with
his usual elegance and richness, and for a moment his eye
dwelt on the coarsely-dressed stranger, who stood with the
knob of the door in his hand, gazing, as we have said, after
Charles Waters. The man in the red cloak surveyed him
with great calmness, and some curiosity. An imaginative
spectator might have fancied them the representatives of the
old world and the new—the past and the future—the court
and the backwoods. Mr. Effingham looked every inch the
gentleman and courtier. The drop curls of his powdered
peruke reposed ambrosially on his clear pale cheek, his lace
ruffles at bosom and wrist were of spotless purity, his surcoat
of cut velvet, with its chased gold buttons, just lifted
up the point of his richly ornamented sword, and his waistcoat,
silk stockings, cocked-hat, and jewelled hands, completed
the vivid and perfect contrast between himself and
the rude-looking, coarsely clad stranger. Plainly the court
and the wilds, Europe and America—stood face to face.
The man in the red cloak having apparently satisfied
his curiosity, made a slight and very awkward bow, which
Mr. Effingham returned with negligent carelessness, and
then re-entered his chamber, with a smile on his grim features.
Mr. Effingham descended.
The reader will recollect that he had been at the tavern
now for some days:—the manager had regularly enrolled
him as a member of the “Virginia Company of Comedians,”
and availing himself of the privileges of his membership,
Mr. Effingham had met Beatrice daily, in the theatre, in
the tavern, every where. He was no longer a chance visitor,
an occasional torment to be borne with, and endured patiently,
in consideration of his going away soon; he was now her
shadow, and in the young girl's own words, he “drove away
all the sunshine from her life.” At rehearsal she had seen
daily his reckless and mocking smile, glittering and gloomy,
follow her every movement—at the inn, when he condescended
to appear at the common table, she had been transfixed
by his burning glances—in all places and at all times he
had obtruded himself with his ironical and yet sombre
smile; a smile which seemed to say audibly, “You defied
and I have foiled you and conquered you, by superior will
and reckless carelessness.”
Whether Mr. Manager Hallam was conscious of Beatrice's
unhappiness—of Mr. Effingham's treatment of his
daughter—we are not able to say. At least, he took no
notice of it, and was always ready to echo the young man's
jests, and drink with him as long, and as deeply as he
desired.
“At the Hall the storm was rising, and ere long it was
destined to fall upon the devoted head of Mr. Effingham.
Miss Alethea had deeply regretted her violence, and earnestly
prayed for him, and that he might return to them again.
She saw too late that her injudicious words had driven him
away, and this she confessed to her father, with tears; but
that bluff gentleman had pish'd and pshaw'd, and told her
that she was too soft-hearted, and that she was not to blame
—he would see to the matter! The rest of the household
soon found out the dreadful fact that Mr. Champ Effingham
had abandoned his home for the young actress, and the very
negroes, following the wont of Africans in all years, discussed
and commented on “Master Champ's” wild conduct. Will
reflected upon the matter, with a dreadful feeling of alarm,
and fear, and admiration, for the rebel—and Kate sorrowed
in quiet, wiping her eyes frequently, as she bent over Carlo,
and sometimes getting up from the table, and hurrying out,
with no imaginable cause for going away, unless she had
tears to hide. She loved Mr. Champ Effingham dearly—
much more fondly, I am compelled to add, than my respected
ancestor deserved—and wept for him, and every night and
morning joined her hands together and asked God to bless
him, wetting the pillow all the time with her tears. As I
have said, this was by no means the spirit of the squire: he
was indignant, he felt outraged, he knew now all about the
matter, and felt excessive dissatisfaction at Mr. Effingham's
conduct, as he called it. It never occurred to him that his
own youthful career had been by no means immaculate, and
without regard to Mr. Champ's peculiarities of mental
organization, he determined to bring the rebel to subjection.”
Thus far, the MS. from which these events were drawn;
the extract may serve to explain the appearance of a mounted
servant at the door of the Raleigh, where Mr. Effingham
who, with many smiles, presented to his master a missive
directed, in a large, firm hand:
“To Mr. Champ Effingham, at the Raleigh Tavern,
Williamsburg.”
Mr. Effingham frowned, tore open the letter, and read it,
with a flush upon his brow, which froze the smiles of the
shining African. Having gone through it, he crumpled it
furiously in his hand, scowled upon the negro, hesitated, in
evident doubt as to what course he should pursue, then,
bidding the servant wait, hurried to his room.
The letter was in these words:
“My dear Champ—I have heard of your conduct, sir,
and have no intention of being made the laughing-stock of
my neighbors, as the father of a fool. No, sir! I decline
being advised and pitied, and talked about and to by the
country on your account. I know why you have left the
Hall, sir, and taken up your residence in town. Alethea
has told me how you insulted her, and flouted her well-meant
advice, and because she entreated you, as your sister, not to
go near that young woman again, tossed from her, and fell
into your present courses. I tell you again, sir, that I will
not endure your conduct. I won't have the parson condoling,
and shaking his head, and sighing, and, when he comes
in the Litany to pray for deliverance from all inordinate and
sinful affections—from all the deceits of the world, the
flesh, and the devil—have him looking at the Hall pew,
and groaning, until every body understands his meaning.
No, sir! If you make yourself a fool about that common
actress, you shall not drag us into it. And Clare Lee!
have you no regard for her feelings? Damn my blood, sir!
I am ashamed of you. Come away directly. If you are
guilty of any thing unworthy toward that young woman, I
will strike your name from the family Bible, and never look
upon your face again. Remember, sir; and you won't be
fool enough to marry her, I hope. Try it, sir, and see the
consequence. Pah! a common actress for my daughter—
the wife of the representative of the house of Effingham,
after my death. 'Sdeah, sir! it is intolerable, abominable;
and I command you to return at once, and never look upon
age, to be made a laughing-stock of, to be jeered at by the
common people, at the county court, as the father of the
young man that played the fool with the actress? No, sir.
Leave that place, and come and do what you are expected to
do, called on to do—take Clare Lee to the Governor's ball.
I inclose your invitation. Leave that woman and her artful
seductions. Reflect, sir, and do your duty to Clare, like a
gentleman. If it is necessary, I repeat, sir, I command you
to return, and never see that girl again.
Mr. Champ Effingham read this letter with those manifestations
of wrath and indignation which we have described,
and as we have said, hurried to his apartment, bidding the
servant wait.
Once by himself, he tore his unfortunate frill furiously,
and shook his clenched fist at the representation of himself
in the mirror.
“Dictation! I am a child!” he said. “I am to be
whipped in, like a hound, because I choose to come and
spend a few days in town here, and to be ordered about, as
if I were a negro. I am, forsooth, to come back to the Hall,
and humbly beg Alethea's pardon, for leaving her so abruptly,
and hear the servants tittering behind me, and go,
like a milk-and-water girl, to escort Miss Clare Lee to the
Governor's ball! Curse me, if I will submit to be lashed
into obedience, like a dog, and Miss Clare Lee may find
some other escort. I will go to that ball with Beatrice Hallam,
and I will act next week.”
With which words, he sat down and wrote:
“I have received your letter, sir, and decline returning
to Effingham Hall, or being dictated to. I have passed my
majority, and am my own master. No one on earth shall
make a slave of me.
Mr. Effingham read this note over, folded it, sealed it
deliberately, stamping the wax with his coat of arms, and
summoning a servant, ordered him to deliver it to the negro
at the door. Then rising, with a mocking laugh, he went
toward Beatrice's room.
| CHAPTER XXIV.
WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM THE SQUIRE. The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion | |