"Has his daughter Sophia any children?"
"No. By the way, did I mention her name? I don't recall doing so."
"I've heard it somewhere."
"You have very sharp ears, sir, and a remarkable memory. I was going on to say that about twenty years ago, Lord Tarlton—Sir Godwine Tarlton he was then—married again. As I heard the story, he was on leave from duty at sea and fell in love with a girl from Jersey—no family, no money, but with great beauty and dash. He left her at Celtbtirrow while he served in Malta: the affair was kept very quiet. Later there was talk of her leaving him—perhaps she liked the lights of London—but she was drowned in a boating accident."
"Perhaps I heard her name also,' I said with a tingle along my spine. "Was it Elizabeth?"
"It was Elspeth, the Scotch form. And his other daughter is named Eliza."
"His other daughter—"
"Elspeth bore him one less than a year after the marriage. I've heard she's the apple of his eye, and he keeps her tucked away in the old pile, in fear of some young blade making off with her. I dare say he'll bring her out before long. I doubt if he can hide her much longer, for she's about nineteen."
I doubted if any young blade would make off with her without Lord Tarlton's consent. He would smile a little smile—and Eliza would obey him. I was haunted more by thoughts of a beautiful girl from Jersey, without money or name, married to the pretty little knight, going to bed with him, delivered of a child by him, then going to bed in the sea.
Two days after the game, I received an invitation brought by a powdered footman to attend a rout given by Lydia White, whose fetes were as famous in London as the debaucheries of old Q., who lately had passed to his reward. Certainly this notice taken of me was the direct result of my exploit at Almack's; whether someone wishing to meet me again had proposed it to the famous dame, I could only guess.
The affair began with late tea, to be followed by a play. I skipped both of these and arrived at the mansion in time for the spread. Through a vast doorway I saw an elegant little man with white hair, carrying a little stick, and walking with his toes straight in front of him like an Indian. On his arm was a woman who signaled her beauty to me across the great glittering room and down the years.
Her hair was dusky, and presently the lights picked up a gleam in its midst that I took for a wreath of pearls. I did not go near her yet, but watched her walk, and thought of her long coming up the beach, barefoot, with her boots in her hand. That was midsummer, 1801, before I came two-and-twenty. This is late winter, 1819. I had not seen her since except in flickering dreams.
When she and Lord Tarlton had dined, they took chairs near a faro table in a game room almost as large as White's, adjoining the ballroom. But they did not play, and after they had greeted some of their friends, I strolled toward them.
It was as though I walked into the past under deep cloud. Old scenes, old signs, returned to give strange dimensions and meanings to these scenes and signs. I saw Sophia's beauty then and I saw it now, the last a culmination of the first, its outgrowth in a harsh climate. Not many others in the throng perceived it at all, I thought; but I had loved her with great passion and I loved her still in my heart. Her beauty was the kind transmuted and not destroyed by fire. It had greatly changed, but not dimmed in the long years.
I could not see that she looked much older. Poignance and not time had remolded her lovely face. The curved line at one corner of her mouth, deeper than on the other even then, had become a cruel mark. The smile that I occasionally saw, that had touched me in such strange ways, came more commonly now—almost every time Lord Tarlton spoke to her. Her eyes that had appeared lighter of color than her pale olive skin, brightened still more by dense black lashes, had darkened. She still walked with lonely grace.
As I came nigh to Lord Tarlton, I gave him a grave bow. He had not noticed me until then, or had pretended to overlook me—for I had come to doubt his naturalness, a quality everyone seemed to attribute to him—but now his gaze fastened on my face, and he looked pleasantly surprised.
"Why, it's Mr. Blackburn, or you can blow me down. Pray stop with me a minute, sir, if you've the time. I didn't know you frequented these petticoat affairs."
"It's my first one, sir, and an eye-opener," I answered, pausing politely.
"You'll excuse me not rising, since I've years on my back, but my daughter shall rise, if I may have the pleasure of presenting you to her. Sophia, here's the buck who took me for four thousand guineas. Mr. Blackburn, Mrs. Harvey Alford."
Sophia had observed me before Lord Tarlton spoke. I had seen an expression of dismay come into her face. Now she rose lightly, and as her eyes met mine, it must be that certain memories, strangled like unwanted babes, stirred and plucked at her spirit, for she blurted out an ill-mannered question.
"Mr. Blackburn, have we met before?"
"I apologize for her, sir," Lord Tarlton said quickly with his pale, faint smile. "She was raised on the moors of Cornwall and has not been schooled in the niceties of polite behavior."
"I spent some years in a workhouse and am ignorant of the art, so I must ask the reason for the apology," I said as Sophia flushed.
"Since it didn't offend you, I'll ask you let it pass."
"It did not, nor does your apology, which, of the two, is the blunter reminder of my disturbing appearance."
"Why, sink me, Sophia, but he's a man of spirit, and I'd swear, a man of the world! Anyhow, you've come up in the world since those days you speak of. May I praise your language? It's not Tavistock rustic by a long shot—in fact, I listen in vain for any note of the West Country I know so well—and what could I expect, when you've been gone so many years?—but it's as good as Boston Yankee when it comes to grammar, and your accent is much like it, which I'm told is second to none. Now sit down a minute, if you'll favor us."
"I'm the one that's favored." I took the nearest chair.
"Sophia, here's a man of parts! He's made himself one, along with a million pounds, and ain't that proof of what the Americans maintain?"
"That's twice you've mentioned America, Papa, without Mr. Blackburn showing any interest in the subject. Perhaps polite behavior requires you change it."
"You said something like that before a long time ago. Where in the devil was it? Anyhow, Mr. Blackburn, I'll get on with what's on my mind. At our gaming t'other night, you made a remarkable statement. That the engagement of my ship, Our Eliza, with the Yankee Saratoga, occurred, not early on Christmas morning, but on the following day. I didn't wish to discuss it before that crowd—we English are too mortally afraid of blowing our own horns, sometimes to the loss of our fair deservings—but 'twas an odd misapprehension, and my curiosity was aroused how you'd fallen into it, or rather how your pa did. I'm an old-fashioned sailor who looks well to the log, so pray humor me."
Sat he well in his chair as he spoke, with no sign of strain. His voice was low and pleasant to the ear; his face looked serene; a common man who had made a trifling mistake could be flattered at his friendly interest in it. But I had been expecting the question and I saw him jiggle the walking stick lightly held in his white hand.