“Yass, seh! from de time I wuz so ’igh. I don’ ’member when I warn’ he body-survent. I follows ’im all th’oo de war, seh, an’ I wus wid ’im when he died.” Tears were in the darky’s eyes. “Hit’s purty nigh time ole Mose gwine too.”
“And when he died, you stayed and looked after the old place. That was the right thing to do,” said Croyden. “Didn’t Colonel Duval have any children?”
“No, seh. De Cun’l nuvver married, cuz Miss Penelope – ”
He caught himself. “I toles yo ’bout hit some time, seh, mebbe!” he ended cautiously – talking about family matters with strangers was not to be considered.
“I should like to hear some time,” said Croyden, not seeming to notice the darky’s reticence. “When did the Colonel die?”
“Eight years ago cum corn plantin’ time, seh. He jes’ wen’ right off quick like, when de mis’ry hit ’im in de chist – numonya, de doctors call’d it. De Cun’l guv de place to a No’thern gent’man, whar was he ’ticular frien’, and I done stay on an’ look arfter hit. He nuvver been heah. Hi! listen to dis nigger! yo’s de gent’mans, mebbe.”
“I am his son,” said Croyden, amused.
“An’ yo owns Cla’endon, now, seh? What yo goin’ to do wid it?”
“I’m going to live here. Don’t you want to look after me?”
“Goin’ to live heah! – yo means it, seh?” the darky asked, in great amazement.
Croyden nodded. “Provided you will stay with me – and if you can find me a cook. Who cooks your meals?”
“Lawd, seh! find yo a cook. Didn’ Jos’phine cook fur de Cun’l all he life – Jos’phine, she my wife, seh – she jest gone nex’ do’, ’bout some’n.” He got up – “I calls her, seh.”
Croyden stopped him.
“Never mind,” he said; “she will be back, presently, and there is ample time. Any one live in these other cabins?”
“No, seh! we’s all wha’ left. De udder niggers done gone ’way, sence de Cun’l died, coz deah war nothin’ fur dem to do no mo’, an’ no buddy to pays dem. – Dyar is Jos’phine, now, sir, she be hear torectly. An’ heah comes Marster Dick, hisself.”
Croyden arose and went toward the front of the house to meet him.
The agent was an elderly man; he wore a black broadcloth suit, shiny at the elbows and shoulder blades, a stiff white shirt, a wide roomy collar, bound around by a black string tie, and a broad-brimmed drab-felt hat. His greeting was as to one he had known all his life.
“How do you do, Mr. Croyden!” he exclaimed. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.” He drew out a key and opened the front door. “Welcome to Clarendon, sir, welcome! Let us hope you will like it enough to spend a little time here, occasionally.”
“I’m sure I too hope so,” returned Croyden; “for I am thinking of making it my home.”
“Good! Good! It’s an ideal place!” exclaimed the agent. “It’s convenient to Baltimore; and Philadelphia, and New York, and Washington aren’t very far away. Exactly what the city people who can afford it, are doing now, – making their homes in the country. Hampton’s a town, but it’s country to you, sir, when compared to Northumberland – open the shutters, Mose, so we can see… This is the library, with the dining-room behind it, sir – and on the other side of the hall is the drawing-room. Open it, Mose, we will be over there presently. You see, sir, it is just as Colonel Duval left it. Your father gave instructions that nothing should be changed. He was a great friend of the Colonel, was he not, sir?”
“I believe he was,” said Croyden. “They met at the White Sulphur, where both spent their summers – many years before the Colonel died.”
“There, hangs the Colonel’s sword – he carried it through the war, sir – and his pistols – and his silk-sash, and here, in the corner, is one of his regimental guidons – and here his portrait in uniform – handsome man, wasn’t he? And as gallant and good as he was handsome. Maryland lost a brave son, when he died, sir.”
“He looks the soldier,” Croyden remarked.
“And he was one, sir – none better rode behind Jeb Stuart – and never far behind, sir, never far behind!”
“He was in the cavalry?”
“Yes, sir. Seventh Maryland Cavalry – he commanded it during the last two years of the war – went in a lieutenant and came out its colonel. A fine record, sir, a fine record! Pity it is, he had none to leave it to! – he was the last of his line, you know, the last of the line – not even a distant cousin to inherit.”
Croyden looked up at the tall, slender man in Confederate gray, with clean-cut aristocratic features, wavy hair, and long, drooping mustache. What a figure he must have been at the head of his command, or leading a charge across the level, while the guns of the Federals belched smoke, and flame and leaden death.
“They offered him a brigade,” the agent was saying, “but he declined it, preferring to remain with his regiment.”
“What did he do when the war was over?” Croyden asked.
“Came home, sir, and resumed his law practice. Like his great leader, he accepted the decision as final. He didn’t spend the balance of his life living in the past.”
“And why did he never marry? Surely, such a man” (with a wave of his hand toward the portrait) “could have picked almost where he chose!”
“No one ever just knew, sir – it had to do with Miss Borden, – the sister of Major Borden, sir, who lives on the next place. They were sweethearts once, but something or somebody came between them – and thereafter, the Colonel never seemed to think of love. Perhaps, old Mose knows it, and if he comes to like you, sir, he may tell you the story. You understand, sir, that Colonel Duval is Mose’s old master, and that every one stands or falls, in his opinion, according as they measure up to him. I hope you intend to keep him, sir – he has been a faithful caretaker, and there is still good service in him – and his wife was the Colonel’s cook, so she must have been competent. She would never cook for anyone, after he died. She thought she belonged to Clarendon, sort of went with the place, you understand. Just stayed and helped Mose take care of it. She doubtless will resume charge of the kitchen again, without a word. It’s the way of the old negroes, sir. The young ones are pretty worthless – they’ve got impudent, and independent and won’t work, except when they’re out of money. Excuse me, I ramble on – ”
“I’m much interested,” said Croyden; “as I expect to live here, I must learn the ways of the people.”
“Well, let Mose boss the niggers for you, at first; he understands them, he’ll make them stand around. Come over to the drawing-room, sir, I want you to see the furniture, and the family portraits… There, sir, is a set of twelve genuine Hepplewhite chairs – no doubt about it, for the invoice is among the Colonel’s papers. I don’t know much about such things, but a man was through here, about a year ago, and, would you believe it, when he saw the original invoice and looked at the chairs, he offered me two thousand dollars for them. Of course, as I had been directed by your father to keep everything as the Colonel had it, I just laughed at him. You see, sir, they have the three feathers, and are beautifully carved, otherwise. And, here, is a lowboy, with the shell and the fluted columns, and the cabriole legs, carved on the knees, and the claw and ball feet. He offered two hundred dollars for it. And this sofa, with the lion’s claw and the eagle’s wing, he wanted to buy it, too. In fact, sir, he wanted to buy about everything in the house – including the portraits. There are two by Peale and one by Stuart – here are the Peales, sir – the lady in white, and the young officer in Continental uniform; and this is the Stuart – the gentleman in knee breeches and velvet coat. I think he is the same as the one in uniform, only later in life. They are the Colonel’s grandparents, sir: