The Paper Cap. A Story of Love and Labor

“You know Katherine is beautiful, and this De Burg is very handsome – in his way.”

“What way?”

“Well, the De Burgs are of Norman descent and Stephen De Burg shows it. He has indeed the large, gray eyes of our own North Country, but his hair is black – very black – and his complexion is swarthy. However, he is tall and well-built, and remarkably graceful in speech and action – quite the young man to steal a girl’s heart away.”

“Hes he stolen any girl’s heart from thee?”

“Not he, indeed! I am Annis enough to keep what I win; but I was wondering if our little Kitty was a match for Stephen De Burg.”

“Tha needn’t worry thysen about Kitty Annis. I’ll warrant her a match for any man. Her mother says she hes a fancy for Harry Bradley, but I – ”

“Harry is a fine fellow.”

“Nobody said he wasn’t a fine fellow, and there is not any need for thee to interrupt thy father in order to tell him that! Harry Bradley, indeed! I wouldn’t spoil any plan of De Burg’s to please or help Harry Bradley! Not I! Now I hope tha understands that! To-morrow thou can tell me about thy last goddess, and if she be worthy to sit after thy mother in Annis Court, I’ll help thee to get wedded to her gladly. For I’m getting anxious, Dick, about my grandsons and their sisters. I’d like to see them that are to come after me.”

Then Dick went away with a laugh, but as the father and son stood a moment hand-clasped, their resemblance was fitting and beautiful; and no one noticing this fact could wonder at the Englishman’s intense affection and anxious care for the preservation of his family type.

The squire then put out the candles and covered the fire just as he would have done at Annis and while he did so he pondered what Dick had told him and resolved to say nothing at all about it. “Then,” he reflected, “I shall get Katherine’s real opinions about De Burg. Women are so queer, they won’t iver tell you the truth about men unless they believe you don’t care what they think: – and I won’t tell Annie either. Annie would take to warning and watching, and, for anything I know, advising her to be faithful and true to her first love. Such simplicity! Such nonsense!”

Then he went to his room and found Mistress Annis sitting with her feet on the fender, sipping a glass of wine negus, and as she dipped her little strips of dry toast into it, she said, “I am so glad to see thee, Antony. I am too excited to sleep and I wanted a few words with thee and thee only. For three days I hev missed our quiet talks with each other. I heard Dick laughing; what about?”

“I told him I was getting varry anxious about my grandsons, eh?”

Then both laughed and the squire stooped and kissed his wife and in that moment he sat down by her side and frankly told her all he had heard about De Burg. They talked about it for half-an-hour and then the squire went calmly off to sleep without one qualm of conscience for his broken resolution. In fact he assured himself that “he had done right. Katherine’s mother was Katherine’s proper guardian and he was only doing his duty in giving her points that might help her to do her duty.” That reflection was a comfortable one on which to sleep and he took all the rest it gave him.

Madam lay awake worrying about Katherine’s wardrobe. After hearing of her sister’s growing social importance she felt that it should have been attended to before they left Yorkshire. For in those days there were no such things as ready-made suits, and any dress or costume lacking had to be selected from the web, the goods bought, the dressmaker interviewed, and after several other visits for the purpose of “trying-on” the gown might be ready for use. These things troubled Madam. Katherine felt more confidence in her present belongings. “I have half a dozen white frocks with me, mother,” she said, “and nothing could be prettier or richer than my two Dacca muslins. The goods are fine as spider webs, the embroidery on them is nearly priceless, and they are becoming every year more and more scarce. I have different colored silk skirts to wear under them, and sashes and beads, and bows, with which to adorn them.”

There was a little happy pause, then Katherine said, “Let us go and see Aunt Josepha. I have not seen her for six years. I was counting the time as I lay in bed this morning. I was about twelve years old.”

“That is a good idea. We can shop better after we hev hed a talk with her.”

“There, mother! You had two Yorkshireisms in that sentence. Father would laugh at you.”

“Niver mind, when my heart talks, my tongue talks as my heart does, and Yorkshire is my heart’s native tongue. When I talk to thee my tongue easily slips into Yorkshire.”

Then a carriage was summoned, and Madam An-nis and her daughter went to call on Madam Josepha Temple. They had to ride into the city and through St. James Park to a once very fashionable little street leading from the park to the river. Madam Temple could have put a fortune in her pocket for a strip of this land bordering the river, but no money could induce her to sell it. Even the city’s offer had been refused.

“Had not Admiral Temple,” she asked, “found land enough for England, and fought for land enough for England, for his widow to be allowed to keep in peace the strip of land at the foot of the garden he planted and where he had also erected a Watergate so beautiful that it had become one of the sights of London?” And her claim had been politely allowed and she had been assured that it would be respected.

The house itself was not remarkable outwardly. It was only one of those square brick mansions introduced in the Georgian era, full of large square rooms and wide corridors and, in Madam Temple’s case, of numerous cupboards and closets; for in her directions to the Admiral she had said with emphasis:

“Admiral, you may as well live in a canvas tent without a convenience of any kind as in a house without closets for your dresses and mantuas; and cupboards for your china and other things you must have under lock and key:” and the Admiral had seen to the closet and cupboard subject with such strict attention that even his widow sometimes grew testy over their number.

Whatever faults the house might have, the furnishing had been done with great judgment. It was solid and magnificent and only the best tapestries and carpets found a place there. To Madam Temple had been left the choice of silver, china, linen and damask, and the wisdom and good taste of her selection had a kind of official approbation. Artists and silversmiths asked her to permit them to copy the shapes of her old silver and she possessed many pieces of Wedgwood’s finest china of which only a very small number had been made ere the mold was broken.

After the house was finished the Admiral lived but five years and Madam never allowed anything to be changed or renewed. If told that anything was fading or wearing, she replied – “I am fading also, just wearing away. They will last my time.” However the house yet had an air of comfortable antique grandeur and it was a favorite place of resort to all who had had the good fortune to win the favor of the Admiral’s widow.

As they were nearing the Temple house, Madam said: “The old man who opens the door was the Admiral’s body servant. He has great influence with your aunt; speak pleasantly to him.” At these words the carriage stopped and the old man of whom Madam had spoken threw open the door and stood waiting their approach. He recognized Madam Annis and said with a pleasant respect – “Madam will take the right-hand parlor,” but ere Madam could do so, Mistress Temple appeared. She came hastily forward, talking as she came and full of pleasure at the visit.

“You dear ones!” she cried. “How welcome you are! Where is Antony? Why didn’t he come with you? How is he going to vote? Take off your cloaks and bonnets. So this is the little girl I left behind me! You are now a young lady, Kate. Who is the favored sweetheart?” These interjectory remarks were not twaddle, they were the overflow of the heart. Josepha Temple meant everything she said.

Physically she was a feminine portrait of her brother, but in all other respects she was herself, and only herself, the result of this world’s training on one particular soul, for who can tell how many hundred years? She had brought from her last life most of her feelings and convictions and probably they had the strength and persistence of many reincarnations behind them. Later generations than Josepha do not produce such characters; alas! their affections for anyone and their beliefs in anything are too weak to reincarnate; so they do not come back from the grave with them. Josepha was different. Death had had no power over her higher self, she was the same passionate lover of Protestantism and the righteous freedom of the people that she had been in Cromwell’s time; and she declared that she had loved her husband ever since he had fought with Drake and been Cromwell’s greatest naval officer.

She was near sixty but still a very handsome woman, for she was alive from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet and disease of any kind had not yet found a corner in her body to assail. Her hair was untouched by Time, and the widow’s cap – so disfiguring to any woman – she wore with an air that made it appear a very proper and becoming head covering. Her gowns were always black merino or cloth in the morning, silk or satin or velvet in the afternoon; but they were brightened by deep cuffs and long stomachers of white linen, or rich lace, and the skirts of all, though quite plain, were of regal length and amplitude.

“Off with your bonnets!” she cried joyfully as she kissed Katherine and began to untie the elaborate bow of pink satin ribbon under her chin. “Why, Kate, how lovely you have grown! I thought you would be just an ordinary Yorkshire girl – I find you extraordinary. Upon my word! You are a beauty!”

“Thank you, aunt. Mother never told me so.”

“Annie, do you hear Kate?”

“I thought it wiser not to tell her such things.”

“What trumpery nonsense! Do you say to your roses as they bloom, ‘Do not imagine, Miss Rose, that you are lovely, and have a fine perfume. You are well enough and your smell isn’t half-bad, but there are roses far handsomer and sweeter than you are’?”

“In their own way, Josepha, all roses are perfect.”

“In their own way, Annie, all women are perfect. Have you had your breakfast?”

“An hour ago.”

“Then let us talk. Where is Antony? What is he doing?”

“He is doing well. I think he went to see Lord John Russell.”

“What can he have to say to Russell? He hasn’t sense enough to be on Russell’s side. Russell is an A. D. 1832 man, Antony dates back two or three hundred years.”

“He does nothing of that kind. He has been wearing a pair o’ seven leagued boots the past two weeks. Antony’s now as far forward as Russell, or Grey, or any other noncontent. They’ll find that out as soon as he opens his mouth in The House of Commons.”

“We call it ‘t’ Lower House’ here, Annie.”

“I don’t see why. As good men are in it as sit in t’ Upper House or any ither place.”

“It may be because they speak better English there than thou art speaking right now, Annie.”

Then Annie laughed. “I had forgot, Josepha,” she said, “forgive me.”

“Nay, there’s nothing to forgive, Annie. I can talk Yorkshire as well as iver I did, if I want to. After all, it’s the best and purest English going and if you want your awn way or to get your rights, or to make your servants do as they’re told, a mouthful of Yorkshire will do it – or nothing will. And I was telling Dick only the other day, to try a bit o’ Yorkshire on a little lass he is varry bad in love with – just at present.”

Katherine had been standing at her aunt’s embroidery frame admiring its exquisite work but as soon as she heard this remark, she came quickly to the fireside where the elder ladies had sat down together. They had lifted the skirts of their dresses across their knees to prevent the fire from drawing the color and put their feet comfortably on the shining fender and Katherine did not find them indisposed to talk.

“Who is it, aunt?” she asked with some excitement. “What is her name? Is she Yorkshire?”

“Nay, I doan’t think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called De Burg. He’s a handsome lad to look at. I hevn’t hed time yet to go further.”

“Have you seen this little girl, aunt?”

“Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been much from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, her home is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland Mountains. It might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her.”