CHAPTER XXVII. IN WHICH I AM SORE TEMPTED
"Who the devil is this John Paul, and what is to become of him?" askedComyn, as I escorted him downstairs to a chair. "You must give him twohundred pounds, or a thousand, if you like, and let him get out. Hecan't be coming to the clubs with you."
And he pulled me into the coffee room after him.
"You don't understand the man, Comyn," said I; "he isn't that kind, Itell you. What he has done for me is out of friendship, as he says, andhe wouldn't touch a farthing save what I owe him."
"Cursed if he isn't a rum sea-captain," he answered, shrugging hisshoulders; "cursed if I ever ran foul of one yet who would refuse acouple of hundred and call quits. What's he to do? Is he to live like aLord of the Treasury upon a master's savings?"
"Jack," said I, soberly, resolved not to be angry, "I would willingly becast back in Castle Yard to-night rather than desert him, who might havedeserted me twenty times to his advantage. Mr. Carvel has not wealthenough, nor I gratitude enough, to reward him. But if our family canmake his fortune, it shall be made. And I am determined to go with himto America by the first packet I can secure."
He clutched my arm with an earnestness to startle me.
"You must not leave England now," he said.
"And why?"
"Because she will marry Chartersea if you do. And take my oath upon it,you alone can save her from that."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed, but my breath caught sharply.
"Listen, Richard. Mr. Manners's manoeuvres are the talk of the town, andthe beast of a duke is forever wining and dining in Arlington Street.At first people ridiculed, now they are giving credit. It is said," hewhispered fearfully, "it is said that his Grace has got Mr. Manners inhis power,--some question of honour, you understand, which willruin him,--and that even now the duke is in a position to force themarriage."
He leaned forward and searched me with his keen gray eyes, as tho'watching the effect of the intelligence upon me. I was, indeed, stunned.
"Now, had she refused me fifty times instead of only twice," my Lordcontinued, "I could not wish her such a fate as that vicious scoundrel.And since she will not have me, I would rather it were you than any manalive. For she loves you, Richard, as surely as the world is turning."
"Oh, no!" I replied passionately; "you are deceived by the old likingshe has always had for me since we were children together." I was deeplytouched by his friendship. "But tell me how that could affect thismarriage with Chartersea. I believe her pride capable of any sacrificefor the family honour."
He made a gesture of impatience that knocked over a candlestick.
"There, curse you, there you are again!" he said, "showing how littleyou know of women and of their pride. If she were sure that you lovedher, she would never marry Chartersea or any one else. She has had nearthe whole of London at her feet, and toyed with it. Now she has beenamusing herself with Charles Fox, but I vow she cares for none of them.Titles, fame, estates, will not move her."
"If she were sure that I loved her!" I repeated, dazed by what he wassaying. "How you are talking, Comyn!"
"Just that. Ah, how I know her, Richard! She can be reckless beyondnotion. And if it were proved to her that you were in love with MissSwain, the barrister's daughter, over whom we were said to have fought,she would as soon marry Chartersea, or March, or the devil, to show youhow little she cared."
"With Patty Swain!" I exclaimed.
"But if she knew you did not care a rope's end for Patty, Mr. Marmadukeand his reputation might go into exile together," he continued, withoutheeding. "So much for a woman's pride, I say. The day the news of yourdisappearance arrived, Richard, she was starting out with a party tovisit Lord Carlisle's seat, Castle Howard. Not a step would she stir,though Mr. Marmaduke whined and coaxed and threatened. And I swear toyou she has never been the same since, though few but I know why. Imight tell you more, my lad, were it not a breach of confidence."
"Then don't," I said; for I would not let my feelings run.
"Egad, then, I will!" he cried impetuously, "for the end justifies it.You must know that after the letter came from Mr. Lloyd, we thought youdead. I could never get her to speak of you until a fortnight ago. Weboth had gone with a party to see Wanstead and dine at the Spread Eagleupon the Forest, and I stole her away from the company and led her outunder the trees. My God, Richard, how beautiful she was in the woodwith the red in her cheeks and the wind blowing her black hair! For thesecond time I begged her to be Lady Comyn. Fool that I was, I thoughtshe wavered, and my heart beat as it never will again. Then, as sheturned away, from her hand slipped a little gold-bound purse, and as Ipicked it up a clipping from a newspaper fluttered out. 'Pon my soul, itwas that very scandalous squib of the Maryland Gazette about our duel!I handed it back with a bow. I dared not look up at her face, but stoodwith my eyes on the ground, waiting.
"'Lord Comyn,' says she, presently, with a quiver in her voice, 'beforeI give you a reply you must first answer, on your word as a gentleman,what I ask you.'
"I bowed again.
"'Is it true that Richard Carvel was in love with Miss Swain?' sheasked."
"And you said, Comyn," I broke in, unable longer to contain myself, "yousaid--"
"I said: 'Dorothy, if I were to die to-morrow, I would swear RichardCarvel loved you, and you only.'"
His Lordship had spoken with that lightness which hides only the deepestemotion.
"And she refused you?" I cried. "Oh, surely not for that!"
"And she did well," said my Lord.
I bowed my head on my arms, for I had gone through a great deal thatday, and this final example of Comyn's generosity overwhelmed me. ThenI felt his hand laid kindly on my shoulder, and I rose up and seized it.His eyes were dim, as were mine.
"And now, will you go to Maryland and be a fool?" asked his Lordship.
I hesitated, sadly torn between duty and inclination. John Paul could,indeed, go to America without me. Next the thought came over me in aflash that my grandfather might be ill, or even dead, and there wouldbe no one to receive the captain. I knew he would never consent to spendthe season at the Star and Garter at my expense. And then the image ofthe man rose before me, of him who had given me all he owned, and gonewith me so cheerfully to prison, though he knew me not from the veriestadventurer and impostor. I was undecided no longer.
"I must go, Jack," I said sadly; "as God judges, I must."
He looked at me queerly, as if I were beyond his comprehension, pickedup his hat, called out that he would see me in the morning, and wasgone.
I went slowly upstairs, threw off my clothes mechanically, and tumbledinto bed. The captain had long been asleep. By the exertion of all thewill power I could command, I was able gradually to think more and moresoberly, and the more I thought, the more absurd, impossible, it seemedthat I, a rough provincial not yet of age, should possess the heart ofa beauty who had but to choose from the best of all England. An hundredtimes I went over the scene of poor Comyn's proposal, nay, saw itvividly, as though the whole of it had been acted before me: and as Ibecame calmer, the plainer I perceived that Dorothy, thinking me dead,was willing to let Comyn believe that she had loved me, and had so easedthe soreness of her refusal. Perhaps, in truth, a sentiment had sprungup in her breast when she heard of my disappearance, which she mistookfor love. But surely the impulse that sent her to Castle Yard was notthe same as that Comyn had depicted: it was merely the survival of thefancy of a little girl in a grass-stained frock, who had romped on thelawn at Carvel Hall. I sighed as I remembered the sun and the flowersand the blue Chesapeake, and recalled the very toss of her head when shehad said she would marry nothing less than a duke.
Alas, Dolly, perchance it was to be nothing more than a duke! Thebloated face and beady eyes and the broad crooked back I had seen thatday in Arlington Street rose before me,--I should know his Grace ofChartersea again were I to meet him in purgatory. Was it, indeed,possible that I could prevent her marriage with this man? I fell asleep
,repeating the query, as the dawn was sifting through the blinds.
I awakened late. Banks was already there to dress me, to congratulate meas discreetly as a well-trained servant should; nor did he remind meof the fact that he had offered to lend me money, for which omissionI liked him the better. In the parlour I found the captain sipping hischocolate and reading his morning Chronicle, as though all his life hehad done nothing else.
"Good morning, captain." And fetching him a lick on the back that nearlyupset his bowl, I cried as heartily as I could:
"Egad, if our luck holds, we'll be sailing before the week is out."
But he looked troubled. He hemmed and hawed, and finally broke out intoScotch:
"Indeed, laddie, y'ell no be leaving Miss Dorothy for me."
"What nonsense has Comyn put into your head?" I demanded, with a stitchin my side; I am no more to Miss Manners than--"
"Than John Paul! Faith, y'ell not make me believe that. Ah, Richard,"said he, "ye're a sly dog. You and I have been as thick these twa monthsas men can well live, and never a word out of you of the most sublimecreature that walks. I have seen women in many countries, lad, beautiesto set thoughts afire and swords a-play,--and 'tis not her beauty alone.She hath a spirit for a queen to covet, and air and carriage, too."
This eloquent harangue left me purple.
"I grant it all, captain. She has but to choose her title and estate."
"Ay, and I have a notion which she'll be choosing."
"The knowledge is worth a thousand pounds at the least," I replied. "Iwill lend you the sum, and warrant no lack of takers."
"Now the devil fly off with such temperament! And I had half theencouragement she has given you, I would cast anchor on the spot, andthey might hang and quarter me to move me. But I know you well," heexclaimed, his manner changing, "you are making this great sacrificeon my account. And I will not be a drag on your pleasures, Richard, orstand in the way of your prospects."
"Captain Paul," I said, sitting down beside him, "have I deserved thisfrom you? Have I shown a desire to desert you now that my fortunes havechanged? I have said that you shall taste of our cheer at Carvel Hall,and have looked forward this long while to the time when I shall takeyou to my grandfather and say: 'Mr. Carvel, this is he whose courageand charity have restored you to me, and me to you.' And he will havechanged mightily if you do not have the best in Maryland. Should youwish to continue on the sea, you shall have the Belle of the Wye,launched last year. 'Tis time Captain Elliott took to his pension."
The captain sighed, and a gleam I did not understand came into his darkeyes.
"I would that God had given me your character and your heart, Richard,"he said, "in place of this striving thing I have within me. But 'tiswritten that a leopard cannot change his spots."
"The passage shall be booked this day," I said.
That morning was an eventful one. Comyn arrived first, dressed in a suitof mauve French cloth that set off his fine figure to great advantage.He regarded me keenly as he entered, as if to discover whether I hadchanged my mind over night. And I saw he was not in the best of tempers.
"And when do you sail?" he cried. "I have no doubt you have sent outalready to get passage."
"I have been trying to persuade Mr. Carvel to remain in London, myLord," said the captain. "I tell him he is leaving his best interestsbehind him."
"I fear that for once you have undertaken a task beyond your ability,Captain Paul," was the rather tart reply.
"The captain has a ridiculous idea that he is the cause of my going," Isaid quickly.
John Paul rose somewhat abruptly, seized his hat and bowed to hisLordship, and in the face of a rain sallied out, remarking that he hadas yet seen nothing of the city.
"Jack, you must do me the favour not to talk of this in John Paul'spresence," I said, when the door had closed.
"If he doesn't suspect why you are going, he has more stupidity than Igave him credit for," Comyn answered gruffly.
"I fear he does suspect," I said.
His Lordship went to the table and began to write, leaving me to theChronicle, the pages of which I did not see. Then came Mr. Dix, andsuch a change I had never beheld in mortal man. In place of the would-besquire I had encountered in Threadneedle Street, here was an unctuousperson of business in sober gray; but he still wore the hypocriticalsmirk with no joy in it. His bow was now all respectful obedience. Comynacknowledged it with a curt nod.
Mr. Dix began smoothly, where a man of more honesty would have found thegoing difficult.
"Mr. Carvel," he said, rubbing his hands, "I wish first to express myprofound regrets for what has happened."
"Curse your regrets," said Comyn, bluntly. "You come here on business.Mr. Carvel does not stand in need of regrets at present."
"I was but on the safe side of Mr. Carvel's money, my Lord."
"Ay, I'll warrant you are always on the safe side of money," repliedComyn, with a laugh. "What I wish to know, Mr. Dix," he continued, "iswhether you are willing to take my word that this is Mr. Richard Carvel,the grandson and heir of Lionel Carvel, Esquire, of Carvel Hall inMaryland?"
"I am your Lordship's most obedient servant," said Mr. Dix.
"Confound you, sir! Can you or can you not answer a simple question?"
Mr. Dix straightened. He may have spoken elsewhere of asserting hisdignity.
"I would not presume to doubt your Lordship's word."
"Then, if I were to be personally responsible for such sums as Mr.Carvel may need, I suppose you would be willing to advance them to him."
"Willingly, willingly, my Lord," said Mr. Dix, and added immediately:"Your Lordship will not object to putting that in writing? Merely amatter of form, as your Lordship knows, but we men of affairs are heldto a strict accountability."
Comyn made a movement of disgust, took up a pen and wrote out theindorsement.
"There," he said. "You men of affairs will at least never die ofstarvation."
Mr. Dix took the paper with a low bow, began to shower me withprotestations of his fidelity to my grandfather's interests, whichwere one day to be my own,--he hoped, with me, not soon,--drew from hispocket more than sufficient for my immediate wants, said that I shouldhave more by a trusty messenger, and was going on to clear himself ofhis former neglect and indifference, when Banks announced:
"His honour, Mr. Manners!"
Comyn and I exchanged glances, and his Lordship gave a low whistle. Norwas the circumstance without its effect upon Mr. Dix. With my knowledgeof the character of Dorothy's father I might have foreseen this visit,which came, nevertheless, as a complete surprise. For a moment Ihesitated, and then made a motion to show him up. Comyn voiced mydecision.
"Why let the little cur stand in the way?" he said; "he counts fornothing."
Mr. Marmaduke was not long in ascending, and tripped into the room asMr. Dix backed out of it, as gayly as tho' he had never sent me aboutmy business in the street. His clothes, of a cherry cut velvet, were asever a little beyond the fashion, and he carried something I had neverbefore seen, then used by the extreme dandies in London,--an umbrella.
"What! Richard Carvel! Is it possible?" he screamed in his piping voice."We mourned you for dead, and here you turn up in London alive and well,and bigger and stronger than ever. Oons! one need not go to Scripturefor miracles. I shall write my congratulations to Mr. Carvel this day,sir." And he pushed his fingers into my waistcoat, so that Comyn andI were near to laughing in his face. For it was impossible to be angrywith a little coxcomb of such pitiful intelligence.
"Ah, good morning, my Lord. I see your Lordship has risen early inthe same good cause, I myself am up two hours before my time. You willpardon the fuss I am making over the lad, Comyn, but his grandfatheris my very dear friend, and Richard was brought up with my daughterDorothy. They were like brother and sister. What, Richard, you will nottake my hand! Surely you are not so unreasonable as to hold againstme that unfortunate circumstance in Arlington Street! Yes, Dorothy hasshocked me. Sh
e has told me of it."
Comyn winked at me as I replied:--
"We shan't mention it, Mr. Manners. I have had my three weeks in prison,and perhaps know the world all the better for them."
He held up his umbrella in mock dismay, and stumbled abruptly into achair. There he sat looking at me, a whimsical uneasiness on his face."We shall indeed mention it, sir. Three weeks in prison, to think ofit! And you would not so much as send me a line. Ah, Richard, pride is agood thing, but I sometimes think we from Maryland have too much ofit. We shall indeed speak of the matter. Out of justice to me youmust understand how it occurred. You must know that I am deucedlyabsentminded, and positively lost without my glass. And I had somebodywith me, so Dorothy said. Chartersea, I believe. And his Grace made methink you were a cursed beggar. I make a point never to have to do with'em."
"You are right, Mr. Manners," Comyn cut in dryly; "for I have known themto be so persistently troublesome, when once encouraged, as to interfereseriously with our arrangements."
"Eh!" Mr. Manners ejaculated, and then came to an abrupt pause, while Iwondered whether the shot had told. To relieve him I inquired after Mrs.Manners's health.
"Ah, to be sure," he replied, beginning to fumble in his skirts; "Londonagrees with her remarkably, and she is better than she has been foryears. And she is overjoyed at your most wonderful escape, Richard, asare we all."
And he gave me a note. I concealed my eagerness as I took it and brokethe seal, to discover that it was not from Dorothy, but from Mrs.Manners herself.
"My dear Richard" (so it ran), "I thank God with your dear Grandfather over y'r Deliverance, & you must bring y'r Deliverer, whom Dorothy describes as Courtly and Gentlemanly despite his Calling, to dine with us this very Day, that we may express to him our Gratitude. I know you are far too Sensible not to come to Arlington Street. I subscribe myself, Richard, y'r sincere Friend,
"MARGARET MANNERS."
There was not so much as a postscript from Dolly, as I had hoped.But the letter was whole-souled, like Mrs. Manners, and breathed theaffection she had always had for me. I honoured her the more that shehad not attempted to excuse Mr. Manners's conduct.
"You will come, Richard?" cried Mr. Marmaduke, with an attempt atheartiness. "You must come, and the captain, too. For I hear, withregret, that you are not to be long with us."
I caught another significant look from Comyn from between the windowcurtains. But I accepted for myself, and conditionally for John Paul.Mr. Manners rose to take his leave.
"Dorothy will be glad to see you," he said. "I often think, Richard,that she tires of these generals and King's ministers, and longs fora romp at Wilmot House again. Alas," he sighed, offering us a pinch ofsnuff (which he said was the famous Number 37), "alas, she has had adeal too much of attention, with his Grace of Chartersea and a dozenothers would to marry her. I fear she will go soon," and he sighedagain. "Upon my soul I cannot make her out. I'll lay something handsome,my Lord, that the madcap adventure with you after Richard sets thegossips going. One day she is like a schoolgirl, and I blame myself fornot taking her mother's advice to send her to Mrs. Terry, at CampdenHouse; and the next, egad, she is as difficult to approach as a crownedhead. Well, gentlemen, I give you good day, I have an appointment atWhite's. I am happy to see you have fallen in good hands, Richard. MyLord, your most obedient!"
"He'll lay something handsome!" said my Lord, when the door had closedbehind him.
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