The Silver Bottle; or, The Adventures of Little Marlboro in Search of His Father

by J. H. Ingraham

  As I said this I drew from my bosom the bottle and placed it in his hands. He looked at it a few moments with an indescribable expression, or rather crowd of expressions upon his face; for his countenance underwent surprising changes as he held it. Slowly he sank upon his knees and lifting his hands to heaven he bowed his head with a look of inexpressible gratitude upon his breast, and said in a voice I shall never forget,

  `God, I thank thee?'

  He remained silent a few moments, and then rising turned to me and said in words broken by emotion—

  `And the child—the child—the infant? Did—did—it live?'

  `It did, my lord—it lives still!'

  `Still! Oh, tell me where! tell me that I may fly to him! He is my child! He is her son! Heaven has sent thee here to throw the light of memory upon my shattered brain, and I once more behold the past. That gentleman and lady were myself and she who sleeps there! We did wickedly in deserting our little one, but we knew in whose kindly hands we left it, hoping in a few short months to have it restored! But the wickedness of those who compelled us to this step is greater far. And I, in my ambition, did urge thee to it, gentle wife! But I know thy gentle spirit forgave me ere it fled!' He paused, overcome with inward feelings. At length he raised his head and said earnestly,

  `You tell me my boy lives!'

  `He does, my lord!' I answered scarcely audible, and trembling with the deepest emotion.

  `Where? I will fly to embrace him. I will kneel at his feet and implore his pardon. Tell me where my boy is: my child. That I may fly to his embrace! '

  `Here, my noble lord! here, my father! Behold! your son kneels to you for your blessing!'

  He gazed upon me for a moment with the light of instinctive recognition growing brighter and clearer in his parental eyes and then, with a loud cry, cast himself into my arms.

  CHAPTER IX.

  The author of `Silver Bottle' to the reader:

  Dear Reader,

  Having, in the last chapter, brought our story down to that point where our hero is recognized and acknowledged by his father, we shall now pursue the narrative in our own words, `Little Marlboro' having with this event, closed his correspondence.

  After his extraordinary recognition by his father of his claim there remained no doubt whatever of its validity in the mind of the Duke, if there had been any before. He was acknowledged by him with new testimonials of affection; and lord Ferdinand, entirely restored to his reason, tenderly embraced the Duke, and then in a very clear manner gave a full account of the circumstances connected with the desertion of his infant.

  `It was my fault and my crime,' he said with emotion. `My lovely wife with tears, entreated me to regard more my child's and her happiness than the rank and title, with the loss of which I was threatened. But too ambitious, yet loving my wife and infant with the deepest tenderness, I urged the step we finally took, though it nearly broke her heart. We then returned to England, and—the rest is known!'

  Lord Ferdinand then embraced his son, and it being noised that a son of Lord Ferdinand had arrived and that he recovered his reason on seeing him, the castle was filled with the greatest rejoicings.

  After the lapse of a week spent in congratulations and festivities, during which time our hero, `Little Marlborough,' had been re-baptized by the name of Henry Frederick, Mr. Beufort said that it was now full time for him to return to London. He said he had never been so happy in his life and should always congratulate himself on having been instrumental in bringing about so much joy. Our hero having now been fully recognized to be the son of Lord Ferdinand and his claim to the title unquestionable, it is to be presumed that he experienced that high degree of happiness that must necessarily flow from the favorable result of his long and persevering researches after his parentage. The high rank he had acquired, the elevated position in society he all at once found himself in, did not so much fill him with gratification, as the reflection that it rendered him worthy of her whose love had been the guiding star of his wandering barque through all his reveries. Of the beautiful Emma Field he first thought, and he felt that his happiness could not be perfect unless shared by her. He therefore resolved to obtain permission of his newly recovered friends, and, in company with Mr. Beufort, visit London.— Reluctant as the Duke and his father were to part with him, they finally consented on the condition that he would be absent but a week.

  `If you are away longer than that, my lord Henry,' said his Grace, `I and your father will be posting up to London after you. But as you say you have some private businets you desire to transact before you appear before the world in your own proper rank, go with Mr. Beufort. By the by, Mr. Beufort I wish you to be my grandson's banker to any amount he may require while in London, and pray, my good lord, take care of your health. We have found you too recently to lose you again!'

  `I assure your grace,' answered lord Henry, `that I shall do nothing that may bring upon me the reproof of those to whom I owe so much! Farewell, my honored father! I trust on my return your health will be quite restored. Nothing but the most pressing affairs would draw me from you at this time!'

  Taking a tender farewell of these and others of the family who were present, lord Henry sprung into the carriage which was in waiting. He saw that its pannels bore the crest of an eagle strangling a serpent; and his bosom glowed with pride and gratitude that he was now no longer a wanderer without any other clue to his family than the Silver Bottle and its device.

  After a rapid and pleasant journey they reached London. As they were entering the metropolis Mr. Beufort said,

  `Now, my lord, as you have frankly told me that you have come to town to find out your American beauty, what are your first movements?'

  `To ascertain where she is—seek her, declare my passion, and if she will make me so happy, I will make her my wife!'

  `If you find she is engaged or really married to Mr. Russel Carryl?'

  `Impossible! I am convinced their meeting was the merest accident. He could never be any thing to her!'

  `Well, there is no doubt now that you will eclipse him!'

  `I do not intend to do it by my rank and title, Mr. Beufort. I mean to keep them secret from her!'

  `And if she accepts you?'

  `Declare then my true name and rank!'

  `If she refuses, you can also declare them, and no doubt greatly to her vexation! '

  `Do not speak of refusal. I am persuaded I have an interest in her heart. She knows my past history, and the cloud that hung over my name has been the only obstacle both to her more open demonstrations of affection as well as it has been of my own!'

  `If such is your intended course, my lord, you had best drive, as the coach is yours and bears your arms, to the C— Hotel in Regent street, and put up there under your proper title and rank. You need not be seen, but take private rooms and remain in them till I can ascertain for you where about your American friends are putting up. I will go about it at once, as soon as we reach London. Possibly they may be at the C—. We can inquire as we drive there!'

  Shortly after this conversation, the travelling carriage of the Duke of A— was announced as being drawn up before the door of the C— Hotel. The excitement among the servants and so up to the proprietor was in proportion with the rank of the personage named. From it alighted not the Duke, but a young gentlemen and an elderly gentleman, in whom the host recognized Mr. Beufort.

  `I thought my lord Duke had honored us,' said the proprietor looking a little disappointed.

  `Not the Duke in person, but his grand-son, lord Henry.' answered Mr. Beufort. `He has been absent abroad for years, and but recently returned!'

  This explanation was sufficient. Lord Henry was ushered into the hotel, and escorted to the finest suit of apartments; and it was not long before it was known to most of the nobility sojourning in the C—, that a grandson of the Duke of A— had arrived in England and was then in the house.

  Lord Henry kept himself very close for the remainder of the day, leaving h
is good friend Mr. Beufort, to make such inquiries touching the Field family as would be necessary, he being better acquainted with London, and more likely to be successful; besides our hero did not wish to appear abroad as lord Henry A— until he had seen Emma. About eight o'clock in the evening a servant entered and said with that profound respect characteristic of English footmen in addresing titled personages,

  `My lord, a gentleman below desires an interview. He had no card, but he gave his name as Buffet!'

  `Mr. Beufort! Show him up!'

  `I will, my lord!'

  Our hero's heart throbbed violently during the absence of the servant; for he expected that his friend was the bearer of news, from the party in which he was so much interested. The next moment Mr. Beufort entered, and lord Henry saw at a glance that he had pleasant news.

  `You have seen them?'

  `Yes, my lord. But sit down and I will tell you all about it. After some little inquiry I learned that the family you seek, were at No. — R — Terrace. Thither I drove at once, and as it was a hotel, I alighted and went in. I soon found that the party consisted of Colonel Field and lady, Miss Field, and Mr. Russel Carryl!'

  Lord Henry turned pale and bit his lips, while he took a quick turn across the room and back again. He then repeated impressively, `Miss Field! They are not married!'

  `Be calm, my friend. You have nothing to fear from that quarter!'

  `Are you sure?' cried lord Henry earnestly.

  `Quite. I will tell you how I learned. Taking advantage of my years, I thought I would call upon the lady in person, and have a quiet tete a tete! I first, however, ascertained that her father and mother had gone out. I then sent up my name to see him, closely following upon the heels of the servant. On opening the parlor door and announcing me, a piano which was playing ceased, and I heard a very sweet, pleasant young lady's voice reply, that her father had gone out, but would return in half an hour.

  `I will then, with your permission, Miss, wait his return, I said, entering the room. Seeing my grey hairs, and doubtless observing that I had a respectable appearance, at least that I didn't look like a burglar, she rose and politely invited me to be seated!'

  `Emma! beautiful, charming Emma! Oh, how greatly do I envy you, my dear Mr. Beaufort, the having been in her presence.'

  `We soon entered into conversation, and I must give you credit, my lord, for excellent taste and judgment; for a young person of greater personal charms or a more cultivated mind, I have rarely seen. From one thing to another I led her on, till I learned that they were travelling for the benefit of her father's health, and had been in England two months, and were in a few days to leave for Paris!'

  `Not if I have the eloquence and influence to detain her,' said our hero very positively.

  `Perhaps it will turn out that you have, my lord,' answered Mr. Beufort, smiling. `I then remarked that there were many Americans in England, and that I had recently met with one, a young gentleman in whom I had been deeply interested. I saw at once by her countenance that she was thinking of you, for love's object is always uppermost in the thoughts.

  `Of whom do you speak, sir?' she asked, coloring, and her voice slightly tremulous, as if she feared, yet hoped I should name you!'

  `Me? Oh, could it be that I held such quick place in her thoughts! Ah, Mr. Beufort, I dare not hope!'

  `Hear me, and then judge, my lord. I answered her, that the young gentleman I alluded to had, when an infant, been left by his parents at an Inn in America, near Boston, kept by a certain Dame Darwell. That this good woman had reared him as her own son: but that having come of age, and through rivalry, having incurred the hostility of a young man of wealth and birth, he had been defamed by him as a person of infamous birth! This fired the young man to seek proof of his lineage; and after various adventures, he was led by circumstances to visit England, believing he should here find what he sought, viz., proofs of his honorable birth. One chief motive that spurred him on,' I added, seeing that she listened with the deepest and most earnest attention, as if she was aware I spoke of you, `one chief motive that led him to make such exertions to discover his parents was love! '

  `Love?' she repeated with a glowing cheek, and with an animated manner, that showed how profoundly her senses were enlisted in my words.

  `Yes, lady,' I answered. `He had from earliest youth loved a beautiful maiden, and this love grew with years, till manhood confirmed his passion, and it became part and parcel of his being. He at length would have woed her, and doubtless would have won her, for he was worthy of her; but that cloud upon his birth, darkened by the gratuitous calumnies of a rival deterred him; and hiding his deep love in the secret chambers of his own bosom, he went forth to seek for proof to confute this calumny, and clear his name from an imputed stain which would else forever bar him from seeking an honorable alliance with the idol of his soul. His researches, as I have said, brought him to Enaland, where a singular circumstance connected with his search, brought me in contact with him!'

  `His name, sir?' she gasped, clasping her hands together, and bending earnestly towards me.

  `Marlboro' Darwell!'

  `The same!' she answered; and turning deadly pale (for she had been alarmingly red and pale by times, as I was speaking, I had to support her with my arm to save her from falling. She soon revived and said, with an embarrassment that made her most interesting.

  `Pardon me, sir! I suffered my feelings for a moment to get the better of me! Your narrative has interested me. But, sir, did — (here she hesitated, and then continued with greater firmness), did this young gentleman tell you who— who —.' She stopped short. But I finished the sentence for her, by saying,

  `Who the young lady was?' Yes, the lady. But I don't know that I ought to tell it. But as I trust you will keep the secret, I will divulge it. There it is!' And I placed in her hands one of her own cards, which I had taken up from the table. She blushed as crimson as a peony at sun-rise, and then the bright tears, like great globules of dew rolled sparkling over her cheeks. She smiled through them a moment afterwards, and said sweetly,

  `Sir, I do not know, but as you are a friend to Mr. Darwell, you shall be my friend. I freely confess to you that —.'

  `What?' cried lord Henry, rising, and seizing his friend by both hands.

  `Sit down, good, my lord, and you shall learn,' answered Mr. Beufort, smiling.

  Lord Henry re-seated himself and remained as composed as he could, while Mr. Beufort thus continued:

  `Said she to me, `As you, sir, are Mr. Darwell's friend I will also regard you as mine. Frankly, sir, I confess to you that he is a person by no means indifferent to me. I have long entertained the kindest feelings towards him.'

  `Said she so much in so many words, sir?' cried our hero.

  `In so many words, my lord. I give her own language. I then expressed to her the happiness I knew this intelligence would give you, and when I answered her that you almost adored her, you should have seen the happy expression, the joyous lighting up of her beautiful countenance. Her bosom heaved with emotion, and her eyes over-run with gratitude. But all at once a cloud came over her features, and sadness took the place of hope and joy. She looked earnestly at me and said,

  `Sir, you know my heart now, and you must know it only to pity me. Mr. Darwell though having so strong a hold upon my regards, you are aware can never be more to me than a friend! It is this reflection that has cast a sadness over my happiness! I think only of himself, sir, but my parents, the large circle of my friends would look only to his birth.'

  `But if I could show you that he has succeeded in finding his family and proving his title to an honorable parentage?' I said.

  `Can you do it, sir?' she cried earnestly.

  `I can, Madam,' I replied. `He has within the last ten days discovered his father and grandfather also, and been recognised and acknowledged by them. They are very respectable people, and he will do honor to them I am sure.'

  `Then, if this be true, how I sympathise with him
in his happiness,' she said gratefully. `Oh, sir; can this be indeed true?'

  `I assure you, madam, it is so. If you desire it, I will prove it to your parents! '

  `No, no, not just now! Is Mr. Darwell still in England?' she asked with embarrassment.

  `Yes. He is now in London.'

  `In London?' she exclaimed with almost a cry of joy.

  `He is, madam, and I assure you it would give him the greatest happiness to permit him to pay his respects to you.'

  `Well, my dear lord, the upshot of the whole pleasant matter was that she said she should be most happy to see you to-morrow. Don't fly now. Tomorrow will come in due time! As I was going to leave, Col. Field entered with his lady, and with him the American Minister, whom I well knew. As I was about to introduce myself to the Colonel, the Minister did it for me, and so at once I was placed in a position to enlist his confidence. I then, as soon as I could conveniently, began to tell your story, addressing myself to His Excellency, but intending my narration for the especial benefit of Colonel Field and his lady. I gave the whole account, only concealing the name and rank of your family, which I said I was not at liberty to divulge, but which I pledged myself as highly respectable and wealthy. When I had done, his Excellency begged that I would bring you to see him, and also Colonel and Mrs. Field seconded the invitation for you to visit them with me; and they were warm in their congratulations upon your good fortune in removing so successfully the stain upon your birth, of which they had been made acquainted by Russel Carryl.'

  `I must meet that man,' cried lord Henry, angrily.

  `Only to treat him with contempt, my lord! He is beneath your notice. I learned he only travelled with, but is not of, the party, being only an intruder for the purpose of pressing his attentions upon Miss Field. He called while I was there; and while the parents received him with sufficient friendship, I noted that Miss Field was cold and distant, and seemed to regard him with positive dislike. So you see, my lord, as the way is now open before you, you have only to make the best use of your time; for you must return to A— Castle at the end of the week, or the Duke will be here after you! In the meanwhile, I would advise you to live as becomes your rank at the hotel here, and receive the attentions and notice which the nobility will extend towards you. To the world you must be Lord Henry A—, the representative of the A—family; but to Miss Field, and Mr. Carryl, and the family, you may, still be plain Mr. Darwell. It is not probable that you will meet them as Lord Henry, or that they will recognise you to be one and the same person until you choose to make yourself known.'