_Lay our hands on six hundred pounds and quarter ourselves in Hurst
Court, but stand in a fair way to be undone by Dawson, his folly._
The next day comes Simon with a bag of six hundred pounds, which he
tells over with infinite care, groaning and mopping his eyes betwixt
each four or five pieces with a most rueful visage, so that it seemed he
was weeping over this great expenditure, and then he goes to prepare the
Court and get servants against Moll's arrival. By the end of the week,
being furnished with suitable clothing and equipment, Moll and Don
Sanchez leave us, though Dawson was now as hale and hearty as ever he
had been, we being persuaded to rest at Chatham yet another week, to
give countenance to Jack's late distemper, and also that we might appear
less like a gang of thieves.
Before going, Don Sanchez warned us that very likely Simon would pay us
a visit suddenly, to satisfy any doubts that might yet crop up in his
suspicious mind; and so, to be prepared for him, I got in a good store
of paper and books, such as a merchant might require in seeking to
reestablish himself in business, and Dawson held himself in readiness to
do his share of this knavish business.
Sure enough, about three days after this, the drawer, who had been
instructed to admit no one to my chamber without my consent, comes up to
say that the little old man in leather, with the weak eyes, would see
me; so I bade him in a high voice bid Mr. Simon step up, and setting
myself before my table of paper, engage in writing a letter (already
half writ), while Dawson slips out into the next room.
"Take a seat, Mr. Steward," says I, when Simon entered, cap in hand, and
casting a very prying, curious look around. "I must keep you a minute or
two"; and so I feign to be mighty busy, and give him scope for
observation.
"Well, sir," says I, finishing my letter with a flourish, and setting it
aside. "How do you fare?"
He raised his hands, and dropped them like so much lead on his knees,
casting up his eyes and giving a doleful shake of his head for a reply.
"Nothing is amiss at the Court, I pray--your lady Mistress Godwin is
well?"
"I know not, friend," says he. "She hath taken my keys, denied me
entrance to her house, and left me no privilege of my office save the
use of the lodge house. Thus am I treated like a faithless servant,
after toiling night and day all these years, and for her advantage,
rather than mine own."
"That has to be proved, Mr. Steward," says I, severely; "for you must
admit that up to this present she has had no reason to love you, seeing
that, had her fate been left in your hands, she would now be in Barbary,
and like to end her days there. How, then, can she think but that you
had some selfish, wicked end in denying her the service we, who are
strangers, have rendered her?"
"Thee speakest truth, friend, and yet thee knowest that I observed only
the righteous prudence of an honest servant."
"We will say no more on that head, but you may rest assured on my
promise--knowing as I do the noble, generous nature of your
mistress--that if she has done you wrong in suspecting you of base
purpose, she will be the first to admit her fault and offer you
reparation."
"I seek no reparation, no reward, nothing in the world but the right to
cherish this estate," cries he, in passion; and, upon my looking at him
very curiously, as not understanding the motive of such devotion, he
continues: "Thee canst not believe me, and yet truly I am neither a liar
nor a madman. What do others toil for? A wife--children--friends--the
gratification of ambition or lust! I have no kith or kin, no ambition,
no lust; but this estate is wife, child, everything, to me. 'Tis like
some work of vanity,--a carved image that a man may give his whole life
to making, and yet die content if he achieves but some approach to the
creation of his soul. I have made this estate out of nothing; it hath
grown larger and larger, richer and more rich, in answer to my skill;
why should I not love it, and put my whole heart in the accomplishment
of my design, with the same devotion that you admire in the maker of
graven images?"
Despite his natural infirmities, Simon delivered this astonishing
rhapsody with a certain sort of vehemence that made it eloquent; and
indeed, strange as his passion was, I could not deny that it was as
reasonable in its way as any nobler act of self-sacrifice.
"I begin to understand you, Mr. Steward," says I.
"Then, good friend, as thee wouldst help the man in peril of being torn
from his child, render me this estate to govern; save it from the hands
of usurers and lawyers, men of no conscience, to whom this Spanish Don
would deliver it for the speedy satisfaction of his greed."
"Nay, my claim's as great as his," says I, "and my affairs more
pressing" (with a glance at my papers), "I am undone, my credit lost, my
occupation gone."
"Thee shalt be paid to the last farthing. Examine my books, enquire into
the value of my securities, and thee wilt find full assurance."
"Well, one of these days mayhap," says I, as if to put him off.
"Nay, come at once, I implore thee; for until I am justified to my
mistress, I stand like one betwixt life and death."
"For one thing," says I, still shuffling, "I can do nothing, nor you
either, to the payment of our just claim, before the inheritance is
safely settled upon Mistress Godwin."
"That shall be done forthwith. I understand the intricacies of the law,
and know my way" (tapping his head and then his pocket), "to get a seal,
with ten times the despatch of any attorney. I promise by Saturday thee
shalt have assurance to thy utmost requirement. Say, good friend, thee
wilt be at my lodge house on that day."
"I'll promise nothing," says I. "Our poor Captain Evans is still a
prisoner in his room."
"Aye," says Dawson, coming in from the next room, in his nightgown,
seeming very feeble and weak despite his blustering voice, "and I'm like
to be no better till I can get a ship of my own and be to sea again.
Have you brought my money, Mr. Quaker?"
"Thee shalt have it truly; wait but a little while, good friend, a
little while."
"Wait a little while and founder altogether, eh? I know you land sharks,
and would I'd been born with a smack of your cunning; then had I never
gone of this venture, and lost my ship and twoscore men, that money'll
ne'er replace. Look at me, a sheer hulk and no more, and all through
lending ear to one prayer and another. I doubt you're minded to turn
your back on poor old Bob Evans, as t'others have, Mr. Hopkins,--and why
not? The poor old man's worth nothing, and cannot help himself." With
this he fell a-snivelling like any girl.
"I vow I'll not quit you, Evans, till you're hale again."
"Bring him with thee o' Saturday," urged Simon. "Surely, my mistress can
never have the heart to refuse you shelter at the Court, who owes her
life to ye. Come and stay there till thy wage be paid, friend Evans."
"What! would ye make an honest sailor play bum-bailiff, and stick in a
house, willy nilly, till money's found? Plague of your dry land! Give me
a pitching ship and a rolling sea, and a gale whistling in my shrouds.
Oh, my reins, my reins! give me a paper of tobacco, Mr. Hopkins, and a
pipe to soothe this agony, or I shall grow desperate!"
I left the room as if to satisfy this desire, and Simon followed,
imploring me still to come on Saturday to Chislehurst; and I at length
got rid of him by promising to come as soon as Evans could be left or
induced to accompany me.
I persuaded Dawson, very much against his gree, to delay our going until
Monday, the better to hoodwink old Simon; and on that day we set out for
Chislehurst, both clad according to our condition,--he in rough frieze,
and I in a very proper, seemly sort of cloth,--and with more guineas in
our pockets than ever before we had possessed shillings. And a very
merry journey this was; for Dawson, finding himself once more at
liberty, and hearty as a lark after his long confinement and under no
constraint, was like a boy let loose from school. Carolling at the top
of his voice, playing mad pranks with all who passed us on the road, and
staying at every inn to drink twopenny ale, so that I feared he would
certainly fall ill of drinking, as he had before of eating; but the
exercise of riding, the fresh, wholesome air, and half an hour's doze in
a spinney, did settle his liquor, and so he reached Hurst Court quite
sober, thanks be to Heaven, though very gay. And there we had need of
all our self-command, to conceal our joy in finding those gates open to
us, which we had looked through so fondly when we were last here, and to
spy Moll, in a stately gown, on the fine terrace before this noble
house, carrying herself as if she had lived here all her life, and Don
Sanchez walking very deferential by her side. Especially Dawson could
scarce bring himself to speak to her in an uncouth, surly manner, as
befitted his character, and no sooner were we entered the house but he
whips Moll behind a door, and falls a-hugging and kissing her like any
sly young lover.
Whilst he was giving way to these extravagances, which Moll had not the
heart to rebuff,--for in her full, warm heart she was as overjoyed to
see him there as he her,--Don Sanchez and I paced up and down the
spacious hall, I all of a twitter lest one or other of the servants
might discover the familiarity of these two (which must have been a fine
matter for curious gossip in the household and elsewhere), and the Don
mighty sombre and grave (as foreseeing an evil outcome of this
business), so that he would make no answer to my civilities save by dumb
gestures, showing he was highly displeased. But truly 'twas enough to
set us all crazy, but he, with joy, to be in possession of all these
riches and think that we had landed at Chatham scarce a fortnight before
without decent clothes to our backs, and now, but for the success of our
design, might be the penniless strolling vagabonds we were when Don
Sanchez lighted on us.
Presently Moll came out from the side room with her father, her hair all
tumbled, and as rosy as a peach, and she would have us visit the house
from top to bottom, showing us the rooms set apart for us, her own
chamber, the state room, the dining-hall, the store closets for plate
and linen, etc., all prodigious fine and in most excellent condition;
for the scrupulous minute care of old Simon had suffered nothing to fall
out of repair, the rooms being kept well aired, the pictures,
tapestries, and magnificent furniture all preserved fresh with linen
covers and the like. From the hall she led us out on to the terrace to
survey the park and the gardens about the house, and here, as within
doors, all was in most admirable keeping, with no wild growth or
runaweeds anywhere, nor any sign of neglect. But I observed, as an
indication of the steward's thrifty, unpoetic mind, that the garden beds
were planted with onions and such marketable produce, in place of
flowers, and that instead of deer grazing upon the green slopes of the
park there was only such profitable cattle as sheep, cows, etc. And at
the sight of all this abundance of good things (and especially the
well-stored buttery), Dawson declared he could live here all his life
and never worry. And with that, all unthinkingly, he lays his arm about
Moll's waist.
Then the Don, who had followed us up and down stairs, speaking never one
word till this, says, "We may count ourselves lucky, Captain Evans, if
we are suffered to stay here another week."