say, it is better than living under another man's name--and your father
is not immortal. Or, if I cannot persuade you to return, then go to
some other Colony, under your own name, or, at least, under no other
man's, and settle down."
De Lysle laughed. "I like the danger of it, just as you liked the
danger that was Long-Sword's."
"But, having come to my senses, _I_ am going to get away from
Long-Sword, and become, once more, a reputable member of society."
"You can go back--you have never, to society's knowledge, broken with
her. You simply disappeared. Society knows me, however, for a criminal."
"Society has a short memory--she has forgotten, long ago."
"Well, I have ten days to consider before your ship sails," said De
Lysle.
"And will you consider--honestly consider?" asked Brandon.
"I will--or I will play you whether I go or whether I stay."
"Still the gambler!" commented Brandon. "Well, if it come to the pinch,
we will play--but what is the good in playing--except on the voyage
home?"
XVI
THE CRESCENT AND THE STAR
Whitehall, the country residence of Governor Sharpe, lay on the banks
of the Chesapeake, about ten miles north of Annapolis.
It was originally part of the Colonel Greenberry estate, and was willed
by him to St. Margaret's Church, Westminster Parish. Colonel Sharpe,
when he decided to make his home permanently in America, purchased it,
after considerable difficulty with the vestry, and proceeded to erect
thereon, three years before, a most commodious and handsome mansion.
The large central house, of English brick, square and of two-and-a-half
stories, stands on a slight--a very slight--eminence, from which a long
esplanade of velvety lawn, set with flowers and shrubbery, led down to
the blue waters of the Bay, a quarter of a mile distant.
It was but one room in depth, and three in width--the entrances from
the Bay and the land sides, being into a large middle room, which
served as both reception and living room--with the dining-room on the
one side and the drawing-room on the other. They all had great, high
ceilings, beautifully carved, with cornices, mantels and doorways to
match, and panelled walls, set off by soft-toned hangings. And over
the fire-place in the dining-room, hung a portrait of the Governor,
himself, in the red dress-uniform of a Lieutenant-Colonel of the 20th
Foot.
(It hangs there to-day--just as he left it when he returned to England,
and gave Whitehall to John Ridout, his Secretary--showing a tall man,
and a heavy, with a high forehead, and fine, well-bred face, of a
florid complexion, and grave eyes that searched without repelling.
He was a good man, in a measure a great man, and, yet, he failed.
Not signally, as most of our governors of Colonial days, but
failed, none-the-less. It was no easy thing to handle the people of
Maryland, at the period of the beginning of the breaking, yet he was
popular as no other governor was popular, even, in America. He was
Commander-in-chief of the Colonial forces, in the French War, and, for
far less services, he should have received the well deserved reward
of Knighthood, and a pension--the pension, at the very least, ought
to have been forthcoming. Instead--nothing: not even his Sovereign's
thanks. He did his full duty, and much more--but he failed. What
was the reason? Possibly, somewhere, among the musty records of the
Colonial office, there is an explanation--possibly, some cabinet
minister was unfriendly--possibly, the young King was, even then,
exhibiting his narrowness and his bigotry. Who can tell!)
The tall pillars, which now mark the entrance on the Bay-side, were
not in the original construction--Governor Sharpe never saw them; and
his race track and the servants' quarters, which he placed on the level
ground to the rear, beyond the wide sweep of turf, have vanished. The
dungeons remain, however, beneath the main house, and, in one of the
wings of the mansion, the Colonel's quarters are practically unchanged.
It was a fine, old place, typical of Maryland and Annapolis, in
the days of the Colony--of her lavishness and good cheer, her
hospitality and her courtesy, her gallantry and her fame. Those days
have ended--the Eastern and the Western Shores know no more the life
that once was theirs. Their glory has departed--their sun has set.
Whitehall, and all its fellows, are but the waifs of a dead past.
It was otherwise, however, on this August morning, in the year of Grace
1766. The Governor was in presence--and all that life, and action, and
a master-hand could effect, were in evidence.
His excellency had been down to the race track, for an early morning
inspection. The horses had been put through the paces, under his own
eyes--and blame and praise were given indiscriminately. He had a rare
gift for picking the faults and the perfections in their training, and
he let censure fall where due--nor minced his words.
"I tell you, Maynadier, Hanover promises well, damned well, indeed!"
he said. "He has the wind and the legs of the best of them, or I miss
my guess. Sir Edward Parkington is no mean judge of horseflesh; he has
seen the fleetest we have at home, and he says Hanover is the king of
them all."
"I hope he is, Colonel," said Maynadier. "You know, I have nothing
entered against him."
"And jolly well glad you may be, my boy!" exclaimed the Colonel. "You
will have the delight of seeing me win, and the pleasure of not seeing
yourself beaten. Speaking of Parkington, what is this I hear of his
attentions to Miss Marbury, and having a notion to settle in Maryland.
You are more intimate with the Marburys than any one else, is there any
truth in it?"
"I do not know--on that score, Miss Marbury has not taken me into her
confidence."
The Governor regarded him questioningly.
"Why do you not marry the girl yourself?" he demanded, abruptly. "Give
Rose Hill a mistress--it needs one."
"I will not gainsay that it needs one," said Maynadier, with an amused
smile.
"Neither will you gainsay that Judith Marbury would fill the place,
admirably. There is style and breeding about that girl, Maynadier.
I like her much, damned much! Why should she marry an Englishman?
Sir Edward is all right, I suppose--but he has only his manners and
Baltimore's letters to vouch for him. And not much credit in the
letters, God knows!"
Maynadier was puzzled. Could it be the Governor was not aware that
Parkington was not Parkington?--was he not in the secret?--was he being
imposed on, also?
"Sometimes, I have thought," he ventured, "that Parkington is not quite
what he seemed--that he is playing a part."
"Playing a part!" Colonel Sharpe ejaculated. "I do not understand."
Maynadier looked at him, a moment, in silence.
"You do not understand?" he asked, slowly. "Do you honestly mean it?"
"Mean it! Of course I mean it. What do _you_ mean?"
"Have I permission to speak plainly?"
"You have," said the Governor--"right from the shoulder. What is it?"
"Is it possible, sir, you do not know that Sir Edward Parkington is an
assumed name--that this man is _not_ Parkington?"
The Colonel stared at him, incredulously.
"Not Parkington?" he marveled. "Not Parkington?"
Maynadier bowed. "To my certain knowledge, not Parkington."
"But his letters--they were authentic--they were in Baltimore's own
hand!"
"I do not dispute them," said Maynadier, "but I have met Sir Edward
Parkington, in London----"
"And this is not he?"
"This is not he.--The true Parkington is quite the reverse of this man.
He is short, stout, ruddy, and bald."
"You know this as a fact--of your own knowledge?" demanded the Colonel.
"I do. I saw Sir Edward Parkington a number of times. I talked with him
at least twice, at White's. Moreover, he was an intimate of Baltimore.
I cannot be mistaken--unless, of course, there be two of the name,
which is unlikely."
"Decidedly unlikely," the Governor agreed. He took a turn back and
forth on the grass. "When did you know this?" he asked, suddenly.
"From the moment I saw him."
"And why did you not disclose it--why did you keep silent?"
"It was at the races, the day after he arrived. I saw you bring him up
and present him to Miss Stirling; a little later, when I met him, and
was given his name as Parkington, I assumed there was some reason for
it--when I heard of his letters, I was sure of it. It was no affair of
mine, I thought, to meddle in affairs of State. You had vouched for
him--that was sufficient."
The Colonel nodded. He dug his stick into the turf and considered.
"It is a bit awkward," he said. "He has been accepted, by the Province,
on the strength of my vouchment--and I introduced him on the strength
of his letters--and the letters are authentic----"
"Hence he is authentic!" laughed Maynadier.
"I am justified in so assuming," the Colonel continued. "On the other
hand, I can have him thrown out as an impostor, and proclaim him as
such--but, what is the profit? The man is plainly of the class he
masquerades; he has borne himself, naturally, as one of them; he has
committed no improprieties.--I am at a loss what to do--whether to
demand an explanation, or to let things rest, for the present.... If I
thought he would soon depart, I should be tempted to do nothing. And,
yet, where did he get those letters?--Did the real Parkington give them
to him for a purpose? did he steal them? or is not Parkington in it, at
all--is it some of Baltimore's doings?" He threw up his hands, in doubt.
"There is the gentleman, now," said Maynadier, who was standing facing
the house. "He is coming this way."
The Governor turned, and watched him approach.
"Hum! damned fine looking!" he muttered. "He could give the real
Parkington all the weight, and then beat him in a canter. Confound it,
Maynadier, I like the fellow!"
"So do I," said Maynadier. "You cannot help liking him. He has the
qualities that appeal to a man--there are a certain dash, and verve,
and lightheartedness about him that are very taking."
"The compliments of the morning to your Excellency--and to you, Mr.
Maynadier," said Parkington, with a graceful bow--"and, if I may, to
the horses, as well."
"A man is known by the company he keeps, as Governor Ogle said, when
he built the stable in his front yard, on King George Street!" laughed
Colonel Sharpe.
"He was a true sportsman," said Maynadier. "His horses and his dogs
next after his family. It was the sure sign of his British blood."
"Colonel Sharpe," said Parkington, presently, "I want to ask a favor?"
"It is granted, before it is asked."
"Which is a trifle rash, sir; I may ask for a hundred guineas."
"They will be forthcoming, if you do."
"I will not impose on good nature," smiled Parkington. "But what I do
want, is your permission to go to Annapolis, and bring back a friend,
Sir Charles Brandon, who came two days ago. He would have paid his
respects sooner, to your Excellency, but the Assembly took all your
time."
"Go, by all means!" said the Governor; "but you should have informed me
of his intended coming, so I could have had him down."
"I did not know he was closer than London," Parkington protested,
"until he walked into the Coffee-house, the other night, and found
me--and he was as surprised as I."
"Bring him down!" said the Colonel, heartily.--"Take the pinnace and
bring him down.--How long does he expect to stay in Annapolis?"
"Until the next ship sails for England."
"Good--it will be a pleasure to have him."
"I did not mean to ask for an invitation for----"
"Tut! tut! we shall be delighted. A visiting Englishman is a boon--like
yourself."
Parkington turned back to the house. Colonel Sharpe watched him, until
he disappeared through the doorway, then, he swung around toward
Maynadier.
"Either the plot grows thicker, or else it is cleared altogether.
Either there are two Sir Edward Parkingtons or else Brandon is an
abettor of the impostor. Well, we will wait and see."
As they went slowly in, Constable overtook them. He had been down at
the far end of the track, putting a green hunter over the jumps.
"Constable!" said Colonel Sharpe, "have you ever met Sir Charles
Brandon, Parkington's friend?"
"Yes--I was at the Coffee-house with Parkington, the other night, when
Brandon walked in. They were too astonished, for a moment, to speak.
Then it was: 'Parkington, on my soul!' 'Brandon, by all that's holy!'
It was a very pretty meeting--such genuine friendship."
"Hum!" with a look at Maynadier. "Well, we are going to have him here.
Parkington has gone up in the pinnace for him."
"Brandon is a particular friend of Sir Edward?" asked Maynadier.
"If you had seen the meeting, you would have thought so!" laughed
Constable. "Not effusive, mind you--just genuine, pleased surprise. The
sort I should have, if I were to meet Paca, unexpectedly, in London."
"It will be safe to put them, then, in the same room?" the Colonel
observed.
"I should judge so--though Herford and I will move out, if you want to
give him a separate room."
"By no means! By no means!" said the Colonel, heartily.--"Well, what
do you make of it?" when Constable had gone on. "He addressed him as
Parkington, and the meeting seems to be a mutual surprise. Pretty fair
evidence, besides his own, that he is the genuine Sir Edward, is it
not?"
"Yes, it is!" said Maynadier, slowly; "but not conclusive. I should
like to know, whether they had met before, and arranged this
Coffee-house affair."
The Governor thought a moment. "It is possible--it depends on when
Brandon arrived in Annapolis, and whether Parkington had an opportunity
to see him. I will dispatch a man, at once, to investigate."
Later in the day, he summoned Maynadier to his rooms. His coat and
waistcoat were off, and he was enjoying, at his ease, his long-stemmed
pipe. He motioned Maynadier to one, also, and waited until he had
filled and lighted it.
"I have investigated," he said, "and there was no collusion, no
pre-arrangement of the meeting. Brandon arrived in Annapolis, at
Reynolds' Tavern, about seven o'clock that evening, from Frederick,
he had supper, and then retired to his room, where he remained until
near eleven. He then went out, walking in the direction of Church
Street--when he returned, an hour or so later, Parkington accompanied
him."
"And Parkington?" said Maynadier.
"I left him, after supper, at my house, to go to the State House.--Old
Moses, my butler, says he remained in the drawing-room, reading, until
a little after ten, when he left, to go to the Coffee-house. And
Sparrow says, he reached there about half-after-ten."
"He was not to Reynolds' Tavern in the meantime?" Maynadier asked.
"No--in that point Reynolds is very positive. He says that Brandon had
no visitors in the evening."
"Then, there must be two Sir Edward Parkingtons, and both friends of
Baltimore," said Maynadier. "It is entirely possible, of course, but
most unlikely."
"You still hold to it that we are entertaining an impostor?" asked the
Governor.
"No--not exactly--I am ready to be convinced either way. In the
interim, I should let the letters decide. He presented them and
they are genuine; they, and his conduct, will have justified your
recognition."
"His conduct has been quite exemplary--I have not heard anything but
the best reports of him. He does not, even at times, drink to excess;
he does not gossip; and he pays his debts without being dunned, which
is much to his credit. He borrowed two hundred pounds from me, after
his arrival--having lost everything in the shipwreck, you remember--and
repaid it, the other day, immediately upon his return to Annapolis. And
he apologized for keeping it so long. Damned decent, I call it!"
Richard Maynadier pulled on his pipe, and gazed through the windows,
across the esplanade to the dock, where a ship had just let go her
anchor.
"Yes!" he said, "yes! decidedly decent.--It is a pity some of our young
men do not emulate him." His eyes came back to the Governor's. "Do you
happen to have any of the money handy, sir?"
"You mean, the money he paid me?--I will lend it to you gladly,
Maynadier."
"I do not want to borrow, thank you, Colonel," was the smiling answer.
"I want simply to see it--the coins, I mean."
The Governor turned to his writing desk, unlocked a drawer, and, taking
out a bag, passed it over.
"It is just as he gave it to me," he said; "indeed, I did not even
count it, I took it on faith.--You do not think he tricked me,
Maynadier?"
"Oh, no--not you. I want to see----"
He emptied the gold into a shining heap, on the table before him, and
spread it out with his hands. There were guineas, pistoles, and Spanish
doubloons, in all, making up the two hundred pounds.
"I want to see if there are any pieces which might be
remembered--any--with--Ah!"--he picked out a doubloon, with a star and
a crescent cut deep upon its face. "I wonder if Marbury can by any
chance recall--I beg your pardon, Colonel! Marbury had some gold stolen
during the house-party, at Hedgely Hall. He kept no list, but he might
recognize this one, it is sufficiently distinctive, surely."
The Governor blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and watched it
slowly vanish.
"You think that Parkington may be guilty?" he said--"that we may catch
a thief, as well as an impostor? Very good! you have added a motive for
his imposition. If you can prove it, we will give the sheriff a job
with the halter. Where is Marbury?"
"He was in Annapolis, yesterday--he came that far with the young
people. I will go up and see him."
"No--I will send for him.--I suppose there was card playing at Hedgely
Hall?"
"Every night, while I was there, and I take it every night."
"Then, even if Marbury recognizes the coin, it will prove little, for
Parkington can say he won it at cards."
"True," said Maynadier; "but the coin, being in his possession, raises
a presumption against him, which he will have to lift by more than
merely saying, 'it was won at cards.' The trouble, however, is, that
Marbury may refuse to help--he is averse to stirring up trouble which
may result in nothing. In fact, he told no one but me of the theft.--I
think it would be better if I went to Annapolis--and I will go at once."
An hour later, his barge ran into the landing at the foot of Marbury's
garden, and he went straight up to the house, which stood on Duke of
Gloucester Street.
Marbury, himself, came down the steps to welcome him.
"Why, Maynadier!" he exclaimed, "this is a pleasant surprise--I thought
you were at his Excellency's."
"I am just from Whitehall," said Maynadier. He glanced around. "Can we
be overheard?"
Marbury shook his head, "I am alone, except for one servant, and he is
gone off until supper."
Maynadier put his hand in his pocket, and drew out the doubloon.
"Do you recognize this gold piece?" he asked, without preliminary.
Marbury took it--looked at it, carefully, an instant--then answered.
"I do--it is the one piece I recall seeing, when I counted the pirate's
gold. It did not occur to me before--but, now, I remember it. It was
the last piece in one of the bags.--Yes, I recollect the star and
crescent, perfectly. Where did you get it?"
"From his Excellency, Governor Sharpe," said Maynadier.
"And from whom did he get it?"
"From Sir Edward Parkington."
"He is sure?"
"Perfectly--it was a repayment of two hundred pounds he had borrowed,
and was still in the bag, uncounted. This was the one coin, of them
all, which I thought you might have noted."
"And you assume that Parkington is the thief?" asked Marbury.
"At least, it acquits your servants."
"I never thought them guilty."
"And it calls for an explanation from Sir Edward," Maynadier said.
Marbury considered--frowning down at his heavy shoes, the while.
"I am not disposed to go further into it," he said, at length. "I
regret that I did not tell you so more promptly.--I have put you to
needless trouble.--I am very sorry--I apologize.--This was a most
peculiar thief, Maynadier, a most peculiar thief! He returned the
money, the evening before the house-party broke--it was on my desk when
I went up to bed."
"And nothing with it, of course?"
"Yes; a slip of paper, cut from some book, was pinned to the bag, with
these words printed on it:--'For this relief much thanks.' I shall drop
the matter, Maynadier."
"You do not care even to identify the coin?"
"No--the money has been returned, it may not have been taken
feloniously. I shall prefer to believe that it was borrowed, in view
of the prompt restoration. Moreover, I am leaving for the Hall on the
morrow; I will not bother. Let it rest, Maynadier! let it rest! You
have some idea of morals, or society, on your mind; I have not. That
it was some of the guests, there can be no dispute--but, which one, I
care not to find out. Parkington, you think?--but there was much money
changed hands around the card table, and he, I believe, was largely
winner. So, possession of the doubloon is not conclusive. At the
worst, it calls, only, for an explanation--and I see no profit even in
an explanation; he will be leaving us, presently, for England, never to
return. Oh! let it rest, Maynadier! let it rest!"
"My dear Marbury," said Maynadier, "I am here for two reasons:--first,
because you asked me to inform you if I found any clue----"
"I know, sir--I apologize for my neglect to tell you of the
restitution."
"And, second, because there has arisen another question--a serious
question--with respect to Sir Edward Parkington. It will be handled by
the Governor, himself, if handled at all; and I wanted to know, whether
he may use your identification of this stolen coin, if it be deemed
essential?"
"_If it be deemed essential_, I have no objection," said Marbury, after
a little consideration--"but do not use it unless it is," he added.
"I would not risk doing Parkington an injustice, he was unusually
courteous to me, and considerate, also."
"And you appreciate courtesy and consideration," thought Maynadier,
"because you have had so little shown you in life. The public would
never believe it!" What he said, was: "I understand. It will be used
only as a last resort. Indeed, Colonel Sharpe may deem it inexpedient
to meddle with the matter, at all." He arose to go.
"Why not remain for supper," asked Marbury.
"Not to-night," said Maynadier. "I must back to Whitehall."
They went down the stairs together; at the foot, Maynadier suddenly
halted.
"Marbury," he said, "have I your permission to marry Judith, if she be
willing?"
"You have," Marbury answered, a gratified smile flashing, for an
instant, across his impassive face--"and she is a queer girl, if she
does not take you." Then he laughed. "But, for the Lord's sake! man,
be a little less sudden when you ask _her_. You well nigh took _my_
breath."
XVII
A LETTER AND A CONFESSION
Sir Edward Parkington and Sir Charles Brandon arrived at Whitehall just
before supper, and were greeted by the Governor and his guests on the
esplanade.
Brandon was dignified yet affable, he was properly appreciative of
his Excellency's courtesy, a bit diffident about imposing upon his
hospitality, and thoroughly considerate in everything; in short, the
well-bred gentleman--natural, free from affectations, and, apparently,
sincere.
So he impressed Colonel Sharpe; so he impressed every one. He would be
an addition to the company, they all agreed, when he and Parkington had
gone to their room to dress.
_The Nelson_ was arrived that morning from England, and the Governor's
mail had been sent down by the pinnace. In the bag, were several
communications for Miss Stirling, which he passed over with a jocular
remark. Excusing herself, she retired to a quiet corner of the library
to read them. While thus engaged, Captain Herford entered, and tried to
engage her in talk; but she sent him away, rather petulantly, and then,
hiding herself in a window embrasure, went on with her reading.
Two of the letters were of casual interest--the doings of the writers
on their country estates--and were not remarkable either for correct
spelling or polished diction. The third and last, however, was of
better stuff.
It was from Lady Catherwood, written from London,--before she had
received Miss Stirling's letter to her, of course--and had in it much
gossip, a little scandal, and, then, just before the close, was this:--
"_There is an interesting Piece of Gossip, which I all but forgot
to tell you. It seems, Lord Baltimore has tired of certain
Gentlemen, who are his particular Toad-eaters, and has taken Means
to get rid of them._