'Twas late when I awoke the next day with something of a dull ache in
my neck, and a prodigious stiffness, studying the pleatings of the bed
canopy over my head. And I know not how long I lay idly thus when I
perceived Mrs. Willis moving quietly about, and my grandfather sitting
in the armchair by the window, looking into Freshwater Lane. As my eyes
fell upon him my memory came surging back,--first of the duel, then
of its cause. And finally, like a leaden weight, the thought of the
deception I had practised upon him, of which he must have learned ere
this. Nay, I was sure from the troubled look of his face that he knew of
it.
“Mr. Carvel,” I said.
At the sound of my voice he got hastily from his chair and hurried to my
side.
“Richard,” he answered, taking my hand, “Richard!”
I opened my mouth to speak, to confess. But he prevented me, the tears
filling the wrinkles around his eyes.
“Nay, lad, nay. We will not talk of it. I know all.”
“Mr. Allen has been here--” I began.
“And be d--d to him! Be d--d to him for a wolf in sheep's clothing!”
shouted my grandfather, his manner shifting so suddenly to anger that
I was taken back. “So help me God I will never set foot in St. Anne's
while he is rector. Nor shall he come to this house!”
And he took three or four disorderly turns about the room.
“Ah!” he continued more quietly, with something of a sigh, “I might have
known how stubborn your mind should be. That you was never one to blow
from the north one day and from the south the next. I deny not that
there be good men and able of your way of thinking: Colonel Washington,
for one, whom I admire and honour; and our friend Captain Daniel. They
have been here to-day, Richard, and I promise you were good advocates.”
Then I knew that I was forgiven. And I could have thrown myself at Mr.
Carvel's feet for happiness.
“Has Colonel Washington spoken in my favour, sir?”
“That he has. He is upon some urgent business for the North, I believe,
which he delayed for your sake. Both he and the captain were in my
dressing-room before I was up, ahead of that scurrilous clergyman, who
was for pushing his way to my bed-curtains. Ay, the two of them were
here at nigh dawn this morning, and Mr. Allen close after them. And I
own that Captain Daniel can swear with such a consuming violence as to
put any rogue out of countenance. 'Twas all Mr. Washington could do to
restrain Clapsaddle from booting his Reverence over the balustrade and
down two runs of the stairs, the captain declaring he would do for every
cur's son of the whelps. 'Diomedes,' says I, waking up, 'what's this
damnable racket on the landing? Is Mr. Richard home?' For I had some
notion it was you, sir, after an over-night brawl. And I profess I would
have caned you soundly. The fellow answered that Captain Clapsaddle's
honour was killing Mr. Allen, and went out; and came back presently to
say that some tall gentleman had the captain by the neck, and that Mr.
Allen was picking his way down the ice on the steps outside. With that I
went in to them in my dressing-gown.
“'What's all this to-do, gentlemen?' said I.
“'I'd have finished that son of a dog,' says the captain, 'and Colonel
Washington had let me.'
“'What, what!' said I. 'How now? What! Drive a clergyman from my house
gentlemen?'
“'What's Richard been at now?'
“Mr. Washington asked me to dress, saying that they had something very
particular to speak about; that they would stay to breakfast with me,
tho' they were in haste to be gone to New York. I made my compliments
to the colonel and had them shown to the library fire, and hurried
down after them. Then they told me of this affair last night, and they
cleared you, sir. 'Faith,' cried I, 'and I would have fought, too.
The lad was in the right of it, though I would have him a little less
hasty.' D--n me if I don't wish you had knocked that sea captain's teeth
into his throat, and his brains with them. I like your spirit, sir. A
pox on such men as he, who disgrace his Majesty's name and set better
men against him.”
“And they told you nothing else, sir?” I asked, with misgiving.
“That they did. Mr. Washington repeated the confession you made to
them, sir, in a manner that did you credit. He made me compliments on
you,--said that you were a man, sir, though a trifle hasty: in the which
I agreed. Yes, d--n me, a trifle hasty like your father. I rejoice that
you did not kill his Lordship, my son.”
The twilight was beginning; and the old gentleman going back to his
chair was set amusing, gazing out across the bare trees and gables
falling gray after the sunset.
What amazed me was that he did not seem to be shocked by the revelation
near as much as I had feared. So this matter had brought me happiness
where I looked for nothing but sorrow.
“And the gentlemen are gone north, sir?” said I, after a while.
“Yes, Richard, these four hours. I commanded an early dinner for them,
since the colonel was pleased to tarry long enough for a little politics
and to spin a glass. And I profess, was I to live neighbours with such
a man, I might come to his way of thinking, despite myself. Though I say
it that shouldn't, some of his Majesty's ministers are d--d rascals.”
I laughed. As I live, I never hoped to hear such words from my
grandfather's lips.
“He did not seek to convince, like so many of your hotheaded
know-it-alls,” said Mr. Carvel; “he leaves a man to convince himself. He
has great parts, Richard, and few can stand before him.” He paused. And
then his smooth-shaven face became creased in a roguish smile which
I had often seen upon it. “What baggage is this I hear of that you
quarrelled over at the assembly? Ah, Sir, I fear you are become but a
sad rake!” says he.
But by great good fortune Dr. Leiden was shown in at this instant. And
the candles being lighted, he examined my neck, haranguing the while in
his vile English against the practice of duelling. He bade me keep my
bed for two days, thereby giving me no great pleasure.
“As I hope to live,” said Mr. Carvel when the doctor was gone, “one
would have thought his Excellency himself had been pinked instead of a
whip of a lad, for the people who have been here. His Lordship and Dr.
Courtenay came before the hunt, and young Mr. Fotheringay, and half a
score of others. Mr. Swain is but now left to go to Baltimore on some
barrister's business.”
I was burning to learn what the rector had said to Patty, but it was
plain Mr. Carvel knew nothing of this part of the story. He had not
mentioned Grafton among the callers. I wondered what course my uncle
would now pursue, that his plans to alienate me from my grandfather had
failed. And I began debating whether or not to lay the whole plot before
Mr. Carvel. Prudence bade me wait, since Grafton had not consorted with
the rector openly, at least--for more than a year. And yet I spoke.
“Mr. Carvel!”
He stirred in his chair.
“Yes, my son.”
He had to repeat, and still I held my tongue. Even as I hesitated there
came a knock at the door, and Scipio entered, bearing candles.
“Massa Grafton, suh,” he said.
My uncle was close at his heels. He was soberly dressed in dark brown
silk, and his face wore that expression of sorrow and concern he
knew how to assume at will. After greeting his father with his usual
ceremony, he came to my bedside and asked gravely how I did.
“How now, Grafton!” cried Mr. Carvel; “this is no funeral. The lad has
only a scratch, thank God!”
My uncle looked at me and forced a smile.
“Indeed I am rejoiced to find you are not worried over this matter,
father,” said he. “I am but just back from Kent to learn of it, and
looked to find you in bed.”
“Why, no, sir, I am not worried. I fought a duel in my own day,--over a
lass, it was.”
This time Grafton's smile was not forced.
“Over a lass, was it?” he asked, and added in a tone of relief, “and how
do you, nephew?”
Mr. Carvel saved me from replying.
“'Od's life!” he cried; “no, I did not say this was over a lass. I have
heard the whole matter; how Captain Collinson, who is a disgrace to the
service, brought shame upon his Majesty's supporters, and how Richard
felled the young lord instead. I'll be sworn, and I had been there, I
myself would have run the brute through.”
My uncle did not ask for further particulars, but took a chair, and a
dish of tea from Scipio. His smug look told me plainer than words that
he thought my grandfather still ignorant of my Whig sentiments.
“I often wish that this deplorable practice of duelling might be
legislated against,” he remarked. “Was there no one at the Coffee House
with character enough to stop the lads?”
Here was my chance.
“Mr. Allen was there,” I said.
“A devil's plague upon him!” shouted my grandfather, beating the floor
with his stick. “And the lying hypocrite ever crosses my path, by gad's
life! I'll tear his gown from his back!”
I watched Grafton narrowly. Such as he never turn pale, but he set down
his tea so hastily as to spill the most of it on the dresser.
“Why, you astound me, my dear father!” he faltered; “Mr. Allen a lying
hypocrite? What can he have done?”
“Done!” cried my grandfather, sputtering and red as a cherry with
indignation. “He is as rotten within as a pricked pear, I tell you, sir!
For the sake of retaining the lad in his tuition he came to me and lied,
sir, just after I had escaped death, and said that by his influence
Richard had become loyal, and set dependence upon Richard's fear of
the shock 'twould give me if he confessed--Richard, who never told me
a falsehood in his life! And instead of teaching him, he has gamed with
the lad at the rectory. I dare make oath he has treated your son to a
like instruction. 'Slife, sir, and he had his deserts, he would hang
from a gibbet at the Town Gate.”
I raised up in bed to see the effect of this on my uncle. But however
the wind veered, Grafton could steer a course. He got up and began
pacing the room, and his agitation my grandfather took for indignation
such as his own.
“The dog!” he cried fiercely. “The villain! Philip shall leave him
to-morrow. And to think that it was I who moved you to put Richard to
him!”
His distress seemed so real that Mr. Carvel replied:
“No, Grafton, 'twas not your fault. You were deceived as much as I. You
have put your own son to him. But if I live another twelve hours I shall
write his Lordship to remove him. What! You shake your head, sir!”
“It will not do,” said my uncle. “Lord Baltimore has had his reasons for
sending such a scoundrel--he knew what he was, you may be sure, father.
His Lordship, sir, is the most abandoned rake in London, and that
unmentionable crime of his but lately in the magazines--”
“Yes, yes,” my grandfather interrupted; “I have seen it. But I will
publish him in Annapolis.”
My uncle's answer startled me, so like was it to the argument Colonel
Washington himself had used.
“What would you publish, sir? Mr. Allen will reply that what he did
was for the lad's good, and your own. He may swear that since Richard
mentioned politics no more he had taken his conversion for granted.”
My grandfather groaned, and did not speak, and I saw the futility of
attempting to bring Grafton to earth for a while yet.
My uncle had recovered his confidence. He had hoped, so he said, that
I had become a good loyalist: perchance as I grew older I would see the
folly of those who called themselves Patriots. But my grandfather cried
out to him not to bother me then. And when at last he was gone, of my
own volition I proposed to promise Mr. Carvel that, while he lived, I
would take no active part in any troubles that might come. He stopped me
with some vehemence.
“I pray God there may be no troubles, lad,” he answered; “but you need
give me no promise. I would rather see you in the Whig ranks than a
trimmer, for the Carvels have ever been partisans.”
I tried to express my gratitude. But he sighed and wished me good night,
bidding me get some rest.
I had scarce finished my breakfast the next morning when I heard a loud
rat-tat-tat upon the street door-surely the footman of some person of
consequence. And Scipio was in the act of announcing the names when,
greatly to his disgust, the visitors themselves rushed into my bedroom
and curtailed the ceremony. They were none other than Dr. Courtenay and
my Lord Comyn himself. His Lordship had no sooner seen me than he ran
to the bed, grasped both my hands and asked me how I did, declaring he
would not have gone to yesterday's hunt had he been permitted to visit
me.
“Richard,” cried the doctor, “your fame has sprung up like Jonah's
gourd. The Gazette is but just distributed. Here's for you! 'Twill set
the wags a-going, I'll warrant.”
He drew the newspaper from his pocket and began to read, stopping now
and anon to laugh:
“Rumour hath it that a Young Gentleman of Quality of this Town, who is
possessed of more Valour than Discretion, and whose Skill at Fence and
in the Field is beyond his Years, crossed Swords on Wednesday Night
with a Young Nobleman from the Thunderer. The Cause of this Deplorable
Quarrel, which had its Origin at the Ball, is purported to have been
a Young Lady of Wit and Beauty. (& we doubt it not; for, alas! the Sex
hath Much to answer for of this Kind.)
“The Gentlemen, with their Seconds, repaired after the Assembly to the
Coffee House. 'Tis said upon Authority that H-s L-dsh-p owes his Life to
the Noble Spirit of our Young American, who cast down his Blade rather
than sheathe it in his Adversary's Body, thereby himself receiving a
Grievous, the' happily not Mortal, Wound. Our Young Gentleman is become
the Hero of the Town, and the Subject of Prodigious Anxiety of all the
Ladies thereof.”
“There's for you, my lad!” says he; “Mr. Green has done for you both
cleverly.”
“Upon my soul,” I cried, raising up in bed, “he should be put in the
gatehouse for his impudence! My Lord,--”
“Don't 'My Lord' me,” says Comyn; “plain 'Jack' will do.”
There was no resisting such a man: and I said as much. And took his hand
and called him 'Jack,' the doctor posing before the mirror the while,
stroking his rues. “Out upon you both,” says he, “for a brace of
sentimental fools!”
“Richard,” said Comyn, presently, with a roguish glance at the doctor,
“there were some reason in our fighting had it been over a favour of
Miss Manners. Eh? Come, doctor,” he cried, “you will break your neck
looking for the reflection of wrinkles. Come, now, we must have little
Finery's letter. I give you my word Chartersea is as ugly as all three
heads of Cerberus, and as foul as a ship's barrel of grease. I tell you
Miss Dorothy would sooner marry you.”
“And she might do worse, my Lord,” the doctor flung back, with a strut.
“Ay, and better. But I promise you Richard and I are not such fools as
to think she will marry his Grace. We must have the little coxcomb's
letter.”
“Well, have it you must, I suppose,” returns the doctor. And with that
he draws it from his pocket, where he has it buttoned in. Then he took a
pinch of Holland and began.
The first two pages had to deal with Miss Dorothy's triumph, to which
her father made full justice. Mr. Manners world have the doctor (and all
the province) to know that peers of the realm, soldiers, and statesmen
were at her feet. Orders were as plentiful in his drawing-room as the
candles. And he had taken a house in Arlington Street, where Horry
Walpole lived when not at Strawberry, and their entrance was crowded
night and day with the footmen and chairmen of the grand monde. Lord
Comyn broke in more than once upon the reading, crying,--“Hear, hear!”
and,--“My word, Mr. Manners has not perjured himself thus far. He has
not done her justice by half.” And I smiled at the thought that I had
aspired to such a beauty!
“'Entre noes, mon cher Courtenay,' Mr. Manners writes, 'entre noes,
our Dorothy hath had many offers of great advantage since she hath been
here. And but yesterday comes a chariot with a ducal coronet to our
door. His Grace of Chartersea, if you please, to request a private
talk with me. And I rode with him straightway to his house in Hanover
Square.'”
“'Egad! And would gladly have ridden straightway to Newgate, in a ducal
chariot!” cried his Lordship, in a fit of laughter.
“'I rode to Hanover Square,' the doctor continued, 'where we discussed
the matter over a bottle. His Grace's generosity was such that I could
not but cry out at it, for he left me to name any settlement I pleased.
He must have Dorothy at any price, said he. And I give you my honour,
mon cher Courtenay, that I lost no time in getting back to Arlington
Street, and called Dorothy down to tell her.'”
“Now may I be flayed,” said Comyn, “if ever there was such another ass!”
The doctor took more snuff and fell a-laughing.
“But hark to this,” said he, “here's the cream of it all:
“You will scarce believe me when I say that the baggage was near beside
herself with anger at what I had to tell her. 'Marry that misshapen
duke!' cries she, 'I would quicker marry Doctor Johnson!' And truly, I
begin to fear she hath formed an affection for some like, foul-linened
beggar. That his Grace is misshapen I cannot deny; but I tried reason
upon her. 'Think of the coronet, my dear, and of the ancient name to
which it belongs.' She only stamps her foot and cries out:
“'Coronet fiddlesticks! And are you not content with the name you bear,
sir?” 'Our name is good as any in the three kingdoms,' said I, with
truth. 'Then you would have me, for the sake of the coronet, joined to
a wretch who is steeped in debauchery. Yes, debauchery, sir! You might
then talk, forsooth, to the macaronies of Maryland, of your daughter the
Duchess.'”
“There's spirit for you, my lad!” Comyn shouted; “I give you Miss
Dorothy.” And he drained a glass of punch Scipio had brought in, Doctor
Courtenay and I joining him with a will.
“I pray you go on, sir,” I said to the doctor.
“A pest on your impatience!” replied he; “I begin to think you are in
love with her yourself.”
“To be sure he is,” said Comyn; “he had lost my esteem and he were not.”
The doctor gave me an odd look. I was red enough, indeed.
“'I could say naught, my dear Courtenay, to induce her to believe that
his Grace's indiscretions arose from the wildness of youth. And I pass
over the injustice she hath unwittingly done me, whose only efforts are
for her bettering. The end of it all was that I must needs post back
to the duke, who was stamping with impatience up and down, and drinking
Burgundy. I am sure I meant him no offence, but told him in as many
words, that my daughter had refused him. And, will you believe me,
sir? He took occasion to insult me (I cannot with propriety repeat his
speech), and he flung a bottle after me as I passed out the door. Was he
not far gone in wine at the time, I assure you I had called him out for
it.'”
“And, gentlemen,” said the doctor, when our merriment was somewhat
spent, “I'll lay a pipe of the best Madeira, that our little fool never
knows the figure he has cut with his Grace.”