The French clock had struck four, and I was beginning to fear that,
despite my note, the captain's pride forbade his coming to Mr. Manners's
house, when in he walked, as tho' 'twere no novelty to have his name
announced. And so straight and handsome was he, his dark eye flashing
with the self-confidence born in the man, that the look of uneasiness I
had detected upon Mrs. Manners's face quickly changed to one of surprise
and pleasure. Of course the good lady had anticipated a sea-captain of
a far different mould. He kissed her hand with a respectful grace, and
then her daughter's, for Dorothy had come back to us, calmer. And I was
filled with joy over his fine appearance. Even Dorothy was struck by
the change the clothes had made in him. Mrs. Manners thanked him very
tactfully for restoring me to them, as she was pleased to put it, to
which John Paul modestly replied that he had done no more than another
would under the same circumstances. And he soon had them both charmed by
his address.
“Why, Richard,” said Dorothy's mother aside to me, “surely this cannot
be your sea-captain!”
I nodded merrily. But John Paul's greatest triumph was yet to come. For
presently Mr. Marmaduke arrived from White's, and when he had greeted me
with effusion he levelled his glass at the corner of the room.
“Ahem!” he exclaimed. “Pray, my dear, whom have you invited to-day?” And
without awaiting her reply, as was frequently his habit, he turned to
me and said: “I had hoped we were to have the pleasure of Captain Paul's
company, Richard. For I must have the chance before you go of clasping
the hand of your benefactor.”
“You shall have the chance, at least, sir,” I replied, a fiery
exultation in my breast. “Mr. Manners, this is my friend, Captain Paul.”
The captain stood up and bowed gravely at the little gentleman's blankly
amazed countenance.
“Ahem,” said he; “dear me, is it possible!” and advanced a step, but
the captain remained immovable. Mr. Marmaduke fumbled for his snuff-box,
failed to find it, halted, and began again, for he never was known
to lack words for long: “Captain, as one of the oldest friends of Mr.
Lionel Carvel, I claim the right to thank you in his name for your
gallant conduct. I hear that you are soon to see him, and to receive his
obligations from him in person. You will not find him lacking, sir, I'll
warrant.”
Such was Mr. Marmaduke's feline ingenuity! I had a retort ready, and I
saw that Mrs. Manners, long tried in such occasions, was about to pour
oil on the waters. But it was Dorothy who exclaimed:
“What captain! are you, too, going to Maryland?”
John Paul reddened.
“Ay, that he is, Dolly,” I cut in hurriedly. “Did you imagine I would
let him escape so easily? Henceforth as he has said, he is to be an
American.”
She flashed at me such a look as might have had a dozen different
meanings, and in a trice it was gone again under her dark lashes.
Dinner was got through I know not how. Mr. Manners led the talk, and
spoke more than was needful concerning our approaching voyage. He was at
great pains to recommend the Virginia packet, which had made the fastest
passage from the Capes; and she sailed, as was no doubt most convenient,
the Saturday following. I should find her a comfortable vessel, and he
would oblige me with a letter to Captain Alsop. Did Captain Paul know
him? But the captain was describing West Indian life to Mrs. Manners.
Dorothy had little to say; and as for me, I was in no very pleasant
humour.
I gave a deaf ear to Mr. Marmaduke's sallies, to speculate on the nature
of the disgrace which Chartersea was said to hold over his head. And
twenty times, as I looked upon Dolly's beauty, I ground my teeth at
the notion of returning home. I have ever been slow of suspicion, but
suddenly it struck me sharply that Mr. Manners's tactics must have a
deeper significance than I had thought. Why was it that he feared my
presence in London?
As we made our way back to the drawing-room, I was hoping for a talk
with Dolly (alas! I should not have many more), when I heard a voice
which sounded strangely familiar.
“You know, Comyn,” it was saying, “you know I should be at the
Princess's were I not so completely worn out. I was up near all of last
night with Rosette.”
Mr. Marmaduke, entering before us, cried:--
“The dear creature! I trust you have had medical attendance, Mr.
Walpole.”
“Egad!” quoth Horry (for it was he), “I sent Favre to Hampstead to fetch
Dr. Pratt, where he was attending some mercer's wife. It seems that
Rosette had got into the street and eaten something horrible out of the
kennel. I discharged the footman, of course.”
“A plague on your dog, Horry,” said my Lord, yawning, and was about to
add something worse, when he caught sight of Dorothy.
Mr. Walpole bowed over her hand.
“And have you forgotten so soon your Windsor acquaintances, Mr.
Walpole?” she asked, laughing.
“Bless me,” said Horry, looking very hard at me, “so it is, so it
is. Your hand, Mr. Carvel. You have only to remain in London, sir, to
discover that your reputation is ready-made. I contributed my mite. For
you must know that I am a sort of circulating library of odd news which
those devils, the printers, contrive to get sooner or later--Heaven
knows how! And Miss Manners herself has completed your fame. Yes, the
story of your gallant rescue is in all the clubs to-day. Egad, sir, you
come down heads up, like a loaded coin. You will soon be a factor in
Change Alley.” And glancing slyly at the blushing Dolly, he continued:
“I have been many things, Miss Manners, but never before an instrument
of Providence. And so you discovered your rough diamond yesterday, and
have polished him in a day. O that Dr. Franklin had profited as well
by our London tailors! The rogue never told me, when he was ordering me
about in his swan-skin, that he had a friend in Arlington Street, and a
reigning beauty. But I like him the better for it.”
“And I the worse,” said Dolly.
“I perceive that he still retains his body-guard,” said Mr. Walpole;
“Captain--”
“Paul,” said Dolly, seeing that we would not help him out.
“Ah, yes. These young princes from the New World must have their suites.
You must bring them both some day to my little castle at Strawberry
Hill.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Walpole, Mr. Carvel finds that he must return to
America,” Mr. Marmaduke interjected. He had been waiting to get in this
word.
Comyn nudged me. And I took the opportunity, in the awkward silence that
followed, to thank Mr. Walpole for sending his coach after us.
“And pray where did you get your learning?” he demanded abruptly of the
captain, in his most patronizing way. “Your talents are wasted at sea,
sir. You should try your fortune in London, where you shall be under
my protection, sir. They shall not accuse me again of stifling young
genius. Stay,” he cried, warming with generous enthusiasm, “stay, I have
an opening. 'Twas but yesterday Lady Cretherton told me that she
stood in need of a tutor for her youngest son, and you shall have the
position.”
“Pardon me, sir, but I shall not have the position,” said John Paul,
coolly. And Horry might have heeded the danger signal. I had seen it
more than once on board the brigantine John, and knew what was coming.
“Faith, and why not, sir? If I recommend you, why not, sir?”
“Because I shall not take it,” he said. “I have my profession, Mr.
Walpole, and it is an honourable one. And I would not exchange it, sir,
were it in your power to make me a Gibbon or a Hume, or tutor to his
Royal Highness, which it is not.”
Thus, for the second time, the weapon of the renowned master of
Strawberry was knocked from his hand at a single stroke of his
strange adversary. I should like to describe John Paul as he made that
speech,--for 'twas not so much the speech as the atmosphere of it. Those
who heard and saw were stirred with wonder, for Destiny lay bare that
instant, just as the powers above are sometimes revealed at a single
lightning-bolt. Mr. Walpole made a reply that strove hard to be
indifferent; Mr. Marmaduke stuttered, for he was frightened, as little
souls are apt to be at such times. But my Lord Comyn, forever natural,
forever generous, cried out heartily:--
“Egad, captain, there you are a true sailor! Which would you rather have
been, I say, William Shakespeare or Sir Francis?”
“Which would you rather be, Richard,” said Dolly to me, under her
breath, “Horace Walpole or Captain John Paul? I begin to like your
captain better.”
Willy nilly, Mr. Walpole was forever doing me a service. Now, in order
to ignore the captain more completely, he sat him down to engage Mr.
and Mrs. Manners. Comyn was soon hot in an argument with John Paul
concerning the seagoing qualities of a certain frigate, every rope and
spar of which they seemed to know. And so I stole a few moments with
Dorothy.
“You are going to take the captain to Maryland, Richard?” she asked,
playing with her fan.
“I intend to get him the Belle of the Tye. 'Tis the least I can do. For
I am at my wits' end how to reward him, Dolly. And when are you coming
back?” I whispered earnestly, seeing her silent.
“I would that I knew, Richard,” she replied, with a certain sadness that
went to my heart, as tho' the choice lay beyond her. Then she changed.
“Richard, there was more in Mr. Lloyd's letter than mamma told you of.
There was ill news of one of your friends.”
“News!”
She looked at me fixedly, and then continued, her voice so low that I
was forced to bend over:
“Yes. You were not told that Patty Swain fell in a faint when she heard
of your disappearance. You were not told that the girl was ill for a
week afterwards. Ah, Richard, I fear you are a sad flirt. Nay, you may
benefit by the doubt,--perchance you are going home to be married.”
You may be sure that this intelligence, from Dorothy's lips, only
increased my trouble and perplexity.
“You say that Patty has been ill?”
“Very ill,” says she, with her lips tight closed.
“Indeed, I grieve to hear of it,” I replied; “but I cannot think that my
accident had anything to do with the matter.”
“Young ladies do not send their fathers to coffee-houses to prevent
duels unless their feelings are engaged,” she flung back.
“You have heard the story of that affair, Dorothy. At least enough of it
to do me justice.”
She was plainly agitated.
“Has Lord Comyn--”
“Lord Comyn has told you the truth,” I said; “so much I know.”
Alas for the exits and entrances of life! Here comes the footman.
“Mr. Fox,” said he, rolling the name, for it was a great one.
Confound Mr. Fox! He might have waited five short minutes.
It was, in truth, none other than that precocious marvel of England who
but a year before had taken the breath from the House of Commons, and
had sent his fame flying over the Channel and across the wide Atlantic;
the talk of London, who set the fashions, cringed not before white
hairs, or royalty, or customs, or institutions, and was now, at one and
twenty, Junior Lord of the Admiralty--Charles James Fox. His face was
dark, forbidding, even harsh--until he smiled. His eyebrows were heavy
and shaggy, and his features of a rounded, almost Jewish mould. He put
me in mind of the Stuarts, and I was soon to learn that he was descended
from them.
As he entered the room I recall remarking that he was possessed of the
supremest confidence of any man I had ever met. Mrs. Manners he greeted
in one way, Mr. Marmaduke in another, and Mr. Walpole in still another.
To Comyn it was “Hello, Jack,” as he walked by him. Each, as it were,
had been tagged with a particular value.
Chagrined as I was at the interruption, I was struck with admiration.
For the smallest actions of these rare men of master passions so compel
us. He came to Dorothy, whom he seemed not to have perceived at first,
and there passed between them such a look of complete understanding that
I suddenly remembered Comyn's speech of the night before, “Now it is
Charles Fox.” Here, indeed, was the man who might have won her. And yet
I did not hate him. Nay, I loved him from the first time he addressed
me. It was Dorothy who introduced us.
“I think I have heard of you, Mr. Carvel,” he said, making a barely
perceptible wink at Comyn.
“And I think I have heard of you, Mr. Fox,” I replied.
“The deuce you have, Mr. Carvel!” said he, and laughed. And Comyn
laughed, and Dorothy laughed, and I laughed. We were friends from that
moment.
“Richard has appeared amongst us like a comet,” put in the ubiquitous
Mr. Manners, “and, I fear, intends to disappear in like manner.”
“And where is the tail of this comet?” demanded Fox, instantly; “for I
understood there was a tail.”
John Paul was brought up, and the Junior Lord of the Admiralty looked
him over from head to toe. And what, my dears, do you think he said to
him?
“Have you ever acted, Captain Paul?”
The captain started back in surprise.
“Acted!” he exclaimed; “really, sir, I do not know. I have never been
upon the boards.”
Mr. Fox vowed that he could act: that he was sure of it, from the
captain's appearance.
“And I, too, am sure of it, Mr. Fox,” cried Dorothy; clapping her hands.
“Persuade him to stay awhile in London, that you may have him at your
next theatricals at Holland House. Why, he knows Shakespeare and Pope
and--and Chaucer by heart, and Ovid and Horace,--is it not so, Mr.
Walpole?”
“Is not what so, my dear young lady?” asked Mr. Walpole, pretending not
to have heard.
“There!” exclaimed Dolly, pouting, when the laughter had subsided; “you
make believe to care something about me, and yet will not listen to what
I say.”
I had seen at her feet our own Maryland gallants, the longest of whose
reputations stretched barely from the James to the Schuylkill; but here
in London men were hanging on her words whose names were familiarly
spoken in Paris, and Rome, and Geneva. Not a topic was broached by Mr.
Walpole or Mr. Fox, from the remonstrance of the Archbishop against
masquerades and the coming marriage of my Lord Albemarle to the rights
and wrongs of Mr. Wilkes, but my lady had her say. Mrs. Manners seemed
more than content that she should play the hostess, which she did
to perfection. She contrived to throw poisoned darts at the owner of
Strawberry that started little Mr. Marmaduke to fidgeting in his seat,
and he came to the rescue with all the town-talk at his command. He knew
little else. Could Mr. Walpole tell him of this club of both sexes just
started at Almack's? Mr. Walpole could tell a deal, tho' he took the
pains first to explain that he was becoming too old for such frivolous
and fashionable society. He could not, for the life of him, say why he
was included. But, in spite of Mr. Walpole, John Paul was led out in the
paces that best suited him, and finally, to the undisguised delight
of Mr. Fox, managed to trip Horry upon an obscure point in Athenian
literature. And this broke up the company.
As we took our leave Dorothy and Mr. Fox were talking together with
lowered voices.
“I shall see you before I go,” I said to her.
She laughed, and glanced at Mr. Fox.
“You are not going, Richard Carvel,” said she.
“That you are not, Richard Carvel,” said Mr. Fox.
I smiled, rather lamely, I fear, and said good night.