I lay that night in Captain Clapsaddle's lodgings opposite, and slept
soundly. Banks was on hand in the morning to assist at my toilet, and
was greatly downcast when I refused him this privilege, for the first
time. Captain Daniel was highly pleased with the honest fellow's
devotion in following me to America. To cheer him he began to question
him as to my doings in London, and the first thing of which Banks must
tell was of the riding-contest in Hyde Park, which I had omitted. It is
easy to imagine how this should have tickled the captain, who always had
my horsemanship at heart; and when it came to Chartersea's descent into
the Serpentine, I thought he would go into apoplexy. For he had put on
flesh with the years.
The news of my return had spread all over town, so that I had a deal
more handshaking to do when we went to the Coffee House for breakfast.
All the quality were in the country, of course, save only four gentlemen
of the local Patriots' committee, of which Captain Daniel was a member,
and with whom he had an appointment at ten. It was Mr. Swain who arrived
first of the four.
This old friend of my childhood was a quiet man (I may not have
specified), thin, and a little under stature, with a receding but
thoughtful forehead. But he could express as much of joy and welcome in
his face and manner as could Captain Daniel with his heartier ways.
“It does me good to see you, lad,” he said, pressing my hand. “I heard
you were home, and sent off an express to Patty and the mother last
night.”
“And are they not here?” I asked, with disappointment.
Mr. Swain smiled.
“I have done a rash thing since I saw you, Richard, and bought a little
plantation in Talbot, next to Singleton's. It will be my ruin,” he
added. “A lawyer has no business with landed ambitions.”
“A little plantation!” echoed the captain. “'Od's life, he has bought
one of his Lordship's own manors--as good an estate as there is in the
province.”
“You overdo it, Daniel,” said he, reprovingly.
At that moment there was a stir in the doorway, and in came Mr. Carroll,
the barrister, and Mr. Bordley and Colonel Lloyd. These gentlemen gave
me such a welcome as those warm-hearted planters and lawyers knew how to
bestow.
“What, he!” cried Mr. Lloyd, “I'm stamped and taxed if it isn't young
Richard Carvel himself. Well,” says he, “I know one who will sleep
easier o' nights now,--one Clapsaddle. The gray hairs are forgot,
Daniel. We had more to-do over your disappearance than when Mr.
Worthington lost his musical nigger. Where a deuce have you been, sir?”
“He shall tell us when we come back,” said Mr. Bordley. “He has brought
our worthy association to a standstill once, and now we must proceed
about our business. Will you come, Richard? I believe you have proved
yourself a sufficiently good patriot, and in this very house.”
We went down Church Street, I walking behind with Colonel Lloyd, and so
proud to be in such company that I cared not a groat whether Grafton
had my acres or not. I remembered that the committee all wore plain and
sober clothes, and carried no swords. Mr. Swain alone had a wig. I had
been away but seven months, and yet here was a perceptible change. In
these dignified and determined gentlemen England had more to fear than
in all the mobs at Mr. Wilkes's back. How I wished that Charles Fox
might have been with me.
The sun beat down upon the street. The shopkeepers were gathered at
their doors, but their chattering was hushed as the dreaded committee
passed. More than one, apparently, had tasted of its discipline. Colonel
Lloyd whispered to me to keep my countenance, that they were not
after very large game that morning,--only Chipchase, the butcher.
And presently we came upon the rascal putting up his shutters in much
precipitation, although it was noon. He had shed his blood-stained smock
and breeches, and donned his Sunday best,--a white, thick-set coat,
country cloth jacket, blue broadcloth breeches, and white shirt. A
grizzled cut wig sat somewhat awry under his bearskin hat. When he
perceived Mr. Carroll at his shoulder, he dropped his shutter against
the wall, and began bowing frantically.
“You keep good hours, Master Chipchase,” remarked Colonel Lloyd.
“And lose good customers,” Mr. Swain added laconically.
The butcher wriggled.
“Your honours must know there be little selling when the gentry be
out of town. And I was to take a holiday to-day, to see my daughter
married.”
“You will have a feast, my good man?” Captain Daniel asked.
“To be sure, your honour, a feast.”
“And any little ewe-lambs?” says Mr. Bordley, very innocent.
Master Chipchase turned the colour of his meat, and his wit failed him.
“'Fourthly,'” recited Mr. Carroll, with an exceeding sober face,
“'Fourthly, that we will not kill, or suffer to be killed, or sell, or
dispose to any person whom we have reason to believe intends to kill,
any ewe-lamb that shall be weaned before the first day of May, in any
year during the time aforesaid.' Have you ever heard anything of that
sound, Mr. Chipchase?”
Mr. Chipchase had. And if their honours pleased, he had a defence to
make, if their honours would but listen. And if their honours but knew,
he was as good a patriot as any in the province, and sold his wool to
Peter Psalter, and he wore the homespun in winter. Then Mr. Carroll
drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read: “Mr. Thomas Hincks,
personally known to me, deposeth and saith,--”
Master Chipchase's knees gave from under him.
“And your honours please,” he cried piteously, “I killed the lamb,
but 'twas at Mr. Grafton Carvel's order, who was in town with his
Excellency.” (Here Mr. Swain and the captain glanced significantly at
me.) “And I lose Mr. Carvel's custom, there is twelve pounds odd gone a
year, your honours. And I am a poor man, sirs.”
“Who is it owns your shop, my man?” asks Mr. Bordley, very sternly.
“Oh, I beg your honours will not have me put out--”
The wailing of his voice had drawn a crowd of idlers and brother
shopkeepers, who seemed vastly to enjoy the knave's discomfiture.
Amongst them I recognized my old acquaintance, Weld, now a rival
butcher. He pushed forward boldly.
“And your honours please,” said he, “he has sold lamb to half the Tory
gentry in Annapolis.”
“A lie!” cried Chipchase; “a lie, as God hears me!”
Now Captain Clapsaddle was one who carried his loves and his hatreds to
the grave, and he had never liked Weld since the day, six years gone by,
he had sent me into the Ship tavern. And when Weld heard the captain's
voice he slunk away without a word.
“Have a care, Master Weld,” says he, in a quiet tone that boded no good;
“there is more evidence against you than you will like.”
Master Chipchase, after being frightened almost out of his senses, was
pardoned this once by Captain Daniel's influence. We went thence to Mr.
Hildreth's shop; he was suspected of having got tea out of a South River
snow; then to Mr. Jackson's; and so on. 'Twas after two when we got
back to the Coffee House, and sat down to as good a dinner as Mr. Claude
could prepare. “And now,” cried Colonel Lloyd, “we shall have your
adventures, Richard. I would that your uncle were here to listen to
them,” he added dryly.
I recited them very much as I had done the night before, and I warrant
you, my dears, that they listened with more zest and eagerness than did
Mr. Walpole. But they were all shrewd men, and kept their suspicions,
if they had any, to themselves. Captain Daniel would have me omit
nothing,--my intimacy with Mr. Fox, the speech at Brooks's Club, and the
riding-match at Hyde Park.
“What say you to that, gentlemen?” he cried. “Egad, I'll be sworn he
deserves credit,--an arrant young spark out of the Colonies, scarce
turned nineteen, defeating a duke of the realm on horseback, and
preaching the gospel of 'no taxation' at Brooks's Club! Nor the favour
of Sandwich or March could turn him from his principles.”
Modesty, my dears, does not permit me to picture the enthusiasm of these
good gentlemen, who bore the responsibility of the colony of Maryland
upon their shoulders. They made more of me than I deserved. In vain did
I seek to explain that if a young man was but well-born, and had a full
purse and a turn for high play, his principles might go hang, for all
Mr. Fox cared. Colonel Lloyd commanded that the famous rose punch-bowl
be filled to the brim with Mr. Claude's best summer brew, and they drank
my health and my grandfather's memory. It mattered little to them that I
was poor. They vowed I should not lose by my choice. Mr. Bordley offered
me a home, and added that I should have employment enough in the days
to come. Mr. Carroll pressed me likewise. And big-hearted Colonel Lloyd
desired to send me to King's College, as was my grandfather's wish,
where Will Fotheringay and my cousin Philip had been for a term. I might
make a barrister of myself. Mr. Swain alone was silent and thoughtful,
but I did not for an instant doubt that he would have done as much for
me.
Before we broke up for the evening the gentlemen plied me with questions
concerning the state of affairs in England, and the temper of his
Majesty and Parliament. I say without vanity that I was able to
enlighten them not a little, for I had learned a deeper lesson from the
set into which I had fallen in London than if I had become the confidant
of Rockingham himself. America was a long way from England in those
days. I regretted that I had not arrived in London in time to witness
Lord Chatham's dramatic return to politics in January, when he had
completed the work of Junius, and broken up the Grafton ministry. But
I told them of the debate I had heard in St. Stephen's, and made them
laugh over Mr. Fox's rescue of the King's friends, and the hustling of
Mr. Burke from the Lords.
They were very curious, too, about Mr. Manners; and I was put to much
ingenuity to answer their queries and not reveal my own connection with
him. They wished to know if it were true that some nobleman had flung a
bottle at his head in a rage because Dorothy would not marry him, as Dr.
Courtenay's letter had stated. I replied that it was so. I did not add
that it was the same nobleman who had been pitched into the Serpentine.
Nor did I mention the fight at Vauxhall. I made no doubt these things
would come to their ears, but I did not choose to be the one to tell
them. Mr. Swain remained after the other gentlemen, and asked me if I
would come with him to Gloucester Street; that he had something to say
to me. We went the long way thither, and I was very grateful to him
for avoiding Marlboro' Street, which must needs bring me painful
recollections. He said little on the way.
I almost expected to see Patty come tripping down from the vine-covered
porch with her needlework in her hand, and the house seemed strangely
empty without her. Mr. Swain had his negro, Romney, place chairs for
us under the apple tree, and bring out pipes and sangaree. The air was
still, and heavy with the flowers' scent, and the sun was dipping behind
the low eaves of the house. It was so natural to be there that I scarce
realized all that had happened since last I saw the back gate in the
picket fence. Alas! little Patty would never more be smuggled through it
and over the wall to Marlboro' Street. Mr. Swain recalled my thoughts.
“Captain Clapsaddle has asked me to look into this matter of the will,
Richard,” he began abruptly. “Altho' we thought never to see you again,
we have hoped against hope. I fear you have little chance for your
property, my lad.”
I replied that Captain Daniel had so led me to believe, and thanked him
for his kindness and his trouble.
“'Twas no trouble,” he replied quickly. “Indeed, I wish it might have
been. I shall always think of your grandfather with reverence and with
sorrow. He was a noble man, and was a friend to me, in spite of my
politics, when other gentlemen of position would not invite me to their
houses. It would be the greatest happiness of my life if I could restore
his property to you, where he would have had it go, and deprive that
villain, your uncle, of the fruits of his crime.”
“Then there is nothing to be got by contesting the will?” I asked.
He shook his head soberly.
“I fear not at present,” said he, “nor can I with honesty hold out any
hope to you, Richard. Your uncle, by reason of his wealth, is a man of
undue influence with the powers of the colony. Even if he were not so, I
doubt greatly whether we should be the gainers. The will is undoubtedly
genuine. Mr. Carvel thought you dead, and we cannot prove undue
influence by Grafton unless we also prove that it was he who caused your
abduction. Do you think you can prove that?”
“There is one witness,” I exclaimed, “who overheard my uncle and Mr.
Allen talking of South River and Griggs, the master of the slaver, in
the stables at Carvel Hall.”
“And who is that?” demanded Mr. Swain, with more excitement than I
believed him capable of.
“Old Harvey.”
Your grandfather's coachman? Alas, he died the day after Mr. Carvel, and
was buried the same afternoon. Have you spoken of this?”
“Not to a soul,” said I.
“Then I would not. You will have to be very careful and say nothing,
Richard. Let me hear what other reasons you have for believing that your
uncle tried to do away with you.”
I told him, lucidly as possible, everything I have related in these
pages, and the admission of Griggs. He listened intently, shaking his
head now and then, but not a word out of him.
“No,” he said at length, “nothing is there which will be admitted, but
enough to damn him if you yourself might be a witness. I will give you
the law, briefly: descendible estates among us are of two kinds, estates
in fee simple and estates in fee tail. Had your grandfather died without
a will, his estate, which we suppose to be in fee simple, would have
descended to you as the son of his eldest son, according to the fourth
of the canons of descent in Blackstone. But with us fee simple estates
are devisable, and Mr. Carvel was wholly within his right in cutting off
the line of his eldest son. Do you follow me?”
I nodded.
“There is one chance,” he continued, “and that is a very slim one. I
said that Mr. Carvel's estate was supposed to be in fee simple.
Estates tail are not devisable. Our system of registration is far from
infallible, and sometimes an old family settlement turns up to prove
that a property which has been willed out of the direct line, as in
fee simple, is in reality entailed. Is there a possibility of any such
document?”
I replied that I did not know. My grandfather had never brought up the
subject.
“We must bend our efforts in that direction,” said the barrister. “I
shall have my clerks make a systematic search.”
He ceased talking, and sat sipping his sangaree in the abstracted manner
common to him. I took the opportunity to ask about his family, thinking
about what Dolly had said of Patty's illness.
“The mother is as well as can be expected, Richard, and Patty very
rosy with the country air. Your disappearance was a great shock to them
both.”
“And Tom?”
He went behind his reserve. “Tom is a d--d rake,” he exclaimed, with
some vehemence. “I have given him over. He has taken up with that
macaroni Courtenay, who wins his money,--or rather my money,--and your
cousin Philip, when he is home from King's College. How Tom can be son
of mine is beyond me, in faith. I see him about once in two months, when
he comes here with a bill for his satins and his ruffles, and along face
of repentance, and a lot of gaming debts to involve my honour. And that
reminds me, Richard,” said he, looking straight at me with his clear,
dark eyes: “have you made any plans for your future?”
I ventured to ask his advice as to entering the law.
“As the only profession open to a gentleman,” he replied, smiling a
little. “No, you were no more cut out for an attorney, or a barrister,
or a judge, than was I for a macaroni doctor. The time is not far away,
my lad,” he went on, seeing my shame and confusion, “when an American
may amass money in any way he chooses, and still be a gentleman, behind
a counter, if he will.”
“I do not fear work, Mr. Swain,” I remarked, with some pride.
“That is what I have been thinking,” he said shortly. “And I am not a
man to make up my mind while you count three, Richard. I have the place
in Talbot, and no one to look after it. And--and in short I think you
are the man.”
He paused to watch the effect of this upon me. But I was so taken aback
by this new act of kindness that I could not say a word.
“Tom is fast going to the devil, as I told you,” he continued. “He
cannot be trusted. If I die, that estate shall be Patty's, and he may
never squander it. Captain Daniel tells me, and Mr. Bordley also, that
you managed at Carvel Hall with sense and ability. I know you are very
young, but I think I may rely upon you.”
Again he hesitated, eying me fixedly.
“Ah,” said he, with his quiet smile, “it is the old noblesse oblige. How
many careers has it ruined since the world began!”