On casting anchor before the little village of Eure, some five leagues
from Havre, Madame Coulancourt became intensely anxious about her son,
but from this anxiety she was quickly relieved, as our readers already
know.
As soon as the tide turned, the chasse-mare again weighed anchor, under
a very light wind and a thick mist. This latter circumstance greatly
pleased the captain of the Ca-Ira, as it would enable him to drop
down the river without attracting observation. Knowing every yard of
the navigation, he continued safely descending with the tide, keeping
well the western shore. The smuggler was one of the largest vessels
of that class out of the port of Havre, and was notorious for the
many successful trips she had made in the contraband trade. Captain
Bonafoux was a rough, though a good kind of man in his way—faithful and
steadfast to any bargain or contract in which he engaged.
Monsieur Plessis, who knew his character, had agreed, for a large sum,
that he should either put them on board the Vengeance or a British
vessel, or, failing in this, to land them on the English coast. At a
late hour the ladies retired to rest in the large and well-arranged
cabin.
Julian Arden and Jean Plessis continued on deck, extremely anxious, for
the mist was so thick that the navigation of the river became critical;
but Captain Bonafoux, who was quite at home in either clear or foggy
weather, assured them he was steering a straight course out to sea,
though he feared small progress could be made till sun-rise, and such
was the case; for when the sun rose, and the breeze with it, and the
fog lifted, he found he was only a mile off the port. He was startled
on perceiving the Etoile privateer away to their right, and, some four
miles to seaward, they caught sight of the Vengeance; they did not,
however, see the frigate Virginie.
Hoisting the red flag, the signal agreed upon, Captain Bonafoux bore
away. As he did so, the Etoile put her helm up and slacked her sheets,
in pursuit.
“That craft,” said Julian Arden, “has evidently been watching for us. I
wish to heavens I was on board the Vengeance, for I am sure there will
be a fight between that vessel and the Vengeance; what is she called?”
“That is the Etoile privateer, Captain Obet,” replied the skipper of
the Ca-Ira; “but in this light wind I can outsail her. She is a very
fine craft, but a dull sailer in light winds; she is under-masted.
Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed, “look here,” pointing seaward; “there is the
Virginie frigate, crowding sail, and heading as near as she can lie for
the coast.”
“Keep up the red flag, at all events,” said Julian, greatly excited,
“and stand to meet the Vengeance, she sees us.”
The hoisting of additional sail, the trampling of feet, and consequent
bustle attending a chase, roused the females below from their slight
slumbers, and, being intensely anxious, they were soon dressed and on
deck.
Mabel, taking Julian’s arm, eagerly questioned him as to which was
the Vengeance, for she at once perceived there was some new danger to
apprehend.
“There is the Vengeance, dear Mabel,” replied Julian; “I wish I was on
board her, and beside my gallant friend. That is the Etoile privateer
following us; William will surely fight her, to stop her pursuit.”
“Ah,” said Mabel, “that he will. Look! that ship is full of men; I
wonder if William has as many on board the Vengeance? She is coming
towards us; what a handsome vessel she is!” and her heart beat with
painful anxiety as she spoke.
Julia now joined them, and Julian exclaimed—“By Heaven! if she comes
near enough I will swim on board her.”
Julia felt that she changed colour, as he addressed those words to her,
for Mabel went to her mother; but, turning away her face, she said,
“That would be madness, Monsieur Julian.”
Julian Arden was extremely glad of the society of Julia Plessis—her
kindness of heart, sweet, cheerful disposition, and captivating
manners, had won his esteem, and had not his love been previously given
to Colonel Packenham’s daughter, there is little doubt but that the
very pretty Julia, notwithstanding her disparity of birth, would have
won his affection.
“Recollect, Monsieur Julian,” added Mademoiselle Plessis, “your mother
and sister require your protection.”
“They cannot be benefited by my staying here, Julia,” said the young
man, anxiously watching the Vengeance; “I can swim like a fish, and can
be of service to my gallant friend.”
On came the Vengeance, and, as already related, our hero hailed
and spoke the Ca-Ira. Julian’s jumping overboard created a painful
sensation, but they saw he got safely on board the lugger. They
witnessed the engagement between the two privateers; but fearing the
Etoile might win, or the frigate cut them off, Captain Bonafoux crowded
all sail along the coast, keeping an anxious eye upon the contest.
The three females stood, eagerly watching, and listening to the remarks
of the captain to Monsieur Plessis. At length the former, with an oath,
declared that the Vengeance had dismasted and taken the Etoile. It was
very evident by his tone and manner, smuggler as he was, that he felt
as a Frenchman.
“Sacre Dieu! that Lieutenant Thornton must be le diable! with a handful
of men, and only a few guns, to take the Etoile. Ha! there goes the
frigate’s guns. The Virginie is engaged with another ship, not near her
size. We must not loiter, or you, madame, may pay the penalty.”
And, despite Mabel’s tears, and the entreaties of both mother and
daughter, Captain Bonafoux bore away for the coast of England, leaving
them all in a dreadful state of anxiety concerning the final fate of
the Vengeance.
It was Captain Bonafoux’s intention to land them in a small bay to the
eastward of Torquay. It was a sheltered bight, and during the night he
would be able to put them on shore, scarcely three miles from the town
of Torquay. To this arrangement the unhappy mother and daughter could
make no objection.
With the fine breeze then blowing, the chasse-mare stood in for the
coast of England, not without some apprehension on the part of the
Captain of falling in with either a privateer or a cruiser under
British colours, though Monsieur Plessis assured him he would be
perfectly safe, and incur no risk whatever of being detained.
But it so happened that he made the coast during the night, and about
early dawn was standing into the little, and then neglected, bay of
Babicomb. He was, however, seen by the coast-guard, and, immediately
after coming to an anchor, a boat, pulled by six oars, and an officer
in the stern sheets, came off. The Ca-Ira had hoisted English colours.
On coming alongside, Madame Coulancourt explained matters to the
lieutenant of the coast-guard, and, as the captain of the Ca-Ira called
himself a fisherman, and had neither arms, nor ammunition, nor cargo
on board, but had incurred a great risk to save English subjects and
French Royalists from persecution and imprisonment, the officer was
quite willing that he should land his passengers and set sail for
France again.
Before the expiration of an hour the whole party on board the Ca-Ira,
with the kind assistance of the coast-guard, were safely landed with
their effects, and the shelter of the station was afforded them till
post-chaises could be procured to carry them to Torquay.
The joy Madame Coulancourt and Mabel would otherwise have felt
on setting foot once more upon England’s soil was damped by the
uncertainty they felt respecting the fate of our hero and Julian
Arden. Still they began to look forward with hope, and after two or
three days’ residence at an inn in Torquay, then but an insignificant
village, they started for London, where Monsieur Plessis had previously
gone and hired a furnished house ready for their reception.
The morning after their arrival their joy and happiness was complete,
for in looking over the _Times_ paper, hoping for news, they saw a
paragraph headed, “Brilliant action of the Onyx corvette with the fine
French frigate the Virginie, of twenty-eight guns, and capture of the
latter, after a desperately contested action of nearly four hours.
The Onyx corvette arrived the day before yesterday in Plymouth, with
the Virginie French frigate of twenty-eight guns in tow, and under
the temporary command of Lieutenant Thornton, of the Diamond. The
famous French privateer, La Vengeance, was also in company. It seems
that this celebrated privateer is the one the Diamond frigate, under
the command of Sir Sidney Smith, attempted to cut out of the Port of
Havre, but owing to untoward circumstances, caused by wind and tide,
failed, and Sir Sidney Smith, with his officers, became prisoners. The
Vengeance, it seems, was a second time attempted to be cut out of a
French port by the boats of the Onyx, commanded by Captain O’Loughlin
and Lieutenant Thornton; and this time they successfully accomplished
their object, capturing a fine armed brig at the same time. The
Vengeance made a most furious resistance, being chained to the shore
and assisted by a body of troops on the beach; but the gallantry of our
sailors overcame all obstacles. We regret to add that in the contest
with the Virginie Captain O’Loughlin was severely wounded, as well as
his first lieutenant, Mr. Charles Pole. The Onyx was in consequence
placed under the command of Lieutenant Thornton, and after a severe
contest the Virginie, being dismasted and unmanageable, surrendered.
There is a good deal of mystery in this gallant affair, which we are
unable to explain; but it is confidently rumoured in naval circles that
this Lieutenant Thornton claims to be the only son and heir of the
late Sir Oscar de Bracy, Governor of ——; and that a volunteer on board
the Onyx, who behaved most gallantly in action, of the name of Julian
Arden, claims to be the next representative to the title and estates of
Sir Granby Etherton. Be this as it may, to all appearance there will
be something to be done in our law courts if these rumours turn out
correct.”
“Dear mother,” said Mabel, her cheeks glowing with excitement and
delight, “all are safe and well, except generous Captain O’Loughlin,
and I trust in God he will soon recover.”
“How merciful and how gracious,” returned Madame Coulancourt, her eyes
moist with tears of thankfulness, “is Divine Providence, in not only
shielding all those dear to us, but covering them with well merited
fame.”
“Ah! deeply grateful indeed we ought to be,” said Mabel, and, throwing
her arms round her mother’s neck, she fairly shed tears of joy at being
thus suddenly relieved from deep anxiety.
Julia Plessis became extremely thoughtful, and apparently in much less
joyous spirits after her arrival in London. Mabel perceived this change
in her friend, but imputed it to her secret regret at leaving France.
Therefore she did not make any remark upon it.
Whilst waiting anxiously, but with grateful and contented hearts, for
the arrival in London of Lieutenant Thornton and Julian Arden, we will
take a glance at the proceedings of Sir Howard Etherton during the four
years from the period when he first became possessed of the title and
estates of the Etherton’s. Though perfectly aware of Mabel’s claims
to the fortune bequeathed her out of those estates, yet, satisfied in
his own mind that she would never be able to prove either her birth or
right, he congratulated himself on his selfish and unnatural conduct.
So intensely disagreeable did Sir Howard render their home that two
of the sisters made runaway marriages, neither of them, as far as
birth was concerned, very distinguished. Though entitled to a certain
amount of fortune, Sir Howard refused to give a shilling till they
were of age, and left the two girls and their young husbands, ensigns
in a marching regiment, to make the best of it. Miss Jane remained
sole mistress of Etherton Hall, but so closely watched, and so limited
in her expenditure, that even she, if she could have found an ensign
bold enough to take her, would have gladly abandoned her single state
of blessedness. She was not destined, however, long to remain even
the nominal mistress of Etherton Hall, for Sir Howard, penurious and
avaricious, and inwardly prompted by some feeling of insecurity as to
his hold of the Etherton estates, resolved to marry, and to marry for
mere wealth.
Possessed of an old title, a handsome person, and specious manners,
when it suited him to disguise his natural disposition, he was not
long before he gained a lady who, as far as money was concerned, was
unexceptionable. Miss Brabazon was the only daughter of a wealthy
banker. She was nine-and-twenty, but acknowledged only three-and-twenty
summers; was very tall, very masculine, and exceedingly plain. Her
dependants and domestics declared she had a violent and headstrong
temper. The world, in general, supposed her to be the reverse. We do
not always display our amiable qualities to our friends, and, for the
same reason, we suppose, we keep back our little foibles. Miss Euphemia
Brabazon started in life with the intention of captivating at least
an earl’s son. Eighty thousand pounds fortune, her father having been
heard to declare would be his daughter’s portion. She had waited from
the age of eighteen to two-and-twenty very patiently for a coronet,
but those pretty appendages were not to be had at that period quite so
readily as some years afterwards. Four years passed, and she remained
a spinster. Ominous nine-and-twenty came, but no earl. At a civic
entertainment Miss Brabazon was introduced to Sir Howard Etherton,
who was looking for eighty or one hundred thousand pounds, if they
were to be had. He did not see Miss Brabazon’s countenance when he
danced with her, for a draft on the bank of Brabazon, Brassington,
and Blinkiron floated in the air between her sharp features and the
baronet’s eyes. Finally, the baronet proposed. Miss Euphemia thought of
her next birthday: she would be thirty! A baronet, and of a long line
of ancestors, wealthy and handsome, much superior to many of the lords
she had seen years back, and thought so much of. Besides, Sir Howard,
with a rent-roll of fifteen thousand a year, must have been fascinated
with her person. Sir Howard proposed, and was blushingly accepted.
Mr. Brabazon unhesitatingly gave his consent, and they were married.
Somehow, the banker induced his son-in-law, by laying before him a plan
for increasing his eighty thousand to two hundred thousand pounds in a
year or two, to allow the eighty thousand to remain in the bank, and
Sir Howard became a sleeping partner.
It is said that persons of a similarity of dispositions always agree.
We do not pretend to dispute this question. All we can say is, that
Lady Howard and Miss Etherton resembled one another to an extraordinary
degree in despotism; but, alas! Etherton Hall, though a large and
spacious mansion, was not nearly large enough to hold the wife and
sister of Sir Howard.
Consequently, Miss Etherton abandoned the field in one short month,
and took herself off, and went to live with her mother; and as no
human being ever doubted her being of age, she demanded her fortune,
with interest. Her brother, who never parted with money till forced,
refused the interest; so Miss Jane placed her cause in the hands of a
solicitor, who not only perfectly agreed with Miss Etherton as to her
rights, but also agreed to take herself and fortune, for better and
worse, and thus save costs. This offer Miss Jane accepted, and the
last in the female line of the Ethertons resigned her maiden name. Mr.
Chatterton, the solicitor, soon forced Sir Howard to pay, not only the
fortune, but a bill of costs, proportioned to the value of his spouse.
Lady Etherton declared her to be an unnatural, degenerate girl, to
marry an attorney. “Heavens! what has the world come to?”
Such was the posture of affairs at Etherton Hall; the only difference
perceptible to the domestics was, now that they had a mistress and
no master, for, strange to say, Lady Etherton had completely gained
the ascendancy. They had one child, a boy, the future heir, as Lady
Etherton declared, of unbounded wealth; for the firm of Brabazon,
Brassington, and Blinkiron was in a most prosperous state; their
speculations numerous, and their gains astounding. Sir Howard was
led to believe that in two years more his share would be near three
hundred thousand pounds.
One morning at breakfast Lady Etherton happened to be reading the
_Morning Post_, whilst Sir Howard was examining into the merits of a
peregord pie.
“Good Heaven, Howard!” exclaimed her ladyship, dropping the paper and
turning pale, “what is the meaning of this?”
“Of what, my dear?” returned the amiable husband, suspending his
operations.
“Why, good God! there can be no meaning in this strange paragraph.
Who is Sir Oscar de Bracy? and what Mr. Julian Arden is this who has
the presumption to claim your family name, and not only claims the
name, but the editor of this paper says is a claimant to the Etherton
title and estates? It must be a vile libel, and the fellow ought to be
horsewhipped and then prosecuted.”
The knife and fork fell from Sir Howard’s hands; he turned exceedingly
pale, saying, “Good God! how odd! Pray show me the paper.”
“Why, you look as pale as a ghost, Howard!” said her ladyship. “Is
there really anything in this paragraph?” And she handed her spouse
the paper. Sir Howard’s hand shook as he took it, and read the same
account of the brilliant action between the Onyx and the Virginie that
Madame Coulancourt and Mabel had read that very morning in the _Times_,
only that in the _Morning Post_ there was a great deal more of family
concerns, the writer seeming to be well informed as to how matters
stood with respect to the Etherton title and estate.
The baronet remained several moments plunged in gloomy thought. He
was younger than his wife, but looked older, for his habits of life
and fretful temper and disposition had brought a look of premature
care on his features. His thoughts reverted to the past, and his
early association with William Thornton, whom, secretly, he did all
in his power to degrade and humiliate; of Mabel, cruelly treated by
his father, and scorned and disowned by himself; and now the man he
hated, for no other reason than his superiority over him in all things,
had not only achieved fame, but would most likely succeed to a noble
fortune and a honoured name, whilst the despised Mabel and her brother
would, he could not conceal from himself, deprive him of rank and
fortune. These thoughts and reflections take time to write, but they
rush with lightning speed through the brain.
“What on earth can make you so gloomy, Howard?” said Lady Etherton,
rather startled. “Is there any foundation for the strange assertion in
this paper? Who is Julian Arden?”
“I am to suppose he is my uncle’s son,” said Sir Howard, with some
hesitation. He then explained to his astonished lady how his father’s
elder brother had been married; though no one knew anything about it
till long after his death; and that his father always doubted it, and
that in fact there were no proofs as yet showing that he had been, or
that Julian and Mabel Arden were his children.
“Then I am to understand,” said Lady Etherton, with contemptuous
bitterness, “that supposing these Ardens can prove their father’s
marriage and their own birth, you will be deprived of title and
estates?”
“Such, I suppose, is the law of the land,” said the baronet, gloomily.
“You can readily imagine this stroke of fortune was unavoidable on my
father’s part; he could not, when he succeeded to the title and estates
of the Ethertons, be aware that his succession was illegal.”
“A poor consolation to me, sir,” almost fiercely returned the lady,
pale with vexation, “with my great expectations, I might have looked
higher.”
“There is no doubt, madam,” said Sir Howard, bitterly, “but that you
might and did look for a higher rank in your husband, but in doing so,
you lost what our neighbours the French call your ‘première jeunesse.’”
So saying, Sir Howard rose from his seat.
“You add insult to deception,” cried the enraged Lady Etherton; “thank
God my fortune is secured from such a fatality as——”
The door opened, and a servant entered the room with a letter for Sir
Howard.
“A man on horseback, Sir Howard, left this, from your solicitor, and
says it is most important.”
Lady Etherton paused whilst the baronet broke the seal; the letter
contained only three lines. Stunned, incapable of uttering a word, he
stood bewildered, confused, and powerless. Recovering her nerves, Lady
Etherton advanced, and, with a look of contempt, took the note from
her husband’s hands, and cast her eyes upon the lines; the next moment
she uttered a faint exclamation, and fell back upon a chair, with
difficulty keeping herself from fainting. The words which caused this
acute sensation of suffering in husband and wife were as follows:—
“I am so confounded, Sir Howard, that I can scarcely write the words.
The Bank of Brabazon, Brassington, and Blinkiron has stopped payment;
lose not a moment in coming up to town.
“Yours obediently,
“D. C. STRIPEM.”