Richard Carvel — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER XII. NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY

  If perchance, my dears, there creeps into this chronicle too much of anold man's heart, I know he will be forgiven. What life ever worth livinghas been without its tender attachment? Because, forsooth, my hair iswhite now, does Bess flatter herself I do not know her secret? Or doesComyn believe that these old eyes can see no farther than the spectaclesbefore them? Were it not for the lovers, my son, satins and broadclothshad never been invented. And were it not for the lovers, what joys andsorrows would we lack in our lives!

  That was a long summer indeed. And tho' Wilmot House was closed, I oftenrode over of a morning when the dew was on the grass. It cheered me tosmoke a pipe with old McAndrews, Mr. Manners's factor, who loved to talkof Miss Dorothy near as much as I. He had served her grandfather, andpeople said that had it not been for McAndrews, the Manners fortune hadlong since been scattered, since Mr. Marmaduke knew nothing of anythingthat he should. I could not hear from my lady until near the first ofOctober, and so I was fain to be content with memories--memories andhard work. For I had complete charge of the plantation now.

  My Uncle Grafton came twice or thrice, but without his family, AuntCaroline and Philip having declared their independence. My uncle'smanner to me was now of studied kindness, and he was at greater painsthan before to give me no excuse for offence. I had little to say tohim. He spent his visits reading to Mr. Carvel, who sat in his chair allthe day long. Mr. Allen came likewise, to perform the same office.

  My contempt for the rector was grown more than ever. On my grandfather'saccount, however, I refrained from quarrelling with him. And, when wewere alone, my plain speaking did not seem to anger him, or affecthim in any way. Others came, too. Such was the affection Mr. Carvel'sfriends bore him that they did not desert him when he was no longerthe companion he had been in former years. We had more company than thesummer before.

  In the autumn a strange thing happened. When we had taken my grandfatherto the Hall in June, his dotage seemed to settle upon him. He became atrembling old man, at times so peevish that we were obliged to summonwith an effort what he had been. He was suspicious and fault-findingwith Scipio and the other servants, though they were never so busy forhis wants. Mrs. Willis's dainties were often untouched, and he wouldfrequently sit for hours between slumber and waking, or mumble tohimself as I read the prints. But about the time of the equinoctial agreat gale came out of the south so strongly that the water rose inthe river over the boat landing; and the roof was torn from one of thecuring-sheds. The next morning dawned clear, and brittle, and blue. Tomy great surprise, Mr. Carvel sent for me to walk with him about theplace, that he might see the damage with his own eyes. A huge walnut hadfallen across the drive, and when he came upon it he stopped abruptly.

  "Old friend!" he cried, "have you succumbed? After all these years haveyou dropped from the weight of a blow?" He passed his hand caressinglyalong the trunk, and scarce ever had I seen him so affected. In truth,for the instant I thought him deranged. He raised his cane above hisshoulder and struck the bark so heavily that the silver head sunk deepinto the wood. "Look you, Richard," he said, the water coming into hiseyes, "look you, the heart of it is gone, lad; and when the heart isrotten 'tis time for us to go. That walnut was a life friend, my son.We have grown together," he continued, turning from me to the giant andbrushing his cheeks, "but by God's good will we shall not die so, for myheart is still as young as the days when you were sprouting."

  And he walked back to the house more briskly than he had come, refusing,for the first time, my arm. And from that day, I say, he began to mend.The lacing of red came again to his cheeks, and before we went back totown he had walked with me to Master Dingley's tavern on the highroad,and back.

  We moved into Marlboro' Street the first part of November. I had seen mylady off for England, wearing my faded flowers, the panniers of the finegentleman in a neglected pile at her cabin door. But not once had shedeigned to write me. It was McAndrews who told me of her safe arrival.In Annapolis rumours were a-flying of conquests she had already made. Ifound Betty Tayloe had had a letter, filled with the fashion in caps andgowns, and the mention of more than one noble name. All of this being,for unknown reasons, sacred, I was read only part of the postscript, inwhich I figured: "The London Season was done almost before we arrived,"so it ran. "We had but the Opportunity to pay our Humble Respects totheir Majesties; and appear at a few Drum-Majors and Garden Fetes. Nowwe are off to Brighthelmstone, and thence, so Papa says, to Spa and theContinent until the end of January. I am pining for news of Maryland,dearest Betty. Address me in care of Mr. Ripley, Barrister, of Lincoln'sInn, and bid Richard Carvel write me."

  "Which does not look as if she were coming back within the year," saidBetty, as she poured me a dish of tea.

  Alas, no! But I did not write. I tried and failed. And then I tried toforget. I was constant at all the gayeties, gave every miss in town ashare of my attention, rode to hounds once a week at Whitehall or theSouth River Club with a dozen young beauties. But cantering through thewinter mists 'twas Dolly, in her red riding-cloak and white beaver, Isaw beside me. None of them had her seat in the saddle, and none of themher light hand on the reins. And tho' they lacked not fire and skill,they had not my lady's dash and daring to follow over field and fallow,stream and searing, and be in at the death with heightened colour, butnever a look away.

  Then came the first assembly of the year. I got back from Bentley Manor,where I had been a-visiting the Fotheringays, just in time to call forPatty in Gloucester Street.

  "Have you heard the news from abroad, Richard?" she asked, as I handedher into my chariot.

  "Never a line," I replied.

  "Pho!" exclaimed Patty; "you tell me that! Where have you been hiding?Then you shall not have it from me."

  I had little trouble, however, in persuading her. For news was a rareluxury in those days, and Patty was plainly uncomfortable until sheshould have it out.

  "I would not give you the vapours to-night for all the world, Richard,"she exclaimed. "But if you must,--Dr. Courtenay has had a letter fromMr. Manners, who says that Dolly is to marry his Grace of Chartersea.There now!"

  "And I am not greatly disturbed," I answered, with a fine, careless air.

  The lanthorn on the chariot was burning bright. And I saw Patty look atme, and laugh.

  "Indeed!" says she; "what a sex is that to which you belong. How readyare men to deny us at the first whisper! And I thought you the mostconstant of all. For my part, I credit not a word of it. 'Tis one of Mr.Marmaduke's lies and vanities."

  "And for my part, I think it true as gospel," I cried. "Dolly alwaysheld a coronet above her colony, and all her life has dreamed of aduke."

  "Nay," answered Patty, more soberly; "nay, you do her wrong. You willdiscover one day that she is loyal to the core, tho' she has a fop of afather who would serve his Grace's chocolate. We are all apt to talk, mydear, and to say what we do not mean, as you are doing."

  "Were I to die to-morrow, I would repeat it," I exclaimed. But I likedPatty the better for what she had said.

  "And there is more news, of less import," she continued, as I wassilent. "The Thunderer dropped anchor in the roads to-day, and herofficers will be at the assembly. And Betty tells me there is a younglord among them,--la! I have clean forgot the string of adjectives sheused,--but she would have had me know he was as handsome as Apollo, andso dashing and diverting as to put Courtenay and all our wits to shame.She dined with him at the Governor's."

  I barely heard her, tho' I had seen the man-o'-war in the harbour as Isailed in that afternoon.

  The assembly hall was filled when we arrived, aglow with candles anda-tremble with music, the powder already flying, and the tables in therecesses at either end surrounded by those at the cards. A lively scene,those dances at the old Stadt House, but one I love best to recall witha presence that endeared it to me. The ladies in flowered aprons andcaps and brocades and trains, and the gentlemen in brilliant coats,trimmed with l
ace and stiffened with buckram. That night, as Patty hadpredicted, there was a smart sprinkling of uniforms from the Thunderer.One of those officers held my eye. He was as well-formed a lad, or man(for he was both), as it had ever been my lot to see. He was neithertall nor short, but of a good breadth. His fair skin was tanned by theweather, and he wore his own wavy hair powdered, as was just become thefashion, and tied with a ribbon behind.

  "Mercy, Richard, that must be his Lordship. Why, his good looks are allBetty claimed for them!" exclaimed Patty. Mr. Lloyd, who was standingby, overheard her, and was vastly amused at her downright way.

  "I will fetch him directly, Miss Swain," said he, "as I have done for adozen ladies before you." And fetch him he did.

  "Miss Swain, this is my Lord Comyn," said he. "Your Lordship, one of theboasts of our province."

  Patty grew red as the scarlet with which his Lordship's coat was lined.She curtseyed, while he made a profound bow.

  "What! Another boast, Mr. Lloyd!" he cried. "Miss Swain is the tenth Ihave met. But I vow they excel as they proceed."

  "Then you must meet no more, my Lord," said Patty, laughing at Mr.Lloyd's predicament.

  "Egad, then, I will not," declared Comyn. "I protest I am satisfied."

  Then I was presented. He had won me on the instant with his open smileand frank, boyish manner.

  "And this is young Mr. Carvel, whom I hear wins every hunt in thecolony?" said he.

  "I fear you have been misinformed, my Lord," I replied, flashing withpleasure nevertheless.

  "Nay, my Lord," Mr. Lloyd struck in; "Richard could ride down the devilhimself, and he were a fox. You will see for yourself to-morrow."

  "I pray we may not start the devil," said his Lordship; "or I shall becontent to let Mr. Carvel run him down."

  This Comyn was a man after my own fancy, as, indeed, he took the fancyof every one at the ball. Though a viscount in his own right, hegave himself not half the airs over us provincials as did many of hismessmates. Even Mr. Jacques, who was sour as last year's cider over thedoings of Parliament, lost his heart, and asked why we were not favouredin America with more of his sort.

  By a great mischance Lord Comyn had fallen into the tender clutchesof my Aunt Caroline. It seemed she had known his uncle, the HonourableArthur Comyn, in New York; and now she undertook to be responsible forhis Lordship's pleasure at Annapolis, that he might meet only those ofthe first fashion. Seeing him talking to Patty, my aunt rose abruptlyfrom her loo and made toward us, all paint and powder and patches, herchin in the air, which barely enabled her to look over Miss Swain'shead.

  "My Lord," she cries, "I will show you our colonial reel, which is aboutto begin, and I warrant you is gayer than any dance you have at home."

  "Your very devoted, Mrs. Carvel," says his Lordship, with a bow, "butMiss Swain has done me the honour."

  "O Lud!" cries my aunt, sweeping the room, "I vow I cannot keep pacewith the misses nowadays. Is she here?"

  "She was but a moment since, ma'am," replied Comyn, instantly, witha mischievous look at me, while poor Patty stood blushing not a yarddistant.

  There were many who overheard, and who used their fans and their napkinsto hide their laughter at the very just snub Mrs. Grafton had received.And I wondered at the readiness with which he had read her character,liking him all the better. But my aunt was not to be disabled bythis,--not she. After the dance she got hold of him, keeping him untilcertain designing ladies with daughters took him away; their namescharity forbids me to mention. But in spite of them all he contrived toget Patty for supper, when I took Betty Tayloe, and we were very merryat table together. His Lordship proved more than able to take care ofhimself, and contrived to send Philip about his business when he pulledup a chair beside us. He drank a health to Miss Swain, and another toMiss Tayloe, and was on the point of filling a third glass to the ladiesof Maryland, when he caught himself and brought his hand down on thetable.

  "Gad's life!" cried he, "but I think she's from Maryland, too!"

  "Who?" demanded the young ladies, in a breath.

  But I knew.

  "Who!" exclaimed Comyn. "Who but Miss Dorothy Manners! Isn't she fromMaryland?" And marking our astonished nods, he continued: "Why, shedescended upon Mayfair when they were so weary for something to worship,and they went mad over her in a s'ennight. I give you Miss Manners!"

  "And you know her!" exclaimed Patty, her voice quivering withexcitement.

  "Faith!" said his Lordship, laughing. "For a whole month I was her mostdevoted, as were we all at Almack's. I stayed until the last minute fora word with her,--which I never got, by the way,--and paid near a guineaa mile for a chaise to Portsmouth as a consequence. Already she has hadher choice from a thousand a year up, and I tell you our English ladiesare green with envy."

  I was stunned, you may be sure. And yet, I might have expected it.

  "If your Lordship has left your heart in England," said Betty, with asmile, "I give you warning you must not tell our ladies here of it."

  "I care not who knows it, Miss Tayloe," he cried. That fustian,insincerity, was certainly not one of his faults. "I care not who knowsit. To pass her chariot is to have your heart stolen, and you must needsrun after and beg mercy. But, ladies," he added, his eye twinkling;"having seen the women of your colony, I marvel no longer at MissManners's beauty."

  He set us all a-laughing.

  "I fear you were not born a diplomat, sir," says Patty. "You agreethat we are beautiful, yet to hear that one of us is more so is smallconsolation."

  "We men turn as naturally to Miss Manners as plants to the sun, ma'am,"he replied impulsively. "Yet none of us dare hope for alliance withso brilliant and distant an object. I make small doubt those are Mr.Carvel's sentiments, and still he seems popular enough with the ladies.How now, sir? How now, Mr. Carvel? You have yet to speak on so tender asubject."

  My eyes met Patty's.

  "I will be no more politic than you, my Lord," I said boldly, "nor willI make a secret of it that I adore Miss Manners full as much."

  "Bravo, Richard!" cries Patty; and "Good!" cries his Lordship, whileBetty claps her hands. And then Comyn swung suddenly round in his chair.

  "Richard Carvel!" says he. "By the seven chimes I have heard her mentionyour name. The devil fetch my memory!"

  "My name!" I exclaimed, in surprise, and prodigiously upset.

  "Yes," he answered, with his hand to his head; "some such thought was inmy mind this afternoon when I heard of your riding. Stay! I have it! Iwas at Ampthill, Ossory's place, just before I left. Some insupportablecoxcomb was boasting a marvellous run with the hounds nigh acrossHertfordshire, and Miss Manners brought him up with a round turn and ahalf hitch by relating one of your exploits, Richard Carvel. And take myword on't she got no small applause. She told how you had followed afox over one of your rough provincial counties, which means three ofHertfordshire, with your arm broken, by Heaven! and how they lifted youoff at the death. And, Mr. Carvel," said my Lord, generously, looking atmy flushed face, "you must give me your hand for that."

  So Dorothy in England had thought of me at least. But what booted it ifshe were to marry a duke! My thoughts began to whirl over all Comyn hadsaid of her so that I scarce heard a question Miss Tayloe had put.

  "Marry Chartersea! That profligate pig!" Comyn was saying. "She would assoon marry a chairman or a chimneysweep, I'm thinking. Why, Miss Tayloe,Sir Charles Grandison himself would scarce suit her!"

  "Good lack!" said Betty, "I think Sir Charles would be the very last forDorothy."

  Volume 3.