CHAPTER XLVII. VISITORS
It was not often that Mr. Thomas Swain honoured Gordon's Pride with hispresence. He vowed that the sober Whig company his father brought theregave him the vapours. He snapped his fingers at the articles of thePatriots' Association, and still had his cocked hats and his Brusselslace and his spyglass, and his top boots when he rode abroad, like anyother Tory buck. His intimates were all of the King's side,--of theworst of the King's side, I should say, for I would not be thought tocast any slur on the great number of conscientious men of that party.But, being the son of one of the main props of the Whigs, Mr. Tom wentunpunished for his father's sake. He was not uncondemned.
Up to 1774, the times that Mr. Swain mentioned his son to me mightbe counted on the fingers of one hand. It took not a great deal ofshrewdness to guess that he had paid out many a pretty sum to keep Tom'shonour bright: as bright, at least, as such doubtful metal would polish.Tho' the barrister sought my ear in many matters, I never heard awhimper out of him on this score.
Master Tom had no ambition beyond that of being a macaroni; hiseasy-going nature led him to avoid alike trouble and responsibility.Hence he did not bother his head concerning my position. He appearedwell content that I should make money out of the plantation for him tospend. His visits to Gordon's Pride were generally in the late autumn,and he brought his own company with him. I recall vividly his thirdor fourth appearance, in October of '73. Well I may! The family waspreparing to go to town, and this year I was to follow them, and takefrom Mr. Swain's shoulders some of his private business, for he had beenailing a little of late from overwork.
The day of which I have spoken a storm had set in, the rain falling insheets. I had been in the saddle since breakfast, seeing to an hundredrepairs that had to be made before the cold weather. 'Twas near themiddle of the afternoon when I pulled up before the weaving house. Thelooms were still, and Patty met me at the door with a grave look, whichI knew portended something. But her first words were of my comfort.
"Richard, will you ever learn sense? You have been wet all day long, andhave missed your dinner. Go at once and change your clothes, sir!" shecommanded severely.
"I have first to look at the warehouse, where the roof is leaking," Iexpostulated.
"You shall do no such thing," replied she, "but dry yourself, and marchinto the dining room. We have had the ducks you shot yesterday, and someof your experimental hominy; but they are all gone."
I knew well she had laid aside for me some dainty, as was her habit.I dismounted. She gave me a quick, troubled glance, and said in a lowvoice:
"Tom is come. And oh, I dare not tell you whom he has with him now!"
"Courtenay?" I asked.
"Yes, of coarse. I hate the sight of the man. But your cousin, PhilipCarvel, is here, Richard. Father will be very angry. And they are makinga drinking-tavern of the house."
I gave Firefly a slap that sent her trotting stable-ward, and walkedrapidly to the house. I found the three of them drinking in the hall,the punch spilled over the table, and staining the cards.
"Gad's life!" cries Tom, "here comes Puritan Richard, in his broad rim.How goes the crop, Richard? 'Twill have to go well, egad, for I lost anhundred at the South River Club last week!"
Next him sat Philip, whom I had not seen since before I was carried off.He was lately come home from King's College; and very mysteriously, hisfather giving out that his health was not all it should be. He had notgained Grafton's height, but he was broader, and his face had somethingin it of his father. He had his mother's under lip and complexion.Grafton was sallow; Philip was a peculiar pink,--not the ruddy pink ofheartier natures, like my grandfather's, nor yet had he the peach-likeskin of Mr. Dix. Philip's was a darker and more solid colour, and I havenever seen man or woman with it and not mistrusted them. He wore a redvelvet coat embroidered with gold, and as costly ruffles as I had everseen in London. But for all this my cousin had a coarse look, and hispolished blue flints of eyes were those of a coarse man.
He got to his feet as Tom spoke, looking anywhere but at me, and cameforward slowly. He was loyal to no one, was Philip, not even to hisfather. When he was got within three paces he halted.
"How do you, cousin?" says he.
"A little wet, as you perceive, Philip," I replied.
I left him and stood before the fire, my rough wool steaming in theheat. He sat down again, a little awkwardly; and the situation began toplease me better.
"How do you?" I asked presently.
"I have got a devilish cold," said he. "Faith, I'll warrant the doctorwill be sworn I have been but indifferent company since we left theHall. Eh, doctor?"
Courtenay, with his feet stretched out, bestowed an amiable but languidwink upon me, as much as to say that I knew what Mr. Philip's companywas at best. When I came out after my dinner, they were still sittingthere, Courtenay yawning, and Tom and Philip wrangling over last night'splay.
"Come, my man of affairs, join us a hand!" says the doctor to me. "Ihave known the time when you would sit from noon until supper."
"I had money then," said I.
"And you have a little now, or I am cursed badly mistook. Oons! what doyou fear?" he exclaimed, "you that have played with March and Fox?"
"I fear nothing, doctor," I answered, smiling. "But a man must have asorry honour when he will win fifty pounds with but ten of capital."
"One of Dr. Franklin's maxims, I presume," says he, with sarcasm.
"And if it were, it could scarce be more pat," I retorted. "'Tis PoorRichard's maxim."
"O lud! O my soul!" cries Tom, with a hiccup and a snigger; "'tis timeyou made another grand tour, Courtenay. Here's the second Whig has gotin on you within the week!"
"Thank God they have not got me down to osnabrig and bumbo yet," repliesthe doctor. Coming over to me by the fire, he tapped my sleeve and addedin a low tone: "Forbearance with such a pair of asses is enough to makea man shed bitter tears. But a little of it is necessary to keep out ofdebt. You and I will play together, against both the lambs, Richard. Oneof them is not far from maudlin now."
"Thank you, doctor," I answered politely, "but I have a better way tomake my living." In three years I had learned a little to control mytemper.
He shrugged his thin shoulders. "Eh bien, mon bon," says he, "I dareswear you know your own game better than do I." And he cast a look upthe stairs, of which I quite missed the meaning. Indeed, I was whollyindifferent. The doctor and his like had passed out of my life, and Ibelieved they were soon to disappear from our Western Hemisphere. Thereport I had heard was now confirmed, that his fortune was dissipated,and that he lived entirely off these young rakes who aspired to bemacaronies.
"Since your factor is become a damned Lutheran, Tom," said he, returningto the table and stripping a pack, "it will have to be picquet. Youpromised me we could count on a fourth, or I had never left Inman's."
It was Tom, as I had feared, who sat down unsteadily opposite. Philiplounged and watched them sulkily, snuffing and wheezing and dipping intothe bowl, and cursing the house for a draughty barn. I took a pipeon the settle to see what would come of it. I was not surprised thatCourtenay lost at first, and that Tom drank the most of the punch. Norwas it above half an hour before the stakes were raised and the tidebegan to turn in the doctor's favour.
"A plague of you, Courtenay!" cries Mr. Tom, at length, flinging downthe cards. His voice was thick, while the Selwyn of Annapolis was neversoberer in his life. Tom appealed first to Philip for the twenty poundshe owed him.
"You know how damned stingy my father is, curse you," whined my cousin,in return. "I told you I should not have it till the first of themonth."
Tom swore back. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and sank intothat attitude of dejection common to drunkards. Suddenly he pulledhimself up.
"'Shblood! Here's Richard t' draw from. Lemme have fifty pounds,Richard."
"Not a farthing," I said, unmoved.
"You say wha' shall be done with my father's money!
" he cried. "I calltha' damned cool--Gad's life! I do. Eh, Courtenay?"
Courtenay had the sense not to interfere.
"I'll have you dishcharged, Gads death! so I will!" he shouted. "Nodamned airs wi' me, Mr. Carvel. I'll have you know you're not wha' youonce were, but, only a cursht oversheer."
He struggled to his feet, forgot his wrath on the instant, and began tosing drunkenly the words of a ribald air. I took him by both shouldersand pushed him back into his chair.
"Be quiet," I said sternly; "while your mother and sister are here youshall not insult them with such a song." He ceased, astonished. "And asfor you, gentlemen," I continued, "you should know better than to make aplace of resort out of a gentleman's house."
Courtenay's voice broke the silence that followed.
"Of all the cursed impertinences I ever saw, egad!" he drawled. "Is thisyour manor, Mr. Carvel? Or have you a seat in Kent?"
I would not have it in black and white that I am an advocate offighting. But a that moment I was in the mood when it does not mattermuch one way or the other. The drunken man carried us past the point.
"The damned in--intriguing rogue'sh worked himself into my father'sgrashes," he said, counting out his words. "He'sh no more Whig than me.I know'sh game, Courtenay--he wants t' marry Patty. Thish place'll behers."
The effect upon me of these words, with all their hideous implication ofgossip and scandal, was for an instant benumbing. The interpretationof the doctor's innuendo struck me then. I was starting forward, witha hand open to clap over Tom's mouth, when I saw the laugh die onCourtenay's face, and him come bowing to his legs. I turned with astart.
On the stairs stood Patty herself, pale as marble.
"Come with me, Tom," she said.
He had obeyed her from childhood. This time he tried, and failedmiserably.
"Beg pardon, Patty," he stammered, "no offensh meant. Thish factorthinks h' ownsh Gordon's now. I say, not'll h' marries you. Good fellow,Richard, but infernal forward. Eh, Courtenay?"
Philip turned away, while the doctor pretended to examine the silverpunch-ladle. As for me, I could only stare. It was Patty who kept herhead, and made us a stately curtsey.
"Will you do me the kindness, gentlemen," said she, "to leave me with mybrother?"
We walked silently into the parlour, and I closed the door.
"Slife!" cried Courtenay, "she's a vision. What say you, Philip? And Imight see her in that guise again, egad, I would forgive Tom his fivehundred crowns!"
"A buxom vision," agreed my cousin, "but I vow I like 'em so." He hadforgotten his cold.
"This conversation is all of a piece with the rest of your conduct,"said I, hotly.
The candles were burning brightly in the sconces. The doctor walked tothe glass, took snuff, and burnished his waistcoat before he answered.
"Sure, a fortune lies under every virtue we assume," he recited. "Butshe is not for you, Richard," says he, tapping his box.
"Mr. Carvel, if you please," I replied. I felt the demon within me. ButI had the sense to realize that a quarrel with Dr. Courtenay, underthe circumstances, would be far from wise. He had no intention ofquarrelling, however. He made me a grand bow.
"Mr. Carvel, your very obedient. Hereafter I shall know better than toforget myself with an overseer." And he gave me his back. "What say youto a game of billiards, Philip?"
Philip seemed glad to escape. And soon I heard their voices, minglingwith the click of the balls. There followed for me one of the bitteresthalf hours I have had in my life. Then Patty opened the hall door.
"Will you come in for a moment, Richard?" she said, quite calmly.
I followed her, wondering at the masterful spirit she had shown. Forthere was Tom all askew in his chair, his feet one way and his handsanother, totally subdued. What was most to the point, he made me anelaborate apology. How she had sobered his mind I know not. His body wasas helpless as the day he was born.
Long before the guests thought of rising the next morning, Patty came tome as I was having the mare saddled. The sun was up, and the clouds werebeing chased, like miscreants who have played their prank, and were nowrunning for it. The sharp air brought the red into her cheeks. And forthe first time in her life with me she showed shyness. She glanced upinto my face, and then down at the leaves running on the ground.
"I hope they will go to-day," said she, when I was ready to mount.
I began to tighten the girths, venting my feelings on Firefly until theanimal swung around and made a vicious pass at my arm.
"Richard!"
"Yes."
"You will not worry over that senseless speech of Tom's?"
"I see it in a properer light now, Patty," I replied. "I usually do--inthe morning."
She sighed.
"You are so--high-strung," she said, "I was afraid you would--"
"I would--?"
She did not answer until I had repeated.
"I was very silly," she said slowly, her colour mounting even higher," Iwas afraid that you would--leave us." Stroking the mare's neck, and witha little halt in her voice, "I do not know what we should do withoutyou."
Indeed, I was beginning to think I would better leave, though where Ishould go was more than I could say. With a quick intuition she caughtmy hand as I put foot in the stirrup.
"You will not go away!" she cried. "Say you will not! What would poorfather do? He is not so well as he used to be."
The wild appeal in her eyes frightened me. It was beyond resisting. Ingreat agitation I put my foot to the ground again.
"Patty, I should be a graceless scamp in truth," I exclaimed. "I do notforget that your father gave me a home when mine was taken away, and hasmade me one of his family. I shall thank God if I can but lighten someof his burdens."
But they did not depart that day, nor the next; nor, indeed, for a weekafter. For Philip's cold brought on a high fever. He stuck to his bed,and Patty herself made broth and dainties for him, and prescribed himmedicine out of the oak chest whence had come so much comfort. At firstPhilip thought he would die, and forswore wine and cards, and some otherthings the taste for which he had cultivated, and likewise worse vicesthat had come to him by nature.
I am greatly pleased to write that the stay profited the gallant Dr.Courtenay nothing. Patty's mature beauty and her manner of carrying offthe episode in the hall had made a deep impression upon the Censor. Iread the man's mind in his eye; here was a match to mend his fortunes,and do him credit besides. However, his wit and his languishingglances and double meanings fell on barren ground. No tire-woman on theplantation was busier than Patty during the first few days of his stay.After that he grew sulky and vented his spleen on poor Tom, winning moremoney from him at billiards and picquet. Since the doctor was too muchthe macaroni to ride to hounds and to shoot ducks, time began to hangexceeding heavy on his hands.
Patty and I had many a quiet laugh over his predicament. And, to addzest to the situation, I informed Singleton of what was going forward.He came over every night for supper, and to my delight the bluffEnglishman was received in a fashion to make the doctor writhe and snortwith mortification. Never in his life had he been so insignificant aperson. And he, whose conversation was so sought after in the gay seasonin town, was thrown for companionship upon a scarce-grown boy whosetalk was about as salted, and whose intellect as great, as those of thecockerouse in our fable. He stood it about a se'nnight, at the end ofwhich space Philip was put on his horse, will-he-nill-he, and made toride northward.
I sat with my cousin of an evening as he lay in bed. Not, I own, fromany charity on my part, but from other motives which do me no credit.The first night he confessed his sins, and they edified me not a little.On the second he was well enough to sit up and swear, and to vow thatMiss Swain was an angel; that he would marry her the very next week andhis father Grafton were not such a stickler for family.
"Curse him," says his dutiful and loyal son, "he is so bally stingy withmy stipend that I am in debt to half the province. An
d I say it myself,Richard, he has been a blackguard to you, tho' I allow him some littleexcuse. You were faring better now, my dear cousin, and you had notgiven him every reason to hate you. For I have heard him declare morethan once 'pon my soul, I have--that he would rather you were his friendthan his enemy."
My contempt for Philip kept me silent here. I might quarrel withGrafton, who had sense enough to feel pain at a well deserved thrust.Philip had not the intelligence to recognize insult from compliment. Itwas but natural he should mistake my attitude now. He leaned forward inhis bed.
"Hark you, Richard," whispers he, with a glance at the door, "I mighttell you some things and I chose, and--and it were worth my while."
"Worth your while?" I repeated vaguely.
He traced nervously the figures on the counterpane. Next came a rush ofanger to redden his face.
"By Gad, I will tell you. Swear to Gad I will." Then, the littlecunning inherited from his father asserting itself, he added, "Look you,Richard, I am the son of one of the richest men in the colony, and Iget the pittance of a backwoods pastor. I tell you 'tis not to be bornewith. And I am not of as much consideration at the Hall as Brady, theIrish convict, who has become overseer."
I little wondered at this. Philip sank back, and for some moments eyedme between narrowed lids. He continued presently with shortened breath:
"I have evidence--I have evidence to get you back a good share of theestate, which my father will never miss. And I will do it," he cries,suddenly bold, "I will do it for three thousand pounds down when youreceive it."
This was why he had come with Tom to Talbot! I was so dumfounded thatmy speech was quite taken away. Then I got up and began pacing the room.Was it not fair to fight a scoundrel with his own weapons? Here at lastwas the witness Mr. Swain had been seeking so long, come of his own freewill. Then--Heaven help me!--my mind flew on. As time had passed I hadmore than once regretted refusing the Kent plantation, which had puther from whom my thought never wandered within my reach again. Good Mr.Swain had erred for once. 'Twas foolish, indeed, not to accept a portionof what was rightfully mine, when no more could be got. And now, if whatPhilip said was true (and I doubted it not), here at last was the chancecome again to win her without whom I should never be happy. I glanced atmy cousin.
"Gad's life!" says he, "it is cheap enough. I might have asked youdouble."
"So you might, and have been refused," I cried hotly. For I believe thatspeech of his recalled me to my senses. It has ever been an instinctwith me that no real prosperity comes out of double-dealing. Andcommerce with such a sneak sickened me. "Go back to your father,Philip, and threaten him, and he may make you rich. Such as he live byblackmail. And you may add, and you will, that the day of retribution iscoming for him."
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