CHAPTER LIII. IN WHICH I MAKE SOME DISCOVERIES
The room had a prodigious sense of change about it. That came over mewith something of a shock, since the moment before I had it settled thatI was in Marlboro' Street. The bare branches swaying in the wind outsideshould belong to the trees in Freshwater Lane. But beyond the brancheswere houses, the like of which I had no remembrance of in Annapolis.And then my grandfather should be sitting in that window. Surely, hewas there! He moved! He was coming toward me to say: "Richard, you areforgiven," and to brush his eyes with his ruffles.
Then there was the bed-canopy, the pleatings of which were gone, and itwas turned white instead of the old blue. And the chimney-place! Thatwas unaccountably smaller, and glowed with a sea-coal fire. And themantel was now but a bit of a shelf, and held many things that seemedscarce at home on the rough and painted wood,--gold filigree; and Chinaand Japan, and a French clock that ought not to have been just there.Ah, the teacups! Here at last was something to touch a fibre of mybrain, but a pain came with the effort of memory. So my eyes wentback to my grandfather in the window. His face was now become black asScipio's, and he wore a red turban and a striped cotton gown that wastoo large for him. And he was sewing. This was monstrous!
I hurried over to the tea-cups, such a twinge did that discovery giveme. But they troubled me near as much, and the sea-coal fire heldstrange images. The fascination in the window was not to be denied, forit stood in line with the houses and the trees. Suddenly there rose upbefore me a gate. Yes, I knew that gate, and the girlish figure leaningover it. They were in Prince George Street. Behind them was a mass ofgolden-rose bushes, and out of these came forth a black face under aturban, saying, "Yes, mistis, I'se comin'."
"Mammy--Mammy Lucy!"
The figure in the window stirred, and the sewing fell its ample lap.
"Now Lawd'a mercy!"
I trembled--with a violence unspeakable. Was this but one more of thosethousand voices, harsh and gentle, rough and tender, to which I hadlistened in vain this age past? The black face was hovering over menow, and in an agony of apprehension I reached up and felt its honestroughness. Then I could have wept for joy.
"Mammy Lucy!"
"Yes, Marse Dick?"
"Where--where is Miss Dolly?"
"Now, Marse Dick, doctah done say you not t' talk, suh."
"Where is Miss Dolly?" I cried, seizing her arm.
"Hush, Marse Dick. Miss Dolly'll come terectly, suh. She's lyin' down,suh."
The door creaked, and in my eagerness I tried to lift myself. 'TwasAunt Lucy's hand that restrained me, and the next face I saw was that ofDorothy's mother. But why did it appear so old and sorrow-lined? And whywas the hair now of a whiteness with the lace of the cap? She took myfingers in her own, and asked me anxiously if I felt any pain.
"Where am I, Mrs. Manners?"
"You are in London, Richard."
"In Arlington Street?"
She shook her head sadly. "No, my dear, not in Arlington Street. But youare not to talk."
"And Dorothy? May I not see Dorothy? Aunt Lucy tells me she is here."
Mrs. Manners gave the old mammy a glance of reproof, a signal thatalarmed me vastly.
"Oh, tell me, Mrs. Manners! You will speak the truth. Tell me if she isgone away?"
"My dear boy, she is here, and under this very roof. And you shall seeher as soon as Dr. Barry will permit. Which will not be soon," she addedwith a smile, "if you persist in this conduct."
The threat had the desired effect. And Mrs. Manners quietly left theroom, and after a while as quietly came back again and sat down by thefire, whispering to Aunt Lucy.
Fate, in some inexplicable way, had carried me into the enemy's countryand made me the guest of Mr. Marmaduke Manners. As I lay staringupward, odd little bits of the past came floating to the top of my mind,presently to be pieced together. The injuries Mr. Marmaduke had doneme were the first to collect, since I was searching for the cause ofmy resentment against him. The incidents arrived haphazard as magiclanthorn views, but very vivid. His denial of me before Mr. Dix, and histreachery at Vauxhall, when he had sent me to be murdered. Next I feltmyself clutching the skin over his ribs in Arlington Street, when I hadflung him across the room in his yellow night-gown. That brought me tothe most painful scene of my life, when I had parted with Dorothy at thetop of the stairs. Afterward followed scraps of the years at Gordon'sPride, and on top of them the talk with McAndrews. Here was the secret Isought. The crash had come. And they were no longer in Mayfair, but musthave taken a house in some poorer part of London. This thought cast medown tremendously.
And Dorothy! Had time changed her? 'Twas with that query on my lips Ifell asleep, to dream of the sun shining down on Carvel Hall and WilmotHouse; of Aunt Hester and Aunt Lucy, and a lass and a lad rompingthrough pleasant fields and gardens.
When I awoke it was broad day once more. A gentleman sat on the edge ofmy bed. He had a queer, short face, ruddy as the harvest moon, and hesmiled good-humouredly when I opened my eyes.
"I bid you good morning, Mr. Carvel, for the first time since I havemade your acquaintance," said he. "And how do you feel, sir?"
"I have never felt better in my life," I replied, which was the wholetruth.
"Well, vastly well," says he, laughing, "prodigious well for a youngman who has as many holes in him as have you. Do you hear him, Mrs.Manners?"
At that last word, I popped up to look about the room, and the doctorcaught hold of me with ludicrous haste. A pain shot through my body.
"Avast, avast, my hearty," cries he. "'Tis a miracle you can speak,let alone carry your bed and walk for a while yet." And he turned toDorothy's mother, whom I beheld smiling at me. "You will give him thephysic, ma'am, at the hours I have chosen. Egad, I begin to think weshall come through.
"But pray remember, ma'am, if he talks, you are to put a wad in hismouth."
"He shall have no opportunity to talk, Dr. Barry," said Mrs. Manners.
"Save for a favour I have to ask you, doctor," I cried.
"'Od's bodkins! Already, sir? And what may that be?"
"That you will allow me to see Miss Manners."
He shook with laughter, and then winked at me very roguishly.
"Oh!" says he, "and faith, I should be worse than cruel. First she comesimploring me to see you, and so prettily that a man of oak could notrefuse her. And now it is you begging to see her. Had your eyes beenopened, sir, you might have had many a glimpse of Miss Dolly these threeweeks past."
"What! She has been watching with me?" I asked, in a rapture not to beexpressed.
"'Od's, but those are secrets. And the medical profession isclose-mouthed, Mr. Carvel. So you want to see her? No," cries he, "'tisnot needful to swear it on the Evangels. And I let her come in, will yougive me your honour as a gentleman not to speak more than two words toher?"
"I promise anything, and you will not deny me looking at her," said I.
He shook again, all over. "You rascal! You sad dog, sir! No, sir, faith,you must shut your eyes. Eh, madam, must he not shut his eyes?"
"They were playmates, doctor," answers Mrs. Manners. She was laughing alittle, too.
"Well, she shall come in. But remember that I shall have my ear to thekeyhole, and you go beyond your promise, out she's whisked. So I cautionyou not to spend rashly those two words, sir."
And he followed Mrs. Manners out of the room, frowning and shaking hisfist at me in mock fierceness. I would have died for the man. For aspace--a prodigious long space--I lay very still, my heart bumping likea gun-carriage broke loose, and my eyes riveted on the crack of thedoor. Then I caught the sound of a light footstep, the knob turned, andjoy poured into my soul with the sweep of a Fundy tide.
"Dorothy!" I cried. "Dorothy!"
She put her finger to her lips.
"There, sir," said she, "now you have spoken them both at once!"
She closed the door softly behind her, and stood looking down upon mewith such a wondrous love-light in her
eyes as no man may describe.My fancy had not lifted me within its compass, my dreams even had notimagined it. And the fire from which it sprang does not burn in humblersouls. So she stood gazing, those lips which once had been the seat ofpride now parted in a smile of infinite tenderness. But her head shestill held high, and her body straight. Down the front of her dressfell a tucked apron of the whitest linen, and in her hand was a cup ofsteaming broth.
"You are to take this, Richard," she commanded. And added, with a touchof her old mischief, "Mind, sir, if I hear a sound out of you, I am todisappear like the fairy godmother."
I knew full well she meant it, and the terror of losing her kept mesilent. She put down the cup, placed another pillow behind my head witha marvellous deftness, and then began feeding me in dainty spoonfulssomething which was surely nectar. And mine eyes, too, had their feast.Never before had I seen my lady in this gentle guise, this task ofnursing the sick, which her doing raised to a queenly art.
Her face had changed some. Years of trial unknown to me had left anennobling mark upon her features, increasing their power an hundredfold. And the levity of girlish years was gone. How I burned to questionher! But her lips were now tight closed, her glance now and anon seekingmine, and then falling with an exquisite droop to the coverlet. For theold archness, at least, would never be eradicated. Presently, after shehad taken the cup and smoothed my pillow, I reached out for her hand. Itwas a boldness of which I had not believed myself capable; but she didnot resist, and even, as I thought, pressed my fingers with her ownslender ones, the red of our Maryland holly blushing in her cheeks. Andwhat need of words, indeed! Our thoughts, too, flew coursing hand inhand through primrose paths, and the angels themselves were not to beenvied.
A master might picture my happiness, waking and sleeping, through theshort winter days that came and went like flashes of gray light. Thememory of them is that of a figure tall and lithe, a little more roundedthan of yore, and a chiselled face softened by a power that is oneof the world's mysteries. Dorothy had looked the lady in rags, andhousewife's cap and apron became her as well as silks or brocades.When for any reason she was absent from my side, I moped, to the quietamusement of Mrs. Manners and the more boisterous delight of Aunt Lucy,who took her turn sewing in the window. I was near to forgetting the useof words, until at length, one rare morning when the sun poured in,the jolly doctor dressed my wounds with more despatch than common, andvouchsafed that I might talk awhile that day.
"Oh!" cries he, putting me as ever to confusion, "but I have a guesswhom my gentleman will be wishing to talk with. But I'll warrant, sir,you have said a deal more than I have any notion of without opening yourlips."
And he went away, intolerably pleased with his joke.
Alas for the perversity of maiden natures! It was not my dear nurse whobrought my broth that morning, but Mrs. Manners herself. She smiled atmy fallen face, and took a chair at my bedside.
"Now, my dear boy," she said, "you may ask what questions you choose,and I will tell you very briefly how you have come here."
"I have been thinking, Mrs. Manners," I replied, "that if it were knownthat you harboured one of John Paul Jones's officers in London, veryserious trouble might follow for you."
I thought her brow clouded a little.
"No one knows of it, Richard, or is likely to. Dr. Barry, like so manyin England, is a good Whig and friend to America. And you are in a partof London far removed from Mayfair." She hesitated, and then continuedin a voice that strove to be lighter: "This little house is in CharlotteStreet, Mary-le-Bone, for the war has made all of us suffer some. Andwe are more fortunate than many, for we are very comfortable here, andthough I say it, happier than in Arlington Street. And the best of ourfriends are still faithful. Mr. Fox, with all his greatness, has neverdeserted us, nor my Lord Comyn. Indeed, we owe them much more than I cantell you of now," she said, and sighed. "They are here every day of theworld to inquire for you, and it was his Lordship brought you out ofHolland."
And so I had reason once more to bless this stanch friend!
"Out of Holland?" I cried.
"Yes. One morning as we sat down to breakfast, Mr. Ripley's clerkbrought in a letter for Dorothy. But I must say first that Mr. Dulany,who is in London, told us that you were with John Paul Jones. Youcan have no conception, Richard, of the fear and hatred that name hasaroused in England. Insurance rates have gone up past belief, and theKing's ships are cruising in every direction after the traitor andpirate, as they call him. We have prayed daily for your safety, andDorothy--well, here is the letter she received. It had been openedby the inspector, and allowed to pass. And it is to be kept as acuriosity." She drew it from the pocket of her apron and began to read.
"THE TEXEL, October 3, 1779
"MY DEAR Miss DOROTHY: I would not be thought to flutter y'r Gentle Bosom with Needless Alarms, nor do I believe I have misjudged y'r Warm & Generous Nature when I write you that One who is held very High in y'r Esteem lies Exceeding Ill at this Place, who might by Tender Nursing regain his Health. I seize this Opportunity to say, my dear Lady, that I have ever held my too Brief Acquaintance with you in London as one of the Sacred Associations of my Life. From the Little I saw of you then I feel Sure that this Appeal will not pass in Vain. I remain y'r most Humble and Devoted Admirer,
"JAMES ORCHARDSON."
"And she knew it was from Commodore Jones?" I asked, in astonishment.
"My dear," replied Mrs. Manners, with a quiet smile, "we women have akeener instinct than men--though I believe your commodore has a woman'sintuition. Yes, Dorothy knew. And I shall never forget the fright shegave me as she rose from the table and handed me the sheet to read,crying but the one word. She sent off to Brook Street for Lord Comyn,who came at once, and, in half an hour the dear fellow was set out forDover. He waited for nothing, since war with Holland was looked forat any day. And his Lordship himself will tell you about that rescue.Within the week he had brought you to us. Your skull had been trepanned,you had this great hole in your thigh, and your heart was beating butslowly. By Mr. Fox's advice we sent for Dr. Barry, who is a skilledsurgeon, and a discreet man despite his manner. And you have been herefor better than three weeks, Richard, hanging between life and death."
"And I owe my life to you and to Dorothy," I said.
"To Lord Comyn and Dr. Barry, rather," she replied quickly. "We havedone little but keep the life they saved. And I thank God it was givenme to do it for the son of your mother and father."
Something of the debt I owed them was forced upon me.
They were poor, doubtless driven to make ends meet, and yet they hadtaken me in, called upon near the undivided services of an able surgeon,and worn themselves out with nursing me. Nor did I forget the riskthey ran with such a guest. For the first time in many years my heartrelented toward Mr. Marmaduke. For their sakes I forgave him over andover what I had suffered, and my treatment of him lay like a weight uponme. And how was I to repay them? They needed the money I had cost them,of that I was sure. After the sums I had expended to aid the commodorewith the 'Ranger' and the 'Bon homme Richard', I had scarce a farthingto my name. With such leaden reflections was I occupied when I heardMrs. Manners speaking to me.
"Richard, I have some news for you which the doctor thinks you can bearto-day. Mr. Dulany, who is exiled like the rest of us, brought them. Itis a great happiness to be able to tell you, my dear, that you are nowthe master of Carvel Hall, and like to stay so."
The tears stole into her eyes as she spoke. And the enormity of thosetidings, coming as they did on the top of my dejection, benumbed me. Allthey meant was yet far away from my grasp, but the one supreme resultthat was first up to me brought me near to fainting in my weakness.
"I would not raise your hopes unduly, Richard," the good lady wassaying, "but the best informed here seem to think that England cannotpush the war much farther. If the Colonies win, you are secure in yourtitle."
"But how is it come a
bout, Mrs. Manners?" I demanded, with my firstbreath.
"You doubtless have heard that before the Declaration was signed atPhiladelphia your Uncle Grafton went to the committee at Annapolis andcontributed to the patriot cause, and took very promptly the oath of theAssociated Freemen of Maryland, thus forsaking the loyalist party--"
"Yes, yes," I interrupted, "I heard of it when I was on the Cabot. Hethought his property in danger."
"Just so," said Mrs. Manners, laughing; "he became the best and mostexemplary of patriots, even as he had been the best of Tories. He sentwheat and money to the army, and went about bemoaning that his only sonfought under the English flag. But very little fighting has Philip done,my dear. Well, when the big British fleet sailed up the bay in '77,your precious uncle made the first false step in his long career ofrascality. He began to correspond with the British at Philadelphia, andone of his letters was captured near the Head of Elk. A squad was sentto the Kent estate, where he had been living, to arrest him, but he madehis escape to New York. And his lands were at once confiscated by thestate."
"'Then they belong to the state," I said, with misgiving.
"Not so fast, Richard. At the last session of the Maryland Legislature abill was introduced, through the influence of Mr. Bordley and others, torestore them to you, their rightful owner. And insomuch as you were eventhen serving the country faithfully and bravely, and had a clean andhonourable record of service, the whole of the lands were given to you.And now, my dear, you have had excitement enough for one day."
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