Richard Carvel — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER LVI. HOW GOOD CAME OUT OF EVIL

  'Twas about candlelight when I awoke, and Dorothy was sitting alonebeside me. Her fingers were resting upon my arm, and she greeted me witha smile all tenderness.

  "And does my Lord feel better after--after his excitement to-day?" sheasked.

  "Dorothy, you have made me a whole man again. I could walk to Windsorand back."

  "You must have your dinner, or your supper first, sir," she answeredgayly, "and do you rest quiet until I come back to feed you. Oh, Richarddear," she cried, "how delightful that you should be the helpless one,and dependent on me!"

  As I lay listening for the rustle of her gown, the minutes draggedeternally. Every word and gesture of the morning passed before my mind,and the touch of her lips still burned on my forehead. At last, whenI was getting fairly restless, the distant tones of a voice, deep andreverberating, smote upon my ear, jarring painfully some long-forgottenchord. That voice belonged to but one man alive, and yet I could notname him. Even as I strained, the tones drew nearer, and they were mixedwith sweeter ones I knew well, and Dorothy's mother's voice. Whilst Iwas still searching, the door opened, the voices fell calm, and Dorothycame in bearing a candle in each hand. As she set them down on thetable, I saw an agitation in her face, which she strove to hide as sheaddressed me.

  "Will you see a visitor, Richard?"

  "A visitor!" I repeated, with misgiving. 'Twas not so she had announcedComyn.

  "Will you see Mr. Allen?"--

  "Mr. Allen, who was the rector of St. Anne's? Mr. Allen in London, andhere?"

  "Yes." Her breath seemed to catch at the word. "He says he must see you,dear, and will not be denied. How he discovered you were with us I knownot."

  "See him!" I cried. "And I had but the half of my strength I wouldfling him downstairs, and into the kennel. Will you tell him so for me,Dorothy?"

  And I raised up in bed, shaken with anger against the man. In a triceshe was holding me, fearfully.

  "Richard, Richard, you will open your wound. I pray you be quiet."

  "And Mr. Allen has the impudence to ask to see me!"

  "Listen, Richard. Your anger makes you forget many things. Remember thathe is a dangerous man, and now that he knows you are in London he holdsyour liberty, perhaps your life, in his hands."

  It was true. And not mine alone, but the lives and liberty of others.

  "Do you know what he wishes, Dorothy?"

  "No, he will not tell us. But he is greatly excited, and says he mustsee you at once, for your own good. For your own good, Richard!"

  "I do not trust the villain, but he may come in," I said, at length.

  She gave me the one lingering, anxious look, and opened the door.

  Never had I beheld such a change in mortal man as there was in Mr.Allen, my old tutor, and rector of St. Anne's. And 'twas a baffling,intangible change. 'Twas as if the mask bad been torn from his face,for he was now just a plain adventurer that need not have imposed upona soul. The coarse wine and coarse food of the lower coffee-houses ofLondon had replaced the rich and abundant fare of Maryland. The nextday was become one of the terrors of his life. His clothes were of poorstuff, but aimed at the fashion. And yet--and yet, as I looked uponhim, a something was in his face to puzzle me entirely. I had seen manystamps of men, but this thing I could not recognize.

  He stepped forward with all of his old confidence, and did not regard afarthing my cold stare.

  "'Tis like gone days to see you again, Richard," he cried. "And Iperceive you have as ever fallen into the best of hands."

  "I am Mr. Carvel to my enemies, if they must speak to me at all," Isaid.

  "But, my dear fellow, I am not your enemy, or I should not be here thisday. And presently I shall prove that same." He took snuff. "But firstI must congratulate you on coming alive out of that great battle offFlamborough. You look as though you had been very near to death, my lad.A deal nearer than I should care to get."

  What to say to the man! What to do save to knock him down, and I couldnot do that.

  "There can be no passing the time of day between you and me, Mr. Allen,"I answered hotly. "You, whose machinations have come as near to ruiningme as a man's can."

  "And that was your own fault, my dear sir," said he, as he brushedhimself. "You never showed me a whit of consideration, which is verydear to men in my position."

  My head swam. Then I saw Dolly by the door regarding me curiously, withsomething of a smile upon her lips, but anxiety still in her eyes. Witha "by your leave, ma'am," to her, Mr. Allen took the chair abreast me.

  "You have but to call me when you wish, Richard," said she.

  "Nay, Dorothy, Mr. Allen can have nothing to say to me that you may nothear," I said instantly. "And you will do me a favour to remain."

  She sat down without a word, where I could look at her. Mr. Allen raisedhis eyebrows at the revelation in our talk, but by the grace of God hekept his mouth shut.

  "And now, Mr. Allen," I said, "to what do I owe the pain of this visit?"

  "The pain!" he exclaimed, and threw back his head and gave way to a fitof laughter. "By the mass! your politeness drowns me. But I likeyou, Richard, as I have said more than once. I believe your brutalstraight-dealing has more to do with my predilection than aught else.For I have seen a deal of rogues in my day."

  "And they have seen a deal of you, Mr. Allen."

  "So they have," he cried, and laughed the more. "Egad, Miss Dorothy,you have saved all of him, I think." Then he swung round upon me, verycareless. "Has your Uncle Grafton called to express his sympathies,Richard?" he asked.

  That name brought a cry out of my head, Dolly seizing the arm of herchair.

  "Grafton Carvel in London?" I exclaimed.

  "Ay, in very pretty lodgings in Jermyn Street, for he has put by enough,I'll warrant you, despite the loss of his lands. Your aunt is with him,and his dutiful son, Philip, now broken of his rank in the English army.They arrived, before yesterday, from New York."

  "And to what is this an introduction?" I demanded.

  "I merely thought it strange," said Mr. Allen, imperturbably, "that hehad not called to inquire after his nephew's health."

  Dolly was staring at him, with eyes wide open.

  "And pray, how did he discover I was in London, sir?" I said. "I wasabout to ask how you knew of it, but that is one and the same thing."

  He shot at me a look not to be solved.

  "It is not well to bite the hand that lifts you out of the fire,Richard," said he.

  "You had not gained admission to this house were I not on my back, Mr.Allen."

  "And that same circumstance is a blessing for you," he cried.

  'Twas then I saw Dorothy making me mute signals of appeal.

  "I cannot think why you are here, Mr. Allen," I said. "When you considerall the harm you have done me, and all the double-dealing I may lay atyour door, can you blame me for my feelings?"

  "No," he answered, with more soberness than he had yet used; "I honouryou for them. And perchance I am here to atone for some of that harm.For I like you, my lad, and that's God's truth."

  "All this is neither here nor there, Mr. Allen," I exclaimed, wholly outof patience. "If you have come with a message, let me have it. If not, Ibeg you get out of my sight, for I have neither the will nor the desirefor palavering."

  "Oh, Richard, do keep your temper!" implored Dorothy. "Can you not seethat Mr. Allen desires to do us--to do you--a service?"

  "Of that I am not so sure," I replied.

  "It is his way, Miss Manners," said the rector, "and I hold it notagainst him. To speak truth, I looked for a worse reception, and camesteeled to withstand it. And had my skin been thin, I had left erenow." He took more snuff. "It was Mr. Dix," he said to me slowly, "whoinformed Mr. Carvel of your presence in London."

  "And how the devil did Mr. Dix know?"

  He did not reply, but glanced apprehensively at Dorothy.

  And I have wondered since at his consideration.
<
br />   "Miss Manners may not wish to hear," he said uneasily.

  "Miss Manners hears all that concerns me," I answered.

  He shrugged his shoulders in comprehension.

  "It was Mr. Manners, then, who went to Mr. Dix, and told him under thepledge of secrecy."

  Not a sound came from Dorothy, nor did I dare to look at her face. Thewhole matter was clear to me now. After his conversation with me, Mr.Marmaduke had lost no time in seeing Mr. Dix, in order to raise money onmy prospects. And the man of business had gone straight to Grafton withthe intelligence. The suspicion flashed through me that Mr. Allen hadbeen sent to spy, but his very next words disarmed it.

  "And now, Richard," he continued, "before I say what I have come tosay, and since you cannot now prosecute me, I mean to confess to yousomething which you probably know almost to a certainty. I was in theplot to carry you off and deprive you of your fortune. I have been paidfor it, though not very handsomely. Fears for my own safety alone keptme from telling you and Mr. Swain. And I swear to you that I was sorryfor the venture almost before I had embarked, and ere I had received ashilling. The scheme was laid out before I took you for a pupil; indeed,that was part of it, as you no doubt have guessed. As God hears me, Ilearned to love you, Richard, in those days at the rectory. You were allof a man, and such an one as I might have hoped to be had I been bornlike you. You said what you chose, and spoke from your own convictions,and catered to no one. You did not whine when the luck went against you,but lost like a gentleman, and thought no more of it. You had no fearof the devil himself. Why should you? While your cousin Philip, with hisparrot talk and sneaking ways, turned my stomach. I was sick of him, andsick of Grafton, I tell you. But dread of your uncle drove me on, and Ihad debts to frighten me."

  He paused. "Twas with a strange medley of emotions I looked at him. AndDorothy, too, was leaning forward, her lips parted and her eyes rivetedupon his face.

  "Oh, I am speaking the truth," he said bitterly. "And I assume no virtuefor the little justice it remains in my power to do. It is the lot of mylife that I must be false to some one always, and even now I am false toyour uncle. Yes, I am come to do justice, and 'tis a strange errandfor me. I know that estates have been restored to you by the MarylandLegislature, Richard, and I believe in my heart that you will win thiswar." Here he fetched a memorandum from his pocket. "But to make yousecure," said he, "in the year 1710, and on the 9th of March, old style,your great-grandfather, Mr. George Carvel, drew up a document entailingthe lands of Carvel Hall. By this they legally pass to you."

  "The family settlement Mr. Swain suspected!" I exclaimed.

  "Just so," he answered.

  "And what am I to pay for this information?" I asked.

  Hardly were the words spoken, when Dorothy ran to my bedside, andseizing my hand, faced him.

  "He--he is not well, Mr. Allen," she cried.

  The rector had risen, and stood gazing down at us with the whole of hislife written on his face. That look was fearful to see, and all ofhell was expressed therein. For what is hell if it is not hope dead andburied, and galling regret for what might have been? With mine own greathappiness so contrasted against his torture, my heart melted.

  "I am not well, indeed, Mr. Allen," I said. "God knows how hard it isfor me to forgive, but I forgive you this night."

  One brief instant he stared at me, and then tumbled suddenly down intohis chair, his head falling forward on his arms. And the long sobsby which his frame was shaken awed our very souls. Dorothy drew backagainst me, clasping my shoulder, the tears wet upon her cheeks. What welooked on, there in the candlelight, was the Revelation itself.

  How long it, endured none of us might say. And when at last he raisedhis face, it was haggard and worn in truth, but the evil of it seemed tohave fled. Again and again he strove to speak. The words would not obey.And when he had mastered himself, his voice was shattered and gone.

  "Richard, I have sinned heavily in my time, and preached God's holy wordwith a sneer and unbelief in my heart. He knows what I have suffered,and what I shall yet suffer before His judgment comes for us all. But Ibeg it is no sin to pray to Him for your happiness and Miss Dorothy's."

  He stumbled there, and paused, and then continued with more steadiness:

  "I came here to-night to betray you, and might have gone hence to youruncle to claim my pieces of silver. I remain to tell you that Graftonhas an appointment at nine with his Majesty's chief Secretary of State.I need not mention his motives, nor dwell upon your peril. For theKing's sentiments toward Paul Jones are well known. You must leaveLondon without delay, and so must Mr. Manners and his family."

  Is it the generations which decide? When I remember bow Dorothy behavedthat night, I think so. Scarce had the rector ceased when she hadreleased me and was standing erect before him. Pity was in her eyes, butin her face that courage which danger itself begets in heroic women.

  "You have acted a noble part this day, Mr. Allen," she said, "to atonefor the wrongs you have done Richard. May God forgive you, and make youhappier than you have been!"

  He struggled to his feet, listening as to a benediction. Then, witha single glance to give me confidence, she was gone. And for a minutethere was silence between us.

  "How may you be directed to?" I asked.

  He leaped as out of a trance.

  "Just 'the world,' Richard," said he. "For I am adrift again, and notvery like to find a harbour, now."

  "You were to have been paid for this, Mr. Allen," I replied. "And a manmust live."

  "A man must live!" he cried. "The devil coined that line, and made itsome men's history."

  "I have you on my conscience, Mr. Allen," I went on, "for I have been atfault as well as you. I might have treated you better, even as you havesaid. And I command you to assign a place in London whence you may bereached."

  "A letter to the Mitre coffee-house will be delivered," he said.

  "You shall receive it," I answered. "And now I bid you good-by, andthank you."

  He seized and held my hand. Then walked blindly to the door and turnedabruptly.

  "I do not tell you that I shall change my life, Richard, for I have saidthat too many times before. Indeed, I warn you that any money you maysend will be spent in drink, and--and worse. I will be no hypocrite toyou. But I believe that I am better this hour than I have been sincelast I knelt at my mother's knee in the little Oxfordshire cottage whereI was born."

  When Dorothy returned to me, there was neither haste in her step norexcitement in her voice. Her very coolness inspired me.

  "Do you feel strong enough for a journey, Richard?" she asked.

  "To the world's end, Dolly, if you will but go with me."

  She smiled faintly. "I have sent off for my Lord and Mr. Fox, and praythat one of them may be here presently."

  Scarcely greater were the visible signs of apprehension upon Mrs.Manners. Her first care, and Dorothy's, was to catechise me mostparticularly on my state. And whilst they were so occupied Mr. Marmadukeentered, wholly frenzied from fright, and utterly oblivious to his ownblame in the matter. He was sent out again directly. After that, withAunt Lucy to assist, they hurriedly packed what few things might betaken. The costly relics of Arlington Street were untouched, and theFrench clock was left on the mantel to tick all the night, and for daysto come, in a silent and forsaken room; or perhaps to greet impassivelythe King's officers when they broke in at the door. But I caught my ladyin the act of wrapping up the Wedgwood cups and dishes.

  In the midst of these preparations Mr. Fox was heard without, and wasmet at the door by Dorothy. Two sentences sufficed her to tell himwhat had occurred, and two seconds for this man of action to make hisdecision.

  "In an hour you shall have travelling chaises here, Dorothy," he said."You must go to Portsmouth, and take ship for Lisbon. And if Jack doesnot arrive, I will go with you."

  "No, Charles, you must not!" she cried, her emotion conquering her forthe nonce. "That might be to ruin your career, and perchance to
loseyour life. And suppose we were to escape, what would they say of you!"

  "Fish!" Charles retorted, to hide some feelings of his own; "once ourrebel is out of the country, they may speak their minds. They have neverlacked for names to call me, and I have been dubbed a traitor beforenow, my dear lady."

  He stepped hastily to the bed, and laid his hand on me with affection.

  "Charles," I said, "this is all of a piece with your old recklessness.You were ever one to take any risk, but I will not hear of such aventure as this. Do you think I will allow the hope of all England to bestaked for a pirate? And would you break our commander of her rank? Allthat Dorothy need do at Portsmouth is to curtsey to the first skippershe meets, and I'll warrant he will carry us all to the antipodes."

  "Egad, but that is more practical than it sounds," he replied, with aglance of admiration at my lady, as she stood so tall before us. "Shehas a cool head, Richard Carvel, and a long head, and--and I'm thinkingyou are to come out of this the best of all of us. You cannot get faroff your course, my lad, with her at the helm."

  It was there his voice belied the jest in his words, and he left us withprecipitation.

  They lifted me out of my sheets (I was appalled to discover myweakness), and bundled me with tender care in a dozen shawls andblankets. My feet were thrust into two pairs of heavy woollen stockings,and Dorothy bound her own silk kerchief at my throat, whispering anxiousquestions the while. And when her mother and mammy went from the room,her arms flew around my neck in a passion of solicitude. Then she ranaway to dress for the journey, and in a surprising short time was backagain, with her muff and her heavy cloak, and bending over me to see ifI gave any signs of failure.

  Fifty and five minutes had been registered by the French clock, when therattle of wheels and the clatter of hoofs sounded below, and Charles Foxpanted up the stairs, muffled in a huge wrap-rascal. 'Twas he and AuntLucy carried me down to the street, Dorothy walking at my side, andpropped me up in the padded corner of one of the two vehicles inwaiting. This was an ample travelling-carriage with a lamp hanging fromits top, by the light of which my lady tucked me in from head to foot,and then took her place next me. Aunt Lucy filled most of the seatopposite. The baggage was hoisted up behind, and Charles was about toslam the door, when a hackney-chaise turned the corner at a gallop andpulled up in the narrow street abreast, and the figure of my LordComyn suddenly leaped within the compass of the lanthorn's rays. He wasdressed as for a ball, with only a thin rain-cloak over his shoulders,for the night was thick with mist. He threw at us a startled look thatwas a question.

  "Jack, Richard is to be betrayed to-night by his uncle," said Charles,shortly. "And I am taking them to Portsmouth to get them off forLisbon."

  "Charles," said his Lordship, sternly, "give me that greatcoat."

  It was just the one time that ever I saw uncertainty on Mr. Fox's face.He threw an uneasy glance into the chaise.

  "I have brought money," his Lordship went on rapidly; "'Twas that keptme, for I guessed at something of this kind. Give me the coat, I say."

  Mr. Fox wriggled out of it, and took the oiled cape in return.

  "Thank you, Jack," he said simply, and stepped into the carriage. "Whois to mend my waistcoats now?" he cried. "Faith, I shall treasure thisagainst you, Richard. Good-by, my lad, and obey your rebel general.Alas! I must even ask your permission to salute her."

  And he kissed the unresisting Dorothy on both her cheeks. "God keep thetwo of you," he said, "for I love you with all my heart."

  Before we could answer he was gone into the night; and my Lord, standingwithout, had closed the carriage door. And that was the last I saw ofthis noble man, the true friend of America, who devoted his glorioustalents and his life to fighting the corruption that was rotting thegreatness of England. He who was followed by the prayers of the Englishrace was ever remembered in our own humble ones.