"If Gregory had not but gone this instant," I exclaimed, "he should whip you, you ill-mannered dog, for daring to speak to me thus in my father's own house. Get you to bed, sir, and disturb not the place."
"To bed! Not I! 'Tis not yet ten o' the clock and I am not accustomed to such hours. Nay, Joice, think on't, my dear. Five months at sea, kicked and cuffed and starved, and now in the land of plenty-plenty to eat and drink. And to spend, too! See here, my Joice," and he pulled out a handful of English guineas from his pocket. "Won 'em all at the match from that put Pringle, who, colonist though he is, hath impudently been sent to Oxford and is now back. Won't go to bed, Joice, for hours," he hiccoughed. "No! Fetch me bottle brandy. We'll sit up together and I'll tell you how I love you."
"Let me pass, slave," I exclaimed in my anger, while he still stood barring my way. "Let me pass."
"Hoity-toity. Slave, eh? Slave! And for how long, think you, my pretty? Ships are due in the bay even now, and then I can pay off thy father and go home. Yet I know not that I will go home. I have conceived a fancy for Virginia and Virginian girls. Above all for thee, Joice. I love thy golden head and blue eyes and rosy lips-what said the actor fellow in the play of old Bess's day, of lips like roses filled with snow? He must have dreamt of such as thine! – I love them, I say. And, Joice, I do love thee."
I was trembling with anger all the while he spoke, and now I said:
"While my father lies sick I rule in this house, and to-morrow that rule shall see you punished. To-morrow you shall go amongst the convicts and the bond-servants, and do slaves' work. You tipsy dog, this house is no place for you!"
He took no notice of my words beyond a drunken grin, and then, because he was a cowardly ruffian who thought he could safely assault a young girl who was alone and defenceless while her father lay ill upstairs, he sprang towards me and seized me in his arms exclaiming: "Roses filled with snow! And I will have a kiss from them. I will, I say, I will. Thy charms madden me, Joice."
But now, while I struggled with him and beat his face with my clenched hands, I sent shriek upon shriek forth, and I screamed to my father and Mary to come and save me from the monster.
"Ssh-ssh!" he said, while still he endeavoured to kiss me. "Hush, you pretty fool, hush! You will arouse the house, and kisses cost nothing-ha, the devil!"
He broke off his speech and released me, for now he saw a sight that struck fear to his craven heart. Standing in the open doorway, his face as white as the long dressing robe he wore, was my father with his drawn hanger in his hand, and, behind him, Mary Mills and one or two negroes.
"God!" he exclaimed, "my daughter assaulted by my own bought servant. You villain! your life alone can atone for this." Then, with one step, his strength returning to him for a moment, he came within distance of the ruffian, and, reaching his sword on high, struck full at his head. Fortunately for the other, but unfortunately for future events, his feebleness made that sword shake in his hand so that it missed the wretch's head-though only by a hair's breadth-and, descending, struck off one of his ears so that it fell upon the polished floor of the saloon, while the weapon cut into his shoulder as it continued its course.
"This time I will make more sure," my father exclaimed, raising the sword again, but, ere he could renew the attack, with one bound accompanied by a hideous yell of pain, the villain Roderick St. Amande had leapt out on to the porch and fled down the steps-his track being marked by a line of blood. While my poor father, overcome by his exertions, and seeing that the wretch had escaped, fell back fainting into the arms of Mary Mills.
CHAPTER XV
A VISITOR FROM ENGLAND
Five years have passed away since then and now, when I again begin the recitation of the strange events of which my house was the centre, and I, who was then scarcely more than a child, have to record all that happened around me when I had developed into a woman.
By this period my dearly loved father had been long dead; had been, indeed, borne to his grave nearly four years ago, accompanied by all that ceremony with which a Virginian gentleman is always interred; and I ruled in his stead. Thus, you will comprehend, he had lived for some months after he had endeavoured to slay Mr. St. Amande for his assault upon me, and during those months we had received information about who and what he was, though there was still more to be learnt later on.
Indeed, he had not fled our house a week ere the courier brought a letter which had arrived from home; a letter sealed with a great seal as big as that of the Governor of Virginia, and addressed with much formal courtesy to "Nicholas Bampfyld, Esquire, Gentleman and Planter, of Pomfret Manor, on the James River, partly in King and Queen, and partly in King County, Virginia, etc." And when it was perused we found it did indeed contain strange matter, though, strange as it was, not difficult of understanding.
The Marquis, who wrote in his own hand, began by stating that, since all who bore the name of St. Amande were immediate kin of his, he thanked Mr. Bampfyld for in any way having shown kindness, which he was not called upon to show, to the youth, Roderick St. Amande. Yet, he proceeded to state, Mr. Bampfyld had in part been imposed upon by that young man, since, while he was in truth an heir of the title, he was by no means an immediate one, nor was his father really the Viscount St. Amande. The actual possessor of that title, his lordship said, was Gerald St. Amande, son of the late lord, his heir being (while Gerald was unmarried and without a son) his uncle Robert, falsely, at present, terming himself Lord St. Amande, and then, in succession to him, Roderick St. Amande.
"But," continued the Marquis, "it was indeed most remarkable that Mr. Bampfyld's letter should have arrived at the moment it did, for, while he stated that he had purchased Roderick St. Amande from the captain of a slave-trading vessel, they at home were under very grave fears that some similar disaster had befallen Gerald, the real lord, since he too was missing and no tidings could be gleaned of him. He had, however, disappeared from London and not from Dublin while left alone but a little while by a most faithful friend and companion of his (who was now as one distracted by his loss), and they could only conjecture that the young lord had either been stolen by kidnappers and sent to the West Indian or the American plantations, or else impressed for service in one of His Majesty's vessels, the press having been very hot of late."
The Marquis added that he felt little alarm at the young lord's future, since he knew it could only be a matter Of time as to his release, no matter where he had been taken to, while as to Mr. Roderick St. Amande he trusted Mr. Bampfyld would continue his kindness to him, put him in the way of returning to his family, and let him have what was necessary of money, for all of which he begged Mr. Bampfyld to draw upon him as he saw fit, and the drafts should be instantly honoured.
So, with profuse and reiterated thanks, this nobleman concluded his letter, and at the same time stated that Mr. Roderick St. Amande might not intentionally have intended to deceive Mr. Bampfyld as to his proper position, since, doubtless, his own father-who was a most unworthy and wicked person-had really fed the youth's mind with the idea that he was the heir-apparent to the peerage.
My father never did draw on the Marquis of Amesbury for the money he had expended, nor, indeed, would he have any mention ever made of Roderick St. Amande, though be commissioned Gregory to sit down and write to his lordship a full account of all the doings of that young libertine from the time he came to us until he left, and also bade my cousin not to omit how he had struck off his ear when he would, had he been able, have slain him. This letter of Gregory's was not answered until after my father had passed away, when we received another from the Marquis full of expressions of regret for the misbehaviour of his relative, and stating that, henceforth, he neither intended to acknowledge Roderick nor his father as kinsmen of his. Also, he remarked, that had Mr. Bampfyld killed the profligate he would have only accorded him his deserts, and could have merited no blame from honest men for doing so. Likewise, he told us that news had been heard of the real lord, Gerald, Viscount St. Amande, who had indeed been impressed for a seaman on board His Majesty's ship Namur, in which Admiral Sir Chaloner Ogle had hoisted his flag, and that, on the vessel having sailed the same night and he making known his condition to the Admiral, that illustrious officer had taken him under his charge and promised to treat him as a petty officer and promote him to better things should his command be a long one.
This was the last letter we had from home touching this strange matter-excepting a letter from the Marquis's secretary stating that his lordship had not as yet been called on to honour any draft of Mr. Bampfyld's, which he would very willingly do. Yet of the matter itself there was now to be more trouble, ay! more dreadful, horrid trouble than had happened up to now. This you shall see later. Meanwhile, our life went on very peacefully at the Manor, and, when I had reconciled myself to my dear father's loss, was not an unhappy one. Mary remained with me ever as my friend and companion, helping me to direct the household duties, singing and playing with me upon the spinet and the harpsichord, riding with me sometimes to Richmond, or Norfolk, or Williamsburg, sometimes called Middle Plantation, and assisting me in my garden, for which she constantly obtained from her friends in Bristol many of the dear old English plants and seeds. Yet I feared that the day must come ere long when she would cease to be an inmate of my house, tho' still a neighbour. For it was very evident that she had formed an affection, which was warmly returned, for the young Irish clergyman whom our neighbour, Mr. Cliborne, had brought out from England on his return from his last visit there, to replace the dissolute old man who had been Mr. St. Amande's friend and brother carouser. This young divine was a very different kind of man from that other, being most attentive in his duties and expounding the Word-according to the forms of the Established Church-most beautifully, and was, withal, a cheerful companion. He could also write sweet verses-whereby he partly gained, I think, Mary's heart-and he could take part in a catch or a glee admirably, so that, when in the evening we all sang together in the saloon, the blacks would gather round outside to hear and, sometimes, to hum in concert with us. To add to which his learning was profound.
But what interested me more than all was that Mr. Jonathan Kinchella-such being his name-was able to throw a thoroughly clear light upon the whole of the transactions connected with the St. Amande family; he could explain all that you, yourselves, know as to how the scapegrace, Roderick, came out to Virginia, and he told us of all the sufferings of that poor young man whom he always spoke of as Gerald, so that we could not but weep at their recountal. For what woman's heart, nay, what human heart, would not be touched by the description of that poor child torn from his mother's arms, living the life of a beggar in rags, and witnessing the funeral of his father conducted by charity? Oh! it was pitiful, we said to one another, pitiful; and when we knelt down to pray at night we besought a blessing on Mr. Kinchella and on that other good Christian, Quin, the butcher, for all that they had done for that unhappy young outcast.
But, previous to the arrival of this gentleman, I received a visit, of which I must speak, from another person, who also seemed much interested in those two cousins, and who, at the time when he came, I regarded as a most kind, benevolent gentleman.
Mary and I were seated one morning in our dining-saloon, it being then some months after my father's death, when Mungo entered the room and said that there was, without, a gentleman on his road to the proposed new settlement of Georgia. One who, the black added, would be very glad if I could accord him a moment's reception, since he was a friend of the St. Amande family, and that his name was Captain O'Rourke.
Bidding him be shown into the great saloon-for even now our curiosity was great to hear any news about this strange family, one of whose members, and he, doubtless, the worst, had dwelt with us-we entered that apartment shortly afterwards, and perceived our visitor standing at the long windows gazing down across the plantations to where the river ran. As he turned and made us a deep and most courtly bow, we observed that he was a gentleman of perhaps something more than middle age, with dark rolling eyes and a somewhat rosy face, and also that he was of large bulk. He was handsomely dressed in a dark blue riding-frock, gold laced; with, underneath, a crimson waistcoat, and his hat was also laced with gold.
"Ladies," he said, advancing with still another bow, "I know not which is Mistress Bampfyld, but I thank her for her courtesy in receiving me." Here I indicated that I was that person and that Mary was my friend, whereon he continued:
"Therefore, madam, I thank you. As I have told your domestic, I am a friend of the house of St. Amande, whereon, being on my way to Georgia on a mission concerning my friend, Mr. James Oglethorpe, member of Parliament for Haslemere in Surrey, I made bold to ride this way. For, madam, we have heard in England that it was under your hospitable roof, or your respected father's, that the Honourable Roderick found shelter."
"And have you heard, sir, how he repaid that shelter?" I asked.
"I have heard nothing, madam, of that, but I trust it was as became a gentleman."
"It was as became a villain!" exclaimed Mary.
"Heavens! madam," said the captain to her, looking most deeply shocked. "You pain as well as surprise me. As a villain! How we must all have been deceived in him. As a villain! Tut, tut!"
"But, sir," I asked, "you speak of him as the Honourable Roderick St. Amande. Yet the Marquis of Amesbury has written us that he is nothing of the sort, at present at least."
"Does he so? Does he, indeed? The Marquis! Ah! a noble gentleman and of great friendship with Sir Robert Walpole. And on what grounds, madam, does the Marquis write thus?"
"On the grounds that Mr. St. Amande's cousin, Gerald, is the present Viscount St. Amande-and that consequently-"
"Ha! ha!" he interrupted me, joyfully as it seemed, "so the Marquis does recognise Gerald! 'Tis well, very well." And here he nodded as though pleased. "Gerald was ever my favourite. A dear lad!"
"You knew him, sir?"
"Knew him, madam!" he exclaimed; "knew him! Why, he was my tenderest care. I was his governor for some time, and watched over him as though he had been my son."
At this moment Mungo brought in the refreshments which in Virginia are always offered to a caller, and the captain, seeing the various flasks of wine and the bottles, shook his head somewhat dubiously at them, saying he never drank till after the noon. Yet, upon persuasion, he was induced to try a little of the rum, which he pronounced to be excellent, and, doubtless, much relished by those who could stomach spirits, which he could rarely do.
As for Mary and myself we were determined to gather as much information as we could from this gallant gentleman who knew the St. Amande family so well (never suspecting, until later, how much he was gathering from us), so we continued our questions to him, asking him among others if Lord Gerald, as we termed him, was handsome.
"He was a most beautiful lad," said the captain, perceiving that our interests turned more to him than to his wretched cousin, "with exquisite features like his sweet mother, a much injured lady. But," changing the subject back again, "what has become of Roderick, for, in truth, I come more to seek after him than for aught else? His poor father has had no news of him now for some long time; not since he first arrived here and wrote home of all that had befallen him."
This astonished us greatly, for we had always figured to ourselves, when talking the matter over, that Mr. St. Amande must have somehow made his way back to Ireland in safety. So we told Captain O'Rourke of our surprise at his information.
"When he fled," I said, "he went first to an evil-living old man, our clergyman, now lying sick unto death from his debaucheries," – the captain shook his head mournfully here-"who, however, beyond giving him a balsamic styptic for his ear would do no more, saying that he feared my father's wrath too much. Then we learnt afterwards that he went to the Pringle Manor, where he had become on terms of intimacy with the young men of the family, but they, on gathering what had happened, refused also to give him shelter, calling him vile and ungrateful. So he went forth and has never since been heard of, tho', indeed, sir, I do trust no ill has befallen him. Bad and wicked as he was, we would not have him fall into the hands of the Indians, as he might well have done."
"The Indians, madam!" exclaimed the captain, while I thought he grew pale as he spoke. "The Indians! Would that be possible here?"
"They are ever about," I replied; "sometimes in large bodies, sometimes creeping through the grass and the woods like snakes. When they are together they will attack villages and townships, and when alone, will carry off children or girls-there are many of both, who have been carried away, living amongst them now, and have themselves become savages-or they will steal cattle or shoot a solitary man for his pistol or his sword."
"Faith," said the captain, "a pleasant part of the world to reside in! Yet 'tis indeed a noble estate you have here-it reminds me somewhat of my own in the Wicklow Mountains."
"But, sir," said Mary, "what are the chances of Lord St. Amande obtaining his rights, now that the Marquis has declared for him? Surely his uncle can do nothing against the truth!"
The captain mused a moment, shaking his head meditatively and as though pondering sadly on all the wickedness that had been wrought against that poor youth, and then he said:
"'Tis hard to tell. I fear me his uncle is a bad man-he has, indeed, deceived me who trusted and believed in him, for he has over and over again sworn that Gerald was not his brother's child. And I trusted him, I say, tho' now I begin to doubt. Yet 'tis ever so in this world. We who are of an innocent and confiding nature are made the sport of the unscrupulous and designing."
"But," I exclaimed, "surely there is law and justice at home, and upright judges, especially with so good a king as ours on the throne, tho', under the wicked Stuarts, it might have been different. And the judges of England and Ireland, with whom you doubtless are well acquainted, would not let so base a villain as his uncle prevail."
The captain nodded and said he did indeed know many of the judges of both countries (we learnt afterwards that he spake perfect truth), yet he doubted. Their judgments and decisions were not always those which he thought right nor worthy of approval; but still, with so strong a champion as the Marquis of Amesbury at his back (who could influence Sir Robert) he must hope that the young man would come by his own. We pressed him to stay to dinner, to which he consented and did full justice to our viands, praising them in a hearty, jolly fashion, and consenting more readily than before to attempt the wines and spirits. He also expressed much curiosity as to our convict and bond-servant labour, taking great interest in the various characters described by us. Indeed, at one time he testified a desire to walk down and inspect them and their dwellings, but desisted at last, saying we had given him such excellent accounts that he felt as if he had seen these creatures with his own eyes. Of them all, the case of Peter Buck, a highwayman, seemed to interest him the most, and he asked many questions about him; as to when he had come out, what his appearance was, and so forth. But, still, he finally decided not to go down to the plantation and see him or the others, saying he was bound to join a company of gentlemen at Albemarle Sound that night if possible, who had a vessel full of Saltzburghers to be conveyed to Savannah.
"But," said he with a laugh, "I do trust, ladies, I shall meet with none of your Indians on my ride. In battle, or with highwaymen, I know how to comport myself, and so long as my sword is true and my pistols well primed can hold my own. But with savages I know not what I should do, unless it were to cut and run."
So he mounted his horse having first bade his hired guide do the same, while we told him that his road ran too far south-east towards the coast for him to encounter any savages; and then, having paid courteous farewells to Mary and me, and having tossed an English gold coin to Mungo, he saluted us once more most gracefully and rode away.