The Two Admirals (20 page)

Dutton was duly sensible of an awkwardness in the presence of his
superior, and he gladly profited by this commission to quit the room;
walking more steadily than if he had not been drinking.

All this time, Mildred hung on Admiral Bluewater's shoulder, weeping,
and unwilling to quit a place that seemed to her, in her fearful
agitation, a sort of sanctuary.

"Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, first kissing the cheek of his lovely
burthen, in a manner so parental, that the most sensitive delicacy could
not have taken the alarm; "you will succeed better than myself, in
quieting the feelings of this little trembler. I need hardly say that if
I have accidentally overheard more than I ought, it is as much a secret
with me, as it would be with your own brother. The characters of all
cannot be affected by the mistaken and excited calculations of one; and
this occasion has served to make me better acquainted with you, and your
admirable daughter, than I might otherwise have been, by means of years
of ordinary intercourse."

"Oh! Admiral Bluewater, do not judge him
too
harshly! He has been too
long at that fatal table, which I fear has destroyed poor dear Sir
Wycherly, and knew not what he said. Never before have I seen him in
such a fearful humour, or in the least disposed to trifle with, or to
wound the feelings of this sweet child!"

"Her extreme agitation is a proof of this, my good madam, and shows all
you can wish to say. View me as your sincere friend, and place every
reliance on my discretion."

The wounded mother listened with gratitude, and Mildred withdrew from
her extraordinary situation, wondering by what species of infatuation
she could have been led to adopt it.

—"Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead."

KING HENRY VI.

Sir Wycherly had actually been seized with a fit of apoplexy. It was the
first serious disease he had experienced in a long life of health and
prosperity; and the sight of their condescending, good-humored, and
indulgent master, in a plight so miserable, had a surprising effect on
the heated brains of all the household. Mr. Rotherham, a good
three-bottle man, on emergency, had learned to bleed, and fortunately
the vein he struck, as his patient still lay on the floor, where he had
fallen, sent out a stream that had the effect not only to restore the
baronet to life, but, in a great measure, to consciousness. Sir Wycherly
was not a
hard
drinker, like Dutton; but he was a
fair
drinker, like
Mr. Rotherham, and most of the beneficed clergy of that day. Want of
exercise, as he grew older, had as much influence in producing his
attack as excess of wine; and there were already, strong hopes of his
surviving it, aided as he was, by a good constitution. The apothecary
had reached the Hall, within five minutes after the attack, having
luckily been prescribing to the gardener; and the physician and surgeon
of the family were both expected in the course of the morning.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had been acquainted with the state of his host, by
his own valet, as soon as it was known in the servants'-hall, and being
a man of action, he did not hesitate to proceed at once to the chamber
of the sick, to offer his own aid, in the absence of that which might be
better. At the door of the chamber, he met Atwood, who had been summoned
from his pen, and they entered together, the vice-admiral feeling for a
lancet in his pocket, for he, too, had acquired the art of the
blood-letter. They now learned the actual state of things.

"Where is Bluewater?" demanded Sir Gervaise, after regarding his host a
moment with commiseration and concern. "I hope he has not yet left the
house."

"He is still here, Sir Gervaise, but I should think on the point of
quitting us. I heard him say, that, notwithstanding all Sir Wycherly's
kind plans to detain him, he intended to sleep in his own ship."

"That I've never doubted, though I've affected to believe otherwise. Go
to him, Atwood, and say I beg he will pull within hail of the
Plantagenet, as he goes off, and desire Mr. Magrath to come ashore, as
soon as possible. There shall be a conveyance at the landing to bring
him here; and he may order his own surgeon to come also, if it be
agreeable to himself."

With these instructions the secretary left the room; while Sir Gervaise
turned to Tom Wychecombe, and said a few of the words customary on such
melancholy occasions.

"I think there is hope, sir," he added, "yes, sir, I think there is
hope; though your honoured relative is no longer young—still, this
early bleeding has been a great thing; and if we can gain a little time
for poor Sir Wycherly, our efforts will not be thrown away. Sudden death
is awful, sir, and few of us are prepared for it, either in mind, or
affairs. We sailors have to hold our lives in our hands, it is true, but
then it is for king and country; and we hope for mercy on all who fall
in the discharge of their duties. For my part, I am never unprovided
with a will, and that disposes of all the interests of this world, while
I humbly trust in the Great Mediator, for the hereafter. I hope Sir
Wycherly is equally provident as to his worldly affairs?"

"No doubt my dear uncle could wish to leave certain trifling memorials
behind him to a few of his intimates," returned Tom, with a dejected
countenance; "but he has not been without a will, I believe, for some
time; and I presume you will agree with me in thinking he is not in a
condition to make one, now, were he unprovided in that way?"

"Perhaps not exactly at this moment, though a rally might afford an
opportunity. The estate is entailed, I think Mr. Dutton told me, at
dinner."

"It is, Sir Gervaise, and I am the unworthy individual who is to profit
by it, according to the common notions of men, though Heaven knows I
shall consider it any thing but a gain; still, I am the unworthy
individual who is to be benefited by my uncle's death."

"Your father was the baronet's next brother?" observed Sir Gervaise,
casually, a shade of distrust passing athwart his mind, though coming
from what source, or directed to what point, he was himself totally
unable to say. "Mr. Baron Wychecombe, I believe, was your parent?"

"He was, Sir Gervaise, and a most tender and indulgent father, I ever
found him. He left me his earnings, some seven hundred a year, and I am
sure the death of Sir Wycherly is as far from my necessities, as it is
from my wishes."

"Of course you will succeed to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate?"
mechanically asked Sir Gervaise, led on by the supererogatory
expressions of Tom, himself, rather than by a vulgar curiosity, to ask
questions that, under other circumstances, he might have thought
improper.

"Of course, sir. My father was the only surviving brother of Sir
Wycherly; the only one who ever married; and I am
his
eldest child.
Since this melancholy event has occurred, it is quite fortunate that I
lately obtained this certificate of the marriage of my parents—is it
not, sir?"

Here Tom drew from his pocket a soiled piece of paper, which professed
to be a certificate of the marriage of Thomas Wychecombe, barrister,
with Martha Dodd, spinster, &c. &c. The document was duly signed by the
rector of a parish church in Westminster, and bore a date sufficiently
old to establish the legitimacy of the person who held it. This
extraordinary precaution produced the very natural effect of increasing
the distrust of the vice-admiral, and, in a slight degree, of giving it
a direction.

"You go well armed, sir," observed Sir Gervaise, drily. "Is it your
intention, when you succeed, to carry the patent of the baronetcy, and
the title-deeds, in your pocket?"

"Ah! I perceive my having this document strikes you as odd, Sir
Gervaise, but it can be easily explained. There was a wide difference in
rank between my parents, and some ill-disposed persons have presumed so
far to reflect on the character of my mother, as to assert she was not
married at all."

"In which case, sir, you would do well to cut off half-a-dozen of their
ears."

"The law is not to be appeased in that way, Sir Gervaise. My dear parent
used to inculcate on me the necessity of doing every thing according to
law; and I endeavour to remember his precepts. He avowed his marriage on
his death-bed, made all due atonement to my respected and injured
mother, and informed me in whose hands I should find this very
certificate; I only obtained it this morning, which fact will account
for its being in my pocket, at this melancholy and unexpected crisis, in
my beloved uncle's constitution."

The latter part of Tom's declaration was true enough; for, after having
made all the necessary inquiries, and obtained the hand-writing of a
clergyman who was long since dead, he had actually forged the
certificate that day, on a piece of soiled paper, that bore the
water-mark of 1720. His language, however, contributed to alienate the
confidence of his listener; Sir Gervaise being a man who was so much
accustomed to directness and fair-dealing, himself, as to feel disgust
at any thing that had the semblance of cant or hypocrisy. Nevertheless,
he had his own motives for pursuing the subject; the presence of neither
at the bed-side of the sufferer, being just then necessary.

"And this Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe," he said; "he who has so much
distinguished himself of late; your uncle's namesake;—is it true that
he is not allied to your family?"

"Not in the least, Sir Gervaise," answered Tom, with one of his sinister
smiles. "He is only a Virginian, you know, sir, and cannot well belong
to us. I have heard my uncle say, often, that the young gentleman must
be descended from an old servant of his father's, who was transported
for stealing silver out of a shop on Ludgate Hill, and who was arrested
for passing himself off, as one of the Wychecombe family. They tell me,
Sir Gervaise, that the colonies are pretty much made of persons
descended from that sort of ancestors?"

"I cannot say that I have found it so; though, when I commanded a
frigate, I served several years on the North American station. The
larger portion of the Americans, like much the larger portion of the
English, are humble labourers, established in a remote colony, where
civilization is not far advanced, wants are many, and means few; but, in
the way of character, I am not certain that they are not quite on a
level with those they left behind them; and, as to the gentry of the
colonies, I have seen many men of the best blood of the mother country
among them;—younger sons, and their descendants, as a matter of course,
but of an honourable and respected ancestry."

"Well, sir, this surprises me; and it is not the general opinion, I am
persuaded! Certainly, it is not the fact as respects the
gentleman—stranger, I might call him, for stranger he is at
Wychecombe—who has not the least right to pretend to belong to us."

"Did you ever know him to lay claim to that honour, sir?"

"Not directly, Sir Gervaise; though I am told he has made many hints to
that effect, since he landed here to be cured of his wound. It would
have been better had he presented his rights to the landlord, than to
present them to the tenants, I think you will allow, as a man of honour,
yourself, Sir Gervaise?"

"I can approve of nothing clandestine in matters that require open and
fair dealing, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe. But I ought to apologize for thus
dwelling on your family affairs, which concern me only as I feel an
interest in the wishes and happiness of my new acquaintance, my
excellent host."

"Sir Wycherly has property in the funds that is not entailed—quite
£1000 a year, beyond the estates—and I know he has left a will,"
continued Tom; who, with the short-sightedness of a rogue, flattered
himself with having made a favourable impression on his companion, and
who was desirous of making him useful to himself, in an emergency that
he felt satisfied must terminate in the speedy death of his uncle. "Yes,
a good £1000 a year, in the fives; money saved from his rents, in a long
life. This will probably has some provision in favour of my younger
brothers; and perhaps of this namesake of his,"—Tom was well aware that
it devised every shilling, real and personal, to himself;—"for a kinder
heart does not exist on earth. In fact, this will my uncle put in my
possession, as heir at law, feeling it due to my pretensions, I suppose;
but I have never presumed to look into it."

Here was another instance of excessive finesse, in which Tom awakened
suspicion by his very efforts to allay it. It seemed highly improbable
to Sir Gervaise, that a man like the nephew could long possess his
uncle's will, and feel no desire to ascertain its contents. The language
of the young man was an indirect admission, that he might have examined
the will if he would; and the admiral felt disposed to suspect that what
he might thus readily have done, he actually had done. The dialogue,
however, terminated here; Dutton, just at that moment, entering the room
on the errand on which he had been sent by Admiral Bluewater, and Tom
joining his old acquaintance, as soon as the latter made his appearance.
Sir Gervaise Oakes was too much concerned for the condition of his host,
and had too many cares of his own, to think deeply or long on what had
just passed between himself and Tom Wychecombe. Had they separated that
night, what had been said, and the unfavourable impressions it had made,
would have been soon forgotten; but circumstances subsequently conspired
to recall the whole to his mind, of which the consequences will be
related in the course of our narrative.