The Two Admirals (11 page)

The baronet had laughed at his own allusion, showing he spoke half
jocularly; but, as his question was put in too direct a manner to escape
general attention, the confused girl was obliged to answer.

"I dare say Mr. Wychecombe will never reach a rank high enough to cause
any such difficulty," she said; and it was said in all sincerity; for,
unconsciously perhaps, she secretly hoped that no difference so wide
might ever be created between the youth and herself. "If he should, I
suppose his rights would be as good as another's, and he must keep his
name."

"In such a case, which is improbable enough, as Miss Mildred has so well
observed," put in Tom Wychecombe, "we should have to submit to the
knighthood
, for that comes from the king, who might knight a
chimney-sweep, if he see fit; but a question might be raised as to the
name
. It is bad enough as it is; but if it really got to be
two
Sir
Wycherlys, I think my dear uncle would be wrong to submit to such an
invasion of what one might call his individuality, without making some
inquiry as to the right of the gentleman to one or both his names. The
result might show that the king had made a Sir Something Nobody."

The sneer and spite with which this was uttered, were too marked to
escape notice; and both Dutton and his wife felt it would be unpleasant
to mingle farther in the discourse. Still the last, submissive, rebuked,
and heart-broken as she was, felt a glow on her own pale cheek, as she
saw the colour mount in the face of Mildred, and she detected the strong
impulses that urged the generous girl herself to answer.

"We have now known Mr. Wychecombe several months," observed Mildred,
fastening her full, blue eye calmly on Tom's sinister-looking face; "and
we have never known any thing to cause us to think he would bear a
name—or names—that he does not at least think he has a right to."

This was said gently, but so distinctly, that every word entered fairly
into Tom Wychecombe's soul; who threw a quick, suspicious glance at the
lovely speaker, as if to ascertain how far she intended any allusion to
himself. Meeting with no other expression than that of generous
interest, he recovered his self-command, and made his reply with
sufficient coolness.

"Upon my word, Mrs. Dutton," he cried, laughing; "we young men will all
of us have to get over the cliff, and hang dangling at the end of a
rope, in order to awaken an interest in Miss Mildred, to defend us when
our backs are turned. So eloquent—and most especially, so lovely, so
charming an advocate, is almost certain of success; and my uncle and
myself must admit the absent gentleman's right to our name; though,
heaven be praised, he has not yet got either the title or the estate."

"I hope I have said nothing, Sir Wycherly, to displease
you
," returned
Mildred, with emphasis; though her face was a thousand times handsomer
than ever, with the blushes that suffused it. "Nothing would pain me
more, than to suppose I had done so improper a thing. I merely meant
that we cannot believe Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe would willingly take a
name he had no right to."

"My little dear," said the baronet, taking the hand of the distressed
girl, and kissing her cheek, as he had often done before, with fatherly
tenderness; "it is not an easy matter for
you
to offend
me
; and I'm
sure the young fellow is quite welcome to both my names, if you wish him
to have 'em."

"And I merely meant, Miss Mildred," resumed Tom, who feared he might
have gone too far; "that the young gentleman—quite without any fault of
his own—is probably ignorant how he came by two names that have so long
pertained to the head of an ancient and honourable family. There is many
a young man born, who is worthy of being an earl, but whom the law
considers—" here Tom paused to choose terms suitable for his auditor,
when the baronet added,

"A
filius nullius
—that's the phrase, Tom—I had it from your own
father's mouth."

Tom Wychecombe started, and looked furtively around him, as if to
ascertain who suspected the truth. Then he continued, anxious to regain
the ground he feared he had lost in Mildred's favour.

"
Filius nullius
means, Miss Mildred, exactly what I wish to express; a
family without any legal origin. They tell me, however, that in the
colonies, nothing is more common than for people to take the names of
the great families at home, and after a while they fancy themselves
related."

"I never heard Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe say a word to lead us to suppose
that he was, in any manner, connected with this family, sir," returned
Mildred, calmly, but quite distinctly.

"Did you ever hear him say he was
not
, Miss Mildred?"

"I cannot say I ever did, Mr. Wychecombe. It is a subject that has
seldom been introduced in my hearing."

"But it has often been introduced in his! I declare, Sir Wycherly, it
has struck me as singular, that while you and I have so very frequently
stated in the presence of this gentleman, that our families are in no
way connected, he has never, in any manner, not even by a nod or a look
of approbation, assented to what he must certainly know to be the case.
But I suppose, like a true colonist, he was unwilling to give up his
hold on the old stock."

Here the entrance of Sir Gervaise Oakes changed the discourse. The
vice-admiral joined the party in good spirits, as is apt to be the case
with men who have been much occupied with affairs of moment, and who
meet relaxation with a consciousness of having done their duty.

"If one could take with him to sea, the comforts of such a house as
this, Sir Wycherly, and such handsome faces as your own, young lady,"
cried Sir Gervaise, cheerfully, after he had made his salutations;
"there would be an end of our exclusiveness, for every
petit maître
of
Paris and London would turn sailor, as a matter of course. Six months in
the Bay of Biscay gives an old fellow, like myself, a keen relish for
these enjoyments, as hunger makes any meat palatable; though I am far,
very far, indeed, from putting this house or this company, on a level
with an indifferent feast, even for an epicure."

"Such as it is, Sir Gervaise, the first is quite at your service, in all
things," rejoined the host; "and the last will do all in its power to
make itself agreeable."

"Ah—here comes Bluewater to echo all I have said and feel. I am telling
Sir Wycherly and the ladies, of the satisfaction we grampuses experience
when we get berthed under such a roof as this, with woman's sweet face
to throw a gleam of happiness around her."

Admiral Bluewater had already saluted the mother, but when his eye fell
on the face and person of Mildred, it was riveted, for an instant, with
an earnestness and intentness of surprise and admiration that all noted,
though no one saw fit to comment on it.

"Sir Gervaise is so established an admirer of the sex," said the
rear-admiral, recovering himself, after a pause; "that I am never
astonished at any of his raptures. Salt water has the usual effect on
him, however; for I have now known him longer than he might wish to be
reminded of, and yet the only mistress who can keep him true, is his
ship."

"And to that I believe I may be said to be constant. I don't know how it
is with you, Sir Wycherly, but every thing I am accustomed to I like.
Now, here I have sailed with both these gentlemen, until I should as
soon think of going to sea without a binnacle, as to go to sea without
'em both—hey! Atwood? Then, as to the ship, my flag has been flying in
the Plantagenet these ten years, and I can't bear to give the old craft
up, though Bluewater, here, would have turned her over to an inferior
after three years' service. I tell all the young men they don't stay
long enough in any one vessel to find out her good qualities. I never
was in a slow ship yet."

"For the simple reason that you never get into a fast one, that you do
not wear her fairly out, before you give her up. The Plantagenet, Sir
Wycherly, is the fastest two-decker in His Majesty's service, and the
vice-admiral knows it too well to let any of us get foot in her, while
her timbers will hang together."

"Let it be so, if you will; it only shows, Sir Wycherly, that I do not
choose my friends for their bad qualities. But, allow me to ask, young
lady, if you happen to know a certain Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe—a
namesake, but no relative, I understand, of our respectable host—and
one who holds a commission in His Majesty's service?"

"Certainly, Sir Gervaise," answered Mildred, dropping her eyes to the
floor, and trembling, though she scarce knew why; "Mr. Wychecombe has
been about here, now, for some months, and we all know something of
him."

"Then, perhaps you can tell me whether he is generally a loiterer on
duty. I do not inquire whether he is a laggard in his duty to you, but
whether, mounted on a good hunter, he could get over twenty miles, in
eight or ten hours, for instance?"

"I think Sir Wycherly would tell you that he could, sir."

"He may be a Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly, but he is no Plantagenet, in the
way of sailing. Surely the young gentleman ought to have returned some
hours since!"

"It's quite surprising to me that he is not back before this," returned
the kind-hearted baronet. "He is active, and understands himself, and
there is not a better horseman in the county—is there, Miss Mildred?"

Mildred did not think it necessary to reply to this direct appeal; but
spite of the manner in which she had been endeavouring to school her
feelings, since the accident on the cliff, she could not prevent the
deadly paleness that dread of some accident had produced, or the rush of
colour to her cheeks that followed from the unexpected question of Sir
Wycherly. Turning to conceal her confusion, she met the eye of Tom
Wychecombe riveted on her face, with an expression so sinister, that it
caused her to tremble. Fortunately, at this moment, Sir Gervaise turned
away, and drawing near his friend, on the other side of the large
apartment, he said in an under tone—

"Luckily, Atwood has brought ashore a duplicate of my despatches,
Bluewater, and if this dilatory gentleman does not return by the time we
have dined, I will send off a second courier. The intelligence is too
important to be trifled with; and after having brought the fleet north,
to be in readiness to serve the state in this emergency, it would be
rare folly to leave the ministry in ignorance of the reasons why I have
done it."

"Nevertheless, they would be almost as well-informed, as I am myself,"
returned the rear-admiral, with a little point, but quite without any
bitterness of manner. "The only advantage I have over them is that I
do
know where the fleet is, which is more than the First Lord can
boast of."

"True—I had forgot, my friend—but you must feel that there
is
a
subject on which I had better not consult you. I have received some
important intelligence, that my duty, as a commander-in-chief, renders
it necessary I should—keep to myself."

Sir Gervaise laughed as he concluded, though he seemed vexed and
embarrassed. Admiral Bluewater betrayed neither chagrin, nor
disappointment; but strong, nearly ungovernable curiosity, a feeling
from which he was singularly exempt in general, glowed in his eyes, and
lighted his whole countenance. Still, habitual submission to his
superior, and the self-command of discipline, enabled him to wait for
any thing more that his friend might communicate. At this moment, the
door opened, and Wycherly entered the room, in the state in which he had
just dismounted. It was necessary to throw but a single glance at his
hurried manner, and general appearance, to know that he had something of
importance to communicate, and Sir Gervaise made a sign for him not to
speak.

"This is public service, Sir Wycherly," said the vice-admiral, "and I
hope you will excuse us for a few minutes. I beg this good company will
be seated at table, as soon as dinner is served, and that you will treat
us as old friends—as I should treat you, if we were on board the
Plantagenet. Admiral Bluewater, will you be of our conference?"

Nothing more was said until the two admirals and the young lieutenant
were in the dressing-room of Sir Gervaise Oakes. Then the latter turned,
and addressed Wycherly, with the manner of a superior.

"I should have met you with a reproof, for this delay, young gentleman,"
he commenced, "did I not suspect, from your appearance, that something
of moment has occurred to produce it. Had the mail passed the
market-town, before you reached it, sir?"

"It had not, Admiral Oakes; and I have the satisfaction of knowing that
your despatches are now several hours on their way to London. I reached
the office just in season to see them mailed."

"Humph! On board the Plantagenet, it is the custom for an officer to
report any important duty done, as soon as it is in a condition to be
thus laid before the superior!"

"I presume that is the usage in all His Majesty's ships, Sir Gervaise
Oakes: but I have been taught that a proper discretion, when it does not
interfere with positive orders, and sometimes when it does, is a surer
sign of a useful officer, than even the most slavish attention to
rules."

"That is a just distinction, young gentleman, though safer in the hands
of a captain, perhaps, than in those of a lieutenant," returned the
vice-admiral, glancing at his friend, though he secretly admired the
youth's spirit. "Discretion is a comparative term; meaning different
things with different persons. May I presume to ask what Mr. Wycherly
Wychecombe calls discretion, in the present instance?"

"You have every right, sir, to know, and I only wanted your permission
to tell my whole story. While waiting to see the London mail start with
your despatches, and to rest my horse, a post-chaise arrived that was
carrying a gentleman, who is suspected of being a Jacobite, to his
country-seat, some thirty miles further west. This gentleman held a
secret conference with another person of the same way of thinking as
himself; and there was so much running and sending of messages, that I
could not avoid suspecting something was in the wind. Going to the
stable to look after Sir Wycherly's hunter, for I knew how much he
values the animal, I found one of the stranger's servants in discourse
with the ostler. The latter told me, when the chaise had gone, that
great tidings had reached Exeter, before the travellers quitted the
town. These tidings he described as news that 'Charley was no longer
over the water.' It was useless, Sir Gervaise, to question one so
stupid; and, at the inn, though all observed the manner of the traveller
and his visiter, no one could tell me any thing positive. Under the
circumstances, therefore, I threw myself into the return chaise, and
went as far as Fowey, where I met the important intelligence that Prince
Charles has actually landed, and is at this moment up, in Scotland!"