Chapter V

 
“Monarch and ministers, are awful names:
Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir.”
 

Young.

Our plan does not require an elaborate description of the residence of Sir Wycherly. The house had been neither priory, abbey, nor castle; but it was erected as a dwelling for himself and his posterity, by a Sir Michael Wychecombe, two or three centuries before, and had been kept in good serviceable condition ever since. It had the usual long, narrow windows, a suitable hall, wainscoted rooms, battlemented walls, and turreted angles. It was neither large, nor small; handsome, nor ugly; grand, nor mean; but it was quaint, respectable in appearance, and comfortable as an abode.

The admirals were put each in possession of bed-chambers and dressing-rooms, as soon as they arrived; and Atwood was berthed not far from his commanding-officer, in readiness for service, if required. Sir Wycherly was naturally hospitable; but his retired situation had given him a zest for company, that greatly increased the inborn disposition. Sir Gervaise, it was understood, was to pass the night with him, and he entertained strong hopes of including his friend in the same arrangement. Beds were ordered, too, for Dutton, his wife, and daughter; and his namesake, the lieutenant, was expected also to sleep under his roof, that night.

The day passed in the customary manner; the party having breakfasted, and then separated to attend to their several occupations, agreeably to the usages of all country houses, in all parts of the world, and, we believe, in all time. Sir Gervaise, who had sent a messenger off to the Plantagenet for certain papers, spent the morning in writing; Admiral Bluewater walked in the park, by himself; Atwood was occupied with his superior; Sir Wycherly rode among his labourers; and Tom Wychecombe took a rod, and pretended to go forth to fish, though he actually held his way back to the head-land, lingering in and around the cottage until it was time to return home. At the proper hour, Sir Wycherly sent his chariot for the ladies; and a few minutes before the appointed moment, the party began to assemble in the drawing-room.

When Sir Wycherly appeared, he found the Duttons already in possession, with Tom doing the honours of the house. Of the sailing-master and his daughter, it is unnecessary to say more than that the former was in his best uniform – an exceedingly plain one, as was then the case with the whole naval wardrobe – and that the last had recovered from her illness, as was evident by the bloom that the sensitive blushes constantly cast athwart her lovely face. Her attire was exactly what it ought to have been; neat, simple, and becoming. In honour of the host, she wore her best; but this was what became her station, though a little jewelry that rather surpassed what might have been expected in a girl of her rank of life, threw around her person an air of modest elegance. Mrs. Dutton was a plain, matronly woman – the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman in the same county – with an air of great mental suffering, from griefs she had never yet exposed to the heartless sympathy of the world.

The baronet was so much in the habit of seeing his humble neighbours, that an intimacy had grown up between them. Sir Wycherly, who was anything but an acute observer, felt an interest in the melancholy-looking, and almost heart-broken mother, without knowing why; or certainly without suspecting the real character of her habitual sadness; while Mildred’s youth and beauty had not failed of producing the customary effect of making a friend of the old bachelor. He shook hands all round, therefore, with great cordiality; expressing his joy at meeting Mrs. Dutton, and congratulating the daughter on her complete recovery.

“I see Tom has been attentive to his duty,” he added, “while I’ve been detained by a silly fellow about a complaint against a poacher. My namesake, young Wycherly, has not got back yet, though it is quite two hours past his time; and Mr. Atwood tells me the admiral is a little uneasy about his despatches. I tell him Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe, though I have not the honour of ranking him among my relatives, and he is only a Virginian by birth, is a young man to be relied on; and that the despatches are safe, let what may detain the courier.”

“And why should not a Virginian be every way as trustworthy and prompt as an Englishman, Sir Wycherly?” asked Mrs. Dutton. “He is an Englishman, merely separated from us by the water.”

This was said mildly, or in the manner of one accustomed to speak under a rebuked feeling; but it was said earnestly, and perhaps a little reproachfully, while the speaker’s eye glanced with natural interest towards the beautiful face of her daughter.

“Why not, sure enough, my dear Mrs. Dutton!” echoed the baronet. “They are Englishmen, like ourselves, only born out of the realm, as it might be, and no doubt a little different on that account. They are fellow-subjects, Mrs. Dutton, and that is a great deal. Then they are miracles of loyalty, there being scarcely a Jacobite, as they tell me, in all the colonies.”

“Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is a very respectable young gentleman,” said Dutton; “and I hear he is a prime seaman for his years. He has not the honour of being related to this distinguished family, like Mr. Thomas, here, it is true; but he is likely to make a name for himself. Should he get a ship, and do as handsome things in her, as he has done already, His Majesty would probably knight him; and then we should have two Sir Wycherly Wychecombes!”

“I hope not – I hope not!” exclaimed the baronet; “I think there must be a law against that. As it is, I shall be obliged to put Bart. after my name, as my worthy grandfather used to do, in order to prevent confusion; but England can’t bear two Sir Wycherlys, any more than the world can bear two suns. Is not that your opinion, Miss Mildred?”

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.”