The Tory Lover 47

The Tory Lover 47

"Come, Fairfax," cried the guest gayly, "I shall have arguments enough

for ye now! I can take the Patriot side with intelligence, instead of

what you have persisted in calling my ignorant prejudice."

 

"’T is your new teacher, then, and not your reasoning powers," retorted

Fairfax; and they both fell to laughing, while Mary fell to blushing and

looking more charming than before.

 

"Well, Miss Hamilton, and is your business forwarded? Then we must be

off; the day is well squandered already," said John Davis.

 

"I shall first take Miss Hamilton to our good housekeeper for a dish of

tea before she rides home," protested the host kindly. "I am grieved

that my lady is not here; but our housekeeper, Mrs. Mullet, can offer

the dish of tea, if so stern a Boston Patriot does not forbid. You will

try the Jamaica spirits again yourself, sir? A second glass may be

better than the first, Mr. Alderman!"

 

"I shall speak with my friends as to these Plymouth affairs, and do my

best for you," Lord Newburgh kindly assured Miss Hamilton, as they

parted. "You shall see me in Bristol to-morrow. Ah, this letter!" and

he spoke in a low voice. "It has touched my heart to think that you

know so well our sad inheritance. My poor father and poor Darwentwater!

Every one here knows their melancholy fate, their ’sad honors of the axe

and block;’ but there were things covered in those days that are secrets

still in England. _He speaks of the Newgate supper to me! ... ’Twas he

himself who saved ... and only a lad_" ... But Mary could not hear the

rest.

 

"I must see you again," he continued, aloud. "I shall have a thousand

questions to put to you, and many messages for your old Master Sullivan

(God bless him!) when you return. I offer you my friendship for his

sake," and Lord Newburgh stood with bared head beside the horse when

Miss Hamilton had mounted. "We have pleasant Dilston Hall to our home

no more these many years; we Radcliffes are all done, but at Slindon you

shall be very welcome. I shall wait upon Madam Wallingford to-morrow,

and bring her what good comfort I can."

 

 

The alderman was warmed by Mr. Fairfax’s hospitalities, and rode beside

his young guest as proudly as if he were the lord mayor on high holiday.

The streets of Bath were crowded with idle gentlefolk; it was a lovely

day, and many people of fashion were taking the air as well as the

famous waters. This was a fine sight for a New England girl, and Mary

herself was beheld with an admiration that was by no means silent.

Their horses’ feet clacked sharply on the cobblestones, as if eager to

shorten the homeward road, and the young rider sat as light as her heart

was, now the errand was done. It was a pretty thing, her

unconsciousness of all admiration: she might have been flitting along a

shady road under the pines at home, startling the brown rabbits, and

keeping a steady hand on the black Duke’s rein to be ready for sudden

freaks. She did not see that all along by the pump room they were

watching her as she passed. She was taking good news to Bristol; Lord

Newburgh had given his word of honor that Roger Wallingford should be

pardoned and set free. Was not his mother a great lady, and heartily

loyal to the Crown? Was there not talk of his having been suspected of

the same principles on board the American privateer? It must be

confessed that Lord Newburgh’s face had taken on a look of amused

assurance when these facts were somewhat unwillingly disclosed; they

were the last points in the lieutenant’s history which Mary herself

woidd have willingly consented to use, even as a means of deliverance

from captivity, but, unknown to her, they had won an easy promise of

freedom.

 

"She ’s a rebel indeed, but God bless me, I don’t blame her!" laughed

the noble lord, as he reflected upon their conversation. It was not in

his loyal heart to forget his heritage. Whatever might fall out in the

matter of those distressed seamen who now suffered in the Mill Prison,

no man could fail of pleasure in doing service for such sweet eyes as

Miss Mary Hamilton’s. There were some private reasons why he could go

boldly to ask this great favor, and Lord Mount Edgecumbe was as good as

master of the town of Plymouth, both by land and sea, and responsible

for her concerns. "I ’ll make him ride with me to Bristol to-morrow to

see these ladies," said Lord Newburgh from a generous heart. "’T will

be a sweet reward, he may take my word for it!"

 

 

 

 

*XXXVII*

 

*THE BOTTOM OF THESE MISERIES*

 

"Let us pray that our unconscious benefactions outweigh our unconscious

cruelties!"

 

 

The order for Lieutenant Wallingford’s release was soon in hand, but the

long journey across country from Bristol to Plymouth seemed almost as

long as all the time spent in crossing the sea. From the morning hour

when the two elder ladies had watched Miss Hamilton and her kind old

cavalier ride away down the narrow Bristol street, with a stout man

servant well mounted behind them, until the day they were in sight of

Plymouth Hoe, each minute seemed slower than the last. It was a pretty

journey from inn to inn, and the alderman lent himself gayly to such

unwonted holidays, while Mary’s heart grew lighter on the way, and a

bright, impatient happiness began to bloom afresh in her cheeks and to

shine in her eyes.

 

They reached Plymouth town at nightfall, and Mary was for taking fresh

horses and riding on to the Mill Prison. For once her face was dark

with anger when the landlord argued against such haste. He was for

their taking supper, and assured the travelers that not even the mayor

of Plymouth himself could knock at the jail gate by night and think to

have it opened.

 

Miss Hamilton turned from such officious speech with proud indifference,

and looked expectantly at her companion.

 

"It is not every night they will have a pardon to consider," she said in

a low voice to Mr. Davis. "We carry a letter from my Lord Mount

Edgecumbe to the governor of the prison. We must first get speech with

the guard, and then I have no fear."

 

The innkeeper looked provoked and wagged his head; he had already given

orders for a bountiful supper, and was not going to let a rich Bristol

merchant and two persons beside ride away without paying for it.

 

"We shall not be long away," said Mary, pleading. If she had known of

the supper, she would have added that they might bring back another and

a hungrier guest than they to sit at table. The alderman was

irresolute; he was ready to succor a distressed prisoner, being a good

Christian; but he was hungry now, and they had been riding all day at a

quicker pace than he might have followed if alone. His man servant,

just come into the inn parlor to wait for orders, stole a meaning glance

at him; and they were two against one.

 

"No, no, my dear; ’t is a good bit further, and most likely we should

have our ride in vain. I know the rules of such places, from our

Bristol laws at home. The governor will most likely be here in the

town. Rest you now, and let us make a good supper, and start again

betimes in the morning." Then, seeing how disappointed and even

determined her face grew, and that she looked very tired, "I am an old

man, you must remember," he added kindly. "I fear that I am spent

to-night, and can do no more without resting."

 

She was silent then, and crossed the room to stand by the window. There

was a voice in her heart that begged her to persist, to go on alone, if

need be, and not let herself be hindered in her quest. It was still

light out of doors; the long twilight of the English summer was making

this last step of her great adventure a possibility. She sighed; the

voice within still warned and pleaded with her. "Who are you?" the girl

said wonderingly. "Who are you that comes and helps me? You are not my

own thought, but some one wiser than I, who would be my friend!" It was

as if some unseen ministering spirit were face to face with her,

bringing this insistent thought that she hardly dared refuse to take for

guidance.

 

She gazed out of the window. Sunset clouds were brightening the whole

sky; an afterglow was on the moorland hills eastward above the town.

She could hear the roar of the ocean not far away; there were cheerful

voices coming up the street, and the citizens were all abroad with their

comfortable pipes and chatter.

 

"Get me a fresh horse and a man to follow," said Miss Hamilton, turning

again to face the room. The landlord himself was laying the white cloth

for supper. Matthew, their old groom, was stiffly kneeling and pulling

off his master’s riding boots, and they all three looked at her in

dismay.

 

"Our own horses are done, miss," said Matthew, with decision.

 

"I have none I can let you to-night from my stable," the landlord

seconded. "There was a review to-day of our raw recruits for America,

and I had to empty every stall. The three best horses are returned with

saddle galls from their clumsy ignorance," he protested boldly.

 

Mary glanced at Mr. Davis, and was still unconvinced; but all her

determination was lost when she saw that the old man was really

fatigued. Well, it was only one night more, and she must not insist.

Perhaps they were right, and her ride would be in vain. At least she

could send a messenger; and to this proposal the landlord readily

acceded, since, useless or not, it would be a shilling in his pocket,

and a slow boy could carry the letter which the young lady made such

haste to write.

 

She stopped more than once, with trembling fingers and trembling heart.

"Dearest Roger," and the written words made her blush crimson and hold

her face closer to the paper. "Dearest Roger, I would that I might come

to you to-night; but they say it is impossible. Your mother is in

Bristol, and awaits you there. Mr. John Davis has brought me hither to

the Crown Inn. In the morning we shall open the prison door for you.

Oh, my dear Roger, to think that I shall see you at last!"

 

"When can we have the answer back?" she asked; and the landlord told

her, smiling, that it would be very late, if indeed there were any

answer at all, and reminded her, with insolent patience, that he had

already told her they would not open their prison gates, for Lords or

Commons, to any one who came by night.

 

"You may send the answer by one of your maids to the lady’s room,"

commanded the Bristol magnate, in a tone that chased the servile smile

from the inn-keeper’s face.

 

 

When Mary waked, the morning sun was pouring in at her window, and there

was no word of any answer. Old Matthew had spoken with the young

messenger, and brought word that he had given the letter to one of the

watch by the gate, who had taken the money, and promised to do his best

to put the message into Mr. Wallingford’s hands that night when they changed guard.