Part 14

"Oh, no--not you. I want to see----"

He emptied the gold into a shining heap, on the table before him, and spread it out with his hands. There were guineas, pistoles, and Spanish doubloons, in all, making up the two hundred pounds.

"I want to see if there are any pieces which might be remembered--any--with--Ah!"--he picked out a doubloon, with a star and a crescent cut deep upon its face. "I wonder if Marbury can by any chance recall--I beg your pardon, Colonel! Marbury had some gold stolen during the house-party, at Hedgely Hall. He kept no list, but he might recognize this one, it is sufficiently distinctive, surely."

The Governor blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and watched it slowly vanish.

"You think that Parkington may be guilty?" he said--"that we may catch a thief, as well as an impostor? Very good! you have added a motive for his imposition. If you can prove it, we will give the sheriff a job with the halter. Where is Marbury?"

"He was in Annapolis, yesterday--he came that far with the young people. I will go up and see him."

"No--I will send for him.--I suppose there was card playing at Hedgely Hall?"

"Every night, while I was there, and I take it every night."

"Then, even if Marbury recognizes the coin, it will prove little, for Parkington can say he won it at cards."

"True," said Maynadier; "but the coin, being in his possession, raises a presumption against him, which he will have to lift by more than merely saying, 'it was won at cards.' The trouble, however, is, that Marbury may refuse to help--he is averse to stirring up trouble which may result in nothing. In fact, he told no one but me of the theft.--I think it would be better if I went to Annapolis--and I will go at once."

An hour later, his barge ran into the landing at the foot of Marbury's garden, and he went straight up to the house, which stood on Duke of Gloucester Street.

Marbury, himself, came down the steps to welcome him.

"Why, Maynadier!" he exclaimed, "this is a pleasant surprise--I thought you were at his Excellency's."

"I am just from Whitehall," said Maynadier. He glanced around. "Can we be overheard?"

Marbury shook his head, "I am alone, except for one servant, and he is gone off until supper."

Maynadier put his hand in his pocket, and drew out the doubloon.

"Do you recognize this gold piece?" he asked, without preliminary.

Marbury took it--looked at it, carefully, an instant--then answered.

"I do--it is the one piece I recall seeing, when I counted the pirate's gold. It did not occur to me before--but, now, I remember it. It was the last piece in one of the bags.--Yes, I recollect the star and crescent, perfectly. Where did you get it?"

"From his Excellency, Governor Sharpe," said Maynadier.

"And from whom did he get it?"

"From Sir Edward Parkington."

"He is sure?"

"Perfectly--it was a repayment of two hundred pounds he had borrowed, and was still in the bag, uncounted. This was the one coin, of them all, which I thought you might have noted."

"And you assume that Parkington is the thief?" asked Marbury.

"At least, it acquits your servants."

"I never thought them guilty."

"And it calls for an explanation from Sir Edward," Maynadier said.

Marbury considered--frowning down at his heavy shoes, the while.

"I am not disposed to go further into it," he said, at length. "I regret that I did not tell you so more promptly.--I have put you to needless trouble.--I am very sorry--I apologize.--This was a most peculiar thief, Maynadier, a most peculiar thief! He returned the money, the evening before the house-party broke--it was on my desk when I went up to bed."

"And nothing with it, of course?"

"Yes; a slip of paper, cut from some book, was pinned to the bag, with these words printed on it:--'For this relief much thanks.' I shall drop the matter, Maynadier."

"You do not care even to identify the coin?"

"No--the money has been returned, it may not have been taken feloniously. I shall prefer to believe that it was borrowed, in view of the prompt restoration. Moreover, I am leaving for the Hall on the morrow; I will not bother. Let it rest, Maynadier! let it rest! You have some idea of morals, or society, on your mind; I have not. That it was some of the guests, there can be no dispute--but, which one, I care not to find out. Parkington, you think?--but there was much money changed hands around the card table, and he, I believe, was largely winner. So, possession of the doubloon is not conclusive. At the worst, it calls, only, for an explanation--and I see no profit even in an explanation; he will be leaving us, presently, for England, never to return. Oh! let it rest, Maynadier! let it rest!"

"My dear Marbury," said Maynadier, "I am here for two reasons:--first, because you asked me to inform you if I found any clue----"

"I know, sir--I apologize for my neglect to tell you of the restitution."

"And, second, because there has arisen another question--a serious question--with respect to Sir Edward Parkington. It will be handled by the Governor, himself, if handled at all; and I wanted to know, whether he may use your identification of this stolen coin, if it be deemed essential?"

"_If it be deemed essential_, I have no objection," said Marbury, after a little consideration--"but do not use it unless it is," he added. "I would not risk doing Parkington an injustice, he was unusually courteous to me, and considerate, also."

"And you appreciate courtesy and consideration," thought Maynadier, "because you have had so little shown you in life. The public would never believe it!" What he said, was: "I understand. It will be used only as a last resort. Indeed, Colonel Sharpe may deem it inexpedient to meddle with the matter, at all." He arose to go.

"Why not remain for supper," asked Marbury.

"Not to-night," said Maynadier. "I must back to Whitehall."

They went down the stairs together; at the foot, Maynadier suddenly halted.

"Marbury," he said, "have I your permission to marry Judith, if she be willing?"

"You have," Marbury answered, a gratified smile flashing, for an instant, across his impassive face--"and she is a queer girl, if she does not take you." Then he laughed. "But, for the Lord's sake! man, be a little less sudden when you ask _her_. You well nigh took _my_ breath."

XVII

A LETTER AND A CONFESSION

Sir Edward Parkington and Sir Charles Brandon arrived at Whitehall just before supper, and were greeted by the Governor and his guests on the esplanade.

Brandon was dignified yet affable, he was properly appreciative of his Excellency's courtesy, a bit diffident about imposing upon his hospitality, and thoroughly considerate in everything; in short, the well-bred gentleman--natural, free from affectations, and, apparently, sincere.

So he impressed Colonel Sharpe; so he impressed every one. He would be an addition to the company, they all agreed, when he and Parkington had gone to their room to dress.

_The Nelson_ was arrived that morning from England, and the Governor's mail had been sent down by the pinnace. In the bag, were several communications for Miss Stirling, which he passed over with a jocular remark. Excusing herself, she retired to a quiet corner of the library to read them. While thus engaged, Captain Herford entered, and tried to engage her in talk; but she sent him away, rather petulantly, and then, hiding herself in a window embrasure, went on with her reading.

Two of the letters were of casual interest--the doings of the writers on their country estates--and were not remarkable either for correct spelling or polished diction. The third and last, however, was of better stuff.

It was from Lady Catherwood, written from London,--before she had received Miss Stirling's letter to her, of course--and had in it much gossip, a little scandal, and, then, just before the close, was this:--

"_There is an interesting Piece of Gossip, which I all but forgot to tell you. It seems, Lord Baltimore has tired of certain Gentlemen, who are his particular Toad-eaters, and has taken Means to get rid of them._

"_One has gone to Maryland, with letters of Introduction to the Governor, your Uncle, trusting to make his way with the Gentlemen of the Colony, and, incidentally, to make as much Money off them as they will permit--which, I Dare say, will not be Excessive, for a more Unattractive little Rogue it would be hard to find outside a jail. He is small, and fat, and bald, and is scarcely ever Sober, when he has some one to pay for the Liquor; and, naturally, he is a Vile little Beast in other ways--Comprenez vous? A thoroughly disreputable fellow, Catherwood says, and one whom Baltimore ought to be Ashamed to send his Colony; but Baltimore is not Ashamed of anything, save leading a decent life._

"_I give you this, for your own Information--not because I think there is any likelihood of your falling a Victim to Sir Edward's wiles--but to warn you, and also Colonel Sharpe, if you think well to meddle in his business. The name of this wretch is Sir Edward Parkington----_"

Martha Stirling read the last line thrice, to make sure she saw aright.

"Sir Edward Parkington!" she reflected--"is small, and fat, and bald, and scarcely ever sober! and a vile little beast in other ways--_Comprenez vous?_ Yes, my dear, I comprehend. And what is more, I comprehend that he is not _our_ Sir Edward. Between the leaving London and the arrival at Annapolis, there was a change of men.--But the letters of introduction are the same--how did they happen to change hands?"

She sat a while, thinking deeply. Should she tell the Governor? Should she preserve the secret, tell no one? Should she demand the truth of Parkington himself, and let his story determine her future action? She heard him and Brandon descend the stairs, and go out on the esplanade. Brandon! he knew the secret--he knew that Parkington was an impostor--he knew _all_. She had heard Constable's story of the meeting at the Coffee-house--the surprise shown. Bah! it was prearranged, determined upon beforehand; a play, acted for the express benefit of the onlookers.--Should she block it, now, walk out and, before the whole company, read Lady Catherwood's letter? It would be effective--far more so than his play at the Coffee-house. In fact, it would be conclusive.--Yet, he had always been very gallant to her, very devoted, very sympathetic. (She looked out through the window.) Yes, and he was a gentleman, too. No man had such manners, such grace, such ease of bearing, otherwise.

The longer she looked, the more her heart misgave her. She could not do it. She would wait until after supper, take him for a walk, down to the water, and get him to confess the masquerade and the reason for it. She refused to think that there was any wrong intended. He was better than the real Sir Edward, a thousand times better. And she liked him--liked him more than any man she had ever met, save only Richard Maynadier; and Richard Maynadier (she had known it since the night he kissed her, at Hedgely Hall) was not for her. There was no love in his lips, though there had been plenty of ardor.

A little twinge of bitterness took possession of her. Why was she born poor?--why could she not have had rank and riches instead of beauty?

Presently, she saw the butler go out and announce supper; she arose and joined the party as they came trooping in.

She had Parkington and Brandon on either hand, and she watched them, covertly, all through the meal, trying to pick some flaw in their bearing, something that would not be quite right in their behaviour. But she failed--as she had felt sure she would. They had only to be natural, to be themselves, to ring true. Parkington he was not, and Brandon might be false, also, but, assuredly, they came of the stock they professed--and, may be, of better.

"I have got something to say to you, when you join us," she whispered to Sir Edward, as the ladies arose to retire. "Don't be overlong."

"I will come at once," he said, as he drew back her chair.

"No--in a half hour. I will be down in the rose-walk, you may join me there."

"On the instant!" he exclaimed--and watched her as she went slowly down the table, flinging a bantering word, here and there, the men bowing, and smiling, and flinging it back again.

"Yes, you may well look at her," said Brandon. "She has the beauty and grace of the best of them at Court. She is the Governor's niece, I take it?"

Parkington nodded. "But she is poor--and, I think, has a little too much morals to get on at Court."

"She will not let her face and figure purchase her place, you mean? I see.--You have decided to go home?" he asked suddenly.

"I am strongly tempted, Brandon, strongly tempted."

"And do you want to be sure of the old Earl's forgiveness?"

"I should not refuse it," said Parkington, smiling.

"Then, marry Miss Stirling--she can wheedle him, I warrant; and, besides, he will be forced to admit that you have given some evidence of reform by doing it."

"And Miss Stirling, shall I carry her off by force and marry her, or simply drug her!" laughed Parkington.

"Neither--tell her the truth. I will be much surprised, if she does not jump at the chance to get the son of the Earl of Doncaster, even though he is not the heir. Moreover, man, she is fond of you; one did not need to do more than see her at table, this evening, to appreciate it."

"You are fertile of schemes," was the answer.

"I am--and they are usually good schemes; it is an indispensable requisite of the pirate business."

Parkington drew over the port, and replenished his glass.

"But it risks everything on the Earl," he objected. "If he refuse to be lenient--if he prosecutes?"

"He will not."

"I must think over it--and, then, marriage is a serious question, my friend, a serious question!"

"Is it any more serious to marry Miss Stirling, than it is to marry Miss Marbury?" asked Brandon.

"Well, in the one case, my mind was made up."

"How about the lady's mind?"

"I admit I do not know."

"Was it she in blue and pink, at the other end of the table?"

"The same--she sat next to Constable."

Brandon laughed lightly, "I am a stranger, here," he said, "but there is only one, in this company, who has any attraction for her:--the tall, grave, exceedingly good-looking man of middle age across the table. Maynadier, I think the Governor called him."

"He is only a friend of the family--the best friend, likely--nothing more."

"I am not answering as to him," said Brandon. "You are not thinking of marrying Mr. Maynadier, I take it." He pushed back his chair with the others, and arose. "Consider it--sound Miss Stirling--see if she be likely to accept. At any rate, I tell you, again, Miss Marbury is not for you--and neither is residence in Maryland."

"Very good--I shall sound her, and tell you how it appears. I have an appointment with her, now," said Parkington.

On the way out, Miss Marbury hailed him.

"Come here!" she said, with pretty peremptoriness. "Come here, and tell me how you are--I have not seen you for a long, long time."

"And my days have been dreary as winter in consequence, full of rain and melancholy," replied Parkington.

"Then, cheer up, Sir Mournful--the sun is shining; you may bask in its rays a while."

He offered her his arm.

"To the Bay and back again?" he asked.

"Why, back again?" she laughed.

"Because I thought it the only way to get you. But, if you will," (bending down) "it shall be to Annapolis and St. Anne's Rector, ere we come back again."

She looked up at him with merry eyes--a charming picture in the moonlight.

"Let us first go to the Bay," she said; "perhaps, we shall not care to go farther."

And Martha Stirling, from the rose-walk, saw them go. And surprise grew slowly to amazement, and then--as the minutes fled, and they returned not--the surprise changed into anger, sharp and sudden. And she left the rose-walk, and hastened to the Governor.

She found him in his apartment, in converse with Richard Maynadier. Both men arose, when she entered, and the latter made a move to retire. She stopped him.

"Just a moment, Mr. Maynadier," she said--"I want only to give this letter to Colonel Sharpe. It contains some information which it seems well he should have at once.--It is from Lady Catherwood, sir," she added; "it came this evening, and, though only a woman's letter, this part," (indicating) "will prove very interesting reading."

She handed the letter to him, shot Maynadier a bewitching smile, dropped them both a curtsy, and was gone.

"Your pardon, a moment!" said the Governor.... At the end, he passed the letter across to Maynadier, and his face was troubled.

"Miss Stirling was right," he said. "But it is more than interesting--unfortunate, I should term it."

Maynadier read it carefully before answering--then, he put it slowly down.

"What course will you pursue?" he asked. "The evidence is all but conclusive, now."

The Governor sent cloud after cloud of smoke ceiling-ward.

"I shall demand an explanation," he replied; "lay down the proofs, and give him a chance to disprove; and do it quietly--there is no need to proclaim my error."

"You are not at fault--the letters were authentic," said Maynadier.

"Possibly not--but I shall bear the blame, nevertheless, of having made the imposition possible. I do not like it! Maynadier, I do not like it! If I thought he would depart with Brandon, I would----" he broke off and shook his head in indecision. "He has done no one, so far as we know, an injury--other than to enter their houses under a false name. He has, even then, compensated for his entertainment by his genialness and his courtesy. It will raise a nasty scandal, and accomplish no real good. If there were any crime, for which he was responsible, it would be quite different. I grant you, he played cards for a high stake, and usually with success, but no one accuses him of cheating--and there were those who were willing to play."

"And, in addition, you like him!" laughed Maynadier.

"Yes, I like him--I reckon that does influence my judgment."

"But the fact remains, that he is _not_ Sir Edward Parkington. How will you answer, if it ever become known--even after he has departed? 'I knew it,' or, 'I did not know'?"

"I knew it."

"Then, how explain your failure to unmask him?"

"I should decline to explain," said the Governor.

"Such would be your privilege. I admit the matter (as it appears now) is purely one of ethics, and expediency--and there are things to be said on both sides."

"How would you decide it, Maynadier?"

"I do not know--I am glad it is not necessary that I decide it."

Colonel Sharpe flung his pipe on the table, scattering the hot ashes broadcast.

"Damn it! Maynadier, I do not know what to do!" he exclaimed. "I shall put it off until morning; sleep, sometimes, solves problems."

Maynadier arose. "And Miss Stirling," he said--"she will not disclose what is in the letter?"

"No--but to make sure, I will caution her, at once," and, seizing his cane, he hurried out.

"Where have you been, sir?" Miss Marbury inquired, as Maynadier came face to face with her in the drawing-room doorway.

"Not where I wanted to be," he said.

"And where is that?"

"Where I am, now."

"A very pretty place," she answered, with a glance around; "but I should think one, out of doors on such a night, were vastly preferable."

"With you in it?" he asked.

She seemed to hesitate, watching him, the while, through half-closed eyes.

"If you wish, sir--wait until I get a fan.... Now, I am ready."

"I may select the place?" he said.

"You may," laughing; "will it be in the centre of the party, or just to one side?"

"A little to one side," he answered--"by as far as the Bay is from the house."

"Goodness, Dick, you are growing very venturesome--next you will be inviting me to go where Sir Edward----"

"Yes," he said--"where Sir Edward?"

"No--no, that would be telling."

"You used to tell me everything," he said.

"Yes--before I grew up and put on the ways of society."

"And how long _has_ that been?"

"Since the last night of the party at Hedgely Hall," she answered.

"You mean, since you saw me kiss Miss Stirling?"

"Perhaps."

"It was a mistake, I admit it!"

"A mistake to be caught?" she laughed. "I grant it."

"Yes--a mistake to be caught--and a mistake to kiss her."

"Only when you have been caught! No! no! Dick, you cannot make me think it ever a mistake to kiss a pretty girl--and the girl be willing."

"You have learned the ways of society very thoroughly."

"I have had excellent teachers."

"Teachers?" he inflected--"there have been more than myself?"

"Monsieur! am I a pretty girl? Think you that I have never been--that no one has ever wanted to kiss me?"

"You cannot do it, Judith!" he laughed.

"Cannot do what?"

"Make me believe that any one ever----"

"Wanted to kiss me? Thank you, Mr. Maynadier!" with a toss of her head.

"No, that any one ever kissed you--until this moment."

And straightway he took her in his arms.

She pushed him from her, at last, and sprang back.

"Just what do you mean, sir?" she demanded--"just what do you mean?"

She was making a desperate effort to appear indignant.

"Mean?" he exclaimed, "you know what it means! Judith, you love me, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Am I to take that as a proposal?" she asked.

"Surely, dear----"

"Then, do you not think, sir, it would be a trifle more appropriate to confess your own feelings, rather than to inquire as to mine?"

"But you know _I_ love you!"

"You have never taken the trouble to tell me."

"My lips told you?"

"I did not hear them."

"When I kissed you?"

"I am not familiar with the language, sir," retreating.

He stopped.

"I love you, Judith--will you marry me?" he said, humbly.

"That is better, sir," she replied; "more according to custom. Have you spoken to my father?"

"I have his permission--if you are willing?"

She laughed--a joyous, happy laugh.

"Why, Dick, I think I have been always willing," she said, and went to him. "It is you--who--have--not--known."

The last words were whispered and broken.

* * * * * * * * *

"You are frightfully hard on one's coiffure, dear," she said, presently, putting him aside, and stepping back. "Did you disarrange Miss Stirling's so completely?"

He surveyed her critically.

"Rather more so, I think," he answered.

She made a little grimace.

"You wretch!" she exclaimed. "You need not have confessed it!"

"But you wanted the truth," with a sly smile.

"No, I did not want the truth!--No, sir! go away--I will not! Not another one until we say good night. Is it a bargain?"

"I suppose so--yes, it is a bargain," he replied.

"Very well, sir--now, because you are so good, I shall tell you a secret."

"A sugar plum for the child!" he laughed.

"A man always wants a sugar plum for being good," she reflected.

"And the secret?" he said.

"It has to do with Sir Edward Parkington," she answered.--"We walked down to the water, after supper, and he was--very devoted," (with a sidelong glance at Maynadier).

"I should hope so," he remarked.

"He took my hand----"

"Huh!" said Maynadier.

"And commented on the contour of my cheek----"

"Huh!" said Maynadier, again.

"And the beauty of my hair----"

No response!

"And the flawlessness of my complexion----"

A savage cut at the grass, with his walking stick!

"And he was good enough to say my mouth was a perfect bow----"

Another cut with the walking stick, more savage!

"Just made for kisses----"

"Yes!" said Maynadier, and stopped.

"And then,----" she went on.

"I suppose he kissed you!" Maynadier exclaimed.

"No!" she said--"No, he only proposed--Oh! he did it much nicer than you, Dick! No man could ever have done it better."

"And what did you do?" said Maynadier, frowning.

"What do you think I did?"