CHAPTER XXX

IN THE LAND WHERE THEIR FATHERS DWELT

How shall I, brought up a plain colonial maiden, who had never seen anything more grand than the opening of our Virginian Assembly by the Governor, nor anything more of great life than an assembly ball or the meeting together of our first families at the races, dare to describe the wonders and splendours of London. For wonderful and splendid everything was, and marvellous to behold. From where we were at first installed until the Marquis could arrive in London from his country seat, namely, a busy inn called the Hercules Pillars, at Hyde Park Corner, a spot which my dear father had often told me was the centre of fashion, I saw so much going on that my head was ever in a whirl. Here from morn till night, under the balcony of our sitting-room windows, went on such a clatter and a dashing by of vehicles, including the fast coaches coming in and going out of London, and of huge carriages and carts and horses, that there was no peace, though, in dear truth, I loved to lean over that balcony and watch the turmoil. In the early November mornings--for 'twas that month ere we reached London--first would come lumbering by great carts piled high with vegetables, all of which, my lord said, London would have eaten up by nightfall--a thing not wonderful to understand, seeing that it was asserted that there were nearly half a million people in the town, or one-twelfth part of the whole country. Then great droves of beasts would pass, and sometimes--oh! sad sight--a wretched highwayman with his hands tied behind his back and escorted by the thief-catchers, while the passers-by hooted at him or beat at him with sticks and whips, or flung refuse at him.

"Such was Buck once," Gerald would say when he saw one of these; "and, perhaps O'Rourke, though I think he was more the spy. Ah! well, it is better to be honest men in Virginia or Georgia than like this."

Then, as the day went on, and a poor, thin sun struggled out of the mist, making some brightness around, there would ride forth gentlemen who were going a-hunting at Richmond, or Hampton, or Hounslow, very splendid in their coats. Others, too, would come down to ride in the park most beautifully dressed, and some would stroll along on foot, talking and laughing, and bowing to ladies in their chaises, or taking off their hats to a portly bishop who passed our inn every morning in a coach and six. And sometimes, too, a great lady or so would also go by in her coach and six, with, seated on the steps outside, a page, or sometimes a little black boy with a silver chain around his neck, and I never understood then why Gerald would pull me back into the room as though he wished me not to see these dames. Yet, when I learnt afterwards that one was the Countess of Suffolk and another the horrid woman, Melusina Schulemberg, I did comprehend his reason. And, even in the three days we lay at this inn, I learnt to hate the latter, for, going past one morning, she observed my handsome Gerald on the balcony and kissed her hand to him--as they say she did to any well-favoured gentleman she saw--and afterwards always peered out of the carriage as though seeking for him.

Soon, however, my pleasures of witnessing the bustle of this place came to an end. One dull November morning there drove up to the door of the Hercules Pillars a great coach and six, all emblazoned with coats-of-arms and decorated with rich hangings and much gilding, with, before it, three panting footmen, who, poor creatures, had always to run in front of it, and with, seated within it, a grave and soberly-clad gentleman.

"Why," exclaimed Gerald, who did not share my surprise at this gorgeous and, it seemed to me, sinfully extravagant spectacle--for why could not the gentleman travel as we do in Virginia, either a-horseback or on foot! "Why! 'Tis the Marquis. Joice, go, put on thy best dress--no! stay just as you are; faith, you are fair enough to charm any man." And then he ran downstairs to meet his kinsman and presently brought him to our parlour.

"This is my wife, my lord," he said, presenting me to him, "of the family of Bampfyld, of Virginia."

Whereon the Marquis bowed to me with most stately grace in reply to my curtsey, and, taking my hand, kissed it. "Madam," he said, "we are honoured by an alliance with you. There is no better English blood than that of the Bampfylds, and sure there can be no fairer woman than the Lady St. Amande. Are all women as fair as your ladyship in the colonies?"

I simpered and blushed and knew not what to say, when Gerald diverted his attention by exclaiming, with a smile:

"Her name is Joice, my lord. Will you not, as the head of our family, thus call her?"

"Indeed I will. Joice--Joice; 'tis a pretty name, and well befits its pretty owner. And so, _Joice_," turning to me and speaking as though he had known me from a child, yet all the time with a most courtly manner, "you have finally determined to throw in your lot with my young kinsman, in spite of his troubles?"

"Oh! sir," I said; "oh! my lord, what woman who had ever seen or known him could refuse to love him? And I owe him my life; I would lay it down for him now if he willed it. He fought for me and mine, ay! shed his dear blood for me. I have a dress at home all stained with it which I will never part with. He sought for me amongst my capturers and would have rescued me if they had not been mercifully disposed; he was as a god in my eyes, and now he is my husband and I love him more than aught else upon this earth. Oh! sir, I do love him so."

Both he and Gerald smiled gently at my ardour, which, indeed, I could not repress, and then he said:

"Doubtless, Joice, doubtless. 'Tis perhaps not strange. And, child, you wish to see him righted thoroughly; is it not so?"

"Indeed, indeed, my lord!" I cried, "such is ever my fervent prayer. Yes, morning, noon, and night. And, surely, since the Irish Lords have acknowledged his right to the title he bears, those in England will not refuse to regard him as your heir."

"We must do our best. Yet, even if they will not give him my title when I am gone, I can do much for him. Providence hath greatly benefited me. There is much I can bequeath to him, and, for the rest, I can provide that if he gets it not none other shall. Above all, the Scoundrel Robert shall never have it."

"God bless you!" my husband and I exclaimed. "God bless you!"

"Now, listen," he continued, "to what I propose. Your mother follows me but a few stages behind--poor Louise! she is marvellously stirred at the thought of seeing her son again--and when she is arrived in town this is what I will do. 'Tis what I intended five years ago, had not Sir Chaloner's men impressed you and made a sailor of you. I will have a meeting of many peers of my acquaintance--Sir Robert"--he meant the great Sir Robert Walpole--"has promised that he will come as well as some others who will be useful--and then I will publicly acknowledge you as my successor. But," he went on, "there is something else to be done."

Gerald looked enquiringly at him as though doubtful as to what he was about to say, when the Marquis again took up the word.

"The two scoundrels, Robert St. Amande and Wolfe Considine, must be brought to bay; above all, the latter must be made to retract the villainous falsehoods he has spread about your mother."

"Ay, retract!" interrupted Gerald, hotly, "retract. He shall, indeed, or I will tear his lying tongue----"

"Nay, nay!" said his kinsman, putting up his hand. "Nay, hear me."

"I ask your lordship's pardon."

"This is my plan, agreed to by your injured mother. They are both in London now, ever spreading their calumnies about, though I hear that none heed them, and Robert St. Amande endeavours unsuccessfully to borrow money on what he terms his succession. Now, we have decided to ask both these men to attend at my house on the same morning on which I intend to proclaim you--only they are not to know that there will be any other persons present but themselves. Thus, they will suddenly find that they are surrounded by auditors, as well as some witnesses who knew you in your childhood. There will be, also, the papers you have forwarded me signed and testified to by O'Rourke, and by these means we hope either to extort the truth from them, or at least so to strike terror to them, that they shall prevaricate and contradict their own lying statements. And, remember, there will be a strong array against them."

"The idea is most excellent," exclaimed Gerald. "Surely thus they must be beaten down. And will my mother be there, my lord?"

"Your mother will be there, but her presence will be unknown to them. Yet she vows that, if Considine does not deny before all assembled the wickedness of the slanders he has put about, she will come forward and confront him and dare him to utter them to her face.

"'Twill be a terrible ordeal for her," my husband said. "Heaven grant she may be able to endure it."

"She will endure it; she will so string herself up that none regarding her will be able to imagine her a weak woman who sometimes cannot raise herself even from her bed. Yet, since she has dwelt under my care----"

"For which I say again God bless you--for that and all the other luxuries and comforts you have surrounded her with."

"'Tis but little," replied the Marquis. "And she is desolate and the mother of my heir. 'Tis nothing. But, as I say, since she hath been with me I have seen some most marvellous moments of recovery with her, moments when she would suddenly exclaim that she was once more well and strong. And, to show me that she was so, she would lift some great weight or walk up and down her chamber a dozen times, yet ever afterwards there came directly a relapse when she would again sink into her chair helpless as a babe once more."

"Ay," said my husband thoughtfully, "so have I seen her too. Nor do I doubt that if she stands face to face with that craven hound, she will lack no strength to cow him."

In a little while you shall see that that strength was not lacking, you shall see how it was exerted against the miserable wretch who had blighted her life. But the place to tell it is not here.

And now the Marquis bade us prepare to accompany him to that great mansion of his in Lincoln's Inn Fields, of which my dear lord had told me; and, ere long, Gerald's servant and Christian Lamb between them had packed up our effects, we going in the gorgeous emblazoned coach and they following in a hackney. As we went I observed how great a man this noble kinsman of ours was, for many, both gentle and simple, raised their hats to the carriage as it passed along, and in the great square, which they call the Fields, there was quite a concourse to witness our arrival; the poor people shouting for the noble Marquis and cheering the Government, while his running footmen threw, by his orders, some silver pieces amongst them.

Oh, 'twas indeed a joyful day!--joyful in many ways--for, besides showing to us that which truly I had never had any doubts of, namely, that the Marquis of Amesbury was all for Gerald and determined, if he could, to right him, it brought together that poor mother and son who had so often and so long been parted. Nor could I restrain my tears, nor fail to weep for joy, as I saw them folded once more in each other's arms, and heard her whisper her love and fondness for him and murmur that, at last, they would never more be parted in this world.

"Never more be parted in this world." That was what she said. "Never more to be parted in this world." Verily she spake as a prophet, or as one who could divine the future.

And there was still one other meeting that took place which joyed my heart to see. 'Twas that of my husband and his faithful, old friend, Mr. Quin; the man who had sheltered him when he was a beggar, who had been as a father or an elder brother to him, and who, when 'twas no longer possible that he should serve Gerald, had transferred his honest, faithful allegiance to Gerald's mother. It pleasured me, I say, to see those two embrace each other, to hear my husband call him his old friend and protector, and to see the joy upon the other's face as he returned that embrace and told him how handsome he had grown and how noble-looking a man he had become.