The Impostor: A Tale of Old Annapolis

by John Reed Scott

Yes, he would consider marriage with Judith Marbury, very seriously. She was good style, despite her birth, and her face and figure were much above the average. In fact, they were downright handsome—handsomer than any of the ladies he had met, except Miss Stirling—and Miss Stirling had no money—and was going back to England....

Of course, Miss Marbury might not take him for a husband—but that would develop later. He could make a flying start, at any rate. And he did not know whether he wanted her for wife; that, also, would develop later. All he knew now was, that the Marbury fortune was ample, and that Miss Marbury went with the fortune, in the nature of an additional prize.

He lay in the high tester-bed, with its flowered curtains draped around it, looking through the window at the moonlight on the trees and turf, and glinting on the distant river. The other men of the party were remitted to the bachelor quarters and had to double up. He was the special guest, and, as such, was given the main chamber, and permitted to occupy it alone. It was accorded to him, naturally, as his due, and he had not objected, though he would have preferred being with the other young fellows in the wing. None of them, he noted, appeared to have intentions respecting Judith Marbury, and, consequently, he had a clear field. Besides, it would have given him the opportunity to get nearer to them, and, if they so wished, to instruct them in the art of cards.

He had, it is true, borrowed two hundred pounds from the Governor, which would be ample for some time, but if he intended to remain, even for a few months, he must pay it back in due season. If, however, he intended to stay only a short while, and then disappear, the paying back would be superfluous. Never pay anything, even if you have the money, was his rule of conduct; and, for long, he had been subsisting by it, and other people's credulity. It amounted to his father's credulity in the end, for he had been the one to always pay finally.

But his father had grown tired, at length, and a felony resulted, of which he was the victim. Then, to escape the debtors' prison on one hand, and prosecution, with but one end, on the other, he took his sire's money and advice, and under an assumed name departed, one fine night, for the Colonies. This name he again exchanged for Sir Edward Parkington in a manner heretofore noted. It had seemed very amusing at the time, but, now, he did not know what to do with it.....

He could not remain in Maryland (as he had, suddenly, decided he would like to do) under it; he could not well court Miss Marbury under it; assuredly, he could not marry her under it (he was not quite graceless enough for that)—he could do nothing under it, except to stay a short time and, then, depart and disappear. And he could not lay it aside without an explanation—and that, with the shipwreck, the letters, and the dead man would likely put him in jail.... It was the very devil of a mess—and, the more he thought of it, the bigger mess it became.... Well, at any rate, it would do no harm to sit up to old Marbury, and try to win his good opinion. And, with this final idea in his mind, Sir Edward dropped asleep.

But his sleep was fitful and broken; when the clock on the landing chimed six, he arose, shaved and dressed himself, and went down stairs.

The servants were about, but none else, and, after wandering aimlessly through the house, he sauntered out on the front piazza. He could hear the song of the slaves from a distant tobacco field, the sharp order of some overseer, the call of the sailors, on the Patuxent, and the whistle of the boatswain's pipe. He would go down to the river; a fine pathway, a splendid avenue of trees, and an early May morning going to waste, he might as well make use of them until breakfast.

He arrived in time to see the schooner, which had brought them from Annapolis, hoist anchor and sail away down the river. A man, who was standing on the dock giving orders, faced about and came toward him; he recognized old Marbury—in his servant's clothes.

"You are up betimes, Sir Edward," he called, heartily.