The dread of this exposé so preyed upon Mr Vaughan’s mind that, had it been possible, he would have denied the relationship altogether.
He had conceived a hope that this recognition might not take place during the voyage: building his hope on the character of the aristocratic Cockney, which he knew to be a type of supercilious pride. Confiding in the faith that nothing might transpire on board ship to make Mr Smythje acquainted with the connection, he was determined there should be no chance on shore. To preclude the possibility of such a thing, he had conceived a design as childish as it was cruel: his nephew was to be kept out of the way.
The plan of action he had traced out long before the arrival of the Sea Nymph. Mr Montagu Smythje was to be met at the landing, and at once hurried off to Mount Welcome. Herbert Vaughan was likewise to be conducted thither; but not direct.
A different means of transport was to be provided for him; and on his arrival within the bounds of the plantation, he was to be taken by a private road to the house of the overseer—which stood in a secluded corner of the valley, nearly half a mile distant from the “Buff.”
Here he was to remain as the guest of the latter, until such time as his uncle could find a way of disposing of him—either by procuring some employment for him at Montego Bay, or the situation of book-keeper on some distant plantation.
With this ingenious contrivance did Mr
Vaughan await the arrival of his guests.
It was upon the third day after receiving his letters of advice, and near the hour of noon, that the planter, playing as usual with his telescope, perceived in the offing of Montego Bay, and standing in for the port, a large square-rigged vessel—a ship.
It might be the Sea Nymph, and it might not; but, taking into consideration some circumstances, known to Mr Vaughan, the probabilities were that it was the expected vessel.