“Barwise in his cups—” Blunt began.
“Barwise is just such a besotted fellow,” cried my uncle, “as should pitch you the tale you’d wish to hear, Blunt. Now ere you two presume to threaten me, think who’ll believe you? If I sought to keep John Howe out of the house, and have him shipped overseas—what of it? What should this count against me save with a few virtuous fools to whose praise or blame I am indifferent? D’ye think I’ve no credit with His Majesty’s Ministers? D’ye think that the Town would ever regard me as other than a man of birth and fashion? What if there be rumours of my father’s past, or scandal against me? Your words would avail you nothing. But you, you rogues; the word from me would hang you both. Tush, when you threaten me, you’re fools.”
“We want no more than payment,” Blunt growled.
“That I’d not have to give you, if you’d earned it.”
“There’s money in the house,” Blunt urged. “There’s plate. There’s talk of a great chest of gold and jewels.”
“I would,” said my uncle softly, “I might dip my hands into it.”
“D’ye not know of it?” Blunt asked. “D’ye not know it’s talk among all the folk of the house that the old man hid the richest stuff he ever took?”
“I do not know this, Blunt—upon my honour.”
“And I know,” Martin struck in, “that whatsoever the old man has is like to go to his grandson. And that the old man’s threatened you, if you so much as lift a finger against the boy, he’ll not spare you. I have it from old Thrale.”
“Tush,” said my uncle, “I’ve listened too long, my friends. Your threats do not perturb me. I hold the cards, not you. I know nothing of such a chest. Pray, go! Well for you to be sailing, Blunt. Sir Gavin is no fool, and the Wasp lies off the coast too long for your security. And well for you, Martin Baynes, to be sailing with Blunt; you’re idle; you’re mischievous; you’d be well away.”