Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Harry Tryon saved my life!” exclaimed the captain. “I have not seen him since I met him at Stanmore, that I am aware of.”

“But you knew a young seaman called Andrew Brown; did you not recognise Harry Tryon in him?”

“How extraordinary!” exclaimed the captain. “I several times saw the likeness, but could not believe in the possibility of his having come to sea with me. Yes, indeed, he did save my life in a gallant way, and I longed to hear of the lad again, that I might show my gratitude.”

“I fear that if he suffers, Mabel’s heart will break,” said Madam Everard. “Executions of the misguided men are taking place every day. She has, therefore, had no time to lose, for we know not how soon the unhappy young man may have to share the fate of his companions. My heart sickens at having to utter such words. A week has passed since she left me, and I have not since heard of her. I am very anxious as it is, but I should be still more so were she not under the charge of so trustworthy an attendant as Paul Gauntlett.”

Captain Everard had been so anxious to hear about his daughter that he had not hitherto inquired of Madam Everard further particulars regarding the circumstances which had compelled her and his daughter to leave Stanmore. They were briefly told.

“I must see Wallace,” he said, “and ascertain whether any certificate of my father’s marriage exists.”

While he was speaking the servant entered, to say that two gentlemen were at the door, and the Baron de Ruvigny and Captain Rochard were announced. The latter in his delight, as he entered, seized Captain Everard in his arms.

“My dear friend, I am overjoyed to meet you!” he exclaimed. “What have I heard? Ah! it is too true that you have been deprived of your estate; but though the sun be hidden by a thick cloud, it is sure to burst forth again. Be not troubled about it; I have longed to show how deeply grateful I feel to you for saving my life. Your daughter has told me that you require evidence of your father’s marriage to my relative, and I trust that, even now, though so many years have passed, it may be obtained. It shall be my care, at every risk, to search for it. You could not possibly travel in my distracted country. There may be danger for me, but less danger than there would be for you. If I do not return you will know that I have fallen, and you must then get some one to supply my place. Believe me, though, that it will be my joy and satisfaction to serve you.”

“I trust you, count; I feel sure that you will not fail to do your utmost for me.”

It was with somewhat painful feelings, not unmixed with contempt, that Madam Everard watched the carriages proceeding down the street towards Stanmore, on the evening of the ball. The spinster ladies had either to walk or to club together to hire the only public vehicle in the place, which was constantly kept moving backwards and forwards, from the first moment at which they could with decency appear at the hall, till a late hour in the evening. Miss Sleech, and Miss Anna Maria Sleech and her sisters, of all ages, were dressed out in what they conceived the height of fashion to receive their guests. A few ladies in pattens and high hoods, attended by their maid-servants with umbrellas and lanterns, arrived at an early hour. The Misses Sleech were not afraid of them, as they were their old acquaintances, and they now treated them with that condescending kindness which they felt was due from themselves in their position. Their dresses were admired; the roses on their cheeks and the patches which they had stuck on their faces. They had time also to exhibit the decorations, and the alterations which they had made in the rooms. Mr Sleech, in small clothes and pumps, his hair freshly powdered, a huge frill to his shirt, and the neck-cloth of many turns round his throat, with a coat, put on for the first time, with a high collar, almost hiding his ears, stood ready to make his bows to those he considered worthy of receiving them. For a few minutes he stood practising flourishes with his cocked hat, having received lately a few private lessons from his daughter’s dancing-master, to fit him, as he hoped, for his exalted situation. One thing only was wanting to fill up his cup of happiness, his satisfaction, and pride. He could not help wishing that the eldest scion of his house—the heir of Stanmore—had been present. Even now he thought it possible he might come. At length some guests of greater distinction began to arrive. The officers of the foreign legion of course came, although they were perfectly well aware of the difference between the old and new families; but there was no reason why they should lose an evening’s entertainment. The Misses Coppinger also came with an aunt, a Mrs Simmons, who always went out as their chaperone. They were not aware of the connection between their host and their father’s clerk. It is just possible, had they been so, they might have declined the invitation, that gentleman not standing in any way high in their estimation. Before long, Admiral Wallace hobbled in, his voice sounding loud and cheery through the half-filled rooms, as Mr Sleech bowed and salaamed to him with due respect, and the Misses Sleech performed the courtesies they had learned from M. Millepied, their dancing-master.