Dorothy having become cognizant of Mr. Marmaduke's trickery, Chartersea seemed to have dropped out of the race. He now spent his time very evenly between Spa and Derresley and Paris. Hence I had so much to be thankful for,—that with all my blunders, I had saved her from his Grace. My Lord the Marquis of Wells was now most conspicuous amongst her suitors. Comyn had nothing particular against this nobleman, saying that he was a good fellow, with a pretty fortune. And here is a letter, my dears, in which he figures, that I brought to Cordon's Pride that spring:
“10 SOUTH PARADE, BATH,
“March 12, 1774.
“DEAR RICHARD:—Miss Manners has come to Bath, with a train behind
her longer than that which followed good Queen Anne hither, when she
made this Gehenna the fashion. Her triumphal entry last Wednesday
was announced by such a peal of the abbey bells as must have cracked
the metal (for they have not rung since) and started Beau Nash
a-cursing where he lies under the floor. Next came her serenade by
the band. Mr. Marmaduke swore they would never have done, and
squirmed and grinned like Punch when he thought of the fee, for he
had hoped to get off with a crown, I warrant you. You should have
seen his face when they would accept no fee at all for the beauty!
Some wag has writ a verse about it, which was printed, and has set
the whole pump-room laughing this morning.
“She was led out by Wells in the Seasons last night. As Spring she
is too bewildering for my pen,—all primrose and white, with the
flowers in her blue-black hair. Had Sir Joshua seen her, he would
never rest content till he should have another portrait. The Duc de
Lauzun, who contrived to get two dances, might give you a
description in a more suitable language than English. And there was
a prodigious deal of jealousy among the fair ones on the benches,
you may be sure, and much jaundiced comment.
“Some half dozen of us adorers have a mess at the Bear, and have
offered up a prize for the most appropriate toast on the beauty.
This is in competition with Mrs. Miller. Have you not heard of her
among your tobacco-hills? Horry calls her Mrs. 'Calliope' Miller.
At her place near here, Bath Easton Villa, she has set up a Roman
vase bedecked with myrtle, and into this we drop our bouts-rimes.
Mrs. Calliope has a ball every Thursday, when the victors are
crowned. T'other day the theme was 'A Buttered Muffin,' and her
Grace of Northumberland was graciously awarded the prize. In faith,
that theme taxed our wits at the Bear,—how to weave Miss Dolly's
charms into a verse on a buttered muffin. I shall not tire you with
mine. Storer's deserved to win, and we whisper that Mrs. Calliope
ruled it out through spite. 'When Phyllis eats,' so it began, and I
vow 'twas devilish ingenious.
“We do nothing but play lasquenet and tennis, and go to the
assembly, and follow Miss Dolly into Gill's, the pastry-cook's,
where she goes every morning to take a jelly. The ubiquitous Wells
does not give us much chance. He writes 'vers de societe' with the
rest, is high in Mr. Marmaduke's favour, which alone is enough to
damn his progress. I think she is ill of the sight of him.
“Albeit she does not mourn herself into a tree, I'll take oath your
Phyllis is true to you, Richard, and would live with you gladly in a
thatched hut and you asked her. Write me more news of yourself.
“Your ever affectionate
“COMYN
“P.S. I have had news of you through Mr. Worthington, of your
colony, who is just arrived here. He tells me that you
have gained a vast reputation for your plantation, and likewise that
you are thought much of by the Whig wiseacres, and that you hold
many seditious offices. He does not call them so. Since your
modesty will not permit you to write me any of these things, I have
been imagining you driving slaves with a rawhide, and seeding
runaway convicts to the mines. Mr. W. is even now paying his
respects to Miss Manners, and I doubt not trumpeting your praises
there, for he seems to like you. So I have asked him to join the
Bear mess. One more unfortunate!
“P.S. I was near forgetting the news about Charles Fox. He sends
you his love, and tells me to let you know that he has been turned
out of North's house for good and all. He is sure you will be
cursed happy over it, and says that you predicted he would go over
to the Whigs. I can scarce believe that he will. North took a
whole week to screw up His courage, h-s M-j-sty pricking him every
day. And then he wrote this:
“'Sir, his Majesty has thought proper to order a new Commission of
the Treasury to be made out, in which I do not see your name.' Poor
Charles! He is now without money or place, but as usual appears to
worry least of all of us, and still reads his damned Tasso for
amusement.
“C.”
Perchance he was to be the Saint Paul of English politics, after all.
CHAPTER XLIX. LIBERTY LOSES A FRIEND
Mr. Bordley's sloop took Mr. Swain to Gordon's Pride in May, and placed him in the big room overlooking the widening river. There he would lie all day long, staring through the leaves at the water, or listening to the sweet music of his daughter's voice as she read from the pompous prints of the time. Gentlemen continued to come to the plantation, for the barrister's wisdom was sorely missed at the councils. One day, as I rode in from the field, I found Colonel Lloyd just arrived from Philadelphia, sipping sangaree on the lawn and mopping himself with his handkerchief. His jolly face was troubled. He waved his hand at me.
“Well, Richard,” says he, “we children are to have our first whipping. At least one of us. And the rest are resolved to defy our parent.”
“Boston, Mr. Lloyd?” I asked.
“Yes, Boston,” he replied; “her port is closed, and we are forbid any intercourse with her until she comes to her senses. And her citizens must receive his gracious Majesty's troopers into their houses. And if a man kill one of them by any chance, he is to go to England to be tried. And there is more quite as bad.”