At supper, that evening, every one sat where he wished. They went in without regard to precedence, and Sir Edward found himself between Miss Tyler and Miss Marbury, the latter taking the place of her mother, who was indisposed.
Old Marbury was at the head of the table. He had changed his servant's apparel for a quiet suit of black, his iron gray hair was unpowdered and unbagged, but was tied at his neck with a narrow ribbon. His greeting to the guests had been purely formal; and, now, he cut and served the roast ham in silence, and passed the plates to Joshua, the negro butler. He, in turn, passed them on to an assistant, who carried them to the opposite end of the table, where Miss Judith presided over the fried chicken. There was hot bread of various sorts, preserves, pickles, and two kinds of sweets, all placed on the table; in addition, there was tea and coffee, and great pitchers of milk on the side table.
As for servants, there were five, beside Joshua, to wait; he did nothing but stand behind the master's chair and oversee. And sorry was the negro who failed to anticipate the wants of a guest—old Joshua's eye detected it, and he reckoned, later, with the culprit. He was a belonging[Pg 74] of the Hedgelys, taken with the place and well befitting it. Marbury had bought him, with the goods and chattels of the deceased owner—just as he had bought hundreds of others—at the market price. Only, Joshua's price was higher than the others.
He had remained as butler; no one thought of supplanting him, and, so far as his domain extended, things were done as the Hedgelys had done them. Indeed, he even persisted in wearing the green and gold of his late owner; and old Marbury, after a moment's hesitation, had given him his way, and had taken over the Hedgely colors, as well as the Hedgely estate. And, in time, he was allowed full sway about the place, for he knew what, and when, and how, and the Marburys did not. Marbury himself was too occupied to learn, even if he could, Mrs. Marbury was content to leave such things to the children, and George and Judith, seeing that the old slave was competent and faithful, did not interfere.
It had been a sore trial for Joshua, this serving of the Redemptioner, where hitherto a Hedgely had ruled,—all in the colony knew what Henry Marbury had been and whence he came—but there was no alternative. Well was it for him, that the new master had not seen fit to put another in his place, and him into the tobacco fields. And, at first, the service had been unwilling and grudgingly (not publicly, but at heart—he knew too well the [Pg 75]punishment that awaited the shirking servant). But, as the days passed, and he saw that Marbury was given to silence, and that to Miss Judith and Mr. George were left the control of the house, he regained his spirits, and came to serve them even as he did the old master.
The Marburys could never forget the Hedgelys, however. They sat under their portraits at meal time and in the drawing room, their arms shone on the china and the silver. Many would have banished the portraits, got new china, and had the escutcheon removed from the silver. They would have torn down everything that reminded of their newness. Not so with Marbury. He let them remain, nay, rather he conserved them. Marbury is new, he said, all Maryland knows it, therefore preserve what the Hedgelys left. The more we exalt the latter, the better for us. If we do not allow them to be forgotten, we shall gain in the estimation of the old families, whose good opinion it is worth while to have. Get all the benefit of their reflected glory, it is an asset of their estate which you have purchased, you are entitled to it, and, if not neglected, it will yield good returns.
And he was not mistaken. It soon became known that the Marburys were making no effort to suppress the past. They would not change the name of the estate, all the old servants were to be retained, all the old customs followed, even the silver and china were preserved, the portraits on the walls.[Pg 76] The Hall was as the Hedgelys had left it—and more:—it was better cultivated, and better administered, and better kept. Society, at first hostile to the new family, gradually grew quiescent—it would wait and see. It could never accept Henry Marbury (as he well knew); but, as for the next generation? They had the money, would they acquire the savoir faire.
Henry Marbury understood what was in society's mind. His answer was to buy a home in Annapolis—but he never obtruded himself. He was a liberal subscriber to the church and to the lotteries, and whatever he won in the latter was given to the former. God save him!
Meanwhile, George was sent to King William's School, where he met all the sons of the aristocracy, and, having stood the test, was received as one of them. Judith was given a private tutor, a maid, and a coach; and, somehow, she too came, eventually, to know the sisters of the boys her brother knew. The rest was easy:—money—enough money not to spoil them, and make them undesirable companions.
And it won—as it always will, where position depends on a campaign well managed, and an engaging personality.
All this, Sir Edward had heard, by dribs, at the Coffee-house and elsewhere. He had been curious to meet the man who had planned it, and had seen it through, effacing himself that it might succeed.[Pg 77] For that it had succeeded the present gathering guaranteed. George and Judith Marbury were in society, and safely in; thereafter, it depended on themselves whether they would stay in. The next thing was marriage. Sir Edward's glance passed slowly around the table. Yes, they would any of them do, any one in the Colony, in fact. George Marbury was undoubtedly handsome, of a fine figure, tall and supple, with an air about him which ordinarily comes only from generations of ancestors. And Judith had a certain ease and stateliness of bearing, which was the feminine counterpart of her brother's.
He let his eyes rest covertly on her. Broken in fortune, with no money save what he made, he might have married her, and helped conserve the Marbury fortune—might have learned to oversee a tobacco plantation, to raise wheat, to trade in slaves and bond-servants. In short, he might have led a respectable life, here, in Maryland, and settled down as a thrifty and sedate landed proprietor. That is, assuming that the girl would have him, and the silent figure, at the head of the table, offered no serious opposition.
He saw his mistake, now. He should have held to his own name, and the little money he had. As he might not return to England, he should have announced that he had come to America to settle, to grow up with the country. Instead, he had stolen another man's name and title, had set himself[Pg 78] up to impersonate him, had used his letters of introduction, had been received, and was, at that very moment, to all intents and purposes, Sir Edward Parkington.
It was too late, now, to retract. He had burned his bridges behind him. He was known the province over, nay into Virginia and Pennsylvania, too; for he had met representative men from both Colonies at the races, and they had made much of him—the traveller for pleasure. To admit, now, that he was not Parkington, but, instead, a disinherited son, with a few pounds to his credit and no character, would be worse than folly—it would be madness. What of his story of shipwreck—how came he by the letters of introduction—did Parkington die by the waves or by murder? Assuredly, he had made a mess of it....
Of course—of course, he could marry the girl, or make a try for her, still masquerading as Sir Edward, and trust to luck, and the Marbury money to find a way out. The main objection to this scheme was that, for all he knew, Parkington was already married, and while he might purloin his reception and welcome, yet to cause him to commit bigamy, was a little too much risk. Naturally, since he himself was unmarried, there would be no bigamy, but to espouse a woman—a good woman—under another man's name! even he balked.
He had played the bachelor thus far, and he hoped it was according to the fact; at least, no one[Pg 79] had questioned it, to his knowledge. But, this afternoon, he thought he had detected some such purpose in Miss Stirling's manner—a faint doubting. He had led quickly away, and she had made no attempt to return to it. Possibly, he had been mistaken—it might well be that he was. But, at all events, the question confronted him, and doubtless would have to be answered, sometime. He was——
"Is anything the matter with the chicken, Sir Edward!"
The last words caught his ears. "I beg your pardon, Miss Marbury," he said; "did you ask me a question?"
"I asked whether anything was the matter with the chicken?" she replied; "you have been frowning at your plate, for at least a minute—or is it the ham?"
"Was I frowning?" he laughed; "well, rest assured it was not at either the chicken or the ham—they are delicious. I suppose it is very impolite, but my thoughts had gone back to England and——" he made an expressive gesture. "Amid the most delightful surroundings, home will suddenly obtrude. I promise not to offend again."
"'Twas a grievous offense," she smiled,—"particularly for a traveller—an omen that we shall soon lose you. N'est ce pas, monsieur?"
"It is not, assuredly not. I have no thought of departing. On the contrary, I have but begun[Pg 80] to enjoy my stay. I may become a Marylander, yet, who knows?"
The smile rippled into a laugh. "You flatter us too much, Sir Edward—oh! too much!"
"I flatter not at all—I mean it."
"Is this a sudden notion—I thought you travelled for your pleasure?"
"And so I do—solely, for my pleasure. Perchance, my pleasure is to remain—I do not know."
She refused to take him seriously. "Have you advised your friends in England of this new idea?"
He shook his head. "You are the first to know it."
"Because the idea was, this moment, born?"
"You do not believe me."
"You do not believe, yourself."
&nbs............