Afloat and Ashore Part 42

"Oh! of course I don't mean _that._ Habit keeps all right in such matters; and I dare say I shall always be as much attached to you, as I was in childhood. Still, we are on diverging lines, now, and cannot for ever remain boys."

"You have told me nothing of the rest," I said, half choked, in my eagerness to hear of the girls, and yet unaccountably afraid to ask.

I believe I dreaded to hear that Lucy was married. "How, and where is Grace?"

"Oh! Grace!--yes, I forgot her, to my shame, as you would naturally wish to inquire. Why, my dear _Captain,_ to be as frank as one ought with so old an acquaintance, your sister is not in a good way, I'm much afraid; though I've not seen her in an age. She was down among us in the autumn, but left town for the holidays, for them she insisted on keeping at Clawbonny, where she said the family had always kept them, and away she went. Since then, she has not returned, but I fear she is far from well.

You know what a fragile creature Grace ever has been--so American!--Ah!

Wallingford! our females have no const.i.tutions--charming as angels, delicate as fairies, and all that; but not to be compared to the English women in const.i.tutions."

I felt a torrent of fire rushing through my blood, and it was with difficulty I refrained from hurling the heartless scoundrel who leaned on my arm, into the ditch. A moment of reflection, however, warned me of the precipice on which I stood. He was Mr. Hardinge's son, Lucy's brother; and I had no proofs that he had ever induced Grace to think he loved her. It was so easy for those who had been educated as we four had been, to be deceived on such a point, that I felt it unsafe to do anything precipitately. Friendship, _habit_, as Rupert expressed it, might so easily be mistaken for the fruits of pa.s.sion, that one might well be deceived. Then it was all-important to Grace's self-respect, to her feelings, in some measure to her character, to be careful, that I suppressed my wrath, though it nearly choked me.

"I am sorry to hear this," I answered, after a long pause, the deep regret I felt at having such an account of my sister's health contributing to make my manner seem natural; "very, _very_ sorry to hear it. Grace is one that requires the tenderest care and watching; and I have been making pa.s.sage after pa.s.sage in pursuit of money, when I am afraid I should have been at Clawbonny, discharging the duties of a brother. I can never forgive myself!"

"Money is a very good thing, Captain," answered Rupert, with a smile that appeared to mean more than the tongue expressed--"a surprisingly good thing is money! But you must not exaggerate Grace's illness, which I dare say is merely const.i.tutional, and will lead to nothing. I hope your many voyages have produced their fruits?"

"And Lucy?" I resumed, disregarding his question concerning my own success as an owner. "Where and how is she?"

"Miss Hardinge is in town--in her own--that is, in _our_ house--in Wall Street, though she goes to _the place_ in the morning. No one who can, likes to remain among these hot bricks, that has a pleasant country-house to fly to, and open to receive him. But I forgot--I have supposed you to know what it is very likely you have never heard?"

"I learned the death of Mrs. Bradfort while in Italy, and, seeing you in black, at once supposed it was for her."

"Yes, that's just it. An excellent woman has been taken from us, and, had she been my own mother, I could not have received greater kindnesses from her. Her end, my dear Wallingford, was admitted by all the clergy to be one of the most edifying known in the place for years."

"And Mrs. Bradfort has left you her heir? It is now time to congratulate you on your good fortune. As I un-understand her estate came through females to her, and from a common ancestor of hers and yours, there is not the slightest reason why you should not be gratified by the bequest.

But Lucy--I hope she was not _altogether_ forgotten?"

Rupert fidgeted, and I could see that he was on tenter-hooks. As I afterwards discovered, he wished to conceal the real facts from the world; and yet he could not but foresee that I would probably learn them from his father. Under all the circ.u.mstances, therefore, he fancied it best to make me a confidant. We were strolling between Trinity and Paul's church walks, then the most fashionable promenade in town; and, before he would lay open his secret, my companion led me over by the Oswego Market, and down Maiden Lane, lest he might betray himself to the more fashionable stocks and stones. He did not open his lips until clear of the market, when he laid bare his budget of griefs in something that more resembled his old confidential manner, than he had seen fit to exhibit in the earlier part of our interview.

"You must know, Miles," he commenced, "that Mrs. Bradfort was a very peculiar woman--a very peculiar sort of a person, indeed. An, excellent lady, I am ready to allow, and one that made a remarkably edifying and; but one whose peculiarities, I have understood, she inherited with her fortune. Women _do_ get the oddest conceits into their heads, you know, and American women before all others; a republic being anything but favourable to the continuation of property in the same line. Miss Merton, who is a girl of excellent sense, as you well know yourself, Miles, says, now, in England I should have succeeded, quite as a matter of course, to _all_ Mrs. Bradfort's real estate."

"You, as a lawyer--a common law lawyer-can scarcely require the opinion of an Englishwoman to tell you what the English laws would do in a question of descent."

"Oh! they've a plaguey sight of statutes in that country, as well as ourselves. Between the two, the common law is getting to be a very uncommon sort of a law. But, to cut the matter short, Mrs. Bradfort made a _will_."

"Dividing her property equally between you and Lucy, I dare say, to Miss Merton's great dissatisfaction."

"Why, not just so, Miles--not exactly so; a very capricious, peculiar woman was Mrs. Bradfort--"

I have often remarked, when a person has succeeded in throwing dust into another's eyes, but is discarded on being found out, that the rejected of principle is very apt to accuse his former dupe of being _capricious_; when, in fact, he has only been _deceived_. As I said nothing, however, leaving Rupert to flounder on in the best manner he could, the latter, after a pause, proceeded--

"But her end was very admirable" he said, "and to the last degree edifying. You must know, she made a will, and in that will she left everything, even to the town and country houses, to--my sister."

I was thunder-struck! Here were all my hopes blown again to the winds.

After a long pause, I resumed the discourse.

"And whom did she leave as executor?" I asked, instantly foreseeing the consequences should that office be devolved on Rupert, himself.

"My father. The old gentleman has had his hands full, between your father and mother, and Mrs. Bradfort. Fortunately, the estate of the last is in a good condition, and is easily managed. Almost entirely in stores and houses in the best part of the town, well insured, a few thousands in stocks, and as much in bonds and mortgages, the savings from the income, and something like a year's rents in bank. A good seven thousand a year, with enough surplus to pay for repairs, collection and other charges."

"And all this, then, is Lucy's!" I exclaimed, feeling something like the bitterness of knowing that such an heiress was not for me.

"Temporarily; though, of course, I consider Lucy as only my trustee for half of it. You know how it is with the women; they fancy all us young men spendthrifts, and, so, between the two, they have reasoned in this way--'Rupert is a good fellow at bottom; but Rupert is young, and he will make the money fly--now, I'll give it all to you, Lucy, in my will, but, of course, you'll take care of your brother, and let him have half, or perhaps two-thirds, being a male, at the proper time, which will be, as soon as you come of age, and _can_ convey. You understand Lucy is but nineteen, and _cannot_ convey these two years."

"And Lucy admits this to be true?--You have proof of all this?"

"Proof! I'd take my own affidavit of it. You see it is reasonable, and what I had a right to expect. Everything tends to confirm it. Between ourselves, I had quite $2000 of debt; and yet, you see, the good lady did not leave me a dollar to pay even my honest creditors; a circ.u.mstance that so pious a woman, and one who made so edifying an end, would never think of doing, without ulterior views. Considering Lucy as my trustee, explains the whole thing."

"I thought Mrs. Bradfort made you an allowance, Rupert; some $600 a year, besides keeping you in her own house?"

"A thousand-but, what is $1000 a year to a fashionable man, in a town like this. First and last, the excellent old lady, gave me about $5000, all of which confirms the idea, that, at the bottom, she intended me for her heir. What woman in her senses, would think of giving $5000 to a relative to whom she did not contemplate giving _more_? The thing is clear on its face, and I should certainly go into chancery, with anybody but Lucy."

"And Lucy?--what says she to your views on the subject of Mrs.

Bradfort's intentions?"

"Why, you have some acquaintance with Lucy--used to be intimate with her, as one might say, when children, and know something of her character"--This to me, who fairly worshipped the earth on which the dear girl trod!--"She never indulges in professions, and likes to take people by surprise, when she contemplates doing them a service--" this was just as far from Lucy's natural and honest mode of dealing, as it was possible to be--"and, so, she has been as mum as one who has lost the faculty of speech. However, she never speaks of her affairs to others; _that_ is a good sign, and indicates an intention to consider herself as my trustee; and, what is better still, and more plainly denotes what her conscience dictates in the premises, she has empowered her father to pay all my debts; the current income and loose cash, being at her disposal, at once. It would have been better had she given me the money, to satisfy these creditors with it, for I knew which had waited the longest, and were best ent.i.tled to receive the dollars at once; but, it's something to have all their receipts in my pocket, and to start fair again. Thank Heaven, that much is already done. To do Lucy justice, moreover, she allows me $1500 a year, _ad interim_. Now, Miles, I've conversed with you, as with an old friend, and because I knew my father would tell you the whole, when you get up to Clawbonny; but you will take it all in strict confidence. It gives a fashionable young fellow so silly an air, to be thought dependent on a sister; and she three years younger than himself! So I have hinted the actual state of the case, round among my friends; but, it is generally believed that I am in possession already, and that Lucy is dependent on me, instead of my being dependent on her. The idea, moreover, is capital for keeping off fortune-hunters, as you will see at a glance."

"And will the report satisfy a certain Mr. Andrew Drewett?" I asked, struggling to a.s.sume a composure I was far from feeling. "He was all attention when I sailed, and I almost expected to hear there was no longer a Lucy Hardinge."

"To tell you the truth, Miles, I thought so, too, until the death of Mrs. Bradfort. The mourning, however, most opportunely came to put a stop to anything of the sort, were it even contemplated. It would be so awkward, you will understand, to have a brother-in-law before everything is settled, and the trust is accounted for. _Au reste_--I am very well satisfied with Andrew, and let him know I am his friend; he is well connected; fashionable; has a pretty little fortune; and, as I sometimes tell Lucy, that he is intended for her, as Mrs. Bradfort, no doubt, foresaw, inasmuch as his estate, added to just one-third of that of our dear departed cousin, would just make up the present income. On my honour, now, I do not think the difference would be $500 per annum."

"And how does your sister receive your hints?"

"Oh! famously--just as all girls do, you know. She blushes, and sometimes she looks vexed; then she smiles, and puts up her lip, and says 'Nonsense!' and 'What folly!' 'Rupert, I'm surprised at you!' and all that sort of stuff, which deceives n.o.body, you'll understand, not even her poor, simple, silly brother. But, Miles, I must quit you now, for I have an engagement to accompany a party to the theatre, and was on my way to join them when we met. Cooper plays, and you know what a lion _he_ is; one would not wish to lose a syllable of his Oth.e.l.lo."

"Stop, Rupert--one word more before we part. From your conversation, I gather that the Mertons are still here?"

"The Mertons! Why, certainly; established in the land, and among its tip-top people. The Colonel finds his health benefited by the climate, and he has managed to get some appointment which keeps him among us. He has Boston relatives, moreover, and I believe is fishing up some claims to property in that quarter. The Mertons here, indeed! what would New York be without the Mertons!"

"And my old friend the Major is promoted, too--you called him Colonel, I think?"

"Did I? I believe he is oftener called _General_ Merton, than anything else. You must be mistaken about his being only a Major, Miles; everybody here calls him either Colonel, or General."

"Never mind; I hope it is as you say. Good-bye, Rupert; I'll not betray you, and--"

"Well-you were about to say--"

"Why, mention me to Lucy; you know we were acquainted when children.

Tell her I wish her all happiness in her new position, to which I do not doubt she will do full credit; and that I shall endeavour to see her before I sail again."

"You'll not be at the theatre this evening? Cooper is well worth seeing--a most famous fellow in Oth.e.l.lo!"

"I think not. Do not forget to mention me to your sister; and so, once more, adieu!"

We parted--Rupert to go towards Broadway, at a great pace, and I to lounge along, uncertain whither to proceed. I had sent Neb to inquire if the Wallingford were down, and understood she would leave the basin at sunrise. It was now my intention to go up in her; for, though I attached no great importance to any of Rupert's facts, his report concerning my sister's health rendered me exceedingly uneasy. Insensibly I continued my course down Maiden Lane, and soon found myself near the ship. I went on board, had an explanation with Marble, gave some orders to Neb, and went ash.o.r.e again, all in the course of the next half-hour. By a sort of secret attraction, I was led towards the Park, and soon found myself at the door of the theatre. Mrs. Bradfort had now been dead long enough to put Lucy in second mourning, and I fancied I might get a view of her in the party that Rupert was to accompany. Buying a ticket, I entered and made my way up into the Shakspeare box. Had I been better acquainted with the place, with the object in view I should have gone into the pit.

Notwithstanding the lateness of the season, it was a very full house.

Cooper's, in that day, was a name that filled every mouth, and he seldom failed to fill every theatre in which he appeared. With many first-rate qualifications for his art, and a very respectable conception of his characters, he threw everything like compet.i.tion behind him; though there were a few, as there ever will be among the superlatively intellectual, who affected to see excellencies in Fennel, and others, to which this great actor could not aspire. The public decided against these select few, and, as is invariably the case when the appeal is made to human feelings, the public decided right. Puffery will force into notice and sustain a false judgment, in such matters, for a brief s.p.a.ce; but nature soon a.s.serts her sway, and it is by natural decisions that such points are ever the most justly determined. Whatever appeals to human sympathies, will be answered by human sympathies. Popularity too often gains its ascendency behind the hypocrite's mask in religion; it is usually a magnificent mystification in politics; it frequently becomes the patriot's stalking-horse, on which he rides to power; in social life, it is the reward of empty smiles, unmeaning bows, and hollow squeezes of the hand; but with the player, the poet, and all whose pursuits bring them directly in contact with the pa.s.sions, the imagination and the heart, it is the unerring test of merit, with certain qualifications connected with the mind and the higher finish of pure art. It may be questioned if Cooper were not the greatest actor of his day, in a certain range of his own characters.

I have said that the house was full. I got a good place, however; though it was not in the front row. Of course I could only see the side boxes beneath, and not even quite all of them. My eyes ran eagerly over them, and I soon caught a glimpse of the fine, curling hair of Rupert. He sat by the side of Emily Merton, the Major--I knew he was a colonel or general, only by means of a regular Manhattan promotion, which is so apt to make hundreds of counts, copper captains, and travelling prodigies of those who are very small folk at home--the Major sat next, and, at his side, I saw a lady, whom I at once supposed to be Lucy. Every nerve in my system thrilled, as I caught even this indistinct view of the dear creature. I could just see the upper part of her face, as it was occasionally turned towards the Major; and once I caught that honest smile of hers, which I knew had never intentionally deceived.