Фредерик Марриет - The Pirate

“I must go to Portsmouth immediately after breakfast—shan’t eat though—appetite all gone.”

“People seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions,” replied Jonathan. “Will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?”

“A mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses! Jonathan, you’re crazy.”

“Will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman and servants who attend you, sir?”

“Confound your shop! no; this is a resurrection, not a death; it appears that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down.”

“ Mors omnia vincit ,” quoth Jonathan, casting up his eyes.

“Never you mind that; mind your own business. That’s the postman’s knock—see if there are any letters.”

There were several; and amongst the others there was one from Captain Maxwell, of the Eurydice , detailing the circumstances already known, and informing Mr Witherington that he had despatched the two negroes and the child to his address by that day’s coach, and that one of the officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them safe to his house.

Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr Witherington—had dined at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to direct them.

“By the blood of my ancestors! they’ll be here to night,” cried Mr Witherington; “and I have saved my journey. What is to be done? better tell Mary to get rooms ready: d’ye hear, William? beds for one little boy and two niggers.”

“Yes, sir,” replied William; “but where are the black people to be put?”

“Put! I don’t care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary.”

“Very well, sir, I’ll tell them,” replied William, hastening away, delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen.

“If you please, sir,” observed Jonathan, “one of the negroes is, I believe, a man.”

“Well, what then?”

“Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him.”

“By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may take him, Jonathan—you like that colour.”

“Not in the dark, sir,” replied Jonathan with a bow.

“Well, then, let them sleep together: so that affair is settled.”

“Are they man and wife, sir?” said the butler.

“The devil take them both! how should I know? Let me have my breakfast, and we’ll talk over the matter by-and-by.”

Mr Witherington applied to his eggs, and muffin, eating his breakfast as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was puzzled and perplexed with the anticipated arrival, and longed to think quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor. As soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his easy-chair, in an easy attitude, and was very soon soliloquising as follows:—

“By the blood of the Witheringtons! what am I, an old bachelor, to do with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another black fellow in the bargain. Send him back again? yes, that’s best: but the child—woke every morning at five o’clock with its squalling—obliged to kiss it three times a-day—pleasant!—and then that nigger of a nurse—thick lips—kissing child all day, and then holding it out to me—ignorant as a cow—if child has the stomach-ache she’ll cram a pepper-pod down its throat—West India fashion—children never without the stomach-ache!—my poor, poor cousin!—what has become of her and the other child, too?—wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own children—don’t know what to do—great mind to send for sister Moggy—but she’s so fussy—won’t be in a hurry. Think again.”

Here Mr Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door.

“Come in,” said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the usual clean apron.

“If you please, sir,” said she, curtseying, “I will thank you to suit yourself with another cook.”

“Oh, very well,” replied Mr Witherington, angry at the interruption.

“And if you please, sir, I should like to go this very day—indeed, sir, I shall not stay.”

“Go to the devil! if you please,” replied Mr Witherington, angrily; “but first go out and shut the door after you.”

The cook retired, and Mr Witherington was again alone.

“Confound the old woman—what a huff she is in! won’t cook for black people, I suppose—yes, that’s it.”

Here Mr Witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at the door.

“Oh! thought better of it, I suppose. Come in.”

It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered.

“If you please, sir,” said she, whimpering, “I should wish to leave my situation.”

“A conspiracy, by heavens! Well, you may go.”

“To-night, sir, if you please,” answered the woman.

“This moment, for all I care!” exclaimed Mr Witherington in his wrath.

The housemaid retired; and Mr Witherington took some time to compose himself.

“Servants all going to the devil in this country,” said he at last; “proud fools—won’t clean rooms after black people, I suppose—yes, that’s it, confound them all, black and white! here’s my whole establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. Well, it is very uncomfortable—what shall I do?—send for sister Moggy?—no, I’ll send for Jonathan.”

Mr Witherington rang the bell, and Jonathan made his appearance.

“What is all this, Jonathan?” said he; “cook angry—Mary crying—both going away—what’s it all about?”

“Why, sir, they were told by William that it was your positive order that the two black people were to sleep with them; and I believe he told Mary that the man was to sleep with her.”

“Confound that fellow! he’s always at mischief; you know, Jonathan, I never meant that.”

“I thought not, sir, as it is quite contrary to custom,” replied Jonathan.

“Well, then, tell them so, and let’s hear no more about it.”

Mr Witherington then entered into a consultation with his butler, and acceded to the arrangements proposed by him. The parties arrived in due time, and were properly accommodated. Master Edward was not troubled with the stomach-ache, neither did he wake Mr Witherington at five o’clock in the morning; and, after all, it was not very uncomfortable. But, although things were not quite so uncomfortable as Mr Witherington had anticipated, still they were not comfortable; and Mr Witherington was so annoyed by continual skirmishes with his servants, complaints from Judy, in bad English, of the cook, who, it must be owned, had taken a prejudice against her and Coco, occasional illness of the child, et cetera, that he found his house no longer quiet and peaceable. Three months had now nearly passed, and no tidings of the boats had been received; and Captain Maxwell, who came up to see Mr Witherington, gave it as his decided opinion that they must have foundered in the gale. As, therefore, there appeared to be no chance of Mrs Templemore coming to take care of her child, Mr Witherington at last resolved to write to Bath, where his sister resided, and acquaint her with the whole story, requesting her to come and superintend his domestic concerns. A few days afterwards he received the following reply:—

“ Bath, August .

“My dear Brother Antony,

“Your letter arrived safe to hand on Wednesday last, and I must say that I was not a little surprised at its contents; indeed, I thought so much about it that I revoked at Lady Betty Blabkin’s whist-party, and lost four shillings and sixpence. You say that you have a child at your house belonging to your cousin, who married in so indecorous a manner. I hope what you say is true; but, at the same time, I know what bachelors are guilty of; although, as Lady Betty says, it is better never to talk or even to hint about these improper things. I cannot imagine why men should consider themselves, in an unmarried state, as absolved from that purity which maidens are so careful to preserve; and so says Lady Betty, with whom I had a little conversation on the subject. As, however, the thing is done, she agrees with me that it is better to hush it up as well as we can.