The Admiral's Daughter (5 page)

“Oh!” cried Maggie upon hearing this, “you are exactly what I would have wished for! A naval officer with a knowledge of Portsmouth. It is my old home, and I have a great yen to hear all about it.”

The Captain was all eagerness to oblige her, but begged pardon for his ignorance of the city. His usual port of call was Liverpool, and only a battered hull had made him put in at Portsmouth for repairs. There he had been not above six weeks, and having overseen the chief part of the damage mended, was en route to London to take his leave. Six weeks, however, appeared to have been sufficient time for Captain Morrison to make the acquaintance of every one of Maggie's old friends. His amiable manner must have recommended him at once, thought she, upon hearing his amusing accounts of the seaport's inhabitants, told all in the most open and humorous style. Captain Morrison appeared to be one of those rare souls who is capable of putting everyone at their ease. His own manner was so lacking in self-consciousness that it was impossible to feel awkward in his presence. He listened with a keen interest to everything he heard, and replied with great sincerity, but without any of that lugubrious gravity that dampens a conversation. His features radiated with good-humor and candor, his smile was quick and his laugh quicker, his mind agile, and his sensibilities just. Maggie liked him at once, and still more so when, upon hearing her own name mentioned, he exclaimed—

“Miss Trevor! You must be Admiral Trevor's daughter! I should have known at once by your knowledge of our profession that you were not a mere civilian! What a happy chance this is, indeed, for I have long admired your father, and had two or three years ago the good fortune to meet him. In my belief, he was the chief cause of our victory over the French—in truth, a more able strategist we have not had since the time of Drake's victory over the Armada.”

Maggie could hardly hear this without feeling twice inclined toward liking the young officer. Any praise of her father was balm to her ears, and when she saw his admiration of herself increase with the knowledge of her parentage, her feelings were firmly fixed.

Very happily they passed another half an hour in further conversation, while Captain Morrison made short work of a leg of mutton and two mugs of ale, laughing at his own appetite. It was discovered they had all of the same tastes and interests, and, upon hearing that his new acquaintance was shortly to be in the capital, it was agreed they should meet again. So happily occupied, and diverted from her
own worries by the merry conversation of the naval captain, Maggie had almost forgotten about her cousins. But now, seeing Captain Morrison glance sharply out the window giving onto the yard, she was reminded of it.

“Why!” she said in some surprise upon seeing his face grow pale and a hard look come into his eyes, “is anything wrong?”

Her own glance followed his, and took in only the usual commotion of the yard, which was now focused upon a sleek phaeton and a team of lathered horses.

The Captain shook his head and smiled at her. “No, no—I only thought I saw a man I know. It reminded me of a most unpleasant affair, but one which I had rather forget.”

Maggie looked at him curiously, but the Captain had turned away from the window and was making a pointed endeavor to take up their conversation where it had been interrupted. She saw by his look that he did not wish to explain himself, and though she saw his eyes dart now and then to the window, she suppressed her own curiosity.

After a little while she herself looked out the window, hoping to see some signs of her cousin's carriage.

“I cannot imagine why there is so much delay,” she said. “I was to be met by my cousin's chaise two hours ago—and still there is no sign of it.”

Captain Morrison very civilly offered to go out into the yard and make some inquiry, and was just getting to his feet when a commotion at the entrance to the coffee room drew both their attentions. In amazement, Maggie saw that the trouble was caused by her own coachman, who, gesticulating violently in her own direction, was being barred from passing by the innkeeper. Exclaiming at this, she began to gather her reticule and gloves to see what the matter was, when at that moment the coachman broke out of his captor's grip and rushed toward her.

“Miss Trevor!” he cried almost incoherently. “There's a varmint outside claims your horses belong to 'im! He's gone and snatched 'em, good and proper, while I was fetching a brush from the stables! I'd almost done hitching them up to your new chaise, when they was sudden gone and disappeared!”

The coachman paused for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at this outrageous information. Maggie, however, who had caught only half
of his words, and these so mysterious that she had not the least idea what he was talking about, only stared back at him, urging him to calm himself and explain what had happened once more.

“There, there, my good man,” cut in Captain Morrison, patting the fellow on the arm. “You had better tell us again what occurred. You say Miss Trevor's horses have been stolen?”

“Plain in me own sight, your lordship!” exploded the coachman with fresh energy. “Plain in me own sight and under me own nose, this 'ere bloke come up and snatches 'em off the 'itch! Dashed impudence,
I
call it, after we'd waited half the day for 'em as it is!”

Captain Morrison glanced inquiringly at the young lady, who explained, “I was to be met halfway by my cousin's chaise, sir. No doubt the man has been mistaken—perhaps he adopted some other man's team thinking they were my cousins.”

“Mistake!” blurted out the coachman, with a reproachful look at his mistress. “Mistake, miss! I hope I've got more sense than that! I've only driven for yer father these last three and twenty years! Mistake, miss! What do you take me for, that I have not sense enoug' to find your cousin's team in a stodgy posting inn?”

Again Captain Morrison urged the man to calm himself, offering to go out into the yard to help him recover the team, if indeed they belonged to his mistress's cousin. The coachman seemed satisfied by this suggestion, and began pushing his way back to the door with Captain Morrison close upon his heels. Maggie, pausing only to collect her belongings and wait for her maid, followed just behind.

But the ladies, detained by an excited crowd in the hallway of the inn, were delayed for several minutes and emerged at last into the sunlit yard in time to witness a most amazing scene. There in the middle of the yard was standing the distraught coachman, making furious gestures at another carriage servant, who, with a stubborn expression and no sign of paying attention to the former, was continuing to hitch a team of handsome dapple-grays to the very phaeton Maggie had seen earlier from within the coffee room. Captain Morrison had a restraining arm upon the man's arm, but just as the ladies caught sight of them, the coachman broke out of the officer's grip and made
straight for the other servant. With a cry he leaped upon the other man, and there followed a battle of fisticuffs, with limbs all tangled up in each other, and teeth digging into flesh, until the two fell into the dust in a mass of squirming feet and limbs. Just at that moment a cry came from within the doorway of the inn.

“What the devil's going forward here?” came a deep voice, whose owner was for the moment invisible. But even this rather mild expostulation appeared to have an effect on the coachman's opponent, for he instantly ceased wriggling in the dirt, and, though he did not get to his feet, made no further resistance to Admiral Trevor's coachman. The latter, taking full advantage of his enemy's paralysis, instantly swept down upon him with a fresh volley of punches and kicks.

“What the devil are you doing, man?” came the voice again, this time directly behind where Maggie and her maid stood. Maggie turned around in time to see the speaker step out from the crowd that had gathered around the entranceway. The gentleman was above the average in height, and a beautiful cape of deep brown Scottish worsted was thrown about his broad shoulders. Everything about his dress, from the fine, crushed leather of his Hessian boots to the snowy white linen cravat knotted simply at his throat, bespoke the gentleman's pedigree. His was not the attire of a dandy, nor even of a Corinthian, yet there was that in his carriage and in the quality of cloth and lines of his garments that could not be mistaken. What struck Maggie, in the time she had to study his appearance, however, was not the gentleman's attire, but his face. It was surely the handsomest face she had ever seen, and would have been absolutely beautiful had not the features possessed so marked a quality of masculinity. The brow was high and finely made, the aristocratic nose perfectly chiseled, with nostrils now stretched out by indignation. The cheeks were high and well defined, the jawline strong, and clefted deeply in the chin. But the whole, regular formation of features, framed in a thatch of messy dark waves, was ruled over by the eyes. Those eyes were so dark that they looked absolutely black, and were now shining with annoyance. Deep-set and widely spaced, they stared out upon the scene from under the thick dark brows with so much frowning authority that Maggie instinctively took a step
back. She was wise to do so, for the gentleman, having paused only for a second in the doorway, now strode past her without so much as a glance in her direction. She would not in the least have been amazed had he trod over her in his determination to get into the yard—so strong was his aura of arrogance. That arrogance was the one displeasing quality in the whole face, but it was so marked that Maggie instantly disliked him. She was not insensible of masculine beauty, and would otherwise have been struck by his handsomeness, but this air of having the whole world at his command made everything else about him distasteful. So absorbed was Maggie in contemplating this, that she barely noticed the scurrying figure that hurried in his wake—a small, thin, bent man with a wizened face. He was dressed all in black, and carried in his hand a small black bag.

The first gentleman was now standing over the squirming coachmen.

“Here, Jason, what are you about? What do you mean by this? Get up at once—I have no time for your tomfoolery.”

The gentleman spoke no louder than he might have in a drawing room, but his accents were so laden with irony that the servant instantly took fright.

Admiral Trevor's coachman, however, evidently felt no such cowardice. Leaping to his feet, he began to pound upon the gentleman's chest with his fists, all the while yelping abuse.

“ 'Ere! Tike this, your worship! I 'ave no doubt but it was
you
approved this piece of villainy! What are you about, man? Ordering your man to steal me own mistress's horses?”

The gentleman stared down at the battling coachman in amazement, and with one calm movement of his arm, thrust him aside.

“What on earth are you doing, my good man? Here, leave off your fisticuffs, if you will be so kind. As to your mistress's horses, I assure you I would not touch them. This team is my own.” Turning to his own servant, who had by now scrambled to his feet, he continued: “If you are quite through, Jason, I would be obliged if you would climb up. As I informed you, we have no time to waste with any further of your foolishness.”

And with these words, which were spoken to the dire amazement of the Admiral's coachman, the gentleman handed his companion up before him into the box, leaped up himself, and in the wink of an eye was driving out of the yard.

“What!” muttered Maggie to herself, when she was calm enough to speak. “I can hardly credit what I have just seen!”

And stepping out into the yard, she noticed for the first time that Captain Morrison was nowhere in sight. In a moment he was by her side, however, exclaiming angrily at the piece of arrogance he had just witnessed.

“Never in my life have I seen anything like it! And yet, knowing the gentleman, I can believe it a little.”

Maggie instantly demanded who the man had been who was capable of such incivility.

“Why, it is the Viscount Ramblay, a most arrogant and unamiable man,” replied he.

“Lord Ramblay!” Maggie was too amazed to say any more for a moment. “Lord Ramblay—are you absolutely certain, sir?”

The officer regarded her inquiringly.

“As certain of that as I am of my own name, Miss Trevor—why does it amaze you so?”

And now Maggie, with immense mortification, was forced to explain that Lord Ramblay was her cousin, the very man whose chaise she had been waiting for!

“Good God!” exclaimed Morrison, understanding causing him to blanche in outrage and amazement. “Your cousin is Lord Ramblay? The very devil! Why, had I known that——”

“But what could you have done?” demanded Maggie bitterly. “He cared nothing for anyone save himself! Kind as you are to think of it, it is plain to me that any interference would have been ignored. I can hardly believe it still!”

But Captain Morrison was lost in his own thoughts, which, from the dark expression in his eyes, were not very happy ones. At last he said, “But how is it you did not recognize him yourself, Miss Trevor?”

And then Maggie narrated to him the history of her father's quarrel with the late Viscount, and how it had been resolved so recently, adding, with an ironic smile—

“I had no reason to think well of my cousin, Captain, even before this moment. His invitation was so perfunctory, and wreaked so thoroughly of duty rather than desire, that I cannot imagine he remembered he had sent his team for
me.
Indeed, I have no doubt but that he has forgotten I am to visit him!”