What Harry admired and submitted to in the pretty lad his kinsman was (for why should he resist it?) the calmness of patronage which my young lord assumed, as if to command was his undoubted right, and all the world (below his degree) ought to bow down to Viscount Castlewood.
“I know my place, Harry,” he said. “I’m not proud — the boys at Winchester College say I’m proud: but I’m not proud. I am simply Francis James Viscount Castlewood in the peerage of Ireland. I might have been (do you know that?) Francis James Marquis and Earl of Esmond in that of England. The late lord refused the title which was offered to him by my godfather, his late Majesty. You should know that — you are of our family, you know you cannot help your bar sinister, Harry, my dear fellow; and you belong to one of the best families in England, in spite of that; and you stood by my father, and by G—! I’ll stand by you. You shall never want a friend, Harry, while Francis James Viscount Castlewood has a shilling. It’s now 1703 — I shall come of age in 1709. I shall go back to Castlewood; I shall live at Castlewood; I shall build up the house. My property will be pretty well restored by then. The late viscount mismanaged my property, and left it in a very bad state. My mother is living close, as you see, and keeps me in a way hardly befitting a peer of these realms; for I have but a pair of horses, a governor, and a man that is valet and groom. But when I am of age, these things will be set right, Harry. Our house will be as it should be. You will always come to Castlewood, won’t you? You shall always have your two rooms in the court kept for you; and if anybody slights you, d —— them! let them have a care of ME. I shall marry early — Trix will be a duchess by that time, most likely; for a cannon ball may knock over his grace any day, you know.”
“How?” says Harry.
“Hush, my dear!” says my Lord Viscount. “You are of the family — you are faithful to us, by George, and I tell you everything. Blandford will marry her — or”— and here he put his little hand on his sword —“you understand the rest. Blandford knows which of us two is the best weapon. At small-sword, or back-sword, or sword and dagger if he likes; I can beat him. I have tried him, Harry; and begad he knows I am a man not to be trifled with.”
“But you do not mean,” says Harry, concealing his laughter, but not his wonder, “that you can force my Lord Blandford, the son of the first man of this kingdom, to marry your sister at sword’s point?”
“I mean to say that we are cousins by the mother’s side, though that’s nothing to boast of. I mean to say that an Esmond is as good as a Churchill; and when the King comes back, the Marquis of Esmond’s sister may be a match for any nobleman’s daughter in the kingdom. There are but two marquises in all England, William Herbert Marquis of Powis, and Francis James Marquis of Esmond; and hark you, Harry,— now swear you will never mention this. Give me your honor as a gentleman, for you ARE a gentleman, though you are a —”
“Well, well?” says Harry, a little impatient.
“Well, then, when after my late viscount’s misfortune, my mother went up with us to London, to ask for justice against you all (as for Mohun, I’ll have his blood, as sure as my name is Francis Viscount Esmond)— we went to stay with our cousin my Lady Marlborough, with whom we had quarrelled for ever so long. But when misfortune came, she stood by her blood:— so did the Dowager Viscountess stand by her blood,— so did you. Well, sir, whilst my mother was petitioning the late Prince of Orange — for I will never call him king — and while you were in prison, we lived at my Lord Marlborough’s house, who was only a little there, being away with the army in Holland. And then . . . I say, Harry, you won’t tell, now?”
Harry again made a vow of secrecy.
“Well, there used to be all sorts of fun, you know: my Lady Marlborough was very fond of us, and she said I was to be her page; and she got Trix to be a maid of honor, and while she was up in her room crying, we used to be always having fun, you know; and the Duchess used to kiss me, and so did her daughters, and Blandford fell tremendous in love with Trix, and she liked him; and one day he — he kissed her behind a door — he did though,— and the Duchess caught him, and she banged such a box of the ear both at Trix and Blandford — you should have seen it! And then she said that we must leave directly, and abused my mamma who was cognizant of the business; but she wasn’t — never thinking about anything but father. And so we came down to Walcote. Blandford being locked up, and not allowed to see Trix. But I got at him. I climbed along the gutter, and in through the window, where he was crying.
“‘Marquis,’ says I, when he had opened it and helped me in, ‘you know I wear a sword,’ for I had brought it.
“‘Oh, viscount,’ says he —‘oh, my dearest Frank!’ and he threw himself into my arms and burst out a-crying. ‘I do love Mistress Beatrix so, that I shall die if I don’t have her.’
“‘My dear Blandford,’ says I, ‘you are young to think of marrying;’ for he was but fifteen, and a young fellow of that age can scarce do so, you know.
“‘But I’ll wait twenty years, if she’ll have me,’ says he. ‘I’ll never marry — no, never, never, never, marry anybody but her. No, not a princess, though they would have me do it ever so. If Beatrix will wait for me, her Blandford swears he will be faithful.’ And he wrote a paper (it wasn’t spelt right, for he wrote ‘I’m ready to SINE WITH MY BLODE,’ which, you know, Harry, isn’t the way of spelling it), and vowing that he would marry none other but the Honorable Mistress Gertrude Beatrix Esmond, only sister of his dearest friend Francis James, fourth Viscount Esmond. And so I gave him a locket of her hair.”
“A locket of her hair?” cries Esmond.
“Yes. Trix gave me one after the fight with the Duchess that very day. I am sure I didn’t want it; and so I gave it him, and we kissed at parting, and said —‘Good-by, brother.’ And I got back through the gutter; and we set off home that very evening. And he went to King’s College, in Cambridge, and I’M going to Cambridge soon; and if he doesn’t stand to his promise (for he’s only wrote once),— he knows I wear a sword, Harry. Come along, and let’s go see the cocking-match at Winchester.
“. . . . But I say,” he added, laughing, after a pause, “I don’t think Trix will break her heart about him. La bless you! whenever she sees a man, she makes eyes at him; and young Sir Wilmot Crawley of Queen’s Crawley, and Anthony Henley of Airesford, were at swords drawn about her, at the Winchester Assembly, a month ago.”
That night Mr. Harry’s sleep was by no means so pleasant or sweet as it had been on the first two evenings after his arrival at Walcote. “So the bright eyes have been already shining on another,” thought he, “and the pretty lips, or the cheeks at any rate, have begun the work which they were made for. Here’s a girl not sixteen, and one young gentleman is already whimpering over a lock of her hair, and two country squires are ready to cut each other’s throats that they may have the honor of a dance with her. What a fool am I to be dallying about this passion, and singeing my wings in this foolish flame. Wings!— w............