“Gadzooks! so I do,” rejoined Smith, pausing. “Coming, sir—coming! You’ll be a lady, my duck. Which nobody can deny!”
“It is the voice of a friend,” replied Charles. “You may admit him.”
“Will it please you to step in here, sir?” cried Smith. “Nouns! wife, if it isn’t Lord Wilmot!” he added, as his lordship entered the room. “Only to think that the George should be thus honoured! Henceforth the house shall be called the King’s Head.”
“Better wait till the king is safe upon the throne,” replied his prudent spouse, in a whisper. “It won’t do to offend the roundhead Commonwealth knaves.”
“You are right, my dear—you are always right. Which nobody can deny!” he replied, in the same tone.
“You will rejoice to find, my lord, that I have again fallen amongst friends,” said Charles to Lord Wilmot. “These good folks are old acquaintances, and belonged to the king my father’s household at Whitehall.”
“I congratulate you on your good fortune, my liege,” replied his lordship. “Nay, I think I remember them. That should be Bonfellow Smith, and, unless I am greatly mistaken, this must be pretty Joan Awbray, my lady’s own tirewoman.”
“Your lordship is right in both instances,” said the host. “But the somewhile Joan Awbray is now Mrs. Bonfellow Smith, at your lordship’s service.”
After his lordship had passed a few compliments upon Mrs. Smith’s improved appearance, and expressed his satisfaction at seeing her husband again, Charles gave the worthy couple a good-natured hint to withdraw, and they both left the room, renewing their protestations of devotion, and promising that all needful precautions should be taken for his Majesty’s security.
They had not been gone more than five minutes when heavy footsteps were heard outside, and a hoarse voice was heard inquiring if Master William Jackson was in the house.
“There he is! that’s Captain Tattersall,” cried Colonel Gunter, flying to the door. “This way, captain,” he added. “Here we are! here’s Mr. Jackson.”
On this summons Tattersall entered the room. His apparel was pretty nearly the same as that in which he appeared on a former occasion, except that he now wore a pair of heavy boots. He brought with him a great bundle of seamen’s attire, of which the host, who had followed him into the room, hastened to relieve him.
“Ay, ay, put those traps down, mine host,” cried the skipper; “or, harkye, you had best convey them to some chamber above stairs. Mayhap they’ll be wanted by-and-by. Good e’en to you, gentlemen—good e’en to you,” he added, bowing to the company. While doing so, he fixed a scrutinizing look upon the two strangers, and appeared particularly struck by the king’s appearance.
“Glad to see you, Captain Tattersall,” cried Colonel Gunter, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are as punctual as the clock. This is my friend, Mr. Barlow, captain,” indicating Lord Wilmot, “and this is Mr. William Jackson,” he added, pointing to the king.
“Barlow and Jackson, eh!” exclaimed the skipper, placing his finger on the side of his nose. “Two very good travelling names though Smith might be better.”
“My name is Smith, I beg to observe, Captain Tattersall,” remarked the host—”Bonfellow Smith. Which nobody can deny!”
“True, I had forgotten that,” replied Tattersall, laughing.
“Bring pipes, Spanish tobacco, ale and brandy—Nantz, d’ye mark, host,” cried Colonel Gunter.
“Your honour shall be served in a trice,” replied Smith, disappearing.
“Pray be seated, Captain Tattersall—pray be seated,” said Charles. “There will be no difficulty about our passage, I suppose, captain? You are very particular, I hear. But I hope our looks satisfy you.”
“Your looks are very much in your favour with me, Mr. Jackson,” the skipper replied, significantly, “though they mightn’t please every other shipmaster equally well. But I think I have seen you before, sir.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the king. “Where, and when, captain? I don’t recollect the occasion.”
“Possibly not, sir,” returned the skipper. “But I have good reason to remember it. It was in the year 1648—three years ago, Heaven save the mark—that the royal fleet, under the command of his Royal Highness Prince Charles, suddenly appeared off this coast, and captured several sloops, fishing-vessels, and other craft—my brig, the Swiftsure, being amongst the number.”