One afternoon Florence had seemed particularly gay and attractive. Her face shone from some inner excitement. Mrs. Udney had been careful to thump the spinet more than usual. She gathered them all around her and made them sing. As Anthony left Mr. Udney entered suddenly and beckoned to him.
"Give this to your guardian," he said. It was a sealed letter. "Be sure not to forget," he called. "It is urgently important, hurry home !''
That was the last Saturday of June 1796 when Mr. Udney's letter apparently began to act as a solvent on the world which Anthony had known as "Livorno" and the "Casa da Bonnyfeather."
Mr. Bonnyfeather opened the letter with his carving knife when Anthony came in late to supper. "As I expected," he muttered. He sent the waiter out and leaned forward a little pale. McNab, Toussaint, Faith, and Anthony sat waiting,
"The French are at Florence, the consul informs me," he finally said. "Buonaparte will certainly be here by Tuesday if not sooner. That gives us about forty-eight hours to close this factory." He paused painfully. The happy excitement on the face of Toussaint died out. They were all looking at the old merchant with pity now. A slight flush tinged his high cheek bones as he went on.
"Not a word of this to anyone. I shall want you, Mr, McNab, Toussaint, and Anthony, with me in my own quarters tonight. The clerks must all be gone by Monday. Everyone—but those present," said Mr. Bonnyfeather. "Keep the cook and one porter. Make your arrangements accordingly, Faith, and no delay."
They ate hurriedly.
"May I tell Vincent and the Franks ?" asked Anthony as they rose.
"That is well thought of. They should know," said Mr. Bonnyfeather. "But hurry back." The Franks were enormously grateful for the tip.
By the time Anthony returned the lights were burning in the old merchant's room. Piles of papers and cash bags were on the table with McNab and Toussaint hard at work. They made out a discharge and a letter of recommendation for each employee, counted out the total due each clerk plus a quarter's pay, and made a pile of the coin. Mr. Bonnyfeather answered any queries while he burned correspondence steadily. They worked all night.
Early next morning rioting broke out in the piazza. The lottery was closed and the money gone. Rumours of the French advance flew about. The town throbbed. At noon the British fleet anchored off the molo under Commodore Nelson, Save for the now frantic activity of English departure along the docks of the Darsena the town lay quiet under the British guns. In the court of the Casa da Bonnyfeather all hands gathered after lunch looking rather glum. Mr. Bonnyfeather appeared on the steps. The little crowd below him uncovered. He began haltingly but then went on gallantly enough.
"Gentlemen, Buonaparte will be in this town in a few hours. Although England and France have quarrelled for purely spiritual reasons, all British property will undoubtedly be confiscated. Trade is at an end. The gates of this establishment will never be opened again in my time for business. The Casa da Bonnyfeather has ceased to exist. I have retired," He paused with all eyes upon him.
"I have not forgot any of you. You will receive immediately from Mr. McNab your full pay plus a quarter's salary gratis, also letters of recommendation to other mercantile firms, and your passports. Those of you who are British subjects had best go aboard the fleet tonight. Do not on any pretext delay. There are many things I would say now but cannot. This sudden decision is due to the act of a tyrant who comes proclaiming liberty. I have done all I can for you who have served me faithfully. Receive my thanks, and may God be with you!"
There was a moment's dead silence. Then the English gave a cheer. There was a rush to pack belongings. In a few hours the place was as quiet as the courtyard of a ruined castle. Outside only the slap of a brush on the front of the establishment as a sailor white-washed carefully over the legend "Casa da Bonnyfeather" disturbed the silence of its now deserted quay. Mr. Bonnyfeather beckoned to Anthony. They went up on the roof and hauled down both the flags together.
"My son," said he with emotion as they locked them in the chest, "if anyone ever raises them again it must be you." He snapped the lock. Anthony stood by feeling a lump in his throat.
"And what shall we do now?" he asked.
"I shall talk about that with you later," the old man replied. "Just now—" He broke off and went to his room.
For some moments Anthony stood there. The past seemed locked in the chest. Then he remembered the present and hastened over to the Udneys'. The consulate downstairs was in an uproar but Mrs. Udney, Florence, and Parish were upstairs.
"Oh, I am so glad you came," Florence cried. "We are leaving tomorrow with the fleet." She checked herself suddenly colouring to the eyes. "I did want to say good-bye, you know."
Of course, they would be going! He knew that, and yet until the last moment he had hoped not. How much he had hoped he was aware of only now as he looked at her standing so near him. So Florence was going away, too.
"All the world is going away!" he blurted out looking miserable and depressed before he could recollect himself. "I wish you were staying. Is it England?"
Her eyes suffused with tears. "No," she said, "Rotterdam!"
"Rotterdam!" he mumbled.
"I think you had better tell Mr. Adverse, my dear," broke in her mother. "Florence, don't turn your back on us that way. It isn't polite."
"Good-bye," said the lips of Florence to Anthony though no sound was heard. When she turned to her mother and Parish she was gay again with bright colour in her cheeks.
"Isn't she a little goose about it, David?" said Mrs. Udney. "Florence wants to tell you, Anthony, that she and Mr. Parish are engaged. It will be announced shortly." She looked at him keenly. But his face did not change now.
"Rather wooden," thought Mrs. Udney.
"I hope you will like Rotterdam as well as Totnes, Miss Florence," he managed to say.
"Believe me, she will," said Parish sitting down beside her with the air of a proprietor. "It is a fine town with lots of English and Scotch merchants."
Anthony nodded. He sat on his chair with his knees straight out before him and drank his tea alone. For the life of him he could not think of anything to say. He felt unaccountably sad. Parish talked on confidently. As soon as he could Anthony bade them all good-bye. On the way down he met Mr. Udney coming up. Anthony was surprised by the heartiness of his good-bye. "Good luck, my boy, write us. I want to hear from you!" He caught him by the arm as if to keep him.
"Mr. Udney, I have a great deal to thank you for. I ... I shall miss you sadly. It will be very lonely . . . with all the English gone . . . very . . . I "
"Cheer up, my boy, we English always come back, you know. You are staying on with your guardian I suppose?"
"No, I am leaving!" said Anthony, and looked shocked. It seemed as if someone else had made the decision. But he was sure of it, sure!
"Hadn't you better consider your . . ." began the consul.
"No, sir, I am leaving Livorno!" He flung out of the door.
"Humph!" said Mr. Udney and went upstairs to his wife, who was alone now.
"Our young friend seems to be badly cut up over the recent trend of events here."
"Does he ?" she said doubtfully.
"Yes, he is going to leave. I should think he would stay on and look after Mr. Bonnyfeather's interests—and his own."
"His own?" She put down the teacup.
"Yes, didn't you know he is Bonnyfeather's heir?"
"Henry!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me? Oh, you . . . you old fool!"
She turned and began to play violently on the spinet.
"Well, I'll be damned!" muttered Mr. Udney.
Just as Anthony turned the corner of the street the strains of "Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre" reached him faintly like an echo from a past life. He winced and clenched his fist. Mrs. Udney might have spared him that. That settled it. He was going.