An expression of horror on Mary's face arrested him; looking beyond him while he spoke as had the innkeeper, she too had seen someone come in, and her reaction was frightening to behold. Ebenezer's flesh crawled.
"Is't Harry Russecks?" he whispered.
"Dear Christ!" moaned Mary, and, expecting the worst, Ebenezer turned to see for himself. The new arrival was not Harry Russecks, but a slight statured gentleman whom the other patrons rose to greet. The poet's heart sprang up; he moved his mouth to call "Henry!" and realized just in time to check himself that this man was not the "Nicholas Lowe" Burlingame but the Burlingame of St. Giles, grown fifteen years older and tanned by the Maryland sun: that is to say, not Burlingame at all…
" 'Tis my Charley Mattassin come from the dead!" Mary cried aloud.
"Nay, Mary," Ebenezer whispered. " 'Tis Billy Rumbly!"
Everyone in the room was startled by the outburst. Rumbly himself broke off his salutations and looked over with a puzzled smile. Two of his friends murmured something, but he ignored them and came towards the poet's table, where, still smiling, he bowed slightly to Ebenezer and addressed the ashen-faced woman.
"I beg your pardon, madam, but I must know whether you did not speak the name Charley Mattassin just then." His voice, Ebenezer observed, was of the same timbre as Burlingame's, but the accent was more continental than English.
"Thou'rt the breathing image o' thy brother!" Mary replied, and began to weep unashamedly. The other patrons came over to see what was the trouble; Billy Rumbly politely requested that they permit him to learn for himself, and they retired.
"May I sit down with you, sir? I thank you. Now, my dear lady — "
"Pray let me explain, sir," Ebenezer ventured. " 'Tis a most happy coincidence that brought you hither tonight!"
"I quite agree," said Billy Rumbly. "As for explanation, there may be no call for one: my dear lady, can it be thou'rt Miss Mungummory?"
Mary's astonishment was followed immediately by apprehension. "Now, Mr. Rumbly, ye mustn't think hard o' me; I swear — "
"That you had naught to do with Mattassinemarough's death? Let me swear, Miss Mungummory, that none save Mattassin had aught to do with Mattassin's death. He destroyed himself — I appreciate that fact — and for all his fits of contrary passion, I know he died with your image in his heart." He smiled. "But say, how is't you knew I was his brother? Merely by reason of a certain likeness betwixt us?"
Mary was still too taken aback to muster a coherent answer, and so Ebenezer declared, "We've heard the tale of your adventures from the trapper Harvey Russecks, sir — "
"Dear Harvey! A consummate gentleman! Then thou'rt aware I was formerly called Cohunkowprets, the Bill-of-the-Goose; yet that doth not quite account for all."
"My business will explain the rest," Ebenezer said. "I am in Church Creek expressly to deliver you a message from the Tayac Chicamec."
For the first time, Billy Rumbly's composure was ruffled: his brow contracted, and his eyes flashed in a way that chilled the poet's blood, so often had he seen that angry flash in Burlingame's eyes.
"The Tayac Chicamec hath no messages that I care to hear," he said dangerously.
"Haply not, sir," the poet granted at once, "yet I must tell you that as a gentleman you cannot refuse to hear me: I swear to you that the lives of every man, woman, and child of this province are in your hands!"
Billy Rumbly fixed his attention on the glass of beer brought to him by the innkeeper; his anger seemed to have hardened into stubbornness.
"You speak of the coming war. I do not think of it."
Ebenezer had anticipated this difficulty; he sighed as though resigned to the Indian's obduracy. "Very well, sir, I shan't trespass farther on your good nature. I only hope my friendship with your brother Burlingame will make him less unreasonable than you."
The remark had its intended effect: Billy grabbed his hand and stared open-mouthed at him, as if scarcely daring to believe his ears.
"What cruel stratagem of my father's is this?"
"The stratagem is mine, sir, to persuade you to hear me out on a number of urgent matters; but what I said is nonetheless true. As 'twas my pleasure to inform the Tayac Chicamec, your younger brother, Henry Burlingame Third, is neither dead nor lost; he was my tutor in England for six years and at present is not many miles from this spot." Despite his fear of alienating the man, who rather intimidated him as well, his terrific responsibilities caused Ebenezer suddenly to lose patience. "Damn you, sir, put by your skepticism; 'tis mankind's side I'm on, not Chicamec's! Do you know this ring? Aye, 'tis the ring of Quassapelagh, that he gave me for saving his life whilst he was hiding in the cliffs. Ah, you've heard that tale before? Then you know that the wight I left to serve him also owed his life to me — a trussed-up Negro slave named Drepacca, that I believe hath been a friend of yours! Do you think I'll beg you to save my companions' lives by leading that monstrous rebellion? I come here with a plan, sir, not a plea; a plan to save both English and Ahatchwhoops!" He paused to regain his self-control and concluded in a calmer tone, "What's more, I wish to speak with you as one gentleman to another with regard to your wife, who I have reason to believe is a woman very precious to me; and if after all this you need still more evidence of my good intention, know that we may speak here at length without fear of interruption by your enemy the miller Russecks: he is lying this moment at death's doorsill after a bout with me and my companion this afternoon."
Billy Rumbly was flabbergast. "Great Heavens, sir, you leave me breathless! My father, my wife, my long-lost brother — thou'rt setting my world a-spin!" He laughed. " 'Tis clear I misapprehended you, and I humbly beg your pardon, Mr. — "
"Cooke; Ebenezer Cooke, of Malden." The poet was relieved to observe that the name apparently meant nothing to Billy Rumbly.
"Mr. Cooke, sir." The Indian shook his hand warmly. "May I say at the outset, Mr. Cooke, that gossip to the contrary notwithstanding, my wife is as dear to me as you declare she is to you, and her condition (which I gather thou'rt aware of) is a matter of gravest concern to me. In fact, 'twas to seek advice from Mrs. Russecks on that subject I drove hither this evening — for which praise God!"
Mary, having by this time got the better of her emotions, explained that Mrs. Russecks was indisposed and excused herself to return to the patient's bedside.
"If ye still mean to call on Mrs. Rumbly," she said to Ebenezer, "we'll ride out first thing in the morning."
"Nay," Billy Rumbly protested, "you must be my guest tonight, sir, and tell me these wonders at your leisure; I shan't have it otherwise! And you, Miss Mungummory, if you really must go now, take my sympathies and regards to Mrs. Russecks and tell her I'll consult her another time; but you and I must speak together very soon about Mattassin — tomorrow, perhaps? I've much to ask and much to tell!"
Almost too carried away to speak, Mary managed some sort of acknowledgment and left the inn. Billy watched her intently until she was gone and then shook his head.
"I'll wager she was beautiful once! And even now, despite all — I don't presume to understand her, Mr. Cooke, but I quite understand my brother, I believe." He turned to the poet with a smile. "Now, sir, what say you? If your business with regard to my wife is not to duel for her affections, let's out at once for Tobacco Stick Bay; 'tis but four miles down the road, and I've a fair team to fetch us. Astonishing, this business about my brother!"