Anna St. Ives Part 65

No thoughts are so tragical, no suspicions so horrid as not to be justified, by deductions and appearances which are but too probable.

Yet I will not sink under difficulties, nor be appalled at the sight of danger; be it death, or what else it may. That I am in a state of jeopardy my seizure and imprisonment prove. That Frank is still in greater peril, if still in existence, I have just cause to conclude.

There were pistols fired, and one after he leaped the hedge; I know not at whom directed, nor what its fate!--I would if possible ward off apprehension. I know it to be folly, and I will endeavour to steel my heart against this as well as other mistakes. If he be dead, or if he be to die, grief will not revive or make him invulnerable. His own virtue must preserve him, or nothing can; and in that I will confide.

That evil is meant to me it would be absurd to doubt; but of what nature, where it is to begin, or where end, that time must disclose.

For I will not permit myself to imagine the trifling indignities, or violence I have hitherto encountered, an evil worthy of complaint.

'Tis true my arms are bruised, and I was rudely dealt with by the vile men who seized me: and that there should be such men is an evil. But to me it is none; or not worth a thought. If I would firmly meet what is to come, I must not weakly bewail what is past.

I am not immortal, neither is my strength infinite; but the powers I have I will use. We are oftener vanquished because we are fearful than because we are feeble. Our debility takes birth in our cowardice, and true fort.i.tude is not to be abashed by trifling dangers.

I meant to write a narrative, but these reflections are forced upon me by my situation. I will proceed.

I was brought here, on Friday--, by several men of vulgar but ferocious countenances; and my maid Laura with me. I made all the resistance in my power; and the men, without any regard to what I suffered in body or mind, twisted my arms behind me, so that I imagined one of them had been dislocated, and forced a handkerchief into my mouth; handling, tossing, and gripping me, without any respect whatever to decency or pain, till they had conveyed me from the fields, in which I was walking with Frank Henley, to the place where I am.

I scarcely can guess at the distance; but they hurried me away with great violence, crossing several gates, and forcing apertures through hedges, for the s.p.a.ce I believe of not more than half an hour: it might be much less.

They brought me to a house walled round; into which having been admitted by an old woman, they hurried me forward up stairs, and shut me into a room decently furnished, with a fire in it and a bed-chamber adjoining; but with the windows barred up, and in which every precaution had evidently been taken to render escape impracticable.

Laura was shut up with me; and there was a slip of paper on the table, on which was written--'Laura is allowed to fetch whatever you may want.

Let her ring the bell, and the door will be opened.'--The hand-writing was Mr. Clifton's.

Among other necessaries, there was a book-case, furnished with the works of some of the best authors; and a writing-desk, with pens, ink, and paper.

The same old woman that opened the gate for the men, who brought me, constantly comes to open the door for Laura, when I ring. But this she does with great caution. A chain, similar to what is common for street-doors, is hung on the outside; which she puts up, and looks to see that I am not near, every time she opens the door. The first time she came I stood just behind Laura, and in a morose tone she bade me go back, or she would lock the door again.

After Laura had been several times down stairs, I enquired what discoveries she had made; and, as she informs me, the house appears to have no inhabitants but this old woman and ourselves. The old woman resides in the kitchen. The doors and windows are all secured; and the same care is taken to prevent escape below stairs as above.

The food that has been brought us was good, and well dressed, but almost cold. Laura says she is sure it cannot be dressed in the house, which is most probable.

I communicate but few of my thoughts to Laura, because I fear I have good reason to be suspicious of her. I have long remarked her partiality in favour of Mr. Clifton, intermixed with some contradictory appearances, which I could not solve at the time, but which I now believe to have been aukward attempts to conceal that partiality, and to mislead me; which she in part effected.

The base designs of Mr. Clifton, from the nature of them, cannot have been very recent; and nothing perhaps was more necessary, to carry them into execution, than the seducing of the woman who by her situation could give him the best intelligence.

Since I have begun to doubt her, I have purposely cross-questioned her occasionally, and she has answered with hesitation and incoherency. If however I can perceive the least hope that this letter should be conveyed to the post-office, by any person who may visit the house, and whom she may see but I cannot, I will trust it to her. The trust indeed is nothing, for it cannot increase my peril. The persecution of Mr.

Clifton must prove most pernicious to himself. Unless he can deprive me of conscious innocence, it can injure me but little.

Among other ambiguous circ.u.mstances respecting Laura, she scarcely seems to repine at her confinement: though she has several times affected uneasiness, which while she acted it she evidently did not feel. Beside she is permitted to stay below, and run about the house; which, whatever caution of bars and bolts may have been used, she would not be suffered to do, as I should suppose, were she really in my interest.

About an hour ago we heard the yard bell ring and the gate open, and she was eager to go down. I encouraged her, and she rung for our turnkey. She had seen me writing, and, without being spoken to, took upon her to suppose it was a letter to my Louisa, and told me she _did believe_ she could get it conveyed to the post. I am persuaded this is preconcerted officiousness. But as I said, I have nothing to lose, and there is a bare possibility of hope.

When she came up stairs again, she told me that the person who had rung at the bell was some man of the neighbourhood, who had brought the old woman various trifling articles, and whom she had ordered to return at five o'clock, with tea and sugar.

If contrary to all expectation this should come to hand, Louisa, write to my father; inform him of all you know: and especially write to Mr.

Clifton. It will be ineffectual, but write. If there be truth in woman, I would rejoice to suffer much more mischief than he has the power to inflict, could I but by that means restore him to a sense of his own worth; or rather of the worth of virtue!

Why do I talk of mischief, and his power to inflict? I hope to shew him he has no power over me; and that the strength of men, and the force of walls, locks, and bars are feeble, when but resolutely opposed by the force of truth, actuating the will of weak and despised woman!--Injury?--Poor depraved, mistaken man! It is himself he injures!

Every effort he makes is but a new a.s.sault upon his own peace! It is heaping coals of fire upon his own head; which it has long been the wish of my heart to extinguish!

Had I but any reason to believe Frank Henley in safety, I would not suffer a single sigh to escape me. But I know too well Mr. Clifton dare not permit him to be at liberty, while he keeps me confined. Surely nothing can be attempted against his life? And yet I sometimes shake with horror! There is a reason which I know not whether I dare mention; yet if Mr. Clifton should think proper to lay snares to intercept and read my letters, he ought to be informed of this dangerous circ.u.mstance. I know not, Louisa, whether I am addressing myself to you or him; but Frank Henley at the time that I was seized, and he likewise as I suppose, had bank-bills in his possession to the amount of eight thousand pounds!

He had been that very morning into the city, to receive the money on his father's account; and intended as we returned to leave them with Sir Arthur's banker.

If men such as those who seized on me were employed for the same violent purpose against him, and if they should discover a sum which would to them be so tempting, who can say that his life would be safe?

Frank Henley, the preserver of Clifton, the preceptor of truth, and the friend of man; the benevolent, magnanimous, n.o.ble-minded Frank, whose actions were uniform in goodness, whose heart was all affection, and whose soul all light--and murdered!

Why do I indulge a thought so unhuman, so impossible? It could not be!--No, no; it could not be! A supposition so extravagant is guilt--Yet though I who cannot aid him ought not to encourage such doubts, let those who can be warned, and be active!

I am addressing myself to vacancy! No one hears me! No one will read what I write!

I will be calm. It is my situation, it is confinement, the bars I see and the bolts I hear that inspire these gloomy thoughts. They are unfounded, and certainly unavailing--He may have escaped! He may at this instant be in search of me! Hurrying, enquiring, despairing, and distracted; in much deeper distress than I am: for were I but sure of his safety, I could almost defy misfortune! Let not the world lose him!

Oh! If any human creature should in time read this, let him hear, let him shudder, let him beware!

Pardon, Louisa! I do not address myself to you! Too well I know my friend to doubt her! No cold delay, no unfeeling negligence, no rash phrensy is to be feared from her!--Alas! What I am writing she will never read! It cannot be! The man I have to encounter is too practised in deceit, or I should not have been where I am!

Well then, may he himself read! And while he reads, thus let his conscience speak--'There is a man whose worth and virtues are such, that the loss of him would be a loss to the whole human race. From this man I received a thousand acts of kindness: for which I returned ten thousand insults. I repulsed him, scorned him, struck him; and he, disregarding the innumerable injuries I had done him, but a few hours after plunged headlong down the dreadful abyss, to s.n.a.t.c.h me from the grave. I was dead and he gave me life. In return I have robbed him of what men prize even more than life, of liberty. But if I have put him in jeopardy, if I suffer him to remain in the power of hardened and wicked men, and if he perish, mercy cannot pardon me, justice cannot punish, and charity itself must hold me in abhorrence.'

A. W. ST. IVES

LETTER CXV

_c.o.ke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_

_London, Dover-Street_

My actions are now become one continued chain of artifice. But were that all, and were not the objects of this artifice of a nature so new and so painful, it would afford me amus.e.m.e.nt, and not be any cause of vexation.

As it is I feel apprehensions which are wholly different from any I ever felt before. To deceive in countries where deception is a pastime, authorised, practised, and applauded, is I find something very opposite to what would seem the same thing, in this gloomy land of apathy and phlegm. There it is a sport and a pleasure. Here it is a business of serious danger and general detestation. But no matter!

I am obliged to watch times and seasons, for I have little doubt that I myself am watched. That old housekeeper I am sure suspects me; and her affection for her mistress is so full, so restless, that it cannot but sharpen her intellects, and make her employ every engine she can imagine for discovery. I walked up to Fozard's as I often do for my horse, and I saw one of Sir Arthur's servants pa.s.s the yard, soon after I entered it. I have little doubt but he was d.o.g.g.i.ng me.

I got on horseback and rode slowly down toward Pimlico, and over Westminster bridge, but I saw no more of him.

As soon as I was out of town I mended my pace, and gradually increased it to a full gallop. Pa.s.sing through Vauxhall, I crossed the Thames again at Battersea-bridge, rode through Chelsea, and presently gained the Brompton road.

My first visit was to the keeper. The fellow has a strange look! A villainous physiognomy! I enquired after his prisoner and found he was safe. The house is well secured; not modern, but in the style of the last century; strong and heavy, and before this affair was thought of had been fitted up for the purposes of confinement, but is now still better fortified. It has a garden, which is surrounded by a high wall, in which the prisoner is suffered to exercise himself; but not without the very necessary precaution of confining his arms in the strait waistcoat, securing the doors, and attentively watching his motions.

I ordered the fellow to see that Henley wanted for nothing, to let a boy he has wait upon him, and to keep out of his way himself, for two reasons of my own. I do not wish Henley to suffer the insults of such a vulgar and narrow-souled rascal: my revenge is of a n.o.bler kind.

Neither am I quite certain that this keeper, hardened, obdurate, and pitiless as he is, could withstand Henley's oratory. At least I would not willingly have him subjected to the temptation: though the fellow is so averse to any sense of human pity that I think the danger is very small.

He was offended however at my thinking proper to direct him, and surlily told me he understood his trade.

Here I met Mac Fane, by appointment. He cannot forget the disgrace of Covent-garden, and spoke of Henley with a degree of malignity that would want but little encouraging to become dangerous. I am to pay him the thousand pounds in a few days, and our place of rendezvous is then to be once more at the Shakespeare.

I was glad to escape from the company of these new inmates' of mine, these first-born of Beelzebub, and to fly to my other prisoner. I say fly, for I set out with eagerness enough; but every step I took I felt my ardour abate. The houses are more than half a mile apart, and I thought proper to go thither on foot, and not to take any common path, but to cross the fields, as the securest mode.