Jane Talbot Part 26

"They say she did,--very well." For her part, she could not write, and was therefore no judge; but Tom, the waiter and coachman, was very fond of reading and writing, and used to say that Miss Polly would make a good clerk. Tom used to carry all her messages and letters; was a cunning and insinuating fellow; cajoled his mistress by flatteries and a.s.siduities; got many a smile, many a bounty and gratuity, for which the fellow only laughed at her behind her back.

"What has become of this Tom?"

He lived with her still, and was in as high favour as ever. Tom had paid her a visit the day before, being in attendance on his mistress on her late journey. From him she supposed that Miss Polly had gained intelligence of Hannah's situation, and of her being succoured, in her distress, by me.

"Tom, you say, was her letter-carrier. Did you ever hear from him with whom she corresponded? Did she eyer write to Talbot?"

"Oh, yes. Just before Talbot's marriage, she often wrote to him. Tom used to talk very freely in the kitchen about his mistress's attachment, and always told us what reception he met with. Mr. Talbot seldom condescended to write any answer."

"I suppose, Hannah, I need hardly ask whether you have any specimen of Miss Jessup's writing in your possession?"

This question considerably disconcerted the poor woman. She did not answer me till I had repeated the question.

Why--yes; she had--something--she believed.

"I presume it is nothing improper to be disclosed: if so, I should be glad to have a sight of it."

She hesitated; was very much perplexed; denied and confessed alternately that she possessed some of Miss Jessup's writing; at length began to weep very bitterly.

After some solicitation, on my part, to be explicit, she consented to disclose what she acknowledged to be a great fault. The substance of her story was this:--

Miss Jessup, on a certain occasion, locked herself up for several hours in her chamber. At length she came out, and went to the street-door, apparently with an intention of going abroad. Just then a heavy rain began to fall. This incident produced a great deal of impatience, and after waiting some time, in hopes of the shower's ceasing, and frequently looking at her watch, she called for an umbrella. Unhappily, as poor Hannah afterwards thought, no umbrella could be found. Her own had been lent to a friend the preceding evening, and the mother would have held herself most culpably extravagant to uncase hers without a most palpable necessity. Miss Polly was preparing to go out unsheltered, when the officious Tom interfered, and asked her if _he_ could do what she wanted. At first she refused his offer, but, the mother's importunities to stay at home becoming more clamorous, she consented to commission Tom to drop a letter at the post-office. This he was to do with the utmost despatch, and promised that not a moment should be lost. He received the letter, but, instead of running off with it immediately, he slipped into the kitchen, just to arm himself against the storm by a hearty draught of strong beer.

While quaffing his nectar, and chattering with his usual gayety, Hannah, who had long owed a grudge both to mistress and man, was tempted to convey the letter from Tom's pocket, where it was but half deposited, into her own. Her only motive was to vex and disappoint those whose chief pleasure it had always been to vex and disappoint her. The tankard being hastily emptied, he hastened away to the post-office. When he arrived there, he felt for the letter. It was gone; dropped, as he supposed, in the street. In great confusion he returned, examining very carefully the gutters and porches by the way. He entered the kitchen in great perplexity, and inquired of Hannah if a letter had not fallen from his pocket before he went out.

Hannah, according to her own statements, was incapable of inveterate malice. She was preparing to rid Tom of his uneasiness, when he was summoned to the presence of his lady. He thought proper to extricate himself from all difficulties by boldly affirming that the letter had been left according to direction, and he afterwards endeavoured to persuade Hannah that it had been found in the bottom of his pocket.

Every day increased the difficulty of disclosing the truth. Tom and Miss Jessup talked no more on the subject, and time, and new provocations from her mistress, confirmed Hannah in her resolution of retaining the paper.

She could not read, and was afraid of trusting anybody else with the contents of this epistle. Several times she was about to burn it, but forbore from the persuasion that a day might arrive when the possession would be of some importance to her. It had lain, till almost forgotten, in the bottom of her crazy chest.

I rebuked her, with great severity, for her conduct, and insisted on her making all the atonement in her power, by delivering up the letter to the writer. I consented to take charge of it for that purpose.

You will judge my surprise, when I received a letter, with the seal unbroken, directed to Mrs. Fielder, of New York. Jane and I had often been astonished at the minute intelligence which her mother received of our proceedings; at the dexterity this secret informant had displayed in misrepresenting and falsely construing our actions. The informer was anonymous, and one of the letters had been extorted from her mother by Jane's urgent solicitations. This I had frequently perused, and the penmanship was still familiar to my recollection. It bore a striking resemblance to the superscription of this letter, and was equally remote from Miss Jessup's ordinary handwriting. Was it rash to infer from these circ.u.mstances that the secret enemy, whose malice had been so active and successful, was at length discovered?

What was I to do? Should I present myself before Miss Jessup with this letter in my hand, and lay before her my suspicions, or should I carry it to Mrs. Fielder, to whom it was directed? My curiosity was defeated by the careful manner in which it was folded; and this was not a case in which I deemed myself authorized to break a seal.

After much reflection, I determined to call upon Miss Jessup. I meant not to restore her the letter, unless the course our conversation should take made it proper. I have already been at her house. She was not at home. I am to call again at eight o'clock in the evening.

In my way thither I pa.s.sed Mrs. Talbot's house. There were scarcely any tokens of its being inhabited. No doubt the mother and child have returned together to New York. On approaching the house, my heart, too heavy before, became a burden almost insupportable. I hastened my pace, and averted my eyes.

I am now shut up in my chamber at an inn. I feel as if in a wilderness of savages, where all my safety consisted in solitude. I was glad not to meet with a human being whom I knew.

What I shall say to Miss Jessup when I see her, I know not. I have reason to believe her the author of many slanders, but look for no relief from the mischiefs they have occasioned, in accusing or upbraiding the slanderer. She has likewise disclosed many instances of guilty conduct, which I supposed impossible to be discovered. I never concealed them from Mrs. Talbot, to whom a thorough knowledge of my character was indispensable; but I was unwilling to make any other my confessor. In this I cannot suppose her motives to have been very benevolent; but, since she adhered to the truth, it is not for me to arraign her motives.

May I not suspect that she had some hand in the forgery lately come to light? A mind like hers must hate a successful rival. To persuade Talbot of his wife's perfidy was at least to dissolve his alliance with another; and since she took so much pains to gain his favour, even after his marriage, is it not allowable to question the delicacy and punctiliousness, at least, of her virtue?

Mrs. Fielder's aversion to me is chiefly founded on a knowledge of my past errors. She thinks them too flagrant to be atoned for, and too inveterate to be cured. I can never hope to subdue perfectly that aversion, and, though Jane can never be happy without me, _I_ alone cannot make her happy. On my own account, therefore, it is of little moment what she believes. But her own happiness is deeply concerned in clearing her daughter's character of this blackest of all stains.

Here is some one coming up the stairs towards my apartment. Surely it cannot be to me that this visit is intended.

Good Heaven! What shall I do?

It was Molly that has just left me.

My heart sunk at her appearance. I had made up my mind to separate my evil destiny from that of Jane, and could only portend new trials and difficulties from the appearance of one whom I supposed her messenger.

The poor girl, as soon as she saw me, began to sob bitterly, and could only exclaim, "Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Colden!"

This behaviour was enough to terrify me. I trembled in every joint while I faltered out, "I hope your mistress is well?"

After many efforts, I prevailed in gaining a distinct account of my friend's situation. This good girl, by the sympathy she always expressed in her mistress's fortunes, by her silent a.s.siduities and constant proofs of discretion and affection, had gained Mrs. Talbot's confidence; yet no further than to indulge her feelings with less restraint in Molly's presence than in that of any other person.

I learned that the night after Mrs. Fielder's arrival was spent by my friend in sighs and restlessness. Molly lay in the same chamber, and her affectionate heart was as much a stranger to repose as that of her mistress. She frequently endeavoured to comfort Mrs. Talbot, but in vain.

Next day she did not rise as early as usual. Her mother came to her bedside, and inquired affectionately after her health. The visit was received with smiling and affectionate complacency. Her indisposition was disguised, and she studied to persuade Mrs. Fielder that she enjoyed her usual tranquillity. She rose, and attempted to eat, but quickly desisted, and after a little while retired and locked herself up in her chamber.

Even Molly was not allowed to follow her.

In this way that and the ensuing day pa.s.sed. She wore an air of constrained cheerfulness in her mother's presence; affected interest in common topics; and retired at every convenient interval to her chamber, where she wept incessantly.

Mrs. Fielder's eye was watchful and anxious. She addressed Mrs. Talbot in a tender and maternal accent; seemed solicitous to divert her attention by anecdotes of New York friends; and carefully eluded every subject likely to recall images which were already too intimately present. The daughter seemed grateful for these solicitudes, and appeared to fight with her feelings the more resolutely because they gave pain to her mother.

All this was I compelled to hear from the communicative Molly.

My heart bled at this recital. Too well did I predict what effect her compliance would have on her peace.

I asked if Jane had not received a letter from me.

Yes; two letters had come to the door at once, this morning,--one for Mrs. Fielder and the other for her daughter. Jane expected its arrival, and showed the utmost impatience when the hour approached. She walked about her chamber, listened, with a start, to every sound, continually glanced from her window at the pa.s.sengers.

She did not conceal from Molly the object of her solicitude. The good girl endeavoured to soothe her, but she checked her with vehemence:--"Talk not to me, Molly. On this hour depends my happiness,--my life. The sacrifice my mother asks is too much or too little. In bereaving me of my love, she must be content to take my existence also. They never shall be separated."

The weeping girl timorously suggested that she had already given me up.

"True, Molly, in a rash moment I told him that we meet no more; but two days of misery have convinced me that it cannot be. His answer will decide my fate as to this world. If he accept my dismissal, I am thenceforth undone. I will die. Blessing my mother, and wishing her a less stubborn child, _I will die_."

These last words were uttered with an air the most desperate, and an emphasis the most solemn. They chilled me to the heart, and I was unable longer to keep my seat. Molly, unbidden, went on.

"Your letter at last came. I ran down to receive it. Mrs. Fielder was at the street-door before me, but she suffered me to carry my mistress's letter to her. Poor lady! She met me at the stair-head, s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper eagerly, but trembled so she could not open it. At last she threw herself on the bed, and ordered me to read it to her. I did so. At every sentence she poured forth fresh tears, and exclaimed, wringing her hands, 'Oh, what--what a heart have I madly cast away!'"

The girl told me much more, which I am unable to repeat. Her visit was self-prompted. She had caught a glimpse of me as I pa.s.sed the door, and, without mentioning her purpose to her mistress, set out as soon as it was dusk.

"Cannot you do something, Mr. Colden, for my mistress?" continued the girl. "She will surely die if she has not her own way; and, to judge from your appearance, it is as great a cross to you as to her."

Heaven knows, that, with me, it is nothing but the choice of dreadful evils. Jane is the mistress of her own destiny. It is not I that have renounced her, but she that has banished me. She has only to recall the sentence, which she confesses to have been hastily and thoughtlessly p.r.o.nounced, and no power on earth shall sever me from her side.

Molly asked my permission to inform her mistress of my being in the city, and conjured me not to leave it, during the next day at least. I readily consented, and requested her to bring me word in the morning in what state things were.