Japhet in Search of a Father Part 14

"That's all very well, j.a.phet; but I had rather trust to our own prudence. Now hear what I have to say. You will be as much a.s.sisted by a _trusty_ valet as by any other means. I shall, as a gentleman, be only an expense and an inc.u.mbrance; but as a valet I shall be able to play into your hands, at the same time more than one half the expense will be avoided. With your leave, therefore, I will take my proper situation, put on your livery, and thereby make myself of the greatest use."

I could not help acknowledging the advantages to be derived from this proposal of Timothy's; but I did not like to accept it.

"It is very kind of you, Timothy," replied I; "but I can only look upon you as a friend and an equal."

"There you are right and are wrong in the same breath. You are right in looking upon me as a friend, j.a.phet; and you would be still more right in allowing me to prove my friendship as I propose; but you are wrong in looking upon me as an equal, for I am not so either in personal appearance, education, or anything else. We are both foundlings, it is true; but you were christened after Abraham Newland, and I after the workhouse pump. You were a gentleman foundling, presenting yourself with a fifty-pound note, and good clothes. I made my appearance in rags and misery. If you find your parents, you will rise in the world; if I find mine, I shall, in all probability, have no reason to be proud of them. I therefore must insist upon having my own choice in the part I am to play in the drama, and I will prove to you that it is my right to choose. You forget that, when we started, your object was to search after your father, and I told you mine should be to look after my mother. You have selected high life as the expected sphere in which he is to be found, and I select low life as that in which I am most likely to discover the object of my search. So you perceive," continued Tim, laughing, "that we must arrange so as to suit the views of both without parting company. Do you hunt among bag-wigs, amber-headed canes, silks and satins--I will burrow among tags and ta.s.sels, dimity and mob caps; and probably we shall both succeed in the object of our search. I leave you to hunt in the drawing-rooms, while I ferret in the kitchen. You may throw yourself on a sofa and exclaim--'Who is my father?' while I will sit in the cook's lap, and ask her if she may happen to be my mother."

This sally of Timothy's made even Fleta laugh; and after a little more remonstrance, I consented that he should perform the part of my valet.

Indeed, the more I reflected upon it, the greater appeared the advantages which might accrue from the arrangement. By the time that this point had been settled, we had arrived at the town to which we directed our steps, and took up our quarters at an inn of moderate pretensions, but of very great external cleanliness. My first object was to find out some fitting asylum for little Fleta. The landlady was a buxom, good-tempered young woman, and I gave the little girl into her charge, while Timothy and I went out on a survey. I had made up my mind to put her to some good, but not very expensive, school, if such were to be found in the vicinity. I should have preferred taking her with me to London, but I was aware how much more expensive it would be to provide for her there; and as the distance from the metropolis was but twenty miles, I could easily run down to see her occasionally. I desired the little girl to call me her brother, as such I intended to be to her in future, and not to answer every question they might put to her. There was, however, little occasion for this caution; for Fleta was, as I before observed, very unlike children in general. I then went out with Timothy to look for a tailor, that I might order our clothes, as what we had on were not either of the very best taste, or in the very best condition. We walked up the main street, and soon fell in with a tailor's shop, over which was written in large letters--"Feodor Shneider, Tailor to his Royal Highness the Prince of Darmstadt."

"Will that do, j.a.phet?" said Timothy, pointing to the announcement.

"Why yes," replied I; "but how the deuce the Prince of Darmstadt should have employed a man in a small country town as his tailor, is to me rather a puzzle."

"Perhaps he made his clothes when he was in Germany," replied Tim.

"Perhaps he did; but, however, he shall have the honour of making mine."

We entered the shop, and I ordered a suit of the most fashionable clothes, choosing my colours, and being very minute in my directions to the foreman, who measured me; but as I was leaving the shop the master, judging by my appearance, which was certainly not exactly that of a gentleman, ventured to observe that it was customary with _gentlemen_, whom they had not the honour of knowing, to leave a deposit. Although the very proposal was an attack upon my gentility, I made no reply; but pulling out a handful of guineas, laid down two on the counter and walked away, that I might find another shop at which we might order the livery of Timothy; but this was only as a reconnoitre, as I did not intend to order his liveries until I could appear in my own clothes, which were promised on the afternoon of the next day. There were, however, several other articles to be purchased, such as a trunk, portmanteau, hat, gloves, etcetera, all which we procured, and then went back to the inn. On my return I ordered dinner. Fleta was certainly clad in her best frock, but bad was the best; and the landlady, who could extract little from the child, could not imagine who we could be.

I had, however, allowed her to see more than sufficient money to warrant our expenses; and so far her scruples were, although her curiosity was not, removed.

That evening I had a long conversation with Fleta. I told her that we were to part, that she must go to school, and that I would very often come down to see her. At first, she was inconsolable at the idea; but I reasoned with her, and the gentle, intelligent creature acknowledged that it was right. The next day my clothes came home, and I dressed myself. "Without flattery, j.a.phet," said Timothy, "you do look very much like a gentleman." Fleta smiled, and said the same. I thought so too, but said nothing. Putting on my hat and gloves, and accompanied by Timothy, I descended to go out and order Tim liveries, as well as a fitout for Fleta.

After I was out in the street I discovered that I had left my handkerchief, and returned to fetch it. The landlady, seeing a gentleman about to enter the inn, made a very low courtesy, and it was not until I looked hard at her that she recognised me. Then I was satisfied; it was an involuntary tribute to my appearance, worth all the flattering a.s.sertions in the world. We now proceeded to the other tailor's in the main street. I entered the shop with a flourishing, important air, and was received with many bows. "I wish," said I, "to have a suit of livery made for this young man, who is about to enter into my service. I cannot take him up to town this figure." The livery was chosen, and as I expressed my wish to be off the next evening, it was promised to be ready by an hour appointed.

I then went to a milliner's, and desired that she would call at the inn to fit out a little girl for school, whose wardrobe had been left behind by mistake. On the fourth day all was ready. I had made inquiries, and found out a very respectable school, kept by a widow lady. I asked for references, which were given, and I was satisfied. The terms were low-- twenty pounds per annum. I paid the first half year in advance, and lodged fifty guineas more in the hands of a banker, taking a receipt for it, and giving directions that it was to be paid to the schoolmistress as it became due. I took this precaution, that should I be in poverty myself, at all events Fleta might be provided in clothes and schooling for three years at least. The poor child wept bitterly at the separation, and I could with difficulty detach her little arms from my neck; and I felt when I left her as if I had parted with the only valuable object to me on earth.

All was now ready; but Timothy did not, as yet, a.s.sume his new clothes.

It would have appeared strange that one who sat at my table should afterwards put on my livery; and as in a small town there is always plenty of scandal, for Fleta's sake, if for no other reason, it was deferred until our arrival in London. Wishing the landlady good-bye, who I really believed would have given up her bill to have known who we could possibly be, we got on the outside of the stage-coach, and in the evening arrived at the metropolis. I have been particular in describing all these little circ.u.mstances, as it proves how very awkward it is to jump, without observation, from one station in society to another.

PART ONE, CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

I RECEIVE A LETTER FROM MY UNCLE, BY WHICH I NATURALLY EXPECT TO FIND OUT WHO IS MY FATHER--LIKE OTHER OUTCASTS I AM WARNED BY A DREAM.

But I have omitted to mention a circ.u.mstance of great importance which occurred at the inn the night before I placed Fleta at the boarding-school. In looking over my portmanteau, I perceived the present of Nattee to Fleta, which I had quite forgotten. I took it to Fleta, and told her from whom it came. On opening the paper, it proved to contain a long chain of round coral and gold beads, strung alternately; the gold beads were not so large as the coral, but still the number of them, and the purity of the metal, made them of considerable value. Fleta pa.s.sed the beads through her fingers, and then threw it round her neck, and sat in deep thought for some minutes.

"j.a.phet," said she at last, "I have seen this--I have worn this before-- I recollect that I have; it rushes into my memory as an old friend, and I think that before morning it will bring to my mind something that I shall recollect about it."

"Try all you can Fleta, and let me know to-morrow."

"It's no use trying; if I try, I never can recollect anything. I must wear it to-night, and then I shall have something come into my mind all of a sudden; or perhaps I may dream something. Good night."

It immediately occurred to me that it was most probable that the chain had been on Fleta's neck at the time that she was stolen from her parents, and might prove the means of her being identified. It was no common chain--apparently had been wrought by people in a state of semi-refinement. There was too little show for its value--too much sterling gold for the simple effect produced; and I very much doubted whether another like it could be found.

The next morning Fleta was too much affected at parting with me, to enter into much conversation. I asked whether she had recollected anything, and she replied, "No; that she had cried all night at the thoughts of our separation." I cautioned her to be very careful of the chain, and I gave the same caution to the schoolmistress; and after I had left the town, I regretted that I had not taken it away, and deposited it in some place of security. I resolved to do so when I next saw Fleta; in the mean time she would be able, perhaps, by a.s.sociation, to call up some pa.s.sage of her infancy connected with it.

I had inquired of a gentleman who sat near me on the coach, which was the best hotel for a young man of fashion. He recommended the Piazza, in Covent Garden, and to that we accordingly repaired. I selected handsome apartments, and ordered a light supper. When the table was said, Timothy made his appearance in his livery, and cut a very smart, dashing figure. I dismissed the waiter, and as soon as we were alone, I burst into a fit of laughter. "Really, Timothy, this is a good farce; come, sit down, and help me to finish this bottle of wine."

"No, sir," replied Timothy; "with your permission, I prefer doing as the rest of my fraternity. You only leave the bottle on the sideboard, and I will steal as much as I want; but as for sitting down, that will be making too free, and if we were seen, would be, moreover, very dangerous. We must both keep up our characters. They have been plying me with all manner of questions below, as to who you were--your name, etcetera. I resolved that I would give you a lift in the world, and I stated that you had just arrived from making a grand tour--which is not a fib, after all--and as for your name, I said that you were all present _incognito_."

"But why did you make me _incognito_?"

"Because it may suit you so to be; and it certainly is the truth, for you don't know your real name."

We were here interrupted by the waiter bringing in a letter upon a salver. "Here is a letter addressed to 'I. or J.N., on his return from his tour,' sir," said he; "I presume it is for you?"

"You may leave it," said I, with nonchalance.

The waiter laid the letter on the table, and retired.

"How very odd, Timothy--this letter cannot be for me; and yet they are my initials. It is as much like a J as an I. Depend upon it, it is some fellow who has just gained this intelligence below, and has written to ask for a subscription to his charity list, imagining that I am flush of money, and liberal."

"I suppose so," replied Tim; "however, you may just as well see what he says."

"But if I open it he will expect something. I had better refuse it."

"Oh no, leave that to me; I know how to put people off."

"After all, it is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and be pet.i.tioned."

I broke open the seal, and found that the letter contained an enclosure addressed to another person. The letter was as follows:--

"My dear Nephew--['Bravo, sir,' said Timothy; 'you've found an uncle already--you'll soon find a father.'] From the great uncertainty of the post, I have not ventured to do more than hint at what has come to light during this last year, but as it is necessary that you should be acquainted with the whole transaction, and as you had not decided when you last wrote, whether you would prosecute your intended three months' trip to Sicily, or return from Milan, you may probably arrive when I am out of town; I therefore enclose you a letter to Mr Masterton, directing him to surrender to you a sealed packet, lodged in his hands, containing all the particulars, the letters which bear upon them, and what has been proposed to avoid exposure, which you may peruse at your leisure should you arrive before my return to town.

There is no doubt but that the affair may be hushed up, and we trust that you will see the prudence of the measure; as, once known, it will be very discreditable to the family escutcheon. ['I always had an idea you were of good family,' interrupted Tim.] I wish you had followed my advice, and had not returned; but as you were positive on that point, I beg you will now consider the propriety of remaining incognito, as reports are already abroad, and your sudden return will cause a great deal of surmise. Your long absence at the Gottingen University, and your subsequent completion of your grand tour, will have effaced all remembrance of your person, and you can easily be pa.s.sed off as a particular friend of mine, and I can introduce you everywhere as such. Take then any name you may please, provided it be not Smith or Brown, or such vulgarisms; and on the receipt of this letter, write a note, and send it to my house in Portman Square, just saying, '_So and so_ is arrived.' This will prevent the servants from obtaining any information by their prying curiosity; and as I have directed all my letters to be forwarded to my seat in Worcestershire, I shall come up immediately that I receive it, and by your putting the name which you mean to a.s.sume, I shall know whom to ask for when I call at the hotel.

"Your affectionate Uncle,

"Windermear."

"One thing is very clear, Timothy," said I, laying the letter on the table, "that it cannot be intended for me."

"How do you know, sir, that this lord is not your uncle? At all events, you must do as he bids you."

"What--go for the papers! most certainly I shall not."

"Then how in the name of fortune do you expect to find your father, when you will not take advantage of such an opportunity of getting into society? It is by getting possession of other people's secrets, that you will worm out your own."

"But it is dishonest, Timothy."

"A letter is addressed to you, in which you have certain directions; you break the seal with confidence, and you read what you find is possibly not for you; but depend upon it, j.a.phet, that a secret obtained is one of the surest roads to promotion. Recollect your position; cut off from the world, you have to re-unite yourself with it, to recover your footing, and create an interest. You have not those who love you to help you--you must not scruple to obtain your object by fear."

"That is a melancholy truth, Tim," replied I; "and I believe I must put my strict morality in my pocket."

"Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral; it's a very expensive virtue that; a deficiency of it made you an outcast from the world; you must not scruple at a slight deficiency on your own part, to regain your position."

There was so much shrewdness, so much of the wisdom of the serpent in the remarks of Timothy, that, added to my ardent desire to discover my father, which since my quitting the gipsy camp had returned upon me with twofold force, my scruples were overcome, and I resolved that I would not lose such an opportunity. Still I hesitated, and went up into my room, that I might reflect upon what I should do. I went to bed revolving the matter in my mind, and turning over from one position to the other, at one time deciding that I would not take advantage of the mistake, at another quite as resolved that I would not throw away such an opening for the prosecution of my search; at last I fell into an uneasy slumber, and had a strange dream. I thought that I was standing upon an isolated rock, with the waters raging around me; the tide was rising, and at last the waves were roaring at my feet. I was in a state of agony, and expected that, in a short time, I should be swallowed up.

The main land was not far off, and I perceived well-dressed people in crowds, who were enjoying themselves, feasting, dancing, and laughing in merry peals. I held out my hands--I shouted to them--they saw, and heard me, but heeded me not. My horror at being swept away by the tide was dreadful. I shrieked as the water rose. At last I perceived something unroll itself from the main land, and gradually advancing to the inland, formed a bridge by which I could walk over and be saved. I was about to hasten over, when "Private, and no thoroughfare," appeared at the end nearest me, in large letters of fire. I started back with amazement, and would not, dared not, pa.s.s them. When all of a sudden, a figure in white appeared by my side, and said to me, pointing to the bridge, "Self-preservation is the first law of nature." I looked at the person who addressed me; gradually the figure became darker and darker, until it changed to Mr Cophagus, with his stick up to his nose.