Japhet in Search of a Father Part 28

"Well, Mr Newland," replied her ladyship, "how you have obtained the knowledge I know not, but there was, I acknowledge, a trifling flirtation with Edward Warrender and me--but I was young, very young at that time."

"I grant it; and do not, for a moment, imagine that I intend to blame your ladyship; but, as I before said, madam, I am much interested in the business."

"What interest can you have with a little flirtation of mine, which took place before you were born, I cannot imagine, Mr Newland."

"It is because it took place before I was born, that I feel so much interest."

"I cannot understand you, Mr Newland, and I think we had better change the subject."

"Excuse me, madam, but I must request to continue it a little longer.

Is Mr Warrender dead or not? Did he die in the West Indies?"

"You appear to be very curious on this subject, Mr Newland; I hardly can tell. Yes, now I recollect, he did die of the yellow fever, I think--but I have quite forgotten all about it--and I shall answer no more questions; if you were not a favourite of mine, Mr Newland, I should say that you were very impertinent."

"Then, your ladyship, I will put but one more question, and that one I must put with your permission."

"I should think, after what I have said, Mr Newland, that you might drop the subject."

"I will, your ladyship, immediately; but pardon me the question--"

"Mr Newland--?"

"Do not be angry with me--"

"Well?" exclaimed her ladyship, who appeared alarmed.

"Nothing but the most important and imperative reasons could induce me to ask the question," (her ladyship gasped for breath, and could not speak,)--I stammered, but at last I brought it out. "What has become of--of--of the sweet pledge of your love, Lady Maelstrom?"

Her ladyship coloured up with rage, raised up her clenched hand, and then fell back in violent hysterics.

PART TWO, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

I REPAIR THE DAMAGE, AND MAKE THINGS WORSE--PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT--TIM GAINS A WATCH BY SETTING WATCH UPON HIS TONGUE.

I hardly knew how to act--if I called the servants, my interview would be at an end, and I was resolved to find out the truth--for the same reason, I did not like to ring for water. Some vases with flowers were on the table; I took out the flowers, and threw the water in her face, but they had been in the water some time, and had discoloured it green.

Her ladyship's dress was a high silk gown, of a bright slate colour, and was immediately spoiled; but this was no time to stand upon trifles. I seized hold of a gla.s.s bottle, fancying, in my hurry, it was _eau de cologne_, or some essence, and poured a little into her mouth; unfortunately, it was a bottle of marking ink, which her ladyship, who was very economical, had on the table in disguise. I perceived my error, and had recourse to another vase of flowers, pouring a large quant.i.ty of the green water down her throat. Whether the unusual remedies had an effect, or not, I cannot tell, but her ladyship gradually revived, and, as she leant back on the sofa, sobbing every now and then, convulsively, I poured into her ear a thousand apologies, until I thought she was composed enough to listen to me.

"Your ladyship's maternal feelings," said I.

"It's all a calumny! a base lie, sir!" shrieked she.

"Nay, nay, why be ashamed of a youthful pa.s.sion; why deny what was in itself creditable to your unsophisticated mind. Does not your heart, even now, yearn to embrace your son--will not you bless me, if I bring him to your feet--will not you bless your son, and receive him with delight?"

"It was a girl," screamed her ladyship, forgetting herself, and again falling into hysterics.

"A girl!" replied I; "then I have lost my time, and it is no use my remaining here."

Mortified at the intelligence which overthrew my hopes and castle buildings, I seized my hat, descended the stairs, and quitted the house; in my hurry and confusion quite forgetting to call the servants to her ladyship's a.s.sistance. Fortunately I perceived the Misses Fairfax close to the iron railing of the garden. I crossed the road, wished them good-bye, and told them that I thought Lady Maelstrom looked very ill, and they had better go in to her. I then threw myself into the first hackney-coach, and drove home. I found Timothy had arrived before me, and I narrated all that had pa.s.sed.

"You will never be able to go there again," observed Timothy, "and depend upon it, she will be your enemy through life. I wish you had not said anything to her."

"What is done cannot be undone; but recollect, that if she can talk, I can talk also."

"Will she not be afraid?"

"Yes, openly, she will; and open attacks can be parried."

"Very true."

"But it will be as well to pacify her, if I can. I will write to her."

I sat down and wrote as follows:--

"My dear Lady Maelstrom,--I am so astonished and alarmed at the situation I put you in, by my impertinence and folly, that I hardly know how to apologise. The fact is, that looking over some of my father's old letters, I found many from Warrender, in which he spoke of an affair with a young lady, and I read the name as your maiden name, and also discovered where the offspring was to be found. On re-examination, for your innocence was too evident at our meeting to admit of a doubt, I find that the name, although something like yours, is _spelt very differently_, and that I must have been led into an unpardonable error. What can I say except that I throw myself on your mercy? I dare not appear before you again. I leave town to-morrow; but if you can pardon my folly and impertinence, and allow me to pay my respects when London is full again, and time shall have softened down your just anger, write me one line to that effect, and you will relieve the burdened conscience of--

"Yours most truly,--

"J. Newland."

"There, Tim," said I, as I finished reading it over, "take that as a sop to the old Cerberus. She may think it prudent, as I have talked of letters, to believe me and make friends. I will not trust her, nevertheless."

Tim went away, and very soon returned with an answer.

"You are a foolish mad-cap, and I ought to shut my doors against you; you have half killed me--spoilt my gown, and I am obliged to keep my bed. Remember, in future, to be sure of the right name before you make an a.s.sertion. As for forgiving you, I shall think of it, and when you return to town, you may call and receive my sentence.

Cecilia was quite frightened, poor dear girl: what a dear affectionate child she is!--she is a treasure to me, and I don't think I ever could part with her. She sends her regards.

"Yours,--

"C. Maelstrom."

"Come, Timothy, at all events this is better than I expected--but now I'll tell you what I propose to do. Harcourt was with me yesterday, and he wishes me to go down with him to --. There will be the a.s.sizes, and the county ball, and a great deal of gaiety, and I have an idea that it is just as well to beat the county as the town. I dine with Mr Masterton on Friday. On Sat.u.r.day I will go down and see Fleta, and on Tuesday or Wednesday I will start with Harcourt to his father's, where he has promised me a hearty welcome. Was there anything at Coleman Street?"

"Yes, sir; Mr Iving said that he had just received a letter from your correspondent, and that he wished to know if the little girl was well; I told him that she was. Mr Iving laid the letter down on the desk, and I read the post-mark, Dublin."

"Dublin," replied I. "I should like to find out who Melchior is--and so I will as soon as I can."

"Well, sir, I have not finished my story. Mr Iving said, 'My correspondent wishes to know whether the education of the little girl is attended to?' 'Yes,' replied I, 'it is.' 'Is she at school?' 'Yes, she has been at school ever since we have been in London.' 'Where is she at school?' inquired he. Now, sir, as I never was asked that question by him before, I did not know whether I ought to give an answer, so I replied, 'that I did not know.' 'You know whether she is in London or not, do you not?' 'How should I?' replied I, 'master had put her to school before I put on his liveries.' 'Does he never go to see her?' inquired he. 'I suppose so,' said I. 'Then you really know nothing about it?--then look you, my lad, I am anxious to find out where she is at school, and the name of the people, and if you will find out the direction for me, it will be money in your pocket, that's all.'

'Um,' replied I, 'but how much?' 'Why, more than you think for, my man, it will be a ten-pound note.' 'That alters the case,' replied I; 'now I think again, I have an idea that I do remember seeing her address on a letter my master wrote to her.' 'Ay,' replied Mr Iving, 'it's astonishing how money sharpens the memory. I'll keep to my bargain; give me the address, and here's the ten-pound note.' 'I'm afraid that my master will be angry,' said I, as if I did not much like to tell him.

'Your master will never know anything about it, and you may serve a long time before he gives you a ten-pound note above your wages.'

'That's very true,' said I, 'sarvice is no inheritance. Well, then, give me the money, and I'll write it down.'"

"And did you give it?" interrupted I.

"Stop a moment, sir, and you shall hear. I wrote down the address of that large school at Kensington, which we pa.s.s when we go to Mr Aubrey White's."

"What that tremendous large board with yellow letters--Mrs Let--what is it?"