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Japhet, In Search Of A Father by Frederick Marryat

F >> Frederick Marryat >> Japhet, In Search Of A Father




"Very well, Mr Emmanuel, just as you please; I offer you your money
back, in presence of my servant, and one hundred pounds for the loan of
it for ten days. Refuse it if you choose, but I earnestly recommend you
to take it."

"I will not have de monish, sar; dis is de child's play," replied the
Jew. "I must have my fifteen hundred--all in goot time, sar--I am in no
hurry--I vish you a very good morning, Mr Newland. Ven you vish for more
monish to borrow, I shall be happy to pay my respects." So saying, the
Jew walked out of the room, with his arm behind his back as usual.




Chapter XXXIII

_I decide upon honesty as the best policy, and what is more
strange, receive legal advice upon this important point_.


Timothy and I burst into laughter. "Really, Timothy," observed I, "it
appears that very little art is necessary to deceive the world, for in
every instance they will deceive themselves. The Jew is off my
conscience, at all events, and now he never will be paid, until--"

"Until when, Japhet?"

"Until I find out my father," replied I.

"Everything is put off till that time arrives, I observe," said Timothy.
"Other people will soon be as interested in the search as yourself."

"I wish they were, unfortunately it is a secret, which cannot be
divulged."

A ring at the bell called Timothy down stairs; he returned with a
letter, it was from Lord Windermear, and ran as follows:--

"My dear Newland,--I have been thinking about you ever since you
left me this morning, and as you appear resolved to prosecute your
search, it has occurred to me that you should go about it in a more
systematic way. I do not mean to say that what I now propose will
prove of any advantage to you, but still it may, as you will have a
very old, and very clever head to advise with. I refer to Mr
Masterton, my legal adviser, from whom you had the papers which led
to our first acquaintance. He is aware that you were (I beg your
pardon) an impostor, as he has since seen Mr Estcourt. The letter
enclosed is for him, and with that in your hand you may face him
boldly, and I have no doubt but that he will assist you all in his
power, and put you to no expense. Narrate your whole history to
him, and then you will hear what he may propose. He has many
secrets, much more important than yours. Wishing you every success
that your perseverance deserves,

"Believe me,

"Yours very truly,

"Windermear."

"I believe the advice to be good," said I, after reading the letter. "I
am myself at fault, and hardly know how to proceed. I think I will go at
once to the old gentleman, Timothy."

"It can do no harm, if it does no good. Two heads are better than one,"
replied Timothy. "Some secrets are too well kept, and deserting a child
is one of those which is confided but to few."

"By-the-bye, Timothy, here have I been, more than so many years out of
the Foundling Hospital, and have never yet inquired if any one has ever
been to reclaim me."

"Very true; and I think I'll step myself to the workhouse, at St
Bridget's, and ask whether any one has asked about me," replied Timothy,
with a grin.

"There is another thing that I have neglected," observed I, "which is,
to inquire at the address in Coleman Street, if there is any letter from
Melchior."

"I have often thought of him," replied Timothy. "I wonder who he can
be--there is another mystery there. I wonder whether we shall ever fall
in with him again--and Nattee, too?"

"There's no saying, Timothy. I wonder where that poor fool, Philotas,
and our friend Jumbo, are now?"

The remembrance of the two last personages made us both burst out a
laughing.

"Timothy, I've been reflecting that my intimacy with poor Carbonnell has
rather hindered than assisted me in my search. He found me with a good
appearance, and he has moulded me into a gentleman, so far as manners
and appearance are concerned; but the constant vortex in which I have
been whirled in his company, has prevented me from doing anything. His
melancholy death has perhaps been fortunate for me. It has left me more
independent in circumstances, and more free. I must now really set to in
earnest."

"I beg your pardon, Japhet, but did not you say the same when we first
set off on our travels, and yet remain more than a year with the
gipsies? Did not you make the same resolution when we arrived in town,
with our pockets full of money, and yet, once into fashionable society,
think but little, and occasionally, of it? Now you make the same
resolution, and how long will you keep it?"

"Nay, Timothy, that remark is hardly fair; you know that the subject is
ever in my thoughts."

"In your thoughts, I grant, very frequently; but you have still been led
away from the search."

"I grant it, but I presume that arises from not knowing how to proceed.
I have a skein to unravel, and cannot find out an end to commence with."

"I always thought people commenced with the beginning," replied Tim,
laughing.

"At all events, I will now try back, and face the old lawyer. Do you
call at Coleman Street, Tim, and at St Bridget's also, if you please."

"As for St Bridget's, I'm in no particular hurry about my mother; if I
stumble upon her I may pick her up, but I never make diligent search
after what, in every probability, will not be worth the finding."

Leaving Timothy to go his way, I walked to the house at Lincoln's Inn,
which I had before entered upon the memorable occasion of the papers of
Estcourt. As before, I rang the bell, the door swang open, and I was
once more in the presence of Mr Masterton.

"I have a letter, sir," said I, bowing, and presenting the letter from
Lord Windermear.

The old gentleman peered at me through his spectacles. "Why! we have met
before--bless me--why you're the rogue that--"

"You are perfectly right, sir," interrupted I. "I am the rogue who
presented the letter from Lord Windermear, and who presents you with
another from the same person; do me the favour to read it, while I take
a chair."

"Upon my soul--you impudent--handsome dog, I must say--great pity--come
for money, I suppose. Well, it's a sad world," muttered the lawyer as he
broke open the letter of Lord Windermear.

I made no reply, but watched his countenance, which changed to that of
an expression of surprise. "Had his lordship sent me a request to have
you hanged if possible," said Mr Masterton, "I should have felt no
surprise, but in this letter he praises you, and desires me to render
you all the service in my power. I can't understand it."

"No, sir; but if you have leisure to listen to me, you will then find
that, in this world, we may be deceived by appearances."

"Well, and so I was, when I first saw you; I never could have believed
you to be--but never mind."

"Perhaps, sir, in an hour or two you will again alter your opinion. Are
you at leisure, or will you make an appointment for some future day?"

"Mr Newland, I am not at leisure--I never was more busy; and if you had
come on any legal business, I should have put you off for three or four
days, at least; but my curiosity is so raised, that I am determined that
I will indulge it at the expense of my interest. I will turn the key,
and then you will oblige me by unravelling, what, at present, is to me
as curious as it is wholly incomprehensible."




Chapter XXXIV

I attempt to profit by intelligence I receive, and throw a lady
into hysterics.


In about three hours I had narrated the history of my life, up to the
very day, almost as much detailed as it has been to the reader. "And
now, Mr Masterton," said I, as I wound up my narrative, "do you think
that I deserve the title of rogue, which you applied to me when I came
in?"

"Upon my word, Mr Newland, I hardly know what to say; but I like to tell
the truth. To say that you have been quite honest, would not be
correct--a rogue, to a certain degree, you have been, but you have been
the rogue of circumstances. I can only say this, that there are greater
rogues than you, whose characters are unblemished in the world--that
most people in your peculiar situation would have been much greater
rogues; and lastly, that rogue or not rogue, I have great pleasure in
taking you by the hand, and will do all I possibly can to serve you--and
that for your own sake. Your search after your parents I consider almost
tantamount to a wild-goose chase; but still, as your happiness depends
upon it, I suppose it must be carried on; but you must allow me time for
reflection. I will consider what may be the most judicious method of
proceeding. Can you dine _tete-a-tete_ with me here on Friday, and we
then will talk over the matter?"

"On Friday, sir; I am afraid that I am engaged to Lady Maelstrom; but
that is of no consequence--I will write an excuse to her ladyship."

"Lady Maelstrom! how very odd that you should bring up her name after
our conversation."

"Why so, my dear sir?"

"Why!" replied Mr Masterton, chuckling; "because--recollect, it is a
secret, Mr Newland--I remember some twenty years ago, when she was a
girl of eighteen, before she married, she had a little _faux pas_, and I
was called in about a settlement, for the maintenance of the child."

"Is it possible, sir?" replied I, anxiously.

"Yes, she was violently attached to a young officer, without money, but
of good family; some say it was a private marriage, others, that he
was--a _rascal_. It was all hushed up, but he was obliged by the
friends, before he left for the West Indies, to sign a deed of
maintenance, and I was the party called in. I never heard any more
about it. The officer's name was Warrender; he died of the yellow
fever, I believe, and after his death she married Lord Maelstrom."

"He is dead, then?" replied I mournfully.

"Well, that cannot affect you, my good fellow. On Friday, then, at six
o'clock precisely. Good afternoon, Mr Newland."

I shook hands with the old gentleman, and returned home, but my brain
whirled with the fear of a confirmation, of that which Mr Masterton had
so carelessly conveyed. Anything like a possibility, immediately was
swelled to a certainty in my imagination, so ardent and heated on the
one subject; and as soon as I regained my room, I threw myself on the
sofa, and fell into a deep reverie. I tried to approximate the features
of Lady Maelstrom to mine, but all the ingenuity in the world could not
effect that; but still, I might be like my father--but my father was
dead, and that threw a chill over the whole glowing picture which I had,
as usual, conjured up; besides, it was asserted that I was born in
wedlock, and there was a doubt relative to the marriage of her ladyship.

After a long cogitation I jumped up, seized my hat, and set off for
Grosvenor Square, determining to ask a private interview with her
ladyship, and at once end my harassing doubts and surmises. I think
there could not be a greater proof of my madness than my venturing to
attack a lady of forty upon the irregularities of her youth, and to
question her upon a subject which had been confided but to two or three,
and she imagined had been long forgotten: but this never struck me; all
considerations were levelled in my ardent pursuit. I walked through the
streets at a rapid pace, the crowd passed by me as shadows, I neither
saw nor distinguished them; I was deep in reverie as to the best way of
breaking the subject to her ladyship, for, notwithstanding my monomania,
I perceived it to be a point of great delicacy. After having overturned
about twenty people in my mad career, I arrived at the door and
knocked. My heart beat almost as hard against my ribs with excitement.

"Is her ladyship at home?"

"Yes, sir."

I was ushered into the drawing-room, and found her sitting with two of
her nieces, the Misses Fairfax.

"Mr Newland, you have been quite a stranger," said her ladyship, as I
walked up to her and made my obeisance. "I did intend to scold you well;
but I suppose that sad affair of poor Major Carbonnell's has been a
heavy blow to you--you were so intimate--lived together, I believe, did
you not? However, you have not so much cause to regret, for he was not a
very proper companion for young men like you: to tell you the truth, I
consider it as a fortunate circumstance that he was removed, for he
would, by degrees, have led you into all manner of mischief, and have
persuaded you to squander your fortune. I did at one time think of
giving you a hint, but it was a delicate point. Now that he is gone, I
tell you very candidly that you have had an escape. A young man like
you, Mr Newland, who could command an alliance into the highest, yes,
the very highest families--and let me tell you, Mr Newland, that there
is nothing like connection--money is of no consequence to you, but
connection, Mr Newland, is what you should look for--connection with
some high family, and then you will do well. I should like to see you
settled--well settled, I mean, Mr Newland. Now that you are rid of the
Major, who has ruined many young men in his time, I trust you will
seriously think of settling down into a married man. Cecilia, my dear,
show your tambour work to Mr Newland, and ask him his opinion. Is it not
beautiful, Mr Newland?"

"Extremely beautiful, indeed, ma'am," replied I, glad at last that her
ladyship allowed me to speak a word.

"Emma, my dear, you look pale, you must go out into the air. Go,
children, put your bonnets on and take a turn in the garden, when the
carriage comes round I will send for you."

The young ladies quitted the room. "Nice innocent girls, Mr Newland;
but you are not partial to blondes, I believe?"

"Indeed, Lady Maelstrom, I infinitely prefer the blonde to the
brunette."

"That proves your taste, Mr Newland. The Fairfaxes are of a very old
family--Saxon, Mr Newland. Fair-fax is Saxon for light hair. Is it not
remarkable that they should be blondes to this day? Pure blood, Mr
Newland. You, of course, have heard of General Fairfax, in the time of
Cromwell. He was their direct ancestor--an excellent family and highly
connected, Mr Newland. You are aware that they are my nieces. My sister
married Mr Fairfax."

I paid the Misses Fairfax the compliments which I thought they really
deserved, for they were very pretty amiable girls, and required no
puffing on the part of her ladyship; and then I commenced. "Your
ladyship has expressed such kind wishes towards me, that I cannot be
sufficiently grateful, but, perhaps, your ladyship may think me
romantic, I am resolved never to marry, except for love."

"A very excellent resolve, Mr Newland; there are few young men who care
about love now-a-days, but I consider that love is a great security for
happiness in the wedded state."

"True, madam, and what can be more delightful than a first attachment? I
appeal to your ladyship, was not your first attachment the most
delightful--are not the reminiscences most lasting--do you not, even
now, call to mind those halcyon days when love was all and every thing?"

"My days of romance are long past, Mr Newland," replied her ladyship;
"indeed I never had much romance in my composition. I married Lord
Maelstrom for the connection, and I loved him pretty well, that is,
soberly, Mr Newland. I mean, I loved him quite enough to marry him, and
to obey my parents, that is all."

"But, my dear Lady Maelstrom, I did not refer to your marriage with his
lordship; I referred to your first love."

"My first love, Mr Newland; pray what do you mean?" replied her
ladyship, looking very hard at me.

"Your ladyship need not be ashamed of it. Our hearts are not in our own
keeping, nor can we always control our passions. I have but to mention
the name of Warrender."

"Warrender!" shrieked her ladyship. "Pray, Mr Newland," continued her
ladyship, recovering herself, "who gave you that piece of information?"

"My dear Lady Maelstrom, pray do not be displeased with me, but I am
very particularly interested in this affair. Your love for Mr Warrender,
long before your marriage, is well known to me; and it is to that love,
to which I referred, when I asked you if it was not most delightful."

"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 you can 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 cannnot 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--"

"Well, 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.




Chapter XXXV

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 glass 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
quantity 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 passion; 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 assistance. 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 passed.

"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 assertion. 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 assizes, and
the county ball, and a great deal of gaiety, and I have an idea that it
is just as well to beat the country as the town. I dine with Mr
Masterton on Friday. On Saturday 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 postmark, 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.'"

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