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Japhet, In Search Of A Father by Frederick Marryat

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




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 meantime, she would be able, perhaps, by association,
to call up some passage 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 laid, 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, &c. 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 at present _incog_."

"But why did you make me _incog._?"

"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."

"O 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 petitioned."

I broke open the seal, and found that the letter contained an inclosure
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 passed 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
assume, 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, Japhet, 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
two-fold 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, form 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 pass 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. "Japhet, all nonsense--very good bridge--um--walk over--find
father--and so on." I dashed over the bridge, which appeared to float on
the water, and to be composed of paper, gained the other side, and was
received with shouts of congratulation, and the embraces of the crowd. I
perceived an elderly gentleman come forward; I knew it was my father,
and I threw myself into his arms. I awoke, and found myself rolling on
the floor, embracing the bolster with all my might. Such was the vivid
impression of this dream, that I could not turn my thoughts away from
it, and at last I considered that it was a divine interposition. All my
scruples vanished, and before the day had dawned I determined that I
would follow the advice of Timothy. An enthusiast is easily led to
believe what he wishes, and he mistakes his own feelings for warnings;
the dreams arising from his daily contemplations for the interference of
Heaven. He thinks himself armed by supernatural assistance, and
warranted by the Almighty to pursue his course, even if that course
should be contrary to the Almighty's precepts. Thus was I led away by my
own imaginings, and thus was my _monomania_ increased to an impetus
which forced before it all consideration of what was right or wrong.




Chapter XIX

_An important chapter--I make some important acquaintances, obtain
some important papers which I am importunate to read through._


The next morning I told my dream to Timothy, who laughed very heartily
at my idea of the finger of Providence. At last, perceiving that I was
angry with him, he pretended to be convinced. When I had finished my
breakfast, I sent to inquire the number in the square of Lord
Windermear's town house, and wrote the following simple note to his
lordship, "_Japhet Newland_ has arrived from his tour at the Piazza,
Covent Garden." This was confided to Timothy, and I then set off with
the other letter to Mr Masterton, which was addressed to Lincoln's Inn.
By reading the addresses of the several legal gentlemen, I found out
that Mr Masterton was located on the first floor. I rang the bell, which
had the effect of "Open, Sesame," as the door appeared to swing to admit
me without any assistance. I entered an ante-room, and from thence found
myself in the presence of Mr Masterton--a little old man, with
spectacles on his nose, sitting at a table covered with papers. He
offered me a chair, and I presented the letter.

"I see that I am addressing Mr Neville," said he, after he had perused
the letter. "I congratulate you on your return. You may not, perhaps,
remember me?"

"Indeed, sir, I cannot say that I do, exactly."

"I could not expect it, my dear sir, you have been so long away. You
have very much improved in person, I must say; yet still, I recollect
your features as a mere boy. Without compliment, I had no idea that you
would ever have made so handsome a man." I bowed to the compliment.
"Have you heard from your uncle?"

"I had a few lines from Lord Windermear, enclosing your letter."

"He is well, I hope?"

"Quite well, I believe."

Mr Masterton then rose, went to an iron safe, and brought out a packet
of papers, which he put into my hands. "You will read these with
interest, Mr Neville. I am a party to the whole transaction, and must
venture to advise you not to appear in England under your own name,
until all is settled. Your uncle, I perceive, has begged the same."

"And I have assented, sir. I have taken a name instead of my real one."

"May I ask what it is?"

"I call myself Mr Japhet Newland."

"Well, it is singular, but perhaps as good as any other. I will take it
down, in case I have to write to you. Your address is--"

"Piazza--Covent Garden."

Mr Masterton took my name and address, I took the papers, and then we
both took leave of one another, with many expressions of pleasure and
good-will.

I returned to the hotel, where I found Timothy waiting for me, with
impatience. "Japhet," said he, "Lord Windermear has not yet left town. I
have seen him, for I was called back after I left the house, by the
footman, who ran after me--he will be here immediately."

"Indeed," replied I. "Pray what sort of person is he, and what did he
say to you?"

"He sent for me in the dining-parlour, where he was at breakfast, asked
when you arrived, whether you were well, and how long I had been in your
service. I replied that I had not been more than two days, and had just
put on my liveries. He then desired me to tell Mr Newland that he would
call upon him in about two hours. Then, my lord," replied I, "I had
better go and tell him to get out of bed."

"The lazy dog!" said he, "nearly one o'clock, and not out of bed; well,
go then, and get him dressed as fast as you can."

Shortly afterwards a handsome carriage with greys drew up to the door.
His lordship sent in his footman to ask whether Mr Newland was at home.
The reply of the waiter was, that there was a young gentleman who had
been there two or three days, who had come from making a tour, and his
name did begin with an _N_. "That will do, James; let down the steps."
His lordship alighted, was ushered up stairs, and into my room. There we
stood, staring at each other.

"Lord Windermear, I believe," said I, extending my hand.

"You have recognised me first, John," said he, taking my hand, and
looking earnestly in my face. "Good heavens! is it possible that an
awkward boy should have grown up into so handsome a fellow? I shall be
proud of my nephew. Did you remember me when I entered the room?"

"To tell the truth, my lord, I did not; but expecting you, I took it for
granted that it must be you."

"Nine years make a great difference, John;--but I forget, I must now
call you Japhet. Have you been reading the Bible lately, that you fixed
upon that strange name?"

"No, my lord, but this hotel is such a Noah's ark, that it's no wonder I
thought of it."

"You're an undutiful dog, not to ask after your mother, sir."

"I was about--"

"I see--I see," interrupted his lordship; "but recollect, John, that she
still is _your mother_. By-the-by, have you read the papers yet?"

"No, sir," replied I, "there they are," pointing to them on the side
table. "I really do not like to break the seals."

"That they will not contain pleasant intelligence, I admit," replied his
lordship; "but until you have read them, I do not wish to converse with
you on the subject, therefore," said he, taking up the packet, and
breaking the seals, "I must now insist that you employ this forenoon in
reading them through. You will dine with me at seven, and then we will
talk the matter over."

"Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will read them."

"I must _insist_ upon it, John; and am rather surprised at your
objecting, when they concern you so particularly."

"I shall obey your orders, sir."

"Well, then, my boy, I shall wish you good morning, that you may
complete your task before you come to dinner. To-morrow, if you wish
it--but recollect, I never press young men on these points, as I am
aware that they sometimes feel it a restraint--if you wish it, I say,
you may bring your portmanteaus, and take up your quarters with me.
By-the-bye," continued his lordship, taking hold of my coat, "who made
this?"

"The tailor to his Serene Highness the Prince of Darmsradt had that
honour, my lord," replied I.

"Humph! I thought they fitted better in Germany; it's not quite the
thing--we must consult Stulz, for with that figure and face, the coat
ought to be quite correct. Adieu, my dear fellow, till seven."

His lordship shook hands with me, and I was left alone. Timothy came in
as soon as his lordship's carriage had driven off. "Well, sir," said he,
"was your uncle glad to see you?"

"Yes," replied I; "and look, he has broken open the seals, and has
insisted upon my reading the papers."

"It would be very undutiful in you to refuse, so I had better leave you
to your task," said Timothy, smiling, as he quitted the room.




Chapter XX

I open an account with my bankers, draw largely upon credulity, and
am prosperous without a _check_.


I sat down and took up the papers. I was immediately and strangely
interested in all that I read. A secret!--it was, indeed, a secret,
involving the honour and reputation of the most distinguished families.
One that, if known, the trumpet of scandal would have blazoned forth to
the disgrace of the aristocracy. It would have occasioned bitter tears
to some, gratified the petty malice of many, satisfied the revenge of
the vindictive, and bowed with shame the innocent as well as the guilty.
It is not necessary, nor, indeed, would I, on any account, state any
more. I finished the last paper, and then fell into a reverie. This is,
indeed, a secret, thought I; one that I would I never had possessed. In
a despotic country my life would be sacrificed to the fatal
knowledge--here, thank God, my life as well as my liberty are safe.

The contents of the papers told me all that was necessary to enable me
to support the character which I had assumed. The reason why the party,
whom I was supposed to be, was intrusted with it, was, that he was in a
direct line, eventually heir, and the question was whether he would
waive his claim with the others, and allow death to bury crime in
oblivion. I felt that were I in his position I should so do--and
therefore was prepared to give an answer to his lordship. I sealed up
the papers, dressed myself, and went to dinner; and after the cloth was
removed, Lord Windermear, first rising and turning the key in the door,
said to me, in a low voice, "You have read the papers, and what those,
nearly as much interested as you are in this lamentable business, have
decided upon. Tell me, what is your opinion?"

"My opinion, my lord, is, that I wish I had never known what has come to
light this day--that it will be most advisable never to recur to the
subject, and that the proposals made are, in my opinion, most judicious,
and should be acted upon."

"That is well," replied his lordship; "then all are agreed, and I am
proud to find you possessed of such honour and good feeling. We now drop
the subject for ever. Are you inclined to leave town with me, or what do
you intend to do?"

"I prefer remaining in town, if your lordship will introduce me to some
of the families of your acquaintance. Of course I know no one now."

"Very true; I will introduce you, as agreed, as Mr Newland. It may be as
well that you do not know any of our relations, whom I have made to
suppose, that you are still abroad--and it would be awkward, when you
take your right name by-and-bye. Do you mean to see your mother?"

"Impossible, my lord, at present; by-and-bye I hope to be able."

"Perhaps it's all for the best. I will now write one note to Major
Carbonnell, introducing you as my particular friend, and requesting that
he will make London agreeable. He knows everybody, and will take you
everywhere."

"When does your lordship start for the country?"

"To-morrow; so we may as well part to-night. By-the-by, you have credit
at Drummond's, in the name of Newland, for a thousand pounds; the longer
you make it last you the better."

His lordship gave me the letter of introduction. I returned to him the
sealed packet, shook hands with him, and took my departure.

"Well, sir," said Timothy, rubbing his hands, as he stood before me,
"what is the news; for I am dying to hear it--and what is this secret?"

"With regard to the secret, Tim, a secret it must remain. I dare not
tell it even to you." Timothy looked rather grave at this reply. "No,
Timothy, as a man of honour, I cannot." My conscience smote me when I
made use of the term; for, as a man of honour, I had no business to be
in possession of it. "My dear Timothy, I have done wrong already, do not
ask me to do worse."

"I will not, Japhet; but only tell me what has passed, and what you
intend to do?"

"That I will, Timothy, with pleasure;" and I then stated all that had
passed between his lordship and me.

"And now, you observe, Timothy, I have gained what I desired, an
introduction into the best society."

"And the means of keeping up your appearance," echoed Timothy, rubbing
his hands. "A thousand pounds will last a long while."

"It will last a very long while, Tim, for I never will touch it; it
would be swindling."

"So it would," replied Tim, his countenance falling; "well, I never
thought of that."

"I have thought of much more, Tim; recollect I must, in a very short
time, be exposed to Lord Windermear, for the real Mr Neville will soon
come home."

"Good heavens! what will become of us?" replied Timothy, with alarm in
his countenance.

"Nothing can hurt you, Tim, the anger will be all upon me; but I am
prepared to face it, and I would face twice as much for the distant hope
of finding my father. Whatever Lord Windermear may feel inclined to do,
he can do nothing; and my possession of the secret will ensure even more
than my safety; it will afford me his protection, if I demand it."

"I hope it may prove so," replied Timothy, "but I feel a little
frightened."

"I do not; to-morrow I shall give my letter of introduction, and then I
will prosecute my search. So now, my dear Tim, good-night."

The next morning, I lost no time in presenting my letter of introduction
to Major Carbonnell. He lived in apartments on the first floor in St
James's Street, and I found him at breakfast, in a silk dressing gown. I
had made up my mind that a little independence always carries with it an
air of fashion. When I entered, therefore, I looked at him with a
knowing air, and dropping the letter down on the table before him, said,
"There's something for you to read, Major; and, in the meantime, I'll
refresh myself on this chair;" suiting the action to the word, I threw
myself on a chair, amusing myself with tapping the sides of my boots
with a small cane which I carried in my hand.

Major Carbonnell, upon whom I cast a furtive eye more than once during
the time that he was reading the letter, was a person of about
thirty-five years of age, well-looking, but disfigured by the size of
his whiskers, which advanced to the corners of his mouth, and met under
his throat. He was tall and well made, and with an air of fashion about
him that was undeniable. His linen was beautifully, clean and carefully
arranged, and he had as many rings on his fingers, and, when he was
dressed, chains and trinkets, as ever were put on by a lady.

"My dear sir, allow me the honour of making at once your most intimate
acquaintance," said he, rising from his chair, and offering his hand, as
soon as he had perused the letter. "Any friend of Lord Windermear's
would be welcome, but when he brings such an extra recommendation in his
own appearance, he becomes doubly so."

"Major Carbonnell," replied I, "I have seen you but two minutes, and I
have taken a particular fancy to you, in which I, no doubt, have proved
my discrimination. Of course, you know that I have just returned from
making a tour?"

"So I understand from his lordship's letter. Mr Newland, my time is at
your service. Where are you staying?"

"At the Piazza."

"Very good; I will dine with you to-day; order some mulligatawny, they
are famous for it. After dinner we will go to the theatre."

I was rather surprised at his cool manner of asking himself to dine with
me and ordering my dinner, but a moment's reflection made me feel what
sort of person I had to deal with.

"Major, I take that as almost an affront. You will dine with me
_to-day!_ I beg to state that you _must_ dine with me every day that we
are not invited elsewhere; and what's more, sir, I shall be most
seriously displeased, if you do not order the dinner every time that you
do dine with me, and ask whoever you may think worthy of putting their
legs under our table, Let's have no doing things by halves, Major; I
know you now as well as if we had been intimate for ten years."

The Major seized me by the hand. "My dear Newland, I only wish we _had
known_ one another ten years, as you say--the loss has been mine; but
now--you have breakfasted, I presume?"

"Yes; having nothing to do, and not knowing a soul after my long
absence, I advanced my breakfast about two hours, that I might find you
at home; and now I'm at your service."

"Say rather I am at yours. I presume you will walk. In ten minutes I
shall be ready. Either take up the paper, or whistle an air or two, or
anything else you like, just to kill ten minutes--and I shall be at your
command."

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