Фредерик Марриет
Japhet in Search of a Father
Part 2—Chapter II
In following my Nose, I narrowly escaped being nosed by a Beak.
And as I lay in my bed, thinking that I was now nearly twenty years old, and had not yet made any discovery, my heart sank within me. My monomania returned with redoubled force, and I resolved to renew my search with vigour. So I told Timothy the next morning, when he came into my room, but from him I received little consolation; he advised me to look out for a good match in a rich wife, and leave time to develop the mystery of my birth; pointing out the little chance I ever had of success.
Town was not full, the season had hardly commenced, and we had few invitations or visits to distract my thoughts from their object. My leg became so painful, that for a week I was on the sofa, Timothy every day going out to ascertain if he could find the person whom we had seen resembling me, and every evening returning without success. I became melancholy and nervous. Carbonnell could not imagine what was the matter with me. At last I was able to walk, and I sallied forth, perambulating, or rather running through street after street, looking into every carriage, so as to occasion surprise to the occupants, who believed me mad; my dress and person were disordered, for I had become indifferent to it, and Timothy himself believed that I was going out of my senses.
At last, after we had been in town about five weeks, I saw the very object of my search, seated in a carriage, of a dark brown colour, arms painted in shades, so as not to be distinguishable but at a near approach; his hat was off, and he sat upright and formally. “That is he!” ejaculated I, and away I ran after the carriage. “It is the nose,” cried I, as I ran down the street, knocking everyone to the right and left. I lost my hat, but fearful of losing sight of the carriage, I hastened on, when I heard a cry of “Stop him, stop him!”—“Stop him,” cried I, also, referring to the gentleman in black in the carriage.
“That won’t do,” cried a man, seizing me by the collar; “I know a trick worth two of that.”
“Let me go,” roared I, struggling; but he only held me the faster. I tussled with the man until my coat and shirt were torn, but in vain; the crowd now assembled, and I was fast. The fact was, that a pickpocket had been exercising his vocation at the time that I was running past, and from my haste, and loss of my hat, I was supposed to be the criminal. The police took charge of me—I pleaded innocence in vain, and I was dragged before the magistrate at Marlborough Street My appearance, the disorder of my dress, my coat and shirt in ribands, with no hat, were certainly not at all in my favour, when I made my appearance, led in by two Bow Street officers.
“Whom have we here?” inquired the magistrate.
“A pickpocket, sir,” replied they.
“Ah! one of the swell mob,” replied he. “Are there any witnesses?”
“Yes, sir,” replied a young man, coming forward. “I was walking up Bond Street, when I felt a tug at my pocket, and when I turned round, this chap was running away.”
“Can you swear to his person?”
There were plenty to swear that I was the person who ran away.
“Now, sir, have you anything to offer in your defence?” said the magistrate.
“Yes, sir,” replied I; “I certainly was running down the street; and it may be, for all I know or care, that this person’s pocket may have been picked—but I did not pick it. I am a gentleman.”
“All your fraternity lay claim to gentility,” replied the magistrate; “perhaps you will state why you were running down the street.”
“I was running after a carriage, sir, that I might speak to the person inside of it.”
“Pray who was the person inside?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Why should you run after a person you do not know?”
“It was because of his nose.”
“His nose?” replied the magistrate angrily. “Do you think to trifle with me, sir? You shall now follow your own nose to prison. Make out his committal.”
“As you please, sir,” replied I; “but still I have told you the truth; if you will allow anyone to take a note, I will soon prove my respectability. I ask it in common justice.”
“Be it so,” replied the magistrate; “let him sit down within the bar till the answer comes.”
In less than an hour, my note to Major Carbonnell was answered by his appearance in person, followed by Timothy. Carbonnell walked up to the magistrate, while Timothy asked the officers in an angry tone, what they had been doing to his master. This rather startled them, but both they and the magistrate were much surprised when the major asserted that I was his most particular friend, Mr Newland, who possessed ten thousand pounds per annum, and who was as well known in fashionable society as any young man of fortune about town. The magistrate explained what had passed, and asked the major if I was not a little deranged; but the major, who perceived what was the cause of my strange behaviour, told him that somebody had insulted me, and that I was very anxious to lay hold of the person who had avoided me, and who must have been in that carriage.
“I am afraid, that after your explanation, Major Carbonnell, I must, as a magistrate, bind over your friend, Mr Newland, to keep the peace.”
To this I consented, the major and Timothy being taken as recognisances, and then I was permitted to depart. The major sent for a hackney-coach; and when we were going home he pointed out to me the folly of my conduct, and received my promise to be more careful for the future. Thus did this affair end, and for a short time I was more careful in my appearance, and not so very anxious to look into carriages; still, however, the idea haunted me, and I was often very melancholy. It was about a month afterwards, that I was sauntering with the major, who now considered me to be insane upon that point, and who would seldom allow me to go out without him, when I again perceived the same carriage, with the gentleman inside as before.
“There he is, major,” cried I.
“There is who?” replied he.
“The man so like my father.”
“What, in that carriage? that is the Bishop of E—, my good fellow. What a strange idea you have in your head, Newland; it almost amounts to madness. Do not be staring in that way—come along.”
Still my head was turned quite round, looking at the carriage after it had passed, till it was out of sight; but I knew who the party was, and for the time I was satisfied, as I determined to find out his address, and call upon him. I narrated to Timothy what had occurred, and referring to the Red Book, I looked out the bishop’s town address; and the next day, after breakfast, having arranged my toilet with the utmost precision, I made an excuse to the major, and set off to Portland Place.
Part 2—Chapter III
A Chapter of Mistakes—No Benefit of Clergy—I attack a Bishop, and am beaten off—The Major hedges upon the Filly Stakes.
My hand trembled as I knocked at the door. It was opened. I sent in my card, requesting the honour of an audience with his lordship. After waiting a few minutes in an ante-room, I was ushered in. “My lord,” said I, in a flurried manner, “will you allow me to have a few minutes’ conversation with you alone.”
“This gentleman is my secretary, sir, but if you wish it, certainly; for although he is my confidant, I have no right to insist that he shall be yours. Mr Temple, will you oblige me by going up stairs for a little while.”
The secretary quitted the room, the bishop pointed to a chair, and I sat down. I looked him earnestly in the face—the nose was exact, and I imagined that even in the other features I could distinguish a resemblance. I was satisfied that I had at last gained the object of my search. “I believe, sir,” observed I, “that you will acknowledge, that in the heat and impetuosity of youth, we often rush into hasty and improvident connections.”
I paused, with my eyes fixed upon his. “Very true, my young sir; and when we do we are ashamed, and repent of them afterwards,” replied the bishop, rather astonished.
“I grant that, sir,” replied I; “but at the same time, we must feel that we must abide by the results, however unpleasant.”
“When we do wrong, Mr Newland,” replied the bishop, first looking at my card, and then upon me, “we find that we are not only to be punished in the next world, but suffer for it also in this. I trust you have no reason for such suffering?”
“Unfortunately, the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and, in that view, I may say that I have suffered.”
“My dear sir,” replied the bishop, “I trust you will excuse me, when I say, that my time is rather valuable; if you have anything of importance to communicate—anything upon which you would ask my advice—for assistance you do not appear to require, do me the favour to proceed at once to the point.”
“I will, sir, be as concise as the matter will admit of. Allow me, then, to ask you a few questions, and I trust to your honour, and the dignity of your profession, for a candid answer. Did you not marry a young woman early in life? and were you not very much pressed in your circumstances?”
The bishop stared. “Really, Mr Newland, it is a strange question, and I cannot imagine to what it may lead, but still I will answer it. I did marry early in life, and I was, at that time, not in very affluent circumstances.”
“You had a child by that marriage—your eldest born—a boy!”
“That is also true, Mr Newland,” replied the bishop, gravely.
“How long is it since you have seen him?”
“It is many years,” replied the bishop, putting his handkerchief up to his eyes.
“Answer me, now, sir;—did you not desert him?”
“No, no!” replied the bishop. “It is strange that you should appear to know so much about the matter, Mr Newland, as you could have hardly been born. I was poor then—very poor; but although I could ill afford it, he had fifty pounds from me.”
“But, sir,” replied I, much agitated; “why have you not reclaimed him?”
“I would have reclaimed him, Mr Newland—but what could I do—he was not to be reclaimed; and now—he is lost for ever.”
“Surely, sir, in your present affluence, you must wish to see him again?”
“He died, and I trust he has gone to heaven,” replied the bishop, covering up his face.
“No, sir,” replied I, throwing myself on my knees before him, “he did not die, here he is at your feet, to ask your blessing.”
The bishop sprang from his chair. “What does this mean, sir?” said he, with astonishment. “You my son?”
“Yes, reverend father—your son; who, with fifty pounds you left—”
“On the top of the Portsmouth coach!”
“No, sir, in the basket.”
“My son! sir,—impossible; he died in the hospital.”
“No, sir, he has come out of the hospital,” replied I; “and, as you perceive, safe and well.”
“Either, sir, this must be some strange mistake, or you must be trifling with me,” replied his lordship; “for, sir, I was at his death-bed, and followed him to his grave.”
“Are you sure of that, sir?” replied I, starting up with amazement.
“I wish that I was not, sir—for I am now childless; but pray, sir, who, and what are you, who know so much of my former life, and who would have thus imposed upon me?”
“Imposed upon you, sir!” replied I, perceiving that I was in error. “Alas! I would do no such thing. Who am I? I am a young man who is in search of his father. Your face, and especially your nose, so resembled mine, that I made sure that I had succeeded. Pity me, sir—pity me,” continued I, covering up my face with my hands.
The bishop, perceiving that there was little of the impostor in my appearance, and that I was much affected, allowed a short time for me to recover myself, and then entered into an explanation. When a curate, he had had an only son, very wild, who would go to sea in spite of his remonstrances. He saw him depart by the Portsmouth coach, and gave him the sum mentioned. His son received a mortal wound in action, and was sent to the Plymouth hospital, where he died. I then entered into my explanation in a few concise sentences, and with a heart beating with disappointment, took my leave. The bishop shook hands with me as I quitted the room, and wished me better success at my next application.
I went home almost in despair. Timothy consoled me as well as he could, and advised me to go as much as possible into society, as the most likely chance of obtaining my wish, not that he considered there was any chance, but he thought that amusement would restore me to my usual spirits. “I will go and visit little Fleta,” replied I, “for a few days; the sight of her will do me more good than anything else.” And the next day I set off for the town of —, where I found the dear little girl, much grown, and much improved. I remained with her for a week, walking with her in the country, amusing her, and amused myself with our conversation. At the close of the week I bade her farewell, and returned to the major’s lodgings.
I was astonished to find him in deep mourning. “My dear Carbonnell,” said I, inquiringly, “I hope no severe loss?”
“Nay, my dear Newland, I should be a hypocrite if I said so; for there never was a more merry mourner, and that’s the truth of it. Mr M—, who, you know, stood between me and the peerage, has been drowned in the Rhone; I now have a squeak for it. His wife has one daughter, and is enceinte. Should the child prove a boy, I am done for, but if a girl, I must then come into the barony, and fifteen thousand pounds per annum. However, I’ve hedged pretty handsomely.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why they say that when a woman commences with girls, she generally goes on, and the odds are two to one that Mrs M— has a girl. I have taken the odds at the clubs to the amount of fifteen thousand pounds; so if it be a girl I shall have to pay that out of my fifteen thousand pounds per annum, as soon as I fall into it; if it be a boy, and I am floored, I shall pocket thirty thousand pounds by way of consolation for the disappointment. They are all good men.”
“Yes, but they know you never pay.”
“They know I never do now, because I have no money; but they know I will pay if I come into the estate; and so I will, most honourably, besides a few more thousands that I have in my book.”
“I congratulate you, with all my heart, major. How old is the present Lord B—?”
“I have just been examining the peerage—he is sixty-two; but he is very fresh and hearty, and may live a long while yet. By-the-by, Newland, I committed a great error last night at the club. I played pretty high, and lost a great deal of money.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“That was not the error; I actually paid all my losings, Newland, and it has reduced the stock amazingly, I lost seven hundred and fifty pounds. I know I ought not to have paid away your money; but the fact was, as I was hedging, it would not do not to have paid, as I could not have made up my book as I wished. It is, however, only waiting a few weeks, till Mrs M— decides my fate, and then, either one way or the other, I shall have money enough. If your people won’t give you any more till you are of age, why we must send to a little friend of mine, that’s all, and you shall borrow for both of us.”
“Borrow!” replied I, not much liking the idea; “they will never lend me money.”
“Won’t they?” replied the major; “no fear of that. Your signature, and my introduction, will be quite sufficient.”
“We had better try to do without it, major; I do not much like it.”
“Well, if we can, we will; but I have not fifty pounds left in my desk; how much have you?”
“About twenty,” replied I, in despair at this intelligence; “but I think there is a small sum left at the banker’s; I will go and see.” I took up my hat and set off, to ascertain what funds we might have in store.
Part 2—Chapter IV
I am over Head and Ears in Trouble about a Lady’s Ear-Ring—Commit myself sadly, and am very nearly committed.
I must say, that I was much annoyed at this intelligence. The money-lenders would not be satisfied unless they knew where my estates were, and had examined the will at Doctors’ Commons; then all would be exposed to the major, and I should be considered by him as an impostor. I walked down Pall Mall in a very unhappy mood, so deep in thought, that I ran against a lady, who was stepping out of her carriage at a fashionable shop. She turned round, and I was making my best apologies to a very handsome woman, when her ear-rings caught my attention. They were of alternate coral and gold, and the facsimile in make to the chain given by Nattée to Fleta. During my last visit, I had often had the chain in my hand, and particularly marked the workmanship. To make more sure, I followed her into the shop, and stood behind her, carefully examining them, as she looked over a quantity of laces. There could be no doubt. I waited till the lady rose to go away, and then addressed the shopman, asking the lady’s name. He did not know—she was a stranger; but perhaps Mr H—, the master, did, and he went back to answer the question. Mr H— being at that moment busy, the man stayed so long, that I heard the carriage drive off. Fearful of losing sight of the lady, I took to my heels, and ran out of the shop. My sudden flight from the counter, covered with lace, made them imagine that I had stolen some, and they cried out, “Stop thief,” as loud as they could, springing over the counter, and pursuing me as I pursued the carriage, which was driven at a rapid pace. A man perceiving me running, and others, without their hats, following, with the cries of “Stop thief,” put out his leg, and I fell on the pavement, the blood rushing in torrents from my nose. I was seized, roughly handled, and again handed over to the police, who carried me before the same magistrate in Marlborough Street.
“What is this?” demanded the magistrate.
“A shoplifter, you worship.”
“I am not, sir,” replied I; “you know me well enough, I am Mr Newland.”
“Mr Newland!” replied the magistrate, suspiciously; “this is strange, a second time to appear before me upon such a charge.”
“And just as innocent as before, sir.”
“You’ll excuse me, sir, but I must have my suspicions this time. Where is the evidence?”
The people of the shop then came forward, and stated what had occurred. “Let him be searched,” said the magistrate.
I was searched, but nothing was found upon me. “Are you satisfied now, sir?” inquired I.
“By no means. Let the people go back and look over their laces, and see if any are missing; in the mean time I shall detain you, for it is very easy to get rid of a small article, such as lace, when you are caught.”
The men went away, and I wrote a note to Major Carbonnell, requesting his attendance. He arrived at the same time as the shopman, and I told him what had happened. The shopman declared that the stock was not correct; as far as they could judge, there were two pieces of lace missing.
“If so, I did not take them,” replied I.
“Upon my honour, Mr B—,” said the major, to the magistrate, “it is very hard for a gentleman to be treated in this manner. This is the second time that I have been sent for to vouch for his respectability.”
“Very true, sir,” replied the magistrate; “but allow me to ask Mr Newland, as he calls himself, what induced him to follow a lady into the shop?”
“Her ear-rings,” replied I.
“Her ear-rings! why, sir, the last time you were brought before me, you said it was after a gentleman’s nose—now it appears you were attracted by a lady’s ears; and pray, sir, what induced you to run out of the shop?”
“Because I wanted particularly to inquire about her ear-rings, sir.”
“I cannot understand these paltry excuses; there are, it appears, two pieces of lace missing, I must remand you for further examination, sir; and you also, sir,” said the magistrate, to Major Carbonnell; “for if he is a swindler, you must be an accomplice.”
“Sir,” replied Major Carbonnell, sneeringly, “you are certainly a very good judge of a gentleman, when you happen by accident to be in his company. With your leave, I will send a note to another confederate.”
The major then wrote a note to Lord Windermear, which he despatched by Timothy, who, hearing I was in trouble, had accompanied the major. And while he was away, the major and I sat down, he giving himself all manner of airs, much to the annoyance of the magistrate, who at last threatened to commit him immediately. “You’ll repent this,” replied the major, who perceived Lord Windermear coming in.
“You shall repent it, sir, by God,” cried the magistrate in a great passion.
“Put five shillings in the box for swearing, Mr B—. You fine other people,” said the major. “Here is my other confederate, Lord Windermear.”
“Carbonnell,” said Lord Windermear, “what is all this?”
“Nothing, my lord, except that our friend Newland is taken up for shoplifting, because he thought proper to run after a pretty woman’s carriage; and I am accused by his worship of being his confederate. I could forgive his suspicions of Mr Newland in that plight; but as for his taking me for one of the swell mob it proves a great deficiency of judgment; perhaps he will commit your lordship also, as he may not be aware that your lordship’s person is above caption.”
“I can assure you, sir,” said Lord Windermear, proudly, “that this is my relative, Major Carbonnell, and the other is my friend, Mr Newland. I will bail them for any sum you please.”
The magistrate felt astonished and annoyed, for, after all, he had only done his duty. Before he could reply, a man came from the shop to say that the laces had been found all right. Lord Windermear then took me aside, and I narrated what had happened. He recollected the story of Fleta in my narrative of my life, and felt that I was right in trying to find out who the lady was. The magistrate now apologised for the detention, but explained to his lordship how I had before made my appearance upon another charge, and with a low bow we were dismissed.
“My dear Mr Newland,” said his lordship, “I trust that this will be a warning to you, not to run after other people’s noses and ear-rings; at the same time, I will certainly keep a look out for those very ear-rings myself. Major, I wish you a good morning.”
His lordship then shook us both by the hand, and saying that he should be glad to see more of me than he latterly had done, stepped into his carriage and drove off.
“What the devil did his lordship mean about ear-rings, Newland?” inquired the major.
“I told him that I was examining the lady’s ear-rings as very remarkable,” replied I.
“You appear to be able to deceive everybody but me, my good fellow. I know that you were examining the lady herself.” I left the major in his error, by making no reply.
