Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 Read online

  CHAPTER VII.

  After viewing various parts of the city, intruding into churches, anddiving into alleys, I returned. The rest of the day I spent chiefly inmy chamber, reflecting on my new condition; surveying my apartment, itspresses and closets; and conjecturing the causes of appearances.

  At dinner and supper I was alone. Venturing to inquire of the servantwhere his master and mistress were, I was answered that they wereengaged. I did not question him as to the nature of their engagement,though it was a fertile source of curiosity.

  Next morning, at breakfast, I again met Welbeck and the lady. Theincidents were nearly those of the preceding morning, if it were notthat the lady exhibited tokens of somewhat greater uneasiness. When sheleft us, Welbeck sank into apparent meditation. I was at a loss whetherto retire or remain where I was. At last, however, I was on the point ofleaving the room, when he broke silence and began a conversation withme.

  He put questions to me, the obvious scope of which was to know mysentiments on moral topics. I had no motives to conceal my opinions, andtherefore delivered them with frankness. At length he introducedallusions to my own history, and made more particular inquiries on thathead. Here I was not equally frank; yet I did not feign any thing, butmerely dealt in generals. I had acquired notions of propriety on thishead, perhaps somewhat fastidious. Minute details, respecting our ownconcerns, are apt to weary all but the narrator himself. I said thusmuch, and the truth of my remark was eagerly assented to.

  With some marks of hesitation and after various preliminaries, mycompanion hinted that my own interest, as well as his, enjoined upon mesilence to all but himself, on the subject of my birth and earlyadventures. It was not likely that, while in his service, my circle ofacquaintance would be large or my intercourse with the world frequent;but in my communication with others he requested me to speak rather ofothers than of myself. This request, he said, might appear singular tome, but he had his reasons for making it, which it was not necessary, atpresent, to disclose, though, when I should know them, I should readilyacknowledge their validity.

  I scarcely knew what answer to make. I was willing to oblige him. I wasfar from expecting that any exigence would occur, making disclosure myduty. The employment was productive of pain more than of pleasure, andthe curiosity that would uselessly seek a knowledge of my past life wasno less impertinent than the loquacity that would uselessly communicatethat knowledge. I readily promised, therefore, to adhere to his advice.

  This assurance afforded him evident satisfaction; yet it did not seem toamount to quite as much as he wished. He repeated, in stronger terms,the necessity there was for caution. He was far from suspecting me topossess an impertinent and talkative disposition, or that, in myeagerness to expatiate on my own concerns, I should overstep the limitsof politeness. But this was not enough. I was to govern myself by apersuasion that the interests of my friend and myself would bematerially affected by my conduct.

  Perhaps I ought to have allowed these insinuations to breed suspicion inmy mind; but, conscious as I was of the benefits which I had receivedfrom this man; prone, from my inexperience, to rely upon professions andconfide in appearances; and unaware that I could be placed in anycondition in which mere silence respecting myself could be injurious orcriminal, I made no scruple to promise compliance with his wishes. Nay,I went further than this; I desired to be accurately informed as to whatit was proper to conceal. He answered that my silence might extend toevery thing anterior to my arrival in the city and my being incorporatedwith his family. Here our conversation ended, and I retired to ruminateon what had passed.

  I derived little satisfaction from my reflections. I began now toperceive inconveniences that might arise from this precipitate promise.Whatever should happen in consequence of my being immured in thechamber, and of the loss of my clothes and of the portrait of my friend,I had bound myself to silence. These inquietudes, however, weretransient. I trusted that these events would operate auspiciously; butmy curiosity was now awakened as to the motives which _Welbeck_ couldhave for exacting from me this concealment. To act under the guidance ofanother, and to wander in the dark, ignorant whither my path tended andwhat effects might flow from my agency, was a new and irksome situation.

  From these thoughts I was recalled by a message from Welbeck. He gave mea folded paper, which he requested me to carry to No.--South FourthStreet. "Inquire," said he, "for Mrs. Wentworth, in order merely toascertain the house, for you need not ask to see her; merely give theletter to the servant and retire. Excuse me for imposing this serviceupon you. It is of too great moment to be trusted to a common messenger;I usually perform it myself, but am at present otherwise engaged."

  I took the letter and set out to deliver it. This was a triflingcircumstance, yet my mind was full of reflections on the consequencesthat might flow from it. I remembered the directions that were given,but construed them in a manner different, perhaps, from Welbeck'sexpectations or wishes. He had charged me to leave the billet with theservant who happened to answer my summons; but had he not said that themessage was important, insomuch that it could not be intrusted to commonhands? He had permitted, rather than enjoined, me to dispense withseeing the lady; and this permission I conceived to be dictated merelyby regard to my convenience. It was incumbent on me, therefore, to takesome pains to deliver the script into her own hands.

  I arrived at the house and knocked. A female servant appeared. "Hermistress was up-stairs; she would tell her if I wished to see her," andmeanwhile invited me to enter the parlour; I did so; and the girlretired to inform her mistress that one waited for her. I ought tomention that my departure from the directions which I had received was,in some degree, owing to an inquisitive temper; I was eager afterknowledge, and was disposed to profit by every opportunity to survey theinterior of dwellings and converse with their inhabitants.

  I scanned the walls, the furniture, the pictures. Over the fireplace wasa portrait in oil of a female. She was elderly and matron-like. Perhapsshe was the mistress of this habitation, and the person to whom I shouldimmediately be introduced. Was it a casual suggestion, or was there anactual resemblance between the strokes of the pencil which executed thisportrait and that of Clavering? However that be, the sight of thispicture revived the memory of my friend and called up a fugitivesuspicion that this was the production of his skill.

  I was busily revolving this idea when the lady herself entered. It wasthe same whose portrait I had been examining. She fixed scrutinizing andpowerful eyes upon me. She looked at the superscription of the letterwhich I presented, and immediately resumed her examination of me. I wassomewhat abashed by the closeness of her observation, and gave tokens ofthis state of mind which did not pass unobserved. They seemed instantlyto remind her that she behaved with too little regard to civility. Sherecovered herself and began to peruse the letter. Having done this, herattention was once more fixed upon me. She was evidently desirous ofentering into some conversation, but seemed at a loss in what manner tobegin. This situation was new to me and was productive of no smallembarrassment. I was preparing to take my leave when she spoke, thoughnot without considerable hesitation:--

  "This letter is from Mr. Welbeck--you are his friend--Ipresume--perhaps--a relation?"

  I was conscious that I had no claim to either of these titles, and thatI was no more than his servant. My pride would not allow me toacknowledge this, and I merely said, "I live with him at present,madam."

  I imagined that this answer did not perfectly satisfy her; yet shereceived it with a certain air of acquiescence. She was silent for a fewminutes, and then, rising, said, "Excuse me, sir, for a few minutes. Iwill write a few words to Mr. Welbeck." So saying, she withdrew.

  I returned to the contemplation of the picture. From this, however, myattention was quickly diverted by a paper that lay on the mantel. Asingle glance was sufficient to put my blood into motion. I started andlaid my hand upon the well-known packet. It was that which enclosed theportrait of Clavering!

  I unfolded a
nd examined it with eagerness. By what miracle came ithither? It was found, together with my bundle, two nights before. I haddespaired of ever seeing it again, and yet here was the same portraitenclosed in the selfsame paper! I have forborne to dwell upon theregret, amounting to grief, with which I was affected in consequence ofthe loss of this precious relic. My joy on thus speedily andunexpectedly regaining it is not easily described.

  For a time I did not reflect that to hold it thus in my hand was notsufficient to entitle me to repossession. I must acquaint this lady withthe history of this picture, and convince her of my ownership. But howwas this to be done? Was she connected in any way, by friendship or byconsanguinity, with that unfortunate youth? If she were, someinformation as to his destiny would be anxiously sought. I did not, justthen, perceive any impropriety in imparting it. If it came into herhands by accident, still, it will be necessary to relate the mode inwhich it was lost in order to prove my title to it.

  I now heard her descending footsteps, and hastily replaced the pictureon the mantel. She entered, and, presenting me a letter, desired me todeliver it to Mr. Welbeck. I had no pretext for deferring my departure,but was unwilling to go without obtaining possession of the portrait. Aninterval of silence and irresolution succeeded. I cast significantglances at the spot where it lay, and at length mustered up my strengthof mind, and, pointing to the paper,--"Madam," said I, "_there_ issomething which I recognise to be mine: I know not how it came into yourpossession, but so lately as the day before yesterday it was in mine. Ilost it by a strange accident, and, as I deem it of inestimable value, Ihope you will have no objection to restore it."

  During this speech the lady's countenance exhibited marks of the utmostperturbation. "Your picture!" she exclaimed; "you lost it! How? Where?Did you know that person? What has become of him?"

  "I knew him well," said I. "That picture was executed by himself. Hegave it to me with his own hands; and, till the moment I unfortunatelylost it, it was my dear and perpetual companion."

  "Good heaven!" she exclaimed, with increasing vehemence; "where did youmeet with him? What has become of him? Is he dead, or alive?"

  These appearances sufficiently showed me that Clavering and this ladywere connected by some ties of tenderness. I answered that he was dead;that my mother and myself were his attendants and nurses, and that thisportrait was his legacy to me.

  This intelligence melted her into tears, and it was some time before sherecovered strength enough to resume the conversation. She then inquired,"When and where was it that he died? How did you lose this portrait? Itwas found wrapped in some coarse clothes, lying in a stall in themarket-house, on Saturday evening. Two negro women, servants of one ofmy friends, strolling through the market, found it and brought it totheir mistress, who, recognising the portrait, sent it to me. To whomdid that bundle belong? Was it yours?"

  These questions reminded me of the painful predicament in which I nowstood. I had promised Welbeck to conceal from every one my formercondition; but to explain in what manner this bundle was lost, and howmy intercourse with Clavering had taken place, was to violate thispromise. It was possible, perhaps, to escape the confession of the truthby equivocation. Falsehoods were easily invented, and might lead her faraway from my true condition; but I was wholly unused to equivocation.Never yet had a lie polluted my lips. I was not weak enough to beashamed of my origin. This lady had an interest in the fate ofClavering, and might justly claim all the information which I was ableto impart. Yet to forget the compact which I had so lately made, and anadherence to which might possibly be in the highest degree beneficial tome and to Welbeck; I was willing to adhere to it, provided falsehoodcould be avoided.

  These thoughts rendered me silent. The pain of my embarrassment amountedalmost to agony. I felt the keenest regret at my own precipitation inclaiming the picture. Its value to me was altogether imaginary. Theaffection which this lady had borne the original, whatever was thesource of that affection, would prompt her to cherish the copy, and,however precious it was in my eyes, I should cheerfully resign it toher.

  In the confusion of my thoughts an expedient suggested itselfsufficiently inartificial and bold. "It is true, madam, what I havesaid. I saw him breathe his last. This is his only legacy. If you wishit I willingly resign it; but this is all that I can now disclose. I amplaced in circumstances which render it improper to say more."

  These words were uttered not very distinctly, and the lady's vehemencehindered her from noticing them. She again repeated her interrogations,to which I returned the same answer.

  At first she expressed the utmost surprise at my conduct. From this shedescended to some degree of asperity. She made rapid allusions to thehistory of Clavering. He was the son of the gentleman who owned thehouse in which Welbeck resided. He was the object of immeasurablefondness and indulgence. He had sought permission to travel, and, thisbeing refused by the absurd timidity of his parents, he had twice beenfrustrated in attempting to embark for Europe clandestinely. Theyascribed his disappearance to a third and successful attempt of thiskind, and had exercised anxious and unwearied diligence in endeavouringto trace his footsteps. All their efforts had failed. One motive fortheir returning to Europe was the hope of discovering some traces ofhim, as they entertained no doubt of his having crossed the ocean. Thevehemence of Mrs. Wentworth's curiosity as to those particulars of hislife and death may be easily conceived. My refusal only heightened thispassion.

  Finding me refractory to all her efforts, she at length dismissed me inanger.