Фредерик Марриет
Japhet in Search of a Father
Part 3—Chapter XXIII
Treats of Apologies, and Love coming from Church—We finesse with the Nabob to win me a Wife—I am successful in my Suit, yet the Lawyer is still to play the Cards to enable me to win the Game.
I arrived at Mr Masterton’s, and walked into his room, when whom should I find in company with him but Harcourt.
“Japhet, I’m glad to see you: allow me to introduce you to Mr Harcourt—Mr De Benyon,” and the old gentleman grinned maliciously, but I was not to be taken aback.
“Harcourt,” said I, extending my hand, “I have to apologise to you for a rude reception and for unjust suspicions, but I was vexed at the time—if you will admit that as an excuse.”
“My dear Japhet,” replied Harcourt, taking my hand and shaking it warmly, “I have to apologise to you for much more unworthy behaviour, and it will be a great relief to my mind if you will once more enrol me in the list of your friends.”
“And now, Mr Masterton,” said I, “as apologies appear to be the order of the day, I bring you one from the general, who has requested me to make one to you for having called you ‘an old thief of a lawyer,’ of which he was totally ignorant until I reminded him of it to-day.”
Harcourt burst into a laugh.
“Well, Japhet, you may tell your old tiger, that I did not feel particularly affronted, as I took his expression professionally and not personally, and if he meant it in that sense, he was not far wrong. Japhet, to-morrow is Sunday; do you go to meeting or to church?”
“I believe, sir, that I shall go to church.”
“Well, then, come with me:—be here at half-past two—we will go to evening service at Saint James’s.”
“I have received many invitations, but I never yet received an invitation to go to church,” replied I.
“You will hear an extra lesson of the day—a portion of Susannah and the Elders.”
I took the equivoque, which was incomprehensible to Harcourt: I hardly need say, that the latter and I were on the best terms. When we separated, Harcourt requested leave to call upon me the next morning, and Mr Masterton said that he should also pay his respects to the tiger, as he invariably called my most honoured parent.
Harcourt was with me very soon after breakfast; and after I had introduced him to my “Governor,” we retired to talk without interruption.
“I have much to say to you, De Benyon,” commenced Harcourt: “first let me tell you, that after I rose from my bed, and discovered that you had disappeared, I resolved, if possible, to find you out and induce you to come back. Timothy, who looked very sly at me, would tell me nothing, but that the last that was heard of you was at Lady de Clare’s, at Richmond. Having no other clue, I went down there, introduced myself, and, as they will tell you, candidly acknowledged that I had treated you ill. I then requested that they would give me any clue by which you might be found, for I had an opportunity of offering to you a situation which was at my father’s disposal, and which any gentlemen might have accepted, although it was not very lucrative.”
“It was very kind of you, Harcourt.”
“Do not say that, I beg. It was thus that I formed an acquaintance with Lady de Clare and her daughter, whose early history, as Fleta, I had obtained from you, but who, I little imagined to be the little girl that you had so generously protected; for it was not until after I had deserted you, that you had discovered her parentage. The extreme interest relative to you evinced by both the mother and the daughter surprised me. They had heard of my name from you, but not of our quarrel. They urged me, and thanked me for proposing to follow you and find you out: I did make every attempt. I went to Brentford, inquired at all the public-houses, and of all the coachmen who went down the road, but could obtain no information, except that at one public-house a gentleman stopped with a portmanteau, and soon afterwards went away with it on his shoulders. I returned to Richmond with the tidings of my ill-success about a week after I had first called there. Cecilia was much affected, and cried very bitterly. I could not help asking Lady de Clare why she took such a strong interest in your fortunes. ‘Who ought,’ replied Cecilia, ‘if his poor Fleta does not?’ ‘Good Heavens! Miss de Clare, are you the little Fleta whom he found with the gipsies, and talked to me so much about?’ ‘Did you not know it?’ said Lady de Clare. I then explained to her all that had latterly passed between us, and they in return communicated your events and dangers in Ireland. Thus was an intimacy formed, and ever since I have been constantly welcome at their house. I did not, however, abandon my inquiries for many months, when I thought it was useless, and I had to console poor Cecilia, who constantly mourned for you. And now, Japhet, I must make my story short: I could not help admiring a young person who showed so much attachment and gratitude joined to such personal attractions; but she was an heiress, and I was a younger brother. Still Lady de Clare insisted upon my coming to the house; and I was undecided how to act, when the unfortunate death of my elder brother put me in a situation to aspire to her hand. After that my visits were more frequent; and I was tacitly received as a suitor by Lady de Clare, and had no reason to complain of the treatment I received from Cecilia. Such was the position of affairs until the day on which you broke in upon us so unexpectedly; and at the very moment that you came in, I had, with the sanction of her mother, made an offer to Cecilia, and was anxiously awaiting an answer from her own dear lips. Can you, therefore, be surprised, Japhet, at there being a degree of constraint on all sides at the interruption occasioned by the presence of one who had long been considered lost to us? Or that a young person just deciding upon the most important step of her life should feel confused and agitated at the entrance of a third party, however dear he might be to her as a brother and benefactor?”
“I am perfectly satisfied, Harcourt,” replied I; “and I will go there, and make my peace as soon as I can.”
“Indeed, Japhet, if you knew the distress of Cecilia, you would pity and love her more than ever. Her mother is also much annoyed. As soon as you were gone, they desired me to hasten after you and bring you back. Cecilia had not yet given her answer: I requested it before my departure; but, I presume to stimulate me, she declared that she would give me no answer until I re-appeared with you. This is now three weeks ago, and I have not dared to go there; I have been trying all I can to see you again since you repulsed me at the Piazza, but without success, until I went to Mr Masterton, and begged him to procure me an interview. I thank God it has succeeded.”
“Well, Harcourt, you shall see Cecilia to-morrow morning, if you please.”
“Japhet, what obligations I am under to you! Had it not been for you I never should have known Cecilia; and more, were it not for your kindness, I might perhaps lose her for ever.”
“Not so, Harcourt; it was your own good feeling prompting you to find me out, which introduced you to Cecilia, and I wish you joy with all my heart. This is a strange world—who would have imagined that, in little Fleta, I was picking up a wife for a man whose life I nearly took away? I will ask my ‘Governor’ for his carriage to-morrow, and will call and take you up at your lodgings at two o’clock, if that hour will suit you. I will tell you all that has passed since I absconded, when we are at Lady de Clare’s: one story will do for all.”
Harcourt then took his leave, and I returned to my father, with whom I found Lord Windermear.
“De Benyon, I am happy to see you again,” said his lordship. “I have just been giving a very good character of you to the general; I hope you will continue to deserve it.”
“I hope so too, my lord; I should be ungrateful, indeed, if I did not, after my father’s kindness to me.”
Mr Masterton was then introduced: Lord Windermear shook hands with him, and after a short conversation took his leave.
“Japhet,” said Mr Masterton aside, “I have a little business with your father; get out of the room any way you think best.”
“There are but two ways, my dear sir,” replied I, “the door or the windows: with your permission, I will select the former, as most agreeable;” so saying, I went to my own room. What passed between the general and Mr Masterton I did not know until afterwards, but they were closeted upwards of an hour, when I was sent for by Mr Masterton.
“Japhet, you said you would go with me to hear the new preacher; we have no time to lose: so, general, I shall take my leave and run away with your son.”
I followed Mr Masterton into his carriage, and we drove to the lodging of Mr Cophagus. Susannah was all ready, and Mr Masterton went up stairs and brought her down. A blush and a sweet smile illumined her features when she perceived me stowed away in the corner of the chariot. We drove off, and somehow or another our hands again met, and did not separate until we arrived at the church door. Susannah had the same dress on as when she had accompanied me in my father’s carriage. I went through the responses with her, reading out of the same book, and I never felt more inclined to be devout, for I was happy, and grateful to Heaven for my happiness. When the service was over, we were about to enter the carriage, when who should accost us but Harcourt.
“You are surprised to see me here,” said he to Mr Masterton; “but I thought there must be something very attractive, that you should make an appointment with Japhet to go to this church, and as I am very fond of a good sermon, I determined to come and hear it.”
Harcourt’s ironical look told me all he would say.
“Well,” replied Mr Masterton, “I hope you have been edified—now get out of the way, and let us go into the carriage.”
“To-morrow at two, De Benyon,” said Harcourt, taking another peep at Susannah.
“Yes, punctually,” replied I, as the carriage drove off.
“And now, my dear child,” said Mr Masterton to Susannah, as the carriage rolled along, “tell me, have you been disappointed, or do you agree with me? You have attended a meeting of your own persuasion this morning—you have now, for the first time, listened to the ritual of the Established Church. To which do you give the preference?”
“I will not deny, sir, that I think, in departing from the forms of worship, those of my persuasion did not do wisely. I would not venture thus much to say, but you support me in my judgment.”
“You have answered like a good, sensible girl, and have proved that you can think for yourself; but observe, my child, I have persuaded you for once, and once only, to enter our place of worship, that you might compare and judge for yourself: it now remains for you to decide as you please.”
“I would that some better qualified would decide for me,” replied Susannah, gravely.
“Your husband, Susannah,” whispered I, “must take that responsibility upon himself. Is he not the proper person?”
Susannah slightly pressed my hand, which held hers, and said nothing. As soon as we had conveyed her home, Mr Masterton offered to do me the same kindness which I accepted.
“Now, Japhet, I dare say that you would like to know what it was I had so particular to say to the old general this morning.”
“Of course I would, sir, if it concerned me.”
“It did concern you, for we had not been two minutes in conversation, before you were brought on the tapis. He spoke of you with tears in his eyes—of what a comfort you had been to him, and how happy you had made him; and that he could not bear you to be away from him for half an hour. On that hint I spake, and observed, that he must not expect you to continue in retirement long, neither must he blame you, that when he had set up his establishment, you would be as great a favourite as you were before, and be unable, without giving offence, to refuse the numerous invitations which you would receive. In short, that it was nothing but right you should resume your position in society, and it was his duty to submit to it. The ‘Governor’ did not appear to like my observations, and said he expected otherwise from you. I replied, ‘that it was impossible to change our natures; and the other sex would naturally have attractions which you would not be able to resist, and that they would occupy a large portion of your time. The only way to insure his company, my dear sir, is marry him to a steady, amiable young woman, who, not having been thrown into the vortex of fashion, will find pleasure in domestic life. Then her husband will become equally domestic, and you will be all very happy together.’ Your father agreed with me, and appeared very anxious that it should take place. I then very carefully introduced Miss Temple, saying, that I knew you had a slight partiality in that quarter, highly commending her beauty, prudence, etcetera. I stated, that feeling an interest about you, I had gone down into the country where she resided, and had made her acquaintance, and had been much pleased with her; that since she had come up to town with her relations, I had seen a great deal, and had formed so high an opinion of, and so strong an attachment, to her, and had felt so convinced that she was the very person who would make you happy and domestic, that having no family myself, I had some idea of adopting her. At all events, that if she married you, I was determined to give her something very handsome on the day of the wedding.”
“But, my dear sir, why should you not have said that Susannah Temple was left an orphan at seven years old, and her fortune has accumulated ever since? It is by no means despicable, I understand, from Mr Cophagus; and, moreover, Mr Cophagus intends to leave her all his property.”
“I am very glad to hear it, Japhet, and will not fail to communicate all this to your father; but there is no reason why I may not do as I please with my own money—and I love that girl dearly. By-the-by, have you ever said anything to her?”
“O yes, sir, we are pledged to each other.”
“That’s all right: I thought so, when I saw your fingers hooked together in the carriage. But now, Japhet, I should recommend a little indifference—not exactly opposition, when your father proposes the subject to you. It will make him more anxious, and when you consent, more obliged to you. I have promised to call upon him to-morrow, on that and other business, and you had better be out of the way.”
“I shall be out of the way, sir: I mean to go with Harcourt to Lady de Clare’s. I shall ask for the carriage.”
“He will certainly lend it to you, as he wishes to get rid of you; but here we are. God bless you, my boy.”
Part 3—Chapter XXIV
The Bengal Tiger taken in the Toils, which promise a speedy End to mine—I kindly permit my Father to insist upon the Marriage that I have set my Heart upon.
I found my father, who had now completely recovered from his accident, walking up and down the room in a brown study. He did not speak to me until after dinner, when he commenced with asking some questions relative to Cecilia de Clare. I replied, “that I intended, if he did not want the carriage, to call there to-morrow with Mr Harcourt.”
“Is she very handsome?” inquired he.
“Very much so, sir. I do not think I ever saw a handsomer young person. Yes, I do recollect one.”
“Who was that?”
“A young lady with whom I was slightly acquainted, when living in the country.”
“I have been thinking, my dear boy, that with the competence which you will have, it is right that you should marry early: in so doing you will oblige your father, who is anxious to see his grandchildren before he dies. My health is not very good.”
I could not help smiling at this pathetic touch of the old ‘Governor’s,’ who, if one could judge from appearances, was as strong as a lion, and likely to last almost as long as his dutiful son. Moreover, his appetite was enormous, and he invariably finished his bottle every day. I did not, therefore, feel any serious alarm as to his health; but I nevertheless replied, “Matrimony is a subject upon which I have never thought,”—(ahem! a De Benyon never tells an untruth!)—“I am very young yet, and am too happy to remain with you.”
“But, my dear boy, I propose that you shall remain with me—we will all live together. I do not intend that we shall part. I really wish, Japhet, you would think seriously of it.”
“My dear father, allow me to observe, that at present I am not in a situation to support a wife, and I should be sorry to be a tax upon you, at your age: you require many comforts and luxuries, and I presume that you live up to your income.”
“Then, my dear fellow, you are under a great mistake. I can lay down one hundred thousand pounds on the day of your marriage, with any lady whom I approve of, and still not spend half my remaining income.”
“That, sir,” replied I, “certainly removes one difficulty, at the same time that it proves what a generous and indulgent father I am blessed with; but, sir, with such a fortune, I have a right to expect that the lady will also bring a handsome addition. Miss de Clare is engaged, I believe, to Mr Harcourt, or I might have made strong interest in that quarter.”
“Something, my dear boy; but a moderate fortune now-a-days is all that we expect with wives, and the best wives are those who are not born to too much wealth; still she should bring something; but tell me, Japhet, who is that young lady whom you thought handsomer than Miss de Clare?”
“A Miss Temple, sir.”
“Temple—it is a very good name. I think girls brought up in the country make the best wives.”
“They do, sir, most certainly: they are more domestic, and make their husbands more content and happy at home.”
“Well, my dear boy, I have mentioned the subject, and wish you would think of it. You will please me much.”
“My dear father, I shall be most happy to obey in everything else, but in so serious a point as uniting myself for life, I think you must allow that a little discretionary power should be given to a son. All I can say is this, show me a young person who is eligible, and if I find that I can love her, I will not refuse to obey your wishes.”
“Well, sir, do as you please,” replied my father very angrily; “but I think, sir, when I desire you to fall in love it is your duty to obey.”
“Suppose I was to fall in love with a person you did not like, would you allow me to marry her?”
“Most certainly not, sir.”
“Then, sir, is it reasonable to expect me to marry without being in love?”
“I did not marry for love, sir.”
“No,” replied I, forgetting myself a little; “and a pretty mess you made of it.”
“I did,” rejoined my father in a rage, “by begetting an undutiful, good-for-nothing, graceless, insolent, ungrateful son.”
“My dear father, I was not aware that I had a brother.”
“I mean you, sir.”
“To prove to you how unjust you are, sir, and how little I deserve what you have called me, I now promise you to marry as soon as you wish.”
“Thank you, my boy, that’s kind of you; but I will say that you are a comfort and a treasure to me, and I bless the day that brought you to my arms. Well, then, look about you.”
“No, sir, I leave it all to you; select the party, and I am willing to obey you.”
“My dear boy! Well, then, I’ll talk the matter over with Mr Masterton to-morrow,” and the general shook me warmly by the hand.
The next day I picked up Harcourt, and proceeded to Park Street. A note from him had informed them of our intended visit, and other visitors had been denied. “All has been explained, Cecilia,” said I, after the first greeting: “I was very wrong, and very foolish.”
“And made me very miserable. I little thought that you, Japhet, would have made me cry so much; but I forgive you for it, as I would a thousand times as much more. Now sit down and tell us all that has happened since you left us.”
“Not yet, my dear Cecilia. You, as well as I, owe a reparation to poor Harcourt, whom, I think, you have treated cruelly. You were about to answer a question of vital moment when I broke in upon you, and you have since kept him in a state of cruel suspense for more than three weeks, refusing him an answer until he brought me into your presence. An hour of such suspense must be dreadful, and before we sit down, I wish everyone should feel comfortable and happy.”
“It was not altogether to stimulate Mr Harcourt to bring you back, which induced me to refuse to answer his question, Japhet. I considered that your return had rendered it necessary that it should be deferred until I saw you. I have not forgotten, Japhet, and never forget, what I was when you rescued me; and when I think what I might have been had you not saved me, I shudder at the bare idea. I have not forgotten how you risked, and nearly lost your life in Ireland for my sake—neither has my mother. We are beholden to you for all our present happiness, and I am eternally indebted to you for rescuing me from ignorance, poverty, and perhaps vice. You have been more, much more, than a father to me—more, much more, than a brother. I am, as it were, a creature of your own fashioning, and I owe to you that which I never can repay. When, then, you returned so unexpectedly, Japhet, I felt that you had a paramount right in my disposal, and I was glad that I had not replied to Mr Harcourt, as I wished first for your sanction and approval. I know all that has passed between you, but I know not your real feelings towards Mr Harcourt: he acknowledges that he treated you very ill, and it was his sincere repentance of having so done, and his praise of you, which first won my favour. And now, Japhet, if you have still animosity against Mr Harcourt—if you—”
“Stop, my dear Fleta, I will answer all your questions at once.” I took Harcourt’s hand, and placed it in hers. “May God bless you both, and may you be happy!”
Cecilia threw her arms round me and wept; so did everybody else, I believe. It was lucky for Harcourt that I was in love with Susannah Temple. As soon as Cecilia had recovered a little, I kissed her, and passed her over to her right owner, who led her to the sofa. Lady de Clare and I went out of the room on important business, and did not return for a quarter of an hour. When we returned, Cecilia went to her mother and embraced her, while Harcourt silently squeezed my hand. We then all sat down, and I gave them an account of all that had passed during my second excursion—how I had nearly been hanged—how I had gone mad—how I had turned Quaker and apothecary—which they all agreed, with what had happened to me before, made up a very eventful history.
“And, Japhet, if it be a fair question about one so fair, was that Miss Temple who was at church with you yesterday?”
“It was.”
“Then, Cecilia, if ever she appears in the same circle, except in my eyes, your beauty will stand in some danger of being eclipsed.”
“How can you say except in your eyes, Mr Harcourt,” replied Cecilia, “the very observation proves that it is eclipsed in your eyes, whatever it may be in those of others. Now, as a punishment, I have a great mind to order you away again, until you bring her face to face, that I may judge myself.”
“If I am again banished,” replied Harcourt, “I shall have a second time to appeal to De Benyon to be able to come back again. He can produce her, I have no doubt.”
“And perhaps may, some of these days, Cecilia.”
“Oh! do, Japhet. I will love her so.”
“You must wait a little first. I am not quite so far advanced as you and Harcourt. I have not received the consent of all parties, as you have to-day. But I must now leave you. Harcourt, I presume you will dine here. I must dine with my ‘Governor.’”
On my return, I found that the table was laid for three, and that the general had asked Mr Masterton, from which I augured well. Masterton could not speak to me when he arrived, but he gave me a wink and a smile, and I was satisfied.
“Japhet,” said my father, “you have no engagement to-morrow, I hope, because I shall call at Mr Masterton’s on business, and wish you to accompany me.”
I replied, that “I should be most happy,” and the conversation became general.
I accompanied my father the next day to Lincoln’s Inn; and when we went up, we found Mr Masterton at the table with Mr Cophagus, and Susannah sitting apart near the window. “The plot thickens,” thought I. The fact was, as I was afterwards told by Mr Masterton, he had prevailed upon Cophagus to pretend business, and to bring Susannah with him, and appointed them a quarter of an hour before our time. This he had arranged, that the general might see Miss Temple, as if by accident; and also allow me, who, my father supposed, was not aware of Miss Temple being in town, to meet with her, What a deal of humbug there is in this world! Nothing but plot and counterplot! I shook hands with Cophagus, who, I perceived, had, notwithstanding his wife’s veto, put on his blue cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots, and he appeared to be so tight in both, that he could hardly move. As far as I could judge, his legs had not improved since I had last seen them in this his favourite dress.
“Mr De Benyon, I believe that you have met Miss Temple before,” said Mr Masterton, winking at me. “In Berkshire, was it not? Miss Temple, allow me to introduce General De Benyon.”
I went up to Susannah, who coloured and trembled at the sight of my father, as I expressed my hope that she had been well since we last met. She perceived that there was some planned scheme, and was so puzzled that she said nothing. My father then spoke to her, and after a short time took a chair, and seated himself close to her. I never knew her make herself so agreeable. He asked her where she was staying, and when he heard that it was with Mr Cophagus, he said that he should have the pleasure of calling upon Mr Cophagus, and thank him for his kind information relative to me. Shortly afterwards Cophagus took his leave, and Susannah rose to accompany him, when my father, hearing that they had walked, insisted upon putting Miss Temple down in his carriage. So that Mr Cophagus had to walk home one way, and I the other.
