The day had not yet dawned, when John Moseley was summoned to take his
seat in the mail for London. Three of the places were already occupied,
and John was compelled to get a seat for his man on the outside. An
intercourse with strangers is particularly irksome to an Englishman, and
none appeared disposed, for a long time, to break the silence. The coach
had left the little village of L---- far behind it, before any of the
rational beings it contained thought it prudent or becoming to bend in the
least to the charities of our nature, in a communication with a fellow
creature of whose name or condition he happened to be ignorant. This
reserve is unquestionably characteristic of the nation; to what is it
owing!--modesty? Did not national and deep personal vanity appear at once
to refute the assertion, we might enter into an investigation of it. The
good opinion of himself in an Englishman is more deeply seated, though
less buoyant, than that of his neighbors; in them it is more of manner, in
us more of feeling; and the wound inflicted on the self-love of the two is
very different. The Frenchman wonders at its rudeness, but soon forgets
the charge; while an Englishmam broods over it in silence and
mortification. It is said this distinction in character is owing to the
different estimation of principles and morals in the two nations. The
solidity and purity of our ethics and religious creeds may have given a
superior tone to our moral feeling; but has that man a tenable ground to
value himself on either, whose respect to sacred things grows out of a
respect to himself: on the other hand, is not humility the very
foundation of the real Christian? For our part, we should be glad to see
this national reserve lessened, if not done entirely away; we believe it
is founded in pride and uncharitableness, and could wish to see men thrown
accidentally together on the roads of the country, mindful that they are
also travelling in company the highway of life, and that the goal of their
destination is equally attainable by all.
John Moseley was occupied with thoughts very different from those of any
of his fellow-travellers, as they proceeded rapidly on their route; and it
was only when roused from his meditations by accidentally coming in
contact with the hilt of a sword, that he looked up, and in the
glimmerings of the morning's light, recognised the person of Lord Henry
Stapleton: their eyes met, and--"My lord,"--"Mr. Moseley,"--were repeated
in mutual surprise. John was eminently a social being, and he was happy to
find recourse against his gloomy thoughts in the conversation of the
dashing young sailor. The frigate of the other had entered the bay the
night before, and he was going to town to the wedding of his sister; the
coach of his brother the marquis was to meet him about twenty miles from
town, and the ship was ordered round to Yarmouth, where he was to rejoin
her.
"But how are your lovely sisters, Moseley?" cried the young sailor in a
frank and careless manner. "I should have been half in love with one of
them if I had time--and money; both are necessary to marriage nowadays,
you know."
"As to time," said John with a laugh, "I believe that may be dispensed
with, though money is certainly a different thing."
"Oh, time too," replied his lordship. "I have never time enough to do
anything as it ought to be done--always hurried--I wish you could
recommend to me a lady who would take the trouble off my hands."
"It might be done," said John with a smile, and the image of Kate
Chatterton crossed his brain, but it was soon succeeded by that of her
more lovely sister. "But how do you manage on board your ship--hurried
there too?"
"Oh! never there," replied the captain gravely; "that's duty you know, and
everything must be regular of course on shore it is a different
thing--there I am only a passenger. L---- has a charming society, Mr.
Moseley--a week or ten days ago I was shooting, and came to a beautiful
cottage about five miles from the village, that was the abode of a much
more beautiful woman, a Spaniard, a Mrs. Fitzgerald--I am positively in
love with her: so soft, so polished, so modest----"
"How came you acquainted with her?" inquired Moseley, interrupting him in
a little surprise.
"Chance, my dear fellow, chance. I was thirsty, and approached for a drink
of water; she was sitting in the veranda, and being hurried for time, you
know, it saved the trouble of introduction. I fancy she is troubled with
the same complaint; for she managed to get rid of me in no time, and with
a great deal of politeness. I found out her name, however, at the next
house."
During this rattling talk, John had fixed his eyes on the face of one of
the passengers who sat opposite to him. The stranger appeared to be about
fifty years of age, strongly pock-marked, with a stiff military air, and
had the dress and exterior of a gentlemen. His face was much sun-burnt,
though naturally very fair; and his dark keen eye was intently fixed on
the sailor as he continued his remarks.
"Do you know such a lady, Moseley?"
"Yes," said John, "though very slightly; she is visited one of my
sisters, and--"
"Yourself," cried Lord Henry, with a laugh.
"Myself, once or twice, my lord, certainly," answered John, gravely; "but
a lady visited by Emily Moseley and Mrs. Wilson is a proper companion for
any one. Mrs. Fitzgerald is very retired in her manner of living, and
chance made us acquainted; but not being, like your lordship, in want of
time, we have endeavored to cultivate her society, as we have found it
very agreeable."
The countenance of the stranger underwent several changes during this
speech of John's, and at its close his eyes rested on him with a softer
expression than generally marked its rigid and compressed muscles. Willing
to change a discourse that was growing too particular for a mail-coach,
John addressed himself to the opposite passengers, while his eye yet dwelt
on the face of the military stranger.
"We are likely to have a fine day, gentlemen." The soldier bowed stiffly,
as he smiled his assent, and the other passenger humbly answered, "Very,
Mr. John," in the well known tones of honest Peter Johnson. Moseley
started, as he turned his face for the first time on the lank figure which
was modestly compressed into the smallest possible compass in the corner
of the coach, in a way not to come in contact with any of its neighbors.
"Johnson," exclaimed John, in astonishment, "you here! Where are you
going--to London?"
"To London, Mr. John," replied Peter, with a look of much importance; and
then, by way of silencing further interrogatories, he added, "On my
master's business, sir."
Both Moseley and Lord Henry examined him closely; the former wondering
what could take the steward, at the age of seventy, for the first time in
his life, into the vortex of the capital; and the latter in admiration at
this figure and equipments of the old man. Peter was in full costume, with
the exception of the goggles, and was in reality a subject to be gazed at;
but nothing relaxed the muscles or attracted the particular notice of the
soldier, who, having regained his set form of countenance, appeared drawn
up in himself, waiting patiently for the moment he was expected to act.
Nor did he utter more than as many words in the course of the first fifty
miles of their journey. His dialect was singular, and such as put his
hearers at a loss to determine his country. Lord Henry stared at him every
time he spoke, as if to say, what countryman are you? until at length he
suggested to John he was some officer whom the downfall of Bonaparte had
driven into retirement.
"Indeed, Moseley," he added, as they were about to resume their carriage
after a change of horses, "we must draw him out, and see what he thinks of
his master now--delicately, you know." The soldier was, however,
impervious to his lordship's attacks, until the project was finally
abandoned in despair. As Peter was much too modest to talk in the presence
of Mr. John Moseley and a lord, the young men had most of the discourse to
themselves. At a village fifteen miles from London, a fashionable carriage
and four, with the coronet of a marquis was in waiting for Lord Henry.
John refused his invitation to take a seat with him to town; for he had
traced Denbigh from stage to stage, and was fearful of losing sight of
him, unless he persevered in the manner he had commenced. Peter and he
accordingly were put down safely at an inn in the Strand, and Moseley
hastened to make his inquiries after the object of his pursuit. Such a
chaise had arrived an hour before, and the gentleman had ordered his trunk
to a neighboring hotel. After obtaining the address, and ordering a
hackney coach, he hastened to the house; but on inquiring for Mr.
Denbigh, to his great mortification was told they knew of no such
gentleman. John turned away from the person he was speaking to in visible
disappointment, when a servant respectfully inquired if the gentleman had
not come from L----, in Norfolk, that day. "He had," was the reply. "Then
follow me, sir, if you please." They knocked at a door of one of the
parlors, and the servant entered: he returned, and John was shown into a
room, where Denbigh was sitting with his head resting on his hand, and
apparently musing. On seeing who required admittance, he sprang from his
seat and exclaimed--
"Mr. Moseley! Do I see aright?"
"Denbigh," cried John, stretching out his hand to him, "was this kind--was
it like yourself--to leave us so unexpectedly, and for so long a time,
too, as your note mentioned?"
Denbigh waved his hand to the servant to retire, and handed a chair to his
friend.
"Mr. Moseley," said he, struggling with his feelings, "you appear ignorant
of my proposals to your sister."
"Perfectly," answered the amazed John.
"And her rejection of them."
"Is it possible!" cried the brother, pacing up and down the room. "I
acknowledge I did expect you to offer, but not to be refused."
Denbigh placed in the other hand the letter of Emily, which, having read,
John returned, with a sigh. "This, then, is the reason you left us," he
continued. "Emily is not capricious--it cannot be a sudden pique--she
means as she says."
"Yes, Mr. Moseley," said Denbigh, mournfully; "your sister is
faultless--but I am not worthy of her--my deception"--here the door again
opened to the admission of Peter Johnson. Both the gentlemen rose at this
sudden interruption, and the steward advancing to the table, once more
produced the formidable pocket-book, the spectacles, and a letter. He ran
over its direction--"For George Denbigh, Esquire, London, by the hands of
Peter Johnson, with care and speed." After the observance of these
preliminaries, he delivered the missive to its lawful owner, who opened
it, and rapidly perused its contents. Denbigh was much affected with
whatever the latter might be, and kindly took the steward by the hand, as
he thanked him for this renewed instance of the interest he took in him.
If he would tell him where a letter would find him in the morning, he
would send a reply to the one he had received. Peter gave his address, but
appeared unwilling to go, until assured again and again that the answer
would be infallibly sent. Taking a small account-book out of his pocket,
and referring to its contents, the steward said, "Master has with Coutts &
Co. £7,000; in the bank, £5,000. It can be easily done, sir, and never
felt by us." Denbigh smiled in reply, as he assured the steward he would
take proper notice of his master's offers in his own answer. The door
again opened, and the military stranger was admitted to their presence. He
bowed, appeared not a little surprised to find two of his mail-coach
companions there, and handed Denbigh a letter, in quite as formal,
although in a more silent manner than the steward. The soldier was invited
to be seated, and the letter was perused with an evident curiosity on the
part of Denbigh. As soon as the latter ended it, he addressed the stranger
in a language which John rightly judged to be Spanish, and Peter took to
be Greek. For a few minutes the conversation was maintained between them
with great earnestness, his fellow travellers marvelling much at the
garrulity of the soldier however, the stranger soon rose to retire, when
the door thrown open for the fourth time, and a voice cried out,
"Here I am, George, safe and sound--ready to kiss the bridesmaids, if
they will let me--and I can find time--- bless me, Moseley!--old
marling-spike!--general!--whew, where is the coachman and guard?"--it was
Lord Henry Stapleton. The Spaniard bowed again in silence and withdrew,
while Denbigh threw open the door of an adjoining room and excused
himself, as he desired Lord Henry to walk in there for a few minutes.
"Upon my word," cried the heedless sailor, as he complied, "we might as
well have stuck together, Moseley; we were bound to one port, it seems."
"You know Lord Henry?" said John, as he withdrew.
"Yes," said Denbigh, and he again required his address of Peter, which
having been given, the steward departed. The conversation between the two
friends did not return to the course it was taking when they were
interrupted, as Moseley felt a delicacy in making any allusion to the
probable cause of his sister's refusal. He had, however, begun to hope it
was not irremovable, and with the determination of renewing his visit in
the morning, he took his leave, to allow Denbigh to attend to his other
guest, Lord Henry Stapleton.
About twelve on the following morning, John and the steward met at the
door of the hotel where Denbigh lodged, in quest of the same person. The
latter held in his hand the answer to his master's letter, but wished
particularly to see its writer. On inquiring, to their mutual surprise
they were told, that the gentleman had left there early in the morning,
having discharged his lodgings, and that they were unable to say whither
he had gone. To hunt for a man without a clew, in the city of London, is
usually time misspent Of this Moseley was perfectly sensible, and
disregarding a proposition of Peter's, he returned to his own lodgings.
The proposal of the steward, if it did not do much credit to his
sagacity, was much in favor of his perseverance and enterprise. It was no
other than that John should take one side of the street, and he the other,
in order to inquire at every house in the place, until the fugitive was
discovered. "Sir," said Peter, with great simplicity, "when our neighbor
White lost his little girl, this was the way we found her, although we
went nearly through L---- before we succeeded, Mr. John." Peter was
obliged to abandon this expedient for want of an associate, and as no
message was left at the lodgings of Moseley, he started with a heavy heart
on his return to Benfield Lodge. But Moseley's zeal was too warm in the
cause of his friend, notwithstanding his unmerited desertion, to
discontinue the search for him. He sought out the town residence of the
Marquess of Eltringham, the brother of Lord Henry, and was told that both
the Marquess and his brother had left town early that morning for his seat
in Devonshire, to attend the wedding of their sister.
"Did they go alone?" asked John musing.
"There were two chaises, the Marquess's and his Grace's"
"Who was his Grace?" inquired John.
"Why the Duke of Derwent, to be sure."
"And the Duke?--was he alone?"
"There was a gentleman with his Grace, but they did not know his name."
As nothing further could be learnt, John withdrew. A good deal of
irritation mixed with the vexation of Moseley at his disappointment; for
Denbigh, he thought, too evidently wished to avoid him. That he was the
companion of his kinsman, the Duke of Derwent, he had now no doubt, and he
entirely relinquished all expectations of finding him in London or its
environs. While retracing his steps in no enviable state of mind to his
lodgings, with a resolution of returning immediately to L----, his arm was
suddenly taken by his friend Chatterton. If any man could have consoled
John at that moment, it was the Baron. Questions and answers were rapidly
exchanged between them; and with increased satisfaction, John learnt that
in the next square, he could have the pleasure of paying his respects to
his kinswoman, the Dowager Lady Chatterton, and her two daughters.
Chatterton inquired warmly after Emily, and in a particularly kind manner
concerning Mr. Denbigh, hearing with undisguised astonishment the absence
of the latter from the Moseley family.
Lady Chatterton had disciplined her feelings upon the subject of Grace and
John into such a state of subordination, that the fastidious jealousy of
the young man now found no ground of alarm in anything she said or did. It
cannot be denied the Dowager was delighted to see him again; and if it
were fair to draw any conclusions from coloring, palpitations, and other
such little accompaniments of female feeling, Grace was not excessively
sorry. It is true, it was the best possible opportunity to ascertain all
about her friend Emily and the rest of the family; and Grace was extremely
happy to have intelligence of their general welfare so direct as was
afforded by this visit of Mr. Moseley. Grace looked all she expressed, and
possibly a little more; and John thought he looked very beautiful.
There was present an elderly gentleman, of apparently indifferent health,
although his manners were extremely lively, and his dress particularly
studied. A few minutes observation convinced Moseley this gentleman was a
candidate for the favor of Kate; and a game of chess being soon
introduced, he also saw he was one thought worthy of peculiar care and
attention. He had been introduced to him as Lord Herriefield, and soon
discovered by his conversation that he was a peer who promised little
towards rendering the house of incurables more convalescent than it was
before his admission. Chatterton mentioned him as a distant connexion of
his mother; a gentleman who had lately returned from filling an official
situation in the East Indies, to take his seat among the lords by the
death of his brother. He was a bachelor, and reputed rich, much of his
wealth being personal property, acquired by himself abroad. The dutiful
son might have added, if respect and feeling had not kept him silent, that
his offers of settling a large jointure upon his elder sister had been
accepted, and that the following week was to make her the bride of the
emaciated debauchee who now sat by her side. He might also have said, that
when the proposition was made to himself and Grace, both had shrunk from
the alliance with disgust: and that both had united in humble though vain
remonstrances to their mother, against the sacrifice, and in petitions to
their sister, that she would not be accessary to her own misery. There was
no pecuniary sacrifice they would not make to her, to avert such a
connexion; but all was fruitless--Kate was resolved to be a viscountess,
and her mother was equally determined that she should be rich.