The next morning Timothy had procured me another valet, and throwing off
his liveries, made his appearance in the evening, sending up to say a
man wished to speak to me. He was dressed in high-low boots, worsted
stockings, greasy leather small clothes, a shag waistcoat, and a blue
frock overall. His face was stained of a dark olive, and when he was
ushered in, Harcourt, who was sitting at table with me, had not the
slightest recognition of him. As Harcourt knew all my secrets, I had
confided this; I had not told him what Timothy's intentions were, as I
wished to ascertain whether his disguise was complete. I had merely
said I had given Timothy leave for a few days.
"Perhaps you may wish me away for a short time," said Harcourt, looking
at Tim.
"Not at all, my dear Harcourt, why should I? There's nobody here but
you and Timothy."
"Timothy! excellent--upon my word, I never should have known him."
"He is going forth on his adventures."
"And if you please, sir, I will lose no time. It is now dark, and I
know where the gipsy hangs out."
"Success attend you then; but be careful Tim. You had better write to
me, instead of calling."
"I had the same idea: and now I wish you a good evening."
When Timothy quitted the room, I explained our intentions to Harcourt.
"Yours is a strange adventurous sort of life, Newland; you are
constantly plotted against, and plotting in your turn--mines and
counter-mines. I have an idea that you will turn out some grand
personage after all; for if not, why should there be all this trouble
about you?"
"The trouble, in the present case, is all about Fleta; who must, by your
argument, turn out some grand personage."
"Well, perhaps she may. I should like to see that little girl,
Newland."
"That cannot be, just now, for reasons you well know; but some other
time it will give me great pleasure."
On the second day after Tim's departure, I received a letter from him by
the twopenny post. He had made the acquaintance of the gipsy, but had
not extracted any information, being as yet afraid to venture any
questions. He further stated that his new companion had no objection to
a glass or two, and that he had no doubt but that if he could contrive
to make him tipsy, in a few days he would have some important
intelligence to communicate. I was in a state of great mental agitation
during this time. I went to Mr Masterton, and narrated to him all that
had passed. He was surprised and amused, and desired me not to fail to
let him have the earliest intelligence of what came to light. He had
not received any answer as yet from his agent in Dublin.
It was not until eight days afterwards that I received further
communication from Timothy; and I was in a state of great impatience,
combined with anxiety, lest any accident should have happened. His
communication was important. He was on the most intimate footing with
the man, who had proposed that he should assist him to carry off a
little girl, who was at a school at Brentford. They had been consulting
how this should be done, and Timothy had proposed forging a letter,
desiring her to come up to town, and his carrying it as a livery
servant. The man had also other plans, one of which was to obtain an
entrance into the house by making acquaintance with the servants;
another, by calling to his aid some of the women of his fraternity to
tell fortunes: nothing was as yet decided, but that he was resolved to
obtain possession of the little girl, even if he were obliged to resort
to force. In either case Timothy was engaged to assist.
When I read this, I more than congratulated myself upon the man's being
on the wrong scent, and that Timothy had hit upon his scheme. Timothy
continued;--that they had indulged in very deep potations last night,
and that the man had not scrupled to say that he was employed by a
person of large fortune, who paid well, and whom it might not be
advisable to refuse, as he had great power. After some difficulty, he
asked Timothy if he had ever heard the name of Melchior in his tribe.
Timothy replied that he had, and that at the gathering he had seen him
and his wife. Timothy at one time thought that the man was about to
reveal everything, but of a sudden he stopped short, and gave evasive
answers. To a question put by Timothy, as to where they were to take
the child if they obtained possession of her, the man had replied, that
she would go over the water. Such were the contents of the letter, and
I eagerly awaited a further communication.
The next day I called at Long's Hotel upon a gentleman with whom I was
upon intimate terms. After remaining a short time with him, I was
leaving the hotel, when I was attracted by some trunks in the entrance
hall. I started when I read the address of--"A. De Benyon, Esquire, to
be left at F--t Hotel, Dublin." I asked the waiter who was by, whether
Mr De Benyon had left the hotel. He replied that he had left it in his
own carriage that morning, and having more luggage than he could take
with him, had desired these trunks to be forwarded by the coach. I had
by that time resumed my serenity. I took out a memorandum book, wrote
down the address on the trunks, saying that I was sorry not to have seen
Mr De Benyon, and that I would write to him.
But if I composed myself before the waiter, how did my heart throb as I
hastily passed through Bond Street to my home! I had made up my mind,
upon what very slight grounds the reader must be aware, that this Mr De
Benyon either must be my father, or, if not, was able, to tell me who
was. Had not Mr Masterton said that there was a clue--had he not
written to Dublin? The case was to my excited imagination as clear as
the noon-day, and before I arrived at home, I had made up my mind in
what manner I should proceed. It was then about four o'clock. I
hastily packed up my portmanteau--took with me all my ready money, about
sixty pounds, and sent the servant to secure a place in the mail to
Holyhead. He returned, stating that there was a seat taken for me. I
waited till half-past five to see Harcourt, but he did not come home. I
then wrote him a short note, telling him where I was going, and
promising to write as soon as I arrived.
"Ireland is to be the ground of my future adventures, my dear
Harcourt. Call upon Mr Masterton, and tell him what I have done,
which he surely will approve. Open Timothy's letters, and let me have
their contents. I leave you to arrange and act for me in every
respect until I return. In the mean time believe me,--
"Ever yours,--
"J. Newland."
I gave the letter to the valet, and calling a coach drove to the office,
and in less than five minutes afterwards was rolling away to Holyhead,
felicitating myself upon my promptitude and decision, little imagining
to what the step I had taken was to lead.
It was a very dark night in November when I started on my expedition.
There were three other passengers in the mail, none of whom had yet
spoken a word, although we had made several miles of our journey.
Muffled up in my cloak, I indulged in my own reveries as usual, building
up castles which toppled over one after another as I built and rebuilt
again. At last one of the passengers blew his nose, as if to give
warning that he was about to speak; and then inquired of the gentleman
next him if he had seen the evening newspapers. The other replied in
the negative. "It would appear that Ireland is not in a very quiet
state, sir," observed the first.
"Did you ever read the history of Ireland?" inquired the other.
"Not very particularly."
"Then, sir, if you were to take that trouble, you will find that
Ireland, since it was first peopled, never has been in a quiet state,
nor perhaps ever will. It is a species of human volcano--always either
smoking, burning, or breaking out into eruptions and fire."
"_Very_ true, sir," replied the other. "I am told the White Boys are
mustering in large numbers, and that some of the districts are quite
impassable."
"Sir, if you had travelled much in Ireland, you would have found out
that many of the districts are quite impassable, without the impediment
of the White Boys."
"You have been a great deal in Ireland then, sir," replied the other.
"Yes, sir," said the other with a consequential air, "I believe I may
venture to say that I am in charge of some of the most considerable
properties in Ireland."
"Lawyer--agent--five per cent--and so on," muttered the third party, who
sate by me, and had not yet spoken.
There was no mistaking him--it was my former master, Mr Cophagus; and I
cannot say that I was very well pleased at this intimation of his
presence, as I took it for granted that he would recognise me as soon as
it was daylight. The conversation continued, without any remarks being
made upon this interruption on the part of Mr Cophagus. The agent, it
appeared, had been called to London on business, and was returning. The
other was a professor of music, bound to Dublin on speculation. What
called Mr Cophagus in that direction I could not comprehend; but I
thought I would try and find out. I therefore, while the two others
were engaged in conversation, addressed him in a low tone of voice.
"Can you tell me, sir, if the College at Dublin is considered good for
the instruction of surgical pupils?"
"Country good, at all events plenty of practice--broken heads--and so
on."
"Have you ever been in Ireland, sir?"
"Ireland!--never--don't wish to go--must go--old women will die--
executor--botheration--and so on."
"I hope she has left you a good legacy, sir," replied I.
"Legacy--humph--can't tell--silver tea-pot--suit of black, and so on.
Long journey--won't pay--can't be helped--old women always troublesome
alive or dead--bury her, come back--and so on."