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 by 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.