WHICH TREATS OF TREASONS, STRATAGEMS, AND SPOILS.
Calcutta, _April ye_ 15_th._
Well, Amelia, Mr Fraser is departed, and I have not seen him since he
turned his back on me and strode out of the varanda. I don’t know
whether he desired me to understand his visit as a final and
never-to-be-repeated offer of his affections, so that, once refused,
the chance of gaining ’em would not present itself again, but his acts
seem to give countenance to the notion. So then, my dear, your Sylvia
finds herself deserted, but in such a mood, I am thankful to say, that
she would not lower herself to call the young gentleman back, even
were he descending the steps at this moment. My dear Miss Turnor won’t
be surprised to hear that her friend has been busy summing up Mr
Fraser’s defects, in order the more easily to fortify her mind against
the reflection that she has lost him. Here’s a portion of the list:
Item, the gentleman is proud; item, he is over-prudent; item, he
resents the discovery of his faults; item, he wickedly risqued his own
life and that of another person in a duel over a word; item--but the
total would be too long. In short, your Sylvia is occupied, with
extreme industry, in proving to herself that the grapes are sour.
I had just wrote this, my dear, when I heard my papa’s voice--
“Where are you, miss? What’s come to the girl?”
“Here, dear sir; here to serve you,” I cried, and ran to meet him.
“Why, miss,” says Mr Freyne, “here’s the rival prophets both coming up
to the house at once. I must have you sit by with your sewing, as meek
as if you had never passed a saucy remark on your betters in your
life, and take down their doleful prophecies, so as we may laugh at
’em a year hence.”
My Amelia knows one of these prophets: ’tis good Captain Colquhoun.
The other is a young gentleman of the name of Dash, one of the
Company’s writers here, the son of an old friend of my papa’s, and
commended to his favourable notice by his father. Mr Dash is one of
those persons who feel themselves competent to direct the whole
œconomy of any business in which they are interested, and who, since
it han’t pleased Providence to place them in authority, bear a grudge
against such as occupy the situation they would fain fill.
“So you see, sir,” says Captain Colquhoun to my papa, when the
gentlemen were seated, “I was right in telling you the Soubah was
dead.”
(So he is, Amelia. The news was confirmed on Monday, when I wrote you
last, but my head was so full of other things that I forgot it.)
“If you’d be so obliging as to say who’s to succeed him, it might
profit us not a little at this moment, sir,” says Mr Freyne.
“Since the Presidency is leaning towards the side of Gosseta Begum, I
would lay my money on the Chuta Nabob,” says Mr Dash.
“The Presidency,” said the Captain, “is doing its best to run with the
hare and hunt with the hounds, and that ends in destruction.”
“Sure, Captain,” said my papa, “you wouldn’t have the Council adopt
precipitately either one side or t’other?”
“Sir, they have had time enough to make up their minds, and all they
have decided is that while they hope the winner will be the Begum,
they fear ’twill be Surajah Dowlah. If they had sufficient courage to
support their desires, they might turn the scale in the lady’s favour,
or possessing a little enterprise, they might bind the Nabob securely
to their side; but they’ll do neither.”
“But, Captain,” said Mr Dash, “you would not have the Council embark
on such enterprises as have brought us so much trouble in the
Carnatic?”
“I would have them strong enough to support the right side if they
chose, or to defend themselves if they remained neuter,” said the
Captain. “At present they can’t make up their minds what to do in a
situation in which it’s equally fatal to act too soon and to act too
late.”
“Like myself, sir, you believe the Presidency will delay to support
the young Nabob till too late, and then seek to curry favour with
him?”
“Just so, sir; and the ladies and gentlemen here will be eating and
drinking, and buying and selling, and marrying and giving in marriage,
until the very day that the flood comes, and sweeps us all away.”
“Oh, fie, Captain! you’re alarming Miss. En’t you ashamed to have made
the fairest cheek in Calcutta grow pale?”
“Miss is no more alarmed than you are, sir,” says Mr Freyne. “She has
heard the Captain’s prophecies before.”
This turned the laugh against the Captain, who sat looking vastly
stern and grim, and not a whit shaken in his predictions.
“The flood will sweep us all away,” he repeated, “and ’tis well it
should. The luxury of our people is grown to an excessive pitch.”
“I vow, sir, you’re right,” said Mr Dash. “The establishments kept up
by the President and most of the Council, and their manner of life,
not to speak of the entertainments they give, are scandalous.”
“I was not pointing at any particular person, sir,” says the Captain,
with a frown. “The evil is as marked in the case of the youngest
writer, since too often he adds to his faults emulation of those above
him.”
“But what would you have, Captain?” asked Mr Freyne. “Sure the Company
can do no more than it does, sending out orders that the writers are
to be deprived even of the indulgences most necessary in this climate.
Rather than see the youngsters die for the want of these common
things, we are forced to wink at their evasion of the orders, as when
the writer at Madrass, who was forbid to be attended by a roundel-boy,
changed the shape of his umbrella and called it a squaredel, and was
waited on by his boy in peace. But the worst of this meddling on the
Company’s part is that we can’t consistently enforce the salutary
regulations against drinking, dicing, and debt, and such like, since
we have suffered the infraction of the little foolish rules on which
they insist so strongly.”
“Well,” said Mr Dash, “I would have the writers left alone. Some of
them will die early, but the strongest will live on, and for them I
would have the Company’s regulations strictly enforced, when they have
reached the higher offices, that is. The election to these offices I
would direct by the general vote, which should also have power to
remove an office-holder in case of incapacity on his part.”
“Come,” says my papa, “Bengall will be the paradise of writers,
indeed! though I can’t but pity the Members of Council when they shall
hold their places at Tom Dash’s pleasure.”
“I’ll assure you, sir,” says Mr Dash, “the factory would be much
better managed, and the Gentoos more friendly to us. At present both
they and the Moors are nothing but so many spies on us for our
enemies’ benefit. And talking of spies, what’s your opinion of the
French gentleman from Chandernagore?”
“Young le Beaume? A very sprightly and agreeable person.”
“I am assured,” very mysteriously, “that he’s here as a spy on us. Mr
Menotti tells me that he left Chandernagore secretly, having been
imprisoned for taking a drubbing meekly from another officer, and that
he looks to win his pardon by his reports as to our movements and
intentions.”
“Then Mr Menotti has misinformed you, sir,” said Captain Colquhoun,
contemptuously. “Mr le Beaume left Chandernagore because, having sent
a challenge to a superior officer who he conceived had insulted him,
he was accused of threatening his life, and put under arrest. He broke
prison to come here, and he won’t return unless we deliver him up. I
would far sooner believe Menotti to be a spy than him.”
“Sir! Mr Menotti is a gentleman of the highest respectability.”
“He’s nothing but an interloper, sir, and thirty years back would have
been harried out of Calcutta. I’m much mistaken if all his wealth is
the result of honest trading. He’s hand and glove with Omy Chund and
the other Gentoos, visiting even at their private houses, which no
other gentleman in the factory does, and the President finds him
useful as a means of communicating with ’em. If he sells the secrets
with which he has been injudiciously entrusted, we have a key to all
that betraying of our plans to the Muxadavad Durbar which has gone on
for years before poor le Beaume came here.”
“Come, Captain, don’t talk scandal,” says my papa, seeing my eyes
fixed eagerly on Captain Colquhoun, for indeed I am perpetually on the
watch for any chance of ridding myself of Mr Menotti. “We are as
slanderous as any three old tabbies over their dish of tea, and Miss
here is listening with all her ears.”
“And indeed, sir,” put in Mr Dash, “I can’t see that we have any
reason to regret Mr Menotti’s friendliness with the Gentoos. Omy Chund
and Govinderam Metre have both been hardly treated, and ’tis well they
should be cultivated.”
“They are a pair of rascals, sir!” cried Mr Freyne, with a strong
word, “and should have been turned out of the bounds when the
Company’s service was rid of ’em.”
“Oh, come, sir, sure you must grant that the Zemindar used ’em with
great hardness, worse even than the rest of the Indians he misrules.”
“No abuse of Mr Holwell here, sir, if you please.”
“But, sir, the place rings with tales of his injustice. There’s that
affair of Rangeeboom Coberage, Raja Tillokchund of Burraduan’s[7.01]
_go-master_--his entire possessions were sold for a debt of seven
thousand rupees. That has inflamed the Gentoos, and ’tis not the only
case.”
“When you have lived a little longer in Bengall, sir, you’ll
understand that if King Solomon himself were judge in the Cutcherry
Court, the losing side would infallibly declare he’d been bribed.”
“But ’tis well known, sir, that Mr Holwell increases the Company’s
revenues by permitting persons of infamous character to settle here on
payment of a price.”
“That’s Mr Holwell’s affair, sir, and if it be true, he must settle it
with his conscience and the Company, which is for ever pressing him to
raise more money. But I entirely disbelieve the report. Why, this very
morning there was a dispute in the Council over some vagabond or
other, whom Holwell desired to admit, while Drake and the other two
were resolved to expel him. I suppose you’ll say that the Zemindar had
took money from him?”
“Was you present at the Council, sir?” asked Captain Colquhoun.
“No, indeed, Captain. I had some notion of strolling in, but outside
the door I heard the angry voices, and the peon told me what was going
on, so I stayed away, knowing that poor Holwell and I could do nothing
against Manningham and Frankland and the President. They won the day,
of course, and as I came back to tiffing I saw a _chubdar_ conducting
the fellow, whoever he was, out of the place, with the usual rabble at
his heels, pelting him with garbage and foul names.”
“Sir,” broke in the Captain, seemingly much moved, “that’s the fault I
find in you, that having but one voice in the Council, you don’t
exercise that one, but leave all things to be controlled by the
Committee of Three.”
“You’re warm, Captain,” said my papa, “or you would scarce set to
chide me in the presence of these young persons.”
“I ask your pardon, sir, but excuse you I can’t. Suppose (I say
suppose, for I know no more of the matter than yourself) that this
vagabond should be a hanger-on of Surajah Dowlah, how will you answer
to the Company for your silence?”
“I shall answer with my life, sir, like all here, I suppose,” said Mr
Freyne, smartly.
“And also with the lives of your wife and daughter, and all the women
here, when the Nabob’s vengeance comes? Even your sole voice raised on
Mr Holwell’s side might have brought the Three to reason, but you
refused to give it.”
“Sure, Captain, you think a mighty great deal of Mr Holwell,” says Mr
Dash.
“I think, sir, that he’s the one man of sense and honour in the
Council, beyond a friend of mine that has the sense and honour, but
won’t employ ’em, and one or two that are like him.”
“Well, sir, as I see the gentleman himself approaching, I won’t
disturb your conversation with him,” said Mr Dash, rising and taking
his departure in a very marked manner, though laughing.
“How has Holwell managed to disoblige the lad?” says my papa to
Captain Colquhoun.
“I don’t know, sir, but I would judge he has made some effort to keep
him in his place, for which he’ll pay dearly, I fear, if the young
gentleman’s power ever equal his ill-will. Your servant, sir,” this to
Mr Holwell, who came up looking more serious than ever.
“Good-day to you, gentlemen. Madam, your humble servant. I fear,
Captain, that your prophecies are in a fair way to be fulfilled.”
“Hey-day!” cries Mr Freyne, “another prophet! Come, sir, what’s to do
now?”
“You saw a Gentoo fellow drove out of the town this morning?”
“Questionless, sir; as villainous a countenance as I ever beheld.”
“Have either of you ever heard of Narransing,[7.02] gentlemen?”
“Narransing?” said the Captain, musing; “I seem to myself to know the
name. Not Rajaram’s brother?”
“You’re right, sir. The brother of Ramramsing Hircara, the chief of
the Chuta Nabob’s spies, was expelled from our bounds this morning
with all possible ignominy.”
“If you’re surprised, sir, I’m not,” says the Captain.
“Tell us how it happened, sir,” said Mr Freyne.
“Last night between eight and nine,” says Mr Holwell, “I was surprised
by a visit from Omy Chund, bringing with him another Gentoo, whom he
presented to me as Narransing, saying that he entered the town in a
European dress, and brought a letter from the Nabob. I received the
fellow with the civility due to Rajaram’s brother, but refused to look
at his _perwannah_, which was wrote by Huckembeg, the Nabob’s duan, as
the President would be in town in the morning. The purport of the
piece was to demand the delivery of Kissendasseat, with his women and
treasure, on the ground that Radjbullob, his father, when ordered to
produce his accounts, said that Kissendass had taken ’em away with
him. In the morning I laid the matter before Mr President, with whom
were Messieurs Manningham and Frankland, who regarded the affair as an
insolent attempt to terrify us, since advices from all quarters report
that Gosseta Begum is certain of success. Narransing’s coming in
disguise, and his sneaking into the place under cover of night, seemed
to support the notion, even if they did not show that he wasn’t an
accredited messenger at all, and the Council would not choose to wait
and see how things would turn out. Mr Manningham seemed to be of my
way of thinking at first, but he soon agreed with his partner and Mr
Drake, and they sent to turn Narransing out of the place. The
servants, going beyond their orders, drove him out of the factory, and
even off the shore, with menaces and insolence, which seemed somewhat
to alarm the Council when they heard it, for they writ at once to
Cossimbuzar to bid Mr Watts make things right with the Nabob.”
“Make things right!” says the Captain.
“And more,” said Mr Holwell, “this morning, when I was about to punish
the Jemmautdar[7.03] of the _chokey_,[7.04] where the fellow landed,
for admitting a person in a European habit unknown to me, he said that
the only European he admitted last night was not Narransing at all,
but might be any of the gentlemen here. Narransing wore the dress of a
common _pycar_,[7.05] but when they would have opposed his landing,
Omy Chund’s servants came to say that he was a relation of their
master’s, and must be let in. What do you make of this?”
“Why, that there’s an extraordinary great mystery somewhere, sir,”
says my papa. “We’ll talk of this in the garden, gentlemen, if you
please, for there’s one or two matters on which the Captain and I
would fain have Mr Holwell’s opinion. Mind you’re not late in dressing
for the Masquerade, miss.”
Oh, this Masquerade! Was ever any one in a frame of mind less suited
to such a gathering, Amelia? I had hoped it might be put off by reason
of the old Soubah’s death, but it seems that since Mr Drake has heard
nothing in an official manner he can’t take notice of it; and though I
have begged and prayed my papa to permit me to stay at home, he won’t
hear of it, but insists on my attending him and Mrs Freyne to the
Play-house.
_April ye_ 16_th._
More troubles and mysteries and perplexities, Amelia! Sure my dear
Miss Turnor will begin to think that her Sylvia’s presence is as
disastrous as that of Helen of Troy to the place she honours with her
residence. But to my tale. Yesterday evening I went to my chamber
early to dress for the masquerade, and turned sick at heart to look at
the dress which Marianna had laid out upon the _cott_. (Did I tell you
that a bed here is always called a cott?) It was made after the
pattern of that worn by Miss Byron as an Arcadian princess, for Miss
Hamlin and I had agreed to wear dresses of a more modern and
distinctive sort than the usual nuns and shepherdesses one hears of
every day. She chose, therefore, the dress worn by Lady Bella in the
‘Female Quixote,’ as the Princess Julia, daughter of Augustus Cæsar,
and I that of the charming Harriet, although my pleasure in it was
sadly damped by the rumour that reached me that Mr Menotti was having
a vastly fine suit made for himself as Sir Charles Grandison. Imagine
it, my dear! the desecration of so noble a character by this vile
wretch’s impersonating it. Well, as I stood looking at my gown, I
heard a palanqueen arrive, and presently in came Mrs Hurstwood, Miss
Hamlin that was, in her ordinary clothes, and frightfully disturbed.
The tailor that was making her gown for the evening had run off with
the stuff, tempted, as is supposed, by the richness of the blue and
silver brocade, and there was no time to make another. Indeed, the
poor young lady was in a terrible state, fit to rave. As she sat and
bewailed her loss, a thought came to me.
“Oh, dearest miss--Charlotte, I should say--” I cried, “wear my dress,
I entreat you, and go in my place.”
“And what would Miss Freyne’s papa say to that?” said she.
“Questionless, he would be sadly displeased, for I have begged of him
in vain to permit me to stay at home. But oh, miss, I have such a
terror of masquerades”--“Drawn from Mr Richardson,” she put in--“and
such a diversion is so ill-suited to my present thoughts and
situation, and I am so apprehensive of being spoken to by my
persecutor, and perhaps insulted, that if you would persuade Mr Freyne
to excuse me, I should be for ever grateful to you. And I know that my
papa has a vastly high esteem for Mrs Hurstwood.”
“And pray, miss,” says she, “will you prefer Calcutta to say you
remain at home out of jealousy for my marriage, or grief for Mr
Fraser’s departure, or sympathy with Lieutenant Bentinck?”
“You terrify me!” I cried. “Sure my papa was only kind in commanding
me to appear, if this be the alternative. But,” for a sudden thought
seized me, “I can’t wear this dress. I should feel like a tricked-out
skeleton. Pray, miss, oblige me by putting it on. You may be taken for
me, but I know you’ll hold your own with the boldest wretches in
Calcutta”--“I thank you, miss,” said she.--“As for me, I’ll endeavour
to strengthen and calm my mind by wearing the dress of the
incomparable Clarissa, who was greater in her humiliation than in her
happiest days. My white damask nightgown and satin petticoat, with a
morning cap, and my hair in a _dégagé_ style, will answer all
purposes, and should save me from recognition.”
“I vow you’re mistaken, if you think an undress and the absence of a
hoop will disguise the finest shape in Calcutta,” says my Charlotte;
“but the notion of deceiving the fellows is agreeable enough. Well,
miss, if you’re really in earnest, I’ll oblige you by wearing your
dress.”
“I can never be grateful enough to my dear Mrs Hurstwood,” I said, and
calling in Marianna, we soon had Charlotte dressed in the blue satin
waistcoat and petticoat, laced and fringed with silver, the white silk
scarf and the fantastical cap, so well known to all Mr Richardson’s
readers. While I was hurrying into my own gown, my stepmother looked
in at the door.
“What, miss! exchanging dresses?” she cried.
“A mishap has come to Mrs Hurstwood’s gown, madam,” said I, “and she
is so good as to wear mine, which I have took a dislike to.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mrs Freyne. “And you are the divine Clarissa in
the Sponging-house, I see. O’ my conscience, miss, I wonder at your
preference! But your papa and I can’t wait for you. You’ll follow with
Mrs Hurstwood, I suppose?”
“I expect my spouse every moment, madam,” says Charlotte, “and I’ll
assure you we’ll both have an eye to Miss’s safety.”
Mrs Freyne went away, and I finished dressing in much better spirits.
But what was my vexation when I arrived at the Play-house with the
Hurstwoods to perceive that my naughty, unkind stepmother must have
told Mr Menotti of my sudden change of intention, for he came stumping
towards me as soon as I alighted from my palanqueen, in a greatcoat
with a cape, the collar turned up and buttoned round his chin, a pair
of coarse stockens drawn over his own, and an old tie-wig, the very
image of the abandoned Lovelace when he forced himself in this
disguise upon Clarissa’s retirements at Hampstead. I could have wept,
Amelia. The sole consolation that offered itself to me (and it did
give me a sensible pleasure, I’ll promise you) was the thought of the
inconvenience the wretch must be suffering from the heat, and the
mortification it must have cost him to lay aside his fine Grandison
dress. There was no escaping him, for he was the first to observe our
arrival, and I was forced to give him my hand, and to endure his talk,
which was as free as that of Lovelace, but wanted the wit, until I
hated him worse than ever, if that were possible, and seized the
chance of our becoming entangled in a crowd of masques to rid myself
of his company.
Anxious only to be free from the company of my too importunate
Lovelace, I lent a ready ear to a masque who approached me in the
habit of a French religious person, and whom I knew, by his air of
gallantry, to be Mons. le Beaume. With him was a gentleman most
elegantly dressed in a coat of red cloth of silver, buttoned with
diamonds, and very richly laced, with waistcoat and breeches of satin.
There was large diamond buckles in his shoes, which had monstrous high
red heels, and he wore a great forked periwig, all in the mode of
fifty years back. I observed this person particularly, because a few
minutes ago he had come and tapped Mr Menotti on the shoulder,
desiring him, as I think, to present him to me. His address seemed to
put my persecutor out of countenance in an extraordinary manner, but
he refused very vehemently to grant the request, though the other
continued to urge it even with menaces, as I judged by his gestures.
“Fairest Clarissa,” says Mr le Beaume, bowing with great ceremony,
“here’s his Most Christian Majesty the late King Lewis of France, whom
the report of your virtues has reached in the other world, and brought
him back to earth to show his admiration of ’em.”
“Sure his Majesty’s admiration of virtue is well known, sir,” said I.
“Madam,” says the strange gentleman in French, which also Mr le Beaume
and I had used, “in his day virtue had not dwelt upon earth in the
person of the divine Clarissa. With the good fortune of her example to
guide him----”
“If your Majesty desire the divine Clarissa to guide you in the
dance,” says Mr le Beaume, “there’s no time to lose. You can exchange
fine phrases out of the romances afterwards.”
My cavalier offered his hand immediately, which I accepted,
anticipating an agreeable contest of wits in forcing him to discover
himself, for, what with his masque and his periwig, I was quite unable
to recognise him as any of the gentlemen of the place, while his voice
(and he spoke French as I had not thought any of our gentlemen could
speak it) was also strange to me. So well did he present his character
that he even danced in the French style, which is at once more
ceremonious and displays greater vivacity than ours, until my
curiosity was piqued in the highest degree. But ’twas not until we
were sitting in the inner varanda after the dance, and my partner was
fanning me, as is the custom here, that I had any chance to converse
with him. His discourse suited less well with his disguise than his
dancing had done; for although he made me several genteel compliments
in the true romantic style, he turned quickly to speak of the ordinary
affairs of the place, and among them of the matter of Kissendasseat.
But here I stopped him.
“Pray, sir,” I said, “don’t mention that person’s name to me. For
weeks there was nothing talked of in Calcutta but Kissendass and his
women, his goods and his sacks of treasure, until I was tired to death
of him.”
“His refuging here is much talked of, then?” asked the disguised.
“Really, sir, you must know that as well as I.”
“Pardon me, madam; how should I know that the ladies condescended to
weary themselves with the trifles that interest us poor men? Yet I
deserve the rebuke, for en’t the lady in this case Miss Clarissa
Harlowe?”
“Sure you single me out unduly, sir. The ladies of Calcutta can’t be
indifferent to events that might prove to be of so much moment to
’em.”
“Then has the President’s treatment of the Nabob’s messenger given
rise to apprehension among the fair sex, madam?”
“’Tis but little known as yet, sir, but it’s natural there should be
some misgivings as to the new Soubah’s acceptance of it.”
“Poh, poh!” says he. “The President knows what he’s about, madam. The
Nabob has exposed his weakness by his method of proceeding. Why should
he send his emissary to steal into the place in disguise, if it en’t
that he hoped to gain secretly from the friendship of the Presidency
what he knows he can’t demand openly and by force?”
“It may be so, sir; but if it be, the insults offered to his servant
will give him but an indifferent notion of that friendship.”
“You’re too apprehensive, madam. You may take my word for it that the
Nabob can’t afford to resent these insults. He’s encompassed with
enemies, and he knows the strength of the factory too well to dream of
attacking it.”
“You’re vastly positive, sir; I hope you may be justified. What I find
alarming in this affair is the suggestion that there may be some deep
conspiracy behind it.”
“Conspiracy, ha, ha! Forgive me, madam, but I perceive that even the
greatest of her sex en’t free from the fault of meeting misfortune
half-way. Trust me, in a month or so this alarm will be forgot, and
Clarissa will be swallowed up in preparations for making her Lovelace
the happiest of men.”
“I vow I don’t understand you, sir.”
“What! don’t we all know that in this case the lover possesses the
support of his mistress’s friends? Happiest of men, indeed! since with
the mind and temper of Solmes, he’s earned the reward of Lovelace.”
“If you’re in the confidence of the person at whom you hint, sir,
allow me to say that you’ll do him no service by these free remarks.
Will you be so good as to hand me back to the ballroom?”
“Nay, then,” said this strange man, with great warmth, placing himself
in my path as he spoke, “is the report true that has reached me, that
this pretended Lovelace is but Solmes in disguise? Is it true that his
suit, while favoured by her mamma, is distasteful to the amiable
Clarissa herself? Speak, madam, and enrol Lewis as your defender until
death.”
By this time I was heartily frightened, as you may suppose, and
anxious only to rid myself of my new tormentor. “Sure you forget
yourself, sir, in thus intruding into family matters. I thank Heaven
that I have already friends sufficient to protect me, as well as a
will that has served me tolerably hitherto.”
“Nay, madam,” he cried again, seizing my gown as I sought to slip past
him, “you’re in a trap, believe me. Your mamma is leagued with this
Solmes or Lovelace--whichever he be--and resolved on handing you over
to him. You’ll perceive before long the truth of my words. If you
should then be moved to accept of my assistance, a billet addressed to
me in character, and sent to the house of a respectable female in the
Great Buzar, whom all the Indian servants know by the name of the
Mother of Cosmetiques, will find me without loss of time.”
I was incensed against the man for his bare-faced proposition, and
tore my gown from his hold. “Sure, sir,” I said angrily, “you forget
the character I have assumed in thus acting up to your own. Be assured
there’s no help I would not accept sooner than that offered in such a
fashion,” and I pushed past him, and ran along the varanda towards the
door. Here I came upon two gentlemen, who had been watching the
dancing, and had stepped out to breathe the air, and to my delight I
recognised them as my papa and Captain Colquhoun. I seized Mr Freyne’s
arm. “Oh, sir----!” I gasped, and burst into tears, and so clung to
him, looking like a fool, I make no doubt.
“Can I be of any service to you, madam?” asked my papa.
“Is it possible, sir, that you don’t recognise Miss Freyne?” said
Captain Colquhoun, with the stiffest air in the world.
“How could a man know any one in that masque?” cried Mr Freyne. “Take
the absurd thing off, miss, and tell me what’s the matter.”
“The--the person with whom I was dancing, sir,” I sobbed.
“Well, and what of him, miss? Who is he?”
“I don’t know, sir. Oh pray, don’t be so sharp with your girl. He--he
said----”
“He has offered to insult you, madam?” demanded the Captain, in his
sternest voice, which Mr Freyne took as a rebuke.
“I’ll manage my own family, sir, if you please, so pray don’t favour
us with your strait-laced opinion of masquerades at this moment. What
did this person say, miss?”
“I--I believe he invited me to run away with him, sir.”
“You en’t certain? Sure the girl’s a fool! She cries out that a person
has insulted her, and she don’t know who he is, nor can’t tell what he
said. Where is this gentleman?”
“I--I left him there, sir,” pointing to the settee where we had sat.
“And there en’t a living creature to be seen! I fear, miss, you are
one of those that flee when no man pursueth.”
“Sure, sir,” says Captain Colquhoun, coming to my help, “you can’t
doubt but Miss Freyne’s delicacy has been wounded by the liberties of
speech this person has permitted himself. If he have drunk too freely,
he should be removed from the place, both for his own sake and
others’, and will questionless see the propriety of offering an
apology on the morrow. Was it the gentleman habited as King Lewis the
Fourteenth, with whom I saw you dance not long ago, madam?”
“It was, sir, but I can’t imagine who he may be. He spoke only
French.”
“You see, sir?” Captain Colquhoun turned to my papa. “I fear Miss has
been exposed to the rudeness of one of those rascally fellows that
make a practice of insulting ladies at gatherings of this sort,
feeling secure of impunity through their disguises. Did he first
accost you, madam?”
“No, sir. Mr le Beaume presented him in character.”
“Then he’ll know him, questionless. Excuse me for a moment, madam,”
and returning to the ballroom he brought out Mr le Beaume and Ensign
Bellamy, the latter wearing rams’ horns and an antique habit as
Alexander the Great. The two young gentlemen had been dancing
together, a thing which is not unfrequent at the Calcutta balls, owing
to the small number of our sex that are present.
“Pray, sir,” says my papa to Mr le Beaume, “who was the person you
presented just now to my daughter?”
“Why, sir, I’m sure I don’t know. I named him only by his character,
as I heard was the custom at these gatherings, since all present were
well acquainted with one another.”
“Then you know nothing of the fellow?”
“Nothing, sir, save that I chanced to jostle him in the crowd somewhat
roughly, and begged his pardon, which he gave with a very good grace.
‘Say no more, Mons. l’Abbé,’ he said, speaking in character. ‘Do your
King the honour of making him known to the divine Clarissa, and all is
more than forgiven.’ I hope, sir, I han’t done any displeasure to the
lady in granting his request?”
“Your King, as you call him, sir, has thought fit to use towards Miss
a freedom that may be the mode at Chandernagore, but en’t so at
Calcutta.”
“Do I understand you to imply, sir, that this person was an intimate
of my own?”
“Come, Mr le Beaume,” it was Captain Colquhoun who spoke; “don’t be
over ready to stand on your punctilio. You see that we must come at
the truth of this affair, if only to save the ladies from annoyance in
the future. I understand this person spoke nothing but French. To the
best of your belief, had you ever met him before?”
“Never, Captain. I know all the officials of our factories at
Chandernagore and Sydabad,[7.06] but he recalled none of ’em to my
mind. But, gentlemen, this affair touches my honour. Pray allow me to
seek out this person, and bring him here to entreat Miss’s pardon on
his knees.”
“And I’m with you, sir,” said Ensign Bellamy. “Sure the matter touches
me also, Captain, since I introduced Mr le Beaume as my guest.”
“And lent him also your father’s best cassock in which to appear?”
said Captain Colquhoun. “What will our good Padra say to that, sir?”
“’Tis but his second best, sir,” pleaded the Ensign, “and Mr le Beaume
passed his word to me to do it no discredit. But now, gentlemen, with
your leave, we’ll set out to hunt this low fellow.”
“Go first to the peon at the door, young gentlemen,” said Mr Freyne,
“and desire him to let you look at the chitts.” (These, Amelia, are
the tickets of entrance, as we should say.) “By that means you’ll
discover who ’twas that represented the French King.”
But the two gentlemen returning in a few minutes brought word that
there was no such character mentioned on any of the chitts, neither
could the peon recollect admitting such an one.
“Poh!” says my papa. “Buxies, that’s all! Did you discover whether the
fellow be still in the place, gentlemen?”
“He’s not, sir,” they replied together; “but although several persons
had remarked him in the ball-room, no one has seen him leave the
Play-house.”
“Pray have the goodness to enquire further, gentlemen. There’s some
mystery here.” I thought that he wished to be rid of the young
gentlemen, for as soon as they were gone he turned to the Captain.
“What do you make of this, sir?” he asked.
“A spy, I fear. Perhaps from Chandernagore--but no, the lad le Beaume
hath an honest countenance, Papist though he be.”
“A spy of the Soubah’s, then? Watts’ letter warned us the place is
full of ’em. There’s Someroo,[7.07] that Prussian of Cossim Ally
Cawn’s, might have got in among us.”
“True, but Mr le Beaume would be little likely to mistake a Prussian
for one of his own nation. A spy the fellow must be, I believe. Do you
recollect the confusion of Holwell’s Jemmautdar in speaking of the
entry of the Nabob’s messenger? Look you there, now. There was two of
’em, after all--this fellow in a European habit, and Narransing in the
disguise of a pycar.”
“There’s more in this than appears, Captain. Do you think this
impudent intruder can be Bussy himself, stole hither from the
Carnatic?”
“Bussy? My good sir, Bussy is besieging Savanore, and has his hands
too full to leave the Decan at present. Besides, why risque discovery
by annoying a lady?”
“To avert suspicion from his true object--I don’t else know why. Or
perhaps his freedoms were only assumed to get rid of Miss while he put
on another dress to escape in. He might wear a domino, or obtain some
other disguise from one of the servants.”
“Perhaps, sir,” I ventured to observe, “Mr Menotti may be able to tell
you something. He seemed to have some acquaintance with the wretch.”
“Pray, miss, why didn’t you say that before?” I saw a look pass
between my papa and the Captain. “Put on your masque again, and come
back to the ballroom with me.”
Once inside the Play-house, it was not long before Mr Menotti
perceived us, and came to importune me for another dance, which I was
charmed to refuse him.
“Miss has danced quite as much as is good for her health,” says my
papa. “I won’t have her try another step this evening. You young
fellows should have some mercy on these delicate creatures, for they
en’t made of iron, and there’s none too many of ’em. By the way, sir,
who was the gentleman that desired you to present him to Miss, but you
refused?”
I was watching Mr Menotti with all my eyes from behind my masque, as
you’ll guess, Amelia, and it seemed to me that he changed colour a
very little. Yet he answered with the greatest unconcern imaginable,
“Why, that I don’t know, sir, which was my reason for refusing him the
honour he asked. He was vastly urgent with me, I’ll assure you, but I
would not listen to him. I hope he han’t tried to force himself upon
Miss?”
“Why, sir, he has alarmed her slightly by his importunity, I believe,
but that only calls for greater gratitude for your care of her.”
Leaving Mr Menotti, we returned to the doorway, where Captain
Colquhoun, with infinite kindness, turned the conversation to other
matters, until the young gentlemen returned, having done wonders in
the way of tracking the Unknown, but accomplished nothing. Learning
from a late comer in the ballroom that on entering the place he had
seen passing out a tall masque in the veil and robe of a Moor-woman
(this was so unusual a habit as to excite his remark, for persons here
entertain such a contempt for the Indians that it is the rarest thing
in the world to see their dress, which is very handsome among those of
quality, copied at these masquerades), they made enquiries among the
servants waiting for their masters in the compound, and found that a
person so habited had entered a hired palanqueen and departed. The
only distinguishing mark that they could discover about this
palanqueen was that one of the bearers had a lame leg, but with the
aid of this sole clue Mess. Bellamy and le Beaume set out to trace it.
After many false starts they were told by a certain Armenian that he
had seen such a palanqueen carried into the house of Omy Chund, the
Gentoo banker, but on enquiring there they found that it had contained
only one of his women, who had gone out to visit her mother. Thus they
returned discomfited, but all eagerness to find the stranger.
Meanwhile my papa had learnt from me of the direction given by him at
the old woman’s house in the Great Buzar, and the young gentlemen were
very urgent with him to allow them to obtain an order from the
Zemindar, and so search the place.
“How would that serve?” says Mr Freyne. “The fellow en’t in the house,
you may be very sure, and the woman would deny any knowledge of him.
Ladies of her trade have many clients whose secrets they are well paid
to keep, and she may well have never seen him, and know only that she
might possibly receive a letter for him.”
“But, sir,” ventured Ensign Bellamy, “perhaps Miss would be so good as
to address a blank sheet of paper to the woman’s care, so that the
messenger who came to fetch it might be watched and seized.”
“I thank you, sir, no,” said my papa. “Miss’s name has already been
more mixed up in this affair than either she or I care for. I’ll speak
to Mr Holwell, and get a watch set secretly on the house; but we can’t
hope the rascal will venture there in person. You’ll undertake, young
gentlemen, that the matter shan’t go beyond yourselves?”
“On my honour, sir,” said the two gentlemen, and we were left to muse
in silence over this most disquieting affair. I don’t know what to
think, my Amelia. A sudden sound terrifies me. I am ready to run away
from the most harmless stranger. I screamed aloud this morning when I
came suddenly upon the _molly_ in the garden. Plots and conspiracies
seem to be thick on every side of me. I fear, though I don’t dare hint
this to my papa, that the words of the Unknown regarding Mrs Freyne’s
compact with Mr Menotti may be true, and what a prospect then opens
before me! I know how deeply my dear Miss Turnor will pity her
unsuspicious Sylvia, who thus finds herself entangled in a web of
mysteriousness.