IN WHICH THE FLOOD BEGINS TO RISE.
Calcutta, _May ye_ 26_th._
Yet another attempt, my dear! and devised with such singular
effrontery that but for the signal goodness of Heaven in frustrating
the design, your Sylvia must by this time have found herself the
unwilling bride of the daring wretch who pursues her with so much
persistence. But here I am running on, as usual, instead of proceeding
orderly. Well, my Amelia must know that last night was a party of
pleasure given by Mr Kelsall, one of the elder gentlemen here, in his
garden at Chitpore, which is about a league from the town, but within
the circuit of the Morattoe-ditch. Coming ready dressed into the
varanda, I found my papa still smoking his _hooker_ in his ordinary
clothes and without his wig.
“Why, sir, en’t you coming with us?” I cried.
“No, miss; and I han’t never designed to.”
“Oh, pardon me, sir. When I heard we were going by water, I thought
you must be about to honour us with your company.”
“Why, no, miss, that’s nothing but Madam’s old pique against her
palanqueen.” (For you mayn’t be aware, Amelia, that Mrs Freyne uses
this equipage as little as she can, and all because she en’t permitted
to adorn the poles of the machine with a tyger’s head in silver, this
ornament being reserved for the ladies of the President and the second
in Council, and much coveted by those of lower rank.) “I purpose
passing a quiet evening here with the Captain.”
Leaving my papa, I attended Mrs Freyne to the river-side, where our
budgero, the rowers wearing Mr Freyne’s livery of white dresses and
orange-coloured ribbons, was awaiting us, and carried us quickly to
Chitpore. Mr Kelsall’s garden is situated on the bank of a rivulet
that serves to continue the Morattoe-ditch as far as the river, and
before reaching it one passes another garden called Baugbuzar or
Perrins, where stands a redoubt or fortification on a projecting piece
of land, which was planned by Colonel Scott, when he was sent here to
improve the defences of the place, to command both the river and the
rivulet, and also the high road which crosses this last by a bridge. I
am thus particular in my description that my Amelia may understand the
later events. On arriving, we found all Calcutta gathered in the
gardens. The rivulet was full of budgeroes three deep, moored to the
bank and to each other, while not a few ladies and gentlemen had
travelled by land in chaises or palanqueens. The garden, which has
only been lately laid out, was prodigiously admired, and in particular
a pavilion or summer-house, just finished to Mr Kelsall’s own
design--an elegant building of stone in a neat octagon shape. Mr
Kelsall offered us a very genteel entertainment, for there was not
only a _notch_ for those to watch that chose to sit still, but also a
band of music for dancing, and again pleasant alleys, lighted up by
huge numbers of little earthen lamps, in the Indian style, in which to
roam, while the dessert was one of the richest I have ever seen,
including even ices (my Amelia will guess how grateful, and at the
same time how costly, is this sweetmeat in such a climate), which are
manufactured by the Indians in some artificial and ingenious manner
that I don’t pretend to understand. I felt quite at my ease, for
although Mr Menotti was present, he made no attempt to force himself
either on me or on Mrs Freyne, which gave me confidence that they were
as yet unreconciled, but I experienced a good deal of annoyance from a
trick played by certain of the young gentlemen, among whom were Ensign
Bellamy and his friend Mr le Beaume.
To understand my mortification, you must be told that Ensign Bellamy
had entreated me a week ago to tell him what gown I purposed wearing
to this entertainment, and on learning ’twas my blush-coloured
paduasoy and white satin petticoat, had entreated me very earnestly
not to change my mind, which I promised, fancying that he designed to
present me with a nosegay or some such trifle, but little guessing to
what I was committing myself. Judge, Amelia, of my disgust when on
entering the ground there came forward to meet me no fewer than eight
gentlemen, ranging themselves on either side of me like a guard, and
every man in my livery, as the wild fellows called it, viz., a pink
silk coat laced with silver, and white satin waistcoat and breeches,
all to match my gown! I’ll assure you there was plenty of mirth for
the general company in this odd sight, but very little for me, and
when I could draw Ensign Bellamy aside, I reproved him very seriously
for the extravagance of his conduct, and especially for putting off
the Company’s uniform that he might wear mine. To this he replied that
he had allowance not to wear his uniform for this one night, and that
he and the other young gentlemen had designed the spectacle by way of
protest against the arrogant assumptions of Mr Fraser (whose
pretensions, by the way, my dear, are now pretty well known, at least
to the unlucky remainder of my suitors, since Mrs Hamlin became
acquainted with Captain Colquhoun’s generous conduct). When that
presumptuous person should venture to show himself in Calcutta, says
Mr Bellamy, he and the rest would make a point of wearing these same
suits of clothes, to assure him that there was, at any rate, eight
gentlemen of Bengall who were ready to resent his robbing them of
their goddess, and would call upon him to prove his right by the
sword.
I was more amused by this rodomontade than my Amelia will anticipate,
for I knew these young fellows to be persons of sense and honour, and
not traitors and ruffians like certain I could name, so all I said was
to engage Ensign Bellamy and his companions to be bride-men at my
wedding, warning ’em that any one picking a quarrel with Mr Fraser
would instantly forfeit the privilege. This condition was received by
the gentlemen with a prodigious amount of laughter, for ladies are so
few here that a certain modest assurance is gained in speaking by our
sex, which the other are all too ready to applaud and obey, and they
all vowed they would run no risque of incurring so dreadful a penalty.
Thus then to supper, which was served in the summer-house, while the
music played without, making a very agreeable effect, and all the
company were complimenting Mr Kelsall on the elegance of his
entertainment and the taste displayed in the laying-out of the garden,
when in a pause of the music there came the sounds of a horse’s feet
on the high road leading from Calcutta.
“Sure one of your guests is arriving late, sir,” says one of the
ladies to Mr Kelsall.
“Why, he’ll find a few pickings yet, madam,” said he.
Presently Mr Kelsall’s banyan brought in Mr Dash in a riding-dress,
his whole appearance much disordered.
“I hope there’s no bad news, sir?” says our host.
“I doubt but I’m a sort of skeleton at your feast, sir, but I thought
all the company would be concerned in what I have just learnt, which
must be my excuse for breaking in upon the ladies in this attire. The
letter wrote by the Governor and Council in reply to the Soubah’s last
_perwannah_ reached him eight days back at Rajamaul[10.01] on his way
to Purranea, and on receiving it, he gave instant orders to cease the
advance against his cousin, and returned to invest our factory at
Cossimbuzar.”
“Why, the fellow has some mettle in him after all!” cries Ensign
Bellamy. “Sure we shall have some fighting now, gentlemen.”
“I would not have you too sure of that, sir,” says Mr Dash. “The
President and the Select Committee, who are considering the news, may
prefer to disarm the Nabob’s enmity by destroying such of our defences
as en’t ready to fall down of themselves.”
“That’s our newly-repaired row of guns on the west face of the Fort,”
says Ensign Piccard, with a groan.
“And the redoubt here on Perrins Point,” says Mr Kelsall.
“Nay, sir,” says Mr Dash, “’twill be even this pavilion of yours,
perhaps. The Indians all take it for a work of defence.”
“I’ll be hanged,” says Mr Kelsall, very red in the face, “if I’ll pull
down my new summerhouse for any Soubah that ever sat on the _musnet_!”
“Sure, sir, you underrate the meekness of our Government. The Council
will do it for you, sooner than affront the Nabob.”
“Oh, sir,” says Mr le Beaume, “pray don’t slander your countrymen. I
could not credit such a thing of the great British nation.”
“Come, gentlemen,” says Ensign Bellamy, “fill up your glasses. Here’s
to a speedy campaign and a brisk one! When we have sacked Muxadavad,
we’ll set Miss Freyne on the _musnet_, and she shall rule Bengall as
now she rules Calcutta!”
The party now began to break up, Mr President and the members of
Council having left before the general supper, in expectation of
receiving letters from Cossimbuzar, and no one feeling inclined for
further merry-making in view of the news that was arrived. At the
small _gott_ by the side of the rivulet there was a prodigious
confusion, every one desiring to get on board of his own budgero at
once, so that some whose boats were on the outside even clambered
across those which intervened, and thus were able to depart first
after all. In the crowd I was separated from Mrs Freyne, and with
Ensign Bellamy, who was conducting me, went looking about in vain for
our budgero, which was not where we had left it on arriving.
“Pray, madam,” said the young gentleman, “suffer me to leave you here
a moment, while I run to the end of the press of boats and see whether
your servants have moored yours there. I’m ashamed of dragging you
about in this style.”
But no sooner was Mr Bellamy gone than I heard Mrs Freyne calling me
from behind (have I mentioned, my dear, that my stepmother’s voice is
a little shrill?), and looking round, saw her standing on the deck of
a budgero in the line nearest the _gott_, and beckoning to me with her
fan. ’Twas a marvel to me how I had missed her, for I could discern
the white and orange liveries even where I was. I turned to call Mr
Bellamy back, but he was gone too far to hear, and I returned alone to
the budgero. Mrs Freyne was no longer on the deck, but there was two
or three of the young gentlemen there that attend upon her
continually.
“Mrs Freyne fears she has took a chill, madam,” says one of them as I
came up, “and won’t therefore stay on deck, but she desired you would
attend her in the cabin.”
He offered his hand (I think the fellow was Lieutenant Bentinck, but
he was so muffled in his cloak that I could not be certain), and I
accepted of his help to step on board. Before I could do more than
turn in the direction of the cabin, however, I heard Ensign Bellamy’s
voice on the bank behind me.
“Madam, madam! you are in error. I have found your budgero at the end
of the line, with Mrs Freyne on board. Pray let me conduct you----” He
needed to say no more, for I wrenched my hand from the fellow that
held it (though indeed the wretch tightened his grip until it was like
iron), and seeing that the boat was already moving from the _gott_,
sprang with all my strength to the shore, the Ensign’s outstretched
hands catching mine in time to prevent my landing on my knees on the
steps.
“Thank heaven, madam, that you’re safe!” he cried. “I feared you was
certain to fall into the water, or at least to receive some hurt in
jumping, but I durst not delay.” His countenance was very pale. “That
was Menotti’s budgero.”
“But the liveries--Mr Freyne’s colours?” I stammered.
“Mr Menotti’s ribbons are pink, madam, you’ll remember, and by this
torch-light----”
“But I saw Mrs Freyne calling to me from the deck!” I cried, foolishly
enough, clinging tight to his arm as he guided me along the _gott_.
“Impossible, madam,” says Mr Bellamy, looking me straight in the face.
“Mrs Freyne arrived at your budgero at the same moment as I
myself--although she crossed from another boat.”
“Questionless I made a mistake,” I said, but my heart would not cease
thumping. Was it possible that my papa’s wife could lay such a plot
against the honour and happiness of his daughter? “Pray, sir,” I said
to the Ensign, “be so good as to attend us home to-night.”
“With pleasure, madam,” said he, “if I may bring Mr le Beaume.”
I had no chance to answer, for we had reached the budgero, where Mrs
Freyne was standing outside the cabin speaking to the chief of the
boatmen. “You had better push off,” she was saying. “The Chuta Beebee
must be returning in some other budgero with her friends. I can’t wait
here all night.”
“Oh, pardon me, madam; I have found the vanished fair,” says Ensign
Bellamy, handing me on board. “May I venture to entreat a passage on
your vessel for myself and my friend le Beaume? My father always warns
me that he won’t stay for me at these entertainments, and to-night he
departed early with the other great folks, leaving us two poor babes
in the wood to get home as best we might.”
“Oh, pray summon your friend, sir,” says Mrs Freyne, to whom this
speech had given time to recover her countenance, for she had changed
colour at the sight of me. “Me and Miss will be enchanted to have your
company.”
I dare to say that my stepmother blessed the young gentlemen as
heartily in her mind as I did, for I can’t conceive how she and I
should have faced one another, or how we should have conversed, had we
been left to ourselves. As it was, we were attended gallantly home by
Mess. le Beaume and Bellamy, and I fancy the latter gentleman must
have got a word with my papa, for as I bade him good-night Mr Freyne
said to me, so as only I could hear--
“So I understand that my girl en’t safe in company without her papa?
After this evening, miss, I’ll take care to go out with you, unless
your friend Mrs Hurstwood will take charge of you. But indeed I shall
be forced to send your Fraser a despatch to come here post-haste and
take you off my hands, for you’re a sad tiresome piece of goods,
dragging me away from my quiet _hooker_ on my own varanda.”
“Oh, dear sir, let me stay at home with you, and I shall be quite
content,” I cried, and went to my chamber, to wake up again and again
in the night thinking that I was sailing on one of the slimy, feverish
channels of this horrid river, in the power of the vile Menotti, and
bound for the nearest European factory where a Popish priest was to be
found. My Amelia won’t be surprised, seeing how nearly successful the
wicked attempt proved, that my only comfort lay in my papa’s promise
for the future, although I won’t deny that I was thankful to have been
saved without another of those public discoveries in which your poor
Sylvia’s name (I think I may say without her fault) has been too much
mixed up.
_May ye_ 27_th._
To-day Captain Colquhoun visited my papa for tiffing, and told us,
with the most vehement disgust, that the Council had stopped all the
work that was being done to repair the fortifications, and were
sending very humble letters through Mr Watts to the Nabob,
representing that since they were building no new defences it was
impossible they should cease working on ’em, as his Highness ordered,
but that what little they could do to pleasure him was already done,
and in consideration of this would he be graciously pleased to
withdraw his army from before Cossimbuzar, and leave our factory in
safety?
“For Britons to cringe before Surajah Dowlah is an unpardonable sin!”
cried the Captain.
“Why,” says my papa, “they argue that he that is down needs fear no
fall. If they wallow in the dust before the Soubah, ’tis quite clear
that he can’t kick ’em any lower. So that they save their private
property and get off with a whole skin, what’s Britain’s honour to
them?”
“In that,” cried the Captain, “I’m convinced--and I might almost say
I rejoice to think so--they’re wrong. If the Soubah is set on the
capture of Calcutta, all their humility won’t turn him aside, and I
believe he is.”
“But sure he won’t be such a fool as kill the goose that lays the
golden eggs?” says my papa.
“Why, sir, he hopes to make the goose his own. The French have assured
him that all the Rajas of the province have laid up their revenues in
our Fort for safety, and he looks to lay hands not only on them, but
on all our customs and dues for the future. Whatever good advice his
grandfather Ally Verdy may have given him to leave us alone, as Mr
Holwell insists he did, I can’t doubt but he designs to strip first
us, and then the other European factories, of all our privileges.”
“But we shall have a word to say to the gentleman first, Captain.”
“I doubt it, sir; for if so, why are we neglecting our defences, which
if they were in good order might enable us to hold out against the
Nabob until the rains begin, or even until this year’s fleet arrives
from home? Under the guidance of Mr President and his two friends we
are dancing smiling to destruction.”
_June ye_ 1_st._
Oh, my dearest friend, Mr Dash and the Captain were right in their
prophecies of the behaviour of the Presidency. Sure the wretch Surajah
Dowlah must be rejoicing beyond measure over the terror his name
inspires in European breasts! But why should the Council have begun by
taking part with his rivals, insulting his messengers, and withholding
the customary presents made to a new Soubah, if all they designed was
to fall on their knees in the most pitiful submission as soon as he
moves his army a step in their direction? I can’t write coldly, my
dear. I feel the humiliation of the factory so keenly that my pen digs
holes in the paper, and I wish it were a sword, and I a man to fight
Surajah Dowlah with it. This day there came letters from Cossimbuzar
to the Council, Mr Watts writing that yesterday week one of the
Nabob’s captains, a Jemindar named Aume-beg,[10.02] encamped against
the Cossimbuzar factory with a considerable force, which was
strengthened later by more troops and two elephants. Prevented from
forcing the gate by the coolness of the sergeant on guard, who fetched
out his men and bade ’em fix their bayonets, the Moors called a
parley, of which Mr Watts took advantage to get in provisions and
water and load the great guns of the place. Nothing coming of the
first parley, the factory continued to be besieged, and on the 28th of
May Dr Forth was sent out, who had attended Ally Verdy Cawn in his
last illness, accompanied with a _mounsee_,[10.03] or Persian
secretary, to endeavour to arrive at an accommodation, and ’tis the
demands then made upon him that Mr Watts has forwarded by special
messenger. The chief of these is for the demolition of our new works
at Baugbuzar, and of Mr Kelsall’s summer-house, which last they take
for a fortress because, while the land lay waste, a parcel of shells
was proved there from time to time. Mr Watts advises the granting of
these demands and the appeasing of the Nabob by means of a genteel
present, considering that, like his grandfather, who extorted from us
in the course of his reign near 100,000_l_. in all, Surajah Dowlah
designs to stop all our business until his rapacity be satisfied.
My Amelia will have learnt from my letters so much of the character of
the wise and valiant persons who are our governors that she won’t need
to be told what was the immediate impulse of their hearts on reading
this alarming news. But for the sake, I suppose, of setting themselves
right in their own eyes, what do Mr President and his friends, Mess.
Manningham and Frankland, do? They call together the five captains of
the Company’s forces here (Captain Colquhoun, of course, being one)
and ask them very seriously whether they believe it possible, with a
hundred men from the Calcutta garrison, to attempt the relief of
Cossimbuzar against the Nabob’s army of 12,000 trained soldiers,
supported by a train of artillery! You won’t wonder that the poor men
declared the notion to be an extravagant one, but they added that the
force at Cossimbuzar was sufficient, and the factory strong enough, to
beat off the enemy if wisely handled. But the humane gentlemen to whom
our destinies in this country are committed did not offer to repeat
this hard saying to Mr Watts. In their care for the lives of our
people at Cossimbuzar, they sent for presentation to the Nabob an
_arasdass_,[10.04] or humble petition, couched in the most submissive
terms imaginable, and yielding all he might choose to ask, while they
promised prodigious rewards to the _cossids_[10.05] or messengers if
it should reach Muxadavad in thirty-six hours. At the same time they
gave orders for the destruction of poor Mr Kelsall’s pavilion and of
the draw-bridge and outworks at Perrins Redoubt, and this is going on
as I write. O’ my conscience, Amelia, if my pen were the sword I spoke
of just now, and in a manly hand, it would not be against the Nabob I
would turn it, but upon his honour the President and his two
like-minded advisers.
And how, think you, my dear, are all our minds occupied in this moment
of humiliation and disgrace? (Though indeed the three gentlemen at the
head of affairs are in high spirits, regarding themselves, so it
seems, as the saviours of their countrymen, and looking askance only
upon the dejection and uneasiness of such persons as Mr Holwell and
Captain Colquhoun.) Why, Amelia, with a play, which the young
gentlemen are so good as to promise us a fortnight or so hence! The
Play-house en’t generally in use but in the cold weather; but now the
work on the defences is stopped (and indeed it’s well the Nabob is so
merciful as not to demand the levelling of the walls of the Fort
itself, for I think the Council would have pleasured him), and there’s
nothing for the officers to do (for there’s but little drill at any
time, and to begin it now might anger the Soubah), while the writers
are idle for the general stoppage of business, even Captain Colquhoun
says ’tis a good thing for the lads to have something to do that may
keep ’em out of mischief. They had designed to present to us “Venice
Preserved,” since Ensign Bellamy owns to a particular ambition to
essay the part of Belvidera; but on its being pointed out that the
season was too hot and the times too grave for tragedy, they were
obliging enough to substitute a comedy, “The Conscious Lovers,” which
I am very curious to see, as the work of one of the writers of my dear
‘Spectators.’ The first performance is promised before the rains,
which are expected to begin somewhere about the 15th (fancy, my dear,
a rainy season, such as Robinson Crusoe experienced!), and I suppose
’twill give us something to talk about when we are all forced to stay
indoors.
_June ye_ 7_th._
I am writing in the morning, between breakfast and tiffing, to tell my
Amelia of the extraordinary events that have, I trust, served to rid
me of one at least of my persistent persecutors, though at a grievous
cost, I fear, to my papa and to this place. Throughout the whole of
Saturday, the day before yesterday, Mrs Freyne was vapourish and
difficult to please--not spending the better part of her time in her
own closet as usual, but wandering from room to room, taking up and
casting down again now this piece of employment and now t’other, and
crowning her uncertain behaviour by despatching a messenger to say she
would not be present at Mrs Mackett’s rout, just when it was time to
start. My papa and I were playing chess on the varanda when she joined
us, still in her undress.
“You’ll be late, madam,” says Mr Freyne.
“Oh, I sent a chitt to say I’m not coming,” said she, approaching us
to look at the board. “There’s a move I want you to show me, sir--that
which you was discussing t’other night with the Captain.”
“When I’ve had my revenge on Miss, you’ll find me at your service,
madam.”
“But sure you’re finished with your game already, Mr Freyne.”
“Yes, madam, but Miss has beat me, and in doing so she has let me see
a means of defeating a plan of attack that she employs vastly too
often for her own safety. I have made up my mind to conquer her this
time.”
“But pray, sir, show me this first,” and Mrs Freyne began to move the
pieces on the board; “and perhaps Miss will oblige me by fetching the
book of plays which I was reading this afternoon and left in the
arbour at the end of the garden. Then there’ll be no time wasted.”
“The servants are at your disposal, madam, to run your errands.”
“Indeed, sir, how you can call these two steps an errand I don’t know.
Miss can take her iya with her if she’s frightened.”
“Frightened, madam? The girl don’t wander down to the end of the
garden at this hour without me and half-a-dozen peons besides, all
well armed, I can tell you that.”
“I’ll assure you, sir, you are become a laughing-stock in Calcutta,
with these absurd precautions. Do you forbid your daughter to oblige
me?”
“Unless she desire to disoblige me, madam.”
Upon this Mrs Freyne burst into tears, lamenting that she was the most
miserable woman in Bengall, and that Mr Freyne had not the slightest
consideration for her, and encouraged his daughter to insult over her,
and so went sobbing to her own chamber, while my papa continued his
game.
“Perhaps, sir, Mrs Freyne is sick?” I ventured to say.
“No, miss, I fancy she’s sorry, and I’m glad of it.” Mr Freyne would
say no more, and I durst not ask him his meaning.
It must have been about midnight--perhaps somewhat later, for I had
been asleep some time, after the customary struggle with the
heat--that I was woke up by a tremendous clatter. Voices, the clash of
swords, and pistol-shots were all resounding close at hand, and
Marianna, who sleeps across my door, came screaming to tell me that
the house was attacked, and we should all be murdered. As I sat up in
bed, all trembling, to listen, my papa, in his night-cap, suddenly
looked in at the door. He was buckling on his sword over his
morning-gown, and there was a pair of great pistols sticking out of
his pocket.
“Get into your _tuszaconna_[10.06] with your iya, miss,” he cried,
“and lock yourself in, and don’t unfasten the door for any one until I
bid you.”
I lingered only to throw on a wrapper and a pair of shoes, and obeyed
him. The _tuszaconna_, or as we should say wardrobe, is the closet in
which my gowns and jewels are kept, lighted only by one small window
high in the wall. Here Marianna and I locked ourselves in, and not
satisfied with that, dragged one of my trunks against the door, and
sat upon it (and upon my honour, I don’t know which of us trembled the
most. The poor wench had lost all her English in her fright, and
bewailed herself in some Indian tongue, calling at times upon her
Popish saints in scraps of Latin, while your cowardly Sylvia shook so
much that the door trembled against which she leant).
The confused noise of fighting now ceased suddenly from the front of
the house, and there was a rushing along the varanda outside our place
of refuge. My heart was in my mouth, for I knew that the robbers must
be making for my chamber, “and in a minute (I thought) they’ll guess
our hiding-place and break open the door, and then----” But almost at
the same moment I heard the door of the chamber burst open again, and
my papa’s voice cheering on the servants; and so well did they second
him that the invaders never penetrated inside the room, but were
turned back on the varanda. The noise of the fighting was so dreadful
that I could not remain without seeing what went on, and, climbing on
a great wooden chest, I peeped out of the window, in time to see the
robbers driven off by my papa and the servants, leaving two of their
number prostrate on the ground. One of these was a European wearing a
masque, who had been knocked down with a blow from a club by our
head-peon.
“Throw some water over him and revive him, Jemmautdar,” says Mr
Freyne. “He has to answer to me for the night’s work.”
But when the Jemmautdar obeyed, and plucking off the fellow’s masque
showed his face as he began to recover his intellects, I could have
screamed, for it was Mr Menotti. He looked about him like one dazed.
“Your servant, sir,” says my papa, standing before him with his sword
out. “When you’re ready, I’ll trouble you to draw.”
“At your service, sir,” said the villain, fumbling for his sword,
which one of the servants, at a glance from Mr Freyne, picked up and
gave to him, whispering something at the same time to my papa.
“What, the Cotwal[10.07] coming round with his peons?” cried Mr
Freyne. “Why don’t he come when he might be some use? However”
(looking scornfully upon Mr Menotti, who was risen from the ground,
but stood swaying uneasily about), “you look none too steady upon your
legs, sir, and I’ve no desire to murder you, though I could wish my
Jemmautdar had done his work more thoroughly. You shall hear from me
very shortly. Two of you take him and set him in the road outside.”
“I shall anticipate with pleasure the arrival of any friend of yours,
sir,” the hardy wretch succeeded in saying before he was seized by two
of the servants and run across the compound and through the gates. By
this time I was descended from my perch and had opened the door of the
hiding-place.
“Oh, dear sir,” I cried, catching my papa’s arm, “you en’t going to
fight that barbarous man?”
“Why, miss, would you have me let him go free? I would shoot him as I
would a mad dog.”
“But, sir, a mad dog could not shoot my papa. Why give this miscreant
the chance of doing further harm?”
“Would you have me shoot him from behind a wall, miss? Or do you wish
all our family affairs spread out for the gossips of Calcutta to feast
upon by a trial at the law? No, leave these matters to me, and go to
bed again. You may be thankful I took it into my head to sit up
to-night, for the _pyke_ was bribed.”
“I am, dear sir, I am indeed!” I cried out, but my papa bade me curb
my gratitude and go to bed. And this I did, but my Amelia will guess
that there was vastly little sleep for me in the rest of the night,
what with thinking of my narrow escape and of Mr Freyne’s projected
duel, and endeavouring to frame such affecting arguments as might
induce my papa to leave the wretched Menotti to the torments of his
own conscience. But I had not the chance I anticipated to display my
logical acuteness, for as soon as I had joined Mr Freyne for early
breakfast, there came out on the varanda my stepmother’s iya, Bowanny,
and said that her mistress had been sobbing and crying all night, and
now begged that we would both attend her to hear what she had to tell
us. I was prodigiously astonished by such a request, but Mr Freyne
seemed in no way surprised, and strode off to his lady’s bedchamber
without a word. We found Mrs Freyne, still in the undress she had worn
the night before, reclined on a couch, with her hair all tumbled
about, and no cap on.
“You see before you, sir,” she said, “the most miserable woman in
India.”
_Mr Freyne_. I fancy, madam, I heard you say something of the same
sort last night.
_Mrs F_. Cruel and hard-hearted man! Would you make the way of
penitence as hard to your unhappy wife by your coldness and harshness
as you have made the way of concealment easy? But, no; I won’t be led
into unbecoming recrimination even by your ill-timed derision, sir. I
have sent for you that I may confess the steps by which, as a young
and ingenuous creature slighted by her spouse, I was led into
inexpedient acts through the arts of an accomplished villain.
_Mr F_. (_excessively angry_). Pray, proceed, madam, but if you are
confessing your own sins you may as well leave mine alone. ’Tis scarce
your part to complain of neglect.
_Mrs F_. In spite of your unmanly taunts, sir, I’ll strive to preserve
both my purpose and my calmness, remembering that I asked your
daughter to attend you merely to show that I had nothing in my
confession of which to be ashamed. You thought fit, sir, some short
time after our marriage, to place a restriction on my diversions,
desiring me never to play games of chance for any but beggarly sums.
You had reasons for thus limiting me, you said. I didn’t ask ’em then,
and I don’t now, but I suppose you feared I might dissipate the money
I brought you. Well, sir, you must have known that if you would not
oblige me with the means of play, others would, and I felt little
difficulty in accepting their kindness. The chief of these obliging
persons was Mr Menotti.
_Mr F_. Woman! is this true that you tell me?
_Mrs F_. (_with her handkerchief to her eyes_). No unkind rudeness
shall hinder me from confessing the truth. The gentleman whose name so
disturbs you, sir, obliged me at various times with sums of money,
professing himself amply repaid by my countenance and conversation,
possibly also by his persistent good fortune at the cards. But when
your daughter arrived from home, I perceived a change in him. He began
to hint at a certain means of discharging the debt of gratitude I owed
him, and I demanded of him eagerly what it might be. You know it now
as well as I. The fool was fallen in love with Miss--but why, I know
no more than why she persists in refusing him. The match was an
extraordinary good one for her, far better than any she could have
looked for in England, and I experienced a glow of satisfaction in
thus discharging in the most exemplary style my duties to you, sir, to
your girl, and to the gentleman to whom I was so much indebted. Your
conscience, sir, will tell you, and so will your daughter’s tell her,
that I did all in my power to bring about the happy consummation which
has all along been frustrated by your fatal easiness and softness of
temper, and the pert wilfulness of Miss--
_Mr F_. Aye, madam, all in your power--I’ll grant you that.
_Mrs F_. I thank you, sir. At least, then, I need not reproach myself
with my unhappy failure here. It happened, alas! that Mr Menotti was
disturbed by the appearance of two other suitors for his charmer’s
favour--the Fraser fellow upon whom Miss’s inconstant fancy is fixed
for the moment, and him whom you call the Unknown--and the balance of
the poor gentleman’s judgment was unsettled. Not knowing his true
friend, he went so far as to turn his resentment against me. Had he
but confided in the purity of my motives, all had been well, but he
saw fit to attempt to increase his influence over me by means of
threats. He had learned, he said, from my conversation, certain
important matters of the Company’s, which I must have heard from you,
sir, and these facts, dropped innocently by me, he had made use of to
ingratiate himself with the Chuta Nabob, with whom he had had friendly
relations for some time.
_Mr F_. (_bitterly_). In other words, the fellow is and always has
been one of Surajah Dowlah’s spies, and my wife’s another of ’em.
_Mrs F_. I am resolved, Mr Freyne, to bear with patience all your
injurious remarks until you have heard me out. If I had not felt it
possible to confide to you the difficulties I was in about money,
you’ll guess that I could not endure the thought of your becoming
sensible of the new and shocking trouble into which my easiness of
temper had led me, and ’twas this Menotti threatened me with when he
saw his hopes in danger. But when he discovered the renewed
assiduities of the Unknown by that letter he intercepted in the hands
of Omy Chund’s peon, the current of his thoughts was changed again,
and he proposed a settlement at once so charming and so honourable
that I could not but accept it. The poor man was much upset to find
the Unknown plotting against him in a matter in which his heart was so
deeply engaged----
_Mr F_. And who, pray, is the Unknown, madam? for he en’t unknown to
you.
_Mrs F_. Why, sir, he’s no other than the Nabob’s Frenchman, Sinzaun.
_Mr F_. And my wife knew our subtlest enemy to be in the place,
meditating dishonour to my daughter, and destruction to the factory,
and never----
_Mrs F_. And never warned you, you would say, sir? No, indeed; where
was the need of making a fuss and pother when things could be managed
in a way vastly more agreeable to all parties? Finding, I say, that
Sinzaun was working against him in the matter of Miss, and knowing
that he had the ear of the Nabob, Menotti conceived the plan of
atoning nobly for his former errors. He promised me that if my efforts
to marry him to Miss should be successful, he would not only keep
silence on the matter of the money and of my incautious admissions to
him, but he would reveal to the Presidency all his dealings with the
Nabob, and assist ’em to lay their hands upon Sinzaun, thus
frustrating all Surajah Dowlah’s monstrous schemes against the town.
Could I hesitate in such a case? Would Mr Freyne have me weigh a young
creature’s silly likes and dislikes against the safety of the whole
factory, and the lives of all the Britons in Bengall? Your wife en’t
such a sentimental fool, sir. I did my best to pleasure Menotti, and I
en’t ashamed of it.
_Mr F_. And your design in telling me this, madam?
_Mrs F_. Why, sir, now that Menotti is defeated, I know he won’t
scruple to tell you a parcel of lies about me, and I desire to be
beforehand with him.
_Mr F_. You desire me to proclaim to the Council, and so to all
Calcutta, the iniquitous behaviour of my wife, madam?
_Mrs F_. (_weeping_). Indeed, Mr Freyne, you’re cruelly hard. I would
have you catch Menotti red-handed, so as no one will give any credit
to his tales. I know (for I’ve made it my business to find out, that I
might have some hold over him) that when he pleads indisposition as an
excuse for absence from church on a Sunday morning, he goes disguised
into the wood beyond Baugbuzar, and there receives messages from the
Nabob through Monickchund the Governor of Hoogly. If you catch him
to-day in the act, we’re safe. Had he succeeded in his last night’s
design on Miss, he would have delivered up the _hircara_[10.08] that
brings the messages to the President, as a proof of his good faith,
but now that he has made an open enemy in you he’ll think his only
hope of her lies in the Nabob.
_Mr F_. I’ll send a chitt to Mr Holwell. And now, madam, and you,
miss, no more of this shameful matter. I think I have sufficient
credit in the place for the Council to help me in preserving the
honour of my family if it’s possible to do so, but if not, then the
shame is hers that first tells a word of the tale. Your debt to Mr
Menotti, madam, shall be discharged, if you’ll oblige me with the
particulars.
_Mrs F_. I’m sure, sir, my maiden-money will far more than suffice----
_Mr F_. That, madam, you were careful to dissipate in your first year
of married life. You had play-debts to be paid then also, if you’ll
remember.
_Mrs F_. I vow, sir, you’re monstrous unkind!
My papa stayed to hear no more, and I followed him from the chamber,
only to discover that he felt the strongest repugnance to denouncing
Mr Menotti to the Presidency. “I had the fellow in my power last
night, and let him go,” he said, “but now, instead of avenging my own
quarrel on him, I set the law on his track, for all the world as
though I feared to meet him.” In this style he continued to combat all
my arguments, until I was frightened to death that he would propose to
fight the wretch before laying an information against him, but at last
he yielded to my representation of the inexpediency of exposing the
entire factory to destruction for the sake of a piece of punctilio,
and went to write his letter.
Oh, my Amelia, what a dreadful burden must Mrs Freyne have been
bearing during all these months, while all the time your naughty
Sylvia was judging her with an unkindness that I can’t doubt has often
aroused your disapproval! Is it any wonder that she has appeared
peevish and difficult? How all the reports concerning the Soubah’s
designs must have startled her, knowing that his excesses might be
encouraged by the repeating her unguarded words! Could any assembly of
motives have been so strong as the desire to save her own reputation,
not only in the eyes of Calcutta, but in those of her spouse, and to
deliver the whole factory from destruction? One can’t feel surprised
that your poor Sylvia’s preferences weighed but lightly in the
opposite balance. But what a Sabbath was this, my dear, beginning in
so awful a manner, for Mrs Freyne, for your unhappy girl and her
honoured papa, and for the wretched Menotti! There was rumours when we
came out of church that Cossimbuzar was fallen, in spite of the
submission of our rulers, but this is not confirmed. Still, the
President ordered on the spot a report of the defences of Fort William
to be made and laid before him to-morrow.