_To James Montford_
Philadelphia, December 7.
I hope you will approve of my design to accompany Stephen. The
influence of variety and novelty will no doubt be useful. Why should I
allow my present feelings, which assure me that I have lost what is
indispensable not only to my peace but my life, to supplant the invariable
lesson of experience, which teaches that time and absence will dull the
edge of every calamity? And have I not found myself peculiarly susceptible
of this healing influence?
Time and change of scene will, no doubt, relieve me; but, in the mean
time, I have not a name for that wretchedness into which I am sunk. The
light of day, the company of mankind, is at this moment insupportable. Of
all places in the world, _this_ is the most hateful to my soul. I
should not have entered the city, I should not abide in it a moment, were
it not for a thought that occurred just before I left Baltimore.
You know the mysterious and inexplicable calumny which has heightened
Mrs. Fielder's antipathy against me.
Of late, I have been continually ruminating on it, and especially since
Mrs. Talbot's last letter. Methinks it is impossible for me to leave the
country till I have cleared her character of this horrid aspersion. Can
there be any harmony between mother and child, must not suspicion and
mistrust perpetually rankle in their bosoms, while this imposture is
believed?
Yet how to detect the fraud--Some clue must be discernible;
perseverance must light on it at last. The agent in this sordid iniquity
must be human; must be influenced by the ordinary motives; must be capable
of remorse or of error; must have moments of repentance or of
negligence.
My mind was particularly full of this subject in a midnight ramble
which I took just before I left Baltimore. Something--I know not
what--recalled to my mind a conversation which I had with the poor
washwoman at Wilmington. Miss Jessup, whom you well know by my report,
passed through Wilmington just as I left the sick woman's house, and
stopped a moment just to give me a "How d'ye" and to drop some
railleries founded on my visits to Miss Secker, a single and solitary
lady. On reaching Philadelphia, she amused herself with perplexing
Jane by jesting exaggerations on the same subject, in a way that
seemed to argue somewhat of malignity; yet I thought nothing of it
at the time.
On my next visit to the sick woman, it occurred to me, for want of
other topics of conversation, to introduce Miss Jessup. Did she know any
thing, I asked, of that lady?
Oh, yes, was the answer. A great deal. She lived a long time in the
family. She remembered her well, and was a sufferer by many of her
freaks.
It was always disagreeable to me to listen to the slanderous prate of
servants; I am careful, whenever it intrudes itself, to discourage and
rebuke it; but just at this time I felt some resentment against this lady,
and hardly supposed it possible for any slanderer to exaggerate her
contemptible qualities. I suffered her therefore to run on in a tedious
and minute detail of the capricious, peevish, and captious deportment of
Miss Jessup.
After the rhetoric of half an hour, all was wound up, in a kind of
satirical apology, with, "No wonder; for the girl was over head and ears
in love, and her man would have nothing to say to her. A hundred times has
she begged and prayed him to be kind, but he slighted all her advances;
and always, after they had been shut up together, she wreaked her
disappointment and ill-humour upon us."
"Pray," said I, "who was this ungrateful person?"
"His name was Talbot. Miss Jessup would not give him up, but teased him
with letters and prayers till the man at last got married,--ten to one,
for no other reason than to get rid of her."
This intelligence was new. Much as I had heard of Miss Jessup, a story
like this had never reached my ears. I quickly ascertained that the Talbot
spoken of was the late husband of my friend.
Some incident interrupted the conversation here. The image of Miss
Jessup was displaced to give room to more important reveries, and I
thought no more of her till this night's ramble. I now likewise
recollected that the only person suspected of having entered the apartment
where lay Mrs. Talbot's unfinished letter was no other than Miss Jessup
herself, who was always gadding at unseasonable hours. How was this
suspicion removed? By Miss Jessup herself, who, on being charged with the
theft, asserted that she was elsewhere engaged at the time.
It was, indeed, exceedingly improbable that Miss Jessup had any agency
in this affair,--a volatile, giddy, thoughtless character, who betrayed
her purposes on all occasions, from a natural incapacity to keep a secret.
And yet had not this person succeeded in keeping her attachment to Mr.
Talbot from the knowledge, and even the suspicion, of his wife? Their
intercourse had been very frequent since her marriage, and all her
sentiments appeared to be expressed with a rash and fearless confidence.
Yet, if Hannah Secker's story deserved credit, she had exerted a wonderful
degree of circumspection, and had placed on her lips a guard that had
never once slept.
I determined to stop at Wilmington next day, on my journey to you, and
glean what further information Hannah could give. I ran to her lodgings as
soon as I alighted at the inn.
I inquired how long and in what years she lived with Miss Jessup; what
reason she had for suspecting her mistress of an attachment to Talbot;
what proofs Talbot gave of aversion to her wishes.
On each of these heads her story was tediously minute and
circumstantial. She lived with Miss Jessup and her mother before Talbot's
marriage with my friend, after the marriage, and during his absence on the
voyage which occasioned his death.
The proofs of Miss Jessup's passion were continually occurring in her
own family, where she suffered the ill-humour occasioned by her
disappointment to display itself without control. Hannah's curiosity was
not chastened by much reflection, and some things were overheard which
verified the old maxim that "walls have ears." In short, it appears that
this poor lady doted on Talbot; that she reversed the usual methods of
proceeding, and submitted to his mercy; that she met with nothing but
scorn and neglect; that even after his marriage with Jane she sought his
society, pestered him with invitations and letters, and directed her walks
in such a way as to make their meeting in the street occur as if by
accident.
While Talbot was absent, she visited his wife very frequently, but the
subjects of their conversation and the degree of intimacy between the two
ladies were better known to me than to Hannah.
You may think it strange that my friend never suspected or discovered
the state of Miss Jessup's feelings. But, in truth, Jane is the least
suspicious or inquisitive of mortals. Her neighbour was regarded with no
particular affection; her conversation is usually a vein of impertinence
or levity; her visits were always unsought, and eluded as often as decorum
would permit; her talk was seldom listened to, and she and all belonging
to her were dismissed from recollection as soon as politeness gave leave.
Miss Jessup's deficiencies in personal and mental graces, and Talbot's
undisguised contempt for her, precluded every sentiment like jealousy.
Jane's life since the commencement of her acquaintance with Miss Jessup
was lonely and secluded. Her friends were not of her neighbour's cast, and
those tattlers who knew any thing of Miss Jessup's follies were quite
unknown to her. No wonder, then, that the troublesome impertinence of this
poor woman had never betrayed her to so inattentive an observer as
Jane.
After many vague and fruitless inquiries, I asked Hannah if Miss Jessup
was much addicted to the pen.
Very much. Was always scribbling. Was never by herself three minutes
but the pen was taken up; would write on any pieces of paper that offered;
was frequently rebuked by her mother for wasting so much time in this way;
the cause of a great many quarrels between them; the old lady spent the
whole day knitting; supplied herself in this way with all the stockings
she herself used; knit nothing but worsted, which she wore all the year
round; all the surplus beyond what she needed for her own use she sold at
a good price to a Market Street shopkeeper; Hannah used to be charged with
the commission; always executed it grumblingly; the old lady had
stipulated with a Mr. H---- to take, at a certain price, all she made;
Hannah was despatched with the stockings, but was charged to go beforehand
to twenty other dealers and try to get more; used to go directly to Mr.
H----, and call on her friends by the way, persuading the old lady that
her detention was occasioned by the number and perseverance of her
applications to the dealers in hose, till at last she fell under
suspicion, was once followed by the old lady, detected in her fraud, and
dismissed from the house with ignominy. The quondam mistress endeavoured
to injure Hannah's character by reporting that her agent had actually got
a higher price for the stockings than she thought proper to account for to
her employer; had gained, by this artifice, not less than three farthings
a pair on twenty-three pairs; all a base lie as ever was told----
"You say that Miss Jessup was a great scribbler. Did she write well;
fast; neatly?"
"They say she did,--very well." For her part, she could not write, and
was therefore no judge; but Tom, the waiter and coachman, was very fond of
reading and writing, and used to say that Miss Polly would make a good
clerk. Tom used to carry all her messages and letters; was a cunning and
insinuating fellow; cajoled his mistress by flatteries and assiduities;
got many a smile, many a bounty and gratuity, for which the fellow only
laughed at her behind her back.
"What has become of this Tom?"
He lived with her still, and was in as high favour as ever. Tom had
paid her a visit the day before, being in attendance on his mistress on
her late journey. From him she supposed that Miss Polly had gained
intelligence of Hannah's situation, and of her being succoured, in her
distress, by me.
"Tom, you say, was her letter-carrier. Did you ever hear from him with
whom she corresponded? Did she eyer write to Talbot?"
"Oh, yes. Just before Talbot's marriage, she often wrote to him. Tom
used to talk very freely in the kitchen about his mistress's attachment,
and always told us what reception he met with. Mr. Talbot seldom
condescended to write any answer."
"I suppose, Hannah, I need hardly ask whether you have any specimen of
Miss Jessup's writing in your possession?"
This question considerably disconcerted the poor woman. She did not
answer me till I had repeated the question.
Why--yes; she had--something--she believed.
"I presume it is nothing improper to be disclosed: if so, I should be
glad to have a sight of it."
She hesitated; was very much perplexed; denied and confessed
alternately that she possessed some of Miss Jessup's writing; at length
began to weep very bitterly.
After some solicitation, on my part, to be explicit, she consented to
disclose what she acknowledged to be a great fault. The substance of her
story was this:--
Miss Jessup, on a certain occasion, locked herself up for several hours
in her chamber. At length she came out, and went to the street-door,
apparently with an intention of going abroad. Just then a heavy rain began
to fall. This incident produced a great deal of impatience, and after
waiting some time, in hopes of the shower's ceasing, and frequently
looking at her watch, she called for an umbrella. Unhappily, as poor
Hannah afterwards thought, no umbrella could be found. Her own had been
lent to a friend the preceding evening, and the mother would have held
herself most culpably extravagant to uncase hers without a most palpable
necessity. Miss Polly was preparing to go out unsheltered, when the
officious Tom interfered, and asked her if _he_ could do what she
wanted. At first she refused his offer, but, the mother's importunities to
stay at home becoming more clamorous, she consented to commission Tom to
drop a letter at the post-office. This he was to do with the utmost
despatch, and promised that not a moment should be lost. He received the
letter, but, instead of running off with it immediately, he slipped into
the kitchen, just to arm himself against the storm by a hearty draught of
strong beer.
While quaffing his nectar, and chattering with his usual gayety,
Hannah, who had long owed a grudge both to mistress and man, was tempted
to convey the letter from Tom's pocket, where it was but half deposited,
into her own. Her only motive was to vex and disappoint those whose chief
pleasure it had always been to vex and disappoint her. The tankard being
hastily emptied, he hastened away to the post-office. When he arrived
there, he felt for the letter. It was gone; dropped, as he supposed, in
the street. In great confusion he returned, examining very carefully the
gutters and porches by the way. He entered the kitchen in great
perplexity, and inquired of Hannah if a letter had not fallen from his
pocket before he went out.
Hannah, according to her own statements, was incapable of inveterate
malice. She was preparing to rid Tom of his uneasiness, when he was
summoned to the presence of his lady. He thought proper to extricate
himself from all difficulties by boldly affirming that the letter had been
left according to direction, and he afterwards endeavoured to persuade
Hannah that it had been found in the bottom of his pocket.
Every day increased the difficulty of disclosing the truth. Tom and
Miss Jessup talked no more on the subject, and time, and new provocations
from her mistress, confirmed Hannah in her resolution of retaining the
paper.
She could not read, and was afraid of trusting anybody else with the
contents of this epistle. Several times she was about to burn it, but
forbore from the persuasion that a day might arrive when the possession
would be of some importance to her. It had lain, till almost forgotten, in
the bottom of her crazy chest.
I rebuked her, with great severity, for her conduct, and insisted on
her making all the atonement in her power, by delivering up the letter to
the writer. I consented to take charge of it for that purpose.
You will judge my surprise, when I received a letter, with the seal
unbroken, directed to Mrs. Fielder, of New York. Jane and I had often been
astonished at the minute intelligence which her mother received of our
proceedings; at the dexterity this secret informant had displayed in
misrepresenting and falsely construing our actions. The informer was
anonymous, and one of the letters had been extorted from her mother by
Jane's urgent solicitations. This I had frequently perused, and the
penmanship was still familiar to my recollection. It bore a striking
resemblance to the superscription of this letter, and was equally remote
from Miss Jessup's ordinary handwriting. Was it rash to infer from these
circumstances that the secret enemy, whose malice had been so active and
successful, was at length discovered?
What was I to do? Should I present myself before Miss Jessup with this
letter in my hand, and lay before her my suspicions, or should I carry it
to Mrs. Fielder, to whom it was directed? My curiosity was defeated by the
careful manner in which it was folded; and this was not a case in which I
deemed myself authorized to break a seal.
After much reflection, I determined to call upon Miss Jessup. I meant
not to restore her the letter, unless the course our conversation should
take made it proper. I have already been at her house. She was not at
home. I am to call again at eight o'clock in the evening.
In my way thither I passed Mrs. Talbot's house. There were scarcely any
tokens of its being inhabited. No doubt the mother and child have returned
together to New York. On approaching the house, my heart, too heavy
before, became a burden almost insupportable. I hastened my pace, and
averted my eyes.
I am now shut up in my chamber at an inn. I feel as if in a wilderness
of savages, where all my safety consisted in solitude. I was glad not to
meet with a human being whom I knew.
What I shall say to Miss Jessup when I see her, I know not. I have
reason to believe her the author of many slanders, but look for no relief
from the mischiefs they have occasioned, in accusing or upbraiding the
slanderer. She has likewise disclosed many instances of guilty conduct,
which I supposed impossible to be discovered. I never concealed them from
Mrs. Talbot, to whom a thorough knowledge of my character was
indispensable; but I was unwilling to make any other my confessor. In this
I cannot suppose her motives to have been very benevolent; but, since she
adhered to the truth, it is not for me to arraign her motives.
May I not suspect that she had some hand in the forgery lately come to
light? A mind like hers must hate a successful rival. To persuade Talbot
of his wife's perfidy was at least to dissolve his alliance with another;
and since she took so much pains to gain his favour, even after his
marriage, is it not allowable to question the delicacy and
punctiliousness, at least, of her virtue?
Mrs. Fielder's aversion to me is chiefly founded on a knowledge of my
past errors. She thinks them too flagrant to be atoned for, and too
inveterate to be cured. I can never hope to subdue perfectly that
aversion, and, though Jane can never be happy without me, _I_ alone
cannot make her happy. On my own account, therefore, it is of little
moment what she believes. But her own happiness is deeply concerned in
clearing her daughter's character of this blackest of all stains.
Here is some one coming up the stairs towards my apartment. Surely it
cannot be to me that this visit is intended.
* * * * *
Good Heaven! What shall I do?
It was Molly that has just left me.
My heart sunk at her appearance. I had made up my mind to separate my
evil destiny from that of Jane, and could only portend new trials and
difficulties from the appearance of one whom I supposed her messenger.
The poor girl, as soon as she saw me, began to sob bitterly, and could
only exclaim, "Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Colden!"
This behaviour was enough to terrify me. I trembled in every joint
while I faltered out, "I hope your mistress is well?"
After many efforts, I prevailed in gaining a distinct account of my
friend's situation. This good girl, by the sympathy she always expressed
in her mistress's fortunes, by her silent assiduities and constant proofs
of discretion and affection, had gained Mrs. Talbot's confidence; yet no
further than to indulge her feelings with less restraint in Molly's
presence than in that of any other person.
I learned that the night after Mrs. Fielder's arrival was spent by my
friend in sighs and restlessness. Molly lay in the same chamber, and her
affectionate heart was as much a stranger to repose as that of her
mistress. She frequently endeavoured to comfort Mrs. Talbot, but in
vain.
Next day she did not rise as early as usual. Her mother came to her
bedside, and inquired affectionately after her health. The visit was
received with smiling and affectionate complacency. Her indisposition was
disguised, and she studied to persuade Mrs. Fielder that she enjoyed her
usual tranquillity. She rose, and attempted to eat, but quickly desisted,
and after a little while retired and locked herself up in her chamber.
Even Molly was not allowed to follow her.
In this way that and the ensuing day passed. She wore an air of
constrained cheerfulness in her mother's presence; affected interest in
common topics; and retired at every convenient interval to her chamber,
where she wept incessantly.
Mrs. Fielder's eye was watchful and anxious. She addressed Mrs. Talbot
in a tender and maternal accent; seemed solicitous to divert her attention
by anecdotes of New York friends; and carefully eluded every subject
likely to recall images which were already too intimately present. The
daughter seemed grateful for these solicitudes, and appeared to fight with
her feelings the more resolutely because they gave pain to her mother.
All this was I compelled to hear from the communicative Molly.
My heart bled at this recital. Too well did I predict what effect her
compliance would have on her peace.