LETTER LXVIII.
_From Capt. Sinclair to Capt. Flint._
MY DEAR SIR, _Jamaica_.
Our worthy and zealous friend Mr. Paget having spared me the painful
detail of events, which, of late, have rendered this abode of peace one
of sorrow and consternation, I will employ my pen on subjects of better
and renewed hopes. In the first place, Lady Maclairn will be soothed by
hearing, that Philip is the father of a fine healthy boy; and that the
mother is doing well, and already the nurse. She has been cautiously
told of Mr. Flamall’s death; and thus the suspense and alarm avoided,
that would have been occasioned by her seeing her husband’s dejection,
which was but too apparent, in spite of his endeavours. We must give him
credit for more sensibility on this melancholy occasion, than we feel
ourselves. To say the truth, the termination of a life passed without
honour or satisfaction, is, in my opinion, little entitled to the tear
of affection; although the means, which Flamall employed for the
purpose, are appalling to nature and to the Christian. It is a happy
circumstance for my brother, that he has uniformly conducted himself in
respect to his uncle, so as to have secured his own self acquittal.
This, with the prospect of happiness, before his eyes, will, in time,
restore him. We shall, however, wait with anxiety for news from
Farefield. Had not his wife’s critical situation checked his solicitude
for his mother, I believe we could not have prevented his undertaking
the voyage to England, for the purpose of supporting her, in the trial
which nearly overset himself.
I beg you to be particular in your account of Lady Maclairn’s health, as
also Miss Flint’s.
Let Miss Cowley be assured, that her concerns will suffer nothing from
the loss of _her agent_. We have been fortunate in having with us a _Mr.
Montrose_; this gentleman is the early friend of Philip and Margaret;
and is brother to Mrs. Lindsey, my sister’s first nurse, and constant
companion at present.
Montrose makes a better consoler than myself. I therefore yield up to
him this office; as being his by profession; and no man can better know,
and perform his duty. I have not, however, been idle. The attested
papers you will receive with this, will inform you that all has been
done that could be done. Flamall’s late gloom and the evidence of the
servants, induced the coroner’s inquest to give in a verdict of lunacy.
We have discovered no letters nor papers of consequence, to his private
concerns; and one letter excepted, of a recent date, from his banker,
which mentions his having received the half year’s interest of five
thousand pounds Bank stock: this of course devolves to his sister. I
cannot conclude this letter, without telling you, that I believe, from
the order in which all Flamall’s accounts were, that he has, for
sometime, been meditating how to escape from a world, in which he knew
he was regarded with contempt. You may think me too harsh; be it so. But
believe me sincere and honest, and
Your’s to command,
FRANCIS SINCLAIR.
LETTER LXIX.
_From Dr. Douglass to Mr. Hardcastle._
_Farefield, Dec. 30._
I conjure you, my dear Sir, to rely on my assurances. Miss Cowley is
entirely out of danger. We have a decided intermission, and are hourly
gaining on the enemy. But I will not disguise my fears, for the
consequences which will probably result from you and Miss Hardcastle’s
visit here at this time. The truth is, that as terror and exertions
beyond Miss Cowley’s strength, produced the fever, it is my opinion,
that joy, and a new demand on her feelings, will produce _a return of
it_. Calmness and repose are necessary to give efficacy to the medicines
which have hitherto been useful, and I entreat of you, to postpone your
journey, till my patient is more able to welcome you.
To say what this young creature’s fortitude has been, is beyond my
abilities! I only know, that I shall in future blush, when I hear
strength of mind called a _masculine endowment_.
You will easily imagine, how little prepared she was, after the
attention and exertions she had shown to Lady Maclairn, to sustain the
sudden terror, which Miss Flint’s death produced. Every precaution had
been used to prevent the intelligence of Mr. Flamall’s death, from
reaching the dying woman. She was so weak, as to bear with apathy her
sister’s absence from the room; indeed, she noticed little those who
were about her, being for the most part in a lethargic stupor, and
gradually sinking. In the neighbourhood it was, however, no secret that
Mr. Flamall had _died suddenly_. Warner, Miss Flint’s woman, had in the
morning left her post to a chamber maid, in order to get some repose.
This girl’s mother had been frequently employed in the sick room, and
she, on calling to see her daughter, was directed where to find her.
Miss Flint was heavily dozing, and the women, though with precaution,
_as they say_, talked of poor Lady Maclairn’s illness, and the
melancholy news from Jamaica. The visitor had heard the report, which
has circulated here, and which a London newspaper has communicated to
the public. Namely, that, “Mr. Flamall was assassinated by a negro, whom
he had too severely treated.” I suspect the precaution of whispering
this tale was forgotten, in the eagerness of curiosity and the love of
the marvellous. Suddenly, they were alarmed by a faint scream from the
sick woman, who, with convulsive groans and agitations, said, “dead!
murdered! lost! for ever lost! Flamall!” Screams followed this
apostrophe, and the terrified girl ran to Miss Cowley’s room. She was
unfortunately sleeping on the sopha, after having passed the greater
part of the night by Lady Maclairn´s bed side. She rose with firmness,
to perform the duty to which she was summoned; not permitting Mrs. Allen
to be informed of what was passing; because she was with Lady Maclairn.
I found her calm and collected; sitting by the dying Miss Flint, whose
senses were lost before she ceased to breathe. Let me finish this
melancholy detail, by saying, that I did not quit Miss Cowley’s bed side
for the space of six and thirty hours. Heaven was merciful! and she will
be restored to health. But we must have no beloved friends to greet at
present.
I quit you to obey the summons of my _precious_ patient. She insists
upon signing this bulletin. She will soon be well; for she is growing
saucy, and this morning, at four o’clock, when I carried her the
prescribed potion, she told me “that in my night cap and gown, I was the
very image of Blue Beard; and still more savage than he; for, that his
scymitar was nothing in comparison with my glass of poison.” Judge with
what contentment of mind I now sign the name of your sincere