_Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_
_London, Dover-Street_
My actions are now become one continued chain of artifice. But were
that all, and were not the objects of this artifice of a nature so new
and so painful, it would afford me amusement, and not be any cause of
vexation.
As it is I feel apprehensions which are wholly different from any I
ever felt before. To deceive in countries where deception is a pastime,
authorised, practised, and applauded, is I find something very opposite
to what would seem the same thing, in this gloomy land of apathy and
phlegm. There it is a sport and a pleasure. Here it is a business of
serious danger and general detestation. But no matter!
I am obliged to watch times and seasons, for I have little doubt that I
myself am watched. That old housekeeper I am sure suspects me; and her
affection for her mistress is so full, so restless, that it cannot but
sharpen her intellects, and make her employ every engine she can
imagine for discovery. I walked up to Fozard's as I often do for my
horse, and I saw one of Sir Arthur's servants pass the yard, soon after
I entered it. I have little doubt but he was dogging me.
I got on horseback and rode slowly down toward Pimlico, and over
Westminster bridge, but I saw no more of him.
As soon as I was out of town I mended my pace, and gradually increased
it to a full gallop. Passing through Vauxhall, I crossed the Thames
again at Battersea-bridge, rode through Chelsea, and presently gained
the Brompton road.
My first visit was to the keeper. The fellow has a strange look! A
villainous physiognomy! I enquired after his prisoner and found he was
safe. The house is well secured; not modern, but in the style of the
last century; strong and heavy, and before this affair was thought of
had been fitted up for the purposes of confinement, but is now still
better fortified. It has a garden, which is surrounded by a high wall,
in which the prisoner is suffered to exercise himself; but not without
the very necessary precaution of confining his arms in the strait
waistcoat, securing the doors, and attentively watching his motions.
I ordered the fellow to see that Henley wanted for nothing, to let a
boy he has wait upon him, and to keep out of his way himself, for two
reasons of my own. I do not wish Henley to suffer the insults of such a
vulgar and narrow-souled rascal: my revenge is of a nobler kind.
Neither am I quite certain that this keeper, hardened, obdurate, and
pitiless as he is, could withstand Henley's oratory. At least I would
not willingly have him subjected to the temptation: though the fellow
is so averse to any sense of human pity that I think the danger is very
small.
He was offended however at my thinking proper to direct him, and
surlily told me he understood his trade.
Here I met Mac Fane, by appointment. He cannot forget the disgrace of
Covent-garden, and spoke of Henley with a degree of malignity that
would want but little encouraging to become dangerous. I am to pay him
the thousand pounds in a few days, and our place of rendezvous is then
to be once more at the Shakespeare.
I was glad to escape from the company of these new inmates' of mine,
these first-born of Beelzebub, and to fly to my other prisoner. I say
fly, for I set out with eagerness enough; but every step I took I felt
my ardour abate. The houses are more than half a mile apart, and I
thought proper to go thither on foot, and not to take any common path,
but to cross the fields, as the securest mode.
Laura knew I was to be there, and had her tale ready. She presently
came down. I enquired after her mistress, and if her account be true,
this heroic woman has not shed a tear, but has behaved with all her
apparent customary calm. She is a divine creature!
As I rode along, I made a thousand determinations that all should be
that day ended. I cursed myself, pledged my honour, used every method
which might have shewn me how much I doubted my own resolution, to
prove to myself how irrevocably determined I was! The little remaining
firmness I had left wholly died away at the relation of Laura.
I must stay till the calm dignity of her mind shall begin to decline.
The nature of her confinement, the fears she cannot but have for her
Henley, the recollection of her friends and father, and her
apprehensions of me must all quickly contribute to produce this effect.
I do not pretend to deny that I feel a reluctance to a first interview:
but I am determined the first shall be the only one. I know myself, and
know when once I am heated it will not then be Anna St. Ives, a miracle
though she be, that can over-awe or conquer me. I have the stubbornness
of woman, and the strength of man. I am reckless of what is to follow,
but the thing shall be! There is not a particle in my frame that does
not stand pledged to the deed, by honour and oath! It is the only event
for which I care, or for which I live.
Nor shall I live long when once it is over. I foresee I shall not. But
that is not a painful, no, it is a satisfactory thought! I would even
present her the pistol, would she but dispatch me the moment my revenge
is gratified. I would then sleep, and forget all that is, and all that
might have been.
She has been writing. I knew it would be one source of amusement to
her, and I provided her with implements. Laura asked and she owned it
was a letter to my sister, which she could wish were sent. But that
must not be. She means to give it to Laura; I of course shall be the
next receiver.
This girl, Laura, acts her part ill. She is not half sorrowful enough.
I wonder Anna does not remark it; and Laura says she does not, though
that is no very good proof. The complexion of her letter I think will
tell me how far she does or does not confide in her maid. I know she
holds suspicion in contempt; and yet I think my high opinion of her
discrimination would find some abatement, were I certain that she did
not suspect this shallow girl.
My soul burns to have it over! And yet like a coward I refrain. But I
will not long submit to such contemptible qualms. I will not continue
to be diffident of myself; for it is that only by which I am withheld.
Not a single wrong is forgotten! I repeat them in my sleep! Ay,
Fairfax, such sleep as I have is nothing but a repetition of them; and
a rehearsal of the revenge by which they are to be appeased! I will
return tomorrow, or perhaps next day; and then--! You shall then hear
more from,