Chapter XIX

  An important chapter — I make some important acquaintances, obtain some important papers which I am importunate to read through.

  The next morning I told my dream to Timothy, who laughed very heartily at my idea of the finger of Providence. At last, perceiving that I was angry with him, he pretended to be convinced. When I had finished my breakfast, I sent to inquire the number in the square of Lord Windermear’s town house, and wrote the following simple note to his lordship, “Japhet Newland has arrived from his tour at the Piazza, Covent Garden.” This was confided to Timothy, and I then set off with the other letter to Mr Masterton, which was addressed to Lincoln’s Inn. By reading the addresses of the several legal gentlemen, I found out that Mr Masterton was located on the first floor. I rang the bell, which had the effect of “Open, Sesame,” as the door appeared to swing to admit me without any assistance. I entered an ante-room, and from thence found myself in the presence of Mr Masterton — a little old man, with spectacles on his nose, sitting at a table covered with papers. He offered me a chair, and I presented the letter.

  “I see that I am addressing Mr Neville,” said he, after he had perused the letter. “I congratulate you on your return. You may not, perhaps, remember me?”

  “Indeed, sir, I cannot say that I do, exactly.”

  “I could not expect it, my dear sir, you have been so long away. You have very much improved in person, I must say; yet still, I recollect your features as a mere boy. Without compliment, I had no idea that you would ever have made so handsome a man.” I bowed to the compliment. “Have you heard from your uncle?”

  “I had a few lines from Lord Windermear, enclosing your letter.”

  “He is well, I hope?”

  “Quite well, I believe.”

  Mr Masterton then rose, went to an iron safe, and brought out a packet of papers, which he put into my hands. “You will read these with interest, Mr Neville. I am a party to the whole transaction, and must venture to advise you not to appear in England under your own name, until all is settled. Your uncle, I perceive, has begged the same.”

  “And I have assented, sir. I have taken a name instead of my real one.”

  “May I ask what it is?”

  “I call myself Mr Japhet Newland.”

  “Well, it is singular, but perhaps as good as any other. I will take it down, in case I have to write to you. Your address is—”

  “Piazza — Covent Garden.”

  Mr Masterton took my name and address, I took the papers, and then we both took leave of one another, with many expressions of pleasure and good-will.

  I returned to the hotel, where I found Timothy waiting for me, with impatience. “Japhet,” said he, “Lord Windermear has not yet left town. I have seen him, for I was called back after I left the house, by the footman, who ran after me — he will be here immediately.”

  “Indeed,” replied I. “Pray what sort of person is he, and what did he say to you?”

  “He sent for me in the dining-parlour, where he was at breakfast, asked when you arrived, whether you were well, and how long I had been in your service. I replied that I had not been more than two days, and had just put on my liveries. He then desired me to tell Mr Newland that he would call upon him in about two hours. Then, my lord,” replied I, “I had better go and tell him to get out of bed.”

  “The lazy dog!” said he, “nearly one o’clock, and not out of bed; well, go then, and get him dressed as fast as you can.”

  Shortly afterwards a handsome carriage with greys drew up to the door. His lordship sent in his footman to ask whether Mr Newland was at home. The reply of the waiter was, that there was a young gentleman who had been there two or three days, who had come from making a tour, and his name did begin with an N. “That will do, James; let down the steps.” His lordship alighted, was ushered up stairs, and into my room. There we stood, staring at each other.

  “Lord Windermear, I believe,” said I, extending my hand.

  “You have recognised me first, John,” said he, taking my hand, and looking earnestly in my face. “Good heavens! is it possible that an awkward boy should have grown up into so handsome a fellow? I shall be proud of my nephew. Did you remember me when I entered the room?”

  “To tell the truth, my lord, I did not; but expecting you, I took it for granted that it must be you.”

  “Nine years make a great difference, John; — but I forget, I must now call you Japhet. Have you been reading the Bible lately, that you fixed upon that strange name?”

  “No, my lord, but this hotel is such a Noah’s ark, that it’s no wonder I thought of it.”

  “You’re an undutiful dog, not to ask after your mother, sir.”

  “I was about—”

  “I see — I see,” interrupted his lordship; “but recollect, John, that she still is your mother. By-the-by, have you read the papers yet?”

  “No, sir,” replied I, “there they are,” pointing to them on the side table. “I really do not like to break the seals.”

  “That they will not contain pleasant intelligence, I admit,” replied his lordship; “but until you have read them, I do not wish to converse with you on the subject, therefore,” said he, taking up the packet, and breaking the seals, “I must now insist that you employ this forenoon in reading them through. You will dine with me at seven, and then we will talk the matter over.”

  “Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will read them.”

  “I must insist upon it, John; and am rather surprised at your objecting, when they concern you so particularly.”

  “I shall obey your orders, sir.”

  “Well, then, my boy, I shall wish you good morning, that you may complete your task before you come to dinner. To-morrow, if you wish it — but recollect, I never press young men on these points, as I am aware that they sometimes feel it a restraint — if you wish it, I say, you may bring your portmanteaus, and take up your quarters with me. By-the-bye,” continued his lordship, taking hold of my coat, “who made this?”

  “The tailor to his Serene Highness the Prince of Darmsradt had that honour, my lord,” replied I.

  “Humph! I thought they fitted better in Germany; it’s not quite the thing — we must consult Stulz, for with that figure and face, the coat ought to be quite correct. Adieu, my dear fellow, till seven.”

  His lordship shook hands with me, and I was left alone. Timothy came in as soon as his lordship’s carriage had driven off. “Well, sir,” said he, “was your uncle glad to see you?”

  “Yes,” replied I; “and look, he has broken open the seals, and has insisted upon my reading the papers.”

  “It would be very undutiful in you to refuse, so I had better leave you to your task,” said Timothy, smiling, as he quitted the room.

  Chapter XX

  I open an account with my bankers, draw largely upon credulity, and am prosperous without a check.

  I sat down and took up the papers. I was immediately and strangely interested in all that I read. A secret! — it was, indeed, a secret, involving the honour and reputation of the most distinguished families. One that, if known, the trumpet of scandal would have blazoned forth to the disgrace of the aristocracy. It would have occasioned bitter tears to some, gratified the petty malice of many, satisfied the revenge of the vindictive, and bowed with shame the innocent as well as the guilty. It is not necessary, nor, indeed, would I, on any account, state any more. I finished the last paper, and then fell into a reverie. This is, indeed, a secret, thought I; one that I would I never had possessed. In a despotic country my life would be sacrificed to the fatal knowledge — here, thank God, my life as well as my liberty are safe.

  The contents of the papers told me all that was necessary to enable me to support the character which I had assumed. The reason why the party, whom I was supposed to be, was intrusted with it, was, that he was in a direct line, eventually heir, and the question was whether he would waive his claim with the others, and allow death to bury crime in oblivion. I felt that were I in his position I should so do — and therefore was prepared to give an answer to his lordship. I sealed up the papers, dressed myself, and went to dinner; and after the cloth was removed, Lord Windermear, first rising and turning the key in the door, said to me, in a low voice, “You have read the papers, and what those, nearly as much interested as you are in this lamentable business, have decided upon. Tell me, what is your opinion?”

  “My opinion, my lord, is, that I wish I had never known what has come to light this day — that it will be most advisable never to recur to the subject, and that the proposals made are, in my opinion, most judicious, and should be acted upon.”

  “That is well,” replied his lordship; “then all are agreed, and I am proud to find you possessed of such honour and good feeling. We now drop the subject for ever. Are you inclined to leave town with me, or what do you intend to do?”

  “I prefer remaining in town, if your lordship will introduce me to some of the families of your acquaintance. Of course I know no one now.”

  “Very true; I will introduce you, as agreed, as Mr Newland. It may be as well that you do not know any of our relations, whom I have made to suppose, that you are still abroad — and it would be awkward, when you take your right name by-and-bye. Do you mean to see your mother?”

  “Impossible, my lord, at present; by-and-bye I hope to be able.”

  “Perhaps it’s all for the best. I will now write one note to Major Carbonnell, introducing you as my particular friend, and requesting that he will make London agreeable. He knows everybody, and will take you everywhere.”

  “When does your lordship start for the country?”

  “To-morrow; so we may as well part to-night. By-the-by, you have credit at Drummond’s, in the name of Newland, for a thousand pounds; the longer you make it last you the better.”

  His lordship gave me the letter of introduction. I returned to him the sealed packet, shook hands with him, and took my departure.

  “Well, sir,” said Timothy, rubbing his hands, as he stood before me, “what is the news; for I am dying to hear it — and what is this secret?”

  “With regard to the secret, Tim, a secret it must remain. I dare not tell it even to you.” Timothy looked rather grave at this reply. “No, Timothy, as a man of honour, I cannot.” My conscience smote me when I made use of the term; for, as a man of honour, I had no business to be in possession of it. “My dear Timothy, I have done wrong already, do not ask me to do worse.”

  “I will not, Japhet; but only tell me what has passed, and what you intend to do?”

  “That I will, Timothy, with pleasure;” and I then stated all that had passed between his lordship and me.

  “And now, you observe, Timothy, I have gained what I desired, an introduction into the best society.”

  “And the means of keeping up your appearance,” echoed Timothy, rubbing his hands. “A thousand pounds will last a long while.”

  “It will last a very long while, Tim, for I never will touch it; it would be swindling.”

  “So it would,” replied Tim, his countenance falling; “well, I never thought of that.”

  “I have thought of much more, Tim; recollect I must, in a very short time, be exposed to Lord Windermear, for the real Mr Neville will soon come home.”

  “Good heavens! what will become of us?” replied Timothy, with alarm in his countenance.

  “Nothing can hurt you, Tim, the anger will be all upon me; but I am prepared to face it, and I would face twice as much for the distant hope of finding my father. Whatever Lord Windermear may feel inclined to do, he can do nothing; and my possession of the secret will ensure even more than my safety; it will afford me his protection, if I demand it.”

  “I hope it may prove so,” replied Timothy, “but I feel a little frightened.”

  “I do not; to-morrow I shall give my letter of introduction, and then I will prosecute my search. So now, my dear Tim, good-night.”

  The next morning, I lost no time in presenting my letter of introduction to Major Carbonnell. He lived in apartments on the first floor in St James’s Street, and I found him at breakfast, in a silk dressing gown. I had made up my mind that a little independence always carries with it an air of fashion. When I entered, therefore, I looked at him with a knowing air, and dropping the letter down on the table before him, said, “There’s something for you to read, Major; and, in the meantime, I’ll refresh myself on this chair;” suiting the action to the word, I threw myself on a chair, amusing myself with tapping the sides of my boots with a small cane which I carried in my hand.

  Major Carbonnell, upon whom I cast a furtive eye more than once during the time that he was reading the letter, was a person of about thirty-five years of age, well-looking, but disfigured by the size of his whiskers, which advanced to the corners of his mouth, and met under his throat. He was tall and well made, and with an air of fashion about him that was undeniable. His linen was beautifully, clean and carefully arranged, and he had as many rings on his fingers, and, when he was dressed, chains and trinkets, as ever were put on by a lady.

  “My dear sir, allow me the honour of making at once your most intimate acquaintance,” said he, rising from his chair, and offering his hand, as soon as he had perused the letter. “Any friend of Lord Windermear’s would be welcome, but when he brings such an extra recommendation in his own appearance, he becomes doubly so.”

  “Major Carbonnell,” replied I, “I have seen you but two minutes, and I have taken a particular fancy to you, in which I, no doubt, have proved my discrimination. Of course, you know that I have just returned from making a tour?”

  “So I understand from his lordship’s letter. Mr Newland, my time is at your service. Where are you staying?”

  “At the Piazza.”

  “Very good; I will dine with you to-day; order some mulligatawny, they are famous for it. After dinner we will go to the theatre.”

  I was rather surprised at his cool manner of asking himself to dine with me and ordering my dinner, but a moment’s reflection made me feel what sort of person I had to deal with.

  “Major, I take that as almost an affront. You will dine with me to-day! I beg to state that you must dine with me every day that we are not invited elsewhere; and what’s more, sir, I shall be most seriously displeased, if you do not order the dinner every time that you do dine with me, and ask whoever you may think worthy of putting their legs under our table, Let’s have no doing things by halves, Major; I know you now as well as if we had been intimate for ten years.”

  The Major seized me by the hand. “My dear Newland, I only wish we had known one another ten years, as you say — the loss has been mine; but now — you have breakfasted, I presume?”

  “Yes; having nothing to do, and not knowing a soul after my long absence, I advanced my breakfast about two hours, that I might find you at home; and now I’m at your service.”

  “Say rather I am at yours. I presume you will walk. In ten minutes I shall be ready. Either take up the paper, or whistle an air or two, or anything else you like, just to kill ten minutes — and I shall be at your command.”

  Chapter XXI

  I come out under a first-rate chaperon, and at once am established into the regions of fashion — Prove that I am deserving of my promotion.

  “I beg your pardon, Newland,” said the Major, returning from his dressing-room, resplendent with chains and bijouterie; “but I must have your Christian name.”

  “It’s rather a strange one,” replied I; “it is Japhet.”

  “Japhet! by the immortal powers, I’d bring an action against my godfathers and godmothers; you ought to recover heavy damages.”

  “Then I presume you would not have the name,” replied I, with a knowing look, “for a clear ten thousand a year.”

  “Whew! that alters the case — it’s astonishing how well any name looks in large gold letters. Well, as the old gentleman, whoever he might have been, made you compensation, you must forgive and forget. Now where shall we go?”

  “With your permission, as I came to town in these clothes, made by a German tailor — Darmstadt’s tailor by-the-bye — but still if tailor to a prince, not the prince of tailors — I would wish you to take me to your own: your dress appears very correct.”

  “You show your judgment, Newland, it is correct; Stulz will be delighted to have your name on his books, and to do justice to that figure. Allons donc.”

  We sauntered up St James’s Street, and before I had arrived at Stulz’s, I had been introduced to at least twenty of the young men about town. The Major was most particular in his directions about the clothes, all of which he ordered; and as I knew that he was well acquainted with the fashion, I gave him carte blanche. When we left the shop, he said, “Now, my dear Newland, I have given you a proof of friendship, which no other man in England has had. Your dress will be the ne plus ultra. There are little secrets only known to the initiated, and Stulz is aware that this time I am in earnest. I am often asked to do the same for others, and I pretend so to do; but a wink from me is sufficient, and Stulz dares not dress them. Don’t you want some bijouterie? or have you any at home?”

  “I may as well have a few trifles,” replied I.

  We entered a celebrated jeweller’s, and he selected for me to the amount of about forty pounds. “That will do — never buy much; for it is necessary to change every three months at least. What is the price of this chain?”

  “It is only fifteen guineas, Major.”

  “Well, I shall take it; but recollect,” continued the Major; “I tell you honestly, I never shall pay you.”