CHAPTER V.
After a night of repose rather than of sleep, I began the search aftermy friend. I went to the house which the Dudleys formerly inhabited, andwhich had been the asylum of my infancy. It was now occupied bystrangers, by whom no account could be given of its former tenants. Iobtained directions to the owner of the house. He was equally unable tosatisfy my curiosity. The purchase had been made at a public sale, andterms had been settled, not with Dudley, but with the sheriff.
It is needless to say that the history of Craig's imposture and itsconsequences were confirmed by every one who resided at that period inNew York. The Dudleys were well remembered, and their disappearance,immediately after their fall, had been generally noticed; but whitherthey had retired was a problem which no one was able to solve.
This evasion was strange. By what motives the Dudleys were induced tochange their ancient abode could be vaguely guessed. My friend'sgrandfather was a native of the West Indies. Descendants of the samestock still resided in Tobago. They might be affluent, and to them itwas possible that Mr. Dudley, in this change of fortune, had betakenhimself for relief. This was a mournful expedient, since it would raisea barrier between my friend and myself scarcely to be surmounted.
Constantia's mother was stolen by Mr. Dudley from a convent at Amiens.There were no affinities, therefore, to draw them to France. Hergrandmother was a native of Baltimore, of a family of some note, by nameRidgeley. This family might still exist, and have either afforded anasylum to the Dudleys, or, at least, be apprized of their destiny. Itwas obvious to conclude that they no longer existed within the precinctsof New York. A journey to Baltimore was the next expedient.
This journey was made in the depth of winter, and by the speediestconveyance. I made no more than a day's sojourn in Philadelphia. Theepidemic by which that city had been lately ravaged, I had not heard oftill my arrival in America. Its devastations were then painted to myfancy in the most formidable colours. A few months only had elapsedsince its extinction, and I expected to see numerous marks of misery anddepopulation.
To my no small surprise, however, no vestiges of this calamity were tobe discerned. All houses were open, all streets thronged, and all facesthoughtless or busy. The arts and the amusements of life seemed assedulously cultivated as ever. Little did I then think what had been,and what at that moment was, the condition of my friend. I stopped forthe sake of respite from fatigue, and did not, therefore, pass much timein the streets. Perhaps, had I walked seasonably abroad, we might haveencountered each other, and thus have saved ourselves from a thousandanxieties.
At Baltimore I made myself known, without the formality of introduction,to the Ridgeleys. They acknowledged their relationship to Mr. Dudley,but professed absolute ignorance of his fate. Indirect intercourse onlyhad been maintained, formerly, by Dudley with his mother's kindred. Theyhad heard of his misfortune a twelvemonth after it happened; but whatmeasures had been subsequently pursued, their kinsman had not thoughtproper to inform them.
The failure of this expedient almost bereft me of hope. Neither my ownimagination nor the Ridgeleys could suggest any new mode by which mypurpose was likely to be accomplished. To leave America withoutobtaining the end of my visit could not be thought of without agony; andyet the continuance of my stay promised me no relief from myuncertainties.
On this theme I ruminated without ceasing. I recalled every conversationand incident of former times, and sought in them a clue by which mypresent conjectures might be guided. One night, immersed alone in mychamber, my thoughts were thus employed. My train of meditation was, onthis occasion, new. From the review of particulars from which nosatisfaction had hitherto been gained, I passed to a vague andcomprehensive retrospect.
Mr. Dudley's early life, his profession of a painter, his zeal in thispursuit, and his reluctance to quit it, were remembered. Would he notrevert to this profession when other means of subsistence were gone? Itis true, similar obstacles with those which had formerly occasioned hisresort to a different path existed at present, and no painter of hisname was to be found in Philadelphia, Baltimore, or New York. But wouldit not occur to him, that the patronage denied to his skill by thefrugal and unpolished habits of his countrymen might, with moreprobability of success, be sought from the opulence and luxury ofLondon? Nay, had he not once affirmed, in my hearing, that, if he everwere reduced to poverty, this was the method he would pursue?
This conjecture was too bewitching to be easily dismissed. Every newreflection augmented its force. I was suddenly raised by it from thedeepest melancholy to the region of lofty and gay hopes. Happiness, ofwhich I had begun to imagine myself irretrievably bereft, seemed oncemore to approach within my reach. Constantia would not only be found,but be met in the midst of those comforts which her father's skill couldnot fail to procure, and on that very stage where I most desired toencounter her. Mr. Dudley had many friends and associates of his youthin London. Filial duty had repelled their importunities to fix his abodein Europe, when summoned home by his father. On his father's death thesesolicitations had been renewed, but were disregarded for reasons whichhe, afterwards, himself confessed were fallacious. That they would athird time be preferred, and would regulate his conduct, seemed to meincontestable.
I regarded with wonder and deep regret the infatuation that hadhitherto excluded these images from my understanding and my memory. Howmany dangers and toils had I endured since my embarkation at Naples, tothe present moment! How many lingering minutes had I told since my firstinterview with Courtland! All were owing to my own stupidity. Had mypresent thoughts been seasonably suggested, I might long since have beenrestored to the embraces of my friend, without the necessity of anhour's separation from my husband.
These were evils to be repaired as far as it was possible. Nothing nowremained but to procure a passage to Europe. For this end diligentinquiries were immediately set on foot. A vessel was found, which, in afew weeks, would set out upon the voyage. Having bespoken a conveyance,it was incumbent on me to sustain with patience the unwelcome delay.
Meanwhile, my mind, delivered from the dejection and perplexities thatlately haunted it, was capable of some attention to surrounding objects.I marked the peculiarities of manners and language in my new abode, andstudied the effects which a political and religious system so oppositeto that with which I had conversed in Italy and Switzerland hadproduced. I found that the difference between Europe and America laychiefly in this:--that, in the former, all things tended to extremes,whereas, in the latter, all things tended to the same level. Genius, andvirtue, and happiness, on these shores, were distinguished by a sort ofmediocrity. Conditions were less unequal, and men were strangers to theheights of enjoyment and the depths of misery to which the inhabitantsof Europe are accustomed.
I received friendly notice and hospitable treatment from the Ridgeleys.These people were mercantile and plodding in their habits. I found intheir social circle little exercise for the sympathies of my heart, andwillingly accepted their aid to enlarge the sphere of my observation.
About a week before my intended embarkation, and when suitablepreparation had been made for that event, a lady arrived in town, whowas cousin to my Constantia. She had frequently been mentioned infavourable terms in my hearing. She had passed her life in a ruralabode with her father, who cultivated his own domain, lying forty milesfrom Baltimore.
On an offer being made to introduce us to each other, I consented toknow one whose chief recommendation in my eyes consisted in her affinityto Constantia Dudley. I found an artless and attractive female,unpolished and undepraved by much intercourse with mankind. At firstsight, I was powerfully struck by the resemblance of her features tothose of my friend, which sufficiently denoted their connection with acommon stock.
The first interview afforded mutual satisfaction. On our second meeting,discourse insensibly led to the mention of Miss Dudley, and of thedesign which had brought me to America. She was deeply affected by theearnestness with which I expatiated on her cousin's merits, a
nd by theproofs which my conduct had given of unlimited attachment.
I dwelt immediately on the measures which I had hitherto ineffectuallypursued to trace her footsteps, and detailed the grounds of my presentbelief that we should meet in London. During this recital, my companionsighed and wept. When I finished my tale, her tears, instead of ceasing,flowed with new vehemence. This appearance excited some surprise, and Iventured to ask the cause of her grief.
"Alas!" she replied, "I am personally a stranger to my cousin, but hercharacter has been amply displayed to me by one who knew her well. Iweep to think how much she has suffered. How much excellence we havelost!"
"Nay," said I, "all her sufferings will, I hope, be compensated, and Iby no means consider her as lost. If my search in London beunsuccessful, then shall I indeed despair."
"Despair, then, already," said my sobbing companion, "for your searchwill be unsuccessful. How I feel for your disappointment! but it cannotbe known too soon. My cousin is dead!"
These tidings were communicated with tokens of sincerity and sorrow thatleft me no room to doubt that they were believed by the relater. My ownemotions were suspended till interrogations had obtained a knowledge ofher reasons for crediting this fatal event, and till she had explainedthe time and manner of her death. A friend of Miss Ridgeley's father hadwitnessed the devastations of the yellow fever in Philadelphia. He wasapprized of the relationship that subsisted between his friend and theDudleys. He gave a minute and circumstantial account of the arts ofCraig. He mentioned the removal of my friends to Philadelphia, theirobscure and indigent life, and, finally, their falling victims to thepestilence.
He related the means by which he became apprized of their fate, and drewa picture of their death, surpassing all that imagination can conceiveof shocking and deplorable. The quarter where they lived was nearlydesolate. Their house was shut up, and, for a time, imagined to beuninhabited. Some suspicions being awakened in those who superintendedthe burial of the dead, the house was entered, and the father and childdiscovered to be dead. The former was stretched upon his wretchedpallet, while the daughter was found on the floor of the lower room, ina state that denoted the sufferance not only of disease, but of famine.
This tale was false. Subsequent discoveries proved this to be adetestable artifice of Craig, who, stimulated by incurable habits, hadinvented these disasters, for the purpose of enhancing the opinion ofhis humanity and of furthering his views on the fortune and daughter ofMr. Ridgeley.
Its falsehood, however, I had as yet no means of ascertaining. Ireceived it as true, and at once dismissed all my claims upon futurity.All hope of happiness, in this mutable and sublunary scene, was fled.Nothing remained but to join my friend in a world where woes are at anend and virtue finds recompense. "Surely," said I, "there will some timebe a close to calamity and discord. To those whose lives have beenblameless, but harassed by inquietudes to which not their own but theerrors of others have given birth, a fortress will hereafter beassigned unassailable by change, impregnable to sorrow.
"O my ill-fated Constantia! I will live to cherish thy remembrance, andto emulate thy virtue. I will endure the privation of thy friendship andthe vicissitudes that shall befall me, and draw my consolation andcourage from the foresight of no distant close to this terrestrialscene, and of ultimate and everlasting union with thee."
This consideration, though it kept me from confusion and despair, couldnot, but with the healing aid of time, render me tranquil or strenuous.My strength was unequal to the struggle of my passions. The ship inwhich I engaged to embark could not wait for my restoration to health,and I was left behind.
Mary Ridgeley was artless and affectionate. She saw that her society wasdearer to me than that of any other, and was therefore seldom willing toleave my chamber. Her presence, less on her own account than by reasonof her personal resemblance and her affinity by birth to Constantia, wasa powerful solace.
I had nothing to detain me longer in America. I was anxious to change mypresent lonely state, for the communion of those friends in England, andthe performance of those duties, which were left to me. I was informedthat a British packet would shortly sail from New York. My frame wassunk into greater weakness than I had felt at any former period; and Iconceived that to return to New York by water was more commodious thanto perform the journey by land.
This arrangement was likewise destined to be disappointed. One morning Ivisited, according to my custom, Mary Ridgeley. I found her in a tempersomewhat inclined to gayety. She rallied me, with great archness, on thecare with which I had concealed from her a tender engagement into whichI had lately entered.
I supposed myself to comprehend her allusion, and therefore answeredthat accident, rather than design, had made me silent on the subject ofmarriage. She had hitherto known me by no appellation but SophiaCourtland. I had thought it needless to inform her that I was indebtedfor my name to my husband, Courtland being his name.
"All that," said my friend, "I know already. And so you sagely thinkthat my knowledge goes no further than that? We are not bound to loveour husbands longer than their lives. There is no crime, I believe, inreferring the living to the dead; and most heartily do congratulate youon your present choice."
"What mean you? I confess, your discourse surpasses my comprehension."
At that moment the bell at the door rung a loud peal. Miss Ridgeleyhastened down at this signal, saying, with much significance,--
"I am a poor hand at solving a riddle. Here comes one who, if I mistakenot, will find no difficulty in clearing up your doubts."
Presently she came up, and said, with a smile of still greater archness,"Here is a young gentleman, a friend of mine, to whom I must have thepleasure of introducing you. He has come for the special purpose ofsolving my riddle." I attended her to the parlour without hesitation.
She presented me, with great formality, to a youth, whose appearance didnot greatly prepossess me in favour of his judgement. He approached mewith an air supercilious and ceremonious; but the moment he caught aglance at my face, he shrunk back, visibly confounded and embarrassed. Apause ensued, in which Miss Ridgeley had opportunity to detect the errorinto which she had been led by the vanity of this young man.
"How now, Mr. Martynne!" said my friend, in a tone of ridicule; "is itpossible you do not know the lady who is the queen of your affections,the tender and indulgent fair one whose portrait you carry in yourbosom, and whose image you daily and nightly bedew with your tears andkisses?"
Mr. Martynne's confusion, instead of being subdued by his struggle, onlygrew more conspicuous; and, after a few incoherent speeches andapologies, during which he carefully avoided encountering my eyes, hehastily departed.
I applied to my friend, with great earnestness, for an explanation ofthis scene. It seems that, in the course of conversation with him on thepreceding day, he had suffered a portrait which hung at his breast tocatch Miss Ridgeley's eye. On her betraying a desire to inspect it morenearly, he readily produced it. My image had been too well copied by theartist not to be instantly recognised.
She concealed her knowledge of the original, and, by questions welladapted to the purpose, easily drew from him confessions that this wasthe portrait of his mistress. He let fall sundry innuendoes andsurmises, tending to impress her with a notion of the rank, fortune, andintellectual accomplishments of the nymph, and particularly of thedoting fondness and measureless confidence with which she regarded him.
Her imperfect knowledge of my situation left her in some doubt as to thetruth of these pretensions, and she was willing to ascertain the truthby bringing about an interview. To guard against evasions and artificein the lover, she carefully concealed from him her knowledge of theoriginal, and merely pretended that a friend of hers was far morebeautiful than her whom this picture represented. She added, that sheexpected a visit from her friend the next morning, and was willing, byshowing her to Mr. Martynne, to convince him how much he was mistaken insupposing the perfections of his mistress unrivalled.
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Ormond; Or, The Secret Witness. Volume 3 (of 3) Page 5