CHAPTER XXVII.
"Here was new light thrown upon the character of Welbeck, and new foodadministered to my suspicions. No conclusion could be more plausiblethan that which Williams had drawn; but how should it be renderedcertain? Walter Thetford, or some of his family, had possibly beenwitnesses of something, which, added to our previous knowledge, mightstrengthen or prolong that clue, one end of which seemed now to be putinto our hands; but Thetford's father-in-law was the only one of hisfamily, who, by seasonable flight from the city, had escaped thepestilence. To him, who still resided in the country, I repaired withall speed, accompanied by Williams.
"The old man, being reminded, by a variety of circumstances, of theincidents of that eventful period, was, at length, enabled to relatethat he had been present at the meeting which took place between Watsonand his son Walter, when certain packets were delivered by the former,relative, as he quickly understood, to the condemnation of a ship inwhich Thomas Thetford had gone supercargo. He had noticed some emotionof the stranger, occasioned by his son's mentioning the concern whichWelbeck had in the vessel. He likewise remembered the stranger'sdeclaring his intention of visiting Welbeck, and requesting Walter toafford him directions to his house.
"'Next morning at the breakfast-table,' continued the old man, 'Iadverted to yesterday's incidents, and asked my son how Welbeck hadborne the news of the loss of his ship. "He bore it," said Walter, "as aman of his wealth ought to bear so trivial a loss. But there wassomething very strange in his behaviour," says my son, "when I mentionedthe name of the captain who brought the papers; and, when I mentionedthe captain's design of paying him a visit, he stared upon me, for amoment, as if he were frighted out of his wits, and then, snatching uphis hat, ran furiously out of the house." This was all my son said uponthat occasion; but, as I have since heard, it was on that very nightthat Welbeck absconded from his creditors.'
"I have this moment returned from this interview with old Thetford. Icome to you, because I thought it possible that Mervyn, agreeably toyour expectations, had returned, and I wanted to see the lad once more.My suspicions with regard to him have been confirmed, and a warrant wasthis day issued for apprehending him as Welbeck's accomplice."
I was startled by this news. "My friend," said I, "be cautious how youact, I beseech you. You know not in what evils you may involve theinnocent. Mervyn I know to be blameless; but Welbeck is indeed avillain. The latter I shall not be sorry to see brought to justice; butthe former, instead of meriting punishment, is entitled to rewards."
"So you believe, on the mere assertion of the boy, perhaps, hisplausible lies might produce the same effect upon me; but I must staytill he thinks proper to exert his skill. The suspicions to which he isexposed will not easily be obviated; but, if he has any thing to say inhis defence, his judicial examination will afford him the suitableopportunity. Why are you so much afraid to subject his innocence to thistest? It was not till you heard his tale that your own suspicions wereremoved. Allow me the same privilege of unbelief.
"But you do me wrong, in deeming me the cause of his apprehension. It isJamieson and Thetford's work, and they have not proceeded on shadowysurmises and the impulses of mere revenge. Facts have come to light ofwhich you are wholly unaware, and which, when known to you, will conquereven your incredulity as to the guilt of Mervyn."
"Facts? Let me know them, I beseech you. If Mervyn has deceived me,there is an end to my confidence in human nature. All limits todissimulation, and all distinctness between vice and virtue, will beeffaced. No man's word, nor force of collateral evidence, shall weighwith me a hair."
"It was time," replied my friend, "that your confidence in smoothfeatures and fluent accents should have ended long ago. Till I gainedfrom my present profession some knowledge of the world, a knowledgewhich was not gained in a moment, and has not cost a trifle, I wasequally wise in my own conceit; and, in order to decide upon the truthof any one's pretensions, needed only a clear view of his face and adistinct hearing of his words. My folly, in that respect, was only to becured, however, by my own experience, and I suppose your credulity willyield to no other remedy. These are the facts:--
"Mrs. Wentworth, the proprietor of the house in which Welbeck lived, hasfurnished some intelligence respecting Mervyn, whose truth cannot bedoubted, and which furnishes the strongest evidence of a conspiracybetween this lad and his employer. It seems that, some years since, anephew of this lady left his father's family clandestinely, and has notbeen heard of since. This nephew was intended to inherit her fortunes,and her anxieties and inquiries respecting him have been endless andincessant. These, however, have been fruitless. Welbeck, knowing thesecircumstances, and being desirous of substituting a girl whom he hadmoulded for his purpose, in place of the lost youth, in the affectionsof the lady while living, and in her testament when dead, endeavoured topersuade her that the youth had died in some foreign country. For thisend, Mervyn was to personate a kinsman of Welbeck who had just arrivedfrom Europe, and who had been a witness of her nephew's death. A storywas, no doubt, to be contrived, where truth should be copied with themost exquisite dexterity; and, the lady being prevailed upon to believethe story, the way was cleared for accomplishing the remainder of theplot.
"In due time, and after the lady's mind had been artfully prepared byWelbeck, the pupil made his appearance; and, in a conversation full ofstudied ambiguities, assured the lady that her nephew was dead. For thepresent he declined relating the particulars of his death, and displayeda constancy and intrepidity in resisting her entreaties that would havebeen admirable in a better cause. Before she had time to fathom thispainful mystery, Welbeck's frauds were in danger of detection, and heand his pupil suddenly disappeared.
"While the plot was going forward, there occurred an incident which theplotters had not foreseen or precluded, and which possibly might havecreated some confusion or impediment in their designs. A bundle wasfound one night in the street, consisting of some coarse clothes, andcontaining, in the midst of it, the miniature portrait of Mrs.Wentworth's nephew. It fell into the hands of one of that lady'sfriends, who immediately despatched the bundle to her. Mervyn, in hisinterview with this lady, spied the portrait on the mantel-piece. Led bysome freak of fancy, or some web of artifice, he introduced the talkrespecting her nephew, by boldly claiming it as his; but, when the modein which it had been found was mentioned, he was disconcerted andconfounded, and precipitately withdrew.
"This conduct, and the subsequent flight of the lad, afforded groundenough to question the truth of his intelligence respecting her nephew;but it has since been confuted, in a letter just received from herbrother in England. In this letter, she is informed that her nephew hadbeen seen by one who knew him well, in Charleston; that some intercoursetook place between the youth and the bearer of the news, in the courseof which the latter had persuaded the nephew to return to his family,and that the youth had given some tokens of compliance. Theletter-writer, who was father to the fugitive, had written to certainfriends at Charleston, entreating them to use their influence with therunaway to the same end, and, at any rate, to cherish and protect him.Thus, I hope you will admit that the duplicity of Mervyn isdemonstrated."
"The facts which you have mentioned," said I, after some pause, "partlycorrespond with Mervyn's story; but the last particular isirreconcilably repugnant to it. Now, for the first time, I begin to feelthat my confidence is shaken. I feel my mind bewildered and distractedby the multitude of new discoveries which have just taken place. I wanttime to revolve them slowly, to weigh them accurately, and to estimatetheir consequences fully. I am afraid to speak; fearing that, in thepresent trouble of my thoughts, I may say something which I mayafterwards regret, I want a counsellor; but you, Wortley, are unfit forthe office. Your judgment is unfurnished with the same materials; yoursufferings have soured your humanity and biassed your candour. The onlyone qualified to divide with me these cares, and aid in selecting thebest mode of action, is my wife. She is mistress of Mervyn's history; anobserver of his c
onduct during his abode with us; and is hindered, byher education and temper, from deviating into rigour and malevolence.Will you pardon me, therefore, if I defer commenting on your narrativetill I have had an opportunity of reviewing it and comparing it with myknowledge of the lad, collected from himself and from my ownobservation?"
Wortley could not but admit the justice of my request, and, after somedesultory conversation, we parted. I hastened to communicate to my wifethe various intelligence which I had lately received. Mrs. Althorpe'sportrait of the Mervyns contained lineaments which the summary detail ofArthur did not enable us fully to comprehend. The treatment which theyouth is said to have given to his father; the illicit commerce thatsubsisted between him and his father's wife; the pillage of money andhis father's horse, but ill accorded with the tale which we had heard,and disquieted our minds with doubts, though far from dictating ourbelief.
What, however, more deeply absorbed our attention, was the testimony ofWilliams and of Mrs. Wentworth. That which was mysterious andinscrutable to Wortley and the friends of Watson was luminous to us. Thecoincidence between the vague hints laboriously collected by theseinquirers, and the narrative of Mervyn, afforded the most cogentattestation of the truth of that narrative.
Watson had vanished from all eyes, but the spot where rested his remainswas known to us. The girdle spoken of by Williams would not be suspectedto exist by his murderer. It was unmolested, and was doubtless buriedwith him. That which was so earnestly sought, and which constituted thesubsistence of the Maurices, would probably be found adhering to hisbody. What conduct was incumbent upon me who possessed this knowledge?
It was just to restore these bills to their true owner; but how couldthis be done without hazardous processes and tedious disclosures? Towhom ought these disclosures to be made? By what authority or agencycould these half-decayed limbs be dug up, and the lost treasure be takenfrom amidst the horrible corruption in which it was immersed?
This ought not to be the act of a single individual. This act wouldentangle him in a maze of perils and suspicions, of concealments andevasions, from which he could not hope to escape with his reputationinviolate. The proper method was through the agency of the law. It is tothis that Mervyn must submit his conduct. The story which he told to mehe must tell to the world. Suspicions have fixed themselves upon him,which allow him not the privilege of silence and obscurity. While hecontinued unknown and unthought of, the publication of his story wouldonly give unnecessary birth to dangers; but now dangers are incurredwhich it may probably contribute to lessen, if not to remove.
Meanwhile the return of Mervyn to the city was anxiously expected. Dayafter day passed, and no tidings were received. I had business of anurgent nature which required my presence in Jersey, but which, in thedaily expectation of the return of my young friend, I postponed a weeklonger than rigid discretion allowed. At length I was obliged to complywith the exigence, and left the city, but made such arrangements that Ishould be apprized by my wife of Mervyn's return with all practicableexpedition.
These arrangements were superfluous, for my business was despatched, andmy absence at an end, before the youth had given us any tokens of hisapproach. I now remembered the warnings of Wortley, and his assertionsthat Mervyn had withdrawn himself forever from our view. The event hadhitherto unwelcomely coincided with these predictions, and a thousanddoubts and misgivings were awakened.
One evening, while preparing to shake off gloomy thoughts by a visit toa friend, some one knocked at my door, and left a billet containingthese words:--
"_Dr. Stevens is requested to come immediately to the Debtors'Apartments in Prune Street._"
This billet was without signature. The handwriting was unknown, and theprecipitate departure of the bearer left me wholly at a loss withrespect to the person of the writer, or the end for which my presencewas required. This uncertainty only hastened my compliance with thesummons.
The evening was approaching,--a time when the prison-doors areaccustomed to be shut and strangers to be excluded. This furnished anadditional reason for despatch. As I walked swiftly along, I revolvedthe possible motives that might have prompted this message. A conjecturewas soon formed, which led to apprehension and inquietude.
One of my friends, by name Carlton, was embarrassed with debts which hewas unable to discharge. He had lately been menaced with arrest by acreditor not accustomed to remit any of his claims. I dreaded that thiscatastrophe had now happened, and called to mind the anguish with whichthis untoward incident would overwhelm his family. I knew his incapacityto take away the claim of his creditor by payment, or to soothe him intoclemency by supplication.
So prone is the human mind to create for itself distress, that I was notaware of the uncertainty of this evil till I arrived at the prison. Ichecked myself at the moment when I opened my lips to utter the name ofmy friend, and was admitted without particular inquiries. I supposedthat he by whom I had been summoned hither would meet me in the commonroom.
The apartment was filled with pale faces and withered forms. The marksof negligence and poverty were visible in all; but few betrayed, intheir features or gestures, any symptoms of concern on account of theircondition. Ferocious gayety, or stupid indifference, seemed to sit uponevery brow. The vapour from a heated stove, mingled with the fumes ofbeer and tallow that were spilled upon it, and with the tainted breathof so promiscuous a crowd, loaded the stagnant atmosphere. At my firsttransition from the cold and pure air without, to this noxious element,I found it difficult to breathe. A moment, however, reconciled me to mysituation, and I looked anxiously round to discover some face which Iknew.
Almost every mouth was furnished with a cigar, and every hand with aglass of porter. Conversation, carried on with much emphasis of tone andgesture, was not wanting. Sundry groups, in different corners, werebeguiling the tedious hours at whist. Others, unemployed, were strollingto and fro, and testified their vacancy of thought and care by hummingor whistling a tune.
I fostered the hope that my prognostics had deceived me. This hope wasstrengthened by reflecting that the billet received was written in adifferent hand from that of my friend. Meanwhile I continued my search.Seated on a bench, silent and aloof from the crowd, his eyes fixed uponthe floor, and his face half concealed by his hand, a form was at lengthdiscovered which verified all my conjectures and fears. Carlton was he.
My heart drooped and my tongue faltered at this sight. I surveyed himfor some minutes in silence. At length, approaching the bench on whichhe sat, I touched his hand and awakened him from his reverie. He lookedup. A momentary gleam of joy and surprise was succeeded by a gloomdeeper than before.
It was plain that my friend needed consolation. He was governed by anexquisite sensibility to disgrace. He was impatient of constraint. Heshrunk, with fastidious abhorrence, from the contact of the vulgar andthe profligate. His constitution was delicate and feeble. Impure airs,restraint from exercise, unusual aliment, unwholesome or incommodiousaccommodations, and perturbed thoughts, were, at any time, sufficient togenerate disease and to deprive him of life.
To these evils he was now subjected. He had no money wherewith topurchase food. He had been dragged hither in the morning. He had nottasted a morsel since his entrance. He had not provided a bed on whichto lie; or inquired in what room, or with what companions, the night wasto be spent.
Fortitude was not among my friend's qualities. He was more prone toshrink from danger than encounter it, and to yield to the flood ratherthan sustain it; but it is just to observe that his anguish, on thepresent occasion, arose not wholly from selfish considerations. Hisparents were dead, and two sisters were dependent on him for support.One of these was nearly of his own age. The other was scarcely emergedfrom childhood. There was an intellectual as well as a personalresemblance between my friend and his sisters. They possessed hisphysical infirmities, his vehement passions, and refinements of taste;and the misery of his condition was tenfold increased, by reflecting onthe feelings which would be awakened in them by the
knowledge of hisstate, and the hardships to which the loss of his succour would exposethem.
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