LETTERLIII.From Charles Duncan to Mr. Flamall.“Sir,“Youwill see me no more. My mysterious conduct will be soon fatally explained to you. Let it suffice here, that I avow myself the husband of your sister, and that the purpose of my soul was to have seen, once more, my beloved, ruined wife. But I was not equal to the task of telling her, that she must forgetCharles Duncan. Let her not curse him, gracious heaven! although he is culpable,even guilty! Lost to honour and to happiness, still will he pray for her, and die her faithful, though wretched“Duncan.”“P. S. The twenty guineas you advanced for my journey have been the means of preserving my miserable existence. You shall hear from me again when I am more collected, and in a situation less critical. I implore from you a regard and tenderness for your sister. May the Almighty fill your heart with compassion for her!”Philip suffered my agony to be relieved by a flood of tears, without interruption, but not without sympathy. He was visibly moved by my condition. At length, taking my hand, he said; “I do not know, my dear Harriet, whether I am acting right by thus indulging your wishes at the hazard of distressing you; but if I could hope this painful remedy might, in the end, prove efficacious, by convincing your understanding and your principles of the folly, as well as the sin, of ruining your health by regrets which you ought not to indulge for so worthless an object, I would willingly satisfy your curiosity by detailing every circumstance of this unhappy affair: being persuaded that you will no longer judge me too severe in my opinion of this young man, nor scruple to think yourself bound to believe that he ought no longer to engage your thoughts, or to have a place in your heart.” “Proceed,” said I, “let me be convinced that there is not on earth a hope for me!” “This language is that of a girl,” replied he gravely, “my sister will be taught by experience to think it so, and the time, I trust, is not remote, when she will bless heaven for the desertion of a man whom she now deplores, and she will consider hisflightas a blessing, when contrasted with all the consequences which would and must have followed his remaining in this country.”“Long before your excursion to Y——h,” continued my brother, “I suspected Duncan’s conduct, and also somewhat of your unhappy partiality in his favour. I consequently observedhimmore narrowly, notyou, my Harriet; for I, with all your friends, believed you too circumspect and prudent, to be in danger from a a young man in Charles’s situation of life, however your fancy might have been allured to like his person. I was not satisfied with his pursuits, nor his connections; and, above all, with his reserve in respect to these. I was told that he gambled; and that, not with the inconsideration of heedless youth, but with the cool intrepidity of a veteran at the gaming-table; but I could never discover his haunts. More than once I saw his purse more amply furnished with gold than I could account for, yet my intelligencer had remarked that he had been of late an unsuccessful player, and I began to believe from his change of conduct about this period, that he had, like most unguarded young men, been drawn in to play by a little good fortune, and then dismissed to his sad experience for want of more money to lose. He was out of spirits, rarely from home, and diligent in the office. I resolved, therefore, to leave him to his own reflections, and the good fruits of repentance for the errors into which he had been betrayed. Soon after you left town, I happened to be with him in the clerks’ office when a person called upon me for the payment of a small bill. A deficiency of silver led me to ask him to lend me a few shillings; he did so; and again I was surprised at seeing many guineas in his possession. The man had no sooner quitted us, than I observed to him, that finding his purse so well lined, I should not reproach myself for want of punctuality in the payment of his quarterly supply, nor wonder at his not having reminded me that it had been due a fortnight.” He coloured; and I added, “One would think Duncan, you had either stumbled on a concealed treasure, or found one in your concealed parents.” “I am not a spendthrift,” replied he haughtily, “and I know I have at least one parent who will never abandon me, and whose resources are infinite.” We were interrupted. Two or three days passed: I was reserved, and he sulky; when he surprised me, by asking my permission to be absent for a week or ten days. I hesitated. “Am I not to be informed whither, and with whom you are going?” asked I coldly. He replied, that he was going to Harwich, where he hoped to hear of those to whom in future he should be responsible for his actions: that, in the mean time, he should receive as a favour and indulgence from me, the permission he had requested. My clerk, Simons, good-naturedly remarked, that Charles had fagged hard during the absence of the other clerk, and he had a right to a jaunt: it would do him service; for he did not look well. Impressed by an idea, that he had heard something of his relations, I gave my consent to an absence of ten days; and at the same time paid him his quarter’s arrears of twenty pounds. He promised to write to me from Harwich; and I left the office to join my friends who had engaged me in a party to Windsor. Two days elapsed before I returned home. I was prepared to find Charles absent: and, whilst at the dining-table, I asked casually, at what time Mr. Duncan had set out on his journey. The servant replied, that he had left the house the same evening with myself. Mr. Simons had supped with him at the inn, and had seen him mount his horse before he left him. “I hope he did not see him tipsy too,” answered I, smiling; “but by the hour, I should fear that neither the one nor the other was fit for a journey, either on foot or on horseback.” The servant said, that Mr. Duncan did not wait for the morning, it being his intention to ride a stage by moon light. “And how did he manage for his clothes?” asked I. “His trunk was sent by the coach on Monday,” replied the lad. “There was something in this account which I did not like; particularly his removing his things, before he knew I should consent to his leaving the house. I expressed my surprise to Simons, who said he was in that plot, for he well knew that I should not be able to refuse the poor fellow, and he had set his heart upon going on horseback; so I advised him,” continued he, “to send his portmanteau by the stage at all hazards, and when he had your leave, I carried him to a livery stable to look at a horse which I thought would suit him. It was a fine animal; and the youngster was so well pleased with him, that he hired him of my friend for the journey; and, young man like, said, he would ride him to Rumford before he slept: so we adjourned to a chop-house, where I supped with him, and at ten o’clock I saw him off; although the moon cheated him, for it was raining hard, and I thought he was a fool to seek a wet coat instead of a good bed.” I had perceived in Simons something of that cunning, or to speak more plainly, knavery, which for many months had rendered me uneasy. He was a useful man, however, in the office, and I still employed him. I now thought there appeared a secret intelligence between him and Duncan; I dissembled, notwithstanding, and dropping the subject, applied to the business before me. A man shortly after brought a letter to Simons. It was from Duncan, and the purport of it was, I found, to inform him, that finding the horse unfit for the journey, he had sent him back, requesting him to settle the business with his friend, and to tell him that he had narrowly escaped a broken leg by trusting to his judgment. Simons swore, according to custom, and followed the messenger. I was told that he had paid for the horse’s journey to Rumford, and that Duncan would remember travelling in the dark for some time, having been thrown from a horse too good for him. Judge of my astonishment on receiving a summons on the following morning to appear before the sitting justices. I found it was to be examined relatively to myclerk, Charles Duncan, and to meet a person in the office, who had positively sworn to his having been stopped on the Rumford road by Charles Duncan, and robbed of his watch and purse.I listened with horror to the reading of this gentleman’s deposition. It was clear and positive in every point that ascertained the criminality of the action, and the identity of the horse which Duncan rode. A crape concealed Duncan’s face, and the accuser observed that he appeared to be a “young adventurer.” Some appearance of lenity in the manners of the gentleman, who was a man in years, induced me to relate as much of Duncan’s story as had come to my knowledge; but I pleaded in vain: a warrant was issued for apprehending him. You may judge, my dear Harriet, of the state of my mind when, on returning home, instead of finding Simons in the office, to whom I was anxious to give the particulars I have related to you, I found a letter from him on his desk, addressed to myself. It was couched in an insolent style. “He had not time to settle accounts with me, but thought his long and faithful services entitled to the consideration of using, for a very special and pressing occasion, the trifle of cash he had in his hands on my account.” This was about five-and-twenty pounds. He warns me to try my influence with Duncan’s prosecutor, as matters carried to extremity against my sister’s husband, would not tend to my credit. “Shall I proceed?” added Philip with emotion; “need I describe my sensations! Your marriage, and the wretches with whom you had confederated to blast my happiness and reputation, for a time overcame me. But my sister soon resumed her wonted power in my soul. Providence appears to have seconded my fond hope of rescuing you from the snares that encompassed you. Your youth and credulity here found a compassionating friend, infinitely more able than myself to befriend you. We may rest in the full conviction of never being molested by Duncan or Simons. Keith has finished his career in a gaol, to which a suspicion of aiding in a forgery conducted him. His death was occasioned by a wound in his head, in consequence of his attempt to escape justice, and his wretched wife is at this time a nurse at the Lock-Hospital, for which post she is qualified.“Such are the people, and such the lover to whom you gave up your fame and prospects in the world! Be grateful to heaven, my dear girl, for a deliverance from such connections so little to be expected, and give me the only recompense I ask for the hours of anxiety you have caused me. Let me see you under my roof, and with my name sustain the character which becomes Harriet Flamall, and promise me never to acknowledge your worthless husband.”Oppressed by my brother’s kindness, and confounded by his relation offacts, as I conceived, in which Duncan was so dreadfully implicated, I eagerly engaged to preserve, for his sake, the fatal secret of my marriage, and to live for his comfort and service. He was satisfied, and left me to compose my spirits.From this time it seemed to be tacitly agreed between us, not to name Charles Duncan, and I exerted my spirits now to a cheerfulness, which, although assumed, contented my brother; but, alas! what had I gained! The art of concealment, and the secret of hoarding up my sorrows for my private hours! My faded form was still attractive, and my brother one day complimented me on having, by “sweet pensiveness and winning modesty,” captivated a lover worth my notice, mentioning at the same time the gentleman’s large fortune, independence, and hopes of gaining my favour. I with firmness assured my brother, that, in relinquishing the name and character of a married woman, it was my intention to have ever before me the vows I had plighted in the face of my Maker, and that as Mr. Duncan’s wife I would live and die. He endeavoured to reason me out of this “scrupulous folly,” as he called it. “Urge me not,” replied I, bursting into tears, “lest I offend you by saying more. I would forego pomp and riches, this world’s favour, and the accommodations necessary to my existence, for the chance of seeing him what he once was. I would traverse the globe with him; I would share in his misery, and partake in his toils without a murmur, could I find him. With these sentiments to support me in my duty, I shall at once say to any man who importunes me with offers of marriage, that I amCharles Duncan’s wife.” My brother was displeased. He called me an “infatuated woman, a romantic fool,” with other epithets, which I shall omit. I did not resent this harshness, and a year passed without the subject of a lover being named, or any appearing to put my constancy to the test. At this period I was surprised by seeing Philip enter the little closet in which I usually passed my vacant time. My Charles had augmented its attractions by decorating it with his drawings, and enlarging the number of the books. I instantly perceived that my brother had an impressive manner. He sat down beside me, tenderly chid me for my preference of this closet, and added, that he was afraid I should want fortitude to meet the intelligence he came to communicate in a spot so devoted to the purpose of nourishing unavailing grief. I trembled, and would have spoke—But——END OF VOL. III.W. Flint, Printer,Old Bailey.
LETTERLIII.
From Charles Duncan to Mr. Flamall.
“Sir,
“Youwill see me no more. My mysterious conduct will be soon fatally explained to you. Let it suffice here, that I avow myself the husband of your sister, and that the purpose of my soul was to have seen, once more, my beloved, ruined wife. But I was not equal to the task of telling her, that she must forgetCharles Duncan. Let her not curse him, gracious heaven! although he is culpable,even guilty! Lost to honour and to happiness, still will he pray for her, and die her faithful, though wretched
“Duncan.”
“P. S. The twenty guineas you advanced for my journey have been the means of preserving my miserable existence. You shall hear from me again when I am more collected, and in a situation less critical. I implore from you a regard and tenderness for your sister. May the Almighty fill your heart with compassion for her!”
Philip suffered my agony to be relieved by a flood of tears, without interruption, but not without sympathy. He was visibly moved by my condition. At length, taking my hand, he said; “I do not know, my dear Harriet, whether I am acting right by thus indulging your wishes at the hazard of distressing you; but if I could hope this painful remedy might, in the end, prove efficacious, by convincing your understanding and your principles of the folly, as well as the sin, of ruining your health by regrets which you ought not to indulge for so worthless an object, I would willingly satisfy your curiosity by detailing every circumstance of this unhappy affair: being persuaded that you will no longer judge me too severe in my opinion of this young man, nor scruple to think yourself bound to believe that he ought no longer to engage your thoughts, or to have a place in your heart.” “Proceed,” said I, “let me be convinced that there is not on earth a hope for me!” “This language is that of a girl,” replied he gravely, “my sister will be taught by experience to think it so, and the time, I trust, is not remote, when she will bless heaven for the desertion of a man whom she now deplores, and she will consider hisflightas a blessing, when contrasted with all the consequences which would and must have followed his remaining in this country.”
“Long before your excursion to Y——h,” continued my brother, “I suspected Duncan’s conduct, and also somewhat of your unhappy partiality in his favour. I consequently observedhimmore narrowly, notyou, my Harriet; for I, with all your friends, believed you too circumspect and prudent, to be in danger from a a young man in Charles’s situation of life, however your fancy might have been allured to like his person. I was not satisfied with his pursuits, nor his connections; and, above all, with his reserve in respect to these. I was told that he gambled; and that, not with the inconsideration of heedless youth, but with the cool intrepidity of a veteran at the gaming-table; but I could never discover his haunts. More than once I saw his purse more amply furnished with gold than I could account for, yet my intelligencer had remarked that he had been of late an unsuccessful player, and I began to believe from his change of conduct about this period, that he had, like most unguarded young men, been drawn in to play by a little good fortune, and then dismissed to his sad experience for want of more money to lose. He was out of spirits, rarely from home, and diligent in the office. I resolved, therefore, to leave him to his own reflections, and the good fruits of repentance for the errors into which he had been betrayed. Soon after you left town, I happened to be with him in the clerks’ office when a person called upon me for the payment of a small bill. A deficiency of silver led me to ask him to lend me a few shillings; he did so; and again I was surprised at seeing many guineas in his possession. The man had no sooner quitted us, than I observed to him, that finding his purse so well lined, I should not reproach myself for want of punctuality in the payment of his quarterly supply, nor wonder at his not having reminded me that it had been due a fortnight.” He coloured; and I added, “One would think Duncan, you had either stumbled on a concealed treasure, or found one in your concealed parents.” “I am not a spendthrift,” replied he haughtily, “and I know I have at least one parent who will never abandon me, and whose resources are infinite.” We were interrupted. Two or three days passed: I was reserved, and he sulky; when he surprised me, by asking my permission to be absent for a week or ten days. I hesitated. “Am I not to be informed whither, and with whom you are going?” asked I coldly. He replied, that he was going to Harwich, where he hoped to hear of those to whom in future he should be responsible for his actions: that, in the mean time, he should receive as a favour and indulgence from me, the permission he had requested. My clerk, Simons, good-naturedly remarked, that Charles had fagged hard during the absence of the other clerk, and he had a right to a jaunt: it would do him service; for he did not look well. Impressed by an idea, that he had heard something of his relations, I gave my consent to an absence of ten days; and at the same time paid him his quarter’s arrears of twenty pounds. He promised to write to me from Harwich; and I left the office to join my friends who had engaged me in a party to Windsor. Two days elapsed before I returned home. I was prepared to find Charles absent: and, whilst at the dining-table, I asked casually, at what time Mr. Duncan had set out on his journey. The servant replied, that he had left the house the same evening with myself. Mr. Simons had supped with him at the inn, and had seen him mount his horse before he left him. “I hope he did not see him tipsy too,” answered I, smiling; “but by the hour, I should fear that neither the one nor the other was fit for a journey, either on foot or on horseback.” The servant said, that Mr. Duncan did not wait for the morning, it being his intention to ride a stage by moon light. “And how did he manage for his clothes?” asked I. “His trunk was sent by the coach on Monday,” replied the lad. “There was something in this account which I did not like; particularly his removing his things, before he knew I should consent to his leaving the house. I expressed my surprise to Simons, who said he was in that plot, for he well knew that I should not be able to refuse the poor fellow, and he had set his heart upon going on horseback; so I advised him,” continued he, “to send his portmanteau by the stage at all hazards, and when he had your leave, I carried him to a livery stable to look at a horse which I thought would suit him. It was a fine animal; and the youngster was so well pleased with him, that he hired him of my friend for the journey; and, young man like, said, he would ride him to Rumford before he slept: so we adjourned to a chop-house, where I supped with him, and at ten o’clock I saw him off; although the moon cheated him, for it was raining hard, and I thought he was a fool to seek a wet coat instead of a good bed.” I had perceived in Simons something of that cunning, or to speak more plainly, knavery, which for many months had rendered me uneasy. He was a useful man, however, in the office, and I still employed him. I now thought there appeared a secret intelligence between him and Duncan; I dissembled, notwithstanding, and dropping the subject, applied to the business before me. A man shortly after brought a letter to Simons. It was from Duncan, and the purport of it was, I found, to inform him, that finding the horse unfit for the journey, he had sent him back, requesting him to settle the business with his friend, and to tell him that he had narrowly escaped a broken leg by trusting to his judgment. Simons swore, according to custom, and followed the messenger. I was told that he had paid for the horse’s journey to Rumford, and that Duncan would remember travelling in the dark for some time, having been thrown from a horse too good for him. Judge of my astonishment on receiving a summons on the following morning to appear before the sitting justices. I found it was to be examined relatively to myclerk, Charles Duncan, and to meet a person in the office, who had positively sworn to his having been stopped on the Rumford road by Charles Duncan, and robbed of his watch and purse.
I listened with horror to the reading of this gentleman’s deposition. It was clear and positive in every point that ascertained the criminality of the action, and the identity of the horse which Duncan rode. A crape concealed Duncan’s face, and the accuser observed that he appeared to be a “young adventurer.” Some appearance of lenity in the manners of the gentleman, who was a man in years, induced me to relate as much of Duncan’s story as had come to my knowledge; but I pleaded in vain: a warrant was issued for apprehending him. You may judge, my dear Harriet, of the state of my mind when, on returning home, instead of finding Simons in the office, to whom I was anxious to give the particulars I have related to you, I found a letter from him on his desk, addressed to myself. It was couched in an insolent style. “He had not time to settle accounts with me, but thought his long and faithful services entitled to the consideration of using, for a very special and pressing occasion, the trifle of cash he had in his hands on my account.” This was about five-and-twenty pounds. He warns me to try my influence with Duncan’s prosecutor, as matters carried to extremity against my sister’s husband, would not tend to my credit. “Shall I proceed?” added Philip with emotion; “need I describe my sensations! Your marriage, and the wretches with whom you had confederated to blast my happiness and reputation, for a time overcame me. But my sister soon resumed her wonted power in my soul. Providence appears to have seconded my fond hope of rescuing you from the snares that encompassed you. Your youth and credulity here found a compassionating friend, infinitely more able than myself to befriend you. We may rest in the full conviction of never being molested by Duncan or Simons. Keith has finished his career in a gaol, to which a suspicion of aiding in a forgery conducted him. His death was occasioned by a wound in his head, in consequence of his attempt to escape justice, and his wretched wife is at this time a nurse at the Lock-Hospital, for which post she is qualified.
“Such are the people, and such the lover to whom you gave up your fame and prospects in the world! Be grateful to heaven, my dear girl, for a deliverance from such connections so little to be expected, and give me the only recompense I ask for the hours of anxiety you have caused me. Let me see you under my roof, and with my name sustain the character which becomes Harriet Flamall, and promise me never to acknowledge your worthless husband.”
Oppressed by my brother’s kindness, and confounded by his relation offacts, as I conceived, in which Duncan was so dreadfully implicated, I eagerly engaged to preserve, for his sake, the fatal secret of my marriage, and to live for his comfort and service. He was satisfied, and left me to compose my spirits.
From this time it seemed to be tacitly agreed between us, not to name Charles Duncan, and I exerted my spirits now to a cheerfulness, which, although assumed, contented my brother; but, alas! what had I gained! The art of concealment, and the secret of hoarding up my sorrows for my private hours! My faded form was still attractive, and my brother one day complimented me on having, by “sweet pensiveness and winning modesty,” captivated a lover worth my notice, mentioning at the same time the gentleman’s large fortune, independence, and hopes of gaining my favour. I with firmness assured my brother, that, in relinquishing the name and character of a married woman, it was my intention to have ever before me the vows I had plighted in the face of my Maker, and that as Mr. Duncan’s wife I would live and die. He endeavoured to reason me out of this “scrupulous folly,” as he called it. “Urge me not,” replied I, bursting into tears, “lest I offend you by saying more. I would forego pomp and riches, this world’s favour, and the accommodations necessary to my existence, for the chance of seeing him what he once was. I would traverse the globe with him; I would share in his misery, and partake in his toils without a murmur, could I find him. With these sentiments to support me in my duty, I shall at once say to any man who importunes me with offers of marriage, that I amCharles Duncan’s wife.” My brother was displeased. He called me an “infatuated woman, a romantic fool,” with other epithets, which I shall omit. I did not resent this harshness, and a year passed without the subject of a lover being named, or any appearing to put my constancy to the test. At this period I was surprised by seeing Philip enter the little closet in which I usually passed my vacant time. My Charles had augmented its attractions by decorating it with his drawings, and enlarging the number of the books. I instantly perceived that my brother had an impressive manner. He sat down beside me, tenderly chid me for my preference of this closet, and added, that he was afraid I should want fortitude to meet the intelligence he came to communicate in a spot so devoted to the purpose of nourishing unavailing grief. I trembled, and would have spoke—But——
END OF VOL. III.
END OF VOL. III.
W. Flint, Printer,Old Bailey.