 | CHAPTER XXIV. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
24. CHAPTER XXIV.
After a night of repose rather than of
sleep, I began the search after my friend. I
went to the house which the Dudleys formerly inhabited,
and which had been the asylum of my
infancy. It was now occupied by strangers, by
whom no account could be given of its former tenants.
I obtained directions to the owner of the
house. He was equally unable to satisfy my curiosity.
sale, and terms had been settled not with Dudley,
but with the Sheriff.
It is needless to say, that the history of Craig's
imposture and its consequences, were confirmed
by every one who resided at that period in New-York.
The Dudleys were well remembered, and
their disappearance, immediately after their fall,
had been generally noticed, but whither they had
retired, was a problem which no one was able to
solve.
This evasion was strange. By what motives
the Dudleys were induced to change their ancient
abode, could be vaguely guessed. My friend's
grandfather was a native of the West-Indies.
Descendants of the same stock still resided in Tobago.
They might be affluent, and to them, it
was possible, that Mr. Dudley, in this change of
fortune, had betaken himself for relief. This
was a mournful expedient, since it would raise a
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. Her
grandmother was a native of Baltimore, of a family
of some note, by name Ridgeley. This family
might still exist, and have either afforded an
asylum to the Dudleys, or, at least, be apprised
of their destiny. It was obvious to conclude that
they no longer existed within the precincts of
New-York. A journey to Baltimore was the
next expedient.
This journey was made in the depth of winter,
and by the speediest conveyance. I made no
more than a day's sojourn in Philadelphia. The
epidemic by which that city had been lately ravaged,
Its devastations were then painted to my
fancy in the most formidable colours. A few
months only had elapsed since its extinction, and
I expected to see numerous marks of misery and
dispopulation.
To my no small surprize, however, no vestiges
of this calamity were to be discerned. All houses
were open, all streets thronged, and all faces
thoughtless or busy. The arts and the amusements
of life seemed as sedulously cultivated as
ever. Little did I then think what had been,
and what, at that moment, was the condition of
my friend. I stopt for the sake of respite from
fatigue, and did not, therefore, pass much time
in the streets. Perhaps, had I walked seasonably
abroad, we might have encountered each
other, and thus have saved ourselves from a thousand
anxieties.
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 only had been maintained,
formerly, by Dudley with his mother's
kindred. They had heard of his misfortune, a
twelvemonth after it happened, but what measures
had been subsequently pursued, their kinsman
had not thought proper to inform them.
The failure of this expedient almost bereft me
of hope. Neither my own imagination nor the
Ridgeleys, could suggest any new mode by which
my purpose was likely to be accomplished. To
leave America, without obtaining the end of my
visit, could not be thought of without agony, and
yet the continuance of my stay promised me no
relief from my uncertainties.
On this theme, I ruminated without ceasing.
I recalled every conversation and incident of former
times, and sought in them a clue, by which
my present conjectures might be guided. One
night, immersed alone in my chamber, my thoughts
were thus employed. My train of meditation
was, on this occasion, new. From the review
of particulars from which no satisfaction had hitherto
been gained, I passed to a vague and comprehensive
retrospect.
Mr. Dudley's early life, his profession of a
painter, his zeal in this pursuit, and his reluctance
to quit it, were remembered. Would he
not revert to this profession, when other means
of subsistence were gone. It is true, similar obstacles
with those which had formerly occasioned
his resort to a different path, existed at present,
and no painter of his name was to be found in Philadelphia,
Baltimore, or New-York. But would
it not occur to him, that the patronage denied to
his skill, by the frugal and unpolished habits of
his countrymen, might with more probability of
success, be sought from the opulence and luxury
of London? Nay, had he not once affirmed in
my hearing, that if he ever were reduced to poverty,
this was the method he would pursue?
This conjecture was too bewitching to be easily
dismissed. Every new reflection augmented
its force. I was suddenly raised by it from the
deepest melancholy to the region of lofty and gay
hopes. Happiness, of which I had began to imagine
myself irretrievably bereft, seemed once
more to approach within my reach. Constance
would not only be found, but be met in the midst
of those comforts which her father's skill could not
fail to procure, and on that very stage where I
most desired to encounter her. Mr. Dudley had
many friends and associates of his youth in London.
to fix his abode in Europe, when summoned home
by his father. On his father's death these solicitations
had been renewed, but were disregarded
for reasons, which he, afterwards, himself confessed,
were fallacious. That they would, a third
time be preferred, and would regulate his conduct,
seemed to me incontestable.
I regarded with wonder and deep regret, the
infatuation that had hitherto excluded these images
from my understanding and my memory.
How many dangers and toils had I endured since
my embarkation at Naples, to the present moment?
How many lingering minutes had I told
since my first interview with Courtland? All
were owing to my own stupidity. Had my present
thoughts been seasonably suggested, I might
long since have been restored to the embraces of
my friend, without the necessity of an hour's separation
from my husband.
These were evils to be repaired as far as it was
possible. Nothing now remained but to precure
a passage to Europe. For this end diligent inquiries
were immediately set in foot. A vessel
was found, which, in a few 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 that lately haunted it,
was capable of some attention to surrounding objects.
I marked the peculiarities of manners and
language in my new abode, and studied the effects
which a political and religious system, so
opposite to that with which I had conversed, in
Italy and Switzerland, had produced. I found
that the difference between Europe and America,
lay chiefly in this; that, in the former, all
all things tended to the same level. Genius
and virtue, and happiness, on these shores, were
distinguished by a sort of mediocrity. Conditions
were less unequal, and men were strangers
to the heights of enjoyment and the depths of
misery, to which the inhabitants of Europe are
accustomed.
I received friendly notice and hospitable treatment
from the Ridgeleys. These people were
mercantile and plodding in their habits. I found
in their social circle, little exercises for the sympathies
of my heart, and willingly accepted their
aid to enlarge the sphere of my observation.
About a week before my intended embarkation,
and when suitable preparation had been
made for that event, a lady arrived in town, who
was cousin to my Constantia. She had frequently
been mentioned in favorable terms, in my hearing.
She had passed her life, in a rural abode
with her father, who cultivated his own domain,
lying forty miles from Baltimore.
On an offer being made to introduce us to each
other, I consented to know one whose chief recommendation,
in my eyes, consisted in her affinity
to Constance Dudley. I found an artless
and attractive female, unpolished and undepraved
by much intercourse with mankind. At first
sight, I was powerfully struck by the resemblances
of her features to those of my friend, which
sufficiently denoted their connection with a common
stock.
The first interview afforded mutual satisfaction.
On our second meeting, discourse insensibly
led to the mention of Miss Dudley, and of the
design which had brought me to America. She
was deeply affected by the earnestness with which
proofs which my conduct had given of unlimited
attachment.
I dwelt immediately on the measures which I
had hitherto ineffectually pursued to trace her
footsteps, and detailed the grounds of my present
belief, that we should meet in London. During
this recital, my companion sighed and wept.
When I finished my tale, her tears, instead of
ceasing, flowed with new vehemence. This appearance
excited some surprize, and I ventured
to ask the cause of her grief.
Alas! She replied, I am personally a stranger
to my Cousin, but her character has been amply
displayed to me by one who knew her well. I
weep to think how much she has suffered. How
much excellence we have lost!
Nay, said I, all her sufferings will, I hope, be
compensated, and I by no means consider her as
lost. If my search in London be unsuccessful,
then shall I indeed despair.
Despair then, already, said my sobbing companion,
for your search will be unsuccessful.
How I feel for your disappointment! but it cannot
be known too soon. My Cousin is dead!
These tidings were communicated with tokens
of sincerity and sorrow, that left me no room to
doubt that they were believed by the relater.
My own emotions were suspended till interrogations
had obtained a knowledge of her reasons for
crediting this fatal event, and till she had explained
the time and manner of her death. A friend
of Miss Ridgeley's father had witnessed the devastations
of the yellow fever in Philadelphia.
He was apprized of the relationship that subsisted
between his friend and the Dudleys. He
gave a minute and circumstantial account of the
arts of Craig. He mentioned the removal of my
life, and finally, their falling victims to the
pestilence.
He related the means by which he became apprized
of their fate, and drew a picture of their
death, surpassing all that imagination can conceive
of shocking and deplorable. The quarter
where they lived was nearly desolate. Their
house was shut up, and, for a time, imagined to
to be uninhabited. Some suspicions being awakened,
in those who superintended the burial of
the dead, the house was entered, and the father
and child discovored to be dead. The former
was stretched upon his wretched pallet, while
the daughter was found on the floor of the lower
room, in a state that denoted the sufferance, not
only of disease, but of famine.
This tale was false. Subsequent discoveries
proved this to be a detestable artifice of Craig,
who stimulated by incurable habits, had invented
these disasters, for the purpose of enhancing the
opinion of his humanity, and of furthering his
views on the fortune and daughter of Mr. Ridgeley.
Its falsehood, however, I had as yet no means
of ascertaining. I received it as true, and at
once dismissed all my claims upon futurity. All
hopes of happiness, in this mutable and sublunary
scene, was fled. Notning remained, but to join
my friend in a world, where woes are at an end
and virtue finds its recompence. Surely, said I,
there will sometime be a close to calamity and
discord. To those whose lives have been blameless,
but harassed by inquietudes, to which not
their own, but the errors of others have given
birth, a fortress will hereafter be assigned, unassailable
by change, impregnable to sorrow.
O! my ill-fated Constance! I will live to
cherish thy remembrance, and to emulate thy
virtue. I will endure the privation of thy friendship
and the vicissitudes that shall befall me, and
draw my consolation and courage, from the foresight
of no distant close to this terrestrial scene,
and of ultimate and everlasting union with thee.
This consideration, though it kept me from
confusion and despair, could not, but with the
healing aid of time, render me tranquil or strenuous.
My strength was unequal to the struggle
of my passions. The ship in which 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 was dearer to me than
that of any other, and was therefore seldom willing
to leave my chamber. Her presence, less
on her own account, than by reason of her personal
resemblance and her affinity by birth to
Constance, was a powerful solace.
I had nothing to detain me longer in America.
I was anxious to change my present lonely state,
for the communion of those friends, in England,
and the performance of those duties, which were
left to me. I was informed that a British Packet,
would shortly sail from New-York. My frame
was sunk into greater weakness, than I had felt
at any former period; and I conceived, that to
return to New-York, by water, was more commodious
than to perform the journey by land.
This arrangement was likewise destined to be
disappointed. One morning I visited, according
to my custom, Mary Ridgeley. I found her in
a temper somewhat inclined to gaiety. She rallied
me, with great archness, on the care with
which I had concealed from her a tender engagement,
into which I had lately entered.
I supposed myself to comprehend her allusion,
and, therefore, answered that accident rather
than design, had made me silent on the subject
of marriage. She had hitherto known me by no
appellation, but Sophia Courtland. I had
thought it needless to inform her, that I was indebted
for my name to my husband, Courtland
being his name.
All that, said my friend, I know already, and,
So you sagely think that my knowledge goes no
farther than that? We are not bound to love our
husbands longer than their lives. There is no
crime, I believe, in preferring the living to the
dead, and most heartily do I congratulate you on
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 Ridgeley hastened down at this
signal, saying, with much significance —
I am a poor hand at solving a riddle. Here
comes one who, if I mistake not, 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
the pleasure of introducing you. He has come
for the special purpose of solving my riddle—
I attended her to the parlour without hesitation.
She presented me, with great formality, to a
youth, whose appearance did not greatly prepossess
me in favor of his judgment. He approached
me with an air, supercilious and ceremonious,
but the moment he caught a glance at my face,
he shrunk back, visibly confounded and embarrassed.
A pause ensued, in which Miss Ridgeley
had opportunity to detect the error into
young man.
How now, Mr. Martynne, said my friend, in
a tone of ridicule, is it possible you do not know
the lady who is the queen of your affections, the
tender and indulgent fair one, whose portrait
you carry in your bosom; and whose image you
daily and nightly bedew with your tears and
kisses?
Mr. Martynne's confusion instead of being subdued
by his struggle, only grew more conspicuous,
and after a few incoherent speeches and
apologies, during which he carefully avoided encountering
my eyes, he hastily departed.
I applied to my friend, with great earnestness,
for an explanation of this scene. It seems that,
in the course of conversation with him, on the
preceeding day, he had suffered a portrait which
hung at his breast, to catch Miss Ridgeley's eye.
On her betraying a desire to inspect it more
nearly, he readily produced it. My image had
been too well copied by the artist, not to be instantly
recognized.
She concealed her knowledge of the original,
and by questions, well adapted to the purpose,
easily drew from him confessions that this was
the portrait of his mistress. He let fall sundry innuendoes
and surmizes, tending to impress her
with a notion of the rank, fortune and intellectual
accomplishments of the nymph, and particularly
of the doating fondness and measureless confidence,
with which she regarded him.
Her imperfect knowledge of my situation, left
her in some doubt as to the truth of these pretensions,
and she was willing to ascertain the truth,
by bringing about an interview. To guard
against evasions and artifice in the lover, she
carefully concealed from him her knowledge of
of her's, was far more beautiful than her whom
this picture represented. She added, that she
expected a visit from her friend the next morning,
and was willing, by shewing her to Mr. Martynne,
to convince him how much he was mistaken,
in supposing the perfections of his mistress
unrivalled.
| CHAPTER XXIV. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |