University of Virginia Library

36. CHAP. XXXVI.
LADY CHATTERTON'S BIRTH-DAY.

After every probable method had been taken by
Mr. Littleton, George and Lady Chatterton, to
discover our heroine's retreat, all proving equally ineffectual,
they were obliged to rest satisfied that no exertion
of theirs had been wanting; and trust to chance for a
discovery, which their united efforts had been unable to
make. Old Mr. Littleton began to be tired of living on
shore, and applied for employment; but as he annexed
to the request the condition of being promoted in the service,
he fonnd but little attention was paid to it, and he
only received repeated promises, that when opportunity
offered he should be remembered. He spent great part of
his time with the Chatterton family, and as the summer
approached it was proposed, that both himself and George
should accompany them to their country seat.

Lady Chatterton's birth-day was on the 7th of June,
and she made a point of always celebrating it before she
left town, her husband regularly presenting her with two
hundred pounds to be expended on the occasion. Mr.
Clayton, his Lordship's chaplain, being caterer extraordinary,
always provided the entertainment, in which her
Ladyship was so very selfish, as to allow no one to partake
but her husband, this identical chaplain, and herself.

Mr. Clayton was always extremely busy for some
weeks previous to the day, the whole cities of London,
Westminster, and their environs, being ransacked for delicacies
to suit her Ladyship's taste; for on this day she
was a real voluptuary, though all the rest of her life was
marked by temperance and moderation: But to speak
without a metaphor, Lady Chatterton was a woman of
so unfashionable a turn, that, rather than raise the envy
of half the town, by giving a splendid ball, she chose to
expend the money her husband gave her in relieving indigence,
and raising depressed merit.

“There shall be some cause for rejoicing on my birth-day,”
said she, “for I will cheer the afflicted spirit, and
fulfil the duties incumbent on my station; we were created
to be of service to each other, and we have no reason
to rejoice in our creation but as we fulfil the design
of him who gave us being.”

Mr. Clayton, therefore, carefully searched for objects
proper to excite her Ladyship's compassion, and share
her benevolence. The happy season now drew near,
and Clayton took his usal walks round the metropolis,
while, with a laudable curiosity, he made little errands
into chandlers-shops, green-stalls, and public houses, in
order to learn the circumstances of the people in every
poor neighbourhood through which he passed. It happened,
as he was purchasing some barly-sugar at a shop
of the former description, he saw two suspicious looking
men ascend the stairs, and immediately after heard a
bustle in the appartment over the shop. Presently the
men came down, accompanied by a genteel looking
man in deep mourning. He had the air and manner of

a gentleman; but his uncombed hair, and pale, unshaven
face, bespoke a mind ill at ease.

“Well, they have nabb'd him at last,” said the mistress
of the shop, as the young man and his ungenteel
companions left the house together.—

“Would you believe it, Sir, that young man, not six
months ago, was one of the gayest bucks about town.
I remember him flashing away like a Lord, and I was
told he visited Lords and gentlefolks of great fortune.
Indeed, they did say, there was a Lady of quality in
love with him, but that was not much to his credit or
advantage, for she was a married woman, and once he
had liked to have got himself killed by her husband.”

“But if he was so gay,” said Clayton, “how came
he so reduced as he now appears?”

“Why, Sir, you must know I can give you good
information, for I once lived servant in the family,
though now, thank God, I can hold up my head without
service, or without being beholding to any body,
and that is more than every one can say.”

“Well, but about the young gentleman,” said Clayton,
rather impatiently.

“Yes, as I was saying, he was a gay spark, and
Miss, his sister, a very fine Lady. His father was a merchant,
and kept a large house in the city, and lived
away at a very high rate; coach, servants, every thing
like a Lord: Well, behold you, he died about six
months ago, and left not a farthing behind him, so
away went coach, fine house, furniture, plate and all,
to pay his debts, and Madam, Miss, and her brother,
forced to humble themselves, so they came to lodge
with me. The young man got a trifling place in some
office, and that is all they have to live on, which, I believe,
in my conscience, is little enough, for they run
fine long bills with me.

Why, Sir, they owes me above three guineas now; but,
seeing as how other people are taken measures to get
their own, I shall make bold to ask for mine. Charity
begins at home, is an old proverb, and a very good one;
don't you think so, Sir? If so be Mr. Savage can't pay

his taylor, mayhap, when the bill gets a little higher,
he might not be able to pay me.”

“True,” said Clayton, coldly; “but could you
briug me to a fight of Mrs. Savage, or her daughter?”

“Lord! not I; they are so proud, that if a body offers
to speak or introduce a friend, they are upon stilts
directly.”

“Well, but pray step up with a civil message from
me; say I wish to speak with them on particular business.”

“And who must I tell them you are, Sir?”

“My name is of no consequence; only say a clergyman.”

The woman executed the commission, and, soon returning,
desired Mr. Clayton to walk up.

On entering a small ill-furnished apartment, he beheld
two charmingly prepossessing women, the eldest of whom
did not appear to be more than forty years old, and the
youngest seventeen; they were dressed in mourning, plain
but extremely becoming, and had much the air of women
of fashion.

He apologized for the seeming rudeness of a stranger
intruding himself into their apartments uninvited, mentioned
that he had seen the transaction of the arrest, and
thought it might be in his power to alleviate, if not entirely
remove, their distresses.

The mother's eyes overflowed at the mention of her
son's imprisonment. Her daughter took her hand, pressed
it to her lips, gave her a consolatory look; but the
starting drops of sympathy that trembled in her eyes forbade
her utterance.

“Lady Chatterton will dry those tears,” said Clayton,
mentally, “or I am deceived in her character.—
What a pity so much sweetness should droop under the
heavy hand of affliction!”

Clayton was a young man—Miss Savage a charming
woman.

He drew from them, in the most delicate manner, an
account of their various embarrassments in pecuniary matters,
said he had known the late Mr. Savage, and once

received a great obligation at his hands, which he was
happy in having now the power to return, requested they
would consider him as their banker; “for, my dear
Miss,” said he to the daughter, “I owed your father a
considerable sum of money.” He then presented them
with the whole contents of his purse, as he said, in part
of payment, and departed, promising to see them again
in a few days.

His assertions, in regard to having known Mr. Savage,
were not strictly true; but it was a pious fraud, by which
he prevailed on the distressed ladies to accept pecuniary
assistance, and, he humbly trusted, the design would
sanctify the act.

Two days from this was Lady Chatterton's birth-day.

“Come, Clayton,” said she, when she had read the
memorandums over of that day's intended route, “we
will pay the first visit to your pretty Savage.”

Clayton introduced her to the Ladies as a person courting
their friendship, and desirous of serving them. From
them she learned that young Savage, when arrested, having
not the least hope of liberation, had insisted on being
immediately conveyed to prison.

“Then we will go and find a key to open those tremendous
doors,” said Lady Chatterton, “and I think,”
glancing her eyes over her memorandums, “I have some
other business to transact there. My dear Ladies, I
will soon send this beloved son and brother to you, on
condition you all dine with me to-day at five o'clock.”
She presented her card and departed, leaving the ladies
oppressed with delightful sensations that could only be
expressed by tears.

Lady Chatterton proceeded to the prison, and was introduced
to young Savage, whom she immediately congratulated
on his liberty, “your disagreeable business is
all settled, Sir, said she, “and I beg you will hasten
home to your expecting mother and sister.” Savage gazed
with astonishment at Lady Chatterton, for habited as
she was in a plain robe of white muslin, a bonnet and
a cloack of the same materials, and led by the hand of the
meek, benevolent looking Clayton, he knew not whether

to consider her as an inhabibant of this nether globe, or a
a celestial spirit.

“If what you say, Madam,” cried he, “be really
true, and I have no reason to doubt it, for your countenance
is benevolence itself. Pardon my seeming ingratitude,
but I could have wished the affair had not been so
speedily concluded.”

“Strange, indeed!” said her ladyship: Do you not
wish for liberty?”

“Most ardently, Madam; but there is in this habitation
of misery an object more deserving your charitable
notice, an object so pitiable, so very interesting to the
feelings of humanity, that I could, with satisfaction have
seen the liberality extended in my behalf transferred to
her.”

“Thank heaven!” said her Ladyship, “neither the
means of comforting the afflicted, nor the will to use
those means, are denied me; neither my heart or purse
are limitted. Come, Sir, lead on to the place where I
may dry the tear of sorrow, and gladden the prisoner's
ear by the welcome sound of liberty.”

Savage led the way to a miserable room, where, on a
truss of straw, for neither bed nor chair appeared in the
apartment, laid an old woman, almost worn to a skeleton,
whose haggard looks and laboured breathing, seemed
to portend approaching dissolution!—On the same
straw, supporting the aged invalid's head in her lap, sat
the almost shadowy figure of a young creature, habited
in a white bead gown, her hair hanging negligently
over her face and shoulders, one hand held the burning
forehead of the apparently dying woman, the other hung
motionless by her side. Beside them stood a pitcher of
water, and a small brown loaf.

“Heaven preserve us,” said lady Chatterton, gasping
for breath, “what a scene is here!” The old woman
raised her languid eyes at the sound of the voice, but
the young one remained in the same posture, nor seemed
to heed that any one approached.

Lady Chatterton drew near, took her hand, and, in
a voice soft as the music of the spheres, bid her be comsorted.

“Come, cheer up, my poor girl,” said she, “I
will do all I can to serve you.”

She turned her head, looked earnestly at Lady Chartterton,
a saint glow rushed over her pale features, and as
quickly disappeared as she exclaimed:—“Oh! I know
you; you are an angel of benevolence,” and sainted.

She was immediately carried into the air, and on cutting
the lace of her stays, Lady Chatterton discovered a
small shagreen case, hung pendant from her neck by a
riband. A sudden irresistable impulse led her to open it,
when the portraits of George Littleton and Lady Mary
struck her fight. She looked again on the young woman,
who was now just recovering, and instantly in her
reanimated countenance, recognized the features of Rebecca.

The debt, for which her mother had been thrown into
prison, was fifteen pounds, which was contracted with
the apothecary during her's and Rebecca's illness. Lady
Chatterton soon contrived to have it discharged, and
poor Mrs. Serl being tenderly informed of her liberation,
was carefully placed in the carriage, her daughter on
one side, and her deliverer on the other, who supported
her as the coach moved slowly toward St. Alban's-Street;
nor ever did conqueror, in his triumphal car, feel more
exulting sensations than did her Ladyship when she led
the grateful, trembling Rebecca into her own house,
saw her mother laid in a comfortable bed, and heard
from a physician, that tender attention and peace of
mind, would be more efficacious towards her restoration
than medicine. He also ordered Rebecca to be immediately
put to bed, and take some wine and water,
with a few drops of laudanum in it, as the agitation of
her spirits, and suddenchange of fortune, had occasioned
a wildness in her looks, and an incoherence in her
discourse, that rather alarmed him. Lady Chatterton
saw the prescription administered, and then descended
to meet her guests in the dining parlour, while the
exhausted Rebecca sunk into a more peaceful slumber
than she had enjoyed for many months.