Ambrose Fecit, or, The peer and the printer :: :: University of Virginia Library

We were soon re-clad, and otherwise
rendered fit for decent society. How
pleasant the street looked from the
window of the chamber! How delicious
was the disorder that followed!
Commend me to confinement as a preparatory
course to the pleasures of
freedom.

It was not long before the Duke, who
was at the House of Peers when our
message came, arrived to welcome us,
and congratulate us on our escape. A
consultation followed about the course
proper for us to pursue under the circumstances,
and at this none were present
beside the Duke, Espinel, Paul
and myself.

“Of course,” said the Duke, “we
must avoid the prosecution of Dr.
Leeds, since that would produce an
unpleasant scandal.”

Dr. Leeds, it appeared, was the name
of the person in whose private asylum
we had been confined, and whom we
had so unceremoniously put to bed in
daylight.

“Of course,” echoed Paul and the
Count.

“Sureties can be sent, as Ambrose
and the Count have promised; but if
the doctor is apprehended, he can pay
the forfeited recognizances, and that
will dispose of the matter.”

“It is the only mode,” agreed Bagby.

“Excuse me, your grace,” I said,
“but I see no reason why the matter
should stop so. I cannot so easily forget
my loss of liberty, and the personal
indignity I encountered. The Count
may exhibit forbearance if he chooses;
I find no fault with him for that; but
I prefer to act differently.”

“But, don't you see that you may
strike at some one behind him—the
Earl of Landys, probably,” suggested
the Duke.

“That is precisely what I most desire.
I care less to break the tool than
to paralyze the hand that wields it.
The disgrace and punishment of the
Earl is what I intend; and I fancy, if
I can bring it home to him, a British
jury, or his peers, if he avail himself
of his privilege, will punish him and
his co-conspirator, though he were
twenty times an Earl. I will be satisfied
with no civil suit. Your grace
seems impatient. Can you give me
any reasons why I should forbear?”

“I can give you one which I hope
may have some influence over you—
the Earl is my kinsman. It is a pity
that such is the case, for he is a scoundrel;
but it is so. His disgrace would
attach itself to me. He is the next
heir to the dukedom and its estate,
which is entailed. As I have no male
children, he will necessarily succeed
me. It would be to me the most terrible
of calamities if our house, until
my time, at least, so glorious in the annals
of the realm, should have its escutcheon
tarnished. I have not much
claim on your regard, Mr. Fecit; will
you let me urge your silence as an act
of kindness?”

“My lord duke,” I answered, “I feel
under obligations to you, and if it were
this kidnapping alone, I might smother
my resentment. You do not know all.
That scoundrel—for your grace has
rightly named him—endeavored to fix
the brand of felony on me; and it was
only by accident, perhaps I should say
by the kind favor of an overruling

power, that I was enabled to avert unmerited
shame.”

“I do not understand you.”

I told the story of the snuff-box. His
grace shook his head.

“The man is worse than I thought
him,” he said; “much worse; but dastardly
as his conduct has been, it will
never do to make it public.”

But my resentment was too bitter to
allow me to have the affair hushed up.

“Allow me,” said Paul, “to talk to
Ambrose apart.”

He took me to a recess, and continued:

“Do you believe me when I pledge
my honor to the truth of a statement?”

“Implicitly.”

“Do you regard little Zara much?”

“Much! I love the child dearly.”

“And to spare her pain you would
sacrifice something?”

“Something! almost everything.”

“Listen, then. Circumstances which
we cannot show you now, are such that
you cannot strike a blow at Lord Landys
without injuring Zara very much.
Now, will you go on, or not?”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Positively and absolutely sure.”

“I have changed my mind,” I said,
coming forward. “I shall be guided
by your joint advice in this matter.”

“I am your debtor, then,” said Espinel.

“And I,” said the Duke. “And now
about yourself. I saw the Earl in the
house to-day. He will soon hear of
this affair. In spite of my pains to
hush it up, some account of the escape
will get into the journals; or if not,
Dr. Leeds has appealed, or will appeal,
to his partner for safety. The Earl is
rather desperate, and for some unknown
cause seems to have taken a
personal dislike to you. You are not
safe here, and I think you had better
leave the country and go to France for
awhile. As your journey is for my
advantage as well as yours, you must
permit me to defray your expenses
abroad.”

“Allow me to say that the continent
is too near England,” said Espinel.

“America?” suggested Paul.

“The very place,” replied the Duke.

I was annoyed at this summary disposition
of my movements, and spoke
up sharply.

“You will excuse me, but I see no
reason why I should leave at all. Now
that I know I am subject to be way-laid,
I shall be prepared to defend myself
against both kidnapping and assassination.”

“The same reasons,” said Paul,
“which I gave you a few moments
since will apply here.”

I gave in finally.

“But,” I said, “I believe I have
means enough at my command without
troubling your grace. I have a letter
from a friend to his bankers in London.
I believe it is a letter of credit, and I
prefer being under obligation to him.”

“Old Sharp?” inquired Paul.

I nodded assent.

“There is another mystery about
Ambrose,” gaily said Paul, “which is
more puzzling than all the rest. There
is a man—no, a walking money-bag—
in Puttenham; a miser so mean that
he would go down on his knees in the
mire to pick up a crooked pin without
a head; and over this man Ambrose
exercises a singular control.”

“You are mistaken,” I retorted. “He
would have sense enough to balance
the impending wear and tear of the
knees of his trousers against the value

of the headless pin, and keep erect.
That he is not the miser you and others
think him, this shows—he pressed money
on me for my journey to London,
and when I refused it, insisted on my
taking a letter to his bankers, to be
used whenever I had occasion.”

“For ten pounds, I suppose,” said
Paul.

“Well,” said the Duke, “if the
amount it obtains you be not amply
sufficient, you must put me under obligations
by permitting me to furnish
the rest.”

“I promise your grace to do so; but
you must not be misled in your estimate
of Mr. Sharp. He is a singular
being, I admit, but a different man,
and a far more liberal man than Mr.
Bagby believes.”

“Oh, I believe anything,” cried Paul,
laughing. “After the way in which
you seem to manage him, I can doubt
no more.”

It was settled that I was to call on
Zara the next day to bid her farewell,
and as Paul was well acquainted with
the junior partner of the house to
which Sharp's letter was directed, he
was to go with me first to make them
sure I was really the Ambrose Fecit
named. It was further settled that I
was to sail in the first vessel that left
for the United States, and that abroad
I should take the same name to which
my letters from Puttenham had been
directed—Mr. Andrew Brooks.

That night I read the letters that
had come for me during my absence—
one from Captain Berkely—the other
from Sharp.

The Captain detailed the alarm and
annoyance of the Guttenbergs at my
departure. Mr. Guttenberg found my
absence to be a serious disadvantage
to his business, was sorry that he had
spoken so harshly to me, and was willing
that I should come back on my
own terms. Mrs. Guttenberg mourned
me very much, and feared that something
would happen to the poor boy.
The Earl had gone to London to attend
Parliament, and, as I had predicted,
Osborne had come back to the
Castle.

Sharp's letter was principally filled
with good advice about money matters.
He presumed I was doing well,
as I had not been to his bankers; but
advised me if I could see an opportunity
to buy half or third of a well-established
printing business to do so,
but to be careful and investigate its
value and stability first.

“Be not too ambitious,” said the letter.
“Creep before you fly. Little
strokes fell great oaks. A concern of
which a thousand pounds will get half
is enough for a start. Prudence and
economy, with the other half of your
capital in reserve, will build you up a
fortune. Dress well—it is economy
for a tradesman to dress well. By
that, I mean to dress in the best of
materials, plainly made, not in the
height of the mode, as young men are
apt to do, but enough like others not
to be singular. This looks as though
you were thriving, and looks are a
great deal. And always brush your
coat well when you take it off, and put
it away carefully. The bristles injure
the texture less than dust.”

And so the letter went on, much to
my amusement. He wrote as though
I had capital. He might as well
have cautioned me against buying the
Pitt diamond, as not to expend more
than a thousand pounds in business.
As I could not suspect him of jeering

me, I concluded his mind wandered occasionally.

The next morning Paul and I were
driven into the city. We entered the
house of Lent & Co., bankers, to whom
I was properly introduced. After
glancing at my letter, the junior partner
broke the seal, and reading it, said:

“I hope you will keep your account
with us, sir. Shall we place it to your
credit, or will you draw?”

I was astonished, and asked to see
the letter. It contained a check, drawn
to my order, for two thousand pounds,
and a few words saying that any favors
I might need to the like amount,
in the course of business, might be
placed, from time to time, to the writer's
account. The money was so much
more than I ever dreamed of possessing,
that I half hesitated, but finally
took it in the shape of a draft upon a
New York banker.

On my way to see Zara, Paul was
full of this affair, which astonished
him, and declared that either Sharp
was John Howard re-born, or that I
was undoubtedly the Emperor of China,
and Sharp my Chancellor of the
Exchequer.

Zara, from whom her uncle had parted
but a short while before, was delighted
to see me, and cried over my
approaching departure. I consoled
her as well as I could, though I felt
like crying myself, and so we parted
for a long separation.

On my return home I found that the
Duke had sent a dispatch to engage
me a passage under the name of Andrew
Brooks, in the good ship Mary
Perkins, an American liner that was
to sail from Liverpool in four days'
time. I bade the Duke farewell, and
hurried down with Paul, after having
provided myself a hasty, though complete
outfit. On our arrival there,
Paul found his friend and patron, Mr.
Archbold, among the passengers, and
introduced me to him not only by my
traveling name, but confidentially by
my own. The manner of the American
pleased me very much, and I could
see that he was fond of Paul, and would
take to me warmly on his account. My
voyage promised, therefore, to be a
pleasant one, and though I regretted
parting with my friends, yet I was
young, the world was before me, I was
going to see a strange country, and I
parted with Paul with rather an exuberance
of spirits than otherwise.
Still, when I saw the shores of old
England fade away in the distance,
there was a lingering sadness, and I
thought for a moment mournfully of
Zara, and the others I had left behind.