Q. And next?
A. I was somewhat astonished, as you may suppose. I said I presumed we spoke of a lady, of a sentimental attachment. He smiled sadly at that. No mere attachment, Lacy, he said. I am in love, and half dead of it. He told me then of a stern and obstinate father and of an alliance designed for him, upon which his father had set his heart, for the lady was rich and had lands settled on her that his father coveted, they lay adjacent to his own estate. However, she was ten years older than Mr Bartholomew. In his very own words, the ugliest old maid for fifty miles about. Thereupon he informed me that even had she been the most beautiful, he still could not have obeyed his parent, for in London, that previous October, he had formed an ardent interest in a young lady then in town with her uncle and guardian, and his family.
Q. Her name?
A. None was ever mentioned. Her plight was this. The young lady was orphan, and had estate in title, upon majority. Alas, her uncle and guardian had a marriageable son; you perceive the case.
Q. I do.
A. Mr Bartholomew informed me that his interest had been discovered, and what was far worse, the otherwise happy circumstance that his attentions had been warmly reciprocated. Upon which the young lady was promptly removed to Cornwall, where her guardian's estate lies.
Q. And placed in bond?
A. Precisely so. However, they had been able to maintain a surreptitious correspondence by means of a maid, and confidante of the young lady's feelings. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, their common ardours were increased. Eventually in despair Mr Bartholomew revealed the matter to his own parent, to solicit his assistance and approval. Sentiment proved no match for paternal ambition. It came to high words, his father not being one to brook denial. I put it to you as it was put to me, Mr Ayscough, though I omit some colour and minor circumstance.
Q. Proceed.
A. In short, then, Mr Bartholomew, still refusing the other alliance, was commanded out of paternal house and home, and told not to return until he had cooled his temper and learnt his filial duty. With the further threat that should he pursue the course he was on, all his future prospects would be forfeit. He then came to London and fired by both love and a sense of injustice, since the lady of his heart, though not so rich as she of his father's choice, was neither without sufficient wealth nor breeding, and infinitely surpassed her in other charms, he attempted to force the matter by going to the West.
Q. When was this?
A. But a month before. He confessed he did it without forethought, almost without knowing why he went beyond his most violent need to see his loved one again and assure her of his abomination of this other proposed marriage, that she should never be expunged from his heart and -
Q. Spare me the tender protestations.
A. Sir. He arrived to find he had been forestalled. He knew not how, perhaps some letter had been intercepted. He admitted he had foolishly spoken on the matter in London with friends, and perhaps some noise of it had reached ears hostile to his interests. Then too he had travelled under his own name, and the greater part by public coach, and now suspected advice of his coming may have travelled ahead. However it may be, when he arrived the house was empty, nor would any there tell him where the family had gone, except that they had left in great haste the day previous. He waited a week in vain. All his inquiries were to no avail, for it seems the uncle rules all in those parts. He thus retreated back to London. There, sir, a letter awaited him, in which the young lady stated very plain that their removal had been against her every desire, that her uncle was in a great fury with her and daily using all means in his power to impel the marriage to his son, her cousin. That her one present hope lay in this cousin, who though he loved her well enough, would not force the issue as his father wanted. Yet she feared he could not hold out much longer in this small mercy, since both his own natural affection and his father's wishes inclined to the same end. To which was added that the maid who had served in their previous correspondence had been dismissed, that she (her mistress) was now without friend or confidante, and in despair.
Q. I see the pretext. Now come to the business.
A. Mr Bartholomew declared that he knew they were now gone back to the estate, and was determined to return there. This time he would conceal his coming. For that reason he had pretended to the same intimates as before that he had given up all hope of the young lady and was now reconciled to obeying his father. Yet he greatly feared some rumour of this supposed change of heart would come to the uncle and thence to the young lady, who might take it as truth. Therefore he must act with celerity, and travel under a false name, not alone and - in brief, as you seemingly know, sir. As if for some other purpose. That is the kernel of it.
Q. Facile credimus quad volumus. You swallowed this cock-and-bull whole, it seems?
A. I confess I was flattered by his confidences. They conveyed to my ears the accent of truth. If he had seemed to me some young deceiver, some practised rake ... I assure you he did not, sit.
Q. Very well. Go on.
A. I told Mr Bartholomew he had my sympathy, but not all the treasure in Spain would induce me to stoop to a criminal undertaking. And that I foresaw very unpleasant consequences, should he be successful in his enterprise.
Q. What said he to that?
A. For his father, that he felt sure he could be brought to forgiveness in time, since their relations had been affectionate enough before this rupture. For the uncle, that his cruelties to his niece, and his intentions, were too gross to have escaped notice, and he must know what public disclosure might show of his own conduct and selfish aim. That he might huff and puff if his niece fled his roof, but would not dare prosecute the matter.
Q. He won you to his cause?
A. I still had scruples, Mr Ayscough. He assured me he wished no future blame attributable to any save himself. He had thought on the matter, and proposed that my part should extend no further than to within a day's ride of his destination. He would then proceed alone with his man. Upon his most solemn word he would not ask me to take any direct part in an elopement. I was merely, as he put it, to safe conduct him to the threshold. What passed thereafter was not my affair.
Q. Had he some plan of elopement?
A. He intended to ride out the storm in France, then to return, his wife's majority once attained, and to throw himself with his bride at his father's feet.
Q. What next?
A. I requested a night to reflect on his proposal, sir. I wished to discuss it with Mrs Lacy, as is my habit in all that appertains to my life. I have learnt to value her opinion. If she considers an engagement below me, I will not take it. Mrs Lacy's parents no more approved my profession than you do, Mr Ayscough. When Mr Bartholomew spoke of his troubles, I thought of my own greener years. Not to put too fine a point on it, Mrs Lacy and I also did not wait upon parental blessing. It may be a sin by the book, but its fruits have been a Christian and most happy marriage. I say this not in excuse, sir. I cannot deny my heart and ancient memory somewhat blinded my eyes.
Q. She approved?
A. After she had helped me examine my sentiments concerning Mr Bartholomew - I would say, of his sincerity in his cause.
Q. Let us hear these sentiments.
A. That he was a serious young man, even somewhat grave for his years. I cannot say he spake in general with much outward feeling of his attachment, yet I formed the impression that it was deep and virtuous in intent. I say this, though I know now I was being duped and gulled. And even when the veil was lifted from my eyes ... well, sir, I found another and even darker veil remained. I will come to that.
Q. You met on the morrow?
A. At Trevelyan's again, in the same room, by which time I had spoken with Mr Topham also, concerning the playing my part. I put on some semblance of uncertainty at first.
Q. To raise the fee, no doubt?
A. You persist in misjudging me, sir.
Q. Then do you not persist in suggesting you were not a hired instrumen
t in a criminal offence. Cupid is one thing, Lacy, a duly appointed guardian is another. To say nothing of a father's right to bestow his son's hand where he pleases. Enough. Proceed.
A. I wished to know more of Mr Bartholomew and his circumstances. He politely refused this, maintaining that it was not only for his own protection, but mine. That the less I knew, the less harm might come of it, if the matter became public. That I might claim ignorance of his real purpose, et coetera.
Q. Did you not ask his true name?
A. I forgot to say, sir, that he had early confessed the one given me was false, for the reason just stated. I took it favourably that he did not attempt to impose on me in this.
Q. Did you never find his manner disconsonant with that of a mere country gentleman?
A. Am I to guess that -
Q. You are to guess nothing. Answer my question.
A. Then, sir, not at this time. He seemed little used to London ways, as he claimed.
Q. You were of different opinion later?
A. I had doubts, sir. He could not hide a certain assurance, and an impatience with his part. I knew him more than a country squire's son, even though I could not guess what he was, behind what he would seem.
Q. Very well. To your story.
A. I requested his repeated assurance that my obligations to him would cease at the point he proposed. That furthermore, whatever his plans might be beyond this point, violence formed no part of them.
Q. Which assurance he gave?
A. Most earnestly. He offered to swear it upon the Bible, should I wish.
Q. Come to the practice.
A. He wished we should set out a week thence, that is, the Monday next, the twenty-sixth of April, which you will doubtless recall was the day before his Highness the Prince of Wales was to join hands with the Princess of Saxe-Gotha; and which Mr Bartholomew did think would cause great stir, and make our leaving the less likely to be marked. My guise would be that of a London merchant, his of my nephew, under the same name of Mr Bartholomew, our ostensible purpose the visiting of -
Q. I know of that. The supposed aunt at Bideford?
A. Just so.
Q. Now, did he lead you to believe that he was watched, that there were spies set upon him?
A. He gave no evidence, yet implied as much: that there were those who would spare no pains to thwart his attachment and his intention therein.
Q. You did understand, those of his own family, or those of the young lady's, her guardian?
A. I conjectured the former, sir. For he did speak once of an elder brother, that did think as their father in all, and with whom Mr Bartholomew said he was scarce on speaking terms, so estranged had they become.
Q. They had become estranged for the reason that this elder brother dutifully obeyed his father's wishes?
A. That like his father he placed the acquiring of a fortune and handsome estate above the satisfaction of natural affection.
Q. You have said nothing of the man Farthing or the maid.
A. There was question of a servant for me. Mr Bartholomew asked if I knew of a person I could trust, someone of quick wits, able to play a part and also be of service on the roads, to guard us down against highwaymen and the like. One such occurred to me.
Q. His name?
A. He is even more innocent than I am, at least in this.
Q. Why say you, at least in this?
A. I first knew him when he was doorkeeper at Drury Lane, but lie was dismissed that post for negligence. His failing is strong drink, it is common in our profession, alas.
Q. He is an actor too?
A. He would have been so once, I believe. On occasion he has taken small clowning or menial parts, lie has some skills at the droll. He is Welsh by origin, he played me the porter in Shakespeare's Macbeth one day when we were in straits through sickness and could find none better. He was passably received, we thought to employ him further. But he never got his lines well enough, even when sober, for any but smallest parts.
Q. His name?
A. David Jones.
Q. And you say, you have not seen him since the first of May? A. I have not, sir. Not since the day previous, if you would have me exact. For he ran away in the night, without our knowledge.
Q. He did not go on, either with you or Mr Bartholomew?
A. H; did not.
Q. Let us come to that in place. You have not seen him since? Nor heard of or from him?
A. Upon my word. I met a man in the street but ten days since, who knows him well, and I asked. And he too had not seen or heard news of him, these four months past.
Q. Know you where he lived?
A. Only a punch-house he frequented in Berwick Street, where I have also several times inquired since I returned. He has not been seen.
Q. We talk of Farthing?
A. Yes. When he ran off, he said in a note to me that it was to see his mother in Wales. At Swansea. He told me once she was keeper of a wretched alehouse, but I know not if this is truth, nor if he be there. I can help you no more.
Q. You engaged him?
A. I brought him to meet Mr Bartholomew, who approved him. He is a well-built fellow, can carry arms and look bold, is skilled with horses, and so was taken. He had played me once also the part of a blustering braggart, a drunken sergeant in Mr Farquhar's The Recruiting Officer, where he gained no small applause, though he did not merit it, for in truth he was so drunk before we commenced he needed not to act his part; nor could have done, had he even the powers. But it was decided he should play something of that part again, to accomplish this our present design.
Q. At what fee?
A. Ten guineas for the whole, which I was to pay him at the end, save one for earnest, to keep him sober. And his living.
Q. But you have never paid him?
A. I have not, sir. Or only a small part, as I will tell. And that is not the least mystery of the affair, that he took to his heels when it was well-nigh earned.
Q. He was told all?
A. That our purpose was to effect a secret journey, under false names. That an affair of the heart was involved.
Q. He made no objection?
A. None. He took my word that there was nothing heinous in the venture. He owed me services.
Q. And what services had you done him?
A. I had employed him as I say. I obtained him a post when he was dismissed his office at Drury Lane. I have lent him small sums of money on occasion. He is more shiftless than rogue.
Q. What post?
A. Coachman to the late Mrs Oldfield, the actress. But she was obliged to give him his wages, lie was too often drunk. Since then he has lived from hand to mouth. He was scrivener's clerk for a time, window-polisher, more newly chairman, I know not what else. His hat covers all his household.
Q. He sounds rogue enough to me.
A. He met the part, sir, as we say. He is a great boaster among his equals. A glib tongue is second nature with him. Since Mr Bartholomew's man was mute, we thought a fellow like Jones might allay suspicion where we lodged. For he knows how to keep a close mouth, whatever his appearance and even in his cups. He is no fool at heart, nor more dishonest than the next.
Q. Very well. Now what of the maid?
A. I forgot to tell, Mr Bartholomew had advised me of her coming with us. But I saw her not, till we came to Staines. He informed me she was that very maid he had spoke of, the young lady's confidante, who had been dismissed for her pains. Upon which he had had her brought to London and placed under his protection, and now carried to rejoin her mistress. I took little notice of her at the first meeting. She seemed like enough to be a lady's maid.
Q. Her name was given as Louise? You never heard her called other?
A. It was, sir. And I did not.
Q. You did not find her over-delicate and haughty her station?
A. Not in the least, sir. Silent and demure in her outward.
Q. But a handsome wench?
A. Fine eyes, sir, and her f
ace did not want elsewhere. Well enough spoken withal, when she did venture. I might call her modest beauty, had she not been to my taste too slight and thin of figure. Yet I must tell you also there is a great mystery concerning her part; and that of his man likewise.
Q. What of that last?
A. Why, sir, beside his natural deficincies, he was like no manservant else I have ever seen. He had not worn a blue livery waistcoat when first he came to my door, I doubt I should have recognized him as such. He had the eyes of an idiot, nor any of the accustomed manners of his station; as he had never been in polite society, nor knew to respect those above him. Nor wore he livery at all when we travelled, but looked like some simple country fellow, more Irish vagrant than gentleman's servant, and surly to all but his master and the maid. This is not the half of it, sir, there is stranger still.
Q. In proper time. Let us come to your journey. Mr B. was manager in all?
A. As to our itinerarium, yes. He said he feared the Bristol road, since it is much frequented, and he thought it likely the uncle had a man posted to watch it, at Marlborough or Bristol itself, so he might have warning. Therefore we took that to the south, as if for Exeter, upon the pretext we had business there before my visit to the supposed sister in Bideford.
Q. He had told you so much before you started - that Bideford was where he tended?
A. Yes. But requested us to advise him in the subterfuge, saying it was the first time in his life he had put on such a pretence, and we must know better how to carry off such matters. So we advised him, as I say.