Chapter XXXIII
I decide upon honesty as the best policy, and what is more strange, receive legal advice upon this important point.
Timothy and I burst into laughter. "Really, Timothy," observed I, "it appears that very little art is necessary to deceive the world, for in every instance they will deceive themselves. The Jew is off my conscience, at all events, and now he never will be paid, until—"
"Until when, Japhet?"
"Until I find out my father," replied I.
"Everything is put off till that time arrives, I observe," said Timothy. "Other people will soon be as interested in the search as yourself."
"I wish they were, unfortunately it is a secret, which cannot be divulged."
A ring at the bell called Timothy down stairs; he returned with a letter, it was from Lord Windermear, and ran as follows:—
"My dear Newland,—I have been thinking about you ever since you left me this morning, and as you appear resolved to prosecute your search, it has occurred to me that you should go about it in a more systematic way. I do not mean to say that what I now propose will prove of any advantage to you, but still it may, as you will have a very old, and very clever head to advise with. I refer to Mr Masterton, my legal adviser, from whom you had the papers which led to our first acquaintance. He is aware that you were (I beg your pardon) an impostor, as he has since seen Mr Estcourt. The letter enclosed is for him, and with that in your hand you may face him boldly, and I have no doubt but that he will assist you all in his power, and put you to no expense. Narrate your whole history to him, and then you will hear what he may propose. He has many secrets, much more important than yours. Wishing you every success that your perseverance deserves,
"Believe me,
"Yours very truly,
"Windermear."
"I believe the advice to be good," said I, after reading the letter. "I am myself at fault, and hardly know how to proceed. I think I will go at once to the old gentleman, Timothy."
"It can do no harm, if it does no good. Two heads are better than one," replied Timothy. "Some secrets are too well kept, and deserting a child is one of those which is confided but to few."
"By-the-bye, Timothy, here have I been, more than so many years out of the Foundling Hospital, and have never yet inquired if any one has ever been to reclaim me."
"Very true; and I think I'll step myself to the workhouse, at St Bridget's, and ask whether any one has asked about me," replied Timothy, with a grin.
"There is another thing that I have neglected," observed I, "which is, to inquire at the address in Coleman Street, if there is any letter from Melchior."
"I have often thought of him," replied Timothy. "I wonder who he can be—there is another mystery there. I wonder whether we shall ever fall in with him again—and Nattée, too?"
"There's no saying, Timothy. I wonder where that poor fool, Philotas, and our friend Jumbo, are now?"
The remembrance of the two last personages made us both burst out a laughing.
"Timothy, I've been reflecting that my intimacy with poor Carbonnell has rather hindered than assisted me in my search. He found me with a good appearance, and he has moulded me into a gentleman, so far as manners and appearance are concerned; but the constant vortex in which I have been whirled in his company, has prevented me from doing anything. His melancholy death has perhaps been fortunate for me. It has left me more independent in circumstances, and more free. I must now really set to in earnest."
"I beg your pardon, Japhet, but did not you say the same when we first set off on our travels, and yet remain more than a year with the gipsies? Did not you make the same resolution when we arrived in town, with our pockets full of money, and yet, once into fashionable society, think but little, and occasionally, of it? Now you make the same resolution, and how long will you keep it?"
"Nay, Timothy, that remark is hardly fair; you know that the subject is ever in my thoughts."
"In your thoughts, I grant, very frequently; but you have still been led away from the search."
"I grant it, but I presume that arises from not knowing how to proceed. I have a skein to unravel, and cannot find out an end to commence with."
"I always thought people commenced with the beginning," replied Tim, laughing.
"At all events, I will now try back, and face the old lawyer. Do you call at Coleman Street, Tim, and at St Bridget's also, if you please."
"As for St Bridget's, I'm in no particular hurry about my mother; if I stumble upon her I may pick her up, but I never make diligent search after what, in every probability, will not be worth the finding."
Leaving Timothy to go his way, I walked to the house at Lincoln's Inn, which I had before entered upon the memorable occasion of the papers of Estcourt. As before, I rang the bell, the door swang open, and I was once more in the presence of Mr Masterton.
"I have a letter, sir," said I, bowing, and presenting the letter from Lord Windermear.
The old gentleman peered at me through his spectacles. "Why! we have met before—bless me—why you're the rogue that—"
"You are perfectly right, sir," interrupted I. "I am the rogue who presented the letter from Lord Windermear, and who presents you with another from the same person; do me the favour to read it, while I take a chair."
"Upon my soul—you impudent—handsome dog, I must say—great pity—come for money, I suppose. Well, it's a sad world," muttered the lawyer as he broke open the letter of Lord Windermear.
I made no reply, but watched his countenance, which changed to that of an expression of surprise. "Had his lordship sent me a request to have you hanged if possible," said Mr Masterton, "I should have felt no surprise, but in this letter he praises you, and desires me to render you all the service in my power. I can't understand it."
"No, sir; but if you have leisure to listen to me, you will then find that, in this world, we may be deceived by appearances."
"Well, and so I was, when I first saw you; I never could have believed you to be—but never mind."
"Perhaps, sir, in an hour or two you will again alter your opinion. Are you at leisure, or will you make an appointment for some future day?"
"Mr Newland, I am not at leisure—I never was more busy; and if you had come on any legal business, I should have put you off for three or four days, at least; but my curiosity is so raised, that I am determined that I will indulge it at the expense of my interest. I will turn the key, and then you will oblige me by unravelling, what, at present, is to me as curious as it is wholly incomprehensible."