Such was the history of Lord Aveleyn, who continued to extend his friendship to Edward Forster, and if he had required it, would gladly have proffered his assistance, in return for the kindness which Forster had shown towards him when he was a midshipman. The circumstances connected with the history of the little Amber were known to Lord Aveleyn and his lady, and the wish of Forster, that his little charge should derive the advantage of mixing in good female society, was gladly acceded to, both on his account and on her own. Amber would often remain for days at the mansion, and was a general favourite, as well as an object of sympathy.
But the growth of their son, too rapid for his years, and which brought with it symptoms of pulmonary disease, alarmed Lord and Lady Aveleyn; and by the advice of the physicians, they broke up their establishment, and hastened with him to Madeira, to re-establish his health. Their departure was deeply felt both by Forster and his charge; and before they could recover from the loss; another severe trial awaited them in the death of Mrs Beazeley, who, full of years and rheumatism, was gathered to her fathers. Forster, habituated as he was to the old lady, felt her loss severely; he was now with Amber, quite alone; and it so happened that in the following winter his wound broke out, and confined him to his bed until the spring.
As he lay in a precarious state, the thought naturally occurred to him, “What will become of this poor child if I am called away? There is not the slightest provision for her: she has no friends; and I have not even made it known to any of my own that there is such a person in existence.” Edward Forster thought of his brother, the lawyer, whom he knew still to be flourishing, although he had never corresponded with him, and resolved that as soon as he was able to undertake the journey, he would go to town, and secure his interest for the little Amber, in case of any accident happening to himself.
The spring and summer passed away before he found himself strong enough to undertake the journey. It was late in the autumn that Edward Forster and Amber took their places in a heavy coach for the metropolis, and arrived without accident on the day or two subsequent to that on which Nicholas and Newton had entered it on foot.
Volume Two--Chapter Ten.
Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl
Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion,
Here taverns wooing to a pint of “purl,”
There mails fast flying off; like a delusion.
Through this, and much and more, is the approach
Of travellers to mighty Babylon;
Whether they come by horse, or chair, or coach,
With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one.
Byron.
When Newton Forster and his father arrived at London, they put up at an obscure inn in the Borough. The next day Newton set off to discover the residence of his uncle. The people of the inn had recommended him to apply to some stationer or bookseller, who would allow him to look over a red-book; and in compliance with these instructions, Newton stopped at a shop in Fleet-street, on the doors of which was written in large gilt letters—“Law Bookseller.” The young men in the shop were very civil and obliging, and, without referring to the Guide, immediately told him the residence of a man so well known as his uncle; and Newton hastened in the direction pointed out.
It was one of those melancholy days in which London wears the appearance of a huge scavenger’s cart. A lurid fog and mizzling rain, which had been incessant for the previous twenty-four hours; sloppy pavements, and kennels down which the muddy torrents hastened to precipitate themselves in the sewers below; armies of umbrellas, as far as the eye could reach, now rising, now lowering, to avoid collision; hackney-coaches in active sloth, their miserable cattle plodding along with their backs arched and heads and tails drooping like barn-door fowls crouching under the cataract of a gutter; clacking of pattens and pestering of sweepers; not a smile upon the countenance of one individual of the multitude which passed him;—all appeared anxiety, bustle, and selfishness. Newton was not sorry when he turned down the narrow court which had been indicated to him, and, disengaged from the throng of men, commenced a more rapid course. In two minutes he was at the door of his uncle’s chambers, which, notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, stood wide open, as if there should be no obstacle in a man’s way, or a single moment for reflection allowed him, if he wished to entangle himself in the expenses and difficulties of the law. Newton furled his weeping umbrella, and first looking with astonishment at the mud which had accumulated above the calves of his legs, raised his eyes to the jambs on each side, where in large letters, he read at the head of a long list of occupants, “Mr Forster, Ground Floor.” A door with Mr Forster’s name on it, within a few feet of him, next caught his eye. He knocked, and was admitted by the clerk, who stated that his master was at a consultation, but was expected back in half an hour, if he could wait so long. Newton assented, and was ushered into the parlour, where the clerk presented the newspaper of the day to amuse him until the arrival of his uncle.