“But, madam,” he went on, as though he had apprehended the joyful confusion that arose in my mind at the prospect of his absence, “you won’t be left unattended here, I’ll assure you. My steward, a very worthy person, in whom I repose the utmost confidence, will wait upon you twice a week, and receive any orders you may desire to give him through this curtain. He knows you only as a ward of mine called Nezmennessa Beebee,[06] a Mogul damsel of quality from the north, and you’ll find him as ready as I am to indulge you in any reasonable matter. But is there nothing that Clarissa will permit me to gratify her in before I depart? Won’t she believe that her Sinzaun’s whole fortune is at her disposal?”
At once, to shame the wretch, I asked for writing-implements.
“Why, madam,” he said, “indeed you shall have ’em. Clarissa desires to divert herself with writing to the charming Miss Howe, I suppose? I can’t undertake to forward your epistles, indeed, and I fear you’ll also want the means, but at the least I shan’t suppress ’em, and since I am unfortunately ignorant of English, I can’t even take pleasure in the reading them.”
I was at my wits’ end to imagine how this cunning man could reconcile it with his plans thus to give me the chance of making my situation known to my friends, but I need not have feared for his schemes.
“There is, however, one restriction that I must lay upon you, madam,” he continued, when I had expressed my gratitude, “and that is, I can’t have this indulgence abused. There must be nothing more of this sort.” He handed a paper round the curtain to Misery, who brought it to me. Oh, my dear! it was one of the billets I had writ with my blood, imploring help. I was speechless, after the first exclamation of horror, and he went on: “That, madam, was picked up in the street by one of my servants, and handed to me. I can’t read the English, but its purport I can guess by the ink employed in writing it, and the words in Moors, which I have made out, though Clarissa will pardon my saying there’s no Moor that could do it. Now, madam, you can’t deny that in bringing you here, however much against your will it may be, I have at least saved you from the Nabob. Suppose this paper was carried to any Moor that could read English, or some European anxious to curry favour with Saradjot Dollah” (so he called the Soubah, in the French fashion), “you would at once ruin me, and destroy yourself. Is that Clarissa’s design? I think she’ll admit she has been honourably treated here, and I’ll assure her that anything she pleases to demand shall be at her service within the hour. Is that a reason for bringing about the destruction of her adorer? You may write what you will, madam, but I must have your word that you won’t use my ink and paper in compassing my ruin.”
“I’ll promise you that, sir,” said I, somewhat ashamed. “You may count the sheets of paper when I’ve done with ’em, if you will. But I can’t promise you that I won’t try to escape if any English come to Muxadavad.”
“Any English!” he said. “I fear, madam, you don’t appreciate the unhappy situation of your countrymen at this time. The few left in Bengall are cooped up in the Dutch bounds at Fulta, and are dying like flies with the unhealthiness of the place. As soon as they can find ships to carry ’em to Madrass, away they’ll go, so I would not have you rely on them for deliverance.”
“Indeed, sir, I have given up relying on any power but that of Heaven.”
“That’s since you found yourself at Muxadavad instead of Dacca, I suppose, madam?” The profane wretch actually said this, Amelia. “Perhaps you’ll be pleased to add to your prayers a petition for the success of his Highness’s arms against the Purranea Nabob, and in especial for the safety of your humble adorer? If I should fall, Saradjot Dollah would be my heir, and should we both perish, then Sucajunk would be master, and in either case Clarissa might find that she had changed her gaolers for the worse.”
Could anything, my dear, exceed the coolness of this hardened reprobate?