Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 117: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OO es ee ee A eee ee 10» JOSEPH WILMOT; began to arise in my mind which in the hurry and whirl of my previous ideas, had not leisure nor opportunity to suggest themselves before. That the plate and ring had been placed in my room for the malignant motive of accomplishing my ruin, now appeared to me unquestionably evi- dent. No one having the intention of really stealing those articles, would have thus disposed of them: for even if they had not been discovered in the manner they were, they must have been found later in the day when the housemaid went to make the bed. Therefore an intending thief, by secreting his plunder there, would have baffled his own aims: and it was simply ludicrous to conceive any one capable of such arrant madness. Malignity, then, was the origin of the transaction. But who was my enemy? I could not fix upon any one of the servants : I had never done them an injury: I had always been willing and obliging; and until this fatal occasion had found myself rather a favourite amongst them than otherwise. Neither for a single moment could I imagine that Charlotte Murray was the authoress of the foul deed. But Miss Dakin—had not she avowed herself to be my foe? had not she menaced me with the direst vengeance that woman’s hatred could wreak P Yes: but might not those expressions have been wrung from her by the intensity of her feelings at a particular moment, and without the actual pur- pose of being carried into effect? Besides, her entire bearing throughout the scene in my cham- ber and that in the parlour, had beer totally de- void of malignant triumph or gloating satisfaction at a successful perfidy. So far from that being the case, there was a moment—as I have already stated —when methought she had contemplated me with a look of sorrow. Upwards of an hour and a half elapsed while I was thus giving way to my reflections: and wretched, as well as bewildering enough, they were. Oh! what was to become of me? I asked myself a thousand times: how was my innocence to be brought to light? And if it were not, should I be turned adrift on the wide world, branded with a felon’s infamy, and every avenue to future employment closed against me? Already did I behold myself standing anew on the brink of that awful poverty which had flung me into the power of the man Taddy. And Annabel too,— might not she hear of the depth of degradation into which I was plunged? For I said to myself that though lost she herself was, I still valued her good opinion—and Oh, it was all horrible to think of ! I had been, I said, about an hour and a half in the coach-house, when I heard the sounds of horses’ hoofs and the roll of wheels rattling up to the yard-gate: and then the bell at that gate was rung. I thought to myself that this was the grocer’s cart, and that it had brought back Char- lotte Murray, who would now hear of my igno- minious position. Ah! this reflection called vividly up to my mind the incidents which had taken place between myself and her in the morning; and somehow or another it seemed to associate itself with the circumstances which had since trans- pired relative to the plate and the ring: but how the two cases could thus possibly connect themselves, I was at a loss to understand. That it was however so, I had now the deeply-settled conyic- Aone eee eee ee OR, TIE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. —_—_——— — —_____ —______. eee tioninmy mind, What did she mean by calling me wicked, deceitful, and depraved? Was she already aware that the articles were secreted beneath my mattress? No—that was an hypothesis not to be dreamt of for a moment: because she would not have undertaken to hush up the presumed know- ledge of a theft. While I was thus pursuing my bewildering train of thought, I heard the yard- gate open; and the grocer’s boy, whose voice I well knew, exclaimed, “ Here, cook, are the things the young woman came and ordered.” “But where is the young woman herself?” asked the cook. _ “Ah! that I don’t know,” replied the boy. “She said that she was coming over with me in the cart—that she had a purchase or two to make for herself just up the street—and that she should not be five minutes. I waited near half-an-hour ; and as she did not come back, and it was getting on for twelve, I thought you would want these things—and so I came off without her.” “Well, I suppose she was delayed somehow or another,” said the cook: and there the colloquy ended,—the yard-gate closing, and the grocer’s cart rattling away again. I should observe that the coach-house was so close to the gate that I was enabled to catch every syllable of this little dialogue; and I was rather surprised that Charlotte Murray had not returned in the way she originally intended,—particularly as I knew she did not like much walking. I was not however ina humour to suffer my attention to remain long fixed on so comparatively trivial an incident, when the gravity of my own circum- stances demanded all my consideration. Over and over again did I revolve these circumstances, as well as all the varied ideas, suspicions, and mis- givings which they suggested: but I could neither settle my mind to any fixed belief as to who was the author or authoress of the foul wrong which had stricken me—nor could I‘flatter myself with the hope of making my innocence apparent. Between one and two o’clock John Robert un- locked the door of the coach-house, and thrust me in a plate containing bread-and-cheese and a mug of water,—curtly informing me that this was all the dinner I might expect. Descending from the interior of the vehicle, I took the food from his hands,—saying, “ John, is it possible that you be- lieve me really guilty ?” He made no verbal response—but only gave that half-grunt, half-groan, which was used by him to express so many different feelings and conditions of mind: then abruptly banging the door, he locked it and re-entered the house. I could scarcely. touch a mouthful of food: I was too profoundly wretched to experience any appetite: but I drank the water with avidity—for my throat was parched as if I had been swallowing arid sand. Slowly, slowly did the hours move by; and as the after. noon adyanced, in silence and darkness for me, I thought to myself that Charlotte Murray would’ return by the carrier’s van which passed along the road between four and five o’clock,—supposing that she had not already come back. And that she had not, I had every reason to suppose, inasmuch as each time the gate-bell had rung, I gathered who it was; and of all the voices thus heard, had caught not her’s. Still, too, as the afternoon merged into the evening—both being alike equally OOO) S co A