A Maggot - John Fowles (15 page)

A. I know no more of them, since that same day. I beg
you to believe, sir, the circumstances are so embroiled, if I might
explain -

Q. You shall explain. But in good time. For now, you
also swear you do not know where these two may be found?

A. I do, and also that until this day I knew nothing
of the death of the servant. May I ask -

Q. You may not. And Heaven help you if you lie.

A. May Heaven strike me down upon the instant, sir,
when I shall.

Q. Very well. But I remind you that ignorance of
consequence is no plea in court. You remain accessary to the crime.
Now I will hear all, and from the beginning.

A. It is a strange tale, sir. I must seem foolish in
it. In my own defence I must tell as I took matters at the time. Not
as I later learnt them to be.

Q. On that we may agree. Commence.

A. It was in the middle of April last. As you know, I
played Fustian in young Mr Fielding's Pasquin, a part in which I
flatter myself -

Q. Never mind your flattery. To the point.

A. I deem it to the point, sir, that the piece was
most favourably received and my playing noticed. A day or two before
it was to close for Easter, the man Dick came one forenoon to my
house in Hart Street, with a letter for me from his master, who
signed himself not by name, but as Philocomoedia. There was a packet
within, containing five guineas. The letter asked me to accept them
as a token of esteem for my performance, on which the writer paid me
some more particular compliments.

Q, You have this epistle still?

A. At my house. I remember its terms. It is little
germane.

Q. Continue.

A. The writer claimed he had seen the piece three
times, solely for the pleasure of studying my talents, such as they
are. Then that he would be greatly favoured if I would meet him, as
he had a matter of mutual benefit to broach. A time and place were
proposed, tho' he held himself ready to suit my convenience.

Q. What time and place?

A. Trevelyan's Coffee-house, the morrow morning.

Q. And you said yes?

A. I did, sir. I won't deny I found the present
handsome.

Q. And smelt more guineas to come.

A. Honest guineas, sir. My profession is less richly
rewarded than yours.

Q. Were you not surprised? Are not the females in
your calling the more customary recipients of such golden requests
for assignations?

A. I was not, sir. Not all have your poor opinion of
the stage. Many gentlemen take pleasure in conversing upon the
dramatic and histrionic arts, and by no means spurn our

company. Others aspire themselves to the bays, and
are not above seeking our advice and support in seeing their
effusions mounted. I ventured to presume that this was one such. It

would not have been the first I have had such
commerce with, I may assure you. I have myself Englished from the
French, and with success. My The Cit Grown Beau from Moliere was -

Q. Yes, yes. Roscius sallied out to earn his fee.
What next?

A. His man, this mute fellow Dick, was at the door of
Trevelyan's in wait for me. I was conducted to a private room. There
I met Mr Bartholomew.

Q. Under this name?

A. Yes. He so presented himself.

Q. Alone?

A. Alone, sir. We sat, he renewed the compliments of
his letter, he asked me of my self and other parts I had played.

Q. Seemed he one of your cognoscenti?

A. He made no pretence there, sir. Confessed himself
a stranger in London and to the theatre till recently, and hitherto
taken up with other interests.

Q. Arrived from where?

A. From the North, sir. He was not: more precise, but
from his voice 1 judged him from the North-east. So do they speak
from Yorkshire north.

Q. And these other interests?

A. The natural sciences. He claimed had much
neglected the arts since leaving university.

Q. And of his supposed family?

A. I come to that. I made a polite inquiry there,
having spoken overlong of my own history. Thereupon he said, with I
thought a somewhat embarrassed face, that he was younger son of a
baronet, but wished to disclose no more, for we now touched upon the
more serious matter of our meeting. I must tell you that all that
followed was proven false.

Q. Tell as you were told.

A. I would not waste your -

Q. I will judge of my time. Tell.

A. He began in hypothetick vein, sir. Which I came to
discern was a frequent thing in all his conversation, as you shall
hear. He asked me what I should say, were I suitably rewarded, to
playing a part for him alone. I requested to know what kind of part.
He replied, One I should give you. I thought we had come then to the
nub of it, that he had written some piece he would hear me declaim
for him, so said I was sure I should be pleased to serve him in such
a thing. Very well, he says, but say it should not be here and now,
Mr Lacy, neither for one performing, but for several days, perchance
more; and I must ask it for this end of month, for I am desperate
pressed; yet that may be to your advantage, for I know you are
engaged at the Little Theatre, and I must make it worth your while to
leave. So said he. I confess I was somewhat taken aback, and the more
when he went on to ask how much I took for my part at the Haymarket.
I explained our way of dividing receipts and put it at a mean for my
share of five guineas the week. Very well, he says, let me put my
part at five guineas the day, whatever the receipts, should you
consider that worthy of your powers? I was the so dumbfounded at such
prodigious handsomeness, I might hardly credit my ears, and thought
him at first to jest. But he was not, very far from it. For as I
hesitated, he further declared that since I must travel to play the
part, and suffer other inconvenience, that might take a fortnight in
all, he would happily offer another thirty guineas for my acceptance,
thus making a round hundred for my service to him. Mr Ayscough, I am
not so well circumstanced that I could lightly turn up my nose at
such an untoward offer. Here was I offered to gain in a fortnight
what

I should not despise for a six-month of endeavour. I
must tell you further I knew Pasquin was very nigh played out, as we
say, for our receipt was falling, and the season likewise near its
end. My friend Mr Topham had taken my part for two days earlier when
I was indisposed, and not without some plaudit, though -

Q Enough. Very well, sir, you were tempted. To the
point.

A. I thought in addition that I conceived what he
would be at - some surprise, some entertainment he intended to
gratify his neighbours and family with in his native province. I was
soon undeceived, however. I prayed him to be more particular. I
remember his reply verbatim, sir. I have need of one, Mr Lacy, he
said, to go with me on a journey. A grave and creditable person, he
said, as I perceive it would take you no trouble to act, since you
are thus by nature. I thanked him for the compliment, but declared
myself at a loss to guess why he should need such a companion. Once
again lie appeared confused and would not answer. He stood and went
to a window, as if cast deep in thought. There at last he turned upon
me, as one obliged to take a new course, and asked me to forgive him,
he was driven to subterfuge against his nature, and unused to not
dealing frankly with all he met. Then he said, I have someone I must
see, my life depends on it, and there are those who would prevent me,
therefore I must make my journey under some colour of false
circumstance. To which he added most vehemently that there was
nothing of discredit or dishonour in what he wished. He said, I am a
victim of unjust and unkind fate, which I would try to remedy. I give
it you word by word, sir.

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.