The Surgeon's Daughter

“You must not,” said Esdale, “expect a woman who has commanded soldiers, and may again, to dress and look entirely like an ordinary person. But I assure you, that even at this time of day, if she wished to marry, she might easily find a respectable match.”

“Why, I heard that she had betrayed her husband’s fort to Hyder.”

“Ay, that is a specimen of Madras gossip. The fact is, that she defended the place long after her husband fell, and afterwards surrendered it by capitulation. Hyder, who piques himself on observing the rules of justice, would not otherwise have admitted her to such intimacy.”

“Yes, I have heard,” replied Hartley, “that their intimacy was rather of the closest.”

“Another calumny, if you mean any scandal,” answered Esdale. “Hyder is too zealous a Mahomedan to entertain a Christian mistress; and, besides, to enjoy the sort of rank which is yielded to a woman in her condition, she must refrain, in appearance at least, from all correspondence in the way of gallantry. Just so they said that the poor woman had a connexion with poor Middlemas of the – regiment.”

“And was that also a false report?” said Hartley, in breathless anxiety.

“On my soul, I believe it was,” answered Mr. Esdale. “They were friends, Europeans in an Indian court, and therefore intimate; but I believe nothing more. By the by, though, I believe there was some quarrel between Middlemas, poor fellow, and you; yet I am sure that you will be glad to hear there is a chance of his affair being made up.”

“Indeed!” was again the only word which Hartley could utter.

“Ay, indeed,” answered Esdale. “The duel is an old story now; and it must be allowed that poor Middlemas, though he was rash in that business, had provocation.”

“But his desertion – his accepting of command under Hyder – his treatment of our prisoners – How can all these be passed over?” replied Hartley.

“Why, it is possible – I speak to you as a cautious man, and in confidence – that he may do us better service in Hyder’s capital, or Tippoo’s camp, than he could have done if serving with his own regiment. And then, for his treatment of prisoners, I am sure I can speak nothing but good of him in that particular. He was obliged to take the office, because those that serve Hyder Naig must do or die. But he told me himself – and I believe him – that he accepted the office chiefly because, while he made a great bullying at us before the black fellows, he could privately be of assistance to us. Some fools could not understand this, and answered him with abuse and lampoons; and he was obliged to punish them, to avoid suspicion. Yes, yes, I and others can prove he was willing to be kind, if men would give him leave. I hope to thank him at Madras one day soon – All this in confidence – Good-morrow to you.”

Distracted by the contradictory intelligence he had received, Hartley went next to question old Captain Capstern, the Captain of the Indiaman, whom he had observed in attendance upon the Begum Montreville. On enquiring after that commander’s female passengers, he heard a pretty long catalogue of names, in which that he was so much interested in did not occur. On closer enquiry, Capstern recollected that Menie Gray, a young Scotchwoman, had come out under charge of Mrs. Duffer, the master’s wife. “A good decent girl,” Capstern said, “and kept the mates and guinea-pigs at a respectable distance. She came out,” he believed, “to be a sort of female companion, or upper servant in Madame Montreville’s family. Snug berth enough,” he concluded, “if she can find the length of the old girl’s foot.”

This was all that could be made of Capstern; so Hartley was compelled to remain in a state of uncertainty until the next morning, when an explanation might be expected with Menie Gray in person.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

The exact hour assigned found Hartley at the door of the rich native merchant, who, having some reasons for wishing to oblige the Begum Mon treville, had relinquished, for her accommodation and that of her numerous retinue, almost the whole of his large and sumptuous residence in the Black Town of Madras, as that district of the city is called which the natives occupy.

A domestic, at the first summons, ushered the visitor into an apartment, where he expected to be joined by Miss Gray. The room opened on one side into a small garden or parterre, filled with the brilliant-coloured flowers of Eastern climates; in the midst of which the waters of a fountain rose upwards in a sparkling jet, and fell back again into a white marble cistern.

A thousand dizzy recollections thronged on the mind of Hartley, whose early feelings towards the companion of his youth, if they had slumbered during distance and the various casualties of a busy life, were revived when he found himself placed so near her, and in circumstances which interested from their unexpected occurrence and mysterious character. A step was heard – the door opened – a female appeared – but it was the portly form of Madame de Montreville.

“What do you please to want, sir?” said the lady; “that is, if you have found your tongue this morning, which you had lost yesterday.”

“I proposed myself the honour of waiting upon the young person, whom I saw in your excellency’s company yesterday morning,” answered Hartley, with assumed respect. “I have had long the honour of being known to her in Europe, and I desire to offer my services to her in India.”

“Much obliged – much obliged; but Miss Gray is gone out, and does not return for one or two days. You may leave your commands with me.”

“Pardon me, madam,” replied Hartley; “but I have some reason to hope you may be mistaken in this matter – And here comes the lady herself.”

“How is this, my dear?” said Mrs. Montreville, with unruffled front, to Menie, as she entered; “are you not gone out for two or three days, as I tell this gentleman? —mais c’est egal– it is all one thing. You will say, How d’ye do, and good-bye, to Monsieur, who is so polite as to come to ask after our healths, and as he sees us both very well, he will go away home again.”

“I believe, madam,” said Miss Gray, with appearance of effort, “that I must speak with this gentleman for a few minutes in private, if you will permit me.”

“That is to say, get you gone? but I do not allow that – I do not like private conversation between young man and pretty young woman; cela n’est pas honnete. It cannot be in my house.”

“It may be out of it, then, madam,” answered Miss Gray, not pettishly nor pertly, but with the utmost simplicity. – “Mr. Hartley, will you step into that garden? – and, you, madam, may observe us from the window, if it be the fashion of the country to watch so closely.”

As she spoke this she stepped through a lattice-door into the garden, and with an air so simple, that she seemed as if she wished to comply with her patroness’s ideas of decorum, though they appeared strange to her. The Queen of Sheba, notwithstanding her natural assurance, was disconcerted by the composure of Miss Gray’s manner, and left the room, apparently in displeasure. Menie turned back to the door which opened into the garden, and said in the same manner as before, but with less nonchalance, —

“I am sure I would not willingly break through the rules of a foreign country; but I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of speaking to so old a friend, – if indeed,” she added, pausing and looking at Hartley, who was much embarrassed, “it be as much pleasure to Mr. Hartley as it is to me.”

“It would have been,” said Hartley, scarce knowing what he said – “it must be a pleasure to me in every circumstance – But this extraordinary meeting – But your father” —

Menie Gray’s handkerchief was at her eyes. – “He is gone, Mr. Hartley. After he was left unassisted, his toilsome business became too much for him – he caught a cold which hung about him, as you know he was the last to attend to his own complaints, till it assumed a dangerous, and, finally, a fatal character. I distress you, Mr. Hartley, but it becomes you well to be affected. My father loved you dearly.”

“Oh, Miss Gray!” said Hartley, “it should not have been thus with my excellent friend at the close of his useful and virtuous life – Alas, wherefore – the question bursts from me involuntarily – wherefore could you not have complied with his wishes? – wherefore” —

“Do not ask me,” said she, stopping the question which was on his lips; “we are not the formers of our own destiny. It is painful to talk on such a subject; but for once, and for ever, let me tell you that I should have done Mr. Hartley wrong, if, even to secure his assistance to my father, I had accepted his hand, while my wayward affections did not accompany the act.”

“But wherefore do I see you here, Menie? – Forgive me, Miss Gray, my tongue as well as my heart turns back to long-forgotten scenes – But why here? – why with this woman?”

“She is not, indeed, every thing that I expected,” answered Menie; “but I must not be prejudiced by foreign manners, after the step I have taken – She is, besides, attentive, and generous in her way, and I shall soon” – she paused a moment, and then added, “be under better protection.”

“That of Richard Middlemas?” said Hartley with a faltering voice.

“I ought not, perhaps, to answer the question,” said Menie; “but I am a bad dissembler, and those whom I trust, I trust entirely. You have guessed right, Mr. Hartley,” she added, – colouring a good deal, “I have come hither to unite my fate to that of your old comrade.”

“It is, then, just as I feared!” exclaimed Hartley.

“And why should Mr. Hartley fear?” said Menie Gray. “I used to think you too generous – surely the quarrel which occurred long since ought not to perpetuate suspicion and resentment.”

“At least, if the feeling of resentment remained in my own bosom, it would be the last I should intrude upon you, Miss Gray,” answered Hartley. “But it is for you, and for you alone, that I am watchful. – This person – this gentleman whom you mean to intrust with your happiness – do you know where he is – and in what service?”

“I know both, more distinctly perhaps than Mr. Hartley can do. Mr. Middlemas has erred greatly, and has been severely punished. But it was not in the time of his exile and sorrow, that she who has plighted her faith to him should, with the flattering world, turn her back upon him. Besides, you have, doubtless, not heard of his hopes of being restored to his country and his rank?”

“I have,” answered Hartley, thrown off his guard; “but I see not how he can deserve it, otherwise than by becoming a traitor to his new master, and thus rendering himself even more unworthy of confidence than I hold him to be at this moment.”

“It is well that he hears you not,” answered Menie Gray, resenting, with natural feeling, the imputation on her lover. Then instantly softening her tone she added, “My voice ought not to aggravate, but to soothe your quarrel. Mr. Hartley, I plight my word to you that you do Richard wrong.”

She said these words with affected calmness, suppressing all appearance of that displeasure, of which she was evidently sensible, upon this depreciation of a beloved object.

Hartley compelled himself to answer in the same strain.

“Miss Gray,” he said, “your actions and motives will always be those of an angel; but let me entreat you to view this most important matter with the eyes of worldly wisdom and prudence. Have you well weighed the risks attending the course which you are taking in favour of a man, who, – nay, I will not again offend you – who may, I hope, deserve your favour?”

“When I wished to see you in this manner, Mr. Hartley, and declined a communication in public, where we could have had less freedom of conversation, it was with the view of telling you every thing. Some pain I thought old recollections might give, but I trusted it would be momentary; and, as I desire to retain your friendship, it is proper I should show that I still deserve it. I must then first tell you my situation after my father’s death. In the world’s opinion we were always poor, you know; but in the proper sense I had not known what real poverty was, until I was placed in dependence upon a distant relation of my poor father, who made our relationship a reason for casting upon me all the drudgery of her household, while she would not allow that it gave me a claim to countenance, kindness, or anything but the relief of my most pressing wants. In these circumstances I received from Mr. Middlemas a letter, in which he related his fatal duel, and its consequences. He had not dared to write to me to share his misery – Now, when he was in a lucrative situation, under the patronage of a powerful prince, whose wisdom knew how to prize and protect such Europeans as entered his service – now, when he had every prospect of rendering our government such essential service by his interest with Hyder Ali, and might eventually nourish hopes of being permitted to return and stand his trial for the death of his commanding officer – now, he pressed me to come to India, and share his reviving fortunes, by accomplishing the engagement into which we had long ago entered. A considerable sum of money accompanied this letter. Mrs. Duffer was, pointed out as a respectable woman, who would protect me during the passage. Mrs. Montreville, a lady of rank, having large possessions and high interest in the Mysore, would receive me on my arrival at Fort St. George, and conduct me safely to the dominions of Hyder. It was farther recommended, that, considering the peculiar situation of Mr. Middlemas, his name should be concealed in the transaction, and that the ostensible cause of my voyage should be to fill an office in that lady’s family – What was I to do? – My duty to my poor father was ended, and my other friends considered the proposal as too advantageous to be rejected. The references given, the sum of money lodged, were considered as putting all scruples out of the question, and my immediate protectress and kinswoman was so earnest that I should accept of the offer made me, as to intimate that she would not encourage me to stand in my own light, by continuing to give me shelter and food, (she gave me little more,) if I was foolish enough to refuse compliance.”

“Sordid wretch!” said Hartley, “how little did she deserve such a charge!”

“Let me speak a proud word, Mr. Hartley, and then you will not perhaps blame my relations so much. All their persuasions, and even their threats, would have failed in inducing me to take a step, which has an appearance, at least, to which I found it difficult to reconcile myself. But I had loved Middlemas – I love him still – why should I deny it? – and I have not hesitated to trust him. Had it not been for the small still voice which reminded me of my engagements, I had maintained more stubbornly the pride of womanhood, and, as you would perhaps have recommended, I might have expected, at least, that my lover should have come to Britain in person, and might have had the vanity to think,” she added, smiling faintly, “that if I were worth having, I was worth fetching.”

“Yet now – even now,” answered Hartley, “be just to yourself while you are generous to your lover. – Nay, do not look angrily, but hear me. I doubt the propriety of your being under the charge of this unsexed woman, who can no longer be termed a European. I have interest enough with females of the highest rank in the settlement – this climate is that of generosity and hospitality – there is not one of them, who, knowing your character and history, will not desire to have you in her society, and under her protection, until your lover shall be able to vindicate his title to your hand in the face of the world. – I myself will be no cause of suspicion to him, or of inconvenience to you, Menie. Let me but have your consent to the arrangement I propose, and the same moment that sees you under honourable and unsuspected protection, I will leave Madras, not to return till your destiny is in one way or other permanently fixed.”

“No, Hartley,” said Miss Gray. “It may, it must be, friendly in you thus to advise me; but it would be most base in me to advance my own affairs at the expense of your prospects. Besides, what would this be but taking the chance of contingencies, with the view of sharing poor Middlemas’s fortunes, should they prove prosperous, and casting him off, should they be otherwise? Tell me only, do you, of your own positive knowledge, aver that you consider this woman as an unworthy and unfit protectress for so young a person as I am?”

“Of my own knowledge I can say nothing; nay, I must own, that reports differ even concerning Mrs. Montreville’s character. But surely the mere suspicion” —