Part 11

“Dear mother, what is this Miss R—— tells me about some letters of my father to you? Surely there was a broad understanding that all your papers(!!) were to be given up to him.” My reply to this disgusting and too brutal piece of audacity, bearing the stamp of Sir LIAR’S cloven foot upon every word, was to send a gentleman to town to go to Sir RICHARD MAYNE, who gave him a police force, with which he went to that vile wretch, Miss R——, and got the letters at last! while to Mr. L—— I wrote—“As it is not in my nature to love what I could not esteem, all intercourse must cease between us.”—To get that £1,000, that the gentleman on the Stock Exchange so kindly lent me, when I had been turned out of my cottage, _he_ had to send a man with a writ to dear E—— J——, who had the nominal paying of those debts; because, you see, it would not do on _my_ account to have lying, swindling, or any other villainy brought _directly home_ to that great man, Sir LIAR! like the villainous and atrocious lie worthy of him, or of any of his literary gang—that from the _representations made_ to him, _he_ could not have done otherwise than incarcerate me at H——’s. Well, this man, E—— J——, tried to bully, saying, “No, my good fellow, what can you do? Surely you’d never think of arresting me, or Sir EDWARD, for a debt, which in law we might dispute.” “Shouldn’t I, Mr. J——,” said he, pulling the writ out of his pocket, “you either instantly give me a cheque for £1,000, which I don’t leave your house _without_, or I instantly serve this writ upon you.” So the _honourable_ Q.C. preferred giving the cheque to having the writ served on him! and the gentleman who had lent me the money, kindly returned me from the Insurance Office some £50 odd, on the policies I had been paying for seven years,—they being for life although I had only borrowed the money for ten years. About this time, Dr OILY GAMMON R—— began being tremendously civil and _prevenant_ to me; he and his wife sending me Dresden china, and engravings, for which I had no room, my walls being covered with good pictures. I did not dream at that time that this smooth-tongued sneaking J——, was actively enlisted to cheat me out of the copy-right of that book (Sir LIAR’S little bit of _entr’acte_ dirty work, while I was safely out of the country), for which I have never received sixpence, or got the slightest redress;—but _more_ injustice, as you shall hear. But although I did not know this then, yet I am so fully aware that English people are never commonly civil; and much less never _give_ even a used postage stamp without some sordid or selfish motive; that I began to puzzle my brains as to what this sudden civility could mean? I must say, all the good that is to be found in the English character, is among the middle class, and this arises more from their strong commercial instinct, than anything else; they will give an apple, where they are perfectly sure of getting an orchard, or perhaps two; but the upper and lower classes, invariably swindle—or at least _try_ to swindle—you out of the orchard, without even giving you an apple-pip for it. Like a poor fool, I went to town, and made an appointment with Dr. OILY GAMMON to go to Mr. C——’s in Paternoster-row, at nine in the morning; despite this matutinal hour, Mr. C—— had had his telegram to keep out of the way, and he was out. OILY GAMMON then went through the farce of writing some bosh to C——, telling his substitute in the shop that he particularly required an answer by the four o’clock post at latest. At four p.m. OILY GAMMON brought me C——’s reply in triumph! which was, that he had _my_ authority in my own handwriting, in a note written to Mr. IRONSIDE two years before, to re-issue my novel of “Cheveley!” “Cheveley!” who on earth is talking of “Cheveley”? surely Dr. R——, you would not have made such a ridiculous mistake; when even this morning in C——’s shop, I was reiterating it to you that it was “Very Successful.” To say nothing of my having written to you, so _much_ on the subject. Then _much_ against his will, I made Dr. OILY GAMMON write to C—— to say this; to which that fellow gave the barefaced lie, that he had Mr. IRONSIDE’S authority to publish “Very Successful.” _This_ I _know_ to be a black lie! for when I was abroad, Mr. IRONSIDE was so astonished at seeing the book advertised in the teeth of his, and my, prohibition, that he wrote to Mr. H—— to inquire about it, as he was sure I would be very angry when I heard it. That double distilled rascal, liar, and perjurer, wrote back word that it was _all right_, as _I myself_ had given C—— permission to re-issue it!!!! Indignant at this, I made Mr. OILY GAMMON write to Mr. IRONSIDE, that he might state to _him_ again in writing, what I have just told you, and which he had written a short time before to another gentleman! which letter _I have_. As my grinding poverty is always putting spokes in my wheel (and that is _why I have been always kept poor_), I could not afford to remain in London, either at the houses of fine friends, or at an hotel, so that I returned here, begging OILY GAMMON to let me know Mr. IRONSIDE’S answer, which finding he did _not_ do, in the course of five weeks, I wrote to him to know what reply he had received, and to beg he would send me Mr. IRONSIDE’S letter. To this the contemptible wretch wrote back word that he had _lost_ Mr. IRONSIDE’S letter, but that all he (IRONSIDE) had said was, that “really, it was so long ago (two years), that he could not remember anything about it”!!! Upon this I made a solicitor of this town write to Dr. R——, saying that after all the contradictory and palpably false statements that had been made to me about that book, it was a great pity that instead of sending _me_ Mr. IRONSIDE’S letter at once, as he was in duty bound, he should have lost it, and sent me _no reply at all_, till I had written to him on the subject at the end of five weeks, as both circumstances had a very awkward appearance for him (Mr. R——). Whereupon Mr. OILY GAMMON (for weak cowards are invariably _false to all parties_, themselves included) suddenly and miraculously _found_ Mr. IRONSIDE’S letter, and instead of its being (as stated by Dr. R——) only two lines, to say it was so long ago he could not remember, it was a long letter (which I have) of four sides, crossed, on large old-fashioned Bath post paper, such as was used in the days of franking. In this letter he recapitulated _all_ he had previously stated in his former letter, of his surprise at the re-issue of the book, and his writing to Mr. H——, to inquire about it, and that lying rascal’s answer, stating that it was “all right,” I myself having given C—— permission to re-issue it; and Mr. IRONSIDE concluded by saying that my statement was correct to the letter, and that C—— was such....

Armed with this _fresh_ proof of the fraud that had been practised upon me, I again went to London, and went to Mr. H—— C——, at his chambers in Brick-court, showed him all the documents I had on the subject, and asked him if he could recommend a good sharp solicitor (honest, I feared, there was none), who would immediately bring an action against C——? That I was quite aware that, as a married slave, _I_ could not bring one, or get any redress against my lord and master’s infamy: but that by making the book over to what one of the law’s charming fictions call “a next friend,” I could do so. Mr. C—— said it was a most scandalous shame, and he would recommend me to a clever solicitor, who he thought would settle it (he did, indeed), a Mr. H—— (which may be considered as the generic name of the whole tribe), of Regent-street. This fellow was the image of NAPOLEON the _First_, so I did not doubt his _capacity_—nor, perhaps, his unscrupulousness. As all London knew of the Madhouse Conspiracy then, Mr. JOHN H—— (as I told him I wished his name had been TOM, as a Tomahawk was what I wanted for my enemies) found out many truths about Sir LIAR and E—— J—— deserving hanging, and was urgent, nay importunate, with me, to bring an action against H—— and the rest of them (of _course_, for that would have been a feather in the H——’s cap, or tail, and gold in his crop), but I told him for my truly unfortunate son’s sake, I could not, or rather would not; but that he must go to work forthwith about C——.

He then asked me what Judge I would like it tried before? adding, “I would recommend the Chief Justice, Sir ALEXANDER COCKBURN, for he is a friend of mine.” Good heavens! said I, if you want to ruin me outright, you will not mix him up in the affair, or let him know anything about it. Now, you must know that although COCKBURN always says I am the worst-used woman in England, so have all my husband’s doers of dirty work for that matter; he and Sir L. were at Cambridge together, and in their green and salad days—when the little carrotty, briefless barrister, who had nothing to eat but his terms, except when he dined with us—Sir L. used to lend him money when he was intriguing with some tradesman’s wife, whom he called “CLARA,” and by whom he had his bastard son and daughter, whom he has at least the redeeming points of acknowledging and well-providing for—and I respect him for it. But you comprehend, this having been the state of affairs between him and Sir L., they, like literary vice and politics, have their laws and amenities, which require that dirty work and backstair services should always be paid in kind, and however dislike and contempt may be and are in the ascendant in private, homage, deference and friendship (?) is _de riguéur_ in public. And as astronomers say that it takes two-and-twenty years for a ray of light to reach the earth from Sirius, the Dog Star; so I suppose it takes two-and-twenty centuries for a ray of conscience to penetrate such a lawyer as COCKBURN, or, indeed, most men’s brains. “Humph!” said H——. “Well, I’d rather have a case tried by COCKBURN than any Judge on the bench.” “You might,” said I, “but mine is such a hard case that I don’t want it made harder.” Well, not to bore you longer than need be, Mr. H—— having started with the _greatest_ energy in the C—— affair, suddenly came to a dead lock. I could not even get a letter from him, though I had never had but four, and after _pretending_ to be ill, though I ascertained he came to his business every day, and, sending Mr. COLE to hunt him up, who never could find him either in his office or at his own house, and after fooling me in this manner for thirteen months! this new addition to the scoundrelocracy flatly refused to give me up my documents about this iniquitous swindle until I had paid him £60 for torturing my life out, and doing worse than nothing, as usual selling me to my ruffianly and dastardly husband. Mr. COLE said his demands were simply preposterous and absurd. How differently would a French _juris consulte_ have acted had the commonest woman in the place been so used by an _Avoué_, to whom he had recommended her; he would very soon have brought him to book, or have held him up to public scorn. But trust an English barrister risking a single brief by embroiling himself with any attorney if all the women in England had been skinned by them to save parchment. Mr. COLE no doubt thought he was doing great things in getting me Mr. COMYN of Lincoln’s Inn, his own solicitor (whose bill I had of course to pay), to cut down that other bird of prey’s extortion to £35, and at length got me back my papers, when time, and COCKBURN, had given security and consolidation to that meanest of all ruffians, Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, and as Mr. COLE refused a fee (as well he might), I gave him a piece of plate that cost me £20, for the Englishman is not yet born whom I like sufficiently, or think sufficiently well of, to rest under the cold shadow of an obligation to.

And here, as I am on COCKBURN, let me mention a curious fact, which proves the sincerity of that intimacy and friendship which existed between himself and Sir LIAR. I was one day sitting in the breakfast-room, when ALEXANDER the Little was suddenly shown in. Poor small man, how shabby, and how frightened he looked! With tears in his eyes, he said that he had been hunted about by bailiffs (or duns, I forget which) all the morning; and had taken refuge here. He said he had not been to chambers for several days, as he knew he should be arrested; and having not a sou in his pockets, even to buy him a dinner, he had called on my husband, as an old Cambridge friend, to ask him for the loan of only five pounds. And the poor dwarf looked haggard and hungry; and the tears were in my eyes as I saw his woe-begone and famished face. I told him my husband was in the next room, and that I had no doubt when he heard the facts he would be happy to oblige him; and I left C. in the breakfast-room, having ordered some coffee and rolls for him, for I really thought he was starving. I then made my way to Sir LIAR, and asked him for the cash. Oh! what a scene! Sir LIAR swore like a trooper. He cursed, he raved, he foamed at the mouth; for it seems he had been previously “not at home” to his small friend, who had then, in despair, enquired for me, and been shown in. His oaths, his fury were fearful. He stamped about, raved like a madman, calling COCKBURN every name of cheat, card-sharper, swindler, scoundrel, adulterer, &c., &c. He poured forth all the choicest phrases of the _Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, which—I forget the fool’s name—one somebody has published. At length I was pushed violently out of the room, and I came back to COCKBURN, who by this time had devoured the rolls and swallowed the coffee. I told him how sorry I was, that I could do nothing with Sir E., and, as I had no money of my own, I actually gave him a ring off my finger for his necessities; and he went down on his knees and thanked me in the most abject manner that ever I saw in my life.

But to come back to “Very Successful.” Were you here I could soon explain to you, _viva voce_, Sir LIAR’S _double_ motive in his conspiracy about this copyright, which does not in any way appear on the _surface_, since in addition to his usual efforts to crush _all_ my books by the venal and unscrupulous abuse of his literary gang, and so starve me out that way, he took especial means to crush and defame that particular book on its first appearance. But exclusive of the tax upon your time and patience—having already written so much, and having still so much to write, I can neither afford the time nor the space to do so. And now for the Quaker Upholsterer and his £5! He wrote letters innumerable to Dr. R—— about it (for after the mean and barefaced lies of the latter in the plot, and about Mr. IRONSIDE’S letters, I of course returned him his _Normandy presents_, and renounced all further intercourse with him). OILY GAMMON began by assuring FODEN LAWRENCE, the Quaker, that of _course_ he ought to be paid, and he _should_ be paid. But, as usual, the vane did not long remain towards one point. So at last he wrote to say, he could not possibly recover the debt, not having it included in the schedule of the other Taunton tradespeople’s claims. I then of course offered to pay it to the poor man. “No,” said he, “not if thee were made of gold and swimming in diamonds; I’ll make them pay me and they shall.” He then wrote to Sir LIAR, who sent him back a demented looking scrawl, which looked as if an insane spider had tumbled into the ink, and then the webs of Sir L’S. lies, being too flimsy to make it a straight waistcoat, it had with _my_ complaint! _delirium tremens!_—from the ink it had imbibed—frantically dashed itself against the paper; the purport of its plungings being to inform the Quaker “that I had a most liberal (very!!) allowance to pay my own debts, and that Sir LIAR was neither morally nor legally obliged to do so.” The Quaker then wrote to E—— J—— a few _highly spiced_ truths about the infamy of the Madhouse Conspiracy (for you must know that friend LAWRENCE, albeit a man of peace, was one of the most bellicose and irate of my many indignant champions here) and more particularly of himself and his client! Whereupon EDWIN the Unfair wrote back that neither he, nor Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, were persons to be _bullied_ into anything.—“Well then,” said the Quaker, making his _debut_ as a wit, on reading this letter to me, with an expression of face (as he held the letter at arm’s length in one hand, and shook the fingers of his other at it), the inimitable comicality of which would have made the fortune of WEBSTER or SAVASSEUR, “If _bullying_ won’t do, I’ll try _courting_ you—you precious pair!”—and he accordingly forthwith cited Sir LIAR to appear before the County Court, at which, by return of post, on the Sunday, so that LAWRENCE got it on the Monday, a cheque for the £5 was enclosed! but J——S dying hard—as he had lived—saying with a flourish on the last trumpet “That although neither he nor Sir EDWARD LYTTON were either legally or morally bound to pay that £5, Sir EDWARD with his usual (ahem) generosity (!!!!), rather than Mr. LAWRENCE should be a loser, sent it!” The Quaker threw up his eyes piously, and said he hoped he should never want food or raiment till Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON was generous! or E—— J——S!!! and then sat down and wrote the Q.C. the following letter, of which I took a copy:—“I have to acknowledge the receipt of the £5 due to me by Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, which he and thee should have sent long ago, without putting me to the trouble of County Courting him. If, as he says, he is neither legally nor morally obliged to pay it; I am very _sure_ it was both _legally_ and _morally due to me_; or I neither should have demanded it, nor compelled thee and thy client to pay it.—FODEN LAWRENCE.”

What I would give to have seen Sir LIAR’S face when he read what the spirit, and a very proper spirit too, had moved the Quaker to write to him! No wonder that GOD’S judgment overtook him, and that soon after, being more mad and outrageous than usual, the great man (very) was packed off to Algiers with two keepers. “_Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, I will repay._”

[Illustration: ROBERT, LORD LYTTON.]