Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

He broke off again, having given the last words a singular emphasis, and looked miserably at me. By now a terrible suspicion was forming in my mind. I helped him to another glass of wine and he gulped it down as though it had been so much water. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"It grows quite warm in here, I find." He attempted a smile. "I do not think I have mentioned that, as a very young man, I passed a year or two in Rosington?"

I agreed that he had not mentioned this fact.

"I did not mean to conceal the circumstance: but delicacy urged me to choose with care my moment of revealing it. I went to Rosington to fill a position as a junior clerk to an auctioneers – Cutlack's: you may recall the name?"

I inclined my head.

"Old Josiah Cutlack was then the head of the family. It was at his house that I had the honour of meeting the young lady who later became your mother. She was a friend of Josiah's niece. We saw each other on subsequent occasions and – well, to cut a long story short, I developed a great tenderness for her. And she – she did not look unkindly on me."

"Sir," I began, "are you to tell me that-"

But Rowsell rushed on, propelled by the current of his confession: "I could not afford to marry – indeed, I could barely support myself – and your grandparents would never have sanctioned such a match. Then a friend of my late father's, an attorney in Clerkenwell, offered me a clerkship. Here, at last, was the possibility of advancement, of attaining a situation in life which would enable me to marry and support a wife. Your mother urged me to seize the opportunity. Though no words were spoken on either side, I confess I cherished a hope that one day, a few years hence – but it was not to be."

He turned aside to blow his nose and, I daresay, to wipe a tear from his eye. I stared into my glass, attempting to decipher the outlines of my own life, newly shrouded in mist. It seemed that I had acquired a past I did not want and the possibility of a future I did not desire. Was even my name no longer my own?

"We did not correspond, of course," Mr Rowsell went on. "There was no engagement; it would not have been the thing. However – a year or two later, I heard of her marriage to Mr Shield: a worthy man, I am sure; and in those days most comfortably situated as well. I met him once at Mr Cutlack's, I believe. It often answers very well for a man to be considerably older than his wife. As indeed I have found myself, with Mrs Rowsell."

"Sir," I said urgently. "A year or two later?"

"What?" He reached for the wine. "Aye, one year and nine months. And each month passed like a century."

"And you did not see my mother in that time?"

"No – but I had news of her, every now and then. I corresponded for a while with young Nicholas Cutlack, the old man's grandson; dead now, poor fellow; a fall from his horse. It was he who told me of your mother's marriage. I will not pretend that it was not a bitter blow, but still: a man must look forward, eh, not over his shoulder. I threw myself into work and in the fullness of time my principal invited me to become his partner. And he happened to have a daughter, and we found that we agreed very well together."

I raised my glass. "Let us drink to Mrs Rowsell, sir."

"God bless her," murmured Mr Rowsell, dashing a tear from his eye. When he had set down his glass, he continued: "My tale is nearly done. Many years later, I saw your name in the newspapers in connection with that – that unfortunate incident in the Park. It is not a common surname, and one report mentioned that you came originally from Rosington. I inquired, and found that you were indeed the son of my old friend. So I made myself known to your aunt Reynolds – a most estimable woman, by the by, who was wonderfully kind to me when I was at Cutlack's."

"She knew you? And she did not tell me?"

"The position was extraordinarily delicate, Tom – and on both sides. I wished to be of assistance but I could not be seen to help. I had Mrs Rowsell to consider and Mrs Reynolds was the first to acknowledge this. Your aunt was also extremely jealous of both your mother's reputation and yours. If my part became known, there are many in this world who would rush to place an uncharitable construction on my motives and on your mother's."

"You place me under an obligation, sir."

Rowsell dismissed it with a wave. "I wish with all my heart I did. But Mrs Reynolds was a proud woman. She would accept very little from me. All I could do was lighten the legal burden that she needed to carry after your arrest. And later I was glad to help her put her own affairs in order. As her time drew near, I suggested the possibility to her that I might try to obtain a clerkship for you, but she preferred to try Mr Bransby first. She said she did not think it right to be further obliged to me. And then, by and by, after her death, I came to be acquainted with you."

"I regret I am become a source of embarrassment to you and Mrs Rowsell."

"The fault is scarcely yours." With a tip of a finger he converted the drop of spilled wine from a fox's head to a spider. "I scarcely know how it was but I had never found the opportunity to mention my previous attachment to Mrs Rowsell. Not that I concealed it, exactly – it was a case of suppressio veri rather than suggestio falsi. After all, it was so very long ago, you see, and the term 'attachment' made more of it than I had any right to claim. There was no engagement between your mother and me, or even an understanding. But, as I say, on Christmas Day, I had drunk perhaps a little more deeply than usual, in honour of the occasion, and my tongue was less guarded, my mind less circumspect than it should have been."

"Perhaps if I were to write to Mrs Rowsell and explain the circumstances?"

"Thank you, but I do not think it would answer. It was a great misfortune that Mrs Rowsell's aunts and cousins were at table with us. Their presence added salt to the wound. In all events, I regret to say that Mrs Rowsell misinterpreted what I said – quite understandably; the fault was entirely mine – and drew an erroneous conclusion, one which might not have been out of place in one of her novels. It was inexpressibly painful. There were tears – there were accusations – I had betrayed her in her own home – I was taking the bread out of our children's mouths – my character was quite beneath contempt. Mrs Rowsell is a woman of great tenacity, and once she has an idea in her mind, it can be very difficult to shift it."

Mr Rowsell ran out of words. My first reaction was relief: despite his many virtues, I was glad he had not suddenly become my father. Now I knew the reason for his kindness in the past, I honoured him for it. My mother's heart had chosen wisely though her head had set its veto against it. As for Mrs Rowsell, no wonder my appearance on her doorstep had thrown her into such a passion. I felt sorry for them both: if Mrs Rowsell believed me to be her husband's illegitimate son, brought like a cuckoo into their home, then the bosom of the family could not have been a happy place for either of them since that unlucky Christmas dinner.

"It was cursed ill luck that I was forced to keep to my bed on that day you came to my house. I heard the hullabaloo at the door, though I did not know its cause. The rest you know. I wish it had not taken us such an unconscionable time to track you down. I might have found you sooner had I employed an agent. But once I had heard those absurd accusations from Mr Bransby, I thought it wiser not to involve a third party."

"May I speak frankly, sir? Two men asked after me at Gaunt-court on Tuesday. The second was Atkins, but the first-"

"You fear that Mr Carswall has set a man to track you down?"

"I do not know what to fear. The first man questioned the children about me. My landlady sent him about his business, though not before he had discovered that I was lodging there. She thought it likely that he was some sort of inquiry agent, perhaps a former Bow-street runner who works for a lawyer."