Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax

London, Dover Street

It shall not be!—She shall not escape me thus!—I will not endure this insufferable, this contemptible recantation of my wrongs! Fear is beneath me, and what have I to hope? I have made misery certain! I have paid the price of destruction, and will hug it to my heart! I know how often I have prevaricated, and have loitered with revenge; but I have not lost the flame: it burns still, and never shall expire!

The night at Brompton, though a night of storms and evil augury, was heaven to the one I have just passed. Sleep and rest have forsaken me. 'Tis long since I closed my eyes; I know not indeed when; but last night I did not attempt it. I traversed my room, opened my windows, shut them again, listened to the discontented monotony of the watchman without hearing him, thought over my never-forgotten injuries, my vengeance, and all the desolation that is to follow, and having ended began again!

There were shrieks and cries of murder in the street, about midnight; and this was the only music by which I remember to have been roused. But it was momentary. My reveries returned, and scenes of horror rose, more swarming, dun, and ghastly!

My waking dreams are eternal—Well, so I would have them! They prolong revenge!—I would have him by the throat for ages!—Him!—Henley!—Would—grapple with him; would stab and be stabbed; not in the fictions of a torturing fancy, but arm to arm, steel to steel, poison to poison! Ay, did I not know he would refuse my fair challenge, hero though he be and cased in innocence, I would instantly fly to let him loose upon me, that I might turn and tear him!

Why that were delectable!—And can it not be?… Can no sufferings move, no wrongs provoke, no taunts stir him to resentment? Is he God, or is he man? To me he is demon, legion, and has possessed me wholly!

Liar that I am! How came I to forget the beauteous sorceress with whom I found him leagued? I have heard them called angels of light; but I have known them only fiends! They goad me with their virtues, mock at my phrensy, defy my rage; and though surrounded by rape, destruction, and despair, sleep and smile, while I wake and howl!

Injury and insult are busy with me! This sister of mine is in town at Sir Arthur's. As she has made the journey I may expect a visit from her soon: but she shall find no admission here. I want no more tormentors!

As I foreboded, she has just been, and has behaved in character. She would take no denial from the valet; he was but an infant to the Amazon; she would herself see if I were at home, and in she came. The fellow does not want cunning, and he ran up stairs before her, and called out aloud, purposely for me to hear—'You may see, madam, if you please; the door is locked, and my master has taken the key with him.'

He knew I was determined not to see her, and while he designedly made all the clatter he could, and placed himself before the entrance, I took the means he had devised. She came, turned him aside, examined the door, pushed violently against it, and I believe would willingly have broken it open; but finding her good intentions, I set my shoulder to the panel, taking care not to impede the light through the keyhole, which my valet tells me was inspected by her. She ruminated a few seconds and then went away; incredulous and high in indignation.

Well!—I sought for warfare, and it has found me. My former encounters it seems were but the skirmishes of a partisan: this is a deadly and decisive battle!

It is now five o'clock, and I have had a stirring morning. So much the better; action is relief. A message came to me from Lord Fitz-Allen, desiring to speak with me. I had an inclination not to have gone; but reflecting further I determined to obey his summons.

However, when I sent up my name, I desired to know if my sister were there; and was answered in the negative. I then made my bow to his lordship, taking care to inform him that my sister behaved with great impropriety, and that I was resolved not to see her, lest I too should forget that respect due to my family and myself which she had violated. The peer began with circumlocutory hints concerning the elopement—'An unaccountable affair!—No tidings had yet arrived!—Surmises and rumours of a very strange and dishonourable nature were whispered!—Mischief, rape, nay even murder were dreaded!'

I refused to interpret any of these insinuations as applicable to myself. At last his lordship, after many efforts, said he had a favour to beg of me, which he hoped I should not think unreasonable. I desired him to inform me what this favour was; and put some firmness in my manner, that his lordship might see I was not in a temper to suffer an insult.

He answered, for his own part, he had no doubts: he knew my family, and had always affirmed I could not act unworthy of the gentleman. But, for the peace of mind of Sir Arthur and the other relations of the young lady, he would esteem it an obligation done to him, if I would declare, upon my honour, that I knew nothing of her elopement; of the place she has been conveyed to, or where she is at present.

I then retorted upon his lordship, that the preface to this request entirely precluded compliance; that those who whispered and spread surmises, and rumours, must be answerable for the consequences of their own officiousness; and that with respect to myself, I should certainly, under such circumstances, refuse to answer to interrogatories.

My tone was not very conciliatory, and his lordship knew not whether to be angry or pleased. But while he was pondering I thought proper to make my exit; and leave him to settle the contest between his pride and his puerility as well as he was able.

At my return I found a letter from my sister, which I will neither answer nor open. I have my fill of fury, and want no more!

Damnation on their insolence! They have been making application to the office at Bow-Street! A request has just been sent me, a very soft and civil one it is true, from the sitting magistrate, that I would do him the honour to come and speak a word with him, on an affair that concerned a very great and respectable family. I returned for answer that I was engaged, and that I should notice no such messages: but that if any man, great or small, had to complain of me, the law understood its duty, and that I should be readily found at all times.

Whether this be the motion of my superb and zealous sister, or of the arrogant peer, is more than I can divine. But I shall know some day, and shall then perhaps strike a balance.

I have no doubt that emissaries and scouts are abroad, and that I am watched. I was this evening to have met Mac Fane at the Shakespeare; but I will not go. Yet as it is pay night, the hungry scoundrel must not be disappointed. I will therefore write a note to him, and invite him to come and sup with me. He will be an agreeable companion! But even his company is better, at this moment, than solitude.

I will not let my servant carry the note directly to him; for if they have their spies in the field, that might be dangerous. He shall take it to the Mount coffee-house, and there get a chairman to convey it in safety. I will tell Mac Fane likewise to come through the shop door; for I am only in lodgings; and to step immediately out of a hackney-coach. I laugh at their counterplots, and wish I had nothing more to disturb me than the fear of being detected by any exertion of their cunning, even though my kind sister be appointed their commander in chief.

C. CLIFTON

P.S. They might have served the cause in which they have engaged more effectually, had their proceedings been less violent and offensive. They do but nerve me in resolution. The less public they had made the affair the more they would have shewn their generalship. If they be thus determined to brand me, can they suppose that my vengeance shall not outstrip theirs? I own I am perplexed about the means—Invention fails me! I have debated whether I should call in the aid of Mac Fane; but the idea is too detestable!—No! I would rather take a pair of pistols, and dispatch her first and myself next, than expose her beauties to such ruffian despicable rascals!—Beside I would have her will concerned—And how to conquer that?—I shall be driven, I foresee I shall, to some unheard-of act of desperation!—Drugs are a mean a pitiful expedient: not to mention that she is aware of them, and uses a kind of caution which it would be difficult to overcome. She reserves the meal of one day for the next, after having suffered Laura to eat her part; so that inanity, sleep or other effects, if produced, would first appear in the maid. This perhaps is one of the reasons by which she is induced still to keep her: and were she removed, and could suspect it were for this purpose, I am convinced she would eat no more—No!—She must be fairly told the deep despair of my mind! and if that will not move her, why then—Death!