Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [152]
‘I don’t believe you are beyond help,’ Boswell said stoutly. ‘I wish to defend you. So I would suggest you tell me your story. All I know is the extraordinary tale I read in the Chronicle.’
Chapter eighteen
James Boswell strode away from Newgate prison, his feathers ruffled because Mary hadn’t fallen at his feet and seen him as her saviour. It hadn’t for one moment occurred to him that she wouldn’t welcome his offer of help.
‘Damn her,’ he muttered. ‘A heroine she may be, but she’s clearly lacking a brain.’
A dear friend had once claimed years ago that ‘Bozzie’ was addicted to lost causes. He was referring to his passion for whores in that instance, but it was a well-known fact that Boswell was extraordinarily sympathetic to anyone he considered was being treated unjustly. He had often defended poor people without charge, and took on cases that no one else would.
In truth, nothing excited him more than a case everyone said he couldn’t win, or a woman who was hell-bent on self-destruction. And Mary Broad was both rolled into one.
What all his worthy friends who poked fun at him didn’t really appreciate was that he felt he had a great deal in common with his clients and his whores. He knew what it was to be forced into an unwanted career; he was often misunderstood, he made errors of judgement, and he was reckless.
His father, Lord Auchinleck, a judge in the Supreme Courts in Scotland, had insisted his son become a lawyer, despite his desire to join the Guards. As soon as he’d finished school, Boswell ran away to London and became a Roman Catholic, which appalled his dour Presbyterian family. Indeed, he flirted briefly with the idea of becoming a monk too. But a Catholic couldn’t become an Army officer or a barrister, nor even inherit his father’s estate, so he soon abandoned Catholicism and reluctantly went along with his father’s wishes and entered the Inns of Court. But this wasn’t a real change of heart, it was more so he could stay in London and use his allowance to cut a dash in society.
Boswell himself would concede that he was a poor student. He spent more time in the theatre, at the races, and drinking and picking up women than he did at his studies. His father also expected him to make an advantageous marriage, but Boswell disappointed him there too by marrying his cousin Margaret, who had no money of her own. But he married for love, and that to him was far more important than money.
Then his friendship with Samuel Johnson was misunderstood. People claimed he was worming his way into the great man’s affections for self-advancement. They said Boswell was a snob, a social climber, a womanizer, a drunk and a hypochondriac.
It was true that he liked women and wine. He couldn’t resist a pretty chambermaid or whore, but surely that was only the sign of a zest for life? What his critics failed to see and understand was that he spent the greater part of his life planning, compiling and collecting material for his work, The Life of Samuel Johnson. To do it justice he had to enter into the circles that Johnson moved in, to watch, listen, and see through Johnson’s eyes. He enjoyed it of course, and maybe he did make use of some of the contacts he made. But he never used Johnson’s friendship for self-advancement; he loved the man, and wanted the whole world to share his wisdom, intelligence and humour.
In his heart, Boswell knew he had produced a brilliant biography of his friend, and he was sure that in years to come his name would be up there with other great literary figures. Even if he wasn’t getting the kind of rapturous praise and adulation that he felt he was due, he had made a considerable amount of money from his book. He had an elegant home just off Oxford Street, and fine clothes. He ate and drank well, had a great many friends, and his beloved children were a great comfort to him. All in all, he supposed that should be enough for any man.
Yet he still