Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V

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"Dear Mrs. Beaumont, how can you think so? You who write so well, and
such long letters about every thing, and so quick! But goodness! I shall
never get it all into a letter I'm afraid, and before Mr. Palmer comes,
and then it will soon be dressing-time! La! I could say it all to John
in five minutes: what a pity he is not here to-day!"

"Well, my love, then suppose you were to go to him; as you so prudently
remark, things of this sort are always so much easier and better said
than written. And now I look at my watch, I see you cannot have time to
write a long letter, and to dress. So I believe, though I shall grieve
to lose you, I must consent to your going for this one day to your
brother's. My carriage and Williamson shall attend you," said Mrs.
Beaumont, ringing the bell to order the carriage; "but remember you
promise me now to come back, positively, to-morrow, or next day at
farthest, if I should not be able to send the carriage again to-morrow.
I would not, upon any account, have you away, if it can possibly be
helped, whilst Mr. Palmer is here, considering you as I do [The carriage
to the door directly, and Williamson to attend Miss Hunter]--considering
you as I do, my dearest Albina, quite as my own daughter."

"Oh, my dearest Mrs. Beaumont, you are so kind!" said the poor girl,
whom Mrs. Beaumont could always thus easily _pay with words_.

The carriage came to the door with such prompt obedience to Mrs.
Beaumont's summons, that one of a more reflecting or calculating nature
than Miss Hunter might have suspected that it had been ordered to be in
readiness to carry her away this morning.

"Fare ye well, my own Albina! be sure you don't stay long from us," said
Mrs. Beaumont, accompanying her to the hall-door. "A thousand kind
things to everybody, and your brother in particular. But, my dear Miss
Hunter, one word more," said she, following to the carriage door, and
whispering: "there's another thing that I must trust to your management
and cleverness;--I mentioned that Mr. Palmer was to know nothing of
_the approbation_ of Sir John's suit."

"Oh, yes, yes, ma'am, I understand perfectly."

"But stay, my love; you must understand, too, that it is to be quite a
secret between ourselves, not to be mentioned to my son even; for you
know he is sudden in his temper, and warm and quite in the Walsingham
interest, and there's no knowing what might be the consequence if it
were to be let out imprudently, and Sir John and Edward both so
high-spirited. One can't be too cautious, my dear, to prevent mischief
between gentlemen. So caution your brother to leave it to me to break
it, and bring things about with Edward and Amelia,"--[stopping Miss
Hunter again as she made a second effort to get into the carriage,]--
"You comprehend, my dear, that Amelia is not in the secret yet--so not
a word from your brother to her about _my approbation!_--that would
ruin all. I trust to his honour; and besides--" drawing the young lady
back for the third whisper.--Miss Hunter stood suspended with one foot
in air, and the other on the step; the coachman, impatient to be off,
manoeuvred to make his horses restless, whilst at the same time he cried
aloud--"So! so! Prancer--stand still, Peacock; stand still, sir!"

Miss Hunter jumped down on terra firma. "Those horses frighten me so for
you, my dear!" said Mrs. Beaumont. "Martin, stand at their heads. My
dear child, I won't detain you, for you'll be late. I had only to say,
that--oh! that I trust implicitly to your brother's honour; but, besides
this, it will not be amiss for you to hint, as you know you can
delicately--_delicately_, you understand--that it is for his interest to
leave me to manage every thing. Yet none of this is to be said _as if
from me_--pray don't let it come from me. Say it all from yourself.
Don't let my name be mentioned at all. Don't commit me, you understand?"

"Perfectly, perfectly, ma'am: one kiss, dear Mrs. Beaumont, and adieu.
Is my dressing-box in? Tell him to drive fast, for I hate going slow.
Dearest Mrs. Beaumont, good bye. I feel as if I were going for an age,
though it is only for one day."

"Dear, affectionate girl! I love _heart_--Good bye--Drive fast, as Miss
Hunter desires you."

Our fair politician, well satisfied with the understanding of her
confidante, which never comprehended more than met the ear, and secure
in a charge d'affaires, whose powers it was never necessary to limit,
stood on the steps before the house-door, deep in reverie, for some
minutes after the carriage had driven away, till she was roused by
seeing her son returning from his morning's ride.

CHAPTER III.

"Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she woo'd an English man?
Garments gay as rich as may be,
Deck'd with jewels, she had on."
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.
_Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry_

Mr. Beaumont had just been at a neighbouring farm-house, where there
lived one of Mr. Walsingham's tenants; a man of the name of Birch, a
respectable farmer, who was originally from Ireland, and whose son was
at sea with Captain Walsingham. The captain had taken young Birch under
his particular care, at Mr. Walsingham's request.

Birch's parents had this day received a letter from their son, which in
the joy and pride of their hearts they showed to Mr. Beaumont, who was
in the habit of calling at their house to inquire if they had heard any
news of their son, or of Captain Walsingham. Mr. Beaumont liked to read
Birch's letters, because they were written with characteristic
simplicity and affection, and somewhat in the Irish idiom, which this
young sailor's English education had not made him entirely forget.

LETTER FROM BIRCH TO HIS PARENTS.

"H.M.S. l'Ambuscade.

"HONOURED PARENTS,

"I write this from sea, lat. N. 44.15--long. W. 9.45--wind N.N.E.--to
let you know you will not see me so soon as I said in my last, of the
16th. Yesterday, P.M. two o'clock, some despatches were brought to my
good captain, by the Pickle sloop, which will to-morrow, wind and
weather permitting, alter our destination. What the nature of them is I
cannot impart to you, for it has not transpired beyond the lieutenants;
but whatever I do under the orders of my good captain, I am satisfied
and confident all is for the best. For my own share, I long for an
opportunity of fighting the French, and of showing the captain _what is
in me_, and that the pains he has took to make a gentleman, and an
honour to his majesty's service, of me, is not thrown away. Had he been
my own father, or brother, he could not be better, or _done more_. God
willing, I will never disgrace his principles, for it would be my
ambition to be like him in every respect; and he says, if I behave
myself as I ought, I shall soon be a lieutenant; and a lieutenant in his
majesty's navy is as good a gentleman as any in England, and has a right
(tell my sister Kitty) to hand the first woman in Lon'on out of her
carriage, if he pleases, and if she pleases.

"Now we talk of ladies, and as please God we shall soon be in action,
and may not have another opportunity of writing to you this great while,
for there is talk of our sailing southward with the fleet to bring the
French and Spaniards to action, I think it best to send you all the news
I have in this letter. But pray bid Kate, with my love, mind this, that
not a word of the following is to take wind for her life, on account of
my not knowing if it might be agreeable, or how it might affect my good
captain, and others that shall be nameless. You must know then that when
we were at ----, where we were stationed six weeks and two days, waiting
for the winds, and one cause or other, we used to employ ourselves, I
and my captain, taking soundings (which I can't more particularly
explain the nature of to you, especially in a letter); for he always
took me out to attend him in preference to any other; and after he had
completed his soundings, and had no farther use for me in that job, I
asked him leave to go near the same place in the evening to fish, which
my good captain consented to (as he always does to what (duty done) can
gratify me), provided I was in my ship by ten. Now you must know that
there are convents in this country (which you have often heard of,
Kitty, no doubt), being damnable places, where young _Catholic_ women
are shut up unmarried, often, it is to be reasonably supposed, against
their wills. And there is a convent in one of the suburbs which has a
high back wall to the garden of it that comes down near the strand; and
it was under this wall we two used to sound, and that afterwards I used
to be fishing. And one evening, when I was not thinking of any such
thing, there comes over the wall a huge nosegay of flowers, with a stone
in it, that made me jump. And this for three evenings running the same
way, about the same hour; till at last one evening as I was looking up
at the wall, as I had now learned to do about the time the nosegays were
thrown over, I saw coming down a stone tied to a string, and to the
stone a letter, the words of which I can't particularly take upon me to
recollect, because I gave up the paper to my captain, who desired it of
me, and took no copy; but the sense was, that in that convent there was
shut up a lady, the daughter of an English gentleman by a Spanish wife,
both her parents being dead, and her Spanish relations and
father-confessor (or catholic priest of a man), not wishing she should
get to England, where she might be what she had a right to be by birth,
at least by her father's side (a _protestant_), shut her up since she
was a child. And that there was a relative of hers in England, who with
a wicked lawyer or attorney had got possession of her estate, and made
every body believe she was dead. And so, it being seven years and more
since she was heard of, she is what is called dead in law, which sort of
death however won't signify, if she appears again. Wherefore the letter
goes on to say, she would be particularly glad to make her escape, and
get over to old England. But she confesses that she is neither young nor
handsome, and may-be never may be rich; therefore, that whoever helps
her must do it for the sake of doing good and nothing else; for though
she would pay all expenses handsomely, she could not promise more. And
that she knew the danger of the undertaking to be great; greater for
them that would carry her off even than for herself. That she knows,
however, that British sailors are brave as they are generous (this part
of the letter was very well indited, and went straight to my heart the
minute ever I read it); and she wished it could be in the power of
Captain Walsingham to take her under his immediate protection, and that
she had taken measures so as she could escape over the wall of the
garden if he would have a boat in readiness to carry her to his ship;
and at the same hour next evening the stone should be let down as usual,
and he might fasten his answer to it, which would be drawn up in due
course. Concluding all this with, 'That she would not go at all unless
Captain Walsingham came for her himself (certifying himself to be
himself, I suppose), for she knew him to be a gentleman by reputation,
and she should be safe under his protection, and so would her secret,
she was confident, at all events.' This was the entire and sum total of
the letter. So when I had read to the end, and looked for the postscript
and all, I found for my pains that the lady mistook me for my captain,
or would not have written or thrown the nosegays. So I took the letter
to my captain; and what he answered, and how it was settled (by signals,
I suppose) between them after, it was not for me to inquire. Not a word
more was said by him to me or I to him on the topic, till the very night
we were to sail for England. It was then that our captain took me aside,
and he says, 'Birch, will you assist me? I ask this not as your captain,
so you are at liberty to do as you please. Will you help me to rescue
this lady, who seems to be unjustly detained, and to carry her back safe
to her country and her friends?' I told him I would do that or any thing
else he bid me, confident he would never ask me to do a wrong thing; and
as to the lady, I should be proud to help to carry her off to old
England and her lawful friends, only I thought (if I might be so bold)
it was a pity she was not young and handsome, for his sake. At that he
smiled, and only said, 'Perhaps it was best for him as it was.' Then he
settled about the boat, and who were to go, and when. It was twelve
o'clock striking by the great town clock when we were under the walls of
the convent, as appointed. And all was hush and silent as the grave for
our very lives. For it was a matter of life or death, I promise you, and
we all knew as much, and the sailors had a dread of the Inquisition upon
them that was beyond all terrible! So we watched and waited, and waited
and watched so long, that we thought something must have gone wrong, or
that all was found out, and the captain could not delay the ship's
sailing; and he struck his repeater, and it was within a quarter of one,
and he said, 'It is too late; we must put back.' Just then, I, that was
watching with the lantern in my hand, gave notice, and first there comes
down a white bundle, fastened to the stone and cord. Then the captain
and I fixed the ladder of ropes, and down came the lady, as well as ever
she went up, and not a word but away with her: the captain had her in a
trice in our boat, safe and snug, and off we put, rowing for the bare
life, all silent as ever. I think I hear the striking of our oars and
the plashing of the water this minute, which we would have gladly
silenced, but could not any way in nature. But none heard it, or at
least took any notice against us. I can give you no idea of the terror
which the lady manifested when the boat stood out to sea, at the
slightest squall of wind, or the least agitation of the waves; for
besides being naturally cowardly, as all or most women are for the first
time at sea, here was a poor soul who had been watching, and may be
fasting, and worn out mind and body with the terror of perfecting her
escape from the convent, where she had been immured all her life, and as
helpless as a child. So it was wonderful she went through it as well as
she did and without screaming, which should be an example to Kate and
others. Glad enough even we men were when we reached the ship. There
was, at that time, a silence on board you could have heard a pin drop,
all being in perfect readiness for getting under way, the sails ready
for dropping, and officers and sailors waiting in the greatest
expectation of our boat's return. Our boat passed swiftly alongside, and
great beyond belief was the astonishment of all at seeing a woman
veiled, hoisted out, and in, and ushered below, half fainting. I never
felt more comfortable in my life than when we found her and ourselves
safe aboard l'Ambuscade. The anchor was instantly weighed, all sail
made, and the ship stood out to sea. To the lady the captain gave up his
cabin: double sentries were placed, and as the captain ordered, every
precaution that could shield her character in such suspicious
circumstances were enforced with the utmost punctilio. I cannot
describe, nor can you even conceive, Kate, the degree of curiosity shown
about her; all striving to get a sight of her when she first went down,
and most zealous they were to bring lights; but that would not do, for
they could not see her for her veil. Yet through all we could make out
that she was a fine figure of a woman at any rate, and something more
than ordinary, from the air she had with her. The next day when she was
sitting on deck the wind by times would blow aside her veil so as to
give us glimpses of her face; when, to our surprise, and I am sure to
the captain's satisfaction, we found she was beyond all contradiction
young and handsome. And moreover I have reason to believe she has fine
jewels with her, besides a ring from her own finger, which with a very
pretty action she put on his, that next day on deck, as I noticed, when
nobody was minding. So that no doubt she is as much richer as she is
handsomer than she made believe, contrary to the ways of other women,
which is in her favour and my good captain's; for from what I can judge,
after all he has done for her, she has no dislike nor objection to him.

"I have not time to add any thing more, but my love to Kitty, and Nancy,
and Tom, and Mary, and little Bess; and, honoured parents, wishing you
good health as I am in, thank God, at this present,

"I am your dutiful and loving son,

"JOHN BIRCH.

"P.S. I open my letter to tell you we are going southward immediately,
all in high spirits, as there is hopes of meeting the French and
Spaniards. We have just hoisted the nun-lady on board an English packet.
God send her and this letter safe to England."

* * * * *

Mr. Beaumont might perhaps have been amused by this romantic story, and
by the style in which it was told, if he had not been alarmed by the
hint at the conclusion of the letter, that the lady was not indifferent
to her deliverer. Now Mr. Beaumont earnestly wished that his friend
Captain Walsingham might become his brother-in-law; and he began to have
fears about this Spanish lady, with her gratitude, her rings, and the
advantages of the great interest her misfortunes and helpless condition
would excite, together with the vast temptations to fall in love that
might occur during the course of a voyage. Had he taken notice of the
postscript, his mind would have been somewhat relieved. On this subject
Mr. Beaumont pondered all the way that he rode home, and on this subject
he was still meditating when he saw his mother standing on the steps,
where we left her when Miss Hunter's carriage drove away.

CHAPTER IV.

"I shall in all my best obey you, madam."
HAMLET.

"Did you meet Miss Hunter, my dear son?" said she.

"Yes, ma'am, I just passed the carriage in the avenue: she is going
home, is not she?" said he, rather in a tone of satisfaction.

"Ah, poor thing! yes," said Mrs. Beaumont, in a most pathetic tone: "ah,
poor thing!"

"Why, ma'am, what has happened to her? What's the matter?"

"Matter? Oh, nothing!--Did I say that any thing was the matter? Don't
speak so loud," whispered she: "your groom heard every word we said;
stay till he is out of hearing, and then we can talk."

"I don't care if all the world hears what I say," cried Mr. Beaumont
hastily: but, as if suppressing his rising indignation, he, with a
milder look and tone, added, "I cannot conceive, my dear mother, why you
are always so afraid of being overheard."

"Servants, my dear, make such mischief, you know, by misunderstanding
and misrepresenting every thing they hear; and they repeat things so
oddly, and raise such strange reports!"

"True--very true indeed, ma'am," said Mr. Beaumont. "You are quite
right, and I beg pardon for being so hasty--I wish you could teach me a
little of your patience and prudence."

"Prudence! ah! my dear Edward, 'tis only time and sad experience of the
world can teach that to people of _our_ open tempers. I was at your age
ten times more imprudent and unsuspicious than you are."

"Were you, ma'am?--But I don't think I am unsuspicious. I was when I was
a boy--I wish we could continue children always in some things. I hate
suspicion in any body--but more than in any one else, I hate it in
myself. And yet--"

Mr. Beaumont hesitated, and his mother instantly went on with a fluent
panegyric upon the hereditary unsuspiciousness of his temper.

"But, madam, were you not saying something to me about Miss Hunter?"

"Was I?--Oh, I was merely going to say, that I was sorry you did not
know she was going this morning, that you might have taken leave of her,
poor thing!"

"Take leave of her! ma'am: I bowed to her, and wished her a good
morning, when I met her just now, and she told me she was only going to
the hall for a day. Surely no greater leave-taking was requisite, when I
am to see the lady again to-morrow, I presume."

"That is not quite so certain as she thinks, poor soul! I told her I
would send for her again to-morrow, just to keep up her spirits at
leaving me. Walk this way, Edward, under the shade of the trees, for I
am dead with the heat; and you, too, look so hot! I say I am not so sure
that it would be prudent to have her here so much, especially whilst Mr.
Palmer is with us, you know--" Mrs. Beaumont paused, as if waiting for
an assent, or a dissent, or a leading hint how to proceed: but her son
persisting in perverse silence, she was forced to repeat, "You know,
Edward, my dear, you know?"

"I don't know, indeed, ma'am."

"You don't know!"

"Faith, not I, ma'am. I don't know, for the soul of me, what Mr.
Palmer's coming has to do with Miss Hunter's going. There's room enough
in the house, I suppose, for each of them, and all of us to play our
parts. As to the rest, the young lady's coming or going is quite a
matter of indifference to me, except, of course, as far as politeness
and hospitality go. But all that I leave to you, who do the honours for
me so well."

Mrs. Beaumont's ideas were utterly thrown out of their order by this
speech, no part of which was exactly what she wished or expected: not
that any of the sentiments it contained or suggested were new to her;
but she was not prepared to meet them thus clothed in distinct words,
and in such a compact form. She had drawn up her forces for battle in an
order which this unexpectedly decisive movement of the enemy
discomfited; and a less able tactician might have been, in these
circumstances, not only embarrassed, but utterly defeated: yet, however
unprepared for this sudden shock, with admirable generalship our female
Hannibal, falling back in the centre, admitted him to advance impetuous
and triumphant, till she had him completely surrounded.

"My being of age in a few days," continued Mr. Beaumont, "will not make
any difference, surely; I depend upon it, that you will always invite
whomever you like to this house, of which I hope, my dear mother, you
will always do me the favour to be the mistress--till I marry, at least.
For my wife's feelings," added he, smiling, "I can't engage, before I
have her."

"And before we know who she is to be," said Mrs. Beaumont, carelessly.
"Time enough, as you say, to think of that. Besides, there are few women
in the world, I know scarcely one, with whom, in the relation of mother
and daughter-in-law, I should wish to live. But wherever I live, my dear
son, as long as I have a house, I hope you will always do me the justice
and the pleasure to consider yourself as its master. Heaven knows I
shall never give any other man a right to dispute with you the
sovereignty of my castle, or my cottage, whichever it may be. As to the
rest," pursued Mrs. Beaumont, "you cannot marry against my wishes, my
dear Edward; for your wishes on this, as on all other subjects, will
ever govern mine."

Her son kissed her hand with warm gratitude.

"You will not, I hope, think that I seek to prolong my regency, or to
assume undue power or influence in affairs," continued Mrs. Beaumont,
"if I hint to you in general terms what I think may contribute to your
happiness. You must afterwards decide for yourself; and are now, as you
have ever been, master, to do as you please."

"Too much--too much. I have had too much liberty, and have too little
acquired the habit of commanding my will and my passions by my reason.
Of this I am sensible. My excellent friend, Captain Walsingham, told me,
some years ago, that this was the fault of my character, and he charged
me to watch over myself; and so I have; but not so strictly, I fear, as
if he had watched along with me.----Well, ma'am, you were going to give
me some advice; I am all attention."

"My dear son, Captain Walsingham showed his judgment more, perhaps, in
pointing out causes than effects. The weakness of a fond mother, I am
sensible, did indulge you in childhood, and, perhaps, more imprudently
in youth, with an unlimited liberty to judge and act for yourself. Your
mother's system of education came, alas! more from her heart than her
head. Captain Walsingham himself cannot be more sensible of my errors
than I am."

"Captain Walsingham, believe me, mother, never mentioned this in
reproach to you. He is not a man to teach a son to see his mother's
errors--if she had any. He always spoke of you with the greatest
respect. And since I must, at my own expense, do him justice, it was, I
well remember, upon some occasion where I spoke too hastily, and
insisted upon my will in opposition to yours, madam, that Captain
Walsingham took me aside, and represented to me the fault into which my
want of command over myself had betrayed me. This he did so forcibly,
that I have never from that hour to this (I flatter myself) on any
material occasion, forgotten the impression he made on my mind. But,
madam, I interrupt you: you were going to give me your advice about--"

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