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Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

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




"Ah! nothing like Old England for comfort!" echoed Mrs. Beaumont, in a
sentimental tone, though at that instant her thoughts were far distant
from her words; for this declaration of his love for Old England alarmed
her with the notion that he might change his mind about returning
immediately to Jamaica, and that he might take root again and flourish
for years to come in his native soil--perhaps in her neighbourhood, to
the bane of all her favourite projects. What would become of her scheme
of marrying Amelia to the baronet, and her son to the docile Albina?
What would become of the scheme of preventing him from being acquainted
with the Walsinghams? For a week it might be practicable to keep them
asunder by _policising_, but this could never be effected if he were to
settle, or even to make any long stay, in the country. The Walsinghams
would be affronted, and then what would become of their interest in the
county? Her son could not be returned without that. And, worse than all
the rest, Mr. Palmer might take a fancy to see these Walsinghams, who
were as nearly related to him as the Beaumonts; and seeing, he might
prefer, and preferring, he might possibly leave half, nay, perhaps the
whole, of his large fortune to them,--and thus all her hopes and
projects might at once be frustrated. Little aware of the long and
perplexing trains of ideas, which his honest ejaculation in favour of
his native country had raised, Mr. Palmer went on with his own
comfortable thoughts.

"And of all the comforts our native land affords, I know of none so
grateful to the heart," continued he, "as good friends, which are to be
found nowhere else in such perfection. A man at my time of life misses
many an old friend on his return to his native country; but then he sees
them still in their representatives, and loves them again in their
children. Mr. Beaumont looked at me at that instant, so like his
father--he is the image of what my friend was, when I first knew him."

"I am rejoiced you see the likeness," said Mrs. Beaumont. "Amelia, my
dear, pour out the coffee."

"And Miss Beaumont, too, has just his expression of countenance, which
surprises me more, in her delicate features. Upon my word, I have reason
to be proud of my god-daughter, as far as appearances go; and with
English women, appearances, fair as they may be, seldom are even so good
as the truth. There's her father's smile again for me--young lady, if
that smile deceives, there's no truth in woman."

"Do not you find our coffee here very bad, compared with what you have
been used to abroad?" said Mrs. Beaumont.

"I do rejoice to find myself here quiet in the country," continued Mr.
Palmer, without hearing the lady's question; "nothing after all like a
good old English family, where every thing speaks plenty and
hospitality, without waste or ostentation; and where you are received
with a hearty welcome, without compliments; and let do just as you
please, without form, and without being persecuted by politeness."

This was the image of an English country family impressed early upon the
good old gentleman's imagination, which had remained there fresh and
unchanged since the days of his youth; and he now took it for granted
that he should see it realized in the family of his late friend.

"I was afraid," resumed Mrs. Beaumont, "that after being so long
accustomed to a West-Indian life, you would find many things unpleasant
to your feelings here. But you are so kind, so accommodating. Is it
really possible that you have not, since your return to England,
experienced any uncomfortable sensations, suffered any serious injury to
your health, my dear sir, from the damps and chills of our climate?"

"Why, now I think of it, I have--I have a caugh," said Mr.
Palmer, coughing.

Mrs. Beaumont officiously shut the window.

"I do acknowledge that England is not quite so superior to all other
countries in her climate as in every thing else: yet I don't 'damn the
climate like a lord.' At my time of life, a man must expect to be a
valetudinarian, and it would be unjust to blame one's native climate
for that. But a man of seventy-five must live where he can, not where
he will; and Dr. Y---- tells me that I can live nowhere but in the
West Indies."

"Oh, sir, never mind Dr. Y----," exclaimed young Beaumont: "live with us
in England. Many Englishmen live to a great age surely, let people say
what they will of the climate."

"But, perhaps, brother," interposed Amelia, "those who, like Mr. Palmer,
have lived much in a warm climate, might find a return to a cold country
dangerous; and we should consider what is best for him, not merely what
is most agreeable to ourselves."

"True, my dearest Amelia," said Mrs. Beaumont; "and to be sure, Dr.
Y---- is one of our most skilful physicians. I could not be so rash or
so selfish as to set my private wishes, or my private opinion, in
opposition to Dr. Y----'s advice; but surely, my dear sir, you won't let
one physician, however eminent, send you away from us all, and banish
you again from England? We have a very clever physician here, Dr.
Wheeler, in whom I have the greatest confidence. In my own case, I
confess, I should prefer his judgment to any of the London fashionable
physicians, who are so fine and so hurried, that they can't take time to
study one's particular constitution, and hear all one has to say to
them. Now that is Wheeler's great excellence--and I should so like to
hear his opinion. I am sure, if he gives it against me, I will not say a
word more: if he decide for Jamaica, I may be vexed, but I should make
it a point of conscience to submit, and not to urge my good friend to
stay in England at his own peril. Happy they who can live where they
please, and whose fortune puts it in their power to purchase any
climate, and to combine the comforts and luxuries of all countries!"

Nothing more was said upon the subject: Mrs. Beaumont turned the
conversation to the different luxuries of the West and East Indies. Mr.
Palmer, fatigued by his journey, retired early to rest, little dreaming
that his kind hostess waked, whilst he slept, for the purpose of
preparing a physician to give a proper opinion upon his case. Mrs.
Beaumont left a note to her favourite Dr. Wheeler, to be sent very early
in the morning. As if by accident, the doctor dropped in at breakfast
time, and Mrs. Beaumont declared that it was the luckiest chance
imaginable, that he should happen to call just when she was wishing to
see him. When the question in debate was stated to him, he, with
becoming gravity of countenance and suavity of manner, entered into a
discussion upon the effect of hot and cold climates upon the solids and
fluids, and nervous system in general; then upon English constitutions
in particular; and, lastly, upon _idiosyncrasies_.

This last word cost Mr. Palmer half his breakfast: on hearing it he
turned down his cup with a profound sigh, and pushed his plate from him;
indications which did not escape the physician's demure eye. Gaining
confidence from the weakness of the patient, Dr. Wheeler now boldly
pronounced, that, in his opinion, any gentleman who, after having
habituated himself long to a hot climate, as Jamaica, for instance,
should come late in life to reside in a colder climate, as England, for
example, must run very great hazard indeed--nay, he could almost venture
to predict, would fall a victim to the sudden tension of the lax fibres.

Though a man of sound good sense in most things, Mr. Palmer's weakness
was, on medical subjects, as great as his ignorance; his superstitious
faith in physicians was as implicit as either Dr. Wheeler or Mrs.
Beaumont could desire.

"Then," said Mr. Palmer, with a sigh still deeper than the first--for
the first was for himself, and the second for his country--"then
England, Old England! farewell for ever! All my judges pronounce
sentence of transportation upon me!"

Mr. Beaumont and Amelia, in eager and persuasive tones of remonstrance
and expostulation, at once addressed the doctor, to obtain a mitigation
or suspension of his sentence. Dr. Wheeler, albeit unused to the
imperative mood, reiterated his _dictum_. Though little accustomed to
hold his opinion against the arguments or the wishes of the rich and
fair, he, upon this occasion, stood his ground against Miss and Mr.
Beaumont wonderfully well for nearly five minutes; till, to his utter
perplexity and dismay, he saw Mrs. Beaumont appear amongst his
assailants.

"Well, I said I would submit, and not say a word, if Dr. Wheeler was
against me," she began; "but I cannot sit by silent: I must protest
against this cruel, cruel decree, so contrary too to what I hoped and
expected would be Dr. Wheeler's opinion."

Poor Dr. Wheeler twinkled and seemed as if he would have rubbed his
eyes, not sure whether he was awake or in a dream. In his perplexity,
he apprehended that he had misunderstood Mrs. Beaumont's note, and he
now prepared to make his way round again through the solids and the
fluids, and the whole nervous system, till, by favour of
_idiosyncrasy_, he hoped to get out of his difficulty, and to allow Mr.
Palmer to remain on British ground. Mrs. Beaumont's face, in spite of
her powers of simulation, lengthened and lengthened, and darkened and
darkened, as he proceeded in his recantation; but, when the exception
to the general axiom was fairly made out, and a clear permit to remain
in England granted, by such high medical authority, she forced a smile,
and joined loudly in the general congratulations. Whilst her son was
triumphing and shaking hands with Mr. Palmer, she slipped down stairs
after Dr. Wheeler.

"Ah, doctor! What have you done! Ruined me! ruined me! Didn't you
read my note? Didn't you _understand_ it?--I thought a word to the
wise was enough."

"Why!--then it was as I understood it at first? So I thought; but then I
fancied I must be mistaken afterwards; for when I expected support, my
dear madam, you opposed my opinion in favour of Jamaica more warmly than
any one, and what was I to think?"

"To think! Oh, my dear doctor, you might have guessed that was only a
sham opposition."

"But, my dear ma'am," cried Dr. Wheeler, who, though the mildest of men,
was now worked up to something like indignation, "my dear ma'am--sham
upon sham is too much for any man!"

The doctor went down stairs murmuring. Thus, by excess of hypocrisy, our
heroine disgusted even her own adherents, in which she has the honour to
resemble some of the most wily politicians famous in English history.
But she was too wise ever to let any one who could serve or injure her
go discontented out of her presence.

"My dear, good Dr. Wheeler, I never saw you angry before. Come, come,"
cried Mrs. Beaumont, sliding a _douceur_ into his hand, "friends must
not be vexed for trifles; it was only a mistake _de part et d'autre_,
and you'll return here to-morrow, in your way home, and breakfast with
us; and now we understand one another. And," added she, in a whisper,
"we can talk over things, and have your cool judgment best, when only
you, and I, and Mr. Palmer, are present. You comprehend."

Those who practise many manoeuvres, and carry on many intrigues at the
same time, have this advantage, that if one fails, the success of
another compensates for the disappointment. However she might have been
vexed by this slight _contre-temps_ with Dr. Wheeler, Mrs. Beaumont had
ample compensation of different sorts this day; some due to her own
exertions, some owing to accident. Her own exertions prevented her dear
Albina Hunter from returning; for Mrs. Beaumont never sent the promised
carriage--only a note of apology--a nail had run into one of the
coach-horse's feet. To accident she owed that the Walsinghams were not
at home when her son galloped over to see them the next morning, and to
inquire what news from Captain Walsingham. That day's paper also brought
a contradiction of the report of the engagement and victory; so that
Mrs. Beaumont's apprehensions on this subject were allayed; and she had
no doubt that, by proper management, with a sufficient number of notes
and messages, misunderstandings, lame horses, and crossings upon the
road, she might actually get through the week without letting the
Walsinghams see Mr. Palmer; or at least without more than a _vis_, or a
morning visit, from which no great danger could be apprehended. "Few,
indeed, have so much character," thought she, "or so much dexterity in
showing it, as to make a dangerous impression in the course of a formal
morning visit."




CHAPTER VI.

"Ah! c'est mentir tant soit peu; j'en conviens;
C'est un grand mal--mais il produit un bien."
VOLTAIRE.


The third day went off still more successfully. Dr. Wheeler called at
breakfast, frightened Mr. Palmer out of his senses about his health, and
convinced him that his life depended upon his immediate return to the
climate of Jamaica:--so this point was decided.

Mrs. Beaumont, calculating justly that the Walsinghams would return Mr.
Beaumont's visit, and come to pay their respects to Mr. Palmer this
morning, settled, as soon as breakfast was over, a plan of operations
which should keep Mr. Palmer out till dinner-time. He must see the
charming drive which her son had made round his improvements; and she
must have the pleasure of showing it to him herself; and she assured him
that he might trust to her driving.

So into Mrs. Beaumont's garden-chair he got; and when she had him fairly
prisoner, she carried him far away from all danger of intruding
visitors. It may readily be supposed that our heroine made good use of
the five or six hours' leisure for manoeuvring which she thus secured.

So frank and cordial was this simple-hearted old man, any one but Mrs.
Beaumont would have thought that with him no manoeuvring was necessary;
that she need only to have trusted to his friendship and generosity, and
have directly told him her wishes. He was so prepossessed in her favour,
as being the widow of his friend, that he was almost incapable of
suspecting her of any unhandsome conduct; besides, having had little
converse with modern ladies, his imagination was so prepossessed with
the old-fashioned picture of a respectable widow lady and guardian
mother, that he took it for granted Mrs. Beaumont was just like one of
the good matrons of former times, like Lady Bountiful, or Lady Lizard;
and, as such, he spoke to her of her family concerns, in all the
openness of a heart which knew no guile.

"Now, my good Mistress Beaumont, you must look upon me just as my friend
the colonel would have done; as a man, who has your family interests at
heart just as much as if I were one of yourselves. And let me in to all
your little affairs, and trust me with all your little plans, and let us
talk over things together, and settle how every thing can be done for
the best for the young people. You know, I have no relations in the
world but your family and the Walsinghams, of whom, by-the-bye, I know
nothing. No one living has any claim upon me: I can leave or give my own
just as I please; and you and yours are, of course, my first
objects--and for the how, and the what, and the when, I must consult
you; and only beg you to keep it in mind, that I would as soon _give_ as
_bequeath_, and rather; for as to what a man leaves to his friends, he
can only have the satisfaction of thinking that they will be the better
for him after he is dead and gone, which is but cold comfort; but what
he gives he has the warm comfort of seeing them enjoy whilst he is alive
with them."

"Such a generous sentiment!" exclaimed Mrs. Beaumont, "and so unlike
persons in general who have large fortunes at their disposal! I feel so
much obliged, so excessively--"

"Not at all, not at all, not at all--no more of that, no more of that,
my good lady. The colonel and I were friends; so there can be no
obligation between us, nor thanks, nor speeches. But, just as if you
were talking to yourself, tell me your mind. And if there are any little
embarrassments that the son may want to clear off on coming of age; or
if there's any thing wanting to your jointure, my dear madam; or if
there should be any marriages in the wind, where a few thousands, more
or less, might be the making or the breaking of a heart;--let me hear
about it all: and do me the justice to let me have the pleasure of
making the young folks, and the old folks too, happy their own way; for
I have no notion of insisting on all people being happy my way--no, no!
I've too much English liberty in me for that; and I'm sure, you, my good
lady, are as great a foe as I am to all family managements and
mysteries, where the old don't know what the young do, nor the young
what the old think. No, no--that's all nonsense and French convent
work--nothing like a good old English family. So, my dear Mistress
Beaumont, out with it all, and make me one of yourselves, free of the
family from this minute. Here's my hand and heart upon it--an old friend
may presume so far."

This frankness would have opened any heart except Mrs. Beaumont's; but
it is the misfortune of artful people that they cannot believe others to
be artless: either they think simplicity of character folly; or else
they suspect that openness is only affected, as a bait to draw them into
snares. Our heroine balanced for a moment between these two notions. She
could not believe Mr. Palmer to be an absolute fool--no; his having made
such a large fortune forbad that thought. Then he must have thrown
himself thus open merely to _try her_, and to come at the knowledge of
debts and embarrassments, which, if brought to light, would lower his
opinion of the prudence of the family.

"My excellent friend, to be candid with you," she began, "there is no
need of your generosity at present, to relieve my son from any
embarrassments; for I know that he has no debts whatever. And I am
confident he will make my jointure every thing, and more than every
thing, I could desire. And, as to marriages, my Amelia is so young,
there's time enough to consider."

"True, true; and she does well to take time to consider. But though I
don't understand these matters much, she looks mightily like the notion
I have of a girl that's a little bit in love."

"In love! Oh, my dear sir! you don't say so--in love?"

"Why, I suppose I should not say _in love_; there's some other way of
expressing it come into fashion since my time, no doubt. And even then,
I know that was not to be said of a young lady, till signing and sealing
day; but it popped out, and I can't get it back again, so you must even
let it pass. And what harm? for you know, madam, without love, what
would become of the world?--though I was jilted once and away, I
acknowledge--but forgive and forget. I don't like the girl a whit the
worse for being a little bit tender-hearted. For I'm morally certain,
even from the little I have heard her say, and from the way she has been
brought up, and from her being her father's daughter, and her mother's,
madam, she could not fix her affections on any one that would not do
honour to her choice, or--which is only saying the same thing in other
words--that you and I should not approve."

"Ah! there's the thing!" said Mrs. Beaumont, sighing.

"Why now I took it into my head from a blush I saw this morning, though
how I came to notice it, I don't know; for to my recollection I have not
noticed a girl's blushing before these twenty years--but, to be sure,
here I have as near an interest, almost, as if she were my own
daughter--I say, from the blush I saw this morning, when young Beaumont
was talking of the gallop he had taken to inquire about Captain
Walsingham, I took it into my head that he was the happy man."

"Oh! my dear sir, he never made any proposals for Amelia." That
was strictly true. "Nor, I am sure, ever thought of it, as far as
ever I heard."

The saving clause of "_as far as ever I heard_," prevented this last
assertion from coming under that description of falsehoods denominated
downright lies.

"Indeed, how could he?" pursued Mrs. Beaumont, "for you know he is no
match for Amelia; he has nothing in the world but his commission. No;
there never was any proposal from that quarter; and, of course, it is
impossible my daughter could think of a man who has no thoughts of her."

"You know best, my good madam; I merely spoke at random. I'm the worst
guesser in the world, especially on these matters: what people tell me,
I know; and neither more not less."

Mrs. Beaumont rejoiced in the simplicity of her companion. "Then, my
good friend, it is but fair to tell you," said she, "that Amelia has
an admirer."

"A lover, hey! Who?"

"Ah, there's the misfortune; it is a thing I never can consent to."

"Ha! then now it is out! There's the reason the girl blushes, and is so
absent at times."

A plan now occurred to Mrs. Beaumont's scheming imagination which she
thought the master-piece of policy. She determined to account for
whatever symptoms of embarrassment Mr. Palmer might observe in her
daughter, by attributing them to a thwarted attachment for Sir John
Hunter; and Mrs. Beaumont resolved to make a merit to Mr. Palmer of
opposing this match because the lover was a baronet, and she thought
that Mr. Palmer would be pleased by her showing an aversion to the
thoughts of her daughter's marrying _a sprig of quality_. This
ingenious method of paying her court to her open-hearted friend, at the
expense equally of truth and of her daughter, she executed with her
usual address.

"Well, I'm heartily glad, my dear good madam, to find that you have the
same prejudices against sprigs of quality that I have. One good commoner
is worth a million of them to my mind. So I told a puppy of a nephew of
mine, who would go and buy a baronetage, forsooth--disinherited him! but
he is dead, poor puppy."

"Poor young man! But this is all new to me," said Mrs. Beaumont, with
well-feigned surprise.

"But did not you know, my dear madam, that I had a nephew, and that
he is dead?"

"Oh, yes; but not the particulars."

"No; the particulars I never talk of--not to the poor dog's credit. It's
well he's dead, for if he had lived, I am afraid I should have forgiven
him. No, no, I never would. But there is no use in thinking any more of
that. What were we saying? Oh, about your Amelia--our Amelia, let me
call her. If she is so much attached, poor thing, to this man, though he
is a baronet, which I own is against him to my fancy, yet it is to be
presumed he has good qualities to balance that, since she values him;
and young people must be young, and have their little foolish
prepossessions for title, and so forth. To be sure, I should have
thought my friend's daughter above that, of such a good family as she
is, and with such good sense as she inherits too. But we have all our
foibles, I suppose. And since it is so with Amelia, why do let me see
this baronet-swain of hers, and let me try what good I can find out in
him, and let me bring myself, if I can, over my prejudices. And then
you, my dear madam, so good and kind a mother as you are, will make an
effort too on your part; for we must see the girl happy, if it is not
out of all sense and reason. And if the man be worthy of her, it is not
his fault that he is a sprig of quality; and we must forgive and forget,
and give our consent, my dear Mrs. Beaumont."

"And would you ever give your consent to her marrying Sir John Hunter?"
cried Mrs. Beaumont, breathless with amazement, and for a moment thrown
off her guard so as to speak quite naturally. The sudden difference in
her tone and manner struck even her unsuspicious companion, and he
attributed it to displeasure at this last hint.

"Why, my very dear good friend's wife, forgive me," said he, "for this
interference, and for, as it seems, opposing your opinion about your
daughter's marriage, which no man has a right to do--but if you ask me
plump whether I could forgive her for marrying Sir John Hunter, I
answer, for I can speak nothing but the truth, I would, if he is a
worthy man."

"I thought," said Mrs. Beaumont, astonished, "you disinherited your own
nephew, because he took a baronet's title against your will."

"Bless you! no, my dear madam--that did displease me, to be sure--but
that was the least cause of displeasure I had. I let the world fancy and
say what they would, rather than bring faults to light.--But no more
about that."

"But did not you take an oath that you would never leave a shilling of
your fortune to any _sprig of quality?_"

"Never! my dearest madam! never," cried Mr. Palmer, laughing. "Never was
such a gander. See what oaths people put into one's mouth."

"And what lies the world tells," said Mrs. Beaumont.

"And believes," said Mr. Palmer, with a sly smile.

The surprise that Mrs. Beaumont felt was mixed with a strange and rapid
confusion of other sentiments, regret for having wasted such a quantity
of contrivance and manoeuvring against an imaginary difficulty. All this
arose from her too easy belief of _secret underhand information_.

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

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Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

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