Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"An admirable plan! I like it of all things!" said Mrs. Beaumont. "How
few, even in youth, are so active and enthusiastic as our good friend!
But, my dear Mr. Palmer--"

"But I wish I could see the captain himself. Is there any chance of his
coming home?"

"Home! yes," said Beaumont: "did you not read his letter, sir? here it
is; he will be at home directly. He says, 'perhaps a few hours after
this letter reaches you, you'll see me.'"

"See him! Odds my life, I'm glad of it. And you, my little Amelia," said
Mr. Palmer, tapping her shoulders as she stood with her back to him
reading the newspaper; "and you, my little silent one, not one word have
I heard from you all this time. Does not some spark of your father's
spirit kindle within you on hearing of this heroic relation of ours?"

"Luckily for the ladies, sir," said Sir John Hunter, coming up, as he
thought, to the lady's assistance--"luckily for young ladies, sir, they
are not called upon to be heroes; and it would be luckier still for us
men, if they never set themselves up for heroines--Ha! ha! ha! Miss
Beaumont," continued he, "the shower is over; I'll order the horses out,
that we may have our ride." Sir John left the room, evidently pleased
with his own wit.

"Amelia, my love," said Mrs. Beaumont, who drew up also to give
assistance at this critical juncture, "go, this moment, and write a note
to your friend Miss Walsingham, to say that we shall all be with them
early to-morrow: I will send a servant directly, that we may be sure to
meet with them at home this time; you'll find pen, ink, and paper in my
dressing-room, love."

Mrs. Beaumont drew Amelia's arm within hers, and, dictating kindest
messages for the Walsinghams, led her out of the loom. Having thus
successfully covered her daughter's retreat, our skilful manoeuvrer
returned, all self-complacent, to the company. And next, to please the
warm-hearted Mr. Palmer, she seemed to sympathize in his patriotic
enthusiasm for the British navy: she pronounced a panegyric on the
_young hero,_ Captain Walsingham, which made the good old man rub his
hands with exultation, and which irradiated with joy the countenance of
her son. But, alas! Mrs. Beaumont's endeavours to please, or rather to
dupe all parties, could not, even with her consummate address, always
succeed: though she had an excellent memory, and great presence of mind,
with peculiar quickness both of eye and ear, yet she could not always
register, arrange, and recollect all that was necessary for the various
parts she undertook to act. Scarcely had she finished her eulogium on
Captain Walsingham, when, to her dismay, she saw close behind her Sir
John Hunter, who had entered the room without her perceiving it. He said
not one word; but his clouded brow showed his suspicions, and his
extreme displeasure.

"Mrs. Beaumont," said he, after some minutes' silence, "I find I must
have the honour of wishing you a good morning, for I have an
indispensable engagement at home to dinner to-day."

"I thought, Sir John, you and Amelia were going to ride?"

"Ma'am, Miss Beaumont does not choose to ride--she told me, so this
instant as I passed her on the stairs. Oh! don't disturb her, I beg--she
is writing to Miss Walsingham--I have the honour to wish you a good
morning, ma'am."

"Well, if you are determined to go, let me say three words to you in
the music-room, Sir John: though," added she, in a whisper intended to
be heard by Mr. Palmer, "I know you do not look upon me as your
friend, yet depend upon it I shall treat you and all the world with
perfect candour."

Sir John, though sulky, could not avoid following the lady; and as soon
as she had shut all the doors and double-doors of the music-room, she
exclaimed, "It is always best to speak openly to one's friends. Now, my
dear Sir John Hunter, how can you be so childish as to take ill of me
what I really was forced to say, for _your_ interest, about Captain
Walsingham, to Mr. Palmer? You know old Palmer is the oddest, most
self-willed man imaginable! humour and please him I must, the few days
he is with me. You know he goes on Tuesday--that's decided--Dr. Wheeler
has seen him, has talked to him about his health, and it is absolutely
necessary that he should return to the West Indies. Then he is perfectly
determined to leave all he has to Amelia."

"Yes, ma'am; but how am I sure of being the better for that?"
interrupted Sir John, whose decided selfishness was a match for Mrs.
Beaumont's address, because it went without scruple or ceremony straight
to his object; "for, ma'am, you can't think I'm such a fool as not to
see that Mr. Palmer wishes me at the devil. Miss Beaumont gives me no
encouragement; and you, ma'am, I know, are too good a politician to
offend Mr. Palmer: so, if he declares in favour of this young _hero,_
Captain Walsingham, I may quit the field."

"But you don't consider that Mr. Palmer's young hero has never made any
proposal for Amelia."

"Pshaw! ma'am--but I know, as well as you do, that he likes her, and
propose he will for her now that he has money."

"Granting that; you forget that all this takes time, and that Palmer
will be gone to the West Indies before they can bring out their
proposal; and as soon as he is gone, and has left his will, as he means
to do, with me, you and I have the game in our own hands. It is very
extraordinary to me that you do not seem to understand my play, though I
explained the whole to Albina; and I thought she had made you comprehend
the necessity for my _seeming,_ for this one week, to be less your
friend than I could wish, because of your title, and that odd whim of
Palmer, you know: but I am sure we understand one another now."

"Excuse me," said the invincible Sir John: "I confess, Mrs. Beaumont,
you have so much more abilities, and _finesse_, and all that sort of
thing, than I have, that I cannot help being afraid of--of not
understanding the business rightly. In business there is nothing like
understanding one another, and going on sure grounds. There has been so
much going backwards and forwards, and explanations and manoeuvres, that
I am not clear how it is; nor do I feel secure even that I have the
honour of your approbation."

"What! not when I have assured you of it, Sir John, in the most
unequivocal manner?"

It was singular that the only person to whom in this affair Mrs.
Beaumont spoke the real truth should not believe her. Sir John Hunter
continued obstinately suspicious and incredulous. He had just heard that
his uncle Wigram, his rich uncle Wigram, was taken ill, and not likely
to recover. This intelligence had also reached Mrs. Beaumont, and she
was anxious to secure the baronet and the Wigram fortune for her
daughter; but nothing she could say seemed to satisfy him that she was
not double-dealing. At last, to prove to him her sincerity, she gave him
what he required, and what alone, he said, could make his mind easy,
could bring him to make up his mind--_a written assurance_ of her
approbation of his addresses to Amelia. With this he was content; "for,"
said he, "what is written remains, and there can be no misunderstandings
in future, or changing of minds."

It was agreed between these confidential friends, that Sir John should
depart, _as it were_, displeased; and she begged that he would not
return till Mr. Palmer should have left the country.

Now there was a numerous tribe of _hangers-on_, who were in the habit of
frequenting Beaumont Park, whom Mrs. Beaumont loved to see at her house;
because, besides making her feel her own importance, they were
frequently useful to carry on the subordinate parts of her perpetual
manoeuvres. Among these secondary personages who attended Mrs. Beaumont
abroad to increase her consequence in the eyes of common spectators, and
who at home filled the stage, and added to the bustle and effect, her
chief favourites were Mr. Twigg (the same gentleman who was deputed to
decide upon the belt or the screen) and Captain Lightbody. Mr. Twigg was
the most, elegant flatterer of the two, but Captain Lightbody was the
most assured, and upon the whole made his way the best. He was a
handsome man, had a good address, could tell a good story, sing a good
song, and _make things go off_ well, when there was company; so that he
was a prodigious assistance to the mistress of the house. Then he danced
with the young ladies when they had no other partners; he mounted guard
regularly beside the piano-forte, or the harp, when the ladies were
playing; and at dinner it was always the etiquette for him to sit beside
Miss Beaumont, or Miss Hunter, when the gentlemen guests were not such
as Mrs. Beaumont thought entitled to that honour, or such as she deemed
_safe_ companions. These arrangements imply that Captain Lightbody
thought himself in Mrs. Beaumont's confidence: and so he was to a
certain degree, just enough to flatter him into doing her high or low
behests. Whenever she had a report to circulate, or to contradict,
Captain Lightbody was put in play; and no man could be better calculated
for this purpose, both from his love of talking, and of locomotion. He
galloped about from place to place, and from one great house to another;
knew all the lords and ladies, and generals and colonels, and
brigade-majors and aides-de-camp, in the land. Could any mortal be
better qualified to fetch and carry news for Mrs. Beaumont? Besides
news, it was his office to carry compliments, and to speed the
intercourse, not perhaps from soul to soul, but from house to house,
which is necessary in a visiting country to keep up the character of an
agreeable neighbour. Did Mrs. Beaumont forget to send a card of
invitation, or neglect to return a visit, Lightbody was to set it to
rights for her, Lightbody, the ready bearer of pretty notes, the maker
always, the fabricator sometimes, of the civilest speeches imaginable.
This expert speechifier, this ever idle, ever busy scamperer, our
heroine dispatched to engage a neighbouring family to pay her a morning
visit the next day, just about the time which was fixed for her going to
see the Walsinghams. The usual caution was given. "Pray, Lightbody, do
not let my name be used; do not let me be mentioned; but take it upon
yourself, and say, as if from yourself, that you have reason to believe
I take it ill that they have not been here lately. And then you can
mention the hour that would be most convenient. But let me have nothing
to do with it. I must not appear in it on any account."

In consequence of Captain Lightbody's faithful execution of his secret
instructions, a barouche full of morning visitors drove to the door,
just at the time when Mrs. Beaumont had proposed to set out for
Walsingham House. Mrs. Beaumont, with a well-dissembled look of
vexation, exclaimed, as she looked out of the window at the carriage,
"How provoking! Who can these people be? I hope Martin will say I am not
at home. Ring--ring, Amelia. Oh, it's too late, they have seen me! and
Martin, stupid creature! has let them in."

Mr. Palmer was much discomfited, and grew more and more impatient when
these troublesome visitors protracted their stay, and proposed a walk to
see some improvements in the grounds.

"But, my good Mistress Beaumont," said he, "you know we are engaged
to our cousin Walsingham this morning; and if you will give me leave,
I will go on before you with Mr. Beaumont, and we can say what
detains you,"

Disconcerted by this simple determination of this straight-forward,
plain-spoken old gentleman, Mrs. Beaumont saw that farther delay on her
part would be not only inefficacious, but dangerous. She now was eager
to be relieved from the difficulties which she had herself contrived.
She would not, for any consideration, have trusted Mr. Palmer to pay
this visit without her: therefore, by an able counter-movement, she
extricated herself not only without loss, but with advantage, from this
perilous situation. She made a handsome apology to her visitors for
being obliged to run away from them. "She would leave Amelia to have the
pleasure of showing them the grounds."

Mrs. Beaumont was irresistible in her arrangements. Amelia, disappointed
and afraid to show how deeply she felt the disappointment, was obliged
to stay to do the honours of Beaumont Park, whilst her mother drove off
rejoicing in half the success, at least, of her stratagem; but even as a
politician she used upon every occasion too much artifice. It was said
of Cardinal Mazarin, he is a great politician, but in all his politics
there is one capital defect--"_C'est qu'il veut toujours tromper_."

"How tiresome those people were! I thought we never should have got away
from them," said Mrs. Beaumont. "What possessed them to come this
morning, and to pay such a horrid long visit? Besides, those Duttons, at
all times, are the most stupid creatures upon the face of the earth; I
cannot endure them; so awkward and ill-bred too! and yet of a good
family--who could think it? They are people one must see, but they are
absolutely insufferable."

"Insufferable!" said Mr. Palmer; "why, my good madam, then you have
the patience of a martyr; for you suffered them so patiently, that I
never should have guessed you suffered at all. I protest I thought
they were friends and favourites of yours, and that you were very glad
to see them."

"Well, well, 'tis the way of the world," continued Mr. Palmer; "this
sort of--what do you call it? double-dealing about visitors, goes on
every where, Madam Beaumont. But how do I know, that when I go away, you
may not be as glad to get rid of me as you were to get away from these
Duttons?" added he, in a tone of forced jocularity. "How do I know, but
that the minute my back is turned, you may not begin to take me to
pieces in my turn, and say, 'That old Palmer! he was the most tiresome,
humoursome, strange, old-fashioned fellow; I thought we should never
have got rid of him?"

"My dear, dear sir, how can you speak in such a manner?" cried Mrs.
Beaumont, who had made several vain attempts to interrupt this speech.
"You, who are our best friend! is it possible you could suspect? Is
there no difference to be made between friends and common acquaintance?"

"I am sure I hope there is," said Mr. Palmer, smiling.

There was something so near the truth in Mr. Palmer's raillery, that
Mrs. Beaumont could not take it with as much easy unconcern as the
occasion required, especially in the presence of her son, who maintained
a provoking silence. Unhappy indeed are those, who cannot, in such
moments of distress, in their own families, and in their nearest
connexions, find any relief from their embarrassments, and who look
round in vain for one to be _responsible_ for their sincerity. Mrs.
Beaumont sat uneasy and almost disconcerted. Mr. Palmer felt for his
snuff-box, his usual consolation; but it was not in his pocket: he had
left it on his table. Now Mrs. Beaumont was relieved, for she had
something to do, and something to say with her wonted politeness: in
spite of all remonstrance from Mr. Palmer, her man Martin was sent back
for the snuff-box; and conjectures about his finding it, and his being
able to overtake them before they arrived at Walsingham house, supplied
conversation for a mile or two.

"Here's Martin coming back full gallop, I vow," said Miss Hunter, who
could also talk on this topic.

"Come, come, my good lady," said Mr. Palmer, (taking the moment when the
young lady had turned her back as she stretched out of the carriage for
the pleasure of seeing Martin gallop)--"Come, come, my good Mrs.
Beaumont, shake hands and be friends, and hang the Duttons! I did not
mean to vex you by what I said. I am not so polite as I should be, I
know, and you perhaps are a little too polite. But that is no great
harm, especially in a woman."

Martin and the snuff-box came up at this instant; and all was apparently
as well as ever. Yet Mrs. Beaumont, who valued a reputation for
sincerity as much as Chartres valued a reputation for honesty, and
nearly upon the same principle, was seriously vexed that even this
transient light had been let in upon her real character. To such
_accidents_ duplicity is continually subject.

CHAPTER IX.

"Led by Simplicity divine,
She pleased, and never tried to shine;
She gave to chance each unschool'd feature,
And left her cause to sense and nature."--MORE.

Arrived at Walsingham Park, they met Miss Walsingham walking at some
distance from the house.

"Is Captain Walsingham come?" was the first question asked. "No, but
expected every hour."

That he had not actually arrived was a comfortable reprieve to Mrs.
Beaumont. Breathing more freely, and in refreshed spirits, she prepared
to alight from her carriage, to walk to the house with Miss Walsingham,
as Mr. Palmer proposed. Miss Hunter, who was dressed with uncommon
elegance, remonstrated in favour of her delicate slippers: not that she
named the real object of her solicitude--no; she had not spent so much
time with Mrs. Beaumont, that great mistress of the art of apologizing,
without learning at least the inferior practices of the trade. Of course
she had all the little common arts of excuse ever ready: and instead of
saying that she did not like to walk because she was afraid to spoil her
shoes, she protested she was afraid of the heat, and could not walk so
far. But Mr. Beaumont had jumped out of the carriage, and Mrs. Beaumont
did not wish that he should walk home _tete-a-tete_ with Miss
Walsingham; therefore Miss Hunter's remonstrances were of no avail.

"My love, you, will not be heated, for our walk is through this charming
shady grove; and if you are tired, here's my son will give you his arm."

Satisfied with this arrangement, the young lady, thus supported, found
it possible to walk. Mr. Palmer walked his own pace, looking round at
the beauties of the place, and desiring that nobody might mind him. This
was his way, and Mrs. Beaumont never teased him with talking to him,
when he did not seem to be in the humour for it. She, who made something
of every thing, began to manage the conversation with her other
companions during the walk, so as to favour her views upon the several
parties. Pursuing her principle, that love is in men's minds generally
independent of esteem, and believing that her son might be rendered
afraid of the superiority of Miss Walsingham's understanding, Mrs.
Beaumont took treacherous pains to _draw her out_. Starting from chance
seemingly, as she well knew how, a subject of debate, she went from
talking of the late marriage of some neighbouring couple, to discuss a
question on which she believed that Miss Walsingham's opinion would
differ from that of her son. The point was, whether a wife should or
should not have pin-money. Miss Walsingham thought that a wife's
accepting it would tend to establish a separate interest between married
people. Mr. Beaumont, on the contrary, was of opinion, that a wife's
having a separate allowance would prevent disputes. So Miss Hunter
thought, of course, for she had been prepared to be precisely of Mr.
Beaumont's opinion; but reasons she had none in its support. Indeed, she
said with a pretty simper, she thought that women had nothing to do with
reason or reasoning; that she thought a woman who really loved _any
body_ was always of that person's opinion; and especially in a wife she
did not see of what use reasoning and _all that_ could be, except to
make a woman contradict, and be odd, and fond of ruling: that for her
part she had no pretensions to any understanding, and if she had ever so
much, she should be glad, she declared upon her honour, to get rid of it
if she could; for what use could it possibly be of to her, when it must
be the husband's understanding that must always judge and rule, and a
wife ought only to obey, and be always of the opinion of the man of her
choice?--Having thus made her profession of folly in broken sentences,
with pretty confusion and all-becoming graces, she leaned upon Mr.
Beaumont's arm with a bewitching air of languid delicacy, that solicited
support. Mrs. Beaumont, suppressing a sigh, which, however, she took
care that her son should hear, turned to Miss Walsingham, and, in a
whisper, owned that she could not help loving abilities, and spirit too,
even in her own sex. Then she observed aloud, that much might be urged
on her side of the question with regard to pin-money; for not only, as
Miss Walsingham justly said, it might tend to make a separate interest
between husband and wife, but the wife would probably be kept in total
ignorance of her husband's affairs; and _that_ in some cases might be
very disadvantageous, as some women are more capable, from their
superior understanding, of managing every thing than most men, indeed,
than any man she could name.

Even under favour of this pretty compliment, which was plainly directed
by a glance of Mrs. Beaumont's eye, Miss Walsingham would not accept of
this painful pre-eminence. She explained and made it clear, that she had
not any ambition to rule or manage.

"That I can readily believe," said Mr. Beaumont; "for I have observed,
that it is not always the women who are the most able to decide who are
the most ambitious to govern."

This observation either was not heard or was not understood by Miss
Hunter, whose whole soul was occupied in settling some fold of her
drapery: but Mr. Beaumont's speech had its full effect on Mrs. Beaumont,
who bit her lip, and looked reproachfully at her son, as if she thought
this an infringement of his promised truce. A moment afterwards she felt
the imprudence of her own reproachful look, and was sensible that she
would have done better not to have fixed the opinion or feeling in her
son's mind by noticing it thus with displeasure. Recovering, herself,
for she never was disconcerted for more than half a minute, she passed
on with easy grace to discuss the merits of the heroine of some new
novel--an historic novel, which gave her opportunity of appealing to
Miss Walsingham on some disputed points of history. She dexterously
attempted to draw her _well-informed_ young friend into a display of
literature which might alarm Mr. Beaumont. His education had in some
respects been shamefully neglected; for his mother had calculated that
ignorance would ensure dependence. He had endeavoured to supply, at a
late period of his education, the defects of its commencement; but he
was sensible that he had not supplied all his deficiencies, and he was
apt to feel, with painful impatient sensibility, his inferiority,
whenever literary subjects were introduced. Miss Walsingham, however,
was so perfectly free from all the affectation and vanity of a
bel-esprit, that she did not alarm even those who were inferior to her
in knowledge; their self-complacency, instead of being depressed by the
comparison of their attainments with hers, was insensibly raised, by the
perception that notwithstanding these, she could take pleasure in their
conversation, could appreciate their good sense or originality of
thought, without recurring to the authority of books, or of great names.
In fact, her mind had never been overwhelmed by a wasteful torrent of
learning. That the stream of literature had passed over, it was apparent
only from its fertility. Mrs. Beaumont repented of having drawn her into
conversation. Indeed, our heroine had trusted too much to some
expressions, which had at times dropped from her son, about _learned
ladies_, and certain _conversaziones_. She had concluded that he would
never endure literature in a wife; but she now perceived her mistake.
She discerned it too late; and at this moment she was doubly vexed, for
she saw Miss Hunter _produce_ herself in most disadvantageous contrast
to her rival. In conformity to instructions, which Mrs. Beaumont had
secretly given her, not to show too much sense or learning, because
gentlemen in general, and in particular Mr. Beaumont, disliked it; this
young lady now professed absolute ignorance and incapacity upon all
subjects; and meaning to have an air of pretty childish innocence or
timidity, really made herself appear quite like a simpleton. At the same
time a tinge of ineffectual malice and envy appeared through her
ill-feigned humility. She could give no opinion of any book--oh, she
would not give any judgment for the whole world! She did not think
herself qualified to speak, even if she had read the book, which indeed
she had not, for, really, she never read--she was not a _reading lady_.

As Miss Hunter had no portion of Mrs. Beaumont's quick penetration, she
did not see the unfavourable impression these words made: certain that
she was following exactly her secret instructions, she was confident of
being in the right line; so on she went, whilst Mrs. Beaumont sighed in
vain; and Miss Walsingham, who now saw and understood her whole play,
almost smiled at the comic of the scene.

"O dear, Mrs. Beaumont," continued Miss Hunter, "how can you ever appeal
to me about books and those sorts of things, when you know I know
nothing about the matter? For mercy's sake, never do so any more, for
you know I've no taste for those sorts of things. And besides, I own,
even if I could, I should so hate to be thought a blue-stocking--I would
not have the least bit of blue in my stockings for the whole world--I'd
rather have any other colour, black, white, red, green, yellow, any
other colour. So I own I'm not sorry I'm not what they call a genius;
for though genius to be sure's a very fascinating sort of thing in
gentlemen, yet in women it is not so becoming, I think, especially in
ladies: it does very well on the stage, and for artists, and so on; but
really now, in company, I think it's an awkward thing, and would make
one look so odd! Now, Mr. Beaumont, I must tell you an anecdote--"

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