MRS. WILLIAMS VISITS THE BANNERWORTHS AT THE INN.—THE MARRIAGE OF
JAMES ANDERSON WITH HELEN.
Let us fancy now, after all these singular circumstances had taken
place, the Bannerworth family, with James Anderson and Helen Williams,
seated in a comfortable room at the inn at Anderbury, where they had
put up when they came to that place, in pursuance of the invitation
they had received from Mrs. Williams.
And that lady, probably could she have foreseen what was about to
occur, would have taken most especial pains to prevent such an
invitation from ever reaching such a destination; but she had fallen a
victim to her own love of display, and not being content with inviting
people whom she did know, she must, forsooth, give them a _carte
blanche_ to bring with them people whom she did not know at all.
And thus it was that she had been horrified by what had taken place,
and had had all her brightest visions of the future levelled with the
dust.
When Jack Pringle told Mrs. Williams that he believed she would quite
willingly have sold her daughter to a vampyre, he was right; for she
would have done so, always provided that the vampyre, as aforesaid, had
a good property, and was able to convince her of that most important
fact.
The only person of all the little party that was assembled at the inn,
who looked pale and anxious, was poor Helen, and she certainly did look
so; for when we come to consider her novel position we shall not wonder
at it.
She had thrown herself completely upon the consideration of strangers,
and was severed from all those natural ties which ought to have for
ever held her in their gentle bondage. But this conduct, or rather the
conduct of that one who ought to have protected her though all trouble
and anxieties—her mother—had been such as to deprive her of the feeling
that she had a home at all.
Flora saw that her guest, as indeed she considered Helen, looked sad
and dejected, and she made every effort within her power to rescue her
from such a state of things.
“Do not despair of much happiness,” she whispered to her; “but rather
thank good fortune, which, at the last moment, rescued you from one
whom you could not love. Be assured that now you will enjoy the
protection of those who will soon be able to prevail upon your mother
to look with a favourable eye upon any new arrangement.”
“I am much beholden to you,” said Helen—“very much beholden to you,
and I feel that I ought to congratulate myself upon my escape. But my
heart does feel sad, because the state of things, to avoid which I made
myself a sacrifice, may now ensue in all their terrors.”
“My dear,” said the admiral, who overheard her, “don’t you believe
any such rubbish as all that. I have no doubt you have been regularly
persecuted into the match with the supposed baron, and you would,
perhaps, have found out afterwards that one-half of the things you were
told, to induce you to consent, had no foundation but in somebody’s
active imagination.”
“Do you think so, sir?”
“Do I think so! To be sure I do. Now, I dare say you were told how, if
you married the Baron What’s-his-name, you would be doing something
wonderful for all your family.”
“Yes—yes.”
“Oh, of course; I can see through all that clearly enough; and I tell
you, my lass, that you have had a most fortunate escape, and that there
is, and shall be, no reason on the face of the earth why you should
not be married to the man of your choice. He has been to sea, and so,
of course, he has finished what may be called his education. If he had
been on shore all his life, you might have doubted about the prudence
of having him; but, as it is, it’s quite another matter.”
“Sir, I thank you for your kind advocacy of my cause,” said James
Anderson; “and I shall ever consider, as one of the most fortunate
accidents of my life, the meeting with Admiral Bell.”
“Oh, don’t say anything about that. I know some of the people at the
Admiralty, and when you go to make the report of how you have been
shipwrecked, and how you lost your despatches, I will give you a letter
of introduction, which, I dare say, won’t do you any harm.”
“Indeed, sir, this is more kindness than I ought to expect.”
“Not at all, my boy—not at all. Don’t put yourself out of the way about
that. Only I tell you what I would do. You need not take my advice
unless you like; but, if I were you, I’d be hanged if I moved an inch
anywhere till I had made Helen Williams my wife.”
“Can you suppose,” cried James Anderson, while his eyes sparkled with
delight—“can you suppose, my dear sir, that such advice could be other
than most welcome to me?”
“And what do you say, Helen, to it?” whispered Flora.
“What can I say?”
“You can say yes, I suppose?” said the admiral.
Helen was silent.
“Very good,” added the admiral. “When a girl don’t say no, of course
she means yes; and you can make sure of your prize now you have got
her, Master Anderson. Let’s see; you manage these affairs with what you
call a special license, don’t you?”
“Yes, uncle,” said Flora; “that is the way. You seem to know all about
it, and I almost suspect you really must have had some experience in
those matters.”
“I experience, you little gypsy!—what do you mean? I never was married
in all my life, and I don’t intend to be.”
“Don’t make too sure, uncle. But, despite all that, no one could more
warmly second your advice to Mr. Anderson than myself.”
“Very good. For that speech I forgive you. And now, Mr. Anderson, just
come along with me, for I want to say a few words to you which nobody
else has anything to do with.”
When the admiral got James Anderson alone, he said to him,—
“Of course you are without funds, so it’s no use making any fuss of
delicacy about it. I have no doubt but that, with my interest, I shall
be able to get you into an appointment of some sort; but, in the
meantime, I beg that you will not cross me in my desire to serve you;
and mind, I take your word of honour to repay me, so, you see, there is
no obligation.”
“Sir, this noble generosity——”
“There, there—that’s quite enough; for the fact is, it ain’t noble
generosity at all, so hold your tongue about it, and be so good as to
let me consider that as settled. Here are fifty pounds for you, which
will enable you to go to London like a gentleman, and to conduct your
marriage either here or there, as you may yourself think proper, and as
your bride may consent.”
“Sir, I would fain make Helen my own here.”
“Very good. I don’t pretend to understand how to manage these things:
but set about it as quickly as you can, and don’t be deterred by
anybody.”
This short but, to James Anderson, deeply interesting conversation,
because it relieved his mind from a load of anxiety, took place a
few paces from the inn door only, so that they returned at once; but
scarcely had they joined the rest of the party, and were considering
what they should order for dinner, when one of the waiters of the
establishment came to say,
“If you please, there’s a lady who wants to come in. I asked her her
name, but she won’t give it; but she says she must see everybody.”
“The deuce she must!” cried the admiral. “What sort of a craft is she?”
“Sort of a what, sir?”
“My fears tell me,” sobbed Helen, “that it is my mother.”
The admiral whistled, and then he said,—
“I suppose we shall have a breeze; but the sooner it’s over the better.
Let the lady come in; and don’t you be afraid of anything, my lass.
Why, you look as pale as if you expected—here she is.”
The door was flung open, and Mrs. Williams made her appearance. Anger
was upon her face, and it required but a small amount of penetration
to perceive that she came fully charged with all sorts of reproaches.
Helen trembled and shrunk back for she had an habitual fear of her
mother, which the imperious conduct of that individual had induced in
the mind of so gentle a creature as Helen from her very childhood.
“Well, madam,” said Henry, stepping forward; “to what are we indebted
for the honour of this visit from one who has not the courtesy to wait
for an invitation?”
“Oh! I expected this,” said Mrs. Williams, with a shivering toss of
her head; “I quite expected this, I can assure you—of course. But I’ll
pretty soon let you know, sir, what I came about. I have come for my
daughter, sir. What have you got to say against that?”
“Nothing, madam; if your daughter chooses to comply with your request.”
“Helen!” screamed Mrs. Williams. “Helen! I command you to come home
this moment!”
“Mother, hear me!” said Helen. “Consent to my happiness with one whom I
can love, with the same readiness that you would have seen me the bride
of one for whom I never could hope to feel anything in the shape of
affection, and I will accompany you home at once.”
“Oh, dear, yes—of course. Consent to ruin—consent to nonsense! Consent
to your marrying a scapegrace who cannot even keep himself—far less a
wife! No, Helen; you cannot expect that I should ever consent to your
marrying such a poor wretch.”
“But don’t you think,” said Henry, “that any poor wretch is better than
a vampyre?”
“No; I do not.”
“Oh! very good, then,” said the admiral; “if that’s the lady’s opinion,
what can we say to her? And, as for commanding Miss Helen, here, to go
home, I command her to stay.”
“You command her?”
“Yes, to be sure. Ain’t I an admiral? What have you got to say against
that, I should like to know? I shall take good care that James Anderson
is no poor wretch by getting him some good appointment; and, as your
daughter is of age, old girl, and so can choose for herself, you may as
well weigh anchor, and be off at once, for nobody wants to be bothered
with you.”
“Do you mean to say you are a real admiral, and have nothing to do with
the horse-marines?”
“Nothing whatever, ma’am. Good day to you—we are all waiting for our
dinners, and don’t feel disposed to talk any more; so be off with you.”
Mrs. Williams seemed to be considering for a moment, and then she said,—
“Oh, gracious! a mother’s feelings must always be excused. I almost
think that—just to please you, admiral—I will consent.”
“You will, mother?” exclaimed Helen.
“Why, in a manner of speaking,” said Mrs. Williams, “I should not mind;
but it’s quite, you see, a dreadful thing to think of, when we consider
what an expense I have gone to in all these matters, and that I have
not had so much as one farthing from the baron, although he did say he
would pay all the cost I might be put to.”
“From resources which, in course of time, industry may procure me,”
said James Anderson, eagerly, “you shall be repaid all that you can
possibly say has been expended for Helen.”
“Ah! well, then, if Admiral Bell, here, will say that he will see me
paid, I consent.”
“Very well,” said the admiral; “I’ll see you paid. If you had acted
generously in the matter, you should have been a gainer; but, as it is,
you shall be paid, and we decline your acquaintance.”
Mrs. Williams began, from the tone and manner of her daughter’s new
friends, to suspect that it would have been more prudent on her part if
she had behaved in a very different manner towards them, and complied
with a good grace with their wishes; for, as regarded the baron,
anything in the shape of a more extended connexion with him was clearly
out of the question.
But she had gone almost too far for reconciliation, and, although there
was no such thing as denying the genius of the lady, she was, for a few
minutes, puzzled to know what to do. At length, however, she thought
it would not be a bad plan to be suddenly quite overcome with her
feelings, and make a desperate scene.
Accordingly, to the surprise of every one, and the consternation of the
admiral, she suddenly uttered a piercing scream, and commenced a good
exhibition of hysterics.
“D—n it!” cried the admiral; “what does she mean by that? Come, come, I
say, Mother Williams, we cannot stand all that noise, you know; it is
quite out of the question!”
“Let us all leave the room,” said Henry, “and send Jack Pringle to her.
I have heard him say that he has some mode of recovering ladies from
hysterics by throwing a pail-full of salt water over them, and then
biting their thumb-nails off.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Williams, suddenly recovering. “The
wretch! I’d let him know soon enough what it was to interfere with my
nails!”
“Oh! you are better, are you?” said the admiral.
“What’s that to you?” shrieked Mrs. Williams. “I’ll go at once to a
lawyer, and see what can be done with you. I look upon you all with
odium and contempt!”
“Ah! words easily spoken,” said the admiral; “and just like young
chickens, they commonly go home to roost.”
Mrs. Williams darted an angry look at the whole party, which she
intended should be expressive at once of the immense contempt in which
she held them, and of her determination to have vengeance upon their
heads, which double-dealing look, however, had no effect upon them of
an intimidating character, and then she bounced from the room.
“My dear,” said the admiral, turning to Helen, who he saw was affected
at the proceeding. “My dear, don’t you fret yourself. Your mother
cannot make us angry; and, as far as regards her own anger, it will
all subside, and then we will forget that she has said anything at
all uncivil to us. So don’t you fret yourself about what is of no
consequence at all.”
“You may depend,” said Henry, “that such will be the fact, and that
in a very short time you will find that your mother has completely
recovered from her anger, and will be as pleasant with us all as
possible. I grieve to say so to you, but the fact is, what you must
perceive, namely, that, as regards your mother, your marriage is merely
a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, and when she finds that the
baron’s fortune cannot be had, she will content herself with reflecting
upon the prospects of Mr. James Anderson, who, if he do well, will soon
be quite a favourite.”
It was humiliating to poor Helen to be forced to confess that this was
the correct view to take of the question, but she could not help doing
so at all; and, after a time, she did not regret having sufficient
moral courage to resist the command of her mother to return home.
In the society of him whom she loved, and upheld and encouraged, too,
as she was by Flora, who was just about the best and kindest companion
such a person as Helen could have had, the minutes began to fly past
upon rosy pinions, and the remainder of that day she confessed, even to
the admiral, was the happiest she had known for many a weary month.
The Bannerworths and James Anderson fully expected another visit from
Mrs. Williams on the morrow, but she did not come; and, although they
had expected her to do so, her not coming was no disappointment, but,
on the contrary, a matter for some congratulation.
But no time was lost; and, as James Anderson was really most anxious
to get to London to report himself at the Admiralty, and as that was
an anxiety in which the admiral much encouraged him, so that as it was
quite an understood thing among them all that the marriage of the fair
Helen should take place before he again left her, a special license
was procured, and the ceremony arranged to take place at nine o’clock
in the morning, on the second morning after the strange and exciting
occurrences at Anderbury House.
This marriage was conducted in the most private manner possible;
because, as it had been so well known throughout the whole of Anderbury
that Helen Williams was the chosen of the great and rich Baron
Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh, who had turned out to be such an equivocal
character, the news of her marriage with any one else would have been
sure to have created a vast amount of pubic curiosity.
All this they escaped by fixing the hour at which the ceremony was to
be performed at an early hour in the morning, and trusting no one out
of their own party with the secret.
Of course, from what the reader knows of the gentle and timid
disposition of Helen Williams, he may well suppose how glad she would
have been to have had the countenance of her mother at her marriage,
notwithstanding the conduct of that mother was certainly not what
should have entitled her to the esteem of any one whatever, not
excepting her own child.
But this was a feeling which, when she came to consider the new tie she
was forming, was likely soon to wear away; and, although, while she
pronounced those words which were irrevocably to make her another’s,
the tears gushed to her eyes, they were far different from those
bitter drops she had shed when she considered that, beyond all hope of
redemption, she was condemned to become the bride of the baron.
When the ceremony was over, they all went back very quietly and
comfortably to the inn, and, after a good breakfast, and many healths
had been drank to the bride, James Anderson, according to arrangement,
took his departure for London, leaving Helen in the care of the
Bannerworths until he should come back to claim her, as he now could
do, despite all the plots and machinations of Mrs. Williams, who,
as yet, was in a state of blessed ignorance as to the fact of her
daughter’s wedding, and who had not quite made up her mind as to what
she should do next in so delicate and troublesome a transaction.