“_Young Hermes next, a close contriving god,
Her brows encircled with his serpent rod;
Then plots and fair excuses fill her brain,
And views of breaking am’rous vows for gain_.”
The information which Mrs. Beaumont’s man, Martin, had learned from the
servants’ hall, and had communicated to the fisherman’s wife, was more
correct, and had been less amplified, embellished, misunderstood, or
misrepresented, than is usually found to be the case with pieces of
news which are so heard and so repeated. It was true that Mrs. Beaumont
expected to see on Tuesday an old gentleman, a Mr. Palmer, who had been
a friend of her husband’s; he had lately returned from Jamaica, where he
had made a large fortune. It is true, also, that this old gentleman
was _a little particular_, but not precisely in the sense in which the
fisherman’s wife understood the phrase; he was not particularly fond
of john-dorees and turbots, but he was particularly fond of making his
fellow-creatures happy; particularly generous, particularly open and
honest in his nature, abhorring all artifice himself, and unsuspicious
of it in others. He was unacquainted with Mrs. Beaumont’s character, as
he had been for many years in the West Indies, and he knew her only
from her letters, in which she appeared every thing that was candid and
amiable. His great friendship for her deceased husband also inclined him
to like her. Colonel Beaumont had appointed him one of the guardians of
his children, but Mr. Palmer, being absent from England, had declined to
act: he was also trustee to Mrs. Beaumont’s marriage-settlement, and
she had represented that it was necessary he should be present at the
settlement of her family affairs upon her son’s coming of age; an event
which was to take place in a few days. The urgent representations of
Mrs. Beaumont, and the anxious desire she expressed to see Mr. Palmer,
had at last prevailed with the good old gentleman to journey down
to Beaumont Park, though he was a valetudinarian, and though he was
obliged, he said, to return to Jamaica with the West India fleet, which
was expected to sail in ten days; so that he announced positively that
he could stay but a week at Beaumont Park with his good friends and
relations.
He was related but distantly to the Beaumonts, and he stood in precisely
the same degree of relationship to the Walsinghams. He had no other
relations, and his fortune was completely at his own disposal. On this
fortune our cunning widow had speculated long and deeply, though in fact
there was no occasion for art: it was Mr. Palmer’s intention to leave
his large fortune to the Beaumonts; or to divide it between the Beaumont
and Walsingham families; and had she been sincere in her professed
desire of a complete union by a double marriage between the
representatives of the families, her favourite object would have been,
in either case, equally secure. Here was a plain, easy road to her
object; but it was too direct for Mrs. Beaumont. With all her abilities,
she could never comprehend the axiom that a right line is the shortest
possible line between any two points:--an axiom equally true in morals
and in mathematics. No, the serpentine line was, in her opinion, not
only the most beautiful, but the most expeditious, safe, and convenient.
She had formed a triple scheme of such intricacy, that it is necessary
distinctly to state the argument of her plot, lest the action should be
too complicated to be easily developed.
She had, in the first place, a design of engrossing the whole of Mr.
Palmer’s fortune for her own family; and for this purpose she determined
to prevent Mr. Palmer from becoming acquainted with his other relations,
the Walsinghams, to whom she had always had a secret dislike, because
they were of remarkably open, sincere characters. As Mr. Palmer proposed
to stay but a week in the country, this scheme of preventing their
meeting seemed feasible.
In the second place, Mrs. Beaumont wished to marry her daughter to Sir
John Hunter, because Sir John was heir expectant to a large estate,
called the Wigram estate, and because there was in his family a certain
reversionary title, the earldom of Puckeridge, which would devolve to
Sir John after the death of a near relation.
In the third place, Mrs. Beaumont wished to marry her own son to Miss
Hunter, who was Sir John’s sister by a second marriage, and above twenty
years younger than he was: this lady was preferred to Miss Walsingham
for a daughter-in-law, for the reasons which Mr. Walsingham had given;
because she possessed an independent fortune of two hundred thousand
pounds, and because she was so childish and silly that Mrs. Beaumont
thought she could always manage her easily, and by this means retain
power over her son. Miss Hunter was very pretty, and Mrs. Beaumont
had observed that her son had sometimes been struck with her beauty
sufficiently to give hopes that, by proper management, he might be
diverted from his serious, sober preference of Miss Walsingham.
Mrs. Beaumont foresaw many difficulties in the execution of these
plans. She knew that Amelia liked Captain Walsingham, and that Captain
Walsingham was attached to her, though he had never declared his love:
and she dreaded that Captain Walsingham, who was at this time at sea,
should return, just whilst Mr. Palmer was with her; because she was well
aware that the captain was a kind of man Mr. Palmer would infinitely
prefer to Sir John Hunter. Indeed, she had been secretly informed that
Mr. Palmer hated every one who had a title; therefore she could
not, whilst he was with her, openly encourage Sir John Hunter in his
addresses to Amelia. To conciliate these seemingly incompatible schemes,
she determined----But let our heroine speak for herself.
“My dearest Miss Hunter,” said she, “now we are by ourselves, let me
open my mind to you; I have been watching for an opportunity these two
days, but so hurried as I have been!--Where’s Amelia?”
“Out walking, ma’am. She told me you begged her to walk to get rid of
her head-ache; and that she might look well to-day, as Mr. Palmer is to
come. I would not go with her, because you whispered to me at breakfast
that you had something very particular to say to me.”
“But you did not give _that_ as a reason, I hope! Surely you didn’t tell
Amelia that I had something particular to say to you?”
“Oh, no, ma’am; I told her that I had something to do about my
dress--and so I had--my new hat to try on.”
“True, my love; quite right; for you know I wouldn’t have her suspect
that we had any thing to say to each other that we didn’t wish her to
hear, especially as it is about herself.”
“Herself!--Oh, is it?” said Miss Hunter, in a tone of disappointment.
“And about you, too, my darling. Be assured I have no daughter I
love better, or ever shall. With such a son as I have, and such a
daughter-in-law as I hope and trust I shall have ere long, I shall think
myself the most fortunate of mothers.”
Silly Miss Hunter’s face brightened up again. “But now, my love,”
continued Mrs. Beaumont, taking her hand, leading her to a window, and
speaking very low, though no one else was in the room, “before we talk
any more of what is nearest my heart, I must get you to write a note
for me to your brother, directly, for there is a circumstance I
forgot--thoughtless creature that I am! but indeed, I never can _think_
when I _feel_ much. Some people are always so collected and prudent.
But I have none of that!--Heigho! Well, my dear, you must supply my
deficiencies. You will write and tell Sir John, that in my agitation
when he made his proposal for my Amelia, of which I so frankly approved,
I omitted to warn him, that no hint must be given that I do any thing
more than permit him to address my daughter upon an equal footing with
any other gentleman who might address her. Stay, my dear; you don’t
understand me, I see. In short, to be candid with you--old Mr. Palmer is
coming to-day, you know. Now, my dear, you must be aware that it is of
the greatest consequence to the interests of my family, of which I
hope you always consider yourself (for I have always considered you) as
forming a part, and a very distinguished part--I say, my darling, that
we must consider that it is our interest in all things to please and
humour this good old gentleman. He will be with us but for a week,
you know. Well, the point is this. I have been informed from undoubted
authority, people who were about him at the time, and knew, that the
reason he quarrelled with that nephew of his, who died two years ago,
was the young man’s having accepted a baronetage: and at that time
old Palmer swore, that _no sprig of quality_--those were the very
words--should ever inherit a shilling of his money. Such a ridiculous
whim! But these London merchants, who make great fortunes from nothing,
are apt to have their little eccentricities; and then, they have so
much pride in their own way, and so much self-will and mercantile
downrightness in their manners, that there’s no managing them but by
humouring their fancies. I’m convinced, if Mr. Palmer suspected that I
even wished Amelia to marry Sir John, he would never leave any of us a
farthing, and it would all go to the Walsinghams. So, my dear, do you
explain to your brother, that though I have not the least objection to
his coming here whilst Mr. Palmer is with us, he must not take umbrage
at any seeming coldness in my manner. He knows my heart, I trust; at
least, you do, my Albina. And even if I should be obliged to receive or
to go to see the Walsinghams, which, by-the-bye, I have taken means
to prevent; but if it should happen that they were to hear of Palmer’s
being with us, and come, and Sir John should meet them, he must not
be surprised or jealous at my speaking in the highest terms of Captain
Walsingham. This I shall be obliged to do as a blind before Mr. Palmer.
I must make him believe that I prefer a commoner for my son-in-law, or
we are all undone with him. You know it is my son’s interest, and yours,
as well as your brother’s and Amelia’s, that I consider. So explain all
this to him, my dear; you will explain it so much better, and make it so
much more palpable to your brother than I could.”
“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 chargé 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.