by Peggy Bacon
Horace had gone on an errand one afternoon, when Aunt Selina and her bogus baronet, strolling through the shrubbery, heard uproarious laughter and giggles coming from the outdoor theater.
“Those quaint little tots are rehearsing,” said Aunt Selina. “Let’s take a peek.”
“I do but follow where you lead, fair lady. I hitch my wagon to thy starry eve,” replied the gallant beau. Hiding themselves in the rhododendrons overhanging the hollow, they had a good look at what was going on.
Henry and Kate were prancing about on the platform and the three little children were rolling on the grass in a perfect ecstasy of appreciation.
Kate was simpering, bobbing curtsies and fanning herself with a fistful of chicken feathers. Henry bowed and scraped, hopping up and down, waving a salt box and sneezing into a towel.
“Kerchoo! Kerchoo! Dear, dazzling dowager, pray let us dawdle on a gay parterre — Kerchoo! Kerchoo! — and dangle in the henhouse.”
“Fie, fie, you naughty man!” cried Kate delightedly, ogling him, batting her eyes in a scandalous way and hitting him on the wrist with the chicken feathers.
“Thou cherished grandmama! Kerchoo! Kerchoo! I prithee take the arm of thy noble slave, thy trustiest, most toothsome Pomme de Terre!” Here Henry thrust his elbow in Kate’s ribs.
“La! La!” cried she, bridling and shying like a colt, “you do but trifle with my fluffy heart, you spindly, sparkly, gilt aristocrat.”
There was a howl of rage from the rhododendrons and the false Sir Humphrey “came down like a wolf on the fold,” wielding his cane, whacking to right and left and scattering the children in all directions. In a few seconds he was alone in the hollow, cursing, stamping and storming to himself.
Aunt Selina had fled up here to her room, where for awhile she wept like a wounded babe. When Ben and Angelica learned from her angry suitor the cause of her grief, they summoned Henry and Kate to the library and took turns scolding and lecturing them severely on laws of hospitality, respect for their elders and courtesy in general. The youngsters were forced to apologize abjectly, then sent to bed “without any supper,” which meant (as everyone in the family well knew) that Nurse Annie would smuggle them plenty to eat.
That evening Henry and Kate had black bean soup, hot buttered corn bread, milk, raspberry shrub, chick pot pie and roly-poly pudding with cinnamon sauce. Annie thought children required a good deal of food keep them alive through the night.
“And why should they die for their larks?” she muttered crossly. “Ain’t that baronite the jackanapes and ain’t that poor old aunt the blasted fool!”
Though Aunt Selina was sad and her eyes were red, she forgave her great-nephew and -niece. “They me no harm, the gamboling lambs,” she sighed. “It was only a bit of thoughtless make-believe.” She told them she was sure they were very sorry and would never make fun of anyone again. And she patted their wicked heads
Sir Humphrey had maintained a frozen silence until the children left for bed. Then he startled the adults by declaring that what he and Madam Selina had witnessed was obviously a rehearsal of the comedy Horace had written.
In vain they protested that Horace had nothing to do with it, that Henry and Kate were entirely to blame. He refused to believe that the children could be so precocious, such masters of malicious mockery.
In fact, he had sensed that the Trumbulls didn’t approve of him and didn’t wish him to marry their wealthy aunt. He thought that the play was a scheme to shame them both and to make him appear ridiculous in her eyes. He was afraid that Aunt Selina might be influenced. He must impress her in the grandest possible manner, act the part of an outraged nobleman to the very hilt.
Accordingly, he drew himself up to his full height and adopted a haughty and majestic pose. Striking his ruffled chest, Sir Humphrey vowed that the honor of the house of Pomme de Terre must be avenged, and he challenged Horace to a duel.
With a low bow to the ladies, he stalked off and returned to the Broody Hen, leaving the others in a state of consternation.
“What utter nonsense this is, Horace!” cried Ben. “What an idiotic reason for a duel! It’s not to be borne that you should risk your life for a trivial misunderstanding. There must be a way to convince that coxcomb you are not to blame for the children’s madcap pranks.”
“There is nothing for it, sir. I shall have to fight him, if only because he has given me the lie.”
Ben groaned. “Well, I will be your second, naturally. Sir Humphrey can probably get someone from the Inn. I’d better go there now and make arrangements.”
“Will it be swords or pistols, sir?” asked Horace eagerly on Ben’s return. “Pistols, I hope,” he added. For Horace was a good shot.
“He has chosen swords.”
“I wish I had practiced more,” Horace said ruefully.
Ben looked very glum.
If the Trumbulls, in their ignorance of the facts, were anxious for Horace’s safety, you may imagine my feelings. I was in a tizzy! Horace was strong and agile and might have made an excellent swordsman but he knew little of the art. And here he was to be pitted against an expert, a professional fencer who would have no trouble running him through! Horace was in mortal danger, I knew. My best friend! I trembled for his life!
The duel was to take place on a level clearing in the strip of wood by the stream on the Trumbull property and the time was set for dawn on the following day.
All night while I was watching over my kittens, I tried to think up a way to save my chum. I had a tricky notion, but I didn’t see how I could possibly carry it out. As the hour approached I thought I had better look over the situation, so I hurried down to the stream.
It was still dark and I was shining brightly. I saw my dilemma at once. Here in the darkness, I would be visible to everyone. On the other hand, as soon as the sun rose, I would disappear! That would never do!
However, a bank of fog hung over the stream. I could be foggy too. At the crackle of branches and the sound of footsteps, I plunged into the fog, wallowing in it, shrouding myself completely — just in time!
Horace and Ben emerged into the clearing, followed by Dr. Paisley, the village practitioner. From the opposite direction, “Sir Humphrey” arrived with his second, an overnight guest at the Broody Hen.
Dr. Paisley sat down under a tree, placing his bag of bandages beside him. The seconds, Ben and the strange gentleman, approached each other, spoke in undertones, then drew aside. Without any more ado, “Sir Humphrey” and Horace, taking up fencing positions some paces apart, saluted, drew their swords and the fight was on.
From the beginning it was plain that Horace was no match for his antagonist. The pace was fast, the clash of steel incessant. Ben’s face got whiter and whiter as he saw the speed and savage brilliance with which the “baronet” was attacking Horace, parrying every thrust, advancing, forcing him backward, step by step.
And as the sky grew lighter, I grew dimmer. A streak of red appeared on the horizon. And now the bank of fog was breaking up. It was rising from the stream and wisps of mist were drifting through the trees. In another moment it would be day and I would be out like a light!
Horace was hard-pressed, fencing wildly, desperately; sweat poured from his face. It was now or never! Disguising myself in a scarf of floating vapor, I soared from the stream, swerving in his direction and clung like a cobweb to his shoulder blades.
A cobweb was nearly all that remained of me. I was a transparent wraith, the ghost of a ghost! Raising my filmy head above Horace’s shoulder, right beside his ear, and pouring what light I had left into my eyes, I blazed at Jeremy Greene.
It shocked him so, he let out a strangled cry, forgot to lunge, and Horace pinked his arm. The sun came up. I vanished. The seconds stepped in and called a halt to the fight. Blood had been drawn. The duel was at an end!
The others had been too intent on the swordplay to see me making a face at the “baronet.” They gave no credit to his grumbling protests that he had been �
�bewitched.” He was in a daze. The doctor bound up his arm. The doctor and the stranger led him away to the Inn.
“It puzzles me, Horace,” said Ben. “He was getting the best of you, when he suddenly went to pieces and lost his nerve.”
“I was almost done for,” Horace said, mopping his brow. “He would have finished me off in another moment. Maybe he fought so hard that his strength gave out. But for him to collapse that way, without any warning, was certainly odd, sir. Mighty lucky for me!”
Angelica was delighted and relieved to see Ben and Horace return to the house, arm in arm. The children were thrilled that Horace had conquered Sir Humphrey Pomme de Terre. They danced around their hero, clapping and squealing, till their father reprimanded them angrily.
“Stop this hullabaloo!” Ben shouted. “It’s your fault, Henry and Kate, that Horace was forced to fight. Sir Humphrey is a mighty merciless swordsman! Horace was nearly killed. If he were dead, that would be your fault too! Then how would you feel?”
Aunt Selina was as glad as anyone that Horace was safe and sound, but the thought of her suitor lying wounded at the Broody Hen threw her into a most emotional state.
“Oh dear! Oh dear! To think of him all alone and suffering! To think of his poor dear arm!”
“It was hardly more than a scratch. I doubt if it hurt,” Ben said. “It’s nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
“Oh dear! Oh dear! I don’t know what to do!” wailed Aunt Selina.
“Do nothing,” said Ben who was sick of the baronet and rather tired of Aunt Selina as well.
After the quarrel between “Sir Humphey” and the Trumbulls and the duel with Horace, the “baronet” of course couldn’t come here to call on Aunt Selina. And it wouldn’t have been considered proper in those days for Aunt Selina to visit him at the Inn. But since he hadn’t given up all hope of capturing the widow, he lingered on at the Broody Hen, writing her ardent love letters which were delivered twice a day by the potboy.
These letters touched Aunt Selina’s susceptible heart even more than all his previous wooing. They were ill-spelled and her suitor’s handwriting was very uneven, crabbed and hard to read. It was strange, she thought, that an English nobleman should write in such an uneducated way. He must indeed he going out of his mind and driven mad for love of the fair Selina, as he kept on saying.
He wrote of his sufferings at being parted from his adored one and of the pain in his arm and the ghastly wound which he had sustained “for her sake.” He reminded her of his noble rank and the title which he begged her to share. He could not live without her. “I imploare you to escape from your selfish relatives who wish to keep you under lock and kee and to seperate two harts that beet as one. Bring your jewils and your hevenly self,” he urged, “and let us elope!”
Elope! How romantic! Aunt Selina could picture the ladder hoisted to her bedroom window and Sir Humphrey Pomme de Terre carrying her down in his arms by the light of the moon! And of course she would bring her jewels! The dear silly man, did he think she would leave them behind? And her trunks and bandboxes full of finery! And Gabrielle! She certainly needed her maid! And Tootsie! They must pick him up at the veterinary’s…Could all these things be managed in the dead of night?
Another thought struck her: People elope in secret! Then how could she bid farewell to her dear Angelica, to good kind Ben and Horace? How could she thank them for their hospitality, say she had a nice time, kiss the sweet tots good-bye and tip the servants? To leave without these courtesies would be heartless, ungrateful and frightfully ill-bred!
Regretfully, Aunt Selina gave up the bright idea of running away with Sir Humphrey. Instead, she sent him a note by the potboy, a tender message begging him to be patient. She would marry him when they got back to Boston and she assured him that he wouldn’t have long to wait. Then, telling Gabrielle to pack up immediately, she announced her departure to the family.
The Trumbulls were rather surprised at her sudden decision and discussed it among themselves.
“Sir Humphrey has been pestering her with letters,” Angelica said. “I wonder if she’s leaving because she’s unable to see him in our house.”
“I wish the rascal were at the bottom of the sea,” said Ben. “And I can’t help saying I’m glad she’s going. We’ve had an awful month.”
And so they had. Tootsie had killed me. Jeremy Greene had nearly killed Horace. Gabrielle had annoyed the servants, and the children had made a nuisance of themselves. Aunt Selina had caused a lot of trouble and the tranquil life of the Trumbulls was upset.
Next day Aunt Selina said good-bye to the household with all the gracious speeches, the kisses and the tips, the need for which had prevented her elopement. Though Aunt Selina hadn’t a grain of gumption, she was thoroughly polite. Good manners had saved her from making a great mistake. Reclaiming Tootsie from the veterinary, she and Gabrielle boarded the stagecoach that would carry them north.
Aunt Selina expected the “baronet” to follow her right away. As a matter of fact, Jeremy Greene left the Inn within a few hours after receiving her note, but he traveled in the opposite direction. Much as he longed to get hold of the widow’s money, he had heard rumors which discouraged him from pursuing her farther. He didn’t dare show his face again in Boston.
When Aunt Selina got home she found out why. The Boston drawing rooms were buzzing furiously. Mrs. Eagle’s daughter, the wife of a knight, had written her mother from England that the Pomme de Terres had never been heard of there. There was no such baronet. And Mrs. Eagle’s daughter, Lady Maud, who had grown contemptuous of her native land, added a humiliating postscript: “When will the credulous colonists stop being taken in by lowborn swindlers, spurious noblemen and penniless crooks?”
The good folk who had wined and dined “Sir Humphrey,” lent him money and held receptions in his honor were in a bitter mood. And the ladies he had flattered and who had flattered him were venomous indeed!
Aunt Selina took it better than anyone. She shed a few disappointed tears in private. But fortunately none of the Boston gossips knew of her flirtation with the false upstart and she soon recovered her normal gaiety.
In a short time, the Trumbulls had glad tidings: Aunt Selina was married and not to the “baronet.” Her husband was a jovial elderly planter who grew tobacco in the Connecticut valley and who thought Aunt Selina the kindest, prettiest lady and the most absurd that he had ever met. He petted her and spoiled her and laughed at her. So the good-humored pair lived happily ever after and the Trumbulls were left in peace.
Third Life
[1785]
LET’S PRETEND
“THE KIDS are really glued to that playroom,” Father remarked one evening, as he and Mother were sitting together downstairs.
“Yes,” she said, “especially in the evenings. They stay up there in the dark, and tell ghost stories.”
“I should think that would be rather hard on Jeb.”
“Wouldn’t you, though! Yet he seems to love it…prattles constantly about a beautiful kitty, his ‘fayvit ghost,’”
Up in the playroom, the children were seated in a semicircle, their faces lit by Opalina’s glow like a group gathered around a camp fire.
“Please tell us some more, Your Royal Highness!”
Opalina complied.
As you have heard, my first and second lives were spent with the Trumbulls. After the children grew up, Horace founded The Heatherfield School for Boys; Henry became a lawyer; Cranberry went to sea; the Little Tripper went West, and the girls got married. Minnie, who married a whaling captain, went to live on Nantucket; Kate married Dr. Paisley’s son, also a captain; and this house became the home of the Paisley family.
Kate’s husband, Thomas Paisley, owned a fleet of merchantmen that traded with the Orient. The Paisleys had three children. The younger ones, James and Phoebe, were lively and adventurous. Benjamin, several years older and named for Kate’s father, was a studious boy, silent and withdrawn...too much so, his par
ents thought.
When Benjamin was thirteen years old, the Captain decided that it would be good for his son to get out and see the world and to experience the active life on board a sailing vessel. Kate was going with him on a business trip to India and China, so he took Benjamin along as cabin boy.
Henry Trumbull had recently married and it was arranged for the honeymoon couple to stay here to supervise the servants and the children during the Paisleys’ absence. Annie, nurse to Angelica’s brood and then to Kate’s, was far too old now to keep track of Jim and Phoebe, that skittish pair. It was a comfort to Kate that her older brother and his charming wife were to remain in charge. She must have forgotten how newlyweds behave.
Uncle Henry had always been popular with his nephews and nieces. He was interested in natural wonders such as beetles, lizards, bats, rocks, moths, ferns, birds, ants and toads, about which he would tell them marvelous facts. Uncle Henry knew all sorts of games which he had learned in childhood from Cousin Horace; and Uncle Henry was a lavish giver of pocket money. Jim and Phoebe were overjoyed at the prospect of having this uncle on tap for months to come. And they welcomed the bright new bride, who really seemed too young to be called “Aunt Tillie.”
But young as she was (she was merely seventeen), Aunt Tillie behaved like a grown-up as the children soon found out. She smiled at them, she beamed at everyone, but she wouldn’t play games. She simply clung to Uncle Henry’s arm, and a shocking change had taken place in him!
Uncle Henry had lost his taste for games. He had lost all interest in the world around him. Instead of examining and then discussing the things they found and brought for his inspection, he hardly even bothered to at them.
He would pat the children’s heads in a careless way, tell them to run along, and if they lingered, he would order them to leave quite irritably. He seemed to have eyes for nothing but Aunt Tillie. Worst of all, he forgot to hand out pocket money.