Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “The third bride on this auspicious day was Miss Walsingham, who, with her father and bride’s-maids, followed in Mr. Walsingham’s carriage. Miss Walsingham, we are informed, was dressed with simple elegance, in the finest produce of the Indian loom; but, as she was in a covered carriage, we could not obtain a full view of her attire. Next to the brides’ equipages, followed the bridegrooms’. And chief of these Sir John Hunter sported a splendid barouche. He was dressed in the height of the ton, and his horses deserved particular admiration. After Sir John’s barouche came the equipage belonging to Mr. Beaumont, highly finished but plain: in this were the two bridegrooms, Mr. Beaumont and Captain Walsingham, accompanied by Mr. Palmer (the great West-Indian Palmer), who, we understand, is the intimate friend and relative of the Beaumont family. Then followed, as our correspondent counted, above a hundred carriages of distinction, with a prodigious cavalcade of gentry. The whole was closed by a long line of attendants and domestics. The moment the park gates were opened, groups of young girls of the Beaumont tenantry, habited in white, with knots of ribands, and emblematical devices suited to the occasion, and with baskets of flowers in their hands, began to strew vegetable incense before the brides, especially before Mrs. Beaumont’s landau.

  ‘And whilst the priests accuse the bride’s delay,

  Roses and myrtles still obstruct her way.’

  “The crowd, which assembled as they proceeded along the road to the church, and in the churchyard, was such that, however gratefully it evinced the popularity of the amiable parties, it became at last evidently distressing to the principal object of their homage — Mrs. Beaumont, who could not have stood the gaze of public admiration but for the friendly and becoming, yet tantalizing refuge of her veil. Constables were obliged to interfere to clear the path to the church door, and the amiable almost fainting lady was from the arms of her anxious and alarmed bride’s-maids lifted out of her landau, and supported into the church and up the aisle with all the marked gallantry of true tenderness, by her happy bridegroom, Sir John Hunter.

  “After the ceremony was over, Sir John and Lady Hunter, and the two other new-married couples, returned to Beaumont Park with the cortège of their friends, where the company partook of an elegant collation. The artless graces and fascinating affability of Lady Hunter won all hearts; and the wit, festive spirits, and politeness of Sir John, attracted universal admiration — not to say envy, of all present. Immediately after the collation, the happy couple set off for their seat at Hunter Hall.

  “Mr. Beaumont, and the new Mrs. Beaumont, remained at Beaumont Park. Captain and Mrs. Walsingham repaired to Mr. Walsingham’s.

  “It is a singular circumstance, communicated to us by the indisputable authority of one of the bride’s-maids, that Miss Walsingham, as it was discovered after the ceremony, was actually married with her gown the wrong side outwards. Whether this be an omen announcing good fortune to all the parties concerned, we cannot take upon us to determine; but this much we may safely assert, that never distinguished female in the annals of fashion was married under more favourable auspices than the amiable Lady Hunter. And it is universally acknowledged, that no lady is better suited to be, as in the natural course of things she will soon be, Countess of Puckeridge, and at the head of the great Wigram estate.”

  So ends our newspaper writer.

  Probably this paragraph was sent to the press before the fashionable hymeneals had actually taken place. This may in some measure account for the extraordinary omissions in the narrative. After the three marriages had been solemnized, just when the ceremony was over, and Lady Hunter was preparing to receive the congratulations of the brilliant congregation, she observed that the clergyman, instead of shutting his book, kept it open before him, and looked round as if expecting another bride. Mrs. Beaumont, we should say Lady Hunter, curtsied to him, smiled, and made a sign that the ceremony was finished; but at this instant, to her astonishment, she saw her bride’s-maid, Miss Hunter, quit her place, and beheld Captain Lightbody seize her hand, and lead her up towards the altar. Lady Hunter broke through the crowd that was congratulating her, and reaching Miss Hunter, drew her hack forcibly, and whispered, “Are you mad, Miss Hunter? Is this a place, a time for frolic? What are you about?”

  “Going to be married, ma’am! following your ladyship’s good example,” answered her bride’s-maid, flippantly, — at the same time springing forward from the detaining grasp, regardless even of the rent she made in her lace dress, she hurried, or was hurried on by Captain Lightbody.

  “Captain Lightbody!” cried Lady Hunter; but, answering only with a triumphant bow, he passed on with his bride.

  “Heavens! will nobody stop him?” cried Lady Hunter, over-taking them again as they reached the steps. She addressed herself to the clergyman. “Sir, she is a ward in chancery, and under my protection: they have no licence; their banns have not been published: you cannot, dare not, surely, marry them?”

  “Pardon me, Lady Hunter,” said Captain Lightbody; “I have shown Mr. Twigg my licence.”

  “I have seen it — I thought it was with your ladyship’s knowledge,” replied Mr. Twigg. “I — I cannot object — it would be at my own peril. If there is any lawful impediment, your ladyship will make it at the proper response.”

  A friend of Captain Lightbody’s appeared in readiness to give the young lady away.

  “The ceremony must go on, madam,” said the clergyman.

  “At your peril, sir!” said Lady Hunter. “This young lady, is a ward of chancery, and not of age!”

  “I am of age — of age last month,” cried the bride.

  “Not till next year.”

  “Of age last month. I have the parish register,” said Captain Lightbody. “Go on, sir, if you please.”

  “Good Heavens! Miss Hunter, can you bear,” said Lady Hunter, “to be the object of this indecent altercation? Retire with me, and only let me speak to you, I conjure you!”

  No — the young lady stood her ground, resolute to be a bride.

  “If there is any lawful impediment, your ladyship will please to make it at the proper response,” said the chaplain. “I am under a necessity of proceeding.”

  The ceremony went on.

  Lady Hunter, in high indignation, retired immediately to the vestry-room with her bridegroom. “At least,” cried she, throwing herself upon a seat, “it shall never be said that I countenanced, by my presence, such a scandalous marriage! Oh! Sir John Hunter, why did you not interfere to save your own sister?”

  “Save her! Egad, she did not choose to be saved. Who can save a woman that does not choose it? What could I do? Is not she your ladyship’s pupil? — he! he! he! But I’ll fight the rascal directly, if that will give you any satisfaction.”

  “And he shall have a lawsuit too for her fortune!” said Lady Hunter; “for she is not of age. I have a memorandum in an old pocket book. Oh! who would have thought such a girl could have duped me so!”

  Lady Hunter’s exclamations were interrupted by the entrance of her son and daughter, who came to offer what consolation they could. The brilliant congregation poured in a few minutes afterwards, with their mingled congratulations and condolence, eager, above all things, to satisfy their curiosity.

  Captain Lightbody, with invincible assurance, came up just as Lady Hunter was getting into her carriage, and besought permission to present his bride to her. But Lady Hunter, turning her back upon him without reply, said to her son, “If Captain Lightbody is going to Beaumont Park, I am not going there.”

  Mrs. Lightbody, who was now emancipated from all control, and from all sense of propriety, called out from her own carriage, in which she was seated, “That, thank Heaven! she had a house of her own to go to, and that nothing was farther from her thoughts than to interrupt the festivities of Lady Hunter’s more mature nuptials.”

  Delighted with having made this tart answer, Mrs. Lightbody ordered her husband to order her coachman to drive off as fast as possible. The captain, by her pa
rticular desire, had taken a house for her at Brighton, the gayest place she could think of. We leave this amiable bride rejoicing in the glory of having duped a lady of Mrs. Beaumont’s penetration; and her bridegroom rejoicing still more in the parish register, by the help of which he hoped to obtain full enjoyment of what he knew to be his bride’s most valuable possession — her portion, and to defy Lady Hunter’s threatened lawsuit.

  In the mean time, Lady Hunter, in her point lace and beautiful veil, seated beside her baronet, in his new barouche, endeavoured to forget this interruption of her triumph. She considered, that though Miss Hunter’s fortune was lost to her family, yet the title of countess, and the Wigram estate, were secure: this was solid consolation; and recovering her features from their unprecedented discomposure, she forced smiles and looks suitable to the occasion, as she bowed to congratulating passengers.

  Arrived at Beaumont Park, she prepared, without appetite, to partake of the elegant collation, and to do the honours with her accustomed grace: she took care to seat Mr. Palmer beside her, that she might show the world on what good terms they were together. She was pleased to see, that though two younger brides sat near her, she engaged by far the largest share of public admiration. They were so fully content and engrossed by their own feelings, that they did not perceive that they were what is called thrown into the shade. All the pride, pomp, and circumstance of these glorious hymeneals appeared to them but as a dream, or as a scene that was acting before them, in which they were not called to take a part. Towards the end of the collation, one of the guests, my Lord Rider, a nobleman who always gave himself the air of being in a prodigious hurry, declared that he was under the necessity of going off, for he expected a person to meet him at his house in town, on some particular business, at an appointed day. His lordship’s travelling companion, who was unwilling to quit so prematurely the present scene of festivity, observed that the man of business had engaged to write to his lordship, and that he should at least wait till the post should come in. Lady Hunter politely sent to inquire if any letters had arrived for his lordship; and, in consequence of his impatience, all the letters for the family were brought: Lady Hunter distributed them. There was one for Captain Walsingham, with a Spanish motto on the seal: Lady Hunter, as she gave it to him, whispered to Amelia, “Don’t be jealous, my dear, but that, I can tell you, is a letter from his Spanish incognita.” Amelia smiled with a look of the most perfect confidence and love. Captain Walsingham immediately opened the letter, and, looking at the signature, said, “It is not from my Spanish incognita, — it is from her aunt; I will read it by and by.”

  “A fine evasion, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Hunter: “look how coolly he puts it into his pocket! Ah! my credulous Amelia, do you allow him to begin in this manner?” pursued she, in a tone of raillery, yet as if she really suspected something wrong in the letter; “and have you no curiosity, Mrs. Walsingham?”

  Amelia declared that she had none; that she was not one of those who think that jealousy is the best proof of love.

  “Right, right,” said Mr. Palmer; “confidence is the best proof of love; and yours, I’ll venture to say, is, and ever will be, well placed.”

  Captain Walsingham, with a grateful smile, took his letter again out of his pocket, and immediately began to read it in a low voice to Amelia, Lady Hunter, and Mr. Palmer.

  “DEAR SIR,

  “Though almost a stranger to you, I should think myself wanting in gratitude if I did not, after all the services you have done my family, write to thank you in my niece’s name and in my own: and much I regret that my words will so ill convey to you the sentiments of our hearts. I am an old woman, not well accustomed to use my pen in the way of letter-writing; but can say truly, that whilst I have life I shall be grateful to you. You have restored me to happiness by restoring to me my long-lost niece. It will, I am sure, give you satisfaction to hear, that my niece—”

  Captain Walsingham stopped short, with a look which confirmed Lady Hunter in all her suspicions, — which made Mr. Palmer take out his snuff-box, — which startled even Mr. Beaumont; but which did not raise in the mind of Amelia the slightest feeling of doubt or suspicion. She smiled, and looked round at her alarmed friends with a manner which seemed to say, “Can you suppose it possible that there can be any thing wrong?”

  “Pray go on, Captain Walsingham,” said Lady Hunter, “unless — unless you have particular, very particular reasons.”

  “I have particular, very particular reasons,” said Captain Walsingham; “and since,” turning to Amelia, “this confiding lady does not insist upon my going on—”

  “Oh!” said Lady Hunter, gaily, snatching the letter, “I am not such a credulous, or, as you call it, confiding lady.”

  “I beg of your ladyship not to read it,” said Captain Walsingham, in an earnest tone.

  “You beg of me not to read it, and with that alarmed look — Oh! positively, I must, and will read it.”

  “Not at present, then, I entreat you!”

  “This very instant,” cried Lady Hunter, affecting all the imperious vivacity of a young bride, under favour of which she determined to satisfy her malicious curiosity.

  “Pray, Lady Hunter, do not read it,” repeated Captain Walsingham, laying his hand over the letter. “It is for your own sake,” added he, in a low and earnest voice, “it is for your own sake, not mine, that I beg of you to forbear.”

  Lady Hunter, imagining this to be only a subterfuge, drew the letter from beneath Captain Walsingham’s hand, exclaiming, “For my sake! Oh, Captain, that is a charming ruse de guerre, but do not hope that it shall succeed!”

  “Oh! mother, believe him, believe him,” cried Amelia: “I am sure he tells you the truth, and he speaks for your sake, not for his own.”

  Amelia interceded in vain.

  Mr. Palmer patted Amelia’s shoulder fondly, saying, “You are a dear good creature.”

  “A dear credulous creature!” exclaimed Lady Hunter. She had now undisturbed possession of the letter.

  Captain Walsingham stood by with a face of great concern; in which Amelia and Mr. Beaumont, without knowing the cause, seemed to sympathize.

  The contest had early attracted the attention of all within hearing or view of her ladyship, and by this time had been pointed out and accounted for in whispers, even to the most remote parts of the room; so that the eyes of almost every individual in the assembly were now fixed upon Lady Hunter. She had scarcely glanced her eye upon the letter, when she turned pale as death, and exclaimed, “He knew it! he knew it!” Then, recollecting herself, she made a struggle to conceal her dismay — the forced smile quivered on her lip, — she fell back in a swoon, and was carried out of the room by her son and daughter. Sir John Hunter was at another table, eating eel-pie, and was the last person present who was made to understand what had happened.

  “It is the damned heat of the room, I suppose,” said he, “that made her faint;” and swallowing the last morsel on his plate, and settling his collar, he came up to Captain Walsingham. “What’s this I hear? — that Lady Hunter has fainted? I hope they have carried her into the air. But where’s the letter they say affected her so?”

  “In my pocket,” said Captain Walsingham, coolly.

  “Any thing new in it?” said Sir John, with a sulky, fashionable indifference.

  “Nothing new to you, probably, Sir John,” said Captain Walsingham, walking away from him in disgust.

  “I suppose it was the heat overcame Lady Hunter,” continued Sir John, speaking to those who stood near him. “Is any body gone to see how she is now? I wonder if they’ll let me in to see her.”

  With assumed carelessness, but with real embarrassment, the bridegroom went to inquire for his bride.

  Good Mr. Palmer went soon afterwards, and knocked softly at the lady’s door. “Is poor Lady Hunter any better?”

  “Oh! yes; quite well again now,” cried Lady Hunter, raising herself from the bed, on which she had been laid; but Mr. Palmer t
hought, as he saw her through the half-opened door, she still looked a deplorable spectacle, in all her wedding finery. “Quite well again, now: it was nothing in the world but the heat. Amelia, my love, go back to the company, and say so, lest my friends should be uneasy. Thank you, kind Mr. Palmer, for coming to see me: excuse my not being able to let you in now, for I must change my dress. Sir John sends me word his barouche will be at the door in ten minutes, and I have to hurry on my travelling dress. Excuse me.”

  Mr. Palmer retired, seeing clearly that she wished to avoid any explanation of the real cause of her fainting. In the gallery, leading from her room, he met Captain Walsingham, who was coming to inquire for Lady Hunter.

  “Poor woman! do you know the cause of her fainting?” said Captain Walsingham.

  “No; and I believe she does not wish me to know it: therefore don’t tell it me,” said Mr. Palmer.

  “It is a secret that must be in the public papers in a few days,” said Captain Walsingham. “This lady that I brought over from Lisbon—”

  “Well, what can she have to say to Mrs. Beaumont?”

  “Nothing to Mrs. Beaumont, but a great deal to Lady Hunter. You may remember that I mentioned to you that some of her relations had contrived to have her kept in that convent abroad, and had spread a report of her death, that the heir-at-law might defraud her of her property, and get and keep possession of a large estate, which fell to him in case of her death. Of further particulars, or even of the name of this estate, I knew nothing till this morning, when that letter from the aunt — here it is — tells me, that the estate to which her niece was entitled is the great Wigram estate, and that old Wigram was the rascally heir-at-law. The lawyer I recommended to the lady was both an honest and a clever fellow; and he represented so forcibly to old Wigram the consequences of his having his fraud brought to light in a court of equity, that he made him soon agree to a private reference. The affair has been compromised, and settled thus: — The possession of the estate is given up, just as it stands, to the rightful owner; and she forbears to call the old sinner to an account for past arrears. She will let him make it out to the world and to his own conscience, if he can, that he bona-fide believed her to be dead.”