“And I should like to see, the overseer that would fault that! — I tell you what, old lady, I don’t altogether approbate this style of talking to me, and I don’t see which way it’s to turn to my profit; — so quit if you please, and come to the point at once.”
“Be not so hasty with your good friend, Juno,” said she; “I have very nearly done, for I find not, that your answers throw much new light upon the matter: — I’ll ask but one question more; — Did Selina Croft and did Edward Bligh owe their early deaths to you? — Monster! — they did!” exclaimed the old woman, raising her voice to the highest pitch; “monster, they did! — and thou shalt pay for it, if thy craven blood is the last that ever sinks into the earth for vengeance!”
Whitlaw turned pale as death. He looked wildly round him; but perceiving only the withered hag who, trembling with impotent fury, uttered these revilings with the look and voice of a maniac, he roused himself from the terror that had seized upon him, and hastily turned towards the spot where he had left his horse. But as he did so, the idea occurred to him that this old woman, mad as he now believed her, might do him great injury by repeating the tales too plainly stamped upon her disordered mind, and glancing his eye at the same instant over her shaking and diminutive form, he darted towards her with extended hands, exclaiming, “Accursed hag! — but I will stop thy breath first!”
Ere he reached her, Juno raised her bamboo to her mouth and drew from it a loud shrill whistle. Whitlaw at once felt that he was lost. As a last desperate effort, however, he sprang towards his horse, and had nearly caught the rein, when the bushes beside him suddenly seemed to live, and four powerful negroes rushed upon him, who in an instant bore him to the ground. Every arm in that unequal conflict was braced by the consciousness of some well-remembered wrong, and many was the heavy stroke and desperate stab given, rather to afford vent to the long-smothered hatred of the avengers than to ensure the death of their victim; for Whitlaw had breathed his last long before the assassins had ceased to strike.
The ghastly spectacle wrought no change in the feelings of Juno. She steadily watched the death-agony, and then raising her eyes to heaven, exclaimed, “Selina! — my own Selina! Edward! — saint and martyr of our wretched race! — old Juno has avenged ye!”
Then turning to the executioners, she said, “Let not the blood stain the ground farther than needs must. — For me it matters not; but for your sakes, good fellows, it is needful that this righteous deed be hid. — Stay!” she added; “wait for me a moment.”
She entered her hut, and presently returned with a bundle of rags. “There — now bind him up. I have a vault ready for him. It was my child he killed, and it was my hands that hollowed out his grave. So, so, do the work steadily and well — there’s no hurry yet. You shall bury him where, if you keep your own secret, mortal man will never be likely to find him; and you will have no more to fear than if you’d killed a buzzard and left it rotting in a ditch.”
She then again retreated to the hut, while the men in the best manner they could obeyed her orders; and having remained there for a few minutes, returned again, saying, “Now lift him up and follow me. The tomb is ready.”
The four men raised their common foe between them and bore him into the hut, where, to their surprise, yawned what seemed a deep and ample grave. Not a word was spoken by either of them; but as Juno with her own hand fastened down the trap-door that covered him, she said, “There lie, and rest from thy sins! I may have spared thee many. — Could I shut in his evil spirit here,” she said, turning to the men, “as I have done his hateful carcass, I should be a better friend than the mother that bore him. But that, poor wretch, is better luck than he can hope for — he’ll fare worse elsewhere than we have used him here.”
All traces of this terrible deed were soon effaced: the four slaves, their hands and faces washed in the nearest brook, were ready to obey the overseer’s call, and went with their comrades to their daily work safe and unchallenged. The bedstead of old Juno was left standing in its usual corner; but her mattress and her blankets, and herself, were all removed before night to the dwelling of Peggy, where she was readily permitted to install herself; for heavy as was the loss her patronage brought with it, the grateful mother could never forget how much her Phebe owed her.
It was just two days afterwards that the old woman, who, let who might be her master, be it anyone or no one, still rambled where she would, contrived to find herself upon the wharf at Natchez just as a fine steam-boat coming down the river, drew near it, to leave and receive passengers and to take in wood.
No sooner had she stopped than, as usual, a full stream made up of crew and passengers poured out of her upon the shore. Juno waited patiently till this rush was over, and then by the help of her bamboo got safely on board. She knew the geography of a steam-boat as well as that of Paradise Plantation, and presently found herself just where ‘she wished to be; namely, in the presence of Cæsar and his Phebe.
An exclamation of joyful surprise broke from the young couple, which was answered by a friendly nod; and then came the question, for the purpose of asking which she was there: “How is she, Phebe? — how does she bear up?”
“Better, better, dear Juno! — better than you could hope. And must it not be Providence, Juno, that has put her where she is? She could not have the heart to go on fretting her dear life away with such kind creatures standing by to watch her. And that’s why she’s better. She thinks it right not to sink down before it, and so she will not sink. I know her better than anybody else can know her now. But that won’t be for long, for there’s not one of them all, except it is young Master Sigismond, whose head is full of our Miss Lotte, that seems from morning to night to think of any earthly thing but her.”
“Yes!” said Juno musingly, “it is the will of God. His will, Phebe, is sometimes shown where it is hard to trace it. But where goodness is plainly seen — goodness, all-blessing goodness, — then, Phebe, we know that it has pleased the Almighty to unveil his work, and we no longer see him darkly.”
Phebe listened with reverence to words of which she felt the truth at her heart. Then followed some talk of Peggy and her little ones; and it was with great satisfaction that the poor girl heard of Juno’s new arrangement. “It is so right for all of you!” said she; “who is there can talk of me to mother like you, Juno? — and who knows so well as mother how to make the cakes just as you like them?”
Their conversation was interrupted by Cæsar, who having shown his face at the door of the great cabin, and announced to Hermann, who stood near it, that old Juno was aboard, had been immediately commissioned by the whole Steinmark party to invite her to come and speak to them upon the gallery. She obeyed, but her eye only sought out Lucy. The mourning girl saw this, and notwithstanding her earnest efforts to prevent it, the tears would come.
“Forgive me!” said Juno with more real humility than she was in the habit of feeling before anyone; “but to look at you once more — to see you look, Miss Lucy, as if you would live to reward those who love you — it was for this I came: will you forgive me?”
“Indeed, Juno,” replied Lucy, “I thank you for your love; — and tell poor Peggy that I am better than she or I either would have believed possible: and tell her, too, that Phebe will be a very happy girl, — for those who have no feelings in the world but goodness have the care of her.”
This was Lucy Bligh’s last farewell to those of her native land. Old Juno received the cordial good wishes of all the party. As they watched her retreat from the boat to the wharf, the paddles began to play, and in another five minutes they had lost sight of Natchez and its green bluff forever.
* * * *
A very few words may suffice to trace the most important events that have since befallen the persons with whom the reader has become acquainted in the course of the foregoing pages.
The wishes of the Steinmark family seemed to have power to fill their sails, for swift and prosperous was the voyage that carried them to the port of Hamburgh.
The entire novelty of the scene, and of all the external circumstances in which she was placed — together with the tender, watchful affection of the family who had become the whole world to her, joined to the sincere and really Christian efforts of her own mind, had all done much for Lucy. The image of Edward was as deeply impressed and as fondly cherished as ever; but it was no longer the only one, and before the beautiful new country, with all its rousing interests of history and romance, which was to be traversed in the way to Westphalia was passed over, Lucy scrupled not to confess to her heart that life might still have happy hours in store for her.
The reunion of the long-parted brothers was a spectacle that no one could contemplate without feeling that it was a blessing to be near them. A patriarchal circle soon filled the ample castle of the good Westphalian baron; and that Lotte had a castle of her own, and therefore could not always and for ever make part of it, seemed to be the only defect he found in the arrangement. But, like every other member of the family, he soon learned to think that though it might have been better to possess them both, yet that Lucy could supply her place better than any other fair specimen of womankind in the whole world; and if, in the division of his great wealth, his nephew Karl appeared the favourite, it was pretty generally understood that this arose from the great probability there appeared to be that through his means, his favourite Lucy Bligh would speedily become his niece.
The ultimate fate of Clio was as unexpected as it was singular, and must not be forgotten. Whether it were that the unfortunate Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, in the new and intoxicating delight of finding himself unexpectedly a man of enormous wealth, felt disposed from the very first hour to use all the power and privilege it gave him, or whether some strange and unconscious prescience of his coming fate led him to prepare for it, certain it is that within twenty-four hours of his having received the deed which endowed him with Colonel Dart’s great possessions, he composed and signed another, duly witnessed and executed, wherein, without mentioning the name of any other living being, he bequeathed it all, as well as everything else he might die possessed of, to Clio Whitlaw, spinster, his dear and well-beloved aunt.
For several days, the unaccountable absence of the new proprietor from his home and his estates did not create any very general surprise. His father thought that he was treating himself with “a go” at the gaming-table; his mother-in-law, that it was likely enough he had fallen in love, and was gone to bring home a lady to surprise them; while his unconscious heiress fancied, when she remembered, as she was very apt to do, the days of Mohanna Creek, that he was only treating himself with a little pleasure on board a steam-boat.
When weeks and months, however, had worn away, and he was no more seen or heard of, Jonathan Whitlaw senior began to think that it might be as well to look over his papers, to ascertain if possible if he had any affairs likely to take him to a distance.
This examination brought to light the will; and legal opinions appearing in favour of its being at once examined, from the possibility that it might throw some information upon his mysterious disappearance, it was done, and the wonderful discovery made that if indeed he were dead, “Cli Whitlaw, what always served in the store at Mount Etna, was the richest heiress in Louisiana.”
The very existence of the will itself, made so immediately after he had the power to it, persuaded many to believe that he must have had some reason to know that he should not live long; but nothing in the world could induce Clio to believe in his death. She immediately showed more wisdom, and even know ledge, than the generality of people gave her credit for, by the manner in which she arranged everything, and took care that all should be prosperous, safe, and in readiness against her Jonathan returned; but as to appropriating one cent of the rich inheritance to herself, she would not hear of it.
The last act of old Juno’s life was to settle this knotty point for the good Clio. Having contrived to converse with her on the subject, and finding in truth that it was probable she would live and die without benefiting by what it was likely she would make a blessing to many, Juno took care that the bones of Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, clad in the dress he was known to have been in the habit of wearing, and moreover with sundry identifying letters and papers in his pocket, should be found at no great distance from his mansion. That he should have been murdered appeared to create but little surprise in anyone — his notorious cruelty and tyranny rendered the event extremely natural; but to poor Clio her wealth came stained by tears.
Time, however, softens every human sorrow, and Clio is now living on one of the finest estates in Louisiana, as happy as the sharing kindness and munificence to all the world can and must make a heart as generous as hers.
It was one among many proofs of thoughtful attention on the part of the Steinmarks towards Lucy, that from the time they arrived at their home, Phebe was appointed to be her especial servant; and it was that reason probably, among some others, which made both Mr and Mrs. Cæsar Bush declare, that “if heaven was for all the good a happier place than Germany was for niggers, it must be an unaccountable fine place indeed.”
After seven years of faithful service in the Steinmark family, Cæsar and his wife contrived to realise a sum sufficient to purchase the freedom of Peggy, who was at an age that made the sum a small one; and Madame Karl Steinmark, née Bligh, furnished what was necessary for the expenses of her voyage. Her two younger children were already wives and mothers under the gentle sway of “Miss Clio Whitlaw;” and it was, therefore, with almost unmixed pleasure that the good woman joined her darling Phebe, and was installed as laundress-in-chief of the baron’s noble castle.
Frederick Steinmark and his Mary, though they had never through the tedious course of their long exile exchanged a murmur at their lot, now confessed as they saw the circle of happy faces around them, that Europe was the soil for Europeans, and that there was some comfort in living in a land in which, let a man sing what he will about “home,” there is no danger that on looking round they should see tears standing in every eye.
THE END
THE VICAR OF WREXHILL
The Vicar of Wrexhill was first published in London in 1837 by R. Bentley. The same year Trollope’s work was released, the publisher founded a periodical called Bentley’s Miscellany. Charles Dickens was appointed as editor and Oliver Twist was soon serialised in the publication. The popularity of Dickens’ work resulted in the magazine selling more than eleven thousand copies in its first year. However, relations between Bentley and Dickens quickly became strained as the novelist believed he was being underpaid They entered into a series of negotiations, but ultimately could not come to an agreement. The author paid Bentley more than two thousand pounds to terminate his contract with the publication and gain the rights to his novel, Oliver Twist. The loss of Dickens as editor greatly impacted the sale of the periodical and Bentley soon found himself facing a dire financial situation.
The Vicar of Wrexhill focuses on the Evangelical vicar, William Jacob Cartwright. He has just arrived to the Wrexhill community and, after the death of Mr. Mowbray, he quickly and unscrupulously insinuates himself into the affections of the newly bereaved family. Mrs. Mowbray is a woman with land and fortune and she soon becomes enamoured with the conniving vicar. Cartwright begins to assert his dominance over the entire Mowbray family, and attempts to marry his morally reprehensible cousin to the oldest Mowbray daughter. He also desires to control and dictate the life of the young orphan girl, Rosalind Torrington, who lives with the family, although she proves to be highly resistant to his influence. The novel is a viscous satire of Evangelicalism and the author carefully chronicles the iniquitous and licentious behaviour of the vicar. Trollope’s decision not to shy away from depicting the sensual and erotic nature of Evangelicalism resulted in her offending many contemporary critics. In Fraser’s Magazine for Town and Country (volume 17), the reviewer is happy to concede there is ‘little doubt as to the cleverness of this novel’, but that ‘coming from a woman’s pen, it is most odio
usly and disgustingly indecent’.
There is a strong political aspect to Trollope’s opposition to Evangelicalism. She was a Tory and she makes it clear in the novel that the arrival of the new vicar has been made possible by Whig politics. The novelist not only establishes an obvious link between the Low Church and sexual impropriety, but also connects Evangelicalism with the rise in consumerism and a desire for material comforts and pleasures. Throughout the book there is a strong anxiety about the effect of the Low Church on the social hierarchy, and the threat it posed to the established political, cultural and social order of the country.
The first edition’s title page
CONTENTS
VOLUME THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
VOLUME THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
VOLUME THE THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 52