“Yes, Donny, yes! This might atone for much I but what did you find the paper you got in Curzon-street worth?”
“I don’t wonder it should come into your head, my dear,” replied her husband: “but I am happy to say that we have a considerably better chance this time. I am sure, my dear, that I shall be as sorry as you can be to take you away from all the honour and renown that you are so cleverly making for yourself here, and indeed I shan’t think of doing it, whatever I may be obliged to do myself, if upon reflection you prefer remaining behind. But the state of the case is this — I remember it all perfectly now that I have dipped my head in cold water, and set about recollecting a little — the state of the case is this, my Barnaby: the bank-notes that you find there, were lost between Colonel Beauchamp and his other playing friend, Judge Wilkins, who lives close by; but the draft came, as you see, from Mr. Hapford, who drove above fifteen miles to his own house after the table broke up; that I well remember, for there was a deal of talking about wanting him to stay. Well now, it strikes me, that the only safe thing for me to do, is to declare this morning that either you, or I, or Tornorino (Patty must know nothing about it) — but some one of us three must be taken ill with a terrible complaint that we have perhaps been long used to, and set off, without losing a moment, bag and baggage, to look for the best medical assistance. We may promise to come back again, you know, and so we can, if we like it; that is to say, if nothing comes of what passed last night, besides the quiet cashing of tins neat check. Half of that whole sum of two thousand three hundred and thirty dollars I mean to present to you, Mrs. Allen Barnaby, for your own particular use and benefit, to make up to you for any inconvenience which this accident may have occasioned.”
These last words were pronounced with a low bow, performed at the bottom of the bed, where the major stood wiping his razor upon the sleeve of his dressing-gown, while his eyes were fixed with a slight expression of anxiety upon the august countenance of his wife. He had, however, no longer anything to fear in that quarter; the noble generosity of purpose which he thus announced, not only stifled every sentiment of anger, but created an emotion of admiration which in her generous heart left room for no other.
“You may at times be thoughtless and indiscreet, my dear major,” she replied, in a tone of deep feeling, “but there is a fund of just and honourable delicacy about you, sufficient to redeem a thousand such trifling errors. I accept your present as frankly as it is offered, and will not deny that it is as just as it is generous; for the blunder you have made has certainly stopped me short in a very glorious career. Not that I mean to abandon my project observe. It is much too well imagined, and has in fact already been far too successful to be given up.’
However, we need not talk about that now; I shall be able to manage the bringing it forward again, I dare say. What we must think of now, my dear Donny, is how to get off with flying colours here: and that too, I dare say I shall be able to manage; your generous conduct will inspire me with spirit to get through it all. But it is I who must be sick major. I should not like, my dear, to see you undertake such a troublesome job. All you need do, is to be in a dreadful agony of terror about me, and insist upon having me removed to some of the great cities directly — you understand?”
“Oh yes! my dear, I understand most perfectly well, you may depend upon it, and the only improvement I suggest is, that whatever city we decide upon going to before we set out, we should hear, something as we go along that should make us change our minds and send us to another.”
Mrs. Allen Barnaby looked grave.
“Indeed! Was the circumstance that occurred last night so so very much out of the common way?” said she.
Her husband laughed.
“Why, no, my dear,” he replied, “I can’t say that it was anything very extraordinary; but it is always impossible to say, you know, how a joke of that kind may be taken by strangers. Some people think a good deal of it, while others again treat it quite lightly. But we ought to be prepared for the worst. If I can but get that bit of paper honoured, however, I shall care very little what any of the folks in this nasty, frizzing, frying, burnt-up, negro-driving country, may think or feel on the subject. We have nothing to do but keep moving, my dear, and I have a notion that you and I, between us, may snap our fingers at the whole world.”
“All I can say in return, major, is, that we must do our best,” replied the lady, with an encouraging smile. “And now, my dear,” she continued, “set off directly, catch hold of one of the blackymoors, and send in word to madam that you must beg to speak to her without delay. She won’t keep you waiting, you may depend upon it, and, when you see her, just look and speak as a devoted husband ought to do when he thinks himself in danger of losing the best of wives, and then send her to me, and you shall find everything beautifully arranged for our setting off in the twinkling of an eye.”
“How many more times shall I have to tell you that you were born for me?” cried the major, suddenly saluting her with all the fervour of young affection; “though I can never hope to equal you in anything,” he added, “you shall see at least that your example is not altogether lost. If I do not enact the agonised husband with spirit, then never trust me again. But upon my soul, my Barnaby, I shall only have to fancy that the thing is real in order to be in cue for acting despair to perfection.”
This tender assurance was received with a very charming smile, and then the fond husband tore himself away, to perform the part assigned him. This part, as it speedily appeared, was instantly acted by the alert major, and with undoubted success; for almost before Mrs. Allen Barnaby had time to arrange everything about her in proper order for her own part of the drama, her door was opened with a hurried and agitated hand, and Mrs. Beauchamp stood before her.
Short as the interval had been, however, Mrs. Allen Barnaby had found time to wash all traces of rouge from her cheeks, and the effect of this to one who had never seen her but in the fullest bloom, was really startling.
“Oh my!” exclaimed the terrified lady of the mansion, to whom the idea of yellow fever had immediately suggested itself, “oh my! you are sick, sure enough! My dear, dear lady, I’ll send off to Euripedesville this very moment, for it is there that bides the smartest doctor we have. Only think of your being catched so, all of a minute! I’ll come again in no time,” she added, turning towards the door; “but first, before everything, we must send for the doctor.” A low groan indicative of the very severest suffering, arrested her steps. “Oh dear! oh dear! I do believe she’s dying already,” exclaimed the terrified Mrs. Beauchamp, wringing her hands, and then flying to the bell, she rang it violently.
“Come to me!” murmured the sufferer, “oh come to me, my dearest friend, and let me speak one word to you.”
Delighted to find that so much strength was left, Mrs. Beauchamp hastened to obey her, but before she could reach the side of the bed where she lay, half-a-dozen woolly heads appeared at the door to answer the bell.
“Shall I tell the creturs to get you a hot bath, my dear?” said the kind hostess, hanging over her.
“No, no, no,” groaned Mrs. Allen Barnaby, “only send them away, and let me speak to you for one single moment alone.”
The wish was instantly obeyed, the slaves dismissed, the door closed, and Mrs. Beauchamp hanging over the bed to catch the slightest sound.
Mrs. Allen Barnaby now appeared to make a strong effort to enable herself to speak intelligibly, and then said, lowly and slowly, but with perfect distinctness —
“My friend, I am poisoned!”
Mrs. Beauchamp’s only reply was a piercing shriek.
“Compose yourself, my dearest friend, compose yourself, I entreat you,” resumed the invalid, “let me be but prompt in what I have to say, and what I have to do, and I may yet be saved!”
“Speak, then, speak, my dearest lady,” returned poor Mrs. Beauchamp, with tears running down her cheeks, “and I will obey you to the very smallest particular.” —
&
nbsp; On receiving this assurance, Mrs Allen Barnaby raised herself by a great effort in her bed, in order to make what she was about to say more distinctly audible, and then, though occasionally interrupted by pangs which caused her to groan terribly, she said —
“Yes, my friend, it is but too certain that I am poisoned. Among the many studies to which I have given attention, the effect of poisons is one, and this enables me — oh-h-h! — to tell you with the most perfect certainty that I am now suffering from the effect of some mineral poison administered about twelve or fourteen hours ago. That some revengeful slave, or slaves, have done this, I have not, in fact there cannot be, the slightest doubt. I am the victim of my principles. Nor shall I regret it, even if death overtakes me, provided I am assured you, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, and those you most value and esteem — oh-h-h! — shall do me justice.”
It is impossible to describe the agony of feeling into which these words threw poor Mrs. Beauchamp; but Mrs. Allen Barnaby suddenly checked all expression of it by saying, with all the energy of lingering hope —
“Then save me! Save me by instantly lending me a carriage and horses to convey me to a steamboat that shall take me with the least possible loss of time to New York. Fortunately I have an antidote, which indeed I have already taken, that will for many days so far check the action of the poison as to give me hope of life if I can reach that city; for somewhere amongst my effects, I have the address of a practitioner there who is greatly celebrated, even in London, for his skill in cases of poison. Will you do this for me, Mrs. Beauchamp, and without an hour’s delay?”
“Will I?” exclaimed the good lady, running towards the door, “oh! what is there I would not do?” And she was out of sight in a moment.
The affectionate major, whose anxiety naturally kept him hovering at the threshold, entered the room as Mrs. Beauchamp quitted it, and carefully closing the door approached the bed, and directed an inquiring glance towards his wile.
“I am very bad indeed, my dear,” she said, as her black eye twinkled laughingly up to his. “I am poisoned, major, please to observe that. I am poisoned by the wicked slaves who have found out my principles; so of course everything ought to be done that can be done to get me out of their way, and within reach of a certain learned man at New York, who I happen to know cures poisoned folks to a miracle.”
“But, my dear,” returned the major, looking very grave, “do you remember how many day’s journey it is between this place and New York? How is it possible that you should survive till you get there?”
“How sweetly anxious you are for me!” returned his lady, tenderly. “But don’t be alarmed, major. By the greatest good luck in the world I happen to have heard of an antidote which delays the action of poison in a most remarkable manner, and this antidote I have already taken, my love; so don’t agitate yourself; but just tell me if you don’t think this would be an excellent opportunity for us to get rid of those tiresome Perkinses? Patty and I are both of us as sick of them as possible. The truth is, you see, that everything is perfectly different from what we expected.
I had no idea of our getting on as we have done, and as I have no doubt in the world that we shall do again, if we can contrive to get off before that senator man comes to look after you. But these lanky Perkinses are ten times more plague than profit, and I’d give anything to be fairly quit of them.”
“That’s very likely, I think; but I protest I don’t very well see how you are to set about it,” returned the major, drily.
“Leave that to me, my dear, I’ll just have a try for it, at any rate. And now I think you had better get sight of Patty, and tell her that I am very ill. You may tell her the poison story, if you like it, only don’t frighten her, poor thing. As to her Don—”
“Oh, as to her Don,” interrupted the major, laughing, “you may depend upon it he will be exceedingly intelligent upon the subject.”
“Pray don’t laugh so very loud. Just fancy any one hearing you!” whispered his wife.
Major Allen Barnaby promised to be more discreet; and after a little further conversation concerning the necessary packing, and the best means of setting the Perkinses to do it, if they could be left behind without offending them, he departed.
It is unnecessary to follow every stage of the process by which the whole business was finally arranged; it will be sufficient to state that before noon, on the day following the great Big-Gang Bank dinner-party, Mrs. Major Allen Barnaby was laid, amidst an inconceivable number of pillows and cushions at the bottom of a Deerborn, with her adoring husband sitting beside her, to watch every movement, and adminster every attention, as it drove gently along towards the place at which they hoped to meet a steamboat; while Patty and her Don followed in another carriage, having “another still” behind them, conveying their baggage. A very few words had settled the Perkins question most satisfactorily to all parties.
Mrs. Beauchamp rejoiced with no common joy at the idea of still retaining near her a fraction of the enlightened English party whose introduction to her friends had been attended with so much éclat; and the Miss Perkinses were by no means sorry for the transfer, being, to say the truth, rather tired of the patronage under which they had left their native land. Not to mention that the worthy Louisa began to suspect, from the various conversations which she had held with her friend Annie, that, even in a pecuniary point of view, they might manage a good deal better without them. Fortunately, this gentle-hearted lady, though rather more than sufficiently yielding in some particulars, never suffered anybody to interfere with her money matters. She had very snugly made all her own little arrangements of this kind before setting out, without any other assistance than that of the banker, whom she found was the proper person to employ upon the occasion, and she knew to a fraction how much, to a day when, and to a street and a number where, she might reckon upon her resources. The parting, however, though not regretted, was exceedingly affectionate, and many were the assurances exchanged that they should meet again, somewhere or other, very soon.
It would be difficult to say why it was that neither of the Miss Perkinses believed one single word about Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s sudden indisposition; but such was the fact, though they hinted not this scepticism to any human being, save each other. Perhaps Miss Louisa might retain in her memory a sufficient number of by-gone make-believes, to generate doubts upon the present occasion; and perhaps the sympathising Miss Matilda might discover something life-like, and even healthy, in the anxiety expressed by her dear friend, whenever Mrs. Beauchamp left her side, concerning the safety of such of her suits as had been unpacked since their arrival at “the Bank.” Whatever the cause, the fact was as I have said; neither of the sisters gave faith to her statement concerning her dreadful sufferings; and I mention this in justice to the spinsters, who, notwithstanding their various little peculiarities, were not so hard-hearted as to have seen any lady of their acquaintance poisoned, and packed up, in so very alarming a state, without feeling much greater concern for her condition than they now did for that of Mrs. Allen Barnaby. They were both of them too wise, however, as I have before stated, to hint their suspicions to the amiable lady who cherished them both so kindly (and so very conveniently) for no reason in the world but because they were Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s attachées.
CHAPTER XXIX.
BEFORE I follow my heroine in her further progress, I must say a few words concerning some of the personages she had left behind her. For the Miss Perkinses the reader need have no anxieties for several months to come. The noble emotions of admiration and gratitude to which Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s efforts in favour of the slave system had given rise, were not of a nature to fade away hastily; for all the strongest passions of the planter race were roused in the cause, and it was impossible to mention her name without producing among them an universal murmur of affectionate applause. So deep, and so sincere was this feeling, that many of the families who had been looking forward to a visit from the enlightened traveller, were but too happy to so
othe their disappointment at not seeing her, by obtaining a visit from her dear friends and travelling companions of sufficient duration to permit their being shown and exhibited in all directions; in proof that their hosts, for the time being, were really and truly among the happy few who were personally acquainted with the illustrious lady.
During the whole of this vicarial ovation, the two sisters were, in their different ways, exceedingly happy. Miss Louisa, it is true, never saw any other American young lady that she admired quite as much as Annie; but her spirits were sustained in a most delightful state, made up of brilliant hopes and comfortable certainties. She was feasted, waited upon, and in all respects treated with the highest consideration, while her little purse scarcely became lighter by a single cent.
This was a sober certainty: while her hopes were sustained by watching day by day the prodigious politeness of the American bachelors to her sister, which she would not suffer herself to doubt, must, in time, come to something. And as for Miss Matilda her-self, she lived in a state of continual ecstasy. She was handed about by the elbow wherever she moved; nobody ever seemed to forget that she was in the room; the ladies taught her how to arrange a “spit-curl,” so as to defy the moistifying effects of the climate and the season; and in every drawing-room she entered, the very first and best of the gentlemen, single as well as married, seemed to take a pride in showing how greatly they admired her.
We will leave our old acquaintances in this happy condition, and turn to take a glance at poor Annie Beauchamp. All the joy that the departure of Mrs. Allen Barnaby and Co might have given her, under other circumstances, was merged and forgotten in the deeper interest of a scene which occurred immediately afterwards.
Frederic Egerton had, as I before mentioned, again been induced to watch the peculiar manner in which the dark-eyed, silent son-in-law of Major Allen Barnaby seemed to float round and round the card-table at which his father-in-law was engaged. Had he never observed it before, the circumstance might not so completely have awakened his attention now; but his observation being stimulated by the suspicion he had previously conceived, he very soon became convinced that the father and son were in league together, and that the former did not play fairly.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 359