Having, at length, fully made up his mind on this point, he retired to bed. Had there been no such being as Annie Beauchamp in existence, it may be doubted whether the young Englishman would have thought himself called upon to interfere in so very delicate a business, especially as he had no power of bringing forward any positive proof on the subject; but the idea of suffering the father of one who was becoming every hour more closely interwoven with all his future hopes to suffer wrong, to permit, in short, the father of Annie to be cheated and betrayed by a travelling swindler, and that swindler an Englishman, was intolerable; and, after long cogitation with himself, he at length dropped asleep, with the determination of mentioning the circumstance to Annie himself, and leaving the future management of the affair to her discretion.
It was very late when Egerton went to sleep, and it was not very early when he woke; but, upon summoning a slave and inquiring whether the family had breakfasted, he was told that the house was in great confusion on account of the English biggest lady being taken ill, and like to die. He then ventured to inquire for Miss Beauchamp, and was informed that she had not yet left her room.
Vexed and harassed with the uncertainty of what he ought to do in this new state of things, he entered the usual breakfast-room, and, finding it entirely unoccupied, though there were symptoms of several persons having breakfasted there, he sat down alone, broke his fast upon what he found, and then rambled out upon the lawn, determined to occupy the interval till the next hour of family meeting as he could, and then to be guided as to what he ought to do by the position of the parties who should then assemble. If he should find that the illustrious authoress was really at the point of death, he generously made up his mind to let her die in peace; but in case it proved, as he strongly suspected, that the slave he had questioned had talked about that of which he knew nothing, he was equally determined, by some means or other, to put the family upon their guard.
In pursuance of this intention he strolled away into the rice grounds, his curiosity to see the cultivation of a crop so new to him, making him for an hour or so forget the fatigue which the intense heat produced. He questioned several of the slaves, but found them uniformly unwilling to converse; a sort of sullen reserve which equally surprised and disgusted him, till he was enabled to judge the cause of it more fairly by the finesse of a negro youth, who, while he was attempting to elicit some local information from the man next him, said in a low but very distinct voice, and without for an instant intermitting his labour or changing his attitude —
“Massa besser no talk nigger slave. White looker watch.”
Thus put on his guard, he took care to give no immediate indication than he had been thus warned, and moved on with an air of idle indifference; but ere he had taken many steps, he was enabled to comprehend the necessity of the warning by perceiving that there was indeed a white looker on the watch; for a fellow of that complexion, but with a scowl as black as night, was following his movements from behind the shelter of a palmetto bush.
Rendered cautious for the sake of the poor negroes by this discovery, Mr. Egerton determined to pursue his study of statistics in this direction no further, and immediately returned to the house. In the usual keeping-room he found the eldest Miss Perkins seated alone in expectation of the arrival of her friend Annie, who had promised to lead her to some retreat in the grounds that had the reputation of being first-rate cool.
Egerton immediately desired her to inform him if it were true that Mrs. Allen Barnaby was dangerously ill. Miss Louisa simpered a little, and replied —
“Oh dear, sir, I hope not.”
“I wonder, then, what the black meant who told me that all the house was in confusion, and the biggest of the lady visitors at the point of death.”
Miss Louisa laughed outright, for she never felt at all afraid of Mr. Egerton, and she was greatly amused at the phrase used to describe her illustrious friend.
“You must not accuse the poor black of meaning to tell stories either, Mr. Egerton,” said she; “and, indeed, what he said was strictly true, as far as the confusion of the house goes, for most certainly the confusion was very great; however, it is all over now, and Major and Mrs. Allen Barnaby, their daughter, and son-inlaw, are all set off for New York.”
“All set off for New York?” repeated Egerton, in an accent that seemed rather to puzzle Miss Louisa.
“I suppose you are very much surprised, are you not, sir, at hearing they are all gone, and we left here? I am sure it seems to me quite like a dream.”
“I am not very greatly surprised that Major Allen Barnaby should have taken himself off,” replied the young man; “but I am very glad,” he added, with a friendly smile, “that you are left behind.”
“That is very kind of you,” said the grateful spinster; looking up in his face, however, as if she wished him to say a little more on the subject. “But I wonder you are not a little more surprised, sir.”
“My good lady,” he replied, “will you tell me if you and your sister have any intention of joining them again?”
“Oh dear, yes, I suppose so,” she answered; but added, after a moment’s reflection, “not that anything was exactly settled as to the time; but they all seemed to talk as if they should see us again soon.” —
“I hope, Miss Perkins,” said Egerton, earnestly, “that you will never see them again. I have every reason to believe that the major, as he calls himself is little better than a common swindler and cheat; and I am quite persuaded that you and your sister must have been greatly deceived, or you would not have travelled in his company.”
These words came like a thunderbolt upon poor Miss Perkins, and her distress and astonishment were so great, that her good-natured countryman entered more fully into the subject with her than he had intended, and had the satisfaction of perceiving that his good counsel was not thrown away, but that she was very stoutly determined never to renew the intercourse thus fortunately broken off between them. Her gratitude to him was equally great and sincere, and the simple but earnest expression of it so plainly bore the impress of truth, that the somewhat incongruous seeming friendship between them became closer than ever, and he ventured to speak to her of Annie, not exactly as a confidant, indeed, but with more freedom than he would have used with any other individual in the family.
He told her that as the English party invited by Colonel Beachamp must now be considered as broken up, he should himself take leave almost immediately, but that he should be sorry to do so without finding an opportunity of saying farewell to her young friend and favourite, Miss Beauchamp.
“I hope,” he added, “that the indisposition she complained of yesterday is not serious, but it effectually prevented my speaking to her all day; nor have I been fortunate enough to see her at all this morning.”
Miss Perkins shook her head mournfully in reply, but did not answer him in words.
“You do not think her seriously ill, Miss Perkins?” said the. young man, changing colour.
“No, sir, no; I don’t, indeed,” said the kind soul, endeavouring, sans façon, to soothe the anxiety she saw he was feeling. “It is not her health, sir, that makes me uneasy about her, but I don’t think she is happy.”
“What do you suppose makes her otherwise, Miss Perkins?” said he, with a degree of emotion which he had no power to conceal.
“Why, it puzzles me, sir. I never did see any girl exactly like this American young lady, and that’s the reason, perhaps, that I don’t quite understand why she is unhappy. She is so sweetly kind, that when we are talking together she always seems gay and cheerful; but I think that is only to give me pleasure, for I never come upon her unawares — that is of late, I mean — that I don’t see the tears in her eyes.”
“Is it not possible,” said Egerton, “that she may have seen reason to disapprove the great intimacy her mother has been forming in so absurd a manner with those Barnaby people?”
“I don’t believe she likes it,” replied Miss Louisa, musingly, a
nd as if recalling things that had passed.
“Then she shall never be exposed to it again,” he eagerly replied. “But, perhaps, there is no chance of their ever meeting again?”
On this point, however, Miss Perkins immediately set him right, repeating many of the affectionate phrases on both sides which predicted future intercourse and continued intimacy. On hearing this, Egerton immediately decided upon communicating his observations to his hospitable entertainers; a communication which he would certainly rather have avoided, but which, from what he now heard, appeared to be a positive duty.
A few minutes after this resolution was taken, a favourable opportunity arrived for putting it in practice, the colonel and his lady, their daughter and Miss Matilda, all entering the room together.
“Oh, here you are,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “we have been looking for you that we might go all together to the spring-house. I have had it all got ready for you, with flowers, and the nigger-girls churning, and everything. I am so sorry that my dear, darling Mrs. Allen Barnaby, didn’t see it before she went. But I pray to God we shall soon have her back again.”
Upon this hint he spoke, and quietly and concisely gave his hearers to understand that accident had discovered to him some particulars in the conduct of the person calling himself ‘ Major Allen Barnaby, which made it his duty to caution them against any further intercourse with him or his family. It is impossible to describe the vehemence of rage and anger with which this statement was listened to by Mrs. Beauchamp.
“You are a false slanderer, sir!” she exclaimed, as soon as she found breath to speak; “and happily for the peace and happiness, and perhaps the lives of me and mine, I am capable of proving my words against you, in a different sort of manner, I expect, from what you can pretend to offer in defence of your most wicked falsehoods It isn’t ten minutes ago, colonel,” she continued, with vehement gesticulation, and a degree of anger that seemed to make it difficult for her to articulate, “no, not ten minutes ago, that I met Tomkins in the passage leading to your room. I asked him what he wanted, and he said he only wished to tell you that one of your company, describing him” — and here the angry lady pointed at Mr. Egerton—” he only wanted to tell you that this young traitor had been seen this very morning talking and cajoling with the slaves, and that he thought it had better be looked to. And how did I answer him? I told him he was a fool, and didn’t know what he was talking about, so perfect was my confidence in his honour. But now see if the words of Tomkins are not proved to the very letter? Who is there can doubt, I should like to know, this wicked young man’s motive for trying to make mischief between me and my dearest friends? He is an abolitionist. Let him deny it if he can. He is come here, I’ll bet my life, to raise a rebellion amongst the slaves; and not content with that, just see the vengeance with which he falls upon the excellent people who have now left us, for the alone reason that they would be likely to stop his wicked plottings if they could. And now, who is there will take upon than to say that it wasn’t himself, and no other, that contrived to get the dose that threatens the life of our invaluable friend? It is not my business, but yours, Colonel Beauchamp; but as I live and breathe, I would have him taken up and sent to prison on suspicion.”
Here the indignant lady stopped, and it would be difficult to say which of her audience felt the most astonished at her attack.
It required a minute or two for the colonel to recover himself sufficiently to speak; but when he did, it was in terms scarcely less vehement than those used by his wife.
The fact of Egerton’s having been seen in conversation with his slaves, was in the eyes of both almost the deepest crime he could commit, as it would have been, probably, in those of nearly every other proprietor in the state; for the jealousy on this subject amounts to a passion as vehement as that of Othello himself. Nevertheless, the prudent colonel did not appear to approve the scheme of sending the offender to prison, although he entertained no doubt whatever that his lady’s conjecture was perfectly correct as to the cause of the imputation thrown on the character of Major Allen Barnaby. He had been himself exceedingly tipsy the night before, and all he recollected or knew as to the resuit of the long hours of high play in which he and his friends had indulged, was that he had discovered himself in the morning to have been the winner of twenty dollars. To him, therefore, it appeared quite evident that nothing but malice could have dictated the statement they had heard, and accordingly he scrupled not to say as much, adding that the object of the slander being as evident as the slander itself, the sooner the utterer of it was out of his house and off his premises the better.
For half a moment Egerton stood silent, as if uncertain what he should reply, and in that half moment he caught sight of Annie, who was standing at the other end of the room, her cheeks and lips as colourless as marble, and with both her hands resting upon the back of a chair, as if to prevent herself from falling. A wild thought of flying towards her, of proclaiming his love, and rebutting the charge brought against him, rushed through his brain; but soberer thoughts succeeded, and a more dignified line of conduct suggested itself.
“Colonel Beauchamp,” he said, “there is no chance at this moment that my telling you I am wholly innocent of the charge brought against me, should be listened to either by yourself or your lady; and therefore I shall abstain from all protestation on the subject. I beg to thank you for your obliging hospitality, and to assure you that I shall remember that, when your very idle suspicions against me shall be forgotten. As I have no servant with me, I must beg permission to enter the room I have occupied for a few moments, that I may throw my things together preparatory to their removal. Farewell.”
Having spoken these words, the young man took his leave of Miss Matilda Perkins by a very civil bow, and then passing on to her sister, who was standing at no great distance from Annie, he took her hand, and said in a tone that could be distinctly heard by none but herself —
“Miss Perkins, I feel convinced that I have not lost your esteem, and therefore I venture to ask a favour of you on which the happiness of my life depends. Will you contrive this evening to bring your young friend, Miss Beauchamp, to the house we all visited together on Tuesday last, and at the same hour?”
These words were uttered very rapidly, and he looked to the good lady’s eyes, rather than her lips, for the reply. It was given with equal caution and kindness, and with one more glance at the trembling Annie, he left the room. The result of this rendezvous must be told hereafter; for it is now absolutely necessary that we should look after the fortunes of my heroine.
CHAPTER XXX.
ON reaching the little village of Shakspeare Town, at which it was the purpose of Major Allen Barnaby to embark, he had the considerable satisfaction of hearing that no steamer for New York was expected to stop there for a day or two; he therefore dismissed the conveyances so zealously lent for the use of his beloved and suffering wife and her family; wrote a few affectionate lines to Mrs. Beauchamp, stating, that though violent spasms had returned on the road, the precious object of his care was again so far relieved as to encourage the delightful hope that the final result would be favourable; and then shut himself up with his suffering angel at the hotel, reiterating very audible orders on all sides, that notice should be given them at whatever hour of the day or night a steamer bound for New York direct, should reach the station.
During the extremely comfortable little tête-à-tête supper which followed (for the negro attendants and their horses were to repose for that night at Shakspeare Town, which rendered it necessary that the every-way interesting invalid should confine herself to her chamber), a discussion arose between the major and his wife as to the necessity of keeping Patty in the dark respecting the real state of the case. The major was of opinion that it would be better for her morality that she should continue to live in ignorance of his peculiar mode of playing cards, as well as the extraordinary facility with which her mother could seem the thing she was not; but Mrs. Allen Barnaby d
id not altogether agree with him.
“As to her knowing no more than, you choose to tell her, Donny, about your rules of play, I have no objection; though, after all, you know, her ignorance or innocence, as you call it, must depend altogether on her husband. He’s up to everything, and if he should choose to live on the same pleasant confidential terms with his wife as you do with me, Donny, I don’t see how we can interfere to prevent it. But Patty’s no fool, and not a bit more likely to make a fuss about nothing than her mother was before her. But with all this we have nothing to do; and for you, my dear, you may just tell or not tell, as much as you like. But for my own part of the business, I have made up my mind, as I always have done throughout my whole life, to act in strict conformity to my principles, and nobody in my opinion can be in any degree worthy of esteem who does otherwise. I have always endeavoured, my dear major, to impress on the mind of our daughter, that it is a woman’s duty to sacrifice everything for the interest of her husband; and as far as I am concerned, I shall merely tell Patty that you had had enough of Big-Gang Bank, and requested me to facilitate your departure in any manner I could devise — and of course, I shall add, that in conformity to the unvarying line of conduct which I marked out for myself from the first hour of my becoming a wife, I instantly feigned illness, as being at once the most prompt and the most effectual mode of complying with your wishes.”
“Well, my dear, that is all very right and proper,” replied the major; “and no man, I am sure, could find in his heart to say a word against it. But suppose she should take it into her head, wife, to ask what it was that put it into my head to be in such a monstrous hurry to get off, what should you tell her? I do love the girl, and I don’t want her to think me worse than I am; and upon my honour and life, my dear, what happened the other night, the accident I mean upon which the luck turned, was just exactly nothing. So I think, if you please, that if she should take a fancy for questioning you, the best thing to do will be just to refer her to me; saying, you know, in your own charming manner, which I am sure gives the finest example that ever girl had, that it was enough for you to know that I wanted to be off, and that you didn’t care three farthings, or something like that, you understand, whether you went or whether you stayed, provided I was pleased. And then, if she wants to know more, of course she will come to me — and I don’t much fear but what I shall find something or other to tell her that will set her mind at rest.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 360