This long letter was read twice through, and then Egerton, having kissed the signature, folded the precious paper carefully, and placed it, like its rather numerous predecessors, under the protection of a Bramah lock, began to meditate upon the difficult problem of how he could set off instantly to obey the summons it contained, yet not lose sight of the major before he could learn a little more concerning him. That of these two apparently incompatible objects, the first was in his estimation the most important, was proved by his instantly ringing for a waiter, and despatching him to secure a place in the next coach that left New Orleans in the direction he wished to go. No such conveyance, however, was to depart till the following morning, and before he went to rest, his black ally inquired for him, and was shown into his room. His report was as follows: —
The parson gentleman was called the reverend Mr. O’Donagough; he was going to Havre; wanted four first-rate berths; and his family at Natchez; should go and fetch them in time to sail; the “Lady Anne,” which was the name of the vessel in which he was going, was not to sail for ten days; and finally, the reverend gentleman himself had already started off again in a steamboat for Natchez.
It was impossible any intelligence could be more agreeable. If Colonel Beauchamp still wished for any further information respecting his late honoured guests, there was time enough for the purpose before they sailed, and moreover their young accuser would have the satisfaction of conveying the important intelligence, that they had again thought it convenient to change their name.
Egerton slept soundly, though dreaming all night of Annie, and arrived without delay or accident of any kind, within half an hour’s walk of Big-Gang Bank. It was long since Frederic Egerton had experienced emotions of so much happiness as at the moment he set off upon this walk. The letter of Annie had, perhaps, more of shyness and less of love than any of her former ones, but he interpreted this very correctly, and was certainly not the less happy for it.
“Annie fancies,” thought he, “that I am already almost in her presence, and must not be spoilt by too much indulgence.”
Thus gaily thinking, he went bounding on, and had reached the palings that surround Mrs. Whitlaw’s property, which, ardently as he wished to advance with all possible speed, almost induced him to stop that he might gaze upon the objects which had surrounded him when Annie had first promised that she would never be the wife of another.
But the question whether he should pause or not was not left for him to decide, for just as he reached the little gate by which he had formerly entered the premises, Nina, the favourite slave of his beloved, rushed out and seized his arm.
“Thank God, Mr. Egerton,” she exclaimed, “I have not watched for you in vain. My mistress is here, Miss Annie is here — come in — come in! You must not go a single step farther towards the Bank.”
Delighted to find that Annie was so near, and thinking perhaps that she had come thither, and set her favourite to watch for him, that she might give him some word of advice or instruction before he saw her parents, Egerton followed the rapidly retreating figure of Nina, till he once more found himself in the flowery portico of the good Clio’s elegant abode. Notwithstanding the advanced season, the windows were open, and another step placed him before the eyes of Annie Beauchamp. —
Though the slave Nina had so evidently expected him, it was equally plain that her young mistress did not, for the agitation of Annie was for a moment too great to permit her speaking; but tears of emotion were blended with smiles of happiness as she yielded her beautiful hand to his caresses, almost without a struggle. When at length she found her voice, she exclaimed —
“How can it be that I see you here, Mr. Egerton? I confess, I have been hoping for your arrival at the Bank for two days past, but what has made you come here? Have you seen my father?”
“I am right down glad he is here, Annie,” interrupted Mrs. Whitlaw, cordially offering her hand to Egerton. “I saw how it was going on with his heart when he was here before. And what could he do better, Annie, than come here to meet you, and tell you all about it? Perhaps, you know, my dear, he may not be that much at his ease with Madame Beauchamp and the colonel as he might be with you and I.”
Egerton related his meeting with Nina at the gate, and whispered to Annie that she confessed she was waiting for him.
“Silly girl,” exclaimed the young lady, blushing, “I dare say she knew that I was expecting you; but most surely I never told her to waylay you in this, strange style, Mr. Egerton.”
“Let not the kind zeal in my service bring reproof on her,” he replied, laughing. “I shall remember it with gratitude, my Annie, as long as I live.”
A very interesting conversation then followed, in which Mr. Egerton narrated his discovery of the disguised major on board the steamboat, which Annie assured him would be more than sufficient to convince her father and mother that he was indeed all that they had been so kindly warned to expect they should find him.
And then followed a discussion, in which Mrs. Whitlaw joined, as to the best mode of Mr. Egerton’s presenting himself. Should he accompany Annie home? Should Annie precede him, or should he precede her? She declared that she had not courage to announce his approach; and it was at length agreed that he should proceed to the Bank alone, endeavour to see both her parents, inform them of all he had learned concerning Major Allen Barnaby, and then venture to ask if they considered this as proof sufficient of his being a man of honour. If the answer was favourable, he was to go on to express all his hopes, and ask their consent to his wishes.
Having received the sanction of Annie and her affectionate friend for this, he left them, and had already again reached the little gate which opened from the lawn, and which was not within sight of the house, when once more he was met by Nina. He had observed that she looked hurried and agitated when he first met her, but she was now infinitely more so, and when she found from the direction he took, and the words he said, that he was hastening to Colonel Beauchamp’s house, she threw herself on the ground before him, and with tears and sobs implored him to go back.
No room is left me to describe at length the scene which followed. Finding that nothing she could say could dissuade Egerton from executing the plan which had been sanctioned by Agnes, she uttered a groan that made him shudder, and exclaimed —
“Then I must break my oath and sacrifice my life for her, and what is dearer to her than herself. If you go to my master’s house, young gentleman, you will be murdered!”
Even after this it was some time before the terrified and reluctant girl could be made to explain herself fully; but at length she confessed, amidst sobs and groans, that the slaves on the colonel’s property, and that of the neighbouring plantation, which belonged to Judge Johnson, were in revolt, and stood bound by a tremendous oath to murder every white person of whatever age or sex that should come across them while in the act of securing whatever portable property of value they could find in either mansion. They had arranged, she said, to escape to the numberless hiding-places known to them in the neighbouring forests, where they could long subsist upon the food they meant to carry with them, and expected finally to get off by means of the money of which they expected to get possession, and because no one would be left alive in either estate to pursue them. To the execution of this wild and horrible project they had all engaged themselves by the most solemn vows; “and rather would they fail and die,” cried the girl, “than live to endure more years of misery.”
Egerton’s first object was to restore the agitated Nina to such a degree of composure as might enable her to tell him how long this scene of horror had been in action, and where she imagined her master and mistress to be.
At length he learned from her, but not without considerable difficulty, that when the oath was first proposed to her, she refused to take it, but was told that if she persevered in this, she would be kidnapped away, and kept a close prisoner till all was over. She then took it, but with the understanding (after long battling for
it) that she might save the white females if she could; but that if she attempted to save the life of a white man, she would herself be murdered. She told him also that after prevailing on Miss Annie to pay a visit to Mrs. Whitlaw, she had got Mrs. Beauchamp and the Miss Perkinses into the dairy-house, under pretence that Miss Annie wanted to show them something there; and that having previously secured the windows, she had locked them in, and then ran away.
Egerton’s first thought, after hearing this terrifying statement, was concerning the safety of Annie. He told the trembling slave to fear nothing, but carefully to watch her young mistress, and if she attempted to leave her present shelter, to tell Mrs. Whitlaw the whole truth that she might restrain her, even by force, if necessary. He then obtained the key of the dairy-house, the situation of which he well knew, determined that his first object should be the conveying the ladies confined in it to Mrs. Whitlaw’s, and then to trust to being recognised as an Englishman, while he risked a visit to Colonel Beauchamp’s house in the faint hope of saving its wretched master.
Light of foot, firm in nerve, and steadfast in purpose, he lost no moment after deciding what to do. He found the three ladies in a state of dreadful alarm; for no sooner did Mrs. Beauchamp discover that they were prisoners, than she guessed the truth, for by an infatuation difficult to comprehend, the lives of the planters seem pretty equally divided between tyrannising over their slaves, and trembling at the chance of their taking vengeance for it. Very few words passed between them, Egerton saying in that tone of decision which at such moments is all powerful —
“Mrs. Beauchamp, give me your arm; follow us closely, Miss Perkins, with your sister. I will take you to a place of safety where you will find Miss Beauchamp, and then I will seek the colonel.”
Not a word was uttered in reply; nothing, I believe, silences talkers effectually but terror and sea-sickness. It was the wish and will of Egerton that they should walk quickly, but they had no other difficulty to contend with, for the negroes were too busy at their work of pillage to be at many yards’ distance from the house. On reaching the friendly abode of the good Clio, they found that Nina, in her restless anxiety, had already told both her and Annie all she had previously told Egerton. The delight of Annie at seeing her mother in safety may be imagined, nor is it needful to dwell upon the amount of her gratitude to Egerton. But dreadful was the combat at her heart when she saw him about to plunge into danger so dreadfully certain, in the desperate hope of saving her unhappy father. Yet, could she bid him stay?
It was impossible. Fortunately perhaps for her reason the interval of suspense was very short. On leaving the house he met one of Mrs. Whitlaw’s domestic blacks. Her slaves, though much too well treated, too lazy, and too happy, to join in the insurrection, were still negroes, and as such most ardently interested in the success of their less happy fellow slaves. The man was returning from the scene of outrage, and seeing Egerton, whom he remembered as an English visitor, hurrying towards it, he civilly stopped him and begged him to return.
“Colonel Beauchamp — —” said the panting Egerton.
“He has been dead this hour, sir,” returned the negro, casting down his eyes, but very nearly smiling at the same moment; “and Judge Johnson,” he added, in the same respectful tone, “has been done for longer still.”
It is needless to dwell on the scenes which followed. Mrs. Whitlaw assured her agitated neighbours that they were now in no danger, but that as their former residence would offer a scene too painful for them to look upon, their best course would be to accept the loan of her carriage and horses, and set off for New Orleans, or perhaps for New York, directly.
“For England! dearest Mrs. Beauchamp!” exclaimed Egerton. “Accept from me the duty, the affection, the protection of a son, and let me accompany you to England.”
All that was likely to make this scheme appear desirable to the agitated widow was soon explained to her; the Misses Perkins seemed ready to take upon themselves the duties of the slaves she had lost, so they might be permitted to accompany her; and in short, for short it now must be, everything concerning what they left behind was consigned to the management of the friendly and prosperous Clio, and within twenty-four hours after Egerton’s arrival he was on the road back to New Orleans, escorting his Annie, her mother, his two countrywomen, and the faithful Nina, to that city.—’
* * * * *
The tide had reached the point at which it is most favourable for vessels to work down the river from New Orleans to the Belize, and Egerton, with the party of females above enumerated, were waiting on the noble wharf for the arrangement of the ladder which was to assist them to get on board. Two fine vessels were at that moment preparing to depart for Europe, and the part of the wharf near which they both lay was crowded with spectators.
In the midst of this crowd was a group, less quiet, and less sad-looking than their own, and which presently roused their attention by suddenly approaching them.
“My dearest Mrs. Beauchamp!” exclaimed my bold-hearted heroine, too secure of an immediate retreat to be afraid of anything.
“Goodness me! If there isn’t the Perkinses!” cried Patty, clapping her hands.
“My dear ladies our ladder is ready,” said the major, still enacting the character of the Rev. Mr. O’Donagough, and presenting his arm to his wife. Tornorino performed the same duty to his, and the whole party brushed by Mr. Egerton and his friends, none of whom gave a look or uttered a word of recognition, and mounted with every appearance of glee the “Lovely Anna,” bound for home.
The party bound for England were also on board in a few minutes, and the two vessels followed each other closely down the river, the navigation of which, though slow, was perfectly prosperous, and Patty amused herself most delightfully during nearly the whole time it lasted by peeping at her old friends through a telescope, and proclaiming their quizzical looks to every one who would listen to her.
“The ingratitude of these Perkinses is perfectly disgusting,” said Mrs. Allen Barnaby with a shrug. “Heaven knows where they are all bundling to,” she added, “but there is one thing you must promise me, my dearest Donny, and it is, that if we ever have the misfortune of falling in with any of that horridly vulgar set on the Continent, you will look at one and all of them as if you had never set eyes on them before.”
THE END
MRS. MATTHEWS
OR, FAMILY MYSTERIES
Mrs Mathews: Or Family Mysteries was first published in 1851 by Colburn and Co. Trollope wrote the novel while she was living in Florence, Italy. She began permanently residing there in the 1840’s and later lived in a villa with her daughter-in-law, Theodosia Garrow, and her son, Thomas Adolphus. Trollope, Theodosia and Thomas began to use their house to host the leading literary figures of the age, including Robert and Elizabeth Browning, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Charles Dickens. Theodosia was a poet and translator, who was very sympathetic to the Italian Nationalist cause, which strove to unify the country. She translated one of Giovanni Battista Niccolini’s plays, extracts from Giuseppe Giusti’s poems, and some of the writings from the author and poet, Francesco Dall’Ongaro. She believed that by translating these works she could encourage English support for Italian unification.
The novel opens with an extract from a diary entry written by the wealthy protagonist, Mary King. She notes that she has just completed her twenty-eighth year and is happy to have now passed by the days of ‘girlish youth’. It is quickly revealed that she has fallen in love with a young man called John Anderson, but despite his love for her, no marriage occurs. The novel then jumps ahead more than twenty years and the reader finds Mary still single and living with her father. She is perfectly content with her life, which consists of her spending nearly all her time and energy reading and buying books. However, her father is concerned that when he dies she will be unable to manage her finances. He determines she must marry the aging and uninteresting Mr. Mathews, despite his daughter expressing no desire to become a wife at all. Trollope a
musingly exposes Mathews complete misreading of Mary’s behaviour; he believes her to be deeply in love with him, while she only endeavours to avoid spending time with him. One interesting feature of the novel is the direct way the financial aspect of marriage is addressed. The heroine is unwilling to become reliant on her husband and demands her economic independence, while also working to ensure she can retain her personal freedom.
The first edition's title page
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 379