"Never mind what they tell you--if they told you the _truth_, they'd tell you they want fees."

Mrs. Beaumont, quite startled by the tremendously loud voice in which Mr. Walsingham p.r.o.nounced the word _truth_, rose, and rang the bell for her carriage.

"Mr. Palmer," said she, "I am afraid we must run away, for I dread the night air for invalids."

"My good madam, I am at your orders," answered Mr. Palmer, b.u.t.toning himself up to the chin.

"Mrs. Beaumont, surely you don't think this gentleman an invalid?" said Mr. Walsingham.

"I only wish he would not think himself such," replied Mrs. Beaumont.

"Ah! my dear friends," said Mr. Palmer, "I really am, I certainly am a sad--sad--"

"Hypochondriac," said Mr. Walsingham. "Pardon me--you are indeed, and every body is afraid to tell you so but myself."

Mrs. Beaumont anxiously looked out of the window to see if her carriage was come to the door.

"Hypochondriac! not in the least, my dear sir," said Mr. Palmer. "If you were to hear what Dr. ---- and Dr. ---- say of my case, and your own Dr.

Wheeler here, who has a great reputation too--shall I tell you what he says?"

In a low voice, Mr. Palmer, holding Mr. Walsingham by the b.u.t.ton, proceeded to recapitulate some of Dr. Wheeler's prognostics; and at every pause, Mr. Walsingham turned impatiently, so as almost to twist off the detaining b.u.t.ton, repeating, in the words of the king of Prussia to his physician, "_C'est un ane! C'est un ane! C'est un ane!_"--"Pshaw!

I don't understand French," cried Mr. Palmer, angrily. His warmth obliged him to think of unb.u.t.toning his coat, which operation (after stretching his neckcloth to remove an uneasy feeling in his throat) he was commencing, when Mrs. Beaumont graciously stopped his hand.

"The carriage is at the door, my dear sir:--instead of unb.u.t.toning your coat, had not you better put this cambric handkerchief round your throat before we go into the cold air?"

Mr. Palmer put it on, as if in defiance of Mr. Walsingham, and followed Mrs. Beaumont, who led him off in triumph. Before he reached the carriage-door, however, his anger had spent its harmless force; and stopping to shake hands with him, Mr. Palmer said, "My good Mr.

Walsingham, I am obliged to you. I am sure you wish me well, and I thank you for speaking so freely; I love honest friends--but as to my being a hypochondriac, believe me, you are mistaken!"

"And as to Dr. Wheeler," said Mrs. Beaumont, as she drew up the gla.s.s of the carriage, and as they drove from the door, "Dr. Wheeler certainly does not deserve to be called _un ane,_ for he is a man of whose medical judgment I have the highest opinion. Though I am sure I am very candid to acknowledge it in the present case, when his opinion is so much against my wishes, and all our wishes, and must, I fear, deprive us so soon of the company of our dear Mr. Palmer."

"Why, yes, I must go, I must go to Jamaica," said Mr. Palmer in a more determined tone than he had yet spoken on the subject.

Mrs. Beaumont silently rejoiced; and as her son imprudently went on arguing in favour of his own wishes, she leaned back in the carriage, and gave herself up to a pleasing reverie, in which she antic.i.p.ated the successful completion of all her schemes. Relieved from the apprehension that Captain Walsingham's arrival might disconcert her projects, she was now still further re-a.s.sured by Mr. Palmer's resolution to sail immediately. One day more, and she was safe. Let Mr. Palmer but sail without seeing Captain Walsingham, and this was all Mrs. Beaumont asked of fortune; the rest her own genius would obtain. She was so absorbed in thought, that she did not know she was come home, till the carriage stopped at her door. Sometimes, indeed, her reverie had been interrupted by Mr. Palmer's praises of the Walsinghams, and by a conversation which she heard going on about Captain Walsingham's life and adventures: but Captain Walsingham was safe in London; and whilst he was at that distance, she could bear to hear his eulogium. Having lamented that she had been deprived of her dear Amelia all this day, and having arranged her plan of operations for the morrow, Mrs. Beaumont retired to rest.

And even in dreams her genius invented fresh expedients, wrote notes of apology, or made speeches of circ.u.mvention.

CHAPTER XI.

"And now, as oft in some distempered state, On one nice trick depends the general fate."--POPE.

That old politician, the cardinal of Lorraine, used to say, that "a lie believed but for one hour doth many times in a nation produce effects of seven years' continuance." At this rate what wonderful effects might our heroine have produced, had she practised in public life, instead of confining her genius to family politics! The game seemed now in her own hands. The day, the important day, on which all her accounts with her son were to be settled; the day when Mr. Palmer's will was to be signed, the last day he was to stay in England, arrived. Mr. Beaumont's birthday, his coming of age, was of course hailed with every possible demonstration of joy. The village bells rang, the tenants were invited to a dinner and a dance, and an ox was to be roasted whole; and the preparations for rejoicing were heard all over the house. Mr. Palmer's benevolent heart was ever ready to take a share in the pleasures of his fellow-creatures, especially in the festivities of the lower cla.s.ses. He appeared this morning in high good humour. Mrs. Beaumont, with a smile on her lips, yet with a brow of care, was considering how she could make pleasure subservient to interest, and how she could get _business_ done in the midst of the amus.e.m.e.nts of the day. Most auspiciously did her day of business begin by Mr. Palmer's declaring to her that his will was actually made; that with the exception of certain legacies, he had left his whole fortune to her during her life, with remainder to her son and daughter. "By this arrangement," continued he, "I trust I shall ultimately serve my good friends the Walsinghams, as I wish: for though I have not seen as much of that family as I should have been glad to have done, yet the little I have seen convinces me that they are worthy people."

"The most worthy people upon earth. You know I have the greatest regard for them," said Mrs. Beaumont.

"I am really sorry," pursued Mr. Palmer, "that I have not been able to make acquaintance with Captain Walsingham. Mr. Walsingham told me his whole history yesterday, and it has prepossessed me much in his favour."

"He is, indeed, a charming, n.o.ble-hearted young hero," said Mrs.

Beaumont; "and I regret, as much as you do, that you cannot see him before you leave England."

"However," continued Mr. Palmer, "as I was saying, the Walsinghams will, I trust, be the better sooner or later by me; for I think I foresee that Captain Walsingham, if a certain Spanish lady were out of the question, would propose for Amelia, and would persuade her to give up this foolish fancy of hers for that baronet."

Mrs. Beaumont shook her head, as if she believed this could not possibly be done.

"Well, well, if it can't be, it can't. The girl's inclination must not be controlled. I don't wonder, however, that you are vexed at missing such a husband for her as young Walsingham. But, my good madam, we must make the best of it--let the girl marry her baronet. I have left a legacy of some thousands to Captain Walsingham, as a token of my esteem for his character; and I am sure, my dear Mrs. Beaumont, his interests are in good hands when I leave them in yours. In the mean time, I wish you, as the representative of my late good friend, Colonel Beaumont, to enjoy all I have during your life."

Mrs. Beaumont poured forth such a profusion of kind and grateful expressions, that Mr. Palmer was quite disconcerted. "No more of this, my dear madam, no more of this. But there was something I was going to say, that has gone out of my head. Oh, it was, that the Walsinghams will, I think, stand a good chance of being the better for me in another way."

"How?"

"Why you have seen so much more of them than I have--don't you, my dear madam, see that Miss Walsingham has made a conquest of your son? I thought I was remarkably slow at seeing these things, and yet I saw it."

"Miss Walsingham is a prodigious favourite of mine. But you know Edward is so young, and men don't like, now-a-days, to marry young," said Mrs.

Beaumont.

"Well, let them manage their affairs their own way," said Mr. Palmer; "all I wish upon earth is to see them happy, or rather to hear of their happiness, for I shall not see it you know in Jamaica."

"Alas!" said Mrs. Beaumont, in a most affectionate tone, and with a sigh that seemed to come from her heart; "alas! that is such a melancholy thought."

Mr. Palmer ended the conversation by inquiring whom he had best ask to witness his will. Mrs. Beaumont proposed Captain Lightbody and Dr.

Wheeler. The doctor was luckily in the house, for he had been sent for this morning, to see her poor Amelia, who had caught cold yesterday, and had a slight feverish complaint.

This was perfectly true. The anxiety that Amelia had suffered of late--the fear of being forced or ensnared to marry a man she disliked--apprehensions about the Spanish incognita, and at last the certainty that Captain Walsingham would not arrive before Mr. Palmer should have left England, and that consequently the hopes she had formed from this benevolent friend's interference were vain--all these things had overpowered Amelia; she had pa.s.sed a feverish night, and was really ill. Mrs. Beaumont at any other time would have been much alarmed; for, duplicity out of the question, she was a fond mother: but she now was well contented that her daughter should have a day's confinement to her room, for the sake of keeping her safe out of the way. So leaving poor Amelia to her feverish thoughts, we proceed with the business of the day.

Dr. Wheeler, Captain Lightbody, and Mr. Twigg witnessed the will; it was executed, and a copy of it deposited with Mrs. Beaumont. This was one great point gained. The next object was her jointure. She had employed her convenient tame man[3], Captain Lightbody, humbly to suggest to her son, that some increase of jointure would be proper; and she was now in anxiety to know how these hints, and others which had been made by more remote means, would operate. As she was waiting to see Mr. Lightbody in her dressing-room, to hear the result of his _suggestions_, the door opened.

"Well, Lightbody! come in--what success?"

She stopped short, for it was not Captain Lightbody, it was her son.

Without taking any notice of what she said, he advanced towards her, and presented a deed.

"You will do me the favour, mother, to accept of this addition to your jointure," said he. "It was always my intention to do this, the moment it should be in my power; and I had flattered myself that you would not have thought it necessary to suggest to me what I knew I ought to do, or to hint to me your wishes by any intermediate person."

Colouring deeply, for it hurt her conscience to be found out, Mrs.

Beaumont was upon the point of disavowing her emissary, but she recollected that the words which she had used when her son was coming into the room might have betrayed her. On the other hand, it was not certain that he had heard them. She hesitated. From the shame of a disavowal, which would have answered no purpose, but to sink her lower in her son's opinion, she was, however, saved by his abrupt sincerity.

"Don't say any thing more about it, dear mother," cried he, "but pardon me the pain I have given you at a time when indeed I wished only to give pleasure. Promise me, that in future you will let me know your wishes directly, and from your own lips."

"Undoubtedly--depend upon it, my dearest son. I am quite overpowered.

The fact was, that I could not, however really and urgently necessary it was to me, bring myself to mention with my own lips what, as a direct request from me, I knew you could not and would not refuse, however inconvenient it might be to you to comply. On this account, and on this account only, I wished you not to know my wants from myself, but from an intermediate friend."

"Friend!"--Mr. Beaumont could not help repeating with an emphasis of disdain.

"_Friend_, I only said by courtesy; but I wished you to know my wants from an intermediate person, that you might not feel yourself in any way bound, or called upon, and that the refusal might be implied and tacit, as it were, so that it could lead to no unpleasant feelings between us."

"Ah! my dear mother," said Mr. Beaumont, "I have not your knowledge of the world, or of human nature; but from all I have heard, seen, and felt, I am convinced that more unpleasant feelings are created in families, by these false delicacies, and managements, and hints, and go-between friends by courtesy, than ever would have been caused by the parties speaking directly to one another, and telling the plain truth about their thoughts and wishes. Forgive me if I speak too plainly at this moment; as we are to live together, I hope, many years, it may spare us many an unhappy hour."