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Tales and Novels, Vol. V

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V



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TALES AND NOVELS, VOL. V

MANOEUVRING; ALMERIA; AND VIVIAN. (TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE.)

BY

MARIA EDGEWORTH


IN TEN VOLUMES. WITH ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL.


1857.




MANOEUVRING.



CHAPTER I.

"And gave her words, where oily Flatt'ry lays
The pleasing colours of the art of praise."--PARNELL.


NOTE FROM MRS. BEAUMONT TO MISS WALSINGHAM.

"I am more grieved than I can express, my dearest Miss Walsingham, by a
cruel _contre-temps_, which must prevent my indulging myself in the
long-promised and long-expected pleasure of being at your _fête de
famille_ on Tuesday, to celebrate your dear father's birthday. I trust,
however, to your conciliating goodness, my kind young friend, to
represent my distress properly to Mr. Walsingham. Make him sensible, I
conjure you, that my _heart_ is with you all, and assure him that this
is no common apology. Indeed, I never employ such artifices with my
friends: to them, and to you in particular, my dear, I always speak with
perfect frankness and candour. Amelia, with whom, _entre nous_, you are
more a favourite than ever, is so much vexed and mortified by this
disappointment, that I see I shall not be restored to favour till I can
fix a day for going to you: yet when that may be, circumstances, which I
should not feel myself quite justified in mentioning, will not permit me
to decide.

"Kindest regards and affectionate remembrances to all your dear
circle.--Any news of the young captain? Any hopes of his return from
sea?

"Ever with perfect truth, my dearest Miss Walsingham's sincere friend,

"EUGENIA BEAUMONT.

"P.S.--Private--read to yourself.

"To be candid with you, my dear young friend, my secret reason for
denying myself the pleasure of Tuesday's fête is, that I have just
heard that there is a shocking chicken-pox in the village near you; and
I confess it is one of my weaknesses to dread even the bare rumour of
such a thing, on account of my Amelia: but I should not wish to have
this mentioned in your house, because you must be sensible your father
would think it an idle womanish fear; and you know how anxious I am for
his esteem.

"Burn this, I beseech you----

"Upon second thoughts, I believe it will be best to tell the truth, and
the whole truth, to your father, if you should see that nothing else
will do----In short, I write in haste, and must trust now, as ever,
entirely to your discretion."


"Well, my dear," said Mr. Walsingham to his daughter, as the young lady
sat at the breakfast table looking over this note, "how long do you
mean to sit the picture of The Delicate Embarrassment? To relieve you
as far as in me lies, let me assure you that I shall not ask to see
this note of Mrs. Beaumont's, which as usual seems to contain some
mighty mystery."

"No great mystery; only----"

"Only--some minikin mystery?" said Mr. Walsingham. "Yes, '_Elle est
politique pour des choux et des raves_.'--This charming widow Beaumont
is _manoeuvrer_.[1] We can't well make an English word of it. The
species, thank Heaven! is not so numerous yet in England as to require
a generic name. The description, however, has been touched by one of
our poets:

'Julia's a manager: she's born for rule,
And knows her wiser husband is a fool.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme,
Nor take her tea without a stratagem.'

Even from the time when Mrs. Beaumont was a girl of sixteen I remember
her manoeuvring to gain a husband, and then manoeuvring to manage him,
which she did with triumphant address."

"What sort of a man was Colonel Beaumont?"

"An excellent man; an open-hearted soldier, of the strictest honour and
integrity."

"Then is it not much in Mrs. Beaumont's favour, that she enjoyed the
confidence of such a man, and that he left her guardian to his son and
daughter?"

"If he had lived with her long enough to become acquainted with her real
character, what you say, my dear, would be unanswerable. But Colonel
Beaumont died a few years after his marriage, and during those few years
he was chiefly with his regiment."

"You will, however, allow," said Miss Walsingham, "that since his death
Mrs. Beaumont has justified his confidence.--Has she not been a good
guardian, and an affectionate mother?"

"Why--as a guardian, I think she has allowed her son too much liberty,
and too much money. I have heard that young Beaumont has lost a
considerable sum at Newmarket, I grant you that Mrs. Beaumont is an
affectionate mother, and I am convinced that she is extremely anxious to
advance the worldly interests of her children; still I cannot, my dear,
agree with you, that she is a good mother. In the whole course of the
education of her son and daughter, she has pursued a system of artifice.
Whatever she wanted them to learn, or to do, or to leave undone, some
stratagem, sentimental or scenic, was employed; somebody was to hint to
some other body to act upon Amelia to make her do so and so.
Nothing--that is, nothing like truth, ever came directly from the
mother: there were always whisperings and mysteries, and 'Don't say that
before Amelia!' and 'I would not have this told to Edward,' because it
might make him like something that she did not wish that he should like,
and that she had _her reasons_ for not letting him know that she did not
wish him to like. There was always some truth to be concealed for some
mighty good purpose; and things and persons were to be represented in
false lights, to produce on some particular occasion some partial
effect. All this succeeded admirably in detail, and for the management
of helpless, ignorant, credulous childhood. But mark the consequences
of this system: children grow up, and cannot always see, hear, and
understand, just as their mothers please. They will go into the world;
they will mix with others; their eyes will be opened; they will see
through the whole system of artifice by which their childhood was so
cleverly managed; and then, confidence in the parent must be destroyed
for ever."

Miss Walsingham acknowledged the truth of what her father said; but she
observed that this was a common error in education, which had the
sanction of high authority in its favour; even the eloquent Rousseau,
and the elegant and ingenious Madame de Genlis. "And it is certain,"
continued Miss Walsingham, "that Mrs. Beaumont has not made her children
artful; both Amelia and Mr. Beaumont are remarkably open, sincere,
honourable characters. Mr. Beaumont, indeed, carries his sincerity
almost to a fault: he is too blunt, perhaps, in his manner;--and Amelia,
though she is of such a timid, gentle temper, and so much afraid of
giving pain, has always courage enough to speak the truth, even in
circumstances where it is most difficult. So at least you must allow, my
dear father, that Mrs. Beaumont has made her children sincere."

"I am sorry, my dear, to seem uncharitable; but I must observe, that
sometimes the very faults of parents produce a tendency to opposite
virtues in their children: for the children suffer by the consequences
of these faults, and detecting, despise, and resolve to avoid them. As
to Amelia and Mr. Beaumont, their acquaintance with our family has been
no unfavourable circumstance in their education. They saw amongst us the
advantages of sincerity: they became attached to you, and to my
excellent ward Captain Walsingham; he obtained strong power over young
Beaumont's mind, and used it to the best purposes. Your friendship for
Amelia was, I think, equally advantageous to her: as you are nearly of
the same age, you had opportunities of winning her confidence; and your
stronger mind fortified hers, and inspired her timid character with the
courage necessary to be sincere."

"Well," persisted Miss Walsingham, "though Mrs. Beaumont may have used a
little _finesse_ towards her children in trifles, yet in matters of
consequence, I do think that she has no interest but theirs; and her
affection for them will make her lay aside all art, when their happiness
is at stake."

Mr. Walsingham shook his head.--"And do you then really believe, my dear
Marianne, that Mrs. Beaumont would consider any thing, for instance, in
the marriage of her son and daughter, but fortune, and what the world
calls _connexion and establishments_?"

"Certainly I cannot think that these are Mrs. Beaumont's first objects;
because we are people but of small fortune, and yet she prefers us to
many of large estates and higher station."

"You should say, she professes to prefer us," replied Mr. Walsingham.
"And do you really believe her to be sincere? Now, there is my ward,
Captain Walsingham, for whom she pretends to have such a regard, do you
think that Mrs. Beaumont wishes her daughter should marry him?"

"I do, indeed; but Mrs. Beaumont must speak cautiously on that subject;
this is prudence, not dissimulation: for you know that my cousin
Walsingham never declared his attachment to Miss Beaumont; on the
contrary, he always took the most scrupulous pains to conceal it from
her, because he had not fortune enough to marry, and he was too
honourable to attempt, or even to wish, to engage the affections of one
to whom he had no prospect of being united."

"He is a noble fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Walsingham. "There is no
sacrifice of pleasure or interest he would hesitate to make to his
duty. For his friends there is no exertion, no endurance, no
forbearance, of which he has not shown himself capable. For his
country----All I ask from Heaven for him is, opportunity to serve his
country. Whether circumstances, whether success, will ever prove his
merits to the world, I cannot foretell; but I shall always glory in him
as my ward, my relation, my friend."

"Mrs. Beaumont speaks of him just as you do," said Miss Walsingham.

"Speaks, but not thinks," said Mr. Walsingham. "No, no! Captain
Walsingham is not the man she desires for a son-in-law. She wants to
marry Amelia to Sir John Hunter."

"To Sir John Hunter!"

"Yes, to Sir John Hunter, a being without literature, without morals,
without even youth, to plead in his favour. He is nearly forty years
old, old enough to be Amelia's father; yet this is the man whom Mrs.
Beaumont prefers for the husband of her beloved daughter, because he is
heir presumptive to a great estate, and has the chance of a reversionary
earldom.--And this is your modern good mother."

"Oh, no, no!" cried Miss Walsingham, "you do Mrs. Beaumont injustice; I
assure you she despises Sir John Hunter as much as we do."

"Yet observe the court she has paid to the whole family of the Hunters."

"Yes, but that has been merely from regard to the late Lady Hunter, who
was her particular friend."

"_Particular friend!_ a vamped-up, sentimental conversation reason."

"But I assure you," persisted Miss Walsingham, "that I know Mrs.
Beaumont's mind better than you do, father, at least on this subject."

"You! a girl of eighteen, pretend to know a manoeuvrer of her age!"

"Only let me tell you my reasons.--It was but last week that Mrs.
Beaumont told me that she did not wish to encourage Sir John Hunter, and
that she should be perfectly happy if she could see Amelia united to
such a man as Captain Walsingham."

"Such a man as Captain Walsingham! nicely guarded expression!"

"But you have not heard all yet.--Mrs. Beaumont anxiously inquired
from me whether he had made any prize-money, whether there was any
chance of his returning soon; and she added, with particular emphasis,
'You don't know how much I wish it! You don't know what a favourite he
is of mine!'"

"That last, I will lay any wager," cried Mr. Walsingham, "she said in a
whisper, and in a corner."

"Yes, but she could not do otherwise, for Amelia was present. Mrs.
Beaumont took me aside."

"Aside; ay, ay, but take care, I advise you, of her _asides_, and her
whisperings, and her cornerings, and her inuendoes, and semiconfidences,
lest your own happiness, my dear, unsuspecting, enthusiastic daughter,
should be the sacrifice."

Miss Walsingham now stood perfectly silent, in embarrassed and
breathless anxiety.

"I see," continued her father, "that Mrs. Beaumont, for whose mighty
genius one intrigue at a time is not sufficient, wants also to persuade
you, my dear, that she wishes to have you for a daughter-in-law: and
yet all the time she is doing every thing she can to make her son marry
that fool, Miss Hunter, merely because she has two hundred thousand
pounds fortune."

"There I can assure you that you are mistaken," said Miss Walsingham;
"Mrs. Beaumont dreads that her son should marry Miss Hunter. Mrs.
Beaumont thinks her as silly as you do, and complained to me of her
having no taste for literature, or for any thing, but dress, and
trifling conversation."

"I wonder, then, that Mrs. Beaumont selects her continually for her
companion."

"She thinks Miss Hunter the most insipid companion in the world; but I
dare not tell you, lest you should laugh at me again, that it was for
the sake of the late Lady Hunter that Mrs. Beaumont was so kind to the
daughter; and now Miss Hunter is so fond of her, and so grateful, that,
as Mrs. Beaumont says, it would be cruelty to shake her off."

"Mighty plausible! But the truth of all this, begging Mrs. Beaumont's
pardon, I doubt; I will not call it a falsehood, but I may be permitted
to call it a _Beaumont_. Time will show: and in the mean time, my dear
daughter, be on your guard against Mrs. Beaumont's art, and against your
own credulity. The momentary pain I give my friends by speaking the
plain truth, I have always found overbalanced by the pleasure and
advantage of mutual confidence. Our domestic happiness has arisen
chiefly from our habits of openness and sincerity. Our whole souls are
laid open; there is no management, no '_intrigue de cabinet_, no
'_esprit de la ligue_.'"

Mr. Walsingham now left the room; and Miss Walsingham, absorbed in
reflections more interesting to her than even the defence of Mrs.
Beaumont, went out to walk. Her father's house was situated in a
beautiful part of Devonshire, near the sea-shore, in the neighbourhood
of Plymouth; and as Miss Walsingham was walking on the beach, she saw an
old fisherman mooring his boat to the projecting stump of a tree. His
figure was so picturesque, that she stopped to sketch it; and as she was
drawing, a woman came from the cottage near the shore to ask the
fisherman what luck he had had. "A fine turbot," says he, "and a
john-doree."

"Then away with them this minute to Beaumont Park," said the woman; "for
here's Madam Beaumont's man, Martin, called _in a flustrum_ while you
was away, to say madam must have the nicest of our fish, whatsomever it
might be, and a john-doree, if it could be had for love or money, for
Tuesday."--Here the woman, perceiving Miss Walsingham, dropped a curtsy.
"Your humble servant, Miss Walsingham," said the woman.

"On Tuesday?" said Miss Walsingham: "are you sure that Mrs. Beaumont
bespoke the fish for Tuesday?"

"Oh, _sartin_ sure, miss; for Martin mentioned, moreover, what he had
heard talk in the servants' hall, that there is to be a very _pettiklar_
old gentleman, as rich! as rich! as rich can be! from foreign parts, and
a great friend of the colonel that's dead; and he--that is, the old
_pettiklar_ gentleman--is to be down all the way from Lon'on to dine at
the park on Tuesday for _sartin_: so, husband, away with the john-doree
and the turbot, while they be fresh."

"But why," thought Miss Walsingham, "did not Mrs. Beaumont tell us the
plain truth, if this is the truth?"




CHAPTER II.

"Young Hermes next, a close contriving god,
Her brows encircled with his serpent rod;
Then plots and fair excuses fill her brain,
And views of breaking am'rous vows for gain."


The information which Mrs. Beaumont's man, Martin, had learned from the
servants' hall, and had communicated to the fisherman's wife, was more
correct, and had been less amplified, embellished, misunderstood, or
misrepresented, than is usually found to be the case with pieces of news
which are so heard and so repeated. It was true that Mrs. Beaumont
expected to see on Tuesday an old gentleman, a Mr. Palmer, who had been
a friend of her husband's; he had lately returned from Jamaica, where he
had made a large fortune. It is true, also, that this old gentleman was
_a little particular_, but not precisely in the sense in which the
fisherman's wife understood the phrase; he was not particularly fond of
john-dorees and turbots, but he was particularly fond of making his
fellow-creatures happy; particularly generous, particularly open and
honest in his nature, abhorring all artifice himself, and unsuspicious
of it in others. He was unacquainted with Mrs. Beaumont's character, as
he had been for many years in the West Indies, and he knew her only from
her letters, in which she appeared every thing that was candid and
amiable. His great friendship for her deceased husband also inclined him
to like her. Colonel Beaumont had appointed him one of the guardians of
his children, but Mr. Palmer, being absent from England, had declined to
act: he was also trustee to Mrs. Beaumont's marriage-settlement, and she
had represented that it was necessary he should be present at the
settlement of her family affairs upon her son's coming of age; an event
which was to take place in a few days. The urgent representations of
Mrs. Beaumont, and the anxious desire she expressed to see Mr. Palmer,
had at last prevailed with the good old gentleman to journey down to
Beaumont Park, though he was a valetudinarian, and though he was
obliged, he said, to return to Jamaica with the West India fleet, which
was expected to sail in ten days; so that he announced positively that
he could stay but a week at Beaumont Park with his good friends and
relations.

He was related but distantly to the Beaumonts, and he stood in precisely
the same degree of relationship to the Walsinghams. He had no other
relations, and his fortune was completely at his own disposal. On this
fortune our cunning widow had speculated long and deeply, though in fact
there was no occasion for art: it was Mr. Palmer's intention to leave
his large fortune to the Beaumonts; or to divide it between the Beaumont
and Walsingham families; and had she been sincere in her professed
desire of a complete union by a double marriage between the
representatives of the families, her favourite object would have been,
in either case, equally secure. Here was a plain, easy road to her
object; but it was too direct for Mrs. Beaumont. With all her abilities,
she could never comprehend the axiom that a right line is the shortest
possible line between any two points:--an axiom equally true in morals
and in mathematics. No, the serpentine line was, in her opinion, not
only the most beautiful, but the most expeditious, safe, and convenient.

She had formed a triple scheme of such intricacy, that it is necessary
distinctly to state the argument of her plot, lest the action should be
too complicated to be easily developed.

She had, in the first place, a design of engrossing the whole of Mr.
Palmer's fortune for her own family; and for this purpose she determined
to prevent Mr. Palmer from becoming acquainted with his other relations,
the Walsinghams, to whom she had always had a secret dislike, because
they were of remarkably open, sincere characters. As Mr. Palmer proposed
to stay but a week in the country, this scheme of preventing their
meeting seemed feasible.

In the second place, Mrs. Beaumont wished to marry her daughter to Sir
John Hunter, because Sir John was heir expectant to a large estate,
called the Wigram estate, and because there was in his family a certain
reversionary title, the earldom of Puckeridge, which would devolve to
Sir John after the death of a near relation.

In the third place, Mrs. Beaumont wished to marry her own son to Miss
Hunter, who was Sir John's sister by a second marriage, and above twenty
years younger than he was: this lady was preferred to Miss Walsingham
for a daughter-in-law, for the reasons which Mr. Walsingham had given;
because she possessed an independent fortune of two hundred thousand
pounds, and because she was so childish and silly that Mrs. Beaumont
thought she could always manage her easily, and by this means retain
power over her son. Miss Hunter was very pretty, and Mrs. Beaumont had
observed that her son had sometimes been struck with her beauty
sufficiently to give hopes that, by proper management, he might be
diverted from his serious, sober preference of Miss Walsingham.

Mrs. Beaumont foresaw many difficulties in the execution of these plans.
She knew that Amelia liked Captain Walsingham, and that Captain
Walsingham was attached to her, though he had never declared his love:
and she dreaded that Captain Walsingham, who was at this time at sea,
should return, just whilst Mr. Palmer was with her; because she was well
aware that the captain was a kind of man Mr. Palmer would infinitely
prefer to Sir John Hunter. Indeed, she had been secretly informed that
Mr. Palmer hated every one who had a title; therefore she could not,
whilst he was with her, openly encourage Sir John Hunter in his
addresses to Amelia. To conciliate these seemingly incompatible schemes,
she determined----But let our heroine speak for herself.

"My dearest Miss Hunter," said she, "now we are by ourselves, let me
open my mind to you; I have been watching for an opportunity these two
days, but so hurried as I have been!--Where's Amelia?"

"Out walking, ma'am. She told me you begged her to walk to get rid of
her head-ache; and that she might look well to-day, as Mr. Palmer is to
come. I would not go with her, because you whispered to me at breakfast
that you had something very particular to say to me."

"But you did not give _that_ as a reason, I hope! Surely you didn't
tell Amelia that I had something particular to say to you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am; I told her that I had something to do about my
dress--and so I had--my new hat to try on."

"True, my love; quite right; for you know I wouldn't have her suspect
that we had any thing to say to each other that we didn't wish her to
hear, especially as it is about herself."

"Herself!--Oh, is it?" said Miss Hunter, in a tone of disappointment.

"And about you, too, my darling. Be assured I have no daughter I love
better, or ever shall. With such a son as I have, and such a
daughter-in-law as I hope and trust I shall have ere long, I shall think
myself the most fortunate of mothers."

Silly Miss Hunter's face brightened up again. "But now, my love,"
continued Mrs. Beaumont, taking her hand, leading her to a window, and
speaking very low, though no one else was in the room, "before we talk
any more of what is nearest my heart, I must get you to write a note for
me to your brother, directly, for there is a circumstance I
forgot--thoughtless creature that I am! but indeed, I never can _think_
when I _feel_ much. Some people are always so collected and prudent. But
I have none of that!--Heigho! Well, my dear, you must supply my
deficiencies. You will write and tell Sir John, that in my agitation
when he made his proposal for my Amelia, of which I so frankly approved,
I omitted to warn him, that no hint must be given that I do any thing
more than permit him to address my daughter upon an equal footing with
any other gentleman who might address her. Stay, my dear; you don't
understand me, I see. In short, to be candid with you--old Mr. Palmer is
coming to-day, you know. Now, my dear, you must be aware that it is of
the greatest consequence to the interests of my family, of which I hope
you always consider yourself (for I have always considered you) as
forming a part, and a very distinguished part--I say, my darling, that
we must consider that it is our interest in all things to please and
humour this good old gentleman. He will be with us but for a week, you
know. Well, the point is this. I have been informed from undoubted
authority, people who were about him at the time, and knew, that the
reason he quarrelled with that nephew of his, who died two years ago,
was the young man's having accepted a baronetage: and at that time old
Palmer swore, that _no sprig of quality_--those were the very
words--should ever inherit a shilling of his money. Such a ridiculous
whim! But these London merchants, who make great fortunes from nothing,
are apt to have their little eccentricities; and then, they have so much
pride in their own way, and so much self-will and mercantile
downrightness in their manners, that there's no managing them but by
humouring their fancies. I'm convinced, if Mr. Palmer suspected that I
even wished Amelia to marry Sir John, he would never leave any of us a
farthing, and it would all go to the Walsinghams. So, my dear, do you
explain to your brother, that though I have not the least objection to
his coming here whilst Mr. Palmer is with us, he must not take umbrage
at any seeming coldness in my manner. He knows my heart, I trust; at
least, you do, my Albina. And even if I should be obliged to receive or
to go to see the Walsinghams, which, by-the-bye, I have taken means to
prevent; but if it should happen that they were to hear of Palmer's
being with us, and come, and Sir John should meet them, he must not he
surprised or jealous at my speaking in the highest terms of Captain
Walsingham. This I shall be obliged to do as a blind before Mr. Palmer.
I must make him believe that I prefer a commoner for my son-in-law, or
we are all undone with him. You know it is my son's interest, and yours,
as well as your brother's and Amelia's, that I consider. So explain all
this to him, my dear; you will explain it so much better, and make it so
much more palpable to your brother than I could."

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