Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  As to Egerton, he did not seem at all disposed to leave the matter in any doubt, as far as he was concerned himself; for, without attempting to utter a word in reply to Miss Perkins’s information, he started from his place, and, passing hastily through the saloon, left the house.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  ANOTHER large party, of which Mrs. Allen Barnaby was again? very decidedly the heroine, concluded the day, and it was not till the following morning that any opportunity occurred for her to converse with her still more highly-favoured friend, Mrs. Colonel Beauchamp, upon the important subject of their approaching departure.

  A very considerable change had taken place in the former lady’s state of mind, since the subject had been last canvassed between them; and though, in point of time, this interval had not exceeded three days, whole years sometimes pass over us without producing an equally decisive effect. There was, as the reader may by this time be pretty tolerably well aware, a good deal of native decisiveness of purpose in the character of Mrs. Allen Barnaby, and when she had determined upon doing anything, she generally did it. But notwithstanding this strong propensity to having her own way, the admirable fund of good sense which she possessed prevented that way, for the most part, from leading her astray from her interest, and therefore, in all former conversations with Mrs. Beauchamp upon the subject of the plans they were to pursue together, she had hardly felt conscious of having any wish or will, except that of ingratiating herself still further in the favour of that lady, and promoting everything that could lead to increasing their intercourse and intimacy.

  But now matters were altogether changed, and their mutual position pretty nearly reversed. Mrs. Allen Barnaby felt all over that it was she who was the person to confer honour, and Mrs. Colonel Beauchamp the person to receive it. In her opinion, therefore, it followed naturally that for the future, that lady’s wishes and convenience were on all points to give way to her own; and though quite determined not to permit either will or whim — no, not even her own, to deprive her of the solid advantages which she intended to reap from the devoted attachment of the wealthy planter’s lady, her mode of addressing her when they were next tete-a-tete, approached very nearly in spirit to the celebrated —

  ’Tis mine to speak, and thine to hear —

  of the romance. Nor was she at all mistaken in the calculation she had made respecting the degree in which this was likely to be-endured, without producing any disagreeable result whatever. Perhaps Mrs. Colonel Beauchamp was a little surprised to hear that her dear friend had given up all thoughts of the delightful steamboat excursion they were all to make together; but as to anger, no such feeling ever entered her head, and still less her heart; and her first words were, after becoming thoroughly availed, as she-would have said, of the change which had taken place in Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s intentions —

  “Then you don’t think, I expect, that you should be able to fix yourself for another long journey so soon?”

  “I don’t think that I shall set off upon another long journey so soon,” returned the authoress, slightly smiling; “but not from any fear of fatigue, or over-exertion. Where the mind is forcibly sustained, Mrs. Beauchamp, the body rarely gives way. No! My reasons for this alteration are wholly distinct from any idea of mere personal pleasure, or personal inconvenience. From you, my dear madam, I have no reserves, nor do I wish to have any; the generous, the truly liberal hospitality with which you have invited myself and the whole of my suite to your house at Big-Gang Bank, can never be remembered without a feeling of gratified, and, let me say, grateful affection. I mean, I fully mean, to accept this hospitality, and to repose with my important manuscript before me, under the shadow of your friendly sugar-canes, well-knowing that I can in no way so well prove to you how thoroughly I appreciate your kindness, as by accepting it.”

  “And there I am sure you are quite right, my dearest lady,” replied the really delighted Mrs. Beauchamp. “There is nothing that I know of that would be so always agreeable to me as that; and to my husband, the colonel, I expect, as much as to me. For in course, I calculate upon your husband, the major, not forgetting his card-playing, because he is in the country. He is too smart a gentleman for that, I expect.”

  “Oh, no! There is not the slightest fear of it, I am sure,” returned Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with an encouraging nod. “The major is really one of the most amiable men in the world, and would rather, I am convinced, play every night of his life to amuse and please so excellent a person as the colonel, than follow any more favourite pursuit of his own. And to make you quite easy on that head, I can assure you that he really does not dislike cards at all himself. All men of fashion with us, you know, are accustomed to play, and rather high, too, even from their earliest childhood, and this of course becomes habitual to them, so that, scarcely any of our really distinguished men ever like to go to bed till they have passed their accustomed hour or two at play. So do not let that worry you, dear Mrs. Beauchamp, it will all do very well, I dare say. The major, as you may naturally suppose, has been accustomed to have ms attention roused and kept awake by a tolerably high stake. Ail men of fortune are used to that, I presume, in every country. But there is no danger that our gentlemen should differ about that point — and in short, I look forward to enjoying a long visit to you exceedingly.”

  Mrs. Beauchamp, who had already began running over in her mind the different people to whom she could show off her illustrious guest, replied with the most cordial earnestness, assuring her that there was nothing the colonel would not feel ready and bound to-do, in order to show his respect and gratitude for the admirable, elegant expressions respecting the slave business, which Mrs. Allen Barnaby had read up to them.

  “On that point,” replied our authoress, with a good deal of solemnity, “on that point I shall have much more to say. I consider it, in fact, one of such prodigious importance to this noble country, that I am almost tempted to believe I should make my work of higher utility by devoting my pages wholly to the Slave States, than by mixing up in it any observations concerning that portion of the Union from whence slavery has been so unwisely banished. My general admiration for the whole country, and for all the truly superior people who inhabit it, would render it extremely disagreeable to me, of course, were I to feel myself obliged to blame the principles and conduct of any portion of them. And yet, my dear madam, how could I help pointing the finger of reprobation against those who actually threaten, as one of the gentlemen so well observed the other night, to revolutionise this magnificent and unequalled country, by abolishing slavery?”

  Mrs. Colonel Beauchamp was in ecstasies while listening to this speech, and really seemed to restrain herself with difficulty from falling at the feet of the speaker.

  “Oh my!” she exclaimed, while tears of emotion trembled on her eyelids; “I expect that you do understand the nature of the Union better than any gentleman or lady that ever visited it before! Yes, my dear lady, you are quite right. There is not one of us could bear or abide your speaking any way disrespectful of any part of our glorious and immortal country, and therefore, as you most elegantly observe, it will be far better, and preferable a hundred thousand times over, that you should write wholly and solely upon the great blessings and advantages of slavery, instead of turning away from our quite perfect state, just to belittle the others. Pray God you may keep in the same mind about that, my dear Mrs. Allen Barnaby, and then I shall be only just too happy, that’s all.”

  “Yes, dear lady, that is my view of the case, exactly. And if we can but contrive to keep the good major, and the rest of our party, tolerably well contented and amused in the South and West, I really do not see any reason for our travelling North and East, just to find what is rather less perfect.”

  “Oh my! Yes, dearest Mrs. Allen Barnaby, that is exactly hitting it off to a nicety. Rather less perfect, that’s just the fact. Rather less perfect,” repeated the patriotic Mrs. Beauchamp, infinitely relieved by finding that nothing which had been said upon slave
ry (which was of course the subject nearest to their warm southern hearts) had produced any very greatly reduced estimate of the general perfection of the Union, as a whole, on the mind of the enlightened traveller.

  “There is one other point, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, on which I must say a word or two,” resumed Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with an affectionate smile. “You must promise not to think that my bringing all my party with me is any mark of ostentation. Of course you know that with us an author of any celebrity is considered as paying the very highest compliment possible, by bringing friends with him to any house where he may be invited; it is always considered as a proof that he looks upon the family he visits as worthy to become a part of his own chosen circle; and this feeling indeed is carried so far, that I have known every one of a party of ten, who accompanied one of our favourite writers to a nobleman’s place in the country, desired to give their autographs, which were accordingly inscribed in the album of the duchess — the duchess? Yes, I am pretty sure it was the duchess — my own favourite duchess, who is always so kind to me. I just mention this circumstance, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, to show that in bringing my party with me, I am paying you the greatest compliment I have in my power to bestow. And I wish you to be aware, my dear friend, that this is my reason for doing it, and not any foolish feeling of ostentation. I hope you understand this?”

  “I do, my dearest lady, most perfectly and entirely,” replied Mrs. Beauchamp, warmly. “I feel all your goodness and kindness to me and my country, and nothing shall be wanting that I can do to make Big-Gang Bank agreeable to you. Only dear, dear lady, let me entreat you not to be running away in a hurry. It is a great wide town of a place, as you will see, and there will be room enough for you and your friends, and a heap of folks besides, if you should like more company. And that, my dear lady, is one of the blessed advantages of having a gang of slaves at command. It is likely enough that if you travelled eastward to Philadelphia, and Boston, and New York, or to any of the unfortunate free states, you would find that noble-minded as all the people are, on account of their being Americans, they would be so fretted and troubled about where to get help, that ten to one they would not be able to invite you to their houses, so many at a time, as we can do.”

  “Poor things! Is it possible that their foolish prejudices keep them in so degraded a condition? It is really pitiable!” returned Mrs. Allen Barnaby, adding, with great sincerity, “I really doubt if, under all the circumstances, notwithstanding my reverence for them as Americans, I really very much doubt if I should find everything there as completely to my taste as I do here.”

  Mrs. Beauchamp again applauded the admirable good sense and discrimination of her friend, and they parted, after its having been made perfectly well understood that the time of their setting off together for Big-Gang Bank, was to be entirely regulated by the pleasure and convenience of Mrs. Allen Barnaby.

  Our provident and thoughtful heroine had already written very eloquent, amiable, and satisfactory letters to all her New Orleans correspondents, in reply to their invitations; and she now stood with a list in her hand of the names and the places, her promised visits to which were likely to maintain the whole party at free quarters for at least six months to come.

  “Bravo!” she exclaimed aloud to her heart; “and now for a little visit to the dear good Perkinses.”

  She found the two sisters in a very comfortable state of mind, and by the help of a little ingenuity in a more comfortable state of body, too, than could have been expected, considering the usual temperature of the quarters that had been assigned them. Their bedroom was indeed almost intolerably small, and intolerably hot; but the good-natured Cleopatra hinted to them that nobody ever came into the wide sort or corridor upon which their attic apartment opened, and which, as is usual in most houses in that region, stretched the whole length of the house, except to look for boxes and trunks, that being the great receptacle for all such articles.

  After receiving this hint, which was made intelligible by sundry grimaces, indicating the possibility of putting forth from their crowded room a table and chairs, the sisters ventured, without any more special permission, to establish themselves there during the performance of all the needful stitchery which little wardrobes require; and though its vicinity to the roof gave it rather a fearful resemblance to the Piombi of Venice, it had a strong current of air passing through it, and they both agreed in thinking it better to sneeze than to be stifled.

  Here it was then, that with thimble and scissors, and pincushion and wire, and remnants of lace, and well-smoothed knots of ribbon, the fair Matilda fabricated caps and tuckers to her heart’s content; while her willing well-pleased sister, sat opposite to her darning the stockings of both. Had they been discovered so employed a few short days before, the scene would have had quite a different aspect; for Miss Matilda might probably have been groaning under the necessity of decorating a head and bosom that appeared of value to no one but herself; and even the more gentle-tempered Louisa, if not equally bitter and fretful in her misery, might have been looking very nearly as sad, from her dread lest the solemn promise she had received from her sister might not avail to preserve her from the self-destruction to which the utter indifference of all the American gentlemen they had yet seen seemed but too directly to lead.

  But now the aspect of everything was changed. Matilda was actually talking to her sister and laughing; while the happy Louisa, instead of dreading what she might hear her say next, sat listening and darning, and darning and listening, with the most comfortable air imaginable; and not without hope, perhaps, that among the many pretty speeches repeated to her as having been uttered by ‘sundry unmarried American gentlemen, she might hear something that sounded really promising.

  “So, girls!” began the panting Mrs. Allen Barnaby, as she approached them, “you are high enough to be sure, at the very tip top of all things; but when one does get here, it is fresh and pleasant enough. Get a chair for me, Louisa, that’s a good soul.”

  And then, upon the gentle spinster’s running off to obey her, she dropped into that which she had left, fanning herself with the delightful vegetable fan of New Orleans, which she rarely put out of her hand, except when asleep, and turning her ample person in all directions to catch the current of air, she exclaimed —

  “Upon my word you have managed well, ladies! I’ll be hanged if I have felt any place so cool since I’ve been in this stove of a town.”

  “Oh dear me! I’m glad you like it!” replied the kind Louisa, assiduously arranging a ragged footstool for her accommodation, and without in the least intending to be ironical, as some might have fancied, could they have felt the atmosphere that was thus applauded. “I do believe it is not much hotter here in the garrets than it is down below.”

  “Hotter, Louisa! I tell you it’s twenty times cooler than our room; but I do believe you two are very sharp and clever in looking after your own comforts, and that’s one reason why I think you will be pleased at hearing what I am come to say to you now.”

  The sisters were all-attention, and Mrs. Allen Barnaby proceeded —

  “There is no need, I suppose, for me to tell you, girls, that I’m got already to be all the fashion at New Orleans. I suppose you have found that out for yourselves?”

  “I think so, indeed, my dearest friend, and no wonder,” returned Matilda; and, “Yes, indeed, ma’am, ’tis quite plain, as you say,” chimed in Louisa.

  “Well, then, I hope you will be ready to allow that I am, notwithstanding all that, the same good, kind friend you have ever found me, when I tell you that one of my first thoughts has been, how to make you two share in the advantages which all this fashion and admiration brings with it.”

  “Oh, my dearest, my most adored friend!” exclaimed the enthusiastic Miss Matilda, clasping her hands, and fully persuaded that they were to be taken upon some exceedingly gay visit.

  “Listen to me quietly, Matilda, my dear, and you will see that it is not only your pleasure, but your rea
l interest I have got in view,” exclaimed Mrs. Allen Barnaby, gravely. “You know what you pay for your board here, and I am told that in many places it is much dearer still, and it has therefore come into my head, and into that of the dear good major too, that we may be able, by a little painstaking, and some few sacrifices, perhaps, on our parts, we may be able, I say, if you will pay to us just two-thirds of what you da here, to get you hooked in for visitings that may last for months to come, and that, too, in the midst of the very best company, and with plenty of gentlemen about us, Matilda, into the bargain. What do you say to that, my dears?”

  Now it is quite certain that after the public reading of Mrs. Barnaby’s letters, which, naturally enough, the sisters had listened to very attentively, they had conceived hopes, not only that they should be included in the invitations, for that was a matter not of hope, but of certainty, inasmuch as they had heard that they were so included, with their own watchful ears, but that the scanty purse which supplied their wants, would be very greatly relieved thereby, and that the nine dollars which they now paid every week for their boarding, might be converted, while these visits were in course, to other very much needed purposes.

  It was, therefore, rather a blank look that was exchanged between them on first hearing Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s generous proposal; but, happily for their peace and prosperity, they both knew her a great deal too well to venture anything in the slightest degree approaching to a remonstrance; and Matilda, being quicker than her sister, and feeling perhaps less difficulty in uttering protestations of gratitude more expected than felt, broke forth, just in time, into a volley of thanks, which sufficed to keep everything smooth, and not only to insure them the visits, and the mitigated expense, but to spare them the very disagreeable assurance that they might just take themselves off, and shift for themselves as soon as they pleased.