Фредерик Марриет
Peter Simple
Chapter Sixty Five
It never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news—I succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate—And “all’s well that ends well.”
I shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister’s history in her own words.
“I wrote to you, my dear Peter, to tell you that I had considered it my duty to pay all my father’s debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and I requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that I might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements.”
“I received your letter, Ellen, and was hastening to you, when—but no matter I will tell my story afterwards.”
“Day after day I waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. I received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted Portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. You may imagine my distress at this communication, as I did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as I know, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. The new vicar appointed, had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. The furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of our father’s debts. I had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which I did not do until the last moment. I could not leave my address, for I knew not where I was to go. I took my place in the coach, and arrived in London. My first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but I found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. At last I was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but I soon found out how little chance I had of comfort. The lady had objected to me as too good-looking—for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged.
“Thus was I a source of disunion—the lady treated me with great harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. At last, her ill-treatment, and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that I gave notice that I should leave my situation.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen, but will you oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?” said O’Brien.
“Indeed, Ellen, do no such thing,” replied I; “continue your story.”
“At last I was engaged as teacher to a school. I had better have taken a situation as housemaid. I was expected to be everywhere, to do everything—was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight: fared very badly, and was equally ill-paid—but still it was honest employment, and I remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all I required. There was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. They took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better I should be off, if I could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. For months I refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that I unwillingly consented.
“It was then nineteen months since I had heard of you, and I mourned you as dead. I had no relations except my uncle, and I was unknown even to him. I quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. Neither at the school, which was three miles from London, nor at my new residence, which was over Westminster-bridge, did I ever see a newspaper; it was no wonder, therefore, that I did not know of your advertisements. After three months’ preparation I was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. You know the rest.”
“Well, Miss Ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn’t there long.”
My sister had been with us about three days, during which I had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening finding myself alone with her, I candidly stated to her what were O’Brien’s feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power.
“My dear brother,” replied she, “I have always admired Captain O’Brien’s character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but I cannot say that I love him—I have never thought about him, except as one to whom we are both much indebted.”
“But do you mean to say that you could not love him?”
“No, I do not: and I will do all I can, Peter—I will try—I never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you.”
“Depend upon it, Ellen, that with your knowledge of O’Brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. May I tell him—”
“You may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, I will listen to no other, until he has had fair play; but recollect, that at present I only like him—like him very much, it is true—but still I only like him.”
I was quite satisfied with my success, and so was O’Brien, when I told him.
“By the powers, Peter, she’s an angel, and I can’t expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she’ll only like me well enough to marry me, I’ll trust to after-marriage for the rest.”
O’Brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. Celeste and I were more fondly attached every day. The solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. In short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, I did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which I shall narrate here.
My uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that I had been released from Bedlam—still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. His emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in O’Brien’s frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. He now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. His legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at Eagle Park.
“But, sir,” observed the lawyer, “if you will not confide in me, I cannot act for your benefit. You still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?”
“I do,” replied his lordship. “It is a foul invention.”
“Then, my lord, may I ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison Mr Simple in Bedlam?”
“Because I hate him,” retorted his lordship,—“detest him.”
“And for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative.”
“I tell you, sir, that I hate him—would that he were now lying dead at my feet!”
Hardly were the words out of my uncle’s mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. They started—turned round—the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. The poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. For a few seconds, the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror.
“A judgment!—a judgment!” cried the lawyer at last, looking at his client. My uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. Assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. The violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again.
It was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called, and put a letter into my hand, saying, “Allow me to congratulate your lordship.” We were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, O’Brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not Ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipped over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor’s bill into the bargain. The letter was eagerly read—it was from my uncle’s legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything awaiting my arrival or instructions. The solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when I was more composed. My first movement, when I had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round Celeste and embrace her—and O’Brien, taking the hint, did the same to Ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself her arms were entwined round my neck, while Celeste was hanging on her father’s. Having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and although we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette.
In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle’s legal adviser, who remained in the house. The “dreadful accident in high life” found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner-time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. The next day, a letter arrived from the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner-hour, at half-past seven. Very much obliged to him: the “fool of the family” might have waited a long while for it.
While I was reading this letter the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand. “Sure, it’s you—oh! yes—it’s you that saved my poor husband when I was assisting to your ruin. And a’n’t I punished for my wicked doings—a’n’t my poor boy dead?”
She said no more, but remained on her knees sobbing bitterly. Of course the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address.
“But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It’s not that I have forgiven myself.”
“I do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. You have been punished enough.”
“I have, indeed,” replied she, sobbing; “but don’t I deserve it all, and more too? God’s blessing, and all the saints’ too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. My heart is lighter.” And she quitted the room.
She had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. “Another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you; but she won’t give her name.”
“Really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance,” said the general.
“At all events, I am not aware of any that I need be ashamed of. Show the lady up, waiter.”
In a moment entered a fat unwieldy little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, “Lord bless you, how you have grown! gemini, if I can hardly believe my eyes; and I declare he don’t know me.”
“I really cannot exactly recollect were I had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”
“Well, that’s what I said to Jemima, when I went down in the kitchen, ‘Jemima,’ says I, ‘I wonder if little Peter Simple will know me.’ And Jemima says, ‘I think he would the parrot, marm.’”
“Mrs Handycock, I believe,” said I, recollecting Jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable.
“Oh! so you’ve found me out, Mr Simple—my lord, I ought to say. Well, I need not ask after your grandfather now, for I know he’s dead; but as I was coming this way for orders, I thought I would just step in and see how you looked.”
“I trust Mr Handycock is well, ma’am. Pray is he a bull or a bear?”
“Lord bless you, Mr Simple—my lord, I should say—he’s been neither bull nor bear for these three years. He was obliged to waddle; if I didn’t know much about bulls and bears, I know very well what a lame duck is to my cost. We’re off the Stock Exchange, and Mr Handycock is set up as a coal merchant.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. As Mr Handycock says, it’s a very good business, if you only had enough for it. Perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. It’s nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours.”
“I shall be very happy when I return again to town, Mrs Handycock. I hope the parrot is quite well.”
“Oh! my lord, that’s a sore subject; only think of Mr Handycock, when we retired from the ’Change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas was better than a nasty squalling, bird. To be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as Jemima agreed with me, we’d rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with Poll. Since we’ve looked up a little in the world, I saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get Poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn’t take fifty guineas for him.”
Mrs Handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, “Good morning, my lord; I’ll leave one of Mr Handycock’s cards. Jemima would be so glad to see you.”
As she left the room, Celeste laughingly asked me whether I had any more such acquaintances.
I replied, that I believed not; but I must acknowledge that Mrs Trotter was brought to my recollection, and I was under some alarm lest she should also come and pay me her respects.
The next day I had another unexpected visit. We had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general’s French servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me; that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect.
“Who can that be?” thought I: and I went out of the door and looked over the banisters, as the noise still continued.
“You must not come here to beat Englishmen, I can tell you,” roared one of the waiters. “What do we care for your foreign counts?”
“Sacre, canaille!” cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which I well knew.
“Ay, canal!—we’ll duck you in the canal, if you don’t mind.”
“You will!” said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. “Allow me to observe—in the most delicate manner in the world—just to hint, that you are a damned trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch—and take this for your impudence!”
The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane.
“My dear count,” exclaimed I, “is it you?” and I shook him by the hand.
“My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy.”
“Then I’ll have them discharged,” replied I. “If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel.”
This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count’s dignity.
“We are sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?”
“As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord,” replied he “you must perceive that I am off a journey.”
The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room.
When I returned up-stairs—“What was the matter?” inquired O’Brien. “O nothing!—a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English.”
In about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced Count Shucksen.
“Now, O’Brien, you’ll be puzzled,” said I; and in came the count.
“My dear Lord Privilege,” said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, “let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. I was running up the channel in my frigate, when a pilot-boat gave me the newspaper, in which I saw your unexpected change of circumstances. I made an excuse for dropping my anchor at Spithead this morning, and I have come up post to express how sincerely I participate in your good fortune.” Count Shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to O’Brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment.
“Count Shucksen, allow me to introduce Sir Terence O’Brien.”
“By the piper that played before Moses, but it’s a puzzle,” said O’Brien, earnestly looking in the count’s face. “Blood and thunder! if it a’n’t Chucks!—my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?”
“Fortunately,” replied the count, as they shook each other’s hands for some time, “I never went into it, Sir Terence. But now, with your permission, my lord, I’ll take some food, as I really am not a little hungry. After dinner, Captain O’Brien, you shall hear my history.”
His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies.
The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced by me everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his mustachios, bad French, and waltzing—an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden—were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a PPC.
Before I left town, I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate, building—that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently, I obtained leave of absence for him every year; and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions.
A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park: and Celeste consented to my entreaties, that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O’Brien spake; and to oblige me, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day.
O’Brien wrote to Father McGrath; but the letter was returned by post, with “dead” marked upon the outside. O’Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him, that Father McGrath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards.
On the day appointed, we were all united; and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O’Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O’Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general’s head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter’s happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren.
Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell.
