Newton Forster; Or, The Merchant Service. Фредерик Марриет
It was what the French term “malice,” which bears a very different signification from the same word in our own language. She delighted in all practical jokes, and would carry them to an excess, at the very idea of which others would be startled; but it must be acknowledged that she generally selected as her victims those who from their conduct towards others richly deserved retaliation. The various tricks which she had played upon certain cross old spinsters, tatlers, scandalmongers, and backbiters, often were the theme of conversation and of mirth: but this description of espiéglerie contains a most serious objection; which is, that to carry on a successful and well arranged plot, there must be a total disregard of truth. Latterly, Miss Fanny had had no one to practise upon except Mr. Ramsden, during the period of his courtship—a period at which women never appear to so much advantage, nor men appear so silly. But even for this, the time was past, as latterly she had become so much attached to him that distress on his part was a source of annoyance to herself. When therefore her father came home, narrating the circumstances which had occurred, and the plan which had been meditated, Fanny entered gaily into the scheme. Mrs. Forster had long been her abhorrence; and an insult to Mr. Ramsden, who had latterly been designated by Mrs. Forster as a “Pill-gilding Puppy,” was not to be forgotten. Her active and inventive mind immediately conceived a plan which would enable her to carry the joke much farther than the original projectors had intended. Ramsden, who had been summoned to attend poor Mr. Spinney, was her sole confidant, and readily entered into a scheme which was pleasing to his mistress, and promised revenge for the treatment he had received; and which, as Miss Dragwell declared, would be nothing but retributive justice upon Mrs. Forster.
Late in the evening, a message was received from Newton Forster, requesting that Mr. Ramsden would attend his mother. He had just visited the old clerk, who was now sensible, and had nothing to complain of except a deep cut on his temple from the rim of the pewter-pot. After receiving a few parting injunctions from Miss Dragwell, Mr. Ramsden quitted the parsonage.
“I am afraid it’s a very bad business, Mr. Forster,” replied the surgeon to Newton, who had been interrogating him relative to the injury received by Mr. Spinney. “Evident concussion of the brain: he may live—or he may not; a few days will decide the point: he is a poor feeble old man.”
Newton sighed as he reflected upon the disaster and disgrace which might ensue from his mother’s violence of temper.
“Eh! what, Mr. Ramsden?” said Nicholas, who had been for some time contemplating the battered visage of his spouse. “Did you say, she’ll die?”
“No, no, Mr. Forster, there’s no fear of Mrs. Forster, she’ll do well enough. She’ll be up and about again in a day or two, as lively as ever.”
“God forbid!” muttered the absent Nicholas.
“Mr. Forster, see if I don’t pay you off for that, as soon as I’m up again,” muttered the recumbent lady, as well as the bandages passed under her chin would permit her.
“Pray call early to-morrow, Mr. Ramsden, and let us know how Mr. Spinney is going on,” said Newton, extending his hand as the surgeon rose to depart. Mr. Ramsden shook it warmly, and quitted the house: he had left them about half an hour when Betsy made her appearance with some fomentations, which had been prepared in the kitchen. Out of revenge for sundry blows daily received, and sundry epithets hourly bestowed upon her by her mistress, the moment she entered she exclaimed, in a half-crying tone, “O dear, Mr. Newton! there’s such shocking news just come from the parsonage; Mr. Spinney is just dead—and my Missis will be hanged!”
Mrs. Forster said not a word; she quailed under dread of the report being correct. Newton and his father looked at each other; their mute anguish was expressed by covering up their faces with their hands.
When Hilton and the curate arranged their plans for the mortification of Mrs. Forster, it was considered advisable that Newton (who was not so easily to be imposed upon) should be removed out of the way. Hilton had already stated his intention to give him in charge of the vessel, and he now proposed sending him for a cargo of shingle, which was lying ready for her, about fifty miles down the coast, and which was to be delivered at Waterford. At an early hour, on the ensuing morning, he called at Forster’s house. Newton, who had not taken off his clothes, came out to meet him.
“Well, Newton, how is your mother?” said Hilton. “I hope you are not angry with me: I certainly was the occasion of the accident, but I could not bear to see your worthy father treated in that manner.”
“I blush to acknowledge, Mr. Hilton, that she deserved it all,” replied Newton; “but I am very much alarmed about the condition of Mr. Spinney. Have you heard this morning?”
“No; but between ourselves, Newton, doctors always make the worst of their cases. I never heard of a pewter pot killing a man; he’ll do well enough, never fear. I came to tell you that I’ve a letter last night from Repton, who says that the shingle must be delivered before the tenth of next month, or the contract will be void. He desires that I will send the sloop directly, or he must employ another craft. Now, I think you had better start at once; there’s a nice fair wind for you, and you’ll be down afore night.”
“Why, really, Mr. Hilton, I do not exactly like to leave home just now,” replied Newton, thoughtfully.
“Well, as you please, Mr. Forster,” rejoined Hilton, with apparent displeasure. “I have offered you the command of the vessel, and now you object to serve my interests on the very first occasion, merely because there are a couple of broken heads!”
“I am wrong, most certainly,” replied Newton; “I beg your pardon—I will just speak a word or two to my father, and be on board in less than half an hour.”
“I will meet you there,” said Hilton, “and bring your papers. Be as quick as you can, or you’ll lose the first of the tide.”
Newton returned to the house; his father made no objection to his departure; and, in fulfilment of his promise, Newton was ready to start, when he encountered Ramsden at the door.
“Mr. Ramsden,” said Newton, “I am requested by the owner of my vessel to sail immediately; but if you think that the life of Mr. Spinney is seriously in danger, I will throw up the command of the vessel, rather than leave my mother under such an accumulation of disasters. I beg as a favour that you will not disguise the truth.”
“You may sail this minute, if you please, Mr. Forster; I am happy to be able to relieve your mind. Mr. Spinney is doing very well, and you’ll see him at his desk on the first Sunday of your return.”
“Then I am off: good-bye, Mr. Ramsden; many thanks.”
With a lightened heart, Newton leapt into the skiff which was to carry him on board of the sloop; and in less than half an hour was standing away to the southward before a fine wind, to execute the orders which he had received.
Ramsden remained a few minutes at the door, until he saw Newton ascend the side of the vessel; then he entered, and was received by Betsy.
“Well, Betsy, you agreed to make Mrs. Forster believe that Mr. Spinney was dead; but we little thought that such would really be the case.”
“Lord love you, sir! why you don’t say so?”
“I do, indeed, Betsy; but mind, we must keep it a secret for the present, until we can get Mrs. Forster out of the way. How is she this morning?”
“Oh, very stiff, and very cross, sir.”
“I’ll go up to her,” replied Ramsden “but recollect, Betsy, that you do not mention it to a soul;” and Ramsden ascended the stairs.
“Well, Mrs. Forster, how do you feel this morning? do you think you could get up?”
“Get up, Mr. Ramsden! not to save my soul—I can’t even turn on my side.”
“Very sorry to hear it, indeed,” replied the surgeon; “I was in hopes that you might have been able to bear a journey.”
“Bear a journey,