Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume

CHAPTER XVI. AUGURIES

 
    Venus, thy eternal sway
    All the race of man obey.
 

                      EURIPIDES (Anstice).

Aurelia sat up late to finish her despatches to the beloved ones at home, and pack the little works she had been able to do for each, though my Lady’s embroidery took up most of her sedentary hours. Mrs. Dove undertook the care of the guinea’s worth of presents to the little sisters from Sir Amyas, which the prudent nurse advised her to withhold till after Master Archer was gone, as he would certainly break everything to pieces. He was up betimes, careering about the garden with all his sisters after him, imperiously ordering them about, but nevertheless bewitching them all, so that Amoretta was in ecstasies at her own preferment, scarcely realising that it would divide her from the others; while Letty made sure that she should soon follow, and Fidelia gravely said, “I shall always know you are loving me still, Amy, as Nurse Rolfe does.”

Lady Belamour breakfasted in her own room at about ten o’clock. Her woman, Mrs. Loveday, a small trim active person, with the worn and sharpened remains of considerable prettiness of the miniature brunette style, was sent to summon Miss Delavie to her apartment and inspect the embroidery she had been desired to execute for my Lady. Three or four bouquets had been finished, and the maid went into such raptures over them as somewhat to disgust their worker, who knew that they were not half so well done as they would have been under Betty’s direction. However, Mrs. Loveday bore the frame to her Ladyship’s room, following Aurelia, who was there received with the same stately caressing manner as before.

“Good morning, child. Your roses bloom well in the forenoon! Pity they should be wasted in darkness. Not but that you are duly appreciated there. Ah! I can deepen them by what our unhappy recluse said of you. I shall make glad hearts at Carminster by his good opinion, and who knows what preferment may come of it—eh? What is that, Loveday?”

“It is work your Ladyship wished me to execute,” said Aurelia.

“Handsome—yes; but is that all? I thought the notable Mistress Betty brought you up after her own sort?”

“I am sorry, madam, but I could not do it quickly at first without my sister’s advice, and I have not very much time between my care of the children and preparing repetitions for Mr. Belamour.”

“Ha! ha! I understand. There are greater attractions! Go on, child. Mayhap it may be your own wedding gown you are working at, if you finish it in time! Heavens! what great wondering eyes the child has! All in good time, my dear. I must talk to your father.”

It was so much the custom to talk to young maidens about their marriage that this did not greatly startle Aurelia, and Lady Belamour continued: “There, child, you have done your duty well by those little plagues of mine, and it is Mr. Wayland’s desire to make you a recompense. You may need it in any change of circumstances.”

So saying, she placed in Aurelia’s hand five guineas, the largest sum that the girl had ever owned; and as visions arose of Christmas gifts to be bestowed, the thanks were so warm, the curtsey so expressively graceful, the smile so bright, the soft eyes so sparkling, that the great lady was touched at the sight of such simple-hearted joy, and said, “There, there, child, that will do. I could envy one whom a little makes so happy. Now you will be able to make yourself fine when my son brings home his bride; or—who knows?—you may be a bride yourself first!”

That sounds, thought Aurelia, as if Mr. Belamour had made her relinquish the plan of that cruel marriage, for I am sure I have not yet seen the man I am to marry.

And with a lighter heart the young tutoress stood between Fay and Letty on the steps to see the departure, her cheeks still feeling Amoret’s last fond kisses, and a swelling in her throat bringing tears to her eyes at the thought how soon that carriage would be at Carminster. Yet there were sweet chains in the little hands that held her gown, and in the thought of the lonely old man who depended on her for enlivenment.

The day was long, for Amoret was missed; and the two children were unusually fretful and quarrelsome without her, disputing over the new toys which Brother Amyas’s guinea had furnished in demoralising profusion. It was strange too see the difference made by the loss of the child who would give up anything rather than meet a look of vexation, and would coax the others into immediate good humour. There was reaction, too, after the excitement, for which the inexperienced Aurelia did not allow. At the twentieth bickering as to which doll should ride on the spotted hobby-horse, the face of Letty’s painted wooden baby received a scar, and Fay’s lost a leg, whereupon Aurelia’s endurance entirely gave way, and she pronounced them both naughty children, and sent them to bed before supper.

Then her heart smote her for unkindness, and she sat in the firelight listless and sad, though she hardly knew why, longing to go up and pet and comfort her charges, but withheld by the remembrance of Betty’s assurances that leniency, in a like case, would be the ruin of Eugene.

At last Jumbo came to summon her, and hastily recalling a cheerful air, she entered the room with “Good evening, sir; you see I am still here to trouble you.”

“I continue to profit by my gentle friend’s banishment. Tell me, was my Lady in a gracious mood?”

“O sir, how beautiful she is, and how kind! I know now why my father was so devoted to her, and no one can ever gainsay her!”

“The enchantress knows how to cast her spells. She was then friendly?”

“She gave me five guineas!” said Aurelia exultingly. “She said Mr. Wayland wished to recompense me.”

“Did he so? If it came from him I should have expected a more liberal sum.”

“But, oh!” in a tone of infinite surprise and content, “this is more than I ever thought of. Indeed I never dreamt of her giving me anything. Sir, may I write to your bookseller, Mr. Tonson, and order a book of Mr. James Thomson’s Seasons to give to my sister Harriet, who is delighted with the extracts I have copied for her?”

“Will not that consume a large proportion of the five guineas, my generous friend?”

“I have enough left. There is a new gown which I never have worn, which will serve for the new clothes my Lady spoke of to receive her son’s bride.”

“She entered on that subject then?”

“Only for a moment as she took leave. Oh, sir, is it possible that she can know all about this young lady?”

“What have you heard of her?”

“Sir, they say she is a dreadful little vixen.”

“Who say? Is she known at Carminster?”

“No, sir,” said Aurelia, disconcerted. “It was from Nurse Dove that I heard what Sir Amyas’s man said when he came back from Battlefield. I know my sister would chide me for listening to servants.”

“Nevertheless I should be glad to hear. Was the servant old Grey? Then he is to be depended on. What did he say?”

Aurelia needed little persuasion to tell all that she had heard from Mrs. Dove, and he answered, “Thank you, my child, it tallies precisely with what the poor boy himself told me.”

“Then he has told his mother? Will she not believe him?”

“It does not suit her to do so, and it is easy to say the girl will be altered by going to a good school. In fact, there are many reasons more powerful with her than the virtue and happiness of her son,” he added bitterly. “There’s the connection, forsooth. As if Lady Aresfield were fit to bring up an honest man’s wife; and there’s the fortune to fill up the void she has made in the Delavie estates.”

“Can no one hinder it, sir? Cannot you?”

“As a last resource the poor youth came hither to see whether the guardian whose wardship has hitherto been a dead letter, were indeed so utterly obdurate and helpless as had been represented.”

“And you have the power?”

“So far as his father’s will and the injunctions of his final letter to me can give it, I have full power. My consent is necessary to his marriage while still a minor, and I have told my Lady I will never give it to his wedding a Mar.”

“I was sure of it; and it is not true that they will be able to do without it?

“Without it! Have you heard any more? You pause. I see—she wishes to declare me of unsound mind. Is that what you mean?”

“So Nurse Dove said, sir,” faltered Aurelia; “but it seemed too wicked, too monstrous, to be possible.”

“I understand,” he said. “I thought there was an implied threat in my sweet sister-in-law’s soft voice when she spoke of my determined misanthropy. Well, I think we can guard against that expedient. After all, it is only till my nephew comes of age, or till his stepfather returns, that we must keep the enchantress at bay. Then the poor lad will be safe, providing always that she and her Colonel have not made a rake of him by that time. Alas, what a wretch am I not to be able to do more for him! Child, you have seen him?”

“I danced with him, sir, but I was too much terrified to look in his face. And I saw his cocked hat over the thorn hedge.”

“Fancy free,” muttered Mr. Belamour. “Fair exile for a cocked hat and diamond shoe-buckles! You would not recognise him again, nor his voice?”

“No, sir. He scarcely spoke, and I was attending to my steps.”

Mr. Belamour laughed, and then asked Aurelia for the passage in the Iliad where Venus carries off Paris in a cloud. He thanked her somewhat absently, and then said,

“Dr. Godfrey said something of coming hither before he goes to his living in Dorsetshire. May I ask of you the favour of writing and begging him to fix a day not far off, mentioning likewise that my sister-in-law has been here.”

To this invitation Dr. Godfrey replied that he would deviate from the slow progress of his family coach, and ride to Bowstead, spending two nights there the next week; and to Aurelia’s greater amazement, she was next requested to write a billet to the Mistresses Treforth in Mr. Belamour’s name, asking them to bestow their company on him for the second evening of Dr. Godfrey’s visit.

“You, my kind friend, will do the honours,” he said, “and we will ask Mrs. Aylward to provide the entertainment.”

“They will be quite propitiated by being asked to meet Dr. Godfrey,” said Aurelia. “Shall you admit them, sir?”

“Certainly. You do not seem to find them very engaging company, but they can scarce be worse than I should find in such an asylum as my charming sister-in-law seems to have in preparation for me.”

“Oh! I wish I had said nothing about that. It is too shocking!”

“Forewarned, forearmed, as the proverb says. Do you not see, my amiable friend, that we are providing a body of witnesses to the sanity of the recluse, even though he may ‘in dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell’?”

The visit took place; Dr. Godfrey greeted Miss Delavie as an old friend, and the next day pronounced Mr. Belamour to be so wonderfully invigorated and animated, that he thought my Lady’s malignant plan was really likely to prove the best possible stimulus and cure.

Then the Canon gratified the two old ladies by a morning call, dined with Aurelia and her pupils, who behaved very well, and with whom he afterwards played for a whole hour so kindly that they placed him second in esteem to their big and beautiful brother. Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia came dressed in the faded splendours of the Louis XIV. period, just at twilight, and were regaled with coffee and pound cake. They were a good deal subdued, though as Aurelia listened to the conversation, it was plain enough what Mr. Belamour meant when he said that his cousin Delia was something of the coquette.

Still they asked with evident awe if it were true that their unfortunate cousin really intended to admit them, and they evidently became more and more nervous while waiting for Jumbo’s summons. Dr. Godfrey gave his arm to Mrs. Phoebe, and Mrs. Delia gripped hold of Aurelia’s, trembling all over, declaring she felt ready to swoon, and marvelling how Miss Delavie could ever have ventured, all alone too!

After all, things had been made much less formidable than at Aurelia’s first introduction. The sitting-room was arranged as it was when Mr. Greaves read prayers, with a very faint light from a shrouded lamp behind the window curtain. To new comers it seemed pitchy darkness, but to Aurelia and Dr. Godfrey it was a welcome change, allowing them at least to perceive the forms of one another, and of the furniture. From a blacker gulf, being the doorway to the inner room, came Mr. Belamour’s courteous voice of greeting to his kinswomen, who were led up by their respective guides to take his hand; after which he begged them to excuse the darkness, since the least light was painful to him still. If they would be seated he would remain where he was, and enjoy the society he was again beginning to be able to appreciate. He was, in fact, sitting within his own room, with eyes covered from even the feeble glimmer in the outer room.

It was some minutes before they recovered their self-possession, but Dr. Godfrey and Mr. Belamour began the conversation, and they gradually joined in. It was chiefly full of reminiscences of the lively days when Dr. Godfrey had been a young Cantab visiting his two friends at Bowstead, and Phoebe and Delia were the belles of the village. Aurelia scarcely opened her lips, but she was astonished to find how different the two sisters could be from the censorious, contemptuous beings they had seemed to her. The conversation lasted till supper-time, and Mr. Belamour, as they took their leave, made them promise to come and see him again. Then they were conducted back to the supper-room, Mrs. Phoebe mysteriously asking “Is he always like this?”

The experiment had been a great success, and Aurelia completed it by asking Mrs. Phoebe to take the head of the supper-table.

CHAPTER XVII. THE VICTIM DEMANDED

 
    And if thou sparest now to do this thing,
    I will destroy thee and thy land also.—MORRIS.
 

“Well, sir, have you seen my Lady?”

“Not a year older than when I saw her last,” returned Major Delavie, who had just dismounted from his trusty pony at his garden gate, and accepted Betty’s arm; “and what think you?” he added, pausing that Corporal Palmer might hear his news. “She has been at Bowstead, and brings fresh tidings of our Aura. The darling is as fair and sprightly as a May morning, and beloved by all who come near her—bless her!”

Palmer echoed a fervent “Amen!” and Betty asked, “Is this my Lady’s report?”

“Suspicious Betty! You will soon be satisfied,” said the Major in high glee. “Did not Dove meet me at the front door, and Mrs. Dove waylay me in the hall to tell me that the child looked blooming and joyous, and in favour with all, gentle and simple? Come her, Eugene, ay, and Harriet and Arden too. Let us hear what my little maid says for herself. For look here!” and he held aloft Aurelia’s packet, at sight of which Eugene capered high, and all followed into the parlour.

Mr. Arden was constantly about the house. There was no doubt that he would soon be preferred to a Chapter living in Buckinghamshire, and he had thus been emboldened to speak out his wishes. It would have been quite beneath the dignity of a young lady of Miss Harriet’s sensibility to have consented, and she was in the full swing of her game at coyness and reluctance, daily vowing that nothing should induce her to resign her liberty, and that she should be frightened out of her life by Mr. Arden’s experiments; while her father had cordially received the minor Canon’s proposals, and already treated him as one of the family. Simpering had been such a fattening process that Harriet was beginning to resume more of her good looks than had ever been brought back by Maydew.

“Open the letter, Betty. Thanks, Arden,” as the minor Canon began to pull off his boots, “only take care of my knee. My Lady has brought down her little boy, and one of Aurelia’s pupils; I declare they are a perfect pair of Loves. What are you fumbling at, Betty?”

“The seal, sir, it is a pity to break it,” said Betty, producing her scissors from one of her capacious pockets. “It is an antique, is it not, Mr. Arden?”

“A very beautiful gem, a sleeping Cupid,” he answered.

“How could the child have obtained it?” said Harriet.

“I can tell you,” said the Major. “From old Belamour. My Lady was laughing about it. The little puss has revived the embers of gallantry in our poor recluse. Says she, ‘He has actually presented her with a ring, nay, a ring bearing Love himself.’”

Somehow the speech, even at second hand, jarred upon Betty, but her father was delighted with my Lady’s description of his favourite, and the letters were full of contentment. When the two sisters, arrayed in their stiffest silks, went up to pay their respects to my Lady the next afternoon, their reception was equally warm. My Lady was more caressing to her old acquaintance, Betty, than that discreet personage quite liked, while she complimented and congratulated Harriet on her lover, laughing at her bashful disclaimers in such a charmingly teasing fashion as quite to win the damsel’s heart, and convince her that all censure of Lady Belamour was vile slander. The children were sent for, and Amoret was called on to show how Cousin Aurelia had taught her to dance, sing and recite. The tiny minuet performed by her and Archer was an exceedingly pretty exhibition as far as it went, but the boy had no patience to conclude, and jumped off into an extemporary pas seul, which was still prettier, and as Amoret was sole exhibitor of the repetition of Hay’s “Hare and many friends,” he became turbulent after the first four lines, and put a stop to the whole.

Then came in a tall, large, handsome, dashing-looking man, with the air of a “beau sabreur,” whom Lady Belamour presented to her cousins as “Colonel Mar, my son’s commandant, you know who has been kind enough to take Carminster on his way, so as to escort me to the Bath. I am such a sad coward about highwaymen. And we are to meet dear Lady Aresfield there to talk over a little matter of business.”

Colonel Mar made a magnificent bow, carelessly, not to say impertinently, scanned the two ladies, and having evidently decided they had neither beauty nor fashion to attract him, caught up little Amy in his arms, and began to play a half teasing, half caressing game with the children. Betty thought it high time to be gone, and as she took leave, was requested to send up her little brother to play with his cousins. This did not prove a success, for Eugene constituted himself champion to Amoret, of whom Archer was very jealous, though she was his devoted and submissive slave. Master Delavie’s rustic ways were in consequence pronounced to be too rude and rough for the dainty little town-bred boy, the fine ladies’ pet.

The Major dined at the Great House, but came home so much dismayed and disgusted that he could hardly mention even to Betty what he had seen and heard. He only groaned out at intervals, “This is what the service is coming to! That fop to be that poor lad’s commanding officer! That rake to be always hovering about my cousin!”

Others spoke out more plainly. Stories were afloat or orgies ending in the gallant Colonel being under the supper table, a thing only too common, but not in the house of a solitary lady who had only lately quitted the carousers. Half the dependants on the estate were complaining of the guest’s swaggering overbearing treatment of themselves, or of his insolence to their wives or daughters; and Betty lived in a dreadful unnamed terror lest he should offer some impertinence to her father which the veteran’s honour might not brook. However, there was something in the old soldier’s dignity and long service that kept the arrogance of the younger man in check, and repressed all bluster towards him.

Demands for money were, as usual, made, but the settlement of accounts was deferred till the arrival of Hargrave, the family man of business, who came by coach to Bath, and then rode across to Carminster. The Major dined that day at the Great House, and came home early, with something so strange and startled about his looks that Betty feared that her worst misgivings were realised. It was a relief to hear him say, “Come hither, Betty, I want a word with you.” At least it was no duel!

“What is it, dear sir?” she asked, as she shut his study door. “Is it come at last? Must we quit this place?”

“No, I could bear that better, but what do you think she asks of me now?—to give my little Aurelia, my beautiful darling, to that madman in the dark!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Betty, in a strange tone of discovery. “May I inquire what you said?”

“I said—I scarce know what I said. I declared it monstrous, and not to be thought of for a moment; and then she went on in her fashion that would wile a bird off a bush, declaring that no doubt the proposal was a shock, but if I would turn the matter over, I should see it was for the dear child’s advantage. Belamour dotes on her, and after being an old man’s darling for a few years, she may be free in her prime, with an honourable name and fortune.”

“I dare say. As if one could not see through the entire design. My Lady would call her sister-in-law to prevent her being daughter-in-law!”

“That fancy has had no aliment, and must long ago have died out.”

“Listen to Nurse Dove on that matter.”

“Women love to foster notions of that sort.”

“Nay, sir, you believe, as I do, that the poor child was conveyed to Bowstead in order that the youth might lose sight of her, and since he proves refractory to the match intended for him, this further device is found for destroying any possible hope on his part.”

“I cannot say what may actuate my Lady, but if Amyas Belamour be the man I knew, and as the child’s own letters paint him, he is not like to lend himself to any such arrangement.”

“Comes the offer from him, or is it only a scheme of my Lady’s?”

“He never writes more than a signature, but Hargrave is empowered to make proposals to me, very handsome proposals too, were not the bare idea intolerable.”

“Aurelia is not aware of it, I am sure,” said Betty, to whom Hargrave had brought another packet of cheerful innocent despatches, of which, as usual, the unseen friend in the dark was the hero.

“Certainly not, and I hope she never may be. I declared the notion was not to be entertained for a moment; but Urania never, in her life, would take no for an answer, and she talked me nearly out of my senses, then bade me go home, think it over, and discuss it with my excellent and prudent daughter; as if all the thinking and talking in the world could make it anything but more intolerable.”

His prudent daughter understood in the adjective applied to her a hint which the wily lady would not have dared to make direct to the high-spirited old soldier, namely, that the continuance of his livelihood might depend on his consent. Betty knew likewise enough of the terrible world of the early eighteenth century to be aware that even such wedlock as this was not the worst to which a woman like Lady Belamour might compel the poor girl, who was entirely in her power, and out of reach of all protection; unless—An idea broke in on her—“If we could but go to Bowstead, sir,” she said, “then we could judge whether the notion be as repugnant to Aurelia as it is to us, and whether Mr. Belamour be truly rational and fit to be trusted with her.”

“I tell you, Betty, it is a mere absurdity to think of it. I believe the child is fond of, and grateful to, the poor man, but if she supposed she loved him, it would be mere playing on her ignorance.”

“Then we could take her safely home and bear the consequences together, without leaving her alone exposed to any fresh machination of my Lady.”

“You are right, Betty. You have all your sainted mother’s good sense. I will tell my cousin that this is not a matter to be done blindly, and that I withhold my reply till I have seen and spoken with her and this most preposterous of suitors.”

“Yes, it is the only way,” said Betty. “We can then judge whether it be a cruel sacrifice, or whether the child have affection and confidence enough in him to be reasonably happy with him. What is his age, father?”

“Let me see. Poor Sir Jovian was much older than Urania, but he died at forty years old. His brother was some three years his junior. He cannot be above forty-six or seven. That is not the objection, but the moody melancholy—Think of our gay sprightly child!”

“We will see, sir.”

“We! Mistress Betty? The cost will be severe without you!”

“Nay, sir, I cannot rest without going too; you might be taken ill.”

“You cannot trust a couple of old campaigners like Palmer and me? What did we do without you?”

“Got lamed for life,” said Betty, saucily. “No, I go on a pillion behind Palmer, and my grandfather’s diamond ring shall pay expenses.”

“Sir Archibald’s ring that he put on two baby fingers of yours when he went off to Scotland.”

“Better part with that then resign my Aurelia in the dark, uncertain whether it be for her good.”