Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
By contrast, the hall looked almost light, and Aurelia could see the
skip of joy with which Jumbo hurried to fetch a candle. As he gave it to
her, he made his teeth flash from ear to ear, as he exclaimed: “Pretty
missy bring new life to mas’r!”
Thus did a new element come into Aurelia’s life. She carefully prepared
Harriet’s favourite song, a French _romance_, but Mr. Belamour did not
like it equally well with the Nightingale, which he made her repeat,
rewarding her by telling her of the charming looks and manners of her
mother, so that she positively enjoyed her visit. The next night he made
inquiries into her walks at Bowstead, asking after the favourite nooks
of his childhood, and directing her to the glades where grew the largest
dewberries and sweetest blackberries. This led to her recital of a
portion of _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, for he drew her on with thanks at
every pause: “I have enjoyed no such treat for many years,” he said.
“There are other pieces that I can recite another time,” said Aurelia
timidly.
“You will confer a great favour on me,” he answered.
So she refreshed her memory by a mental review of _Paradise Lost_ over
her embroidery frame, and was ready with Adam’s morning hymn, which was
much relished. Compliments on her elocution soon were turned by her into
the praise of “sister,” and as she became more at ease, the strange man
in the dark listened with evident delight to her pretty fresh prattle
about sister and brother, and father and home. Thus it had become a
daily custom that she should spend the time between half past seven and
nine in the company of the prisoner of darkness, and she was beginning
to look forward to it as the event of the day. She scarcely expected
to be sent for on Sunday evening, but Jumbo came as usual with the
invitation, and she was far from sorry to quit a worm-eaten Baxter’s
_Saints’ Rest_ which she had dutifully borrowed from Mrs. Aylward.
“Well, my fair visitor,” said the voice which had acquired a tone of
pleased anticipation, “what mental repast has your goodness provided?”
“It is Sunday, sir.”
“Ah!” as if it had not occurred to him, and with some disappointment.
“I could say the Psalms by heart, sir, if you would like it, for it is
the 20th day of the month.”
“Thank you. Your voice can make anything sweet.”
Aurelia was shocked, and knew that Betty would be more so, but she was
too shy to do anything except to begin: “Praise thou the Lord, O my
soul.”
It was a fortunate thing that it was a Psalm of such evident beauty, for
it fell less familiarly on his ear than her passages from the poets. At
the end he said: “Yes, that is true poetry. Praise fits well with happy
young lips. You have been to church?”
“No, sir, Mr. Greaves does not come to-day.”
“Then how did the gentle saint perform her orisons?”
“Please do not so call me, sir! I tried to read the service, but I could
not get the children to be still, so I had to tell them about Joseph,
and I found a beautiful Bible full of pictures, like our Dutch one at
home.”
“You found the old Bible? My mother used to show it to my brother and
me--my poor mother!”
He mentioned one or two of the engravings, which he had never forgotten,
but the evening was less of a success than usual, and Aurelia doubted
whether we would wish for her that day se’nnight. All her dread of him
was gone; she knew she had brought a ray of brightness into his solitary
broken life, and her mind was much occupied with the means of affording
him pleasure. Indeed she might have wearied of the lack of all
companionship save that of the young children; and converse with a
clever highly cultivated mind was stimulating and expanding all her
faculties. When the stores or her memory were becoming exhausted, Jumbo
was bidden to open a case of books which had lain untouched since they
were sent sown from Mr. Belamour’s chambers at the Temple, and they were
placed at her disposal. Here was Mr. Alexander Pope’s translation of the
_Iliad_ of Homer, which had appeared shortly before the fatal duel,
and Aurelia eagerly learnt whole pages of it by heart for the evening’s
amusement, enjoying extremely the elucidations and criticisms of her
auditor, who would dwell on a passage all day, beg to have it repeated
a second time in the evening, and then tell her what his memory or
his reflection had suggested about it. Moreover, having heard some
inexplicable report, through Jumbo, of the Porteous mob, Mr. Belamour
became curious to learn the truth, and this led to his causing the
newspapers to be sent weekly to be read and reported to him by Aurelia.
It seemed incredible that a man of much ability should have been content
to spend all these years in the negro’s sole society, but no doubt the
injury done to the brain had been aggravated by grief and remorse, so
that he had long lain, with suspended faculties, in a species of living
death; whence he had only gradually, and as it were unconsciously,
advanced to his present condition. Perhaps Mr. Wayland’s endeavours to
rouse him had come too soon, or in a less simple and attractive
form, for they had been reluctantly received and had proved entirely
unsuccessful; while the child-like efforts of the girl, following his
lead instead of leading him, were certainly awakening him, and renewing
his spirits and interest in the world at large in an unlooked-for
manner.
CHAPTER XI. A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE.
He hath a word for thee to speak.
KEBLE.
No difference was made to Aurelia’s visits to Mr. Belamour on Sunday
evenings, but he respected her scruples against indulgence in profane
literature, and encouraged her to repeat passages of Scripture,
beginning to taste the beauty of the grand cadences falling from her
soft measured voice. Thus had she come to the Sermon on the Mount, and
found herself repeating the expansion of the Sixth Commandment ending
with, “And thou be cast into prison. Verily I say unto thee, thou shalt
not come out thence until thou hast paid the uttermost farthing.”
A groan startled her. Then came the passage and the unhappy man’s
history with a sudden stab. A horror of the darkness fell on her. She
felt as if he were in the prison and she reproaching him, and cried
out--“O sir, forgive me. I forgot; I did not say it on purpose.”
“No, my child, it was Mary speaking by your voice. No, Mary, I shall
never come out. It will never be paid.”
She shook with fright as Jumbo touched her, saying, “Missee, go; mas’r
bear no more;” but, as she rose to go away, a sweet impulse made her
pause and say, “It is paid, _He_ paid. You know Who did--in his own
Blood.”
Jumbo drew her away almost by force, and when outside, exclaimed,
“Missee never speak of blood or kill to mas’r--he not bear it. Head turn
again--see shapes as bad as ever.”
The poor child cried bitterly, calling herself cruel, thoughtless,
presumptuous; and for the next few days Jumbo’s eyes glared at her as he
reported his master to be very ill; but, on the third day, he came
for her as usual. She thought Mr. Belamour’s tones unwontedly low and
depressed, but no reference was made to the Sunday, and she was glad
enough to plunge into the council of Olympus.
A day or two later, Dame Wheatfield sent her husband with an urgent
invitation to Miss Amoret with her sisters and cousin to be present at
her harvest home. Mrs. Aylward, with a certain tone of contempt, gave
her sanction to their going with Molly, by the help of the little pony
cart used about the gardens. Aurelia, in high glee, told Mr. Belamour,
who encouraged her to describe all her small adventures, and was her
oracle in all the difficult questions that Fidelia’s childish wisdom was
wont to start.
“To Wheatfield’s farm, did you say? That is in Sedhurst. There are but
three fields between it and the church.”
Presently he added: “I am tempted to ask a great kindness, though I know
not whether it will be possible to you.”
“Indeed, sir, I will do my utmost.”
“There are two graves in Sedhurst Church, I have never dared to inquire
about them. Would it be asking too much from my gentle friend to beg of
her to visit them, and let me hear of them.”
“I will, I will, sir, with all my heart.”
By eight o’clock the next evening she was again with him, apologizing
for being late.
“I scarcely expected this pleasure to-night. These rural festivities are
often protracted.”
“O sir, I was heartily glad to escape and to get the children away. The
people were becoming so rude and riotous that I was frightened. I never
would have gone, had I known what it would be like, but at home the
people are fond of asking us to their harvest feasts, and they always
behave well whilst we are there.”
“No doubt they hold your father in respect.”
“Yes,” said Aurelia, unwilling to tell him how much alarmed and offended
she had been, though quite unintentionally. Dame Wheatfield only
intended hospitality; but in her eyes “Miss” was merely a poor
governess, and that to the little Waylands--mere interlopers in the eyes
of the Belamour tenantry. So the good woman had no idea that the rough
gallantry of the young farmer guests was inappropriate, viewing it as
the natural tribute to her guest’s beauty, and mistaking genuine offence
for mere coyness, until, finding it was real earnest, considerable
affront was taken at “young madam’s fine airs, and she only a poor
kinswoman of my Lady’s!” Quite as ill was it received that the young
lady had remonstrated against the indigestible cakes and strange
beverages administered to all her charges, and above all to Amoret. She
had made her escape on the plea of early hours for the children, leaving
Molly behind her, just as the boisterous song was beginning in which
Jack kisses Bet, Joe kisses Sue, Tom kisses Nan, &c. down to poor
Dorothy Draggletail, who is left in the lurch. The farewell had been
huffy. “A good evening to you, madam; I am sorry our entertainment
was not more to your taste.” She had felt guilty and miserable at the
accusation of pride, and she could not imagine how Mrs. Aylward could
have let her go without a warning; the truth being that Mrs. Aylward
despised her taste, but thought she knew what a harvest supper was like.
All this was passed over in silence by Aurelia’s pride and delicacy. She
only described the scene when the last waggon came in with its load, the
horses decked with flowers and ribbons, and the farmer’s youngest girl
enthroned on the top of the shocks, upholding the harvest doll. This was
a little sheaf, curiously constructed and bound with straw plaits
and ribbons. The farmer, on the arrival in the yard, stood on the
horse-block, and held it high over the heads of all the harvesters, and
the chorus was raised:
“A knack, a knack, a knack,
Well cut, well bound,
Well shocked, well saved from the ground,
Whoop! whoop! whoop!”
After which the harvest doll displaced her last year’s predecessor over
the hearth, where she was to hang till next year.
All this Aurelia described, comparing the customs with those of her own
county, her heart beating all the time under the doubt how to venture on
describing the fulfilment of her commission. At last Mr. Belamour said,
“In such a scene of gaiety, no doubt the recollection of sorrow had no
place.”
“O sir, you could not think I should forget.”
“I thought I might have asked more than was possible to you.”
“It was the only part of the day that I enjoyed. I took little Fay with
me, for no one seemed to care for her, while Amy was queening it with
all the Wheatfields, and Letty was equally happy with her foster mother.
I could see the church spire, so I needed not to ask the way, and we