Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
crossed the stubble fields, while the sun sent a beautiful slanting
light through the tall elm trees that closed in the churchyard, but
let one window glitter between them like a great diamond. It looked so
peaceful after all the noise we left behind, even little Fay felt it,
and said she loved the quiet walk along the green baulks [An unplowed
strip of land--D.L.]. The churchyard has a wooden rail with steps to
cross it on either side, and close under the church wall is a tomb, a
great square simple block, surmounted by an urn.”
“Yes, let me hear,” said the voice, eager, though stifled.
“I thought it might be what you wished me to see and went up to read the
names.”
“Do not spare. Never fear. Let me hear the very words.”
“On one face of the block there was a name--
‘WILLIAM SEDHURST,
_AGED_ 27,
DIED MAY 13, 1729.’
On the other side was this inscription:--
‘MARY,
ONLY DAUGHTER OF GEORGE SEDHURST, ESQUIRE,
_AGED_ 19,
DIED AUGUST 1st, 1729.
_Love is strong as Death.
Sorrow not as others that have no Hope_.’
In smaller letters down below, ‘This epitaph is at her own special
request.’
“Sir,” continued Aurelia, “it was very curious. I should not have
observed those words if it had not been that a large beautiful
butterfly, with rainbow eyes on its wings, sat sunning itself on the
white marble, and Fay called me to look at it.”
“Her message! May I ask you to repeat it again?”
“The texts? ‘Love is strong as death. Sorrow not as others that have no
hope.’”
“Did you call them Scripture texts?”
“Yes, sir; I know the last is in one of the Epistles, and I will look
for the other.”
“It matters not. She intended them for a message to me who lay in utter
darkness and imbecility well befitting her destroyer.”
“Nay, they have come to you at last,” said Aurelia gently. “You really
never knew of them before?”
“No, I durst not ask, nor did any one dare to speak to me. My brother,
who alone would have done so, died, I scarcely know when; but ere the
very consciousness of my own wretched existence had come back to me.
Once again repeat the words, gentle messenger of mercy.”
She obeyed, but this time he mournfully murmured, “Hope! What hope for
their destroyer?”
“They are God’s words, as well as hers,” the girl answered, with
diffident earnestness, but in reply she only heard tightened breaths,
which made her say, “You cannot bear more, sir. Let me call Jumbo, and
bid you good night.”
Jumbo came at the mention of his name. Somehow he was so unlike other
human beings, and so wholly devoted to his master, that it never seemed
to be a greater shock to find that he had been present than if he had
been a faithful dog.
A few days later he told Aurelia that Mas’r was not well enough to see
her. He had set forth as soon as the moon had set, and walked with his
trusty servant to Sedhurst, where he had traced with his finger the
whole inscription, lingering so long that the sun was above the horizon
before he could get home; and he was still lying on the bed where he
had thrown himself on first coming in, having neither spoken nor eaten
since. Jumbo could not but grumble out that Mas’r was better left to
himself.
Yet when Aurelia on the third evening was recalled, there was a ring of
refreshment in the voice. It was still melancholy, but the dejection
was lessened, and though it was only of Achilles and Patroclus that
they talked, she was convinced that the pressure of the heavy burthen of
grief and remorse was in some degree lightened.
CHAPTER XII. THE SHAFTS OF PHOEBE.
Her golden bow she bends,
Her deadly arrows sending forth.
_Greek Hymn_ (KEIGHTLEY).
On coming in from a walk, Aurelia was surprised by the tidings that
Mistress Phoebe Treforth had come to call on her, and had left a
billet. The said billet was secured with floss silk sealed down in the
antiquated fashion, and was written on full-sized quarto paper. These
were the contents:--
“Madam,
“My Sister and Myself are desirous of the Honour of your
Acquaintance, and shall be happy if you will do use the
Pleasure of coming to partake of Dinner at Three o’Clock
on Tuesday, the 13th instant.
“I remain,
“Yours to command,
“DELIA TREFORTH.”
Aurelia carried the invitation to her oracle.
“My cousins are willing to make your acquaintance?” said he. “That is
well. Jumbo shall escort you home in the evening.”
“Thank you, sir, but must I accept the invitation?”
“It could not be declined without incivility. Moreover, the Mistresses
Treforth are highly respected, and your father and sister will certainly
think it well for you to have female friends.”
“Do you think those ladies could ever be my friends, sir?” she asked,
with an intonation that made him reply, with a sound of amusement.
“I am no judge in such matters, but they are ladies connected and
esteemed, who might befriend and counsel you in case of need, and at any
rate, it is much more suitable that you should be on terms of friendly
intercourse with them. I am heartily glad they have shown you this
attention.”
“I do not mean to be ungrateful, sir.”
“And I think you have disproved that
Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together.”
“If they were only like you, sir!”
“What would they say to that?” he said with the slight laugh that had
begun to enliven his voice. “I suppose your charges are not included in
the invitation?”
“No; but Molly can take care of them, if my Lady will not object to my
leaving them.”
“She cannot reasonably do so.”
“And, sir, shall I be permitted to come home in time for you to receive
me?”
“I fear I must forego that pleasure. The ladies will insist on cards and
supper. Jumbo shall come for you at nine o’clock.”
Aurelia submitted, and tripped down arrayed in the dress that recalled
the fete at Carminster, except that only a little powder was sprinkled
on her temples. The little girls jumped round her in admiring ecstasy,
and, under Molly’s charge, escorted her to the garden gate, and hovered
outside to see her admitted, while she knocked timidly at the door, in
the bashful alarm of making her first independent visit.
The loutish man ushered her into a small close room, containing a cat,
a little spaniel, a green parrot, a spinning-wheel, and an embroidery
frame. There were also the two old ladies, dressed with old-fashioned
richness, a little faded, and a third, in a crimson, gold-laced joseph
[A long riding coat with a small cape, worn by women in the 18th
century.--D.L.], stout, rubicund, and hearty, to whom Aurelia was
introduced thus--
“Mrs. Hunter, allow me to present to you Miss Delavie, a relative of my
Lady Belamour. Miss Delavie, Mrs. Hunter of Brentford.”
“I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Miss,” said the lady, in a
jovial voice, and Aurelia made her curtsey, but at that moment the
man announced that dinner was served, whereupon Mrs. Delia handed Mrs.
Hunter in, and Mrs. Phoebe took the younger guest.
The ladies’ faces both bore token of their recent attention to the
preparation of the meal, and the curious dishes would have been highly
interesting to Betty, but there was no large quantity of any, and a
single chicken was the _piece de resistance_, whence very tiny helps
were dealt out, and there was much unnecessary pressing to take a little
more, both of that and of the brace of partridges which succeeded it. As
to conversation, there was room for none, except hospitable invitations
from the hostesses to take the morsels that they cut for their guests,
praises of the viands from Mrs. Hunter, and endeavours to fish at the
recipes, which the owners guarded jealously as precious secrets. Aurelia
sat perfectly silent, as was then reckoned as proper in a young lady of
her age, except when addressed. A good deal of time was also expended in
directing John Stiggins, the ladies’ own man, and George Brown, who had
ridden with Mrs. Hunter from Brentford, in the disposal of the dishes,
and the handing of the plates. George Brown was the more skilled
waiter, and as the man who was at home did not brook interference, their
disputes were rude and audible, and kept the ladies in agonies lest they
should result in ruin to the best china.
At last, however, the cloth was removed, walnuts, apples, pears, and
biscuits were placed on the table, a glass of wine poured out for each
lady, and the quartette, with the cat and dog, drew near the sunny
window, where there was a little warmth. It was a chilly day, but no one
ever lighted a fire before the 5th of November, Old Style.
Then began one of those catechisms which fortunately are less unpleasant
to youth and simplicity than they are to persons of an age to resent
inquiry, and who have more resources of conversation. In truth, Aurelia
was in the eyes of the Treforth sisters, descendants of a former Sir
Jovian, only my Lady’s poor kinswoman sent down to act _gouvernante_ to
the Wayland brats, who had been impertinently quartered in the Belamour
household. She would have received no further notice, had it not been
reported through the servants that “young Miss” spent the evenings
with their own cousin, from whom they had been excluded ever since his
illness.
The subject was approached through interrogations on Miss Delavie’s home
and breeding, how she had travelled, and what were her accomplishments,
also whether she were quite sure that none of the triad was either
imbecile nor deformed. Mrs. Hunter seemed to have heard wonderful
rumours about the poor children.
“Has their lady mother seen them?”
“Yes, madam. She had been there with them shortly before my arrival.”
“Only once in their lives!” There was a groan of censure such as would
have fired the loyal Major in defence.
“No wonder, Sister Phoebe, my Lady Belamour does not lead the life of a
tender mother.”
“She has the little boy, Archer, with her in London,” Aurelia ventured
to say.
“And a perfect puppet she makes of the poor child,” said Mrs. Hunter.
“My sister Chetwynd saw him with his mother at a masquerade, my Lady
Belamour flaunting as Venus, and he, when he ought to have been in his
bed, dressed in rose-colour and silver, with a bow and arrows, and gauze
wings on his shoulders!”
“What will that child come to?”
“Remember, Sister Delia, he is no kin of ours. He is only a Wayland!”
returned Mrs. Phoebe, in an accent as if the Waylands were the most
contemptible of vermin.
“I hope,” added Mrs. Delia, “that these children are never permitted to
incommode our unfortunate cousin, Mr. Belamour.”
“I trust not, madam,” said Aurelia. “Their rooms are at a distance from
his; they are good children, and he says he likes to hear young voices
in the gardens.”
“You have, then, seen Mr. Belamour?”
“I cannot say that I have seen him,” said Aurelia, modestly; “but I have
conversed with him.”
“Indeed! Alone with him?”
“Jumbo was there.”
The two old ladies drew themselves up, while Mrs. Hunter chuckled and
giggled. “Indeed!” said Mrs. Phoebe; “we should never see a gentleman in
private without each other’s company, or that of some female companion.”
“I consulted Mrs. Aylward,” returned Aurelia, “and she said he was old
enough to be my father.”
“Mrs. Aylward may be a respectable housekeeper, though far too lavish of
butcher’s meat, but I should never have recourse to her on a matter of
decorum,” said Mrs. Phoebe.
Aurelia’s cheeks burnt, but she still defended herself. “I have heard