Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume

from my father and my sister,” she said, “and they make no objection.” “Hoity-toity! What means this heat, miss?” exclaimed Mrs. Phoebe; “I am only telling you, as a kindness, what we should have thought becoming with regard even to a blood relation of our own.” “Thank you, ma’am,” said Aurelia; “but, you see, you are so much nearer his age, that the cases are not alike.” She said it in all simplicity, and did not perceive, at first, why the two sisters drew themselves up in so much offence, or why Mrs. Hunter cried, “Oh, fie, for shame, you saucy chit! Bless me!” she continued, more good-naturedly, “Cousin Phoebe, times are changed since we were young, and poor Sir Jovian and his brother were the county beaux. The child is right enough when one comes to think of it; and for my part, I should be glad that poor Mr. Amyas had some one young and cheerful about him. It is only a pity his nephew, the young baronet, never comes down to see him.” “Like mother like son,” said Mrs. Phoebe; “I grieve to think what the old place will come to.” “Well,” said Mrs. Hunter, “I do not hear the young gentleman ill spoken of; though, more’s the pity, he is in a bad school with Colonel Mar for his commanding officer, the fine gallant who is making his mother the talk of the town!” The gossip and scandal then waxed fast and furious on the authority of Mrs. Hunter’s sister, but no one paid any more attention to Aurelia, except that when there was an adjournment to the next room, she was treated with such double stiffness and ceremony as to make her feel that she had given great offence, and was highly disapproved of by all but Mrs. Hunter. And Aurelia could not like her, for her gossip had been far broader and coarser than that of the Mistresses Treforth, who, though more bitter were more of gentlewomen. Happily much of what passed was perfectly unintelligible to Betty’s carefully shielded pupil, who sat all the time with the cat on her lap, listening to its purring music, but feeling much more inclined to believe nothing against my Lady, after her father’s example, than to agree with those who were so evidently prejudiced. Tea was brought in delicate porcelain cups, then followed cards, which made the time pass less drearily till supper. This consisted of dishes still tinier than those at dinner, and it was scarcely ended when it was announced that Jumbo had come for Miss Delavie. Gladly she departed, after an exchange of curtsies, happily not hearing the words behind her:-- “An artful young minx.” “And imagine the impudence of securing Jumbo’s attendance, forsooth!” “Nay,” said Mrs. Hunter, “she seemed to me a pretty modest young gentlewoman enough.” “Pretty! Yes, she comes of my Lady’s own stock, and will be just such another.” “Yes; it is quite plain that it is true that my Lady sent her here because she had been spreading the white apron for the young baronet.” “And now she is trying her arts on poor cousin Amyas Belamour. You heard how she would take no advice, and replied with impertinence.” “Shall you give my Lady a hint?” “Not I. I have been treated with too much insolence by Lady Belamour to interfere with her again,” said Mrs. Phoebe, drawing herself up; “I shall let things take their course unless I can remonstrate with my own kinsman.” CHAPTER XIII. THE FLUTTER OF HIS WINGS. Then is Love’s hour to stray! Oh, how he flies away!--T. MOORE. Meanwhile Aurelia, mounted on a pair of pattens brought by the negro to keep her above the dew, was crossing the park by the light of a fine hunter’s moon, Jumbo marching at a respectful distance in the rear. He kept on chuckling to himself with glee, and when she looked round at him, he informed her with great exultation that “Mas’r had not been alone. His honour had been to see him. Mas’r so glad.” “Sir Amyas!” exclaimed Aurelia: “Is he there still?” “No, missie. He went away before supper.” “Did he see the young ladies?” “Oh, yes, missie. He came before mas’r up, quite promiskius,” said Jumbo, who loved a long word. “I tell him, wait till mas’r be dress, and took him to summer parlour. He see little missies out in garden; ask what chil’ren it was. His Hounour’s sisters, Miss Fay, Missie Letty, Missie Amy, I say! His Honour wonder. ‘My sisters,’ he say, ‘my sisters here,’ and out he goes like a flash of lightning and was in among them.” Aurelia’s first thought was “Oh, I hope they were clean and neat, and that they behaved themselves. I wish I had been at home.” Wherewith followed the recollection that Sir Amyas had been called her beau, and her cheeks burnt; but the recent disagreeable lecture on etiquette showed her that it would only have led to embarrassment and vexation to have had any question of an interview with a young gentleman by so little her elder. Nor would she have known what to say to him. Old Mr. Belamour in the dark was a very different matter, and she had probably had an escape from much awkwardness. Molly received her with her favourite exclamation: “Lawk, miss, and who do you think have been here?” “Jumbo told me, Molly.” “Ain’t he a perfect pictur of a man? And such a gentleman! He gave me a whole goolden guinea for my good care of his little sisters, and says he: ‘Their father shall hear of them, and what little ladies they be.’” “I am glad they behaved themselves prettily.” “Yes, that they did, ma’am. It was good luck that they had not been grubbing in their gardens as you lets ‘em do, ma’am, but they was all as clean as a whistle, a picking up horse-chestnuts under the big tree at the corner of the bowling green, when out on the steps we sees him, looking more like an angel than a man, in his red coat, and the goold things on his shoulders, and out he comes! Miss Amy, she was afeard at first: ‘Be the soldiers a coming?’ says she, and runs to me; but Miss Letty, she holds out her arms, and says “It’s my papa,” and Miss Fay, she stood looking without a word. Then when his Honour was in among them: “My little sisters, my dear little sisters,” says he, “don’t you know me?” and down he goes on one knee in the grass, never heeding his beautiful white small-clothes, if you’ll believe me, miss, and holds out his arms, and gets Miss Fay into one arm, and Miss Letty into t’other, and then Miss Amy runs up, and he kisses them all. Then miss Letty says again ‘Are you my papa from foreign parts?’ and he laughs and says: ‘No, little one, I’m your brother. Did you never hear of your brother Amyas?’ and Miss Fay stood off a little and clapped her little hands, and says: ‘O brother Amyas, how beautiful you are!’” Aurelia could not help longing to know whether she had been mentioned, but she did not like to inquire, and she was obliged to rest satisfied with the assurance that her little girls had comported themselves like jewels, like lambs, like darling lumps of sugar, or whatever metaphors were suggested by the imagination of Molly, who had, apparently, usurped the entire credit of their good manners. It was impossible to help feeling a little aggrieved, or, maugre [in spite of--D.L.] all inconvenient properties to avoid wishing to have been under the horse-chestnut tree, even though she might have shown herself just such a bashful little speechless fool as she had been when Sir Amyas had danced with her at Carminster. She was destined to hear a good deal more of the visitor the next day. The children met her with the cry of “Cousin Aura, our brother”--“our big beautiful brother--Brother Amyas.”--They were with difficulty calmed into saying their prayers, and Amoret startled the little congregation by adding to “bless by father, my mother, my brothers and sisters,” “and pray bless big brother Amyas best of all, for I love him very much indeed!” All day little facts about “brother Amyas” kept breaking out. Brother Amyas had beautiful gold lace, brother Amyas had a red and white feather; brother Amyas had given Fay and Letty each a ride on his shoulder, but Amy was afraid; brother Amyas said their papa would love them very much. He had given them each a new silver shilling, and Amoret had in return presented him with her doll’s beautiful pink back-string that Cousin Aura had made for her. This wonderful brother had asked who had taught them to be such pretty little gentlewomen, and at this Aurelia’s heart beat a little, but provoking Fidelia replied: “I told him my Mammy Rolfe taught me to be genteel,” and Letty added: “And he said Fay was a conceited little pussy cat.” A strange indefinable feeling between self-respect and shyness made Aurelia shrink from the point-blank question whether the ungrateful little things had acknowledged their obligations to her. She was always hoping they would say something of their own accord, and always disappointed. Evening came, and she eagerly repaired to the dark room, wondering, yet half dreading to enter on the subject, and beginning by an apology for having by no means perfected herself in Priam’s visit to Achilles. “If you have been making visits,” said Mr. Belamour: “I too have had a visitor.” “The children told me so,” she answered. “He was greatly delighted with them,” said Mr. Belamour. “While they, poor little things, never were more happy in their lives. He must have been very kind to them, yet he did not know that they were here.” “His mother is not communicative respecting them. Ladies who love power seek to preserve it by making little mysteries.” “It was to see you, sir, that he came.” “Yes. He ingenuously avowed that he had always been urged to do so by his stepfather, but his mother has always put obstacles in the way, and assured him that he would not gain admission. I have certainly refused to see her, but this is a very different matter--my brother’s only child, my godson, and my ward!” “I am very glad he has come to see you, sir, and I am sure it has given you pleasure.” “Pleasure in seeing that he is a lad of parts, and of an ingenuous, affectionate, honest nature, but regret in perceiving how I failed in the confidence that his father reposed in me.” “But, sir, you could not help it!” “Once I could not. It was, I know not how long, before I knew that my brother was no more; and thinking myself dead to the world and the world to me, I took no heed to what, it now seems to me, I was told of guardianship to the boy. I was incapable of fulfilling any such charge, and I shunned the pain of hearing of it,” he continued, rather as if talking to himself than to his auditor. “When I could, I gave them my name and they asked no more. Yet what did they tell me of a sealed letter from my brother, addressed to me? True, I heard of it more than once, but I could ask no one to read it to me, and I closed my ears. In Wayland’s hands I knew the youth was well cared for, and only now do I feel that I have ill requited my brother’s confidence.” “Indeed, sir, I cannot see how you could have done otherwise,” said Aurelia, who could not bear to hear his tone of self-reproach. “My amiable visitor!” he exclaimed, as though recalled to a sense of her presence. “Excuse the absence of mind which has inflicted on you the selfish murmurs of the old recluse. Tell me how you prospered with my cousins, whom I remember as sprightly maidens. Phoebe had somewhat of the prude, Delia of the coquette.” “I could imagine what you say of Mistress Phoebe, sir, better than of Mistress Delia.” “Had they any guests to meet you?” “A Mrs. Hunter, sir, from Brentford, a doctor’s wife I suppose.” “You are right. She was a cousin of theirs on the other side of the house, a loud-voiced buxom lass, who was thought to have married beneath here when she took Dr. Hunter; but apparently they have forgiven her.”