Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
At nine o’clock Mr. Belamour requested Miss Delavie to let him depute to
her the doing the honours of the supper table to his friend, who would
return to him when she retired for the night.
Then it was that she first saw the guest, a fine, dignified clergyman,
in a large grey wig, with a benignant countenance, reminding her of the
Dean of Carminster. When she was little, the Dean had bestowed on her
comfits and kisses; but since she had outgrown these attentions, he was
wont to notice her only by a condescending nod, and she would no more
have thought of conversing with him at table than in his stall in the
cathedral. Thus it was surprising to find herself talked to, as Betty
might have been, by this reverend personage, who kindly satisfied her
curiosity about the King, Queen, and Princesses, but with a discretion
which did not diminish that blind loyalty which saw no defects in
“our good king,” though he was George II. She likewise answered a
few questions about Mr. Belamour’s tastes and habits, put in a very
different manner from those of the Mistress Treforth, and as soon as
supper was over she rose and retired.
She did not see Dr. Godfrey again until he was ready for a late
breakfast, having been up nearly the whole night with his friend. His
horses were ordered immediately after the meal, as he had an appointment
in London, and he presently looked up, and said,
“Madam, you must excuse me, I was silent from thinking how I can
adequately express my respect and gratitude for you.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” exclaimed Aurelia, thinking her ears mistaken.
“My gratitude,” he repeated, “for the inestimable blessing you have been
to my dear and much valued friend, in rousing him from that wretched
state of despondency in which no one could approach him.”
“You are too good, sir,” returned Aurelia. “It was he who sent for me.”
“I know you did it in all simplicity, my dear child--forgive the
epithet, I have daughters of my own, and thankful should I be if one
of them could have produced such effects. I tell you, madam, my dear
friend, one of the most estimable and brilliant men of his day, was an
utter wreck, both in mind and body, through the cruel machinations of
an unprincipled woman. How much was to the actual injury from his wound,
how much to grief and remorse, Heaven only knows, but the death of his
brother, who alone had authority with him, left him thus to cut himself
off entirely in this utter darkness and despair. I called at first
monthly, then yearly, after the melancholy catastrophe, and held many
consultations with good Mr. Wayland, but all in vain. It was reserved
for your sweet notes to awaken and recall him to what I trust is indeed
new life.”
Tears filled Aurelia’s eyes, and she could only murmur something about
being very glad.
“Yes,” pursued Dr. Godfrey, “it is as if I saw him rising from his
living tomb in all senses of the word. I find that your artless Sunday
evening conversations have even penetrated the inner hopeless gloom,
still more grievous than the outer darkness in which he lived.”
“Indeed, sir, I never meant to be presumptuous.”
“God’s blessing on such presumption, my good child! If you had been
fully aware of his state of mind, you might never have ventured nor
have touched the sealed heart, as you have done, as I perceive, in your
ignorance, out of your obedient reverence to the Lord’s day. Am I not
right?”
“Yes, sir, I thought one _could_ not repeat plays and poems on Sunday,
and I was frightened when I found those other things were strange to
him; but he bade me go on.”
“For the sake of the music of your voice, as he tells me, at first; but
afterwards because you became the messenger of hope to one who had long
lain in the shadow of death, thinking pardon and mercy too much out of
reach to be sought for. You have awakened prayer within him once more.”
She could not speak, and Dr. Godfrey continued, “You will be glad
to hear that I am to see the curate on my way through Brentford, and
arrange with him at times to read prayers in the outer room. What is
it?” he added; “you look somewhat doubtful.”
“Only, sir, perhaps I ought not to say so, but I cannot think Mr.
Belamour well ever care for poor Mr. Greaves. If he could only hear that
gentleman who comes to Sedhurst! I never knew how much fire could be
put into the service itself, and yet I have often been at Carminster
Cathedral.”
“True, my dear young lady. These enthusiasts seem to be kindling a new
fire in the Church, but I am not yet so convinced of their orthodoxy
and wisdom as to trust them unreservedly; and zeal pushed too far might
offend our poor recluse, and alienate him more than ever. He is likely
to profit more by the direct words of the Church herself, read without
personal meaning, than by the individual exhortations of some devout
stranger.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, I never meant to question your judgment. Indeed I
did not.”
The horses were here announced, and Dr. Godfrey said,
“Then I leave him to you with a grateful heart. I am beginning to hope
that there is much hypochondriacism in his condition, and that this may
pass away with his despondency. I hope before many weeks are over to
come and visit him again, before I go to my parish in Dorsetshire.”
Then, with a fatherly blessing, the Canon took his leave.
He was scarcely gone before there was a great rustling in the hall,
and Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia Treforth were announced. Aurelia was
surprised, for she had been decidedly sensible of their disapproval when
she made her visit of ceremony after her entertainment by them. She,
however, had underrated the force of the magnet of curiosity. They had
come to inquire about the visitor, who had actually spent a night at the
Park. They knew who he was, for “Ned Godfrey” had been a frequent guest
at Bowstead in the youth of all parties, and they were annoyed that he
had not paid his respects to them.
“It would have been only fitting to have sent for us, as relations of
the family, to assist in entertaining him,” said Mrs. Phoebe. “Pray,
miss, did my eccentric cousin place you in the position of hostess?”
“It fell to me, madam,” said Aurelia.
“You could have asked for _our_ support,” said Mrs. Phoebe, severely.
“It would have become you better, above all then Sir Amyas Belamour
himself was here.”
“He has only been here while I was with you, madam, and was gone before
my return.”
“_That_ is true,” but Mrs. Phoebe looked at the girl so inquisitively
that her colour rose in anger, and exclaimed, “Madam, I know not what
you mean!”
“There, sister,” said Mrs. Delia, more kindly. “She is but a child, and
Bet Batley is a gossip. She would not know his Honour in the dark from
the blackamoor going down to visit his sweetheart.”
Very glad was Aurelia when the ladies curtsied themselves out of her
summer parlour, declaring they wished to speak to Mrs. Aylward, who she
knew could assure them of the absurdity of these implied suspicions.
And Mrs. Aylward, who detested the two ladies, and repelled their
meddling, stiffly assured them both of Miss Delavie’s discretion and
her own vigilance, which placed visits from the young baronet beyond
the bounds of possibility. Supposing his Honour should again visit his
uncle, she should take care to be present at any interview with the
young lady. She trusted that she knew her duty, and so did Miss Delavie.
CHAPTER XV. THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY.
O bright _regina_, who made thee so faire,
Who made thy colour vermeilie and white?
Now marveile I nothing that ye do hight
The quene of love.--CHAUCER.
Only a week had elapsed before the quiet of Bowstead was again disturbed
by the arrival of two grooms, with orders that everything should be made
ready the next day for the arrival of my Lady, who was on her way to
Carminster for a few weeks, and afterwards to Bath. Forthwith Mrs.
Aylward and her subordinates fell into a frenzy of opening shutters,
lighting fires, laying down carpets and uncovering furniture. Scrubbing
was the daily task for the maids, and there was nothing extra possible
in that line, but there was hurry enough to exacerbate the temper, and
when Aurelia offered her services she was tartly told that she could
solely be useful by keeping the children out of the way; for in spite of
all rebuffs, they persisted in haunting the footsteps of the housekeeper
and maids, Fay gazing with delight at the splendours that were revealed,
Amy proffering undesired aid, Letty dancing in the most inconvenient
places, romancing about her mamma and little brother, and making sure
that her big beautiful brother was also coming.
The were very unwilling to let Aurelia call them away to practise them
in bridling, curtseying, and saying “Yes, madam,” according to the laws
of good breeding so carefully inculcated by sister at home. So anxious
was she that she tried them over and over again till they were wearied
out, and became so cross and naughty that nothing restored good-homour
except gathering blackberries to feast brother Archer.
The intelligence produced less apparent excitement in the dark chamber.
When Aurelia, in an eager, awe-stricken voice began, “O sir, have you
heard that my Lady is coming?” He calmly replied,
“The sounds in the house have amply heralded her, to say nothing of
Jumbo.”
“I wonder what she will do!”
“You will not long have known her, my fair friend, without discovering
that she is one of the most inscrutable of her sex. The mere endeavour
to guess at her plans only produces harassing surmises and alarms.”
“Do you think, sir, she can mean to take me away?”
“I suppose that would be emancipation to you, my poor child.”
“I should dance to find myself going home,” said Aurelia, “yet how could
I bear to leave my little girls, or you, sir. Oh! if you could only live
at the Great House, at home, I should be quite happy.”
“Then you would not willingly abandon the recluse?”
“Indeed,” she said with a quivering in her voice, “I cannot endure the
notion. You have been so kind and good to me, sir, and I do so enjoy
coming to you. And you would be all alone again with Jumbo! Oh sir,
could you not drive down if all the coach windows were close shut up?
You would have my papa to talk to!”
“And what would your papa say to having a miserable old hermit inflicted
on him?”
“He would be only too glad.”
“No, no, my gentle friend, there are other reasons. I could not make my
abode in Lady Belamour’s house, while in that of my nephew, my natural
home, I have a right to drag out what remains of the existence of mine.
Nay, are you weeping, my sweet child? That must not be; your young life
must take no darkness from mine. Even should Lady Belamour’s arbitrary
caprice bear you off without another meeting, remember that you have
given me many more happy hours than I ever supposed to be in store for
me, and have opened doors which shall not be closed again.”
“You will get some one to recite to you?” entreated Aurelia, her voice
most unsteady.
“Godfrey shall seek out some poor scholar or exhausted poetaster, with a
proviso that he never inflicts his own pieces on me,” said Mr. Belamour,
in a tone more as if he wished to console her than as it were a pleasing
prospect. “Never fear, gentle monitress, I will not sink into the
stagnation from which your voice awoke me. Neither Godfrey nor my nephew
would allow it. Come, let us put it from our minds. It has always
been my experience, that whatever I expected from my much admired
sister-in-law, that was the exact reverse of what she actually did.
Therefore let us attend to topics, though I wager that you have no fresh
acquisitions for me to-day.”
“I am ashamed, sir, but I could not fix my mind even to a most frightful