Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
Grey, tells her it is a wonder how he stands out against it all! And
a truly well-bred young gentleman he is. He came to pay me his call
in Gracechurch Street only yesterday, knowing our kindred, and most
unfortunate was it that I was stepped out to the office to speak as
to our boxes being duly sent by the Buckingham wain; but he left his
ticket, and a message with the servant, ‘Tell my cousin, Mrs. Arden,’
he said, ‘that I much regret not having seen her, and I should have done
myself the honour of calling sooner to inquire for her good father, if I
had known she was in town.”
“Well, I have never seen the young gentleman since he was a mere child,”
said Mrs. Hunter. “His mother has bred him to neglect his own home and
relations, but I am sorry for him.”
“They say,” continued Harriet significantly, “that they are sure there
is some cause for his holding out so stiffly--I verily believe My Lady
suspected--”
“O hush, Harriet!” cried Aurelia, colouring painfully.
“Well, it is all over now, so you need not be offended,” said Harriet,
laughing. “Besides, if my Lady had any such notion when she brought
about your marriage, she must be disappointed, for the young spark is as
resolute as ever.”
“And no wonder, if he knows what the lady is like,” said Aurelia.
“Ah! he has admitted as much to the King.”
“To the King!” cried both auditors.
“Oh yes! you know my Lady is very thick with my Lady Suffolk, and she
persuaded the King to speak to him at the levee. ‘_Comment_’, says his
majesty in French, ‘are you a young rebel, sir, that refuse the good
things your mother provides you?’ Not a whit was my young gentleman
moved. He bowed, and answered that he was acting by the desire of
his guardian. Excuse me, sister, but the King answered--‘A raving
melancholic! That will not serve your turn, sir. Come to your senses,
fulfil your mother’s bond, and we’ll put you on the Duke’s staff,
where you may see more of service than of home, or belike get into gay
quarters, where you may follow any other _fantaisie_ if that is making
you commit such _betises!_’ At that Sir Amyas, who is but an innocent
youth, flamed up in his cheeks till they were as red as his coat, and
said his honour was engaged; on which his majesty swore at him for an
idiot, and turned his back. Every word of this Mrs. Dove heard Colonel
Mar tell my Lady--and then they fell to rating the poor youth, and
trying to force out who this secret flame may be; but his is of the
same stuff as his mother, adamantine and impervious. And now the Colonel
keeps him on hard duty continually, and they watch him day and night to
find out what places he haunts. But bless me, Mrs. Hunter, is the church
clock striking? We must be gone, or my good man will be wondering where
we are.”
Mrs. Hunter would fain have kept them, and the last words and
compliments were of long duration, while Aurelia looked on in some
surprise at the transformation of all Harriet’s languishing affected
airs into the bustling self-importance of Mrs. Arden. She was however
much occupied with all she had heard, and was marvelling how her sister
began again as soon as they were in the street again. “You are very
discreet, Aurelia, as it becomes a young married lady, but have you no
notion who this innamorata of the baronet may be?”
“No, indeed, how should I?”
“I thought he might have confided in your husband, since he makes so
sure of his support.”
“He has only once come to visit Mr. Belamour, and that was many months
ago.”
“It is strange,” mused Harriet; “Mrs. Dove says she would have taken her
Bible oath that it was you, and my Lady believed as much, or she would
not have been in such haste to have you wedded. Nay, I’ll never believe
but he made his confidences to Betty when he came to the Manor House the
Sunday after you were gone, though not a word could I get from her.”
“It must have been all a mistake,” said Aurelia, not without a little
twinge at the thought of what might have been. “I wish you would not
talk of it.”
“Well he could have been but a fickle adorer--‘tis the way of men, my
dear, for he must have found some new flame while his mother and the
Colonel were both at the Bath. They have proof positive of his riding
out of town at sundown, but whither he goes is unknown, for he takes
not so much as a groom with him, and he is always in time for morning
parade.”
“Poor young man, it is hard to be so beset with spies and watchers,”
said Aurelia.
“Most true,” said Harriet, “but I am monstrous glad you are safe married
like me, child, so that no one can accuse us. Such romantic affairs
are well enough to furnish a course of letters to the _Tatler_, or the
_Gentlewomen’s Magazine_, but I am thankful for a comfortable life with
my good man.”
Therewith they reached their inn, where Harriet, having satisfied
herself that the said good man was safe within, and profiting by the
unwonted calm to write his inaugural sermon, took Aurelia to her bedroom
to prepare for dinner, and to indulge in further confidences.
“So, Aurelia, I can report to my father that you are looking well, and
as cheerful as can be expected.”
“Nay, I have always told you I am happy as the day is long.”
“What, when you have never so much as seen your husband?”
“Only at our wedding, and then he was forced to veil his face from the
light.”
“Nor has he ever seen you?”
“Not unless he then saw me.”
“If he were not then charmed enough to repeat the view, you are the most
cruelly wasted and unworthily matched--”
“Hush, sister!” broke out Aurelia in eager indignation.
“What! is a lovely young creature, almost equal to what I was before my
cruel malady, to waste her bloom on a wretched old melancholic, who will
not so much as look at her!”
“Harriet, I cannot hear this--you know not of what you are talking! What
is my poor skin-deep beauty--if beauty it be--compared with the stores
of goodness and wisdom I find in him?”
“La! child, what heat is this? One would really think you loved him.”
“Of course I do! I love and honour him more than any one I ever
met--except my dear father.”
“Come, Aura, you are talking by rote out of the marriage service. You
may be open with me, you know, it will go no further; and I do long to
know whether you can be truly content at heart,” said Harriet with real
affection.
“Dear sister,” said Aurelia, touched, “believe me that indeed I am. Mr.
Belamour is kindness itself. He is all he ever promised to be to me, and
sometimes more.”
“Yet if he loved you, he could never let you live moped up there. Are
you never frighted at the dark chamber? I should die of it!”
“The dark does not fright me,” said Aurelia.
“You have a courage I have not! Come, now, were you never frighted to
talk with a voice in the dark?”
“Scarcely ever!” said aurelia.
“Scarcely--when was that?”
“You will laugh, Harriet, but it is when he is most--most tender and
full of warmth. Then I hardly know him for the same.”
“What! If he be not always tender to my poor dear child, he must be a
wretch indeed.”
“O no, no, Harriet! How shall I ever make you understand?” cried
Aurelia. “Never for a moment is he other than kind and gentle. It
is generally like a father, only more courtly and deferential, but
sometimes something seems to come over him, and he is--oh! I cannot tell
you--what I should think a lover would be,” faltered Aurelia, colouring
crimson, and hiding her face on her sister’s shoulder, as old habits of
confidence, and need of counsel and sympathy were obliterating all the
warnings of last night.
“You silly little chit! Why don’t you encourage these advances? You
ought to be charmed, not frightened.”
“They would ch---I should like it if it were not so like two men in one,
the one holding the other back.”
Harriet laughed at this fancy, and Aurelia was impelled to defend it.
“Indeed, Harriet, it is really so. There will be whispers--oh, such
whispers!”--she sunk her voice and hid her face again--“close to my ear,
and--endearments--while the grave voice sounds at the other end of the
room, and then I long for light. I swooned for fright the first time,
but I am much more used to it now.”
“This is serious,” said Harriet, with unwonted gravity. “Do you really
think that there is another person in the room?”
“I do not feel as if it could be otherwise, and yet it is quite
impossible.”
“I would not bear it,” said her sister. “You ought not to bear it. How
do you know that it is not some vile stratagem? It might even be the
blackamoor!”
“No, no, Harriet! I know better than that. It is quite impossible.
Besides, I am sure of this--that the hands that wedded me are the same
hands that caress me,” she added, with another blushing effort, “strong
but delicate hands, rather hard inside, as with the bridle. I noticed it
because once I thought his hands soft with doing nothing and being shut
up.”
“That convinces me the more, then, there is some strange imposition
practised upon you,” said Harriet, anxiously.
“Oh, no!” said Aurelia, inconsistently; “Mr. Belamour is quite incapable
of doing anything wrong by me. I cannot let you have such shocking
notions. He told me I must be patient and trust him, though I should
meet with much that was strange and inexplicable.”
“This is trusting him much too far. They are playing on your
inexperience, I am sure. If you were not a mere child, you would see
what a shocking situation this is.”
“I wish I had not told you,” said Aurelia, tears rushing into her eyes.
“I ought not! He bade me be cautious how I talked, and you have made me
quite forget!”
“Did he so? Then it is evident that he fears disclosure! Something must
be done. Why not write to our father?”
“I could not! He would call it a silly fancy.”
“And it might embroil him with my Lady,” added Harriet. “We must devise
another mode.”
“You will not--must not tell Mr. Arden,” exclaimed Aurelia,
peremptorily.
“Never fear! He heeds nothing more sublunary than the course of the
planets. But I have it. His device will serve the purpose. Do you
remember Eugene confounding him with Friar Bacon because he was said
to light a candle without flint or steel? It was true. When he was a
bachelor he always lit his own candle and fire, and he always carries
the means. I was frighted the first time he showed me, but now I can do
it as well as he. See,” she said, opening a case, “a drop of this spirit
upon this prepared cotton;” and as a bright flame sprang up and made
Aurelia start, she laughed and applied a taper to it. “There, one
such flash would be quite enough to prove to you whether there be any
deception practised on you.”
“I could never do it! Light is agony to Mr. Belamour, and what would he
think?”
“He would take it for lightning, which I suppose he cannot keep out.”
“One flash did come through everything last summer, but I was not
looking towards him.”
“You will be wiser this time. Here, I can give you this little box, for
Mr. Arden compounded a fresh store in town.”
“I dare not, sister. He has ever bidden me trust without sight; and you
cannot guess how good he is to me, and how noble and generous. I cannot
insult him by a doubt.”
“Then he should not act as no true woman can endure.”
“And it would hurt him.”
“Tut, tut, child; if the lightning did not harm him how can this flash?
I tell you no man has a right to trifle with you in this manner, and it
is your duty to yourself and all of us to find out the truth. Some young
rake may have bribed the black, and be personating him; and some day you
may find yourself carried off you know not where.”
“Harriet, if you only knew either Mr. Belamour or Jumbo, you would know
that you are saying things most shocking!”
“Convince me, then! Look here, Aurelia, if you cannot write to me and