Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
hours, and it was not yet eleven o’clock. The parlor where they sat was
nearly dark, one candle out and the other shaded so as to produce the
dimness which Mr. Belamour still preferred, and they were sitting on
either side of the open window, Betty listening to her companion’s
reminiscences of the evenings enlivened by poor Aurelia, and of the
many traits of her goodness, sweet temper, and intelligence which he had
stored up in his mind. He had, he said, already learned through her to
know Miss Delavie, and he declared that the voices of the sisters were
so much alike that he could have believed himself at Bowstead with the
gentle visitor who had brought him new life.
The tidings of Lady Arabella’s secret were eagerly listened to, and the
token of the mouse-coloured hair was accepted; Sir Amyas comparing, to
every one’s satisfaction, a certain lock that he bore on a chain next
his heart, and a little knot, surrounded with diamonds, in a ring, which
he had been still wearing from force of habit, though he declared he
should never endure to do so again.
It was evident that Lady Belle had really seen Aurelia; and where could
that have been save at the famous boarding-school in Queen’s Square,
where the daughters of “the great” were trained in the accomplishments
of the day? The Major, with rising hopes, declared that he had always
maintained that his cousin meant no ill by his daughter, and though it
had been cruel, not to say worse, in her, to deny all knowledge of the
fugitive, yet women would have their strange ways.
“That is very hard on us women, sir,” said Betty.
“Ah! my dear, poor Urania never had such a mother as you, and she has
lived in the great world besides, and that’s a bad school. You will not
take our Aurelia much into it, my dear boy,” he added, turning wistfully
to Sir Amyas.
“I would not let a breath blow on her that could touch the bloom of her
charming frank innocence,” cried the lad. “But think you she can be in
health? Lady Belle spoke of her being pale!”
“Look at my young lady herself!” said the Major, which made them all
laugh. They were full of hope. The Major and his daughter would go
themselves the next day, and a father’s claim could not be refused even
though not enforced according to Lady Arabella’s desire.
Their coach--for so Sir Amyas insisted on their going--was at the door
at the earliest possible moment that a school for young ladies could be
supposed to be astir; long before Mr. Belamour was up, for he retained
his old habits so much that it was only on great occasions the he rose
before noon; and while Eugene, under the care of Jumbo and Grey, was
going off in great felicity to see the morning parade in St. James’s
Park.
One of the expedients of well-born Huguenot refugees had been tuition,
and Madame d’Elmar had made here boarding-school so popular and
fashionable that a second generation still maintained its fame, and
damsels of the highest rank were sent there to learn French, to play the
spinnet, to embroider, to dance, and to get into a carriage with grace.
It was only countrified misses, bred by old-fashioned scholars,
who attempted to go any farther, such as that _lusus naturae_, Miss
Elizabeth Carter, who knew seven languages, or the Bishop of Oxford’s
niece, Catherine Talbot, who even painted natural flowers and wrote
meditations! The education Aurelia Delavie had received over her Homer
and Racine would be smiled at as quite superfluous.
There was no difficulty about admission. The coach with its Belamour
trappings was a warrant of admittance. The father and daughter were
shown into a parlour with a print of Marshal Schomberg over the
mantelpiece, and wonderful performances in tapestry work and embroidery
on every available chair, as well as framed upon the wainscoted walls.
A little lady, more French than English, moving like a perfectly wound
up piece of mechanism, all but her bright little eyes, appeared at their
request to see Madame. It had been agreed before-hand that the Major
should betray neither doubt nor difficulty, but simply say that he had
come up from the country and wished to see his daughter.
Madame, in perfectly good English, excused herself, but begged to hear
the name again.
There must be some error, no young lady of the name of Delavie was
there.
They looked at one another, then Betty asked, “Has not a young lady been
placed here by Lady Belamour?”
“No, madam, Lady Belamour once requested me to receive her twin
daughters, but they were mere infants; I receive none under twelve year
old.”
“My good lady,” cried the Major, “if you are denying my daughter to me,
pray consider what you are doing. I am her own father, and whatever Lady
Belamour may tell you, I can enforce my claim.”
“I am not in the habit of having my word doubted, sir,” and the little
lady drew herself up like a true Gascon baroness, as she was.
“Madam, forgive me, I am in terrible perplexity and distress. My poor
child, who was under Lady Belamour’s charge, has been lost to us these
three weeks or more, and we have been told that she has been seen here.”
“Thus,” said Betty, seeing that the lady still needed to be appeased,
“we thought Lady Belamour might have deceived you as well as others.”
“May I ask who said the young lady had been seen here?” asked the
mistress coldly.
“It was Lady Arabella Mar,” said Betty, “and, justly speaking, I believe
she did not say it was here that my poor sister was seen, but that she
had seen her, and we drew the conclusion that it was here.”
“My Lady Arabella Mar is too often taken out by my Lady Countess,” said
Madame d’Elmar.
“Could I see her? Perhaps she would tell me where she saw my dear
sister?” said Betty.
“She went to a rout last evening and has not returned,” was the reply.
“Indeed my lady, her mother, spoke as if she might never come back, her
marriage being on the _tapis_. Indeed, sir, indeed, madam, I should
most gladly assist you,” she said as a gesture of bitter grief and
disappointment passed between father and daughter, both of whom were
evidently persons of condition. “If it will be any satisfaction to the
lady to see all my pupils, I will conduct her through my establishment.”
Betty caught at this, though there was no doubt that the mistress was
speaking in good faith. She was led to a large empty room, where a
dozen young ladies were drawn up awaiting the dancing master--girls
from fourteen to seventeen, the elder ones in mob caps, those with more
pretensions to fashion, with loose hair. Their twelve curtsies were
made, their twenty-four eyes peeped more or less through their lashes at
the visitor, but no such soft brown eyes as Aurelia’s were among them.
“Madame,” said Betty, “may I be permitted to ask the ladies a question?”
She spoke it low, and in French, and her excellent accent won Madame’s
heart at once. Only Madame trusted to Mademoiselle’s discretion not to
put mysteries into their minds, or they would be all _tete montee_.
So, as discretely as the occasion would permit, Betty asked whether any
one had seen or heard Lady Belle speak of having seen any one--a young
lady?
Half-a-dozen tongues broke out, “We thought it all Lady Belle’s
whimsical secrets,” and as many stories were beginning, but Madame’s
awful little hand waved silence, as she said, “Speak then, Miss
Staunton.”
“I know none of Lady Belle’s secrets, ma’am--ask Miss Howard.”
Miss Howard looked sulky; and a little eager, black-eyed thing cried,
“She said it was an odious girl whom Lady Belamour keeps shut up in a
great dungeon of an old house, and is going to send beyond seas, because
she married two men at once in disguise.”
“Fie, Miss Crawford, you know nothing about it.”
“You told me so, yourself, Miss Howard.”
“I never said anything so foolish.”
“Hush, young ladies,” said Madame. “Miss Howard, if you know anything, I
request you to speak.”
“It would be a great kindness,” said Betty. “Might I ask the favour of
seeing Miss Howard in private?”
Madame consented, and Miss Howard followed Betty out of hearing,
muttering that Belle would fly at her for betraying her.
“I do not like asking you to betray your friend’s confidence,” said
Betty.
“Oh, as to that, I’m not her friend, and I believe she has talked to a
half-a-dozen more.”
“I am this poor young lady’s sister,” said Betty. “We are afraid she
has fallen into unkind hands; and I should be very thankful if you could
help me to find her. Where do you think Lady Belle saw her?”
“I thought it was in some old house in Hertfordshire,” said Miss Howard,
more readily, “but I am not sure; for it was last Sunday, which she
spent with her mamma. She came back and made it a great secret that
she had seen the girl that had taken in Sir Amyas Belamour, who was
contracted to herself, to marry him and his uncle both at once in
disguise, and then had set the house a-fire. Belle had got some one to
let her see the girl, and then she went on about her being not pretty.”
“What did she say about sending her beyond seas?”
“Oh! that Miss Crawford made up. She told me that they were going to
find a husband for her such as a low creature like that deserved. And
she protests she is to be married to Sir Amyas very soon, and come back
here while he makes the grand tour. I hope she won’t. She will have more
spiteful ways than ever.”
This was all that Betty could extract. She saw Miss Crawford alone, but
her tiding melted into the vaguest second-hand hearsay. The inquiry had
only produced a fresh anxiety.
CHAPTER XXIX. A BLACK BLONDEL.
And to the castle gate approached in quiet wise,
Whereat soft knocking, entrance he desired.
SPENSER.
“Nephew, is Delavie House inhabited?” inquired Mr. Belamour, as the
baffled seekers sat together that evening.
“No, sir,” replied Sir Amyas. “My Lady will only lease it to persons of
quality, on such high terms that she cannot obtain them for a house in
so antiquated a neighbourhood. Oh, you do not think it possible that my
dearest life can be in captivity so near us! An old house! On my soul,
so it must be; I will go thither instantly.”
“And be taken for a Mohock! No, no, sit down, rash youth, and tell me
who keeps the house.”
“One Madge, an old woman as sour as vinegar, who snarled at me like a
toothless cur when I once went there to find an old fowling-piece of my
father’s.”
“Then you ar the last person who should show yourself there, since there
are sure to be strict charges against admitting you, and you would only
put the garrison on the alert. You had better let the reconnoitring
party consist of Jumbo and myself.”
The ensuing day was Sunday. Something was said of St. Paul’s, then in
bloom of youth and the wonder of England; but Betty declared that she
could not run about to see fine churches till her mind was at ease about
her poor sister. Might she only go to the nearest and quietest church?
So she, with her father and Eugene, repaired to St. Clement Danes, where
their landlord possessed a solid oak pew, and they heard a sermon on the
wickedness and presumption of inoculating for the small-pox.
It was not a genteel neighbourhood, and the congregation was therefore
large, for the substantial tradesfolk who had poured into the Strand
since it had been rebuilt were far more religiously disposed than the
fashionable world, retaining either the Puritan zeal, or the High Church
fervour, which were alike discouraged in the godless court. The Major
and his son and daughter were solitary units in the midst of the groups
of portly citizens, with soberly handsome wives, and gay sons and
daughters, who were exchanging greetings; and on their return to their
hotel, the Major betook himself to a pipe in the bar, and Eugene was