Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume

had applied. She would not take them home, being, of course, afraid of their tongues, and in her perplexity had been reduced to letting them share Aurelia’s captivity at least for the night. What joy it was! They said it was an ugly dark house, but Aurelia’s presence was perfect content to them, and theirs was to her comparative felicity, assuring her as they did, through their childish talk, of Sir Amyas’s unbroken love and of Mr. Belamour’s endeavours to find her. What mattered it that Madge was more offended than ever, and refused to make the slightest exertion for “the Wayland brats at that time of night” without warning. They had enough for supper, and if Aurelia had not, their company was worth much more to her than a full meal. The terrier’s rushes after rats were only diversion now, and when all three nestled together in the big bed, the fun was more delightful than ever. Between those soft caressing creatures Aurelia heard no rats, and could well bear some kicks at night, and being drummed awake at some strange hour in the morning. Mrs. Loveday arrive soon after the little party had gone down stairs. She said the children were to remain until her ladyship had decided where to send them; and she confirmed their report that his Honour was recovering quickly. As soon as he was sufficiently well to leave Bowstead he was to be brought to London, and married to Lady Arabella before going abroad to make the grand tour; and as a true well-wisher, Mrs. Loveday begged Miss Delavie not to hold out when it was of no use, for her Ladyship declared that her contumacy would be the worse for her. Aurelia’s garrison was, however, too well reinforced for any vague alarms to shake even her out works, and she only smiled her refusal, as in truth Mrs. Loveday must have expected, for it appeared that she had secured a maid to attend on the prisoners; an extremely deaf woman, who only spoke in the broken imperfect mode of those who have never heard their own voice, deficiencies that made it possible that Madge would keep the peace with her. Lady Belamour had also found another piece of work for Aurelia. A dark cupboard was opened, revealing shelves piled with bundle of old letters and papers. There was a family tradition that one of the ladies of the Delavie family had been an attendant of Mary of Scotland for a short time, and had received from her a recipe for preserving the complexion and texture of the skin, devised by the French Court perfumer. Nobody had ever seen this precious prescription; but it was presumed to be in the archives of the family, and her ladyship sent word that if Miss Delavie wished to deserve her favour she would put her French to some account and discover it. A severe undertaking it was. Piles of yellow letters, files of dusty accounts, multitudes of receipts, more than one old will had to be conned it was possible to be certain they were not the nostrum. In the utter solitude, even this occupation would have been valuable, but with the little girls about her, and her own and their property, she had alternative employments enough to make it an effort to apply herself to this. Why should she? she asked herself more than once; but then came the recollection that if she showed herself willing to obey and gratify my Lady, it might gain her good will, and if Sir Amyas should indeed hold out till Mr. Wayland came home--Her heart beat wildly at the vision of hope. She worked principally at the letters, after the children had gone to bed, taking a packet up stairs with her, and sitting in the bedroom, deciphering them as best she might by the light of the candles that Loveday had brought her. Every morning Loveday appeared with supplies, and messages from her Ladyship, that it was time Miss submitted; but she was not at all substantially unkind, and showed increasing interest in her captive, though always impressing on her that her obstinacy was all in vain. My Lady was angered enough at his Honour having got up from his sick bed and gone off to Carminster, and if Miss did not wish to bring her father into trouble she must yield. No, this gladdened rather than startled Aurelia, though her heart sank within her when she was warned that Mr. Wayland had been taken by the corsairs, so that my Lady would have the ball at her own foot now. The term of waiting seemed indefinitely prolonged. The confinement to the dingy house and courtyard was trying to all three, who had been used to run about in the green park and breezy fields; but Aurelia did her best to keep her little companions happy and busy, and the sense of the insecurity of her tenure of their company aided her the more to meet with good temper and sweetness the various rubs incidental to their captivity in this close warm house in the hottest of summer weather. The pang she had felt at her own fretfulness, when she thought she had lost them, made her guard the more against giving way to impatience if they were troublesome or hard to please. Indeed, she was much more gentle and equable now, in the strength of her resolution, than she had been when uplifted by her position, yet doubtful of its mysteries. Sundays were the most trying time. The lack of occupation in the small space was wearisome, and Aurelia’s heart often echoed the old strains of Tate and Brady, I sigh whene’er my musing thoughts Those happy days present, When I with troops of pious friends Thy temple did frequent. She and her charges climbed up to the window above, which happily had a broken pane, tried to identify the chimes of the church bells by the notable nursery rhyme, Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clements, &c., watched the church-goers as far as they could see them, and then came down to such reading of the service and other Sunday occupations as Aurelia could devise. On the Sunday of her durance it was such a broiling day that, unable to bear the heat of her parlour, she established herself and her charges in a nook of the court, close under the window, but shaded by the wall, which was covered with an immense bush of overhanging ivy, and by the elm tree in the court. Here she made Fay and Letty say their catechism, and the Psalm she had been teaching them in the week, and then rewarded them with a Bible story, that of Daniel in the den of lions. Once or twice the terrier (whose name she had learnt was Bob) had pricked his ears, and the children had thought there was a noise, but the sparrows in the ivy might be accountable for a great deal, and the little ones were to much wrapped in her tale to be attentive to anything else. “Then it came true!” said Letty. “His God Whom he trusted did deliver him out of the den of lions?” “God always does deliver people when they trust Him,” said Fay, with gleaming eyes. “Yes, one way or the other,” said Aurelia. “How do you think He will deliver us?” asked Letty; “for I am sure this is a den, though there are no lions.” “I do not know how,” said Aurelia, “but I know He will bear us through it as long as we trust Him and do nothing wrong,” and she looked up at the bright sky with hope and strength in her face. “Hark! what’s that?” cried Letty, and Bob leapt up and barked as a great sob became plainly audible, and within the room appeared Mrs. Loveday, her face all over tears, which she was fast wiping away as she rose up from crouching with her head against the window-sill. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said she, her voice still broken when she rejoined them, “but I would not interrupt you, so I waited within; and oh, it was so like my poor old mother at home, it quite overcame me! I did not think there was anything so near the angels left on earth.” “Nay, Loveday,” said Fay, apprehending the words in a different sense, “the angels are just as near us as ever they were to Daniel, only we cannot see them. Are they not, Cousin Aura?” “Indeed they are, and we may be as sure that they will shut the lions’ mouths,” said Aurelia. “Ah! may they,” sighed Loveday, who had by this time mastered her agitation, and remembered that she must discharge herself of her messages, and return hastily to my Lady’s toilette. “I have found the recipe,” said Aurelia. “Here it is.” And she put into Loveday’s hand a yellow letter, bearing the title in scribbled writing, “_Poure Embellire et blanchire la Pel, de part de Maistre Raoul, Parfumeur de la Royne Catherine_.” CHAPTER XXXII. LIONS. The helmet of darkness Pallas donned, To hide her presence from the sight of man. _Derby’s_ HOMER. The next morning Loveday returned with orders from Lady Belamour that Miss Delavie should translate the French recipe, and make a fair copy of it. It was not an easy task, for the MS. was difficult and the French old; whereas Aurelia lived on the modern side of the _Acadamie_, her French was that of Fenelon and Racine. However, she went to work as best she could in her cool corner, guessing at many of the words by lights derived from _Comenius_, and had just made out that the chief ingredients were pounded pearls and rubies, mixed with white of eggs laid by pullets under a year old, during the waxing of the April moon, when she heard voices chattering in the hall, and a girlish figure appeared in a light cloak and calash, whom Loveday seemed to be guiding, and yet keeping as much repressed as she could. “Gracious Heavens!” were the first words to be distinguished; “what a frightful old place; enough to make one die of the dismals! I won’t live here when I’m married, I promise Sir Amyas! Bless me, is this the wench?” “Your Ladyship promised to be careful,” entreated Loveday, while Aurelia rose, with a graceful gesture of acknowledgment, which, however remained unnoticed, the lady apparently considering herself unseen. “Who are these little girls?” asked she, in a giggling whisper. “Little Waylands? Then it is true,” she cried, with a peal of shrill laughter. “There are three of them, only Lady Belamour shuts them up like kittens--I wonder she did not. Oh, what sport! Won’t I tease her now that I know her secret!” “Your ladyship!” intreated Loveday in distress in an audible aside, “you will undo me.” Then coming forward, she said, “You did not expect me at this hour, madam; but if your French copy be finished, my Lady would like to have it at once.” “I have written it out once as well as I could,” said Aurelia, “but I have not translated it; I will find the copy.” She rose and found the stranger full before her in the doorway, gazing at her with an enormous pair of sloe-black eyes, under heavy inky brows, set in a hard, red-complexioned face. She burst into a loud, hoydenish laugh as Loveday tried to stammer something about a friend of her own. “Never mind, the murder’s out, good Mrs. Abigail,” she cried, “it is me. I was determined to see the wench that has made such a fool of young Belamour. I vow I can’t guess what he means by it. Why, you are a poor pale tallow-candle, without a bit of colour in your face. Look at me! Shall you ever have such a complexion as mine, with ever so much rouge?” “I think not,” said Aurelia, with one look at the peony face. “Do you know who I am, miss? I am the Lady Bella Mar. The Countess of Aresfield is my mamma. I shall have Battlefield when she dies, and twenty thousand pounds on my wedding day. The Earl of Aresfield and Colonel Mar are my brothers, and a wretched little country girl like you is not to come between me and what my mamma has fixed for me; so you must give it up at once, for you see he belongs to me.” “Not yet, madam,” said Aurelia.