Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
“What do you say? Do you pretend that your masquerade was worth a
button?”
“That is not my part to decide,” said Aurelia. “I am bound by it, and
have no power to break it.”
“You mean the lawyers! Bless you, they will never give it to you against
me! You’d best give it up at once, and if you want a husband, my mamma
has one ready for you.”
“I thank her ladyship,” said Aurelia, with simple dignity, “but I will
not give her the trouble.”
She glanced at her wedding ring, and so did Lady Belle, who screamed,
“You’ve the impudence to wear that! Give it to me.”
“I cannot,” repeated Aurelia.
“You cannot, you insolent, vulgar, low”--
“Hush! hush, my lady,” entreated Loveday. “Come away, I beg of your
ladyship!”
“Not till I have made that impudent hussy give me that ring,” cried
Belle, stamping violently. “What’s that you say?”
“That your ladyship asks what is impossible,” said Aurelia, firmly.
“Take that then, insolent minx!” cried the girl, flying forward and
violently slapping Aurelia’s soft cheeks, and making a snatch at her
hair.
Loveday screamed, Letty cried, but Fidelia and Bob both rushed forward
to Aurelia’s defence, one with her little fists clenched, beating Lady
Belle back, the other tearing at her skirts with his teeth. At that
moment a man’s step was heard, and a tall, powerful officer was among
them, uttering a fierce imprecation. “You little vixen, at your tricks
again,” he said, taking Belle by the waist, while she kicked and
screamed in vain. She was like an angry cat in his arms. “Be quiet,
Belle,” he said, backing into the sitting-room. “Let Loveday compose
your dress. Recover your senses and I shall take you home: I wish it was
to the whipping you deserve.”
He thrust her in, waved aside Loveday’s excuses about her ladyship
not being denied, and stood with his back to the door as she bounced
shrieking against it from within.
“I fear this little devil has hurt you, madam,” he said.
“Not at all, I thank you, sire.” said Aurelia, though one side of her
face still tingled.
“She made at you like a little game-cock,” he said. “I am glad I was in
time. I followed when I found she had slipped away from Lady Belamour’s,
knowing that her curiosity is only equalled by her spite. By Jove, it is
well that her nails did not touch that angel face!”
Aurelia could only curtsey and thank him, hoping within herself that
Lady Belle would soon recover, and wondering how he had let himself in.
There was something in his manner of examining her with his eyes that
made her supremely uncomfortable. He uttered fashionable expletives
of admiration under his breath, and she turned aside in displeasure,
bending down to Fidelia. He went on, “You must be devilishly moped in
this dungeon of a place! Cannot we contrive something better?”
“Thank you, sir, I have no complaint to make. Permit me to see whether
the Lady Arabella is better.”
“I advise you not. Those orbs are too soft and sparkling to be exposed
to her talons. ‘Pon my honour, I pity young Belamour. But there is no
help for it, and such charms ought not to be wasted in solitude on his
account. These young lads are as fickle as the weather-cock, and have
half-a-dozen fancies in as many weeks. Come now, make me your friend,
and we will hit on some device for delivering the enchanted princess
from her durance vile.”
“Thank you, sir, I promised Lady Belamour to make no attempt to escape.”
At that moment out burst Lady Belle, shouting with laughter: “Ho! ho!
Have I caught you, brother, gallanting away with Miss? What will my lady
say? Pretty doings!”
She had no time for more. Her brother fiercely laid hold of her, and
bore her away with a peremptory violence that she could not resist, and
only turning at the hall door to make one magnificent bow.
Loveday was obliged to follow, and the children were left clinging to
Aurelia and declaring that the dreadful young lady was as bad as the
lions; while Aurelia, glowing with shame and resentment at what she felt
as insults, had a misgiving that her protector had been the worse lion
of the two.
She had no explanation of the invasion till the next morning, when
Loveday appeared full of excuses and apologies. From the fact of
Lady Aresfield’s carriage having been used on Aurelia’s arrival, her
imprisonment was known, and Lady Belle, spending a holiday at Lady
Belamour’s, had besieged Loveday with entreaties to take her to see her
rival. As the waiting-woman said, for fear of the young lady’s violent
temper, but more probably in consideration of her bribes, she had
yielded, hoping that Lady Belle would be satisfied with a view from the
window, herself unseen. However, from that moment all had been taken out
of the hands of Loveday, and she verily believed the Colonel had made
following his sister an excuse for catching a sight of Miss Delavie, for
he had been monstrously smitten even with the glimpse he had had of her
in the carriage. And now, as his sister had cut short what he had
to say, he had written her a billet. And Loveday held out a perfumed
letter.
Aurelia’s eyes flashed, and she drew herself up: “You forget, Loveday, I
promised to receive no letters!”
“Bless me, ma’am, they, that are treated as my lady treats you, are not
bound to be so particular as that.”
“O fie, Loveday,” said Aurelia earnestly, “you have been so kind, that I
thought you would be faithful. This is not being faithful to your lady,
nor to me.”
“It is only from my wish to serve you, ma’am,” said Loveday in her
fawning voice. “How can I bear to see a beautiful young lady like you,
that ought to be the star of all the court, mewed up here for the sake
of a young giddy pate like his Honour, when there’s one of the first
gentlemen in the land ready to be at your feet?”
“For shame! for shame!” exclaimed Aurelia, crimson already. “You know I
am married.”
“And you will not take the letter, nor see what the poor gentleman
means? May be he wants to reconcile you with my lady, and he has power
with her.”
Aurelia took the letter, and, strong paper though it was, tore it across
and across till it was all in fragments, no bigger than daisy flowers.
“There,” she said, “you may tell him what I have done to his letter.”
Loveday stared for a minute, then exclaimed, “You are in the right, my
dear lady. Oh, I am a wretch--a wretch--” and she went away sobbing.
Aurelia hoped the matter was ended. It had given her a terrible feeling
of insecurity, but she found to her relief that Madge was really more
trustworthy than Loveday. She overheard from the court a conversation at
the back door in which Madge was strenuously refusing admission to some
one who was both threatening and bribing her, all in vain; but she
was only beginning to breathe freely when Loveday brought, not another
letter, but what was less easy to stop, a personal message from “that
poor gentleman.”
“Loveday, after what you said yesterday, how can you be so--wicked?”
said Aurelia.
“Indeed, miss, ‘tis only as your true well-wisher.”
Aurelia turned away to leave the room.
“Yes, it is, ma’am! On my bended knees I will swear it,” cried Loveday,
throwing herself on them and catching her dress. “It is because I know
my lady has worse in store for you!”
“Nothing can be worse than wrong-doing,” said Aurelia.
“Ah! you don’t know. Now, listen, one moment. I would not--indeed I
would not--if I did not know that he meant true and honourable--as he
does, indeed he does. He is madder after you then ever he was for my
lady, for he says you have all her beauty, and freshness and simplicity
besides. He is raving. And you should never leave me, indeed you should
not, miss, if you slipped out after me in Deb’s muffler--and we’d go
to the Fleet. I have got a cousin there, poor fellow--he is always in
trouble, but he is a real true parson notwithstanding, and I’d never
leave your side till the knot was tied fast. Then you would laugh at my
lady, and be one of the first ladies in the land, for my Lord Aresfield
is half a fool, and can’t live long, and when you are a countess you
will remember your poor Loveday.”
“Let me go. You have said too much to a married woman,” said Aurelia,
and as the maid began the old demonstrations of the invalidity of the
marriage, and the folly of adhering to it when nobody knew where his
honour was gone, she said resolutely, “I shall write to Lady Belamour to
send me a more trustworthy messenger.”
On this Loveday fairly fell on the floor, grovelling in her wild
entreaty that my Lady might hear nothing of this, declaring that it was
not so much for the sake of the consequences to herself as to the young
lady, for there was no guessing what my lady might not be capable of
if she guessed at Colonel Mar’s admiration of her prisoner. Aurelia,
frightened at her violence, finally promised not to appeal to her
ladyship as long as Loveday abstained from transmitting his messages,
but on the least attempt on her part to refer to him, a complaint should
certainly be made to my lady.
“Very well, madam,” said Loveday, wiping her eyes. “I only hope it will
not be the worse for you in the end, and that you will not wish you had
listened to poor Loveday’s advice.”
“I can never wish to have done what I know to be a great sin,” said
Aurelia gravely.
“Ah! you little know!” said Loveday, shaking her head sadly and
ominously.
Something brought to Aurelia’s lips what she had been teaching the
children last Sunday, and she answered,
“My God, in Whom I have trusted, is able to deliver me out of the mouth
of lions, and He will deliver me out of thy hand.”
“Oh! if ever there were one whom He should deliver!” broke out Loveday,
and again she went away weeping bitterly.
Aurelia could not guess what the danger the woman threatened could
be; so many had been mentioned as possible. A forcible marriage,
incarceration in some lonely country place, a vague threat of being
taken beyond seas to the plantation--all these had been mentioned; but
she was far more afraid of Colonel Mar forcing his way in and
carrying her off, and this kept her constantly in a state of nervous
watchfulness, always listening by day and hardly able to sleep by night.
Once she had a terrible alarm, on a Sunday. Letty came rushing to her,
declaring that Jumbo, dear Jumbo, and a gentleman were in the front
court. Was it really Jumbo? Come and see! No, she durst not, and Fay
almost instantly declared that Madge had shut them out. The children
both insisted that Jumbo it was, but Aurelia would not believe that it
could be anything but an attempt of her enemies. She interrogated
Madge, who had grown into a certain liking for one so submissive and
inoffensive. Madge shook her head, could not guess how such folks had
got into the court, was sure they were after no good, and declared that
my Lady should hear of all the strange doings, and the letters that had
been left with her. Oh, no, she knew better than to give them, but my
Lady should see them.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE COSMETIC.
But one more task I charge thee with to-day,
For unto Proserpine then take thy way,
And give this golden casket to her hands.
MORRIS.
Late on that Sunday afternoon, a muffled and masked figure came through
the house into the court behind, and after the first shock Aurelia
was relieved to see that it was too tall, and moved too gracefully, to
belong to Loveday.
“Why, child, what a colour you have!” said Lady Belamour, taking off
her mask. “You need no aids to nature at your happy age. That is right,
children,” as they curtsied and kissed her hand. “Go into the house, I
wish to speak with your cousin.”
Lady Belamour’s unfailing self-command gave her such dignity that she