Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
seemed truly a grand and majestic dame dispensing justice, and the
gentle, shrinking Aurelia like a culprit on trial before her.
“You have been here a month, Aurelia Delavie. Have you come to your
senses, and are you ready to sign this paper?”
“No, madam, I cannot.”
“Silly fly; you are as bent as ever on remaining in the web in which a
madman and a foolish boy have involved you?”
“I cannot help it, madam.”
“Oh! I thought,” and her voice became harshly clear, though so low,
“that you might have other schemes, and be spreading your toils at
higher game.”
“Certainly not, madam.”
“Your colour shows that you understand, in spite of all your pretences.”
“I have never used any pretences, my lady,” said Aurelia, looking up in
her face with clear innocent eyes.
“You have had no visitors? None!”
“None, madam, except once when the Lady Arabella Mar forced her way in,
out of curiosity, I believe, and her brother followed to take her away.”
“Her brother? You saw him?” Each word came out edged like a knife from
between her nearly closed lips.
“Yes, madam.”
“How often?”
“That once.”
“That has not hindered a traffic in letters.”
“Not on my side, madam. I tore to fragments unread the only one that I
received. He had no right to send it!”
“Certainly not. You judge discreetly, Miss Delavie. In fact you are too
transcendent a paragon to be retained here.” Then, biting her lip, as if
the bitter phrase had escaped unawares, she smiled blandly and said, “My
good girl, you have merited to be returned to your friends. You may pack
your mails and those of the children!”
Aurelia shuddered with gladness, but Lady Belamour checked her thanks by
continuing, “One service you must first do for me. My perfumer is at a
loss to understand your translation of the recipe for Queen Mary’s wash.
I wish you to read and explain it to her.”
“Certainly, madam.”
“She lives near Greenwich Park,” continued Lady Belamour, “and as I
would not have the secret get abroad, I shall send a wherry to take
you to the place early to-morrow morning. Can you be ready by eight
o’clock?”
Aurelia readily promised, her heart bounding at the notion of a voyage
down the river after her long imprisonment and at the promise of
liberty! She thought her husband must still be true to her, since my
lady would have been the first to inform her of his defection, and as
long as she had her ring and her certificate, she could feel little
doubt that her father would be able to establish her claims. And oh! to
be with him and Betty once more!
She was ready in good time, and had spent her leisure in packing. When
Loveday appeared, she was greeted with a petition that the two little
girls might accompany her; but this was refused at once, and the
waiting-maid added in her caressing, consoling tone that Mrs. Dove was
coming with their little brother and sister to take them a drive into
the country. They skipped about with glee, following Aurelia to the door
of the court, and promising her posies of honeysuckles and roses, and
she left her dear love with them for Amoret and Nurse Dove.
At the door was a sedan chair, in which Aurelia was carried to some
broad stone stairs, beside which lay a smartly-painted, trim-looking
boat with four stout oarsmen. She was handed into the stern, Loveday
sitting opposite to her. The woman was unusually silent, and could
hardly be roused to reply to Aurelia’s eager questions as she passed the
gardens of Lincoln’s Inn, saw St. Paul’s rise above her, shot beneath
the arch of London Bridge, and beheld the massive walls of the Tower
with its low-browed arches opening above their steps. Whenever a scarlet
uniform came in view, how the girl’s eyes strained after it, thinking
of one impossible, improbable chance of a recognition! Once or twice
she thought of a far more terrible chance, and wondered whether Lady
Belamour knew how little confidence could be placed in Loveday; but she
was sure that their expedition was my lady’s own device, and the fresh
air and motion, with all the new scenes, were so delightful to her that
she could not dwell on any alarms.
On, on, Redriffe, as the watermen named Rotherhithe, was on one bank,
the marshes of the Isle of Dogs were gay with white cotton-grass and
red rattle on the other. Then came the wharves and building yards of
Deptford, and beyond them rose the trees of Greenwich Park, while
the river below exhibited a forest of masts. The boat stopped at a
landing-place to a little garden, with a sanded path, between herbs
and flowers. “This is Mistress Darke’s,” said Loveday, and as a little
dwarfish lad came to the gate, she said, “We would speak with your
mistress.”
“On your own part?’
“From the great lady in Hanover Square.”
The lad came down to assist in their landing, and took them up the
path to a little cupboard of a room, scented with a compound of every
imaginable perfume. Bottles of every sort of essence, pomade, and
cosmetic were ranged on shelves, or within glass doors, interspersed
with masks, boxes for patches, bunches of false hair, powder puffs,
curling-irons, and rare feathers. An alembic [a device used in
distillation--D.L.] was in the fireplace, and pen and ink, in a
strangely-shaped standish, were on the table. Altogether there was
something uncanny about the look and air of the room which made Aurelia
tremble, especially as she perceived that Loveday was both frightened
and distressed.
The mistress of the establishment speedily appeared. She had been a
splendid Jewish beauty, and still in middle age, had great owl-like
eyes, and a complexion that did her credit to her arts; but there was
something indescribably repulsive in her fawning, deferential curtsey,
as she said, in a flattering tone, with a slightly foreign accent, “The
pretty lady is come, as our noble dame promised, to explain to the
poor Cora Darke the great queen’s secret! Ah! how good it is to have
learning. What would not my clients give for such a skin as hers! And
I have many more, and greater than you would think, come to poor Cora’s
cottage. There was a countess here but yesterday to ask how to blanch
the complexion of miladi her daughter, who is about to wed a young
baronet, beautiful as Love. Bah! I might as well try to whiten a clove
gillyflower! Yet what has not nature done for this lovely miss?”
“Shall I read you the paper?” said Aurelia, longing to end this part of
the affair.
“Be seated, fair and gracious lady.”
Aurelia tried to wave aside a chair, but Mrs. Darke, on the plea of
looking over the words as she read, got her down upon a low couch,
putting her own stout person and hooked face in unpleasant proximity,
while she asked questions, and Aurelia mentioned her own conjectures on
the obsolete French of the recipe, while she perceived, to her alarm,
that the woman understood the technical terms much better than she did,
and that her ignorance could have been only an excuse.
At last it was finished, and she rose, saying it was time to return to
the boat.
“Nay, madam, that cannot be yet,” said Loveday; “the watermen are gone
to rest and dine, and we must wait for the tide to shoot the bridge.”
“Then pray let us go out and walk in Greenwich Park,” exclaimed Aurelia,
longing to escape from this den.
“The sweet young lady will take something in the meantime?” said Mrs.
Darke.
“I thank you, I have breakfasted,” said Aurelia.
“My Lady intended us to eat here,” said Loveday in an undertone to her
young lady, as their hostess bustled out. “She will make it good to Mrs.
Darke.”
“I had rather go to the inn--I have money--or sit in the park,”
she added as Loveday looked as if going to the inn were an improper
proposal. “Could we not buy a loaf and eat in the park? I should like it
so much better.”
“One cup of coffee,” said Mrs. Darke, entering; “the excellent Mocha
that I get from the Turkey captains.”
She set down on a small table a wonderful cup of Eastern porcelain, and
some little sugared cakes, and Aurelia, not to be utterly ungracious,
tasted one, and began on the coffee, which was so hot that it had to be
taken slowly. As she sipped a soothing drowsiness came over her, which
at first was accounted for by the warm room after her row on the river;
but it gained upon her, and instead of setting out for her walk she fell
sound asleep in the corner of the couch.
“It has worked. It is well,” said Mrs. Darke, lifting the girl’s feet on
the couch, and producing a large pair of scissors.
Loveday could not repress a little shriek.
“Hush!” as the woman untied the black silk hood, drew it gently off, and
then undid the ribbon that confined the victim’s abundant tresses. “Bah!
it will be grown by the time she arrives, and if not so long as present,
what will they know of it? It will be the more agreeable surprise! Here,
put yonder cloth under her head while I hold it up.”
“I cannot,” sobbed Loveday. “This is too much. I never would have
entered my Lady’s service if I had known I was to be set to such as
this.”
“Come, come, Grace Loveday, I know too much of you for you to come the
Presician over me.”
“Such a sweet innocent! So tender-hearted and civil too.”
“Bless you, woman, you don’t know what’s good for her! She will be a
very queen over the black slaves on the Indies. Captain Karen will tell
you how the wenches thank him for having brought ‘em out. They could
never do any good here, you know, poor lasses; but out there, where
white women are scarce, they are ready to worship the very ground they
tread upon.”
“I tell you she ain’t one of that sort. She is a young lady of birth,
a cousin of my Lady’s own, as innocent as a babe, and there are two
gentlemen, if not three, a dying for her.”
“I lay you anything not one of ‘em is worth old Mr. Van Draagen, who
turns his thousands every month. ‘Send me out a lady lass,’ says he,
‘one that will do me credit with the governor’s lady.’ Why she will have
an estate as big as from here to Dover, and slaves to wait on her, so
as she need never stoop to pick up her glove. He has been married
twice before, and his last used to send orders for the best brocades in
London. He stuck at no expense. The Queen has not finer gowns!”
“But to think of the poor child’s waking up out at sea.”
“Oh! Mrs. Karen will let her know she may think herself well off. I
never let ‘em go unless there’s a married woman aboard to take charge of
them, and that’s why I kept your lady waiting till the _Red Cloud_ was
ready to sail. You may tell her Ladyship she could not have a better
berth, and she’ll want for nothing. I know what is due to the real
quality, and I’ve put aboard all the toilette, and linen, and dresses
as was bespoke for the last Mrs. Van Draagen, and there’s a civil spoken
wench aboard, what will wait on her for a consideration.”
“Nay, but mistress,” said Loveday, whispering: “I know those that would
give more than you will ever get from my Lady if they found her safe
here.”
“Of course there are, or she would not be here now,” said Mrs. Darke,
with a horrid grin; “but that won’t do, my lass. A lady that’s afraid
of exposure will pay you, if she pawns her last diamond, but a
gentleman--why, he gets sick of his fancy, and snaps his fingers at
them that helped him!” Then, looking keenly at Loveday, “You’ve not been
playing me false, eh?”
“O no, no,” hastily exclaimed Loveday, cowering at the malignant look.
“If so be you have, Grace Loveday, two can play at that game,” said Mrs.
Darke composedly. “There, I have left her enough to turn back. What
hair it is! Feel the weight of it! There’s not another head of the
mouse-colour to match your Lady’s in the kingdom,” she added, smoothing
out the severed tresses with the satisfaction of a connoisseur. “No