Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
The youth pulled out his purse. There was only a guinea or two and some
silver. “One does not go out to parade with much money about one,” he
said, with a trembling endeavour for a smile, “but if you would send up
to my quarters in Whitehall Barracks---”
“Never mind, sir,” said Karen, graciously. “I see you are in earnest,
and I’ll put up with the loss rather than stand in the light of a couple
of true lovers. Here, Jack, lend a hand, and we’ll hoist the young woman
over. She’s quiet enough, thanks to Mother Darkness.”
The sudden change in tone might perhaps be owing to the skipper’s
attention having been called by a sign from one of his men to a boat
coming up from Woolwich, rowed by men of the Royal navy, who were
certain to take part with an officer; but Sir Amyas and Betty were only
intent on receiving the inanimate form wrapped up in its mantle. What a
meeting it was for Betty, and yet what joy to have her at all! They
laid her with her head in her sister’s lap, and Sir Amyas hung over her,
clasping one of the limp gloved hands, while Eugene called “Aura, Aura,”
and would have impetuously kissed her awake, but Loveday caught hold of
him. “Do not, do not, for pity’s sake, little master,” she said; “the
potion will do her no harm if you let her sleep it off, but she may not
know you if you waken her before the time.”
“Wretch, what have you given her?” cried Sir Amyas.
“It was not me, sir, it was Mrs. Darke, in a cup of coffee. She vowed
it would do no hurt if only she was let to sleep six or eight hours. And
see what a misery it has saved her from!”
“That is true,” said Betty. “Indeed I believe this is a healthy sleep.
See how gently she breathes, how soft and natural her colour is, how
cool and fresh her cheek is. I cannot believe there is serious harm
done.”
“How soon can we reach a physician?” asked Sir Amyas, still anxiously,
of the coxswain.
“I can’t rightly say, sir,” replied he; “but never you fear. They
wouldn’t do aught to damage such as she.”
Patience must perforce be exercised as, now against the tide and the
stream, the wherry worked its way back. Once there was a little stir;
Sir Amyas instantly hovered over Aurelia, and clasped her hand with a
cry of “My dearest life!” The long dark eyelashes slowly rose, the eyes
looked up for one moment from his face to her sister’s, and then to her
brother’s, but the lids sank as if weighed down, and with a murmur,
“Oh, don’t wake me,” she turned her face around on Betty’s lap and slept
again.
“Poor darling, she thinks it a dream,” said Betty. “Eugene, do not. Sir,
I entreat! Brother, yes I _will_ call you so if you will only let her
alone! See how happy and peaceful her dear face is! Do not rouse her
into terror and bewilderment.”
“If I only were sure she was safe,” he sighed, hanging over, with an
intensity of affection and anxiety that brought a dew even to the old
steersman’s eyes; and he kindly engrossed Eugene by telling about the
places they passed, and setting him to watch the smart crew of the boat
from the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, which was gaining on them.
Meanwhile the others interrogated Loveday, who told them of the pretext
on which Lady Belamour had sent her captive down to Mrs. Darke’s. No one
save herself had, in my Lady’s household, she said, an idea of where the
young lady was, Lady Belamour having employed only hired porters except
on that night when Lady Aresfield’s carriage brought her. This had led
to the captivity being know to Lady Belle and her brother, and Loveday
had no doubt that it was the discovery of their being aware of it, as
well as Jumbo’s appearance in the court, that had made her mistress
finally decide on this frightful mode of ridding herself of the poor
girl. The maid was as adroit a dissembler as her mistress, and she held
her peace as to her own part in forwarding Colonel Mar’s suit, whether
her lady guessed it or not, but she owned with floods of tears how the
sight of the young lady’s meek and dutiful submission, her quiet trust,
and her sweet, simple teaching of the children, had wakened into life
again a conscience long dead to all good, and made it impossible to her
to carry out this last wicked commission without an attempt to save the
creature whom she had learnt to reverence as a saint. Most likely her
scruples had been suspected by her mistress, for there had been an
endeavour to put it out of her power to give any warning to the victim.
Yet after all, the waiting-maid had been too adroit for the lady, or,
as she fully owned, Aurelia’s firm trust had not been baulked, and
deliverance from the lions had come.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE RETURN.
And now the glorious artist, ere he yet
Had reached the Lemnian Isle, limping, returned;
With aching heart he sought his home.
_Odyssey_--COWPER.
How were they to get the slumbering maiden home? That was the next
question. Loveday advised carrying her direct to her old prison, where
she would wake without alarm; but Sir Amyas shuddered at the notion,
and Betty said she _could_ not take her again into a house of Lady
Belamour’s.
The watermen, who were enthusiastic in the cause, which they understood
as that of one young sweetheart rescued by the other, declared that they
would carry the sweet lady between them on the cushions of their boat,
laid on stretchers; and as they knew of a land-place near the _Royal
York_, with no need of crossing any great thoroughfare, Betty thought
this the best chance of taking her sister home without a shock.
The boat from Woolwich had shot London Bridge immediately after them,
and stopped at the stairs nearest that where they landed; and just as
Sir Amyas, with an exclamation of annoyance at his unserviceable arm,
had resigned Aurelia to be lifted on to her temporary litter, a hand
was laid on his shoulder, a voice said “Amyas, what means this?” and he
found himself face to face with a small, keen-visaged, pale man, with
thick grizzled brows overhanging searching dark grey eyes, shaded by a
great Spanish hat.
“Sir! oh sir, is it you?” he cried, breathlessly; “now all will be
well!”
“I am very glad you think so, Amyas,” was the grave answer; “for all
this has a strange appearance.”
“It is my dearest wife, sir, my wife, whom I have just recovered
after--Oh, say, sir, if you think all is well with her, and it is only
a harmless sleeping potion. Sister--Betty--this is my good father, Mr.
Wayland. He is as good as a physician. Let him see my sweetest life.”
Mr. Wayland bent over the slumbering figure still in the bottom of
the boat, heard what could be told of the draught by Loveday, whom he
recognized as his wife’s attendant, and feeling Aurelia’s pulse, said,
“I should not think there was need for fear. To the outward eye she is
a model of sleeping innocence.” “Well you may say so,” and “She is
indeed,” broke from the baronet and the waiting-maid at the same
instant; but Mr. Wayland heeded them little as he impatiently asked,
“Where and how is your mother, Amyas?”
“In health sir, at home, I suppose,” said Sir Amyas; “but oh, sir, hear
me, before you see her.”
“I must, if you walk with me,” said Mr. Wayland, turning for a moment
to bid his servant reward and dismiss the boat’s crew, and see to the
transport of his luggage; and in the meantime Aurelia was lifted by her
bearers.
Sir Amyas again uttered a rejoicing, “We feared you were in the hands of
the pirates, sir.”
“So I was; but the governor of Gibraltar obtained my release, and was
good enough to send me home direct in a vessel on the king’s service,”
said Mr. Wayland, taking the arm his stepson offered to assist his
lameness. “Now for your explanation, Amyas; only let me hear first that
my babes are well.”
“Yes, sir, all well. You had my letter?”
“Telling of that strange disguised wedding? I had, the very day I was
captured.”
By the time they had come to the place where their ways parted, Mr.
Wayland had heard enough to be so perplexed and distressed that he knew
not that he had been drawn out of the way to Hanover Square, till at
the entrance of the _Royal York_, they found Betty asseverating to the
landlady that she was bringing no case of small pox into the house;
and showing, as a passport of admittance, two little dents on the white
wrist and temple.
At that instant the sound brought Major Delavie hurrying from his
sitting-room at his best speed. There was a look of horror on his face
as he saw his daughter’s senseless condition, but Betty sprang to his
side to prevent his wakening her, and Aurelia was safely carried up
stairs and laid upon her sister’s bed, still sleeping, while Betty and
Loveday unloosed her clothes. Her bearers were sent for refreshment
to the bar, and the gentlemen stood looking on one another in the
sitting-room, Mr. Wayland utterly shocked, incredulous of the little he
did understand, and yet unable to go home until he should hear more;
and the Major hardly less horrified, in the midst of his relief. “But
where’s Belamour!” he cried, “Your uncle, I mean.”
“Where?” said Sir Amyas. “They said he was gone out.”
“So they told me! And see here!”
Major Delavie produced Lady Belamour’s note.
“A blind!” cried Sir Amyas, turning away under a strange stroke of pain
and sham. “Oh! mother, mother!” and he dashed out of the room.
Poor Mr. Wayland sat down as one who could stand no longer. “Of what do
they suspect her?” he said hoarsely.
“Sir,” said the good Major, “I grieve sincerely for and with you.
Opposition to this match with my poor child seems to have transported
my poor cousin to strange and frantic lengths, but you may trust me to
shield and guard her from exposure as far as may be.”
Her husband only answered by a groan, and wrung Major Delavie’s hand,
but their words were interrupted by Sir Amyas’s return. He had been to
his uncle’s chamber, and had found on the table a note addressed to the
Major. Within was a inclosure directed to A. Belamour, Esq.
“If you have found the way to the poor captive, for pity’s sake
come to her rescue. Be in the court with your faithful black
by ten o’clock, and you may yet save on who loves and looks to
you.”
On the outer sheet was written--
“I distrust this handwriting, and suspect a ruse. In case I do
not return, send for Hargrave, Sandys, Godfrey, as witnesses to
my sanity, and storm the fair one’s fortress in person. A. B.”
“It is not my Aurelia’s writing,” said the Major. “Bravest of friends,
what has he not dared on her account!”
“This is too much!” cried Mr. Wayland, striving in horror against
his convictions. “I cannot hear my beloved wife loaded with monstrous
suspicions in her absence!”
“I am sorry to say this is no new threat ever since poor Belamour has
crossed her path,” said the Major.
“What have you done, sir!” asked Sir Amyas.
“I fear I have but wasted time,” said the Major. “I have been to Hanover
Square, and getting no admittance there, I came back in the hope you
might be on the track with Betty--as, thank God, you were! The first
thing to be done now is to find what she has done with Belamour,” he
added, rising up.
“That must fall to my share,” said Mr. Wayland, pale and resolute. “Come
with me, Amyas, your young limbs will easily return before the effect of
the narcotic has passed, and I need fuller explanation.”
Stillness than came on the Delavie party. The Major went up stairs, and
sat by Aurelia’s bed gazing with eyes dazzled with tears at the child he
had so longed to see, and whom he found again in this strange trance.
A doctor came, and quite confirmed Mr. Wayland’s opinion, that the drug
would not prove deleterious, provided the sleep was not disturbed, and