Books: Love and Life

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Love and Life

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Others spoke out more plainly. Stories were afloat or orgies ending
in the gallant Colonel being under the supper table, a thing only too
common, but not in the house of a solitary lady who had only lately
quitted the carousers. Half the dependants on the estate were
complaining of the guest's swaggering overbearing treatment of
themselves, or of his insolence to their wives or daughters; and
Betty lived in a dreadful unnamed terror lest he should offer some
impertinence to her father which the veteran's honour might not brook.
However, there was something in the old soldier's dignity and long
service that kept the arrogance of the younger man in check, and
repressed all bluster towards him.

Demands for money were, as usual, made, but the settlement of accounts
was deferred till the arrival of Hargrave, the family man of business,
who came by coach to Bath, and then rode across to Carminster. The
Major dined that day at the Great House, and came home early, with
something so strange and startled about his looks that Betty feared
that her worst misgivings were realised. It was a relief to hear him
say, "Come hither, Betty, I want a word with you." At least it was
no duel!

"What is it, dear sir?" she asked, as she shut his study door. "Is
it come at last? Must we quit this place?"

"No, I could bear that better, but what do you think she asks of me
now?--to give my little Aurelia, my beautiful darling, to that madman
in the dark!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, in a strange tone of discovery. "May I inquire
what you said?"

"I said--I scarce know what I said. I declared it monstrous, and not
to be thought of for a moment; and then she went on in her fashion that
would wile a bird off a bush, declaring that no doubt the proposal was
a shock, but if I would turn the matter over, I should see it was for
the dear child's advantage. Belamour dotes on her, and after being an
old man's darling for a few years, she may be free in her prime, with
an honourable name and fortune."

"I dare say. As if one could not see through the entire design. My
Lady would call her sister-in-law to prevent her being daughter-in-law!"

"That fancy has had no aliment, and must long ago have died out."

"Listen to Nurse Dove on that matter."

"Women love to foster notions of that sort."

"Nay, sir, you believe, as I do, that the poor child was conveyed to
Bowstead in order that the youth might lose sight of her, and since he
proves refractory to the match intended for him, this further device
is found for destroying any possible hope on his part."

"I cannot say what may actuate my Lady, but if Amyas Belamour be the
man I knew, and as the child's own letters paint him, he is not like
to lend himself to any such arrangement."

"Comes the offer from him, or is it only a scheme of my Lady's?"

"He never writes more than a signature, but Hargrave is empowered to
make proposals to me, very handsome proposals too, were not the bare
idea intolerable."

"Aurelia is not aware of it, I am sure," said Betty, to whom Hargrave
had brought another packet of cheerful innocent despatches, of which,
as usual, the unseen friend in the dark was the hero.

"Certainly not, and I hope she never may be. I declared the notion
was not to be entertained for a moment; but Urania never, in her
life, would take no for an answer, and she talked me nearly out of
my senses, then bade me go home, think it over, and discuss it with
my excellent and prudent daughter; as if all the thinking and talking
in the world could make it anything but more intolerable."

His prudent daughter understood in the adjective applied to her a
hint which the wily lady would not have dared to make direct to
the high-spirited old soldier, namely, that the continuance of his
livelihood might depend on his consent. Betty knew likewise enough
of the terrible world of the early eighteenth century to be aware
that even such wedlock as this was not the worst to which a woman
like Lady Belamour might compel the poor girl, who was entirely in
her power, and out of reach of all protection; unless-- An idea
broke in on her--"If we could but go to Bowstead, sir," she said,
"then we could judge whether the notion be as repugnant to Aurelia
as it is to us, and whether Mr. Belamour be truly rational and fit
to be trusted with her."

"I tell you, Betty, it is a mere absurdity to think of it. I believe
the child is fond of, and grateful to, the poor man, but if she
supposed she loved him, it would be mere playing on her ignorance."

"Then we could take her safely home and bear the consequences together,
without leaving her alone exposed to any fresh machination of my Lady."

"You are right, Betty. You have all your sainted mother's good sense.
I will tell my cousin that this is not a matter to be done blindly,
and that I withhold my reply till I have seen and spoken with her and
this most preposterous of suitors."

"Yes, it is the only way," said Betty. "We can then judge whether it
be a cruel sacrifice, or whether the child have affection and confidence
enough in him to be reasonably happy with him. What is his age, father?"

"Let me see. Poor Sir Jovian was much older than Urania, but he died
at forty years old. His brother was some three years his junior. He
cannot be above forty-six or seven. That is not the objection, but
the moody melancholy--Think of our gay sprightly child!"

"We will see, sir."

"We! Mistress Betty? The cost will be severe without you!"

"Nay, sir, I cannot rest without going too; you might be taken ill."

"You cannot trust a couple of old campaigners like Palmer and me?
What did we do without you?"

"Got lamed for life," said Betty, saucily. "No, I go on a pillion
behind Palmer, and my grandfather's diamond ring shall pay expenses."

"Sir Archibald's ring that he put on two baby fingers of yours when
he went off to Scotland."

"Better part with that then resign my Aurelia in the dark, uncertain
whether it be for her good."

CHAPTER XVIII. THE PROPOSAL.

Love sweetest lies concealed in night.--T. MOORE.

The Major rode up to the Great House to announce that he would only
give his answer after having conferred with both his daughter and
the suitor.

With tears in her beautiful blue eyes, Lady Belamour demanded why her
dear cousin Harry could not trust the Urania he had known all her life
to decide what was for the happiness of the sweet child whom she loved
like her own.

She made him actually feel as if it were a cruel and unmerited
suspicion, but she did not over come him. "Madam," he said, "it
would be against my orders, as father of a family, to give my child
away without doing my poor best for her."

There, in spite of all obstacles suggested and all displeasure
manifested, he stuck fast, until, without choosing to wait till a
shower of sleet and rain was over. Vexation and perplexity always
overset his health, and the chill, added to them, rendered him so
ill the next morning that Betty knew there was no chance of his
leaving his room for the next month or six weeks; and she therefore
sent a polite and formal note to the Great House explaining that he
could not attend to business.

This brought upon her the honour of a visit from the great lady
herself. Down came the coach-and-four, and forth from it came Lady
Belamour in a magnificent hoop, the first seen in those parts,
managing it with a grace that made her an overwhelming spectacle,
in contrast with Betty, in her close-fitting dark-grey homespun,
plain white muslin apron, cap, kerchief, and ruggles, scrupulously
neat and fresh, but unadorned. The visit was graciously designed for
"good cousin Harry," but his daughter was obliged, not unwillingly,
though quite truly, to declare him far too suffering with pain
and fever.

"La, you there, then," said the lady, "that comes of the dear man's
heat of temper. I would have kept him till the storm was over but
he was far too much displeased with his poor cousin to listen to me.
Come, cousin Betty, I know you are in all his counsels. You will
bring him to hear reason."

"The whole affair must wait, madam, till he is able to move."

"And if this illness be the consequence of one wet ride, how can he
be in a condition to take the journey?"

"You best know, madam whether a father can be expected to bestow his
daughter in so strange a manner without direct communication either
with her or with the other party."

"I grant you the idea is at first sight startling, but surely he might
trust to me; and he knows Amyas Belamour, poor man, to be the very soul
of honour; yes, and with all his eccentricity to have made no small
impression on our fair Aurelia. Depend upon it, my dear Betty, romance
carried the day; and the damsel is more enamoured of the mysterious
voice in the dark, than she would be of any lusty swain in the ordinary
light of day."

"All that may be, madam, but she is scarce yet sixteen, and it is
our duty to be assured of her inclinations and of the gentleman's
condition."

"You will not trust me, who have watched them both," said Lady
Belamour, with her most engaging manner. "Now look here, my dear,
since we are two women together, safe out of the hearing of the men,
I will be round with you. I freely own myself imprudent in sending
your sister to Bowstead to take charge of my poor little girls, but
if you had seen the little savages they were, you would not wonder
that I could not take them home at once, nor that I should wish to
see them acquire the good manners that I remembered in the children
of this house; I never dreamt of Mr. Belamour heeding the little
nursery. He has always been an obstinate melancholic lunatic,
confined to his chamber by day, and wandering like a ghost by night,
refusing all admission. Moreover my good Aylward had appeared
hitherto a paragon of a duenna for discretion, only over starched
in her precision. Little did I expect to find my young lady spending
all her evenings alone with him, and the solitary hermit transformed
into a gay and gallant bachelor like the Friar of Orders Gray in the
song. And since matters have gone to such a length, I, as a woman
who has seen more of the world than you have, my dear good Betty,
think it expedient that the Friar and his charmer should be made
one without loss of time. _We_ know her to be innocence itself,
and him for a very Sidney for honour, but the world--"

"It is your doing, madam," exclaimed Betty, passionately, completely
overset by the insinuation; "you bid us trust you, and then confess
that you have exposed my sweet sister to be vilely slandered! Oh
my Aurelia, why did I let you out of my sight?" she cried, while hot
tears stood in her eyes.

"I know your warmth, my dear," said Lady Belamour with perfect command
of temper; "I tell you I blame myself for not having recollected that
a lovely maiden can tame even a savage brute, or that even in the sweet
rural country walls have ears and trees have tongues. Not that any
harm is done so far, nor ever will be; above all if your good father
do not carry his romantic sentiments so far as to be his ruin a second
time. Credit me, Betty, they will not serve in any world save the
imaginary one that crazed Don Quixote. What advantage can the pretty
creature gain? She is only sixteen, quite untouched by true passion.
She will obtain a name and fortune, and become an old man's idol for
a few years, after which she will probably be at liberty by the time
she is of an age to enjoy life."

"He is but five-and-forty!" said Betty.

"Well, if she arouse him to a second spring, there will be few women
who will not envy her."

"You may colour it over, madam," said Betty, drawing herself up, "but
nothing can conceal the fact that you confess yourself to have exposed
my innocent helpless sister to malignant slander; and that you assure
me that the only course left is to marry the poor child to a wretched
melancholic who has never so much as seen her face."

"You are outspoken, Miss Delavie," said Lady Belamour, softly, but
with a dangerous glitter in her blue eyes. "I pardon your heat for
your father's sake, and because I ascribe it to the exalted fantastic
notions in which you have been bred; but remember that there are
bounds to my forbearance, and that an agent in his state of health,
and with his stubborn ideas, only remains on sufferance."

"My father has made up his mind to sacrifice anything rather than his
child," cried Betty.

"My dear girl, I will hear you no more. You are doing him no service,"
said Lady Belamour kindly. "You had better be convinced that it is a
sacrifice, or an unwilling one, before you treat me to any more heroics."

Betty successfully avoided a parting kiss, and remained pacing up and
down the room to work off her indignation before returning to her
father. She was quite as angry with herself, as with my Lady, for
having lost her temper, and so given her enemy an advantage, more
especially as when her distress became less agitating, her natural
shrewdness began to guess that the hint about scandal was the pure
fruit of Lady Belamour's invention, as an expedient for obtaining
her consent. Yet the mere breath of such a possibility of evil
speaking was horror to her, and she even revolved the question of
going herself to Bowstead to rescue her sister. But even if the
journey had been more possible, her father was in no condition to
be left to Harriet's care, and there was nothing to be done except
to wait till he could again attend to the matter, calm herself as
best she could, so as not to alarm him, and intercept all dangerous
messages.

Several days had passed, and though the Major had not left his bed,
he had asked whether more had been heard from my Lady, and discussed
the subject with his daughter, when a letter arrived in due course of
post. It was written in a large bold hand, and the signature, across
a crease in the paper, was in the irregular characters that the Major
recognised as those of Mr. Belamour.

"DEAR AND HONOURED SIR,

"Proposals have been made to you on my Behalf for the Hand of your
fair and amiable Daughter, Miss Aurelia Delavie. I am well aware how
preposterous and even shocking they may well appear to you; yet, let
me assure you, on the Faith of a Man of Honour that if you will entrust
her to me, wretched Recluse though I be, and will permit her to bear my
Name, I will answer for her Happiness and Welfare. Situated as I am,
I cannot enter into further explanations; but we are old Acquaintance,
though we have not met for many Years, and therefore I venture to beg
of you to believe me when I say that if you will repose Confidence in
me, and exercise Patience, I can promise your admirable Daughter such
Preferment as she is far from expecting. She has been the Blessing of
my darkened Life, but I would never have presumed to ask further were
it not that I have no other Means of protecting her, nor of shielding
her from Evils that may threaten her, and that might prove far worse
than bearing the Name of

"Your obedient Servant to command,
"AMYAS BELAMOUR.

"Bowstead Park, Dec. 3rd, 1737."

"Enigmatical!" said Betty.

"It could hardly be otherwise if he had to employ a secretary" said
her father. "Who can have written for him?"

"His friend, Dr. Godfrey, most probably," said Betty. "It is well
spelt as well as indited, and has not the air of being drawn up by
a lawyer."

"No, it is not Hargrave's hand. It is strange that he says nothing
of the settlements."

"Here is a postscript, adding, 'Should you consent, Hargrave will
give you ample satisfaction as to the property which I can settle
on your daughter.'"

"Of that I have no doubt," said the Major. "Well, Betty, on
reflection, if I were only secure that no force was put on the
child's will, and if I could exchange a few words face to face
with Amyas Belamour, I should not be so utterly averse as I was
at first sight. She is a good child, and if she like him, and
find it not hard to do her duty by him, she might be as happy
as another. And since she is out of our reach it might save
her from worse. What say you, child?"

"That last is the strongest plea with me," said Betty, with set lips.

They took another evening for deliberation, but there was something
in the tone of the letter that wrought on them, and it ended in a
cautious consent being given, on the condition of the father being
fully satisfied of his daughter's free and voluntary acquiescence.

"After all," he said to Betty, "I shall be able to go up to Bowstead
for the wedding, and if I find that her inclinations have been forced,
I can take her away at all risks."

CHAPTER XIX. WOOING IN THE DARK.

You may put out my eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang me
up for the sign of blind Cupid.--_Much Ado About Nothing_.

Aurelia had been walking in the park with her two remaining charges,
when a bespattered messenger was seen riding up to the door, and
Letitia dropped her hoop in her curiosity and excitement.

Lady Belamour, on obtaining the Major's partial acquiescence, had felt
herself no longer obliged to vegetate at Carminster, but had started
for Bath, while the roads were still practicable; and had at the same
time sent off a courier with letters to Bowstead. Kind Mrs. Dove had
sent a little packet to each of the children, but they found Cousin
Aura's sympathy grievously and unwontedly lacking, and she at last
replied to their repeated calls to here to share their delight, that
they must run away, and display their treasures to Molly and Jumbo.
She must read her letters alone.

The first she had opened was Betty's, telling her of her father's
illness, which was attributed in great part to the distress and
perplexity caused by Lady Belamour's proposal. Had it not been for
this indisposition, both father and sister would have come to judge
for themselves before entertaining it for a moment; but since the
journey was impossible, he could only desire Betty to assure her
sister that no constraint should be put on her, and that if she felt
the least repugnance to the match, she need not consider her obliged
to submit. More followed about the religious duty of full
consideration and prayer before deciding on what would fix her
destiny for life, but all was so confusing to the girl, entirely
unprepared as she was, that after hastily glancing on in search
of an explanation which she failed to find, she laid it aside, and
opened the other letter. It began imperially

"MY COUSIN,

"No doubt you are already informed of the Honour that has been
done you by the Proposal that Mr. Amyas Belamour has made to your
Father for your Hand. It is no slight Compliment to a young Maid
like you, from one of the most noted Wits about Town in the last
Reign; and you will no doubt shew the Good Sense to esteem yourself
fortunate beyond all reasonable Expectations or Deserts of your own,
as well as to act for the Advantage of your Family. Be assured that
I shall permit no foolish Flightiness nor Reluctance to interfere
with you true Welfare. I say this, because, as you well know, your
Father's Affection is strong and blind, and you might easily draw
him into a Resistance which could but damage both his Health and
his Prospects. On receiving the tidings of your Marriage, I promise
to settle on him the Manor House with an Annuity of Three hundred
Pounds; but if he should support you in any foolish Refusal, I shall
be obliged to inform him that I can dispense with his Services;
therefore you will do wisely to abstain from any childish expressions
of Distaste.

"On you Marriage, you will of course have the Enjoyment of the Pin
Money with which Mr. Belamour will liberally endow you, and be
treated in all Respects as a Married Lady. My Daughters shall be
sent to School, unless you wish to make them your Companions
a little longer. Expecting to hear from you that you are
fully sensible to the good Fortune and the Obligations you
are under to me,
"I remain
"Yours &c.
"URANIA BELAMOUR."

It was with a gasp of relief that Aurelia discovered what was required
of her. "Marry Mr. Belamour? Is that all? Then why should they all
think I should so much dislike it, my Lady, and my papa, and sister and
all? Nobody ever was so good to me, and maybe I could make him a little
happier, though it is not what I expected of him, to forget his Mary!
Oh, no, I am not afraid; I might have been afraid six months ago, but
now it is a different thing. I am not so foolish! And my dear papa
will have the Manor House for ever! And Eugene will be able to go to
a good school and have a pair of colours in good time! A fortunate
girl! Yes, of course I am! Then Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia will not
flout me any more, even if young Sir Amyas should come here! Ah! here
are the little girls returning! Keep them here? Of course I will.
What toys and books I will get for them!"

Yet, when the time for her summons drew nigh, a great dread and shyness
overcame her, lest Mr. Belamour should begin on the subject; and she
only nerved herself by recollecting that he could have had no one to
read to him her father's letter of reply, and that he was scarcely
likely to speak without knowing the contents. Still, it was only
shyness and embarrassment that made her advance timidly, but in one
moment a new sensation, a strange tremor came over her, as instead
of merely her finger-tips, her whole hand was grasped and fervently
pressed, and in the silence that ensued the throbbing of her heart
and the panting of her breath seemed to find an echo. However, the
well-known voice began, "My fair visitor is very good in honouring
me to-night."

Was it coming? Her heart gave such a throb that she could only murmur
something inarticulate, while there was a hasty repressed movement
near her.

"You have heard from your father?" said Mr. Belamour.

"My father is ill, sir," she faltered.

"Ah, yes, so I was sorry to understand. Has he not sent a message to
you through your sister?"

"He has, sir," Aurelia continued, with difficulty, to utter.

There was another silence, another space of tightened breath and
beating heart, absolutely audible, and again a hushed, restless
movement heralded Mr. Belamour's next words, "Did I no tell you
truly that my Lady devises most unexpected expedients?"

"Then would you not have it so, sir?" asked Aurelia, in a bewildered
voice of perplexity. "Oh!" as again one of those echoes startled her,
"tell me what it all means."

"Hush! listen to me," said Mr. Belamour, in a voice that added to her
undefined alarm by what seemed to her imperious displeasure as uncalled
for as it was unusual; but the usual fatherly gentleness immediately
prevailed, "My child, I should never have entertained the thought for
a moment but for--but for Lady Belamour. This sounds like no
compliment," he added, catching himself up, and manifesting a certain
embarrassment and confusion very unlike his usual calm dignity of
demeanour, and thus adding to the strange fright that was growing
upon Aurelia. "But you must understand that I would not--even in
semblance--have dreamt of your being apparently linked to age, sorrow,
and infirmity, save that--strange as it may seem--Lady Belamour has
herself put into my hands the best means of protecting you, and
finally, as I trust, securing your happiness."

"You are very good, sir," she continued to breathe out, amid the
flutterings of her heart, and the reply produced a wonderful outburst
of ardour in a low but fervent voice. "You will! You will! You
sweetest of angels, you will be mine!"

There was something so irresistibly winning in the sound, that it
drew forth an answer from the maiden's very heart. "Oh! yes, indeed--"
and before she could utter another word she was snatched into a sudden,
warm, vehement embrace, from which she was only partly released,
as--near, but still not so near as she would have expected--this
extraordinary suitor seemed to remonstrate with his ardent self, saying,
"Now! now! that will do! So be it then, my child," he continued.
"Great will be the need of faith, patience, trust, ay, and of self-
restraint, but let these be practised for a little space, and all will
be well."

She scarcely heard the latter words. The sense of something irrevocable
and unfathomable was overpowering her. The mystery of these sudden
alterations of voice, now near, now far off, was intolerable. Here
were hands claiming her, fervent, eager breathings close upon her,
and that serious, pensive voice going on all that time. The darkness
grew dreadful to her, dizziness came over her; she dashed aside the
hands, started up with a scream, and amid the strange noises and
flashes of a swoon, knew no more till she heard Mrs. Aylward's voice
over her, found the horrid smell of burnt feathers under her nose,
and water trickling down her face, dim candlelight was round her,
and she perceived that she was on a low settee in the lobby.

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