Books: Love and Life

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

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"There, she is coming round. You may tell your master, Jumbo, 'twas
nothing but the mince pies."

"Oh, no--" began Aurelia, but her own voice seemed to come from
somewhere else, and being inexperienced in fainting, she was
frightened.

"That is right, you are better. Now, a drop of strong waters."

Aurelia choked, and put them aside, but was made to swallow the
draught, and revived enough to ask, "How came I here?"

"Jumbo must have carried you out, ma'am, and laid you here before
ever he called any one," said Mrs. Aylward. "Dear, dear, to think
of your being taken like that. But the tins of those mince-pies
are over large! You must halve one next time."

Aurelia was sensible enough to the reproof of greediness to begin to
protest against the mince-pie theory, but she recollected that she
could not account for her swoon, and thereupon became as red as she
had been pale, thus confirming the housekeeper's opinion. A sound
of footsteps made her start up and cry, "What's that?" in nervous
fright; but Mrs. Aylward declared it was fancy, and as she was by
this time able to walk, she was conducted to her own room. There
she was examined on her recent diet, and was compelled to allow the
housekeeper to ascribe her illness to neglect of autumnal blood-
letting and medicine; and she only stave off the send for the barber
and his lancet the next morning by promising to swallow a dose
compounded of all that was horrible.

She was altogether much shaken, she dreamed strange dreams by night,
was capable of little by day, was declared by the children to be
cross, and was much inclined to plead indisposition as an excuse for
not visiting that alarming room in the evening. Indeed for the
greater part of the day she felt as if she must avail herself of
the pretext, and as if she neither could nor would encounter that
strange double creature in the dark; but somehow she had been as
much fascinated as terrified, and, in spite of her resolve, she
found herself mechanically following Jumbo, shuddering all over
and as cold as ice.

The dark chambers were warmed by German stoves, so that the atmosphere
was always equable, and it seemed to revive her, while a kind, warm
hand led her as usual to her seat, and it was the usual gentle,
courteous, paternal tone that addressed her, "How chill and trembling
you are! My poor child, you were sadly alarmed last night."

Aurelia murmured some excuse about being very foolish.

"It was not you who was foolish," was the reply; and though her
hand was retained it was evidently for the sake of warming it,
and comforting her, not of caressing it in the startling mode of
yesterday. There was a pause, during which her composure began
to be restored, and some inquiries whether she were quite recovered;
to which she replied with eager affirmatives, feeling indeed quite
herself again, now that all was in its familiar state around her.
Then this strange suitor spoke again. "It is a hard and cruel fate
that my Lady has sought to impose on you."

"Oh, do not say so, sir I---"

"No," he interrupted somewhat hastily, "do not try to deny it, my
child; I know better than you can what it would amount to. Believe
me, I only lend myself to her arrangement because I know no better
means of guarding you and preserving you for better days."

"I know how kind you are, sir."

"And you trust me?"

"Indeed I do."

"That is all I ask. I shall never be a husband to you more than in
name, Aurelia, nor ask of you more than you give me now, namely, your
sweet presence for a few hours in the evening, without seeing me.
Can you bear thus to devote your young life, for a time at least?"

"You know, sir, how glad I always am to be with you," said Aurelia,
relieved yet half regretting that strange fervour. "I will do my
very best to please you."

"Ah! sweet child," he began, with a thrill of deep feeling in his
voice; but checking himself he continued, "All I ask is patience
and trust for a time--for a time--you promise it!"

"With all my heart," said Aurelia.

"I will use my best endeavours to requite that trust, my child," he
said. "Is not the Christian watchword faith, not sight? It must be
yours likewise."

"I hope so," she said, scarcely understanding.

He then interrogated her somewhat closely as to the letters which had
prepared her for the proposal; and as Aurelia was far too simple to
conceal anything under cross-examination, Mr. Belamour soon found
out what her Ladyship's threats and promises had been.

"The Manor House?" he said. "That is the original nucleus of the
property which had hitherto gone to the heir male?"

"So my sister told me," said Aurelia.

"That letter, which Dr. Godfrey read to me, spoke of my poor brother's
discomfort in holding it. It is well if thus tardily she refund it,
though not as your price, my poor child. It should have been as
matter of justice, if not by her husband's dying wish. So this is
the alternative set before you! Has it been set before your father
likewise?"

"Almost certainly she will have threatened to dismiss him if he do
not consent. It was that which made my sister decide on sending me
here, or what would become of him and Eugene? But I should think
my Lady knew my father better than to seem to offer any kind of
price, as you call it, for me."

"Precisely. You have heard from this maternal sister of yours? Does
he then give his consent?"

"They say they will not have my inclinations forced, and that they
had rather undergo anything than that I should be driven to--to--"

"To be as much a sacrifice as Iphigenia," he concluded the sentence.

"Indeed, sir," said Aurelia, quite restored, "I cannot see why they
should imagine me to have such objections, or want me to be so
cautious and considerate. I shall write to my papa that it is not
at all repugnant to me, for that you are very, very good to me; and
if I can make your time pass ever so little more pleasantly, it is
a delight to me. I am sure I shall like you better than if---"

"Stay, stay, child," he said, half laughing; "remember, it is as a
father that I ask you to love and trust the old recluse."

She thought she had been forward, crimsoned in the dark, and retired
into her shell for the rest of the evening. She was glad when with
his usual tact, Mr. Belamour begged for the recitation he knew she
could make with the least effort of memory.

At the end, however, she ventured to ask--"Sir, shall I be permitted
ever to see my father and sister?"

"Certainly, my child. In due time I hope you will enjoy full liberty,
though you may have to wait for it."

Aurelia durst not ask what was in her mind, whether they would not
come to the wedding, but that one great hope began to outweigh all
the strange future. She began to say something about being too young,
ignorant, and foolish for him, but this was kindly set aside, she
hardly knew how. Mr. Belamour himself suggested the formula in which
she might send her consent to Lady Belamour, begging at the same time
to retain the company of the little Misses Wayland. To her father
she wrote such a letter as might satisfy all doubts as to the absence
of all repugnance to the match, and though the Major had sacrificed
all to love and honour himself, _mariages de convenance_ were still so
much the rule, and wives, bestowed in all passiveness with unawakened
hearts, so often proved loving and happy matrons, that it would have
been held unreasonable to demand more than absence of dislike on the
part of the bride.

Therewith things returned to their usual course, and she was beginning
to feel as if all had been a dream, when one evening, about a week
later, her suitor appeared to have one of those embarrassing fits of
youthful ardour; her hand was passionately seized, caressed, toyed
with by a warm strong hand, and kissed by lips that left a burning
impression and that were no longer hairy. Surely he had been shaving!
Was the time for which he bade her wait, his full recovery, and the
resumption of the youthfulness that seemed to come on him in fits
and starts, and then to ebb away, and leave him the grave courteous
old man she had first known? And why was it always in a whisper that
he spoke forth all those endearments which thrilled her with such
strange emotions?

When she came into the light, she found her fourth finger encircled
with an exquisite emerald ring, which seemed to bind her to her fate,
and make her situation tangible. Another time she was entreated to
give a lock of her hair, and she of course did so, though it was
strange that it should confer any pleasure on her suitor in the dark.

CHAPTER XX. THE MUFFLED BRIDEGROOM.

This old fantastical Duke of dark corners.--
_Measure for Measure._

There was some coming and going of Mr. Hargrave in the ensuing weeks;
and it began to be known that Miss Delavie was to become the wife of
the recluse. Mrs. Aylward evidently knew it, but said nothing; Molly
preferred a petition to be her waiting maid; Jumbo grinned as if over-
powered with inward mirth; the old ladies in the pew looked more sour
and haughty than ever to discourage "the artful minx," and the little
girls asked all manner of absurd and puzzling questions.

My Lady was still at Bath, and Aurelia supposed that the marriage would
take place on her return; and that the Major and Betty would perhaps
accompany her. The former was quite in his usual health again, and
had himself written to give her his blessing as a good dutiful maiden,
and declare that he hoped to be with her for her wedding, and to give
himself to his honoured friend.

She was the more amazed and startled when, one Sunday evening in spring,
Mr. Hargrave came to her as she sat in her own parlour, saying, "Madam,
you will be amazed, but under the circumstances, the parson and myself
being both here, Mr. Belamour trusts you will not object to the
immediate performance of the ceremony."

Aurelia took some moments to realise what the ceremony was; and then
she cried, "Oh! but my father meant to have been here."

"Mr. Belamour thinks it better not to trouble Major Delavie to come
up," said Mr. Hargrave; and as Aurelia stood in great distress and
disappointment at this disregard of her wishes, he added, "I think
Miss Delavie cannot fail to understand Mr. Belamour's wishes to
anticipate my Lady's arrival, so that he may be as little harassed
as possible with display and publicity. You may rely both on his
honour and my vigilance that all is done securely and legally."

"Oh! I know that," said Aurelia, blushing; "but it is so sudden!
And I was thinking of my father---"

"Your honoured father has given full consent in writing," said the
steward. "Your doubts and scruples are most natural, my dear madam,
but under the circumstances they must give way, for it would be
impossible to Mr. Belamour to go through a public wedding."

That Aurelia well knew, though she had expected nothing so sudden or
so private; but she began to feel that she must allow all to be as
he chose; and she remembered that she had never pressed on him her
longing for her father's presence, having taken it as a matter of
course, and besides, having been far too shy to enter on the subject
of her wedding. So she rose up as in a dream, saying, "Shall I go
as I am?"

"I fear a fuller toilet would be lost upon the bridegroom," said
the lawyer with some commiseration, as he looked at the beautiful
young creature about to be bound to the heart-broken old hermit.
"You will have to do me the honour of accepting my services in the
part of father."

He was a man much attached to the family, and especially to Mr.
Belamour, his first patron, and was ready to do anything at his
bidding or for his pleasure. Such private weddings were by no
uncommon up to the middle of the last century. The State Law was
so easy as to render Gretna Green unnecessary, when the presence
of any clergyman anywhere, while the parties plighted their troth
before witnesses, was sufficient to legalise the union; nor did
any shame or sense of wrong necessarily attach to such marriages.
Indeed they were often the resource of persons too bashful or too
refined to endure the display and boisterous merriment by which a
public wedding was sure to be attended. Every one knew of excellent
and respectable couples who had not been known to be married till
the knot had been tied for several days or weeks--so that there was
nothing in this to shock the bride. And as usual she did as she was
told, and let Mr. Hargrave lead her by her finger-tips towards Mr.
Belamour's apartments. Mrs. Aylward was waiting in the lobby, with
a fixed impassive countenance, intended to imply that though obedient
to the summons to serve as a witness, it was no concern of hers. On
the stairs behind her the maids were leaning over the balusters,
stuffing their aprons into their mouths lest their tittering should
betray them.

The sitting-room was nearly, but not quite, dark, for a lamp, closely
shaded, cast a dim light on a Prayer-book, placed on a small table,
behind which stood poor Mr. Greaves--a black spectre, whose white
bands were just discernible below a face whose nervous, disturbed
expression was lost in the general gloom. He carefully avoided
looking at the bride, fearing perhaps some appeal on her part such
as would make his situation perplexing. Contempt and poverty had
brought his stamp of clergymen very low, and rendered them abject.
He had been taken by surprise, and though assured that this was
according to my Lady's will, and with the consent of the maiden's
father, he was in an agony of fright, shifting awkwardly from leg
to leg, and ruffling the leaves of the book, as a door opened and
the bridegroom appeared, followed by Jumbo.

Aurelia looked up with bashful eagerness, and saw in the imperfect
light a tall figure entirely covered by a long dark dressing-gown,
a grey, tight curled lawyer's wig on the head, and the upper part
of the face sheltered from the scanty rays of the lamp by a large
green shade.

Taking his place opposite to her as Mr. Hargrave arranged them, he
bowed in silence to the clergyman, who, in a trembling voice, began
the rite which was to unite Amyas Belamour to Aurelia Delavie. He
intended to shorten the service, but his nervous terror and the
obscurity of the room made him stumble in finding the essential
passages, and blunder in dictating the vows, thus increasing the
confusion and bewilderment of poor little Aurelia. Somehow her
one comfort was in the touch of the hand that either clasped hers,
or held the ring on her finger--a strong, warm, tender, trustworthy
hand, neither as white nor as soft as she would have expected, but
giving her a comfortable sense both of present support and affection,
and of identity with that eager one which had sought to fondle and
caress her. There was a certain tremor about both, but hers was
from bashful fright, his, from scarcely suppressed eagerness.

The steward had a form of certificate ready for signature. When it
was presented to the bridegroom he put up his hand for a moment as
if to push back the shade, but, in dread of admitting even a feeble
ray of light, gave up the attempt, took the pen and wrote Amyas
Belamour where the clergyman pointed. Aurelia could hardly see what
she was doing, and knew she had written very badly. The lawyer and
housekeeper followed as witnesses; and the bridegroom, laying a fee
of ten guineas on the desk, took his bride by the hand and led her
within the door whence he had issued. It was instantly closed, and
at the same moment she was enfolded in a pair of rapturous arms,
and held to a breast whose throbs wakened response in her own, while
passionate kisses rained on her face, mingled with ecstatic whispers
and murmurs of "Mine! mine! my own!"

On a knock at the door she was hastily released, and Mr. Hargrave
said, "Here are the certificates, sir."--Mr. Belamour put one into
her hand, saying "Keep it always about you; never part with it.
And now, my child, after all the excitement you have gone through,
you shall be subjected to no more to-night. Fare you well, and
blessings attend your dreams."

Strange that while he was uttering this almost peremptory dismissal,
she should feel herself in a clinging grasp, most unwilling to let
her go! What did it all mean? Could she indeed be a wife, when
here she was alone treading the long dark stair, in looks, in habits,
in externals, still only the little governess of my Lady's children!
However, she had hardly reached her room, before there was a knock
at the door, and the giggling, blushing entrance of Molly with "Please,
ma'am, Madam Belamour, I wishes you joy with all my heart. Please
can't I do nothing for you? Shall I help you undress, or brush your
hair?"

Perhaps she expected a largesse in honour of the occasion, but Aurelia
had spent all her money on Christmas gifts, and had nothing to bestow.
However, she found on the breakfast-table a parcel addressed to Madam
Belamour, containing a purse with a startling amount of golden guineas
in it. She was rather surprised at the title, which was one generally
conferred on dignified matrons whose husbands were below the rank of
knighthood, such as the wives of country squires and of the higher
clergy. The calling her mother Madam Delavie had been treated as an
offence by Lady Belamour; and when the day had gone by, with nothing
else to mark it from others, Aurelia, finding her recluse in what she
mentally called his quiet rational mood, ventured, after thanking him,
modestly to inquire whether that was what she was to be called.

"It is better thus," hes said. "You have every right to the title."

She recollected that he was a baronet's younger son, a distinction in
those days; and that she had been told that his patent of knighthood
had been made out, though he had never been able to appear at court
to receive the accolade, and had never assumed the title; so she only
said "Very well, sir, I merely thought whether my Lady would think
it presuming."

He laughed a little. "My Lady will soon understand it," he said.
"Her husband will be at home in a few weeks. And now, my dear Madam
Belamour," he add playfully, "tell me whether there is any wish that
I can gratify."

"You are very kind, sir---"

"What does that pause mean, my fair friend?"

"I fear it is too much to ask, sir, but since you inquire what would
please me most, it would be if you could spare me to go to my sister
Harriet's wedding?"

"My child," he said, with evident regret, "I fear that cannot be. It
will not be prudent to make any move until Mr. Wayland's return; but
after that I can assure you of more liberty. Meantime, let us consider
what wedding present you would like to send her."

Aurelia had felt her request so audacious that she subsided easily;
and modestly suggested a tea-service. She thought of porcelain,
but Mr. Belamour's views were of silver, and it ended in the lady
giving the cups and saucers, and the gentleman the urn and the tea
and coffee pots and other plate; but it was a drawback to the
pleasure of this munificence that the execution of the order had
to be entrusted to Mr. Hargrave. The daring hope Aurelia had
entertained of shopping for a day, with Mrs. Aylward as an escort,
and choosing the last fashions to send to her sisters was quashed
by the grave reply that it was better not for the present. What
was the meaning of all this mystery, and when was it to end? She
felt that it would be ungrateful to murmur, for Mr. Belamour
evidently was full of sorrow whenever he was obliged to disappoint
her, and much was done for her pleasure. A charming little saddle-
horse, two riding-habits, with a groom, and a horse for him, were
sent down from London for her benefit; gifts showered upon her; and
whenever she found her husband in one of those perplexing accesses
of tenderness she was sure to carry away some wonderful present, a
beautiful jewelled watch, an _etui_ case, a fan, a scent-bottle, or
patch-box with a charming enamel of a butterfly. The little girls
were always looking for something pretty that she would show them
in the morning, and thought it must be a fine thing to have a husband
who gave such charming things. Those caressing evenings, however,
always frightened Aurelia, and sent her away vaguely uneasy, often
to lie awake full of a vague yearning and alarm; and several days
of restlessness would pass before she could return to her ordinary
enjoyment of her days with the children and her evenings with Mr.
Belamour. Yet when there was any long intermission of those fits
of tender affection, she missed them sorely, and began to fear
she had given offence, especially as this strangely capricious man
seemed sometimes to repel those modest, timid advances which at
other times would fill him with ill-suppressed transport. Then
came longings to see and satisfy herself as to what was indeed
the aspect of him whom she was learning to love.

No wonder there was something unsettled and distressed about her,
overthrowing much of that gentle duteous ness which she had brought
from home. She wrote but briefly and scantily to her sister, not
feeling as if she could give full confidence; she drifted away from
some of the good habits enjoined on her, feeling that, as a married
woman, she was less under authority. She was less thorough in her
religious ways, less scrupulous in attending to the children's
lessons; and the general fret of her uncertainties told upon her
temper with them. They loved her heartily still, and she returned
their affection, but she was not so uniformly patient and good-
humoured. Indeed since Amoret's departure some element of harmony
was missing, and it could not now be said that a whine, a quarrel,
or a cry was a rare event. Even the giving up my lady's wearisome
piece of embroidery had scarcely a happy effect, for Aurelia missed
the bracing of the task-work and the attention it required, and
the unoccupied time was spent in idle fretting. A little self-
consequence too began to set in, longing for further recognition
of the dignities of Madam Belamour.

The marriage had been notified to Lady Belamour and to Major Delavie,
and letters had been received from each. My Lady travelled to London
early in April in company with Lady Aresfield, and, to the relief of
the inmates of Bowstead, made no deviation thither. No one else was
officially told that the wedding had taken place, but all the village
knew it; and Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia so resented it that they
abandoned the state pew to Madam Belamour and the children, made
their curtsies more perpendicularly than ever, and, when formally
invited to supper, sent a pointed and ceremonious refusal, so that
Aurelia felt hurt and angered.

CHAPTER XXI. THE SISTERS' MEETING.

By all hope thou hast to see again
Our aged father and to soothe his pain,
I charge thee, tell me, hast thou seen the thing
Thou callst thine husband?--MORRIS.

After numerous delays Mr. Arden had at length been presented to the
living of Rundell Canonicorum, and in one of the last days of April
Harriet Delavie had become his wife. After a fortnight of festivities
amongst their old Carminster friends, the happy couple were to ride,
pillion-wise, to take possession of tier new home, passing through
London, and there spending time enough with some relations of the
bridegroom to show Harriet the wonders of the City.

Thence Mrs. Arden sent an urgent invitation from her hospitable
hostess to Mrs. Belamour, to come and spend some days in Gracechurch
Street and share with her sister the pleasures of the first sight of
London.

"I assure you," wrote Harriet, "that though they be Woolstaplers, it
is all in the Wholesale Line; and they are very genteel, and well-
bred Persons, who have everything handsome about them. Indeed it is
upon the Cards that the Alderman may, ere many years be passed, be my
Lord Mayor; but yet he and his good Wife have a proper Appreciation
of Family, and know how to esteem me as one of the Delavies. They
would hold themselves infinitely honoured by your Visit; and if you
were here, we might even be invited to Lady Belamour's, and get
Tickets for Ranelagh. I called at my Lady's Door, but she was not
within, nor has she returned my Visit, though I went in the Alderman's
own Coach; but if you were with me she would have no Colour for
Neglect, you being now her Sister-in-law, though it makes me laugh
to think of it. But as we poor married Ladies are compelled to obey
our Lords and Masters; and as Mr. Belamour may chance to be too high
in his Notions to permit you to be a Guest in this House (as I told
our good Cousin Arden was very like), we intend to lie a Night at
Brentford, and remain there for a Day, trusting that your Husband
will not be so cruel as to prevent a Meeting, either by your coming
to see us, or our coming to see you in your present Abode, which I
long to do. It is a Year since we parted, and I cannot tell you how
I long to clasp my beloved Sister in my Arms."

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