Books: Love and Life

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

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"Then you think Aurelia's beau was really Sir Amyas Belamour," said
Harriet, as they sat down to supper.

"So it appears," said Betty, gravely.

"Do you think he will come hither, sister? I would give the world to
see him," continued Harriet.

"He said something of hoping for better acquaintance," softly put in
Aurelia.

"Oh, did he so?" cried Harriet. "For demure as you are, Miss Aura, I
fancy you looked a little above the diamond shoe-buckles!"

"Fie, Harriet!" exclaimed Betty; "I will not have the child tormented.
He ought to come and pay his respects to my father."

"Have you ever seen my Lady?" asked Aurelia.

"That have I, Miss Aurelia," interposed Corporal Palmer, "and a rare
piece of beauty she would be, if one could forget the saying 'handsome
is as handsome does.'"

"I never knew what she has done," said Aurelia.

"'Tis a long story," hastily said Betty, "too long to tell at table.
I must make haste to prepare the poultice for my father."

She quickly broke up the supper party, and the two younger sisters
repaired to their chamber, both conscious of having been repressed;
the one feeling injured, the other rebuked for forwardness and
curiosity. The three sisters shared one long low room with a large
light closet at each end. One of these was sacred to powder, the
other was Betty's private property. Harriet had a little white bed
to herself, Betty and Aurelia nightly climbed into a lofty and solemn
structure curtained with ancient figured damask. Each had her own
toilette-table and a press for her clothes, where she contrived to
stow them in a wonderfully small space.

Harriet and Aurelia had divested themselves of their finery before
Betty came in, and they assisted her operations, Harriet preferring
a complaint that she never would tell them anything.

"I have no objection to tell you at fitting times," said Betty, "but
not with Palmer putting in his word. You should have discretion,
Harriet."

"The Dean's servants never speak when they are waiting at table," said
Harriet with a pout.

"But I'll warrant them to hear!" retorted Betty.

"And I had rather have our dear old honest corporal than a dozen of
those fine lackeys," said Aurelia. "But you will tell us the story
like a good sister, while we brush the powder out of our hair."

They put on powdering gowns, after releasing themselves from the armour
of their stays, and were at last at ease, each seated on a wooden chair
in the powdering closet, brush in hand, with a cloud of white dust
flying round, and the true colour of the hair beginning to appear.

"Then it is indeed true that My Lady is one of the greatest beauties
of Queen Caroline's Court, if not the greatest?" said Harriet.

"Truly she is," said Betty, "and though in full maturity, she preserves
the splendour of her prime."

"Tell us more particularly," said Aurelia; "can she be more lovely
than our dear mamma?"

"No, indeed! lovely was never the word for her, to my mind," said
Betty; "her face always seemed to me more like that of one of the
marble statues I remember at Vienna; perfect, but clear, cold, and
hard. But I am no judge, for I did not love her, and in a child,
admiration accompanies affection."

"What did Palmer mean by 'handsome is that handsome does'? Surely
my father never was ill-treated by Lady Belamour?"

"Let me explain," said the elder sister. "The ancient custom and
precedent of our family have always transmitted the estates to the
male heir. But when Charles II. granted the patent of nobility to
the first Baron Delavie, the barony was limited to the heirs male
of his body, and out grandfather was only his brother. The last
Lord had three sons, and one daughter, Urania, who alone survived
him."

"I know all that from the monument," said Aurelia; "one was drowned
while bathing, one died of spotted fever, and one was killed at the
battle of Ramillies. How dreadful for the poor old father!"

"And there is no Lord Delavie now," said Harriet. "Why, since my Lady
could not have the title, did it not come to our papa?"

"Because his father was not in the patent," said Betty. "However, it
was thought that if he were married to Mistress Urania, there would be
a fresh creation in their favour. So as soon as the last campaign was
over, our father, who had always been a favourite at the great house,
was sent for from the army, and given to understand that he was to
conduct his courtship, with the cousin he had petted as a little child,
as speedily as was decorous. However, in winter quarters at Tournai he
had already pledged his faith to the daughter of a Scottish gentleman
in the Austrian service. This engagement was viewed by the old Lord
as a trifling folly, which might be set aside by the head of the family.
He hinted that the proposed match was by no means disagreeable to his
daughter, and scarcely credited his ears when his young kinsman
declared his honour forbade him to break with Miss Murray."

"Dear father," ejaculated Aurelia, "so he gave up everything for her
sake?"

"And never repented it!" said Betty.

"Now," said Harriet, "I understand why he entered the army."

"It was all he had to depend on," said Betty, "and he had been
favourably noticed by Prince Eugene at the siege of Lisle, so that he
easily obtained a commission. He believed that though it was in the
power of the old Lord to dispose of part of his estates by will, yet
that some of the land was entailed in the male line, so that there
need not be many years of campaigning or poverty for his bride, even
if her father never were restored to his Scottish property. As you
know, our grandfather, Sir Archibald Murray, died for his loyalty in
the rising of '15, and two years later our father received at Belgrade
that terrible wound which closed his military career. Meantime, Urania
had married Sir Jovian Belamour, and Lord Delavie seemed to have
forgotten my father's offence, and gave him the management of the
estate, with this old house to live in, showing himself glad of the
neighbourhood of a kinsman whom he could thoroughly trust. All went
well till my Lady came to visit her father. Then all old offences
were renewed. Lady Belamour treated my mother as a poor dependant.
She, daughter to a noble line of pedigree far higher than that of the
Delavies, might well return her haughty looks, and would not yield
an inch, nor join in the general adulation. There were disputes about
us children. Poor Archie was a most beautiful boy, and though you
might not suppose it, I was a very pretty little girl, this nose of
mine being then much more shapely than the little buttons which grow
to fair proportions. On the other hand, the little Belamours were
puny and sickly; indeed, as you know, this young Sir Amyas, who was
not then born, is the only one of the whole family who has been reared.
Then we had been carefully bred, could chatter French, recite poetry,
make our bow and curtsey, bridle, and said Sir and Madam, while the
poor little cousins who had been put out to nurse had no more manners
than the calves and pigs. People were the more flattering to us
because they expected soon to see my father in his Lordship's place;
and on the other hand, officious tongues were not wanting to tell my
Lady how Mrs. Delavie contrasted the two sets of children. Very
bitter offence was taken; nor has my Lady ever truly forgiven, whatever
our dear good father may believe. When the old Lord died, a will was
found, bequeathing all his unentailed estates to his daughter, and this
was of course strong presumption that he believed in the existence of
a deed of entail; but none could ever be found, and the precedents
were not held to establish the right."

"Did he leave my father nothing?" asked Harriet.

"He left him three hundred pounds and made him joint executor with Sir
Jovian. There was no mention of this house, which was the original
house of the family, the first Lord having built the Great House; and
both my father and Sir Jovian were sure the Lord Delavie believed it
would come to him; but no proofs were extant, and my Lady would only
consent to his occupying it, as before, as her agent."

"I always knew we were victims to an injustice," said Harriet, "though
I never understood the matter exactly."

"You were a mere child, and my father does not love to talk of it.
He ceased to care much about the loss after our dear Archie died."

"Not for Eugene's sake?"

"Eugene was not born for two years after Archie's death. My dear
mother had drooped from the time of the disappointment, blaming
herself for having ruined my father, and scarce accepting comfort
when he vowed that all was well lost for her sake. She reproached
herself with having been proud and unconciliatory, though I doubt
whether it made much difference. Then her spirit was altogether
crushed by the loss of Archie, she never had another day's health.
Eugene came to her like Ichabod to Phinehas' wife, and she was soon
gone from us," said Betty, wiping away a tear.

"Leaving us a dear sister to be a mother to us," said Aurelia, raising
her sweet face for a kiss.

Harriet pondered a little, and said, "My Lady is not at enmity with
us, since my father keeps the house and agency."

"We should be reduced to poverty indeed without them," said Betty;
"and Sir Jovian, an upright honourable man, the only person whom my
Lady truly respected, insisted on his continuance. As long as my
Lady regards his memory we are safe, but no one can trust to her
caprice."

"She never comes here, nor disturbs my father."

"No, but she makes heavy calls on the estate, and is displeased if he
refuses to overpress the tenants or hesitates to cut the timber."

"I have heard say," added Harriet, "that her debts in town and her
losses at play drove her to accept her present husband, Mr. Wayland, a
hideous old fellow, who had become vastly rich through some discovery
about cannon."

"He is an honourable and upright man," said Betty. "I should have
fewer anxieties if he had not been sent out to Gibraltar and Minorca
to superintend the fortifications."

"Meantime my Lady makes the money fly, by the help of the gallant
Colonel Mar," said Harriet lightly.

"Fie! Harriet!" returned the elder sister; "I have allowed you too far.
My father calls Lady Belamour his commanding officer, and permits no
scandal to be spoken of her."

"Any more than of Prince Eugene?" said Harriet, laughing.

"But oh! sister!" cried Aurelia, "let us stay a little longer. I have
not half braided my hair, and I long to hear who is the gentleman of
whom my father spoke as living in the dark."

"Mr. Amyas Belamour! Sir Jovian's brother! Ah! that is a sad story,"
replied Betty, "though I am not certain that I have it correctly,
having only heard it discussed between my father and mother when I was
a growing girl, sitting at my sampler. I think he was a barrister; I
know he was a very fine gentleman and a man of parts, who had made the
Grand Tour; for when he was staying at the Great House, he said my
mother was the only person he met who could converse with him on the
Old Masters, or any other subject of _virtu_, and that, being reported
to my Lady, increased her bitterness all the more because Mr. Belamour
was a friend of Mr. Addison and Sir Richard Steele, and had contributed
some papers to the _Spectator_. He was making a good fortune in his
profession, and had formed an engagement with a young lady in
Hertfordshire, of a good old family, but one which had always been
disliked by Lady Belamour. It is said, too, that Miss Sedhurst had
been thought to have attracted one of my Lady's many admirers, and
that the latter was determined not to see her rival become her sister-
in-law, and probably with the same title, since Mr. Belamour was on
the verge of obtaining knighthood. So, if she be not greatly belied,
Lady Belamour plied all parties with her confidences, till she
contrived to breed suspicion and jealousy on all sides, until finally
Miss Sedhurst's brother, a crack-brained youth, offered such an insult
to Mr. Belamour, that honour required a challenge. It was thought that
as Mr. Belamour was the superior in age and position, the matter might
have been composed, but the young man was fiery and hot tempered, and
would neither retract nor apologise; and Mr. Belamour had been stung
in his tenderest feeling. They fought with pistols, an innovation
that, as you know, my father hates, as far more deadly and unskilful
than the noble practice of fencing; and the result was that Mr.
Sedhurst was shot dead, and Mr. Belamour received a severe wound in the
head. The poor young lady, being always of a delicate constitution,
fell into fits on hearing the news, an died in a few weeks. The
unfortunate Mr. Belamour survives, but whether from injury to the
brain, or from grief and remorse, he has never been able to endure
either light or company, but has remained ever since in utter
darkness and seclusion."

"Utter darkness! How dreadful!" cried Aurelia, shuddering.

"How long has this been, sister?" inquired Harriet.

"About nine years," said Betty. "The lamentable affair took place just
before Sir Jovian's death, and the shock may have hastened it, for he
had long been in a languishing state. It was the more unfortunate,
since he had made Mr. Belamour sole personal guardian to his only
surviving son, and appointed him, together with my father and another
gentleman, trustee for the Belamour property; and there has been much
difficulty in consequence of his being unable to act, or to do more
than give his signature."

"Ah! sister, I wish you had not told me," said Aurelia. "I shall dream
of the unfortunate gentleman all night. Nine years of utter darkness!"

"We know who is still child enough to hate darkness," said Harriet.

"Take care," said Betty. "You must make haste, or I shall leave you
to it."

CHAPTER III. AMONG THE COWSLIPS.

The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honeyed spring,
And float amid the liquid noon,
Some lightly on the torrent skim,
Some show their gaily gilded trim,
Quick glancing to the sun.--GRAY

Though hours were early, the morning meal was not served till so late
as really to deserve the title of breakfast.

When the three sisters sat down at nine-o'clock, in mob caps, and the
two younger in white dresses, all had been up at least two hours.
Aurelia led forward little Eugene in a tailed red coat, long-breasted
buff waistcoat, buff tights and knitted stockings, with a deep frilled
collar under the flowing locks on his shoulders, in curls which
emulated a wig. She had been helping him to prepare "his tasks" from
the well-thumbed but strongly-bound books which had served poor Archie
before him. They were deposited on the window-seat to wait till the
bowls of bread and milk were discussed, since tea and coffee were only
a special afternoon treat not considered as wholesome for children; so
that Aurelia had only just been promoted to them, along with powder
and fan.

Harriet wore her favourite pistachio ribbon round her cap and as a
breast-knot, and her cheeks bore token of one of the various washes
with which she was always striving to regain the smoothness of her
complexion. Knowing what this betokened, an elder-sisterly instinct
of caution actuated Betty to remind her juniors of an engagement made
with Dame Jewel of the upland farm for the exchange of a setting of
white duck's eggs for one of five-toed fowls, and to request them
to carry the basket.

Eugene danced on his chair and begged to be of the party; but Harriet
pouted, and asked why the "odd boy" could not be sent.

"Because, as you very well know, if he did not break, he would addle,
every egg in the basket.

"There can be no need to go to-day."

"The speckled hen is clocking to brood, and she is the best mother in
the yard. Besides, it is time that the cowslip wine were made, and I
will give you some bread and cheese and gingerbread for noonchin, so
that you may fill your baskets in the meadows before they are laid up
for grass. Mrs. Jewel will give you a drink of milk."

"O let me go, sister!" pleaded Eugene. "She gives us bread and honey!
And I want to hear the lapwings in the meadows cry pee-wit."

"We shall have you falling into the river," said Harriet, rather
fretfully.

"No, indeed! If you fall in, I will pull you out. Young maids should
not run about the country without a gentleman to take care of them.
Should they, sister?" cried the doughty seven years' old champion.

"Who taught you that, sir?" asked Betty, trying to keep her countenance.

"I heard Mrs. Churchill say so to my papa," returned the boy. "So now,
there's a good sister. Do pray let me go!"

"If you say your tasks well, and will promise to be obedient to Harriet
and to keep away from the river, and not touch the basket of eggs."

Eugene was ready for any number of promises; and Harriet, seeing there
was no escape for her, went off with Aurelia to put on their little
three-cornered muslin handkerchiefs and broad-brimmed straw hats,
while Eugene repeated his tasks, namely, a fragment of the catechism,
half a column of spelling from the _Universal Spelling-Book_, and
(Betty's special pride) his portion of the _Orbis Sensualium Pictus_
of Johannes Amos Comenius, the wonderful vocabulary, with still more
wonderful "cuts," that was then the small boys path to Latinity.

The Eagle, _Aquila_, the King of Birds, _Rex Avium_, looketh at the
Sun, _intuetur Solem_, as indeed he could hardly avoid doing, since
in the "cut" the sun was within a hairsbreath of his beak, while his
claws were almost touching a crow (_Corvus_) perched on a dead horse,
to exemplify how _Aves Raptores_ fed on carrion.

Thanks to Aurelia's private assistance, Eugene knew his lessons well
enough for his excitement not to make him stumble so often as to
prevent Betty's pronouncing him a good boy, and dispensing with his
copy, sum, piece, and reading, until the evening. These last were
very tough affairs, the recitation being from Shakespeare, and the
reading from the _Spectator_. There were no children's books,
properly so called, except the ballads, chap-books brought round
by pedlers, often far from edifying, and the plunge from the horn-
book into general literature was, to say the least of it, bracing.

The Delavie family was cultivated for the time. French had been
brought home as a familiar tongue, though _Telemaque_, Racine, and
_Le Grand Cyrus_ were the whole library in that language; and there
was not another within thirty miles. On two days in the week the
sisters became Mesdemoiselles Elisabeth, Henriette, and Aurelie, and
conversed in French over their spinning, seams, lace, or embroidery;
nor was Aurelia yet emancipated from reciting Racine on alternate
days with Milton and Shakespeare.

Betty could likewise talk German with the old Austrian maid, Nannerl,
who had followed the family from Vienna; but the accomplishment was
not esteemed, and the dialect was barbarous. From the time of her
mother's death, Betty had been a strict and careful, though kind, ruler
to her sisters; and the long walk was a greater holiday to Aurelia than
to Eugene, releasing her from her book and work, whereas he would soon
have been trundling his hoop, and haunting the steps of Palmer, who was
gardener as well as valet, butler, and a good deal besides, and moreover
drilled his young master. Thus Eugene carried his head as erect as any
Grenadier in the service, and was a thorough little gentleman in
miniature; a perfect little beau, as his sisters loved to call the
darling of their hearts and hopes.

Even Harriet could not be cross to him, though she made Aurelia carry
the eggs, and indulged in sundry petulant whisks of the fan which
she carried by way of parasol. "Now, why does Betty do this?" she
exclaimed, as soon as they were out of hearing. "Is it to secure
to herself the whole enjoyment of your beau?"

"You forget," said Aurelia. "You promised to fetch the eggs, when
we met Mrs. Jewel jogging home from market on her old blind white
horse last Saturday, because you said no eggs so shaken could ever
be hatched."

"You demure chit!" exclaimed Harriet; "would you make me believe that
you have no regrets for so charming a young gentleman, my Lady's son
and our kinsman."

"If he spoke to me I should not know how to answer. And then you would
blame my rudeness. Besides," she added, with childish sagacity, "he
can be nothing but a fine London macaroni. Only think of the cowslips!
A whole morning to make cowslip balls," she added with a little frisk.
"I would not give one for all the macaronies in England, with their
powder and their snuff-boxes. Faugh!"

"Ah, child, you will sing another note perhaps when it is too late,"
said her sister, with a sigh between envy and compassion.

It floated past Aurelia unheeded, as she danced up one side of a stile,
and sprang clear down into a green park, jumped Eugene down after her
by both hands, and exclaimed, "Harriet is in her vapours; come, let us
have a race!"

She was instantly careering along like a white butterfly in the
sunshine, flitting on as the child tried to catch her, among the snowy
hawthorn bushes, or sinking down for very joy and delight among the
bank of wild hyacinths. Life and free motion were joy and delight
enough for that happy being with her childish heart, and the serious
business of the day was all delight. There lay the rich meadows
basking in the sun, and covered with short grass just beginning its
summer growth, but with the cowslips standing high above it; hanging
down their rich clusters of soft, pure, delicately-scented bells, from
their pinky stems over their pale crinkled leaves, interspersed here
and there with the deep purple of the fool's orchis, and the pale
brown quiver-grass shaking out its trembling awns on their invisible
stems. No flower is more delightful to gather than the cowslip,
fragrant as the breath of a cow. And Aurelia darted about, piling
the golden heap in her basket with untiring enjoyment; then, producing
a tape, called on Harriet, who had been working in a more leisurely
fashion, to join her in making a cowslip ball, and charged Eugene
not to nip off the heads too short.

The sweet, soft, golden globe was made, and even Harriet felt the
delicious intoxication. The young things tossed it aloft, flung
from one to the other, caught it, caressed it, buried their faces
in it, and threw it back with shrieks of glee.

Suddenly Harriet checked her sister with a peremptory sign. She heard
horse-hoofs in the lane, divided from the field by a hedge of pollard
willows, so high that she had never thought of being overlooked, till
the cessation of the trotting sound struck her; and looking round she
saw that a horseman had halted at the gate, and was gazing at their
sports. It was from the distance of a field, but this was enough to
fill Harriet with dismay. She drew herself up in a moment, signing
peremptorily to Aurelia, who was flying about, her hat off, her one
long curl streaming behind as she darted hither and thither, evading
Eugene who was pursuing her.

As she paused, and Eugene clutched her dress with a shout of ecstasy,
Harriet came up, glancing severely toward the gate, and saying, as
she handed her sister the hat, "This comes of childishness! That we
should be seen thus! What a hoyden he will think you!" as the hoofs
went on and the red coat vanished.

"He! Who? Not the farmer?" said Aurelia. "This is not laid up for
hay."

"No indeed. I believe it is he," said Harriet, mysteriously.

"He?" repeated Aurelia. "Not Mr. Arden, for he would be in black,"
and at Harriet's disgusted gesture, "I beg your pardon, but I did
not know you had a new _he_. Oh! surely you are not thinking of
the young baronet?"

"I am sure it was his figure."

"You did not see him yesterday?"

"No, but his air had too much distinction for any one from these parts."

"Could you see what his air was from this distance? I should never
have guessed it, but you have more experience, being older. Come,
Eugene, another race!"

"No, I will have no more folly. I was too good-natured to allow it.
I am vexed beyond measure that he should have seen such rusticity."

"Never mind, dear Harriet. Most likely it was no such person, for it
was not well-bred to sit staring at us; and if it were he, you were
not known to him."

"You were."

"Then he must have eyes as sharp as yours are for an air of distinction.
Having only seen me in my blue and primrose suit, how should he know me
in my present trim? Besides, I believe it was only young Dick Jewel in
a cast coat of Squire Humphrey's."

The charm of the cowslip gathering was broken. Eugene found himself
very hungry, and the noonchin was produced, after which the walk was
continued to the farm-house, where the young people were made very
welcome.

Farmers were, as a rule, more rustic than the present labourer, but
they lived a life of far less care, if of more toil, than their
successors, having ample means for their simple needs, and enjoying
jocund plenty. The clean kitchen, with the stone floor, the beaupot
of maythorn on the empty hearth, the shining walnut-wood table, the
spinning-wheel, wooden chairs, and forms, all looked cool and inviting,
and the visitors were regaled with home-made brown bread, delicious
butter and honey, and a choice of new milk, mead, and currant wine.

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