Books: Love and Life

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

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By this time Aurelia had finished her meal, and Betty was anxious to
carry her off without any more excitement, for she was still drowsy
and confused. She bade her father good night, asking his blessing
as of old, but when Mr. Belamour kissed her hand and repeated the
good night, she said, "Sir, I ought to have trusted you; I am so
sorry."

"It is all well now, my child," he said, soothingly, understanding
Betty's wish; "Sleep, and we will talk it over."

So the happy sisters once more slept in each other's arms, till in
the early summer morning Betty heard the whole story from Aurelia,
now fully herself, though she slumbered again after all was poured
into her sister's bosom.

Betty had sympathised step by step, and felt even more strongly than
Harriet that the situation had been intolerable for womanhood, and
that only Aurelia's childishness could have endured it so long. Only
the eldest sister held that it would have been right and honourable
to have spoken before flashing out the flame; but when, with many
tears of contrition, Aurelia owned that she had long thought so, and
longed to confess it, what could the motherly sister do but kiss the
tears away, and rejoice that the penance was over which had been borne
with such constancy and self-devotion.

Then Betty rose quietly, and after giving thanks on her knees that the
gentle spirit had passed through all unscathed, untainted with even
the perception of evil, she applied herself to the adaptation of one
of her morning caps to her poor shorn lamb's head. Nor did Aurelia
wake again till her father came to the door to make sure that all was
well with his recovered treasure, and to say that Loveday would
recover for her the box of clothes, which old Madge had hidden.

Loveday had gone back to her mistress, who either had not discovered
her betrayal, or, as things had turned out, could not resent it.

So, fresh and blooming, Aurelia came out into the sitting-room, whence
her father held out his arms to her. He would have her all to himself
for a little while, since even Eugene was gone to his daily delight,
the seeing the changing of the guard.

"And now, my child, tell me," he said, when he had heard a little of
her feelings through these adventures, "what would you have me do?
Remember, such a wedding as yours goes for nothing, and you are still
free to choose either or neither of your swains."

"Oh, papa!" in a remonstrating tone.

"You were willing to wed your old hermit?"

"I was content _then_. He was very kind to me."

"Content then, eh? Suppose you were told he was your real husband?"

"Sir, he is not!" cried Aurelia, frightened.

"If he were?"

"I would try to do my duty," she said, in a choked voice.

"Silly child, don't cry. And how, if after these fool's tricks it
turns out that the other young spark is bound to that red-faced
little spitfire and cannot have you?"

"Papa, don't!" she cried. "You know he is my husband in my heart,
and always will be, and if he cannot come back to me take me home,
and I will try to be a good daughter to you," and she hid her face
on his shoulder.

"Poor child, it is a shame to tease her," said her father, raising up
her face; "I only wanted to know which of them you would wish to put
on the ring again. I see. You need not be afraid, you shall have
the ruby one. But as for the little gold one, wait for that till it
is put on in church, my dear. Ah! and there's the flutter of his
wings, or rather the rattle of his spurs. Now then, young people,
you shall not be hindered from a full view of each others lineaments.
It is the first time you ever had a real sight of each other, neither
of you being in a swoon, is it not? I trust you do not repent upon
further acquaintance. Aurelia got as far as the shoe-buckles once,
I believe."

"She will get no farther this time, sir, if you annihilate her with
your pleasantry," said Betty, fully convinced by this time.

"Ah! young Love has made himself more dazzling than ever," continued
the Major, too delighted to be stopped. "The fullest dress uniform,
I declare; M. le Capitaine is bent on doing honour to the occasion."

"Would that it were on for no other reason, sir," said Sir Amyas; "but
the King and Queen have taken it into their heads to go off to Kew and
here am I under orders to command the escort. I verily believe it is
all spite on the Colonel's part, for Russell would have exchanged the
turn with me, but he sent down special orders for me. I have but half
an hour to spend here, and when I shall be able to get back again
Heaven only knows."

However, he and Aurelia were permitted to improve that half hour to
the utmost in their own way, while the Major and Betty were reading
a long and characteristic letter from Mrs. Arden, inquiring certainly
for her sister's fate, but showing far more solicitude in proving that
she (Harriet Arden) had acted a wise, prudent, and sisterly part, and
that it was most unreasonable and cruel to treat her as accountable
for her sister's disappearance. It was really making her quite ill,
and Mr. Arden was like a man--so disagreeable about it.

Betty was very glad this epistle had not come till it was possible to
laugh at it. She would have sat down to reply to it at once, had not
a billet been brought in from the widow of one of her father's old
brother officers who had heard of his being in town, and begged him
to bring his daughter to see her, excusing herself for not waiting on
Miss Delavie, as she was very feeble and infirm.

It was a request that could not be refused, but Aurelia was not equipped
for such a visit, and shrank timidly from showing herself. So when Mr.
Belamour came down it was agreed that she should remain at home under
his protection, in which she could be very happy, though his person
was as strange to her as his voice was familiar. Indeed she felt as
if a burden was on her mind till she could tell him of her shame at
having failed in the trust and silence that he had enjoined on her.

"My child," he said, "we have carried it too far. It was more than we
ought to have required of you, and I knew it. I had made up my mind,
and told my nephew that the first time you really asked I should tell
the whole truth, and trust to your discretion, while of course he
wished for nothing more."

"As my sister said, it was my fault."

"Nay, I think you had good cause to stand on your defence, and I
cannot have you grieve over it. You have shown an unshaken steadiness
under trial since, such as ought indeed to be compensation."

"I deserved it all," said Aurelia; "and I do hope that I am a little
wiser and less foolish for it all; a little more of a woman," she
added, blushing.

"A soul trained by love and suffering, as in the old legend," said Mr.
Belamour thoughtfully.

Thoroughly pleasant was here _tete-a-tete_ with him, especially when
she artlessly asked him whether her dear sister were not all she had
told him, and he fervently answered that indeed she was "a perfect
lesson to all so-called beauties of what true loveliness of a
countenance can be."

"Oh, I am so glad," cried Aurelia. "I never saw a face--a woman's I
mean--that I like as well as my dear sister's!"

She was sorry when they were interrupted by a call from Mr. Wayland,
who had reported himself at the Secretary of War, but could do no more
that day, and had come to inquire for her. He and Mr. Belamour drew
apart into a window, and conversed in a low voice, and then they came
to her, and Mr. Wayland desired to know from where she found the recipe
for the cosmetic which had nearly cost her so dearly.

"It was in a shelf in the wainscoting, in a sort of little study at
that house," said Aurelia.

"Among other papers?"

"Quantities of other papers."

"Of what kind?"

"Letters, and bills, and wills, and parchments! Oh, so dusty! Some
were on paper tumbling to pieces, and some on tiny slips of parchment."

"And you read them all?"

"I had to read them to see what they were, as well as I could make
out, and sorted them and tied them up in bundles."

"Can you tell me whether they were Delavie wills?"

"I should think they were. I know that the oldest of all were Latin,
and I could make nothing out in them but something about _Manoriem_
and Carminster, and what looked like the names of some of the fields
at home."

"Do you think you could show me those slips?"

"I do not suppose any one has touched them."

"Then, my dear young lady, you would confer a great favour on me if
you would allow Mr. Belamour and myself to escort you to Delavie and
show us these papers. I fear it may be alarming and distressing."

"Oh no, sir, I know no harm can happen to me where Mr. Belamour is,"
she said, smiling.

"It may be very important," he said, and she went to put on her hood.

"Surely," said Mr. Wayland, "the title-deeds cannot have been left
there?"

"No. The title-deeds to the main body of the property are at
Hargrave's. I have seen them, at the time of my brother's marriage;
but still this may be what was wanting."

"Yet the sending this child to search is presumption that no such
document existed."

"Of course no one supposed it did," said Mr. Wayland, on the defence
again.

Aurelia was quickly ready in her little hood and kerchief, and trim
high-heeled shoes. She was greatly surprised to find how near she
had been to her friends during these last few days of her captivity,
and when Madge obeyed the summons to the door, the old woman
absolutely smiled to see her safe, and the little terrier danced
about her in such transports that she begged to take him back with
her.

She opened the door of the little empty book room, where nothing
stood except the old bureau. That, she said, had been full of
letters, but all the oldest things had been within a door opening
in the wainscot, which she should never have found had not Bob
pushed it open in his search for rats, and then she found a tin case
full of papers and parchments, much older, she thought, than the
letters. She had tied them up together, and easily produced them.

Mr. Wayland handed them to Mr. Belamour, whose legal eye was better
accustomed to crabbed old documents. A conversation that had begun
on the way about Fay and Letty was resumed, and interested both
their father and Aurelia so much that they forgot to be impatient,
until Mr. Belamour looked up from his examination, saying, "This is
what was wanting. Here is a grant in the 12th year of Henry III.
to Guglielmus ab Vita and the heirs male of his body to the Manor,
lying without the city of Carminster, and here are three wills of
successive lords of Delavie expressly mentioning heirs male. Now
the deeds that I have seen do not go beyond 1539, when Henry Delavie
had a grant of the Grange and lands belonging to Carminster Abbey--
the place, in fact, where the Great House stands, and there is in
that no exclusion of female heirs. But the Manor house can certainly
be proved to be entailed in the male line alone, according to what
was, I believe, the tradition of the family."

"There is no large amount of property involved, I fear," said Mr.
Wayland.

"There is an old house, much out of repair, and a few farms worth,
may be, 200 pounds a year, a loss that will not be material to you,
sir, I hope."

"Do you mean--?" said Aurelia, not daring to ask farther.

"I mean, my dear young lady," said Mr. Wayland, "that your researches
have brought to light the means of doing tardy justice to your good
father."

"His right to the Manor House is here established," explained Mr.
Belamour. "It will not be a matter of favour of my Lady's, but, as
my brother supposed, he ought to have been put in possession on the
old Lord's death."

"And Eugene will be a gentleman of estate," cried Aurelia, joyously.
"Nor will any one be able to drive out my dear father! Oh! how happy
I am."

Both she and Mr. Belamour spared Mr. Wayland the knowledge of my
Lady's many broken promises, and indeed she was anxious to get back
to the _Royal York_, lest her father and sister should have returned,
and think her again vanished.

They all met at the door, and much amazed were the Major and Betty
to encounter her with her two squires. Mr. Wayland took the Major
to show him the parchments. Betty had her explanation from her
sister and Mr. Belamour.

"You actually ventured back to that dreadful house," she said,
looking at them gratefully.

"You see what protectors I had," said Aurelia, with a happy smile.

"Yes," said Betty, "I have been longing to say--only I cannot," for
she was almost choked by a great sob, "how very much we owe to you,
sir. I could say it better if I did not feel it so much." And she
held out her hand.

"You cannot owe to me a tithe of what I owe to your sister," said Mr.
Belamour, "and through her to you, madam. Much as nature had done for
her, never would she have been to the miserable recluse the life and
light-bringing creature she was, save for the 'sister' she taught me
to know and love, even before I saw her."

A wonderful revelation here burst on Aurelia, the at least half-married
woman, and she fled precipitately, smiling to herself in ecstasy, behind
her great fan.

Betty, never dreaming of the drift of the words, so utterly out of
the reach of love did she suppose herself, replied, composedly, "Our
Aurelia is a dear good girl, and I am thankful that through all her
trials she has so proved herself. I am glad she has been a comfort
to you, sir. She---"

"And will not you complete the cure, and render the benefit lasting?"
said Mr. Belamour, who had never let go the hand she had given him
in gratitude, and now gave it a pressure that conveyed, for the first
time, his meaning.

"Oh!" she cried, trying to take it away, "your kindness and gratitude
are leading you too far, sir. A hideous old fright like me, instead
of a lovely young thing like her! It is an absurdity."

"Stay, Miss Delavie. Remember that your Aurelia's roses and lilies
were utterly wasted on me; I never thought whether she was beautiful
save when others raved about her. I never saw her till yesterday;
but the voice, the goodness, the amiability, in fact all that I did
truly esteem and prize in her I had already found matured and mellowed
together with that beauty of countenance which is independent of mere
skin-deep complexion and feature. You know my history, and how far
I am from being able to offer you a fresh untouched young heart, such
as my nephew brings to the fair Aurelia; but the devotion of my life
will be yours if you will accept it."

"Sir, I cannot listen to you. You are very good, but I can never
leave my father. Oh, let me go away!"

CHAPTER XXXVII. MAKING THE BEST OF IT.

At last the Queen said, "Girl, I bid thee rise,
For now thou hast found favour in mine eyes,
And I repent me of the misery
That in this place thou hast endured me,
Altho' because of it the Joy indeed
Shall now be mine, that pleasure is thy meed."
MORRIS.

Those were evil times, and the court examples were most corrupting,
so that a splendid and imperious woman like Urania, Lady Belamour,
had found little aid from public opinion when left to herself by the
absence of her second husband. Selfish, unscrupulous, and pleasure-
loving she was by nature, but during Sir Jovian Belamour's lifetime
she had been kept within bounds. Then came a brief widowhood, when
debt and difficulty hurried her into accepting Mr. Wayland, a
thoughtful scientific man, whose wealth had accumulated without much
volition of his own to an extent that made her covet his alliance.
Enthralled by her charm of manner, he had not awakened to the
perception of what she really was during the few years that had
elapsed before he was sent abroad, and she refused to accompany him.

Then it was that wealth larger than she had before commanded, and
a court appointment, involved her in more dangerous habits. Her
debts, both of extravagance and of the gaming table, were enormous,
trenching hard on the Delavie property, and making severe inroads on
Mr. Wayland's means; but the Belamour estates being safely tied up,
she had only been able to borrow on her dower. She had sinned with
a high hand, after the fashion of the time, and then, in terror at
the approaching return of her husband, had endeavoured to conceal
the ravages of her extravagance by her bargain for her son's hand.

The youth, bred up at a distance, and then the companion of his step-
father, had on his return found his home painfully altered in his two
years' absence, and had been galled and grieved by the state of things,
so that even apart from the clearing of his prospects, the relief was
great. The quarrel with Colonel Mar that Mr. Wayland had interrupted
was not made up. There was no opportunity, for Mr. Wayland at once
removed his family to Bowstead, there to remain while he transacted
his business in London.

Moreover Mr. Belamour and Mr. Wayland agreed in selling the young
baronet's commission. The Major allowed that it was impossible
that he should remain under the command of his present Colonel, but
regretted that he should not continue in the service, declaring it
the best school for a young man, and that he did not want to see
his son-in-law a muddle-brained sporting country squire. He would
have had Sir Amyas exchange into the line, and see a little service
before settling down, but Maria Theresa had not as yet set Europe in
a blaze, and in the absence of a promising war Sir Amyas did more
incline to his uncle's representations of duties to tenants and to
his county, and was even ready to prepare himself for them when he
should be of sufficient age to undertake them. However, in the midst
of the debates a new scheme was made. Mr. Belamour had been called
upon and welcomed by his old friends, who, being men of rank and
influence, had risen in life while he was immured at Bowstead. One
of these had just received a diplomatic appointment at Vienna, and
in spite of insular ignorance of foreign manners was at a loss for
a capable suite. Mr. Belamour suggested Major Delavie, as from his
long service in Austria likely to be very useful. The Envoy caught
at the idea, and the thought of once more seeing his old comrades
enchanted the Major, whose only regret was that his hero, Prince
Eugene, had been dead three years; but to visit his grave would be
something. Appointments ran in families, so that nothing could be
easier than to obtain one for the young baronet; and though Mr.
Belamour did not depend on his own health enough to accept anything,
he was quite willing to join the party, and to spend a little time
abroad, while his nephew was growing somewhat older, making an essay
of his talents, and at any rate putting off the commencement of
stagnation. Thus matters settled themselves, the only disappointed
member of the family being Mrs. Arden, who thought it very hard
that she could not stir any one up to request an appointment of
her husband as chaplain--not even himself!

Mr. Wayland was at once called upon to go out to America to superintend
the defences of the Canadian frontier, and he resolved on taking his
family out, obtaining land, and settling there permanently. He would
pay all my Lady's debts, but she should never again appear in London
society, and cruel exile as it must seem to her, he trusted that his
affection and tenderness would in time reconcile her to the new way
of life, knowing as she did that he had forgiven much that had made
him look like a crushed and sorrowful man in the midst of all the
successes and the honours he received from his country.

She remained quietly at Bowstead, and none of them saw her except her
son and the Major, to the latter of whom her husband brought a message
that she would esteem it a favour if he would come and visit her there,
the day before he returned to Carminster. Very much affected, the
good Major complied with her request, went down with Mr. Wayland and
spent a night at Bowstead.

He found that she had accepted her fate with the good grace of a woman
whose first instinct was not to make herself disagreeable. She was
rather pale, and not "made up" in any way, but exquisitely though more
simply dressed, and more beautiful than ever, her cousin thought, as
he always did whenever he came into her presence. She was one of those
people whose beauty is always a fresh surprise, and she was far more
self-possessed than he was.

"So, Cousin Harry, where am I to begin my congratulations! I did you
and unwitting service when I sent your daughter to search among those
musty old parchments. I knew my father believed in the existence of
some such document, but I thought all those hoards in Delavie House
were devoid of all legal importance, and had been sifted again and
again. Besides, I always meant to settle that old house upon you."

"I have always heard so, cousin," he answered.

"But it was such a mere trifle," she added, "that it never seemed
worth while to set the lawyers to work about that alone, so I waited
for other work to be in hand."

"There is a homely Scottish proverb, my Lady, which declares that the
scrapings of the muckle pot are worth the wee pot fu'. A mere trifle
to you is affluence to us."

"I am sincerely rejoiced at it, Harry" (no doubt she thought she was),
"you will keep up the old name, while my scrupulous lord and master
gives up my poor patrimony to the extortionate creditors for years to
come. It is well that the young lovers have other prospects. So Harry,
you see after all, I kept my word, and your daughter is provided for,"
she continued with an arch smile. "Pretty creature, I find my son
bears me more malice than she does for the robbery that was perpetrated
on her. It was too tempting, Harry. Nature will repair her loss, but
at out time of life we must beg, borrow, or steal."

"That was the least matter," said the Major gravely.

"This is the reason why I wished to see you," said my Lady, laying her
white hand on his, "I wanted to explain."

"Cousin, cousin, had not you better leave it alone?" said Major Delavie.
"You know you can always talk a poor man out of his senses at the
moment."

"Yet listen, Harry, and understand my troubles. Here I was pledged,
absolutely pledged, to give my son to Lady Aresfield's daughter. I
do not know whether she may not yet sue me for breach of contract,
though Wayland has repaid her the loans she advanced me; and on the
other hand, in spite of all my precautions, Mar had obtained a sight
of your poor daughter, and I knew him well enough to be aware that to
put her entirely and secretly out of his reach was the only chance
preserving her from his pursuit. I had excellent accounts of the
worthy man to whom I meant her to be consigned, and I knew that when
she wrote to you as a West Indian queen you would be able to forgive
your poor cousin. I see what you would say, but sending her to you
was impossible, since I had to secure her both from Amyas and from
Mar. It would only have involved you in perplexities innumerable,
and might have led even to bloodshed! I may not have acted wisely,
but weak women in difficulties know not which path to choose."

"There is always the straight one," said he.

"Ah! you strong men can easily says so, but for us poor much-tried
women! However," she said suddenly changing her tone, "Love has
check-mated us, and I rejoice. Your daughter will support the credit
of the name! I am glad the new Lady Belamour will not be that little
termagant milkmaid Belle, whom circumstances compelled me to inflict
upon my poor boy! The title will be your daughter's alone. I have
promised my husband that in the New World I will sink into plain Mrs.
Wayland." Then with a burst of genuine feeling she exclaimed, "He
_is_ a good man, Harry."

"He is indeed, Urania, I believe you will yet be happier than you have
ever been."

"What, among barbarians who never saw a loo-table, and get the modes
three months too late! And you are laughing at me, but see I am a
poor frivolous being, not sufficient to myself like your daughters!
They say Aurelia was as sprightly as a spring butterfly all the time
she was shut up at Bowstead with no company save the children and old
Belamour!"

"They are lovely children, madam, Aurelia dotes on them, and you will
soon find them all you need."

"Their father is never weary of telling me so. He is never so happy
as when they hang about him and tell him of Cousin Aura, or Sister
Aura as they love to call her."

"It was charming to see them dance round her when he brought them to
spend the day with her. Mr. Wayland brought his good kinswoman, who
will take charge of them on the voyage, and Aurelia was a little
consoled at the parting by seeing how tender and kind she is with
them."

"Aye! If I do not hate that woman it will be well, for she is as
much a duenna for me as governess for the children! Heigh-ho! what
do not our follies bring on us? We poor creatures should never be
left to the great world."

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