Books: Love and Life

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

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Dame Jewel, in a white frill under a black silken hood, a buff turnover
kerchief, stout stuff gown and white apron, was delighted to wait on
them; and Eugene's bliss was complete among the young kittens and
puppies in baskets on opposite sides of the window, the chickens
before their coops, the ducklings like yellow balls on the grass,
and the huge family of little spotted piglings which, to the scandal
of his sisters, he declared the most delightful of all.

Their hostess knew nothing of the young baronet being in the
neighbourhood, and was by no means gratified by the intelligence.

"Lack-a-day! Miss Harriet, you don't mean that the family is coming
down here! I don't want none of them. 'Tis bad times for the farmer
when any of that sort is nigh. They make nothing of galloping their
horses a hunting right through the crops, ay, and horsewhipping the
farmer if he do but say a word for the sweat of his brow."

"O Mrs. Jewel!" cried Aurelia, in whose ear lingered the courteous
accents of her partner, "they would never behave themselves so."

"Bless you, Miss Orreely, I'll tell you what I've seen with my own
eyes. My own good man, the master here, with the horsewhip laid about
his shoulders at that very thornbush, by one of the fine gentlefolks,
just because he had mended the gap in the hedge they was used to ride
through, and my Lady sitting by in her laced scarlet habit on her fine
horse, smiling like a painted picture, and saying, 'Thank you, sir,
the rascals need to learn not to interfere with our sport,' all in
that gentle sounding low voice of hers, enough to drive one mad."

"I thought Sir Jovian had been a kind master," said Harriet.

"This was not Sir Jovian. Poor gentleman, he was not often out a-
hunting. This was one of the fine young rakish fellows from Lunnun
as were always swarming about my Lady, like bees over that maybush.
Sir Thomas Donne, I think they called him. They said he got killed
by a wild boar, hunting in foreign parts, afterwards, and serve him
right! But there! They would all do her bidding, whether for bad
or good, so maybe it was less his fault than hers. She is a bitter
one, is my Lady, for all she looks so sweet. And this her young
barrowknight will be his own mother's son, and I don't want none of
'em down here. 'Tis a good job we have your good papa, the Major,
to stand between her and us; I only wish he had his own, for a rare
good landlord he would be."

The Dame's vain wishes were cut short by shrieks from the poultry-yard,
where Eugene was discovered up to his ankles in the black ooze of the
horse-pond, waving a little stick in defiance of an angry gander, who
with white outspread wings, snake-like neck, bent and protruded, and
frightful screams and hisses, was no bad representation of his namesake
the dragon, especially to a child not much exceeding him in height.

The monster was put to rout, the champion dragged out of the pond,
breathlessly explaining that he only wanted to look at the goslings
when the stupid geese cackled and the gander wanted to fly at his eyes.
"And I didn't see where I was going, for I had to keep him off, so
I got into the mud. Will sister be angry?" he concluded, ruefully
surveying the dainty little stockings and shoes coated with black mud.

But before the buckled shoon had been scraped, or the hosen washed and
dried, the cheerful memory of boyhood had convinced itself that the
enemy had been put to flight by his manful resistance; and he turned a
deaf ear to Aurelia's suggestion that the affair had been retribution
for his constant oblivion of Comenius' assertion that _auser gingrit,_
"the goose gagleth."

They went home more soberly, having been directed by Mrs. Jewel to a
field bordered by a copse, where grew the most magnificent of Titania's
pensioners tall, wearing splendid rubies in their coats; and in due
time the trio presented themselves at home, weary, but glowing with
the innocent excitement of their adventures. Harriet was the first
to proclaim that they had seen a horseman who must be Sir Amyas.
"Had sister seen him?"

"Only through the window of the kitchen where I was making puff paste."

"He called then! Did my papa see him?"

"My father was in no condition to see any one, being under the hands
and razor of Palmer."

"La! what a sad pity. Did he leave no message?"

"He left his compliments, and hoped his late partner was not fatigued."

"Is he at the Great House? Will he call again?"

"He is on his way to make a visit in Monmouthshire, together with a
brother office, who is related to my Lady Herries, and finding that
their road led them within twenty miles of our town, the decided on
making a diversion to see her. It was only from her that Sir Amyas
understood how close he was to his mother's property, for my Lady is
extremely jealous of her prerogative."

"How did you hear all this, sister?"

"Sir George Herries rode over this afternoon and sat an hour with my
father, delighting him by averring that the young gentleman has his
mother's charms of person, together with his father's solidity of
principle and character, and that he will do honour to his name."

O, I hope he will come back by this route!" cried Harriet.

"Of that there is small likelihood," said Betty. "His mother is
nearly certain to prevent it since she is sure to take umbrage at
his having visited the Great House without her permission."

CHAPTER IV. MY LADY'S MISSIVE.

To the next coffee-house he speeds,
Takes up the news, some scraps he reads.--GAY.

Though Carminster was a cathedral city, the Special General Post only
came in once a week, and was liable to delay through storms, snows,
mire and highwaymen, so that its arrival was as great an event as is
now the coming in of a mail steamer to a colonial harbour. The "post"
was a stout countryman, with a red coat, tall jackboots and a huge hat.
He rode a strong horse, which carried, _en croupe_, an immense pack,
covered with oiled canvas, rising high enough to support his back,
while he blew a long horn to announce his arrival.

Letters were rare and very expensive articles unless franked by a
Member of Parliament, but gazettes and newsletters formed a large
portion of his freight. No private gentleman except the Dean and Sir
George Herries went to the extravagance of taking in a newspaper on
his own account, but there was a club who subscribed for the _Daily
Gazetteer_, the _Tatler_, and one or two other infant forms of
periodical literature. These were hastily skimmed on their first
arrival at the club-room at the White Dragon, lay on the table to be
more deliberately conned for a week, and finally were divided among
the members to be handed about among the families and dependants as
long as they would hold together.

Major Delavie never willingly missed the coming of the mail, for his
foreign experiences gave him keen interest in the war between France
and Austria, and he watched the campaigns of his beloved Prince Eugene
with untiring enthusiasm, being, moreover, in the flattering position
of general interpreter and guide to his neighbours through the scanty
articles on foreign intelligence.

It was about ten days after the syllabub party, when he had quite
recovered his ordinary health, that he mounted his stout pony in his
military undress, his cocked hat perched on his well-powdered bob-
wig, with a queue half-way down his dark green gold-laced coat, and
with his long jack-boots carefully settle by Palmer over the knee
that would never cease to give him trouble.

Thus he slowly ambled into the town, catching on his way distant
toots of the postman's horn. In due time he made his way into the
High Street, broad and unpaved, with rows of lime or poplar trees
before the principal houses, the most modern of which were of red
brick, with heavy sash-windows, large stone quoins, and steps up
to the doors.

The White Dragon, dating from the times of the Mortimer badge, was
built of creamy stone, and had an archway conducting the traveller
into a courtyard worthy of Chaucer, with ranges of galleries running
round it, the balustrades of dark carved oak suiting with the timbers
of the latticed window and gables, and with the noble outside stair
at one angle, by which they communicated with one another. To these
beauties the good Major was entirely insensible. He only sighed at
the trouble it gave his lame knee to mount the stair to the first
storey, and desired the execution of the landlord's barbarous design
of knocking down the street front to replace it with a plain, oblong
assembly room, red brick outside, and within, blue plaster, adorned
with wreaths and bullocks' faces in stucco.

Such were the sentiments of most of the burly squires who had ridden
in on the same errand, and throwing the reins to their grooms, likewise
climbed the stair to the club-room with its oriel looking over the
street. There too were several of the cathedral clergy, the rubicund
double-chinned face of the Canon in residence set off by a white,
cauliflower wig under a shovel hat, while the humbler minor canons
(who served likewise as curates to all the country round) only
powdered their own hair, and wore gowns and cassocks of quality very
inferior to that which adorned the portly person of their superior.
His white bands were of fine cambric, theirs of coarser linen; his
stockings were of ribbed silk, theirs of black worsted; his buckles
of silver, theirs of steel; and the line of demarcation was as
strongly marked as that between the neat, deferential tradesman,
and the lawyer in his spruce snuff-coloured coat, or the doctor,
as black in hue as the clergy, though with a secular cut, a smaller
wig, and a gold-headed cane. Each had, as in duty bound, ordered
his pint of port or claret for the good of the house, and it was
well if these were not in the end greatly exceeded; and some had
lighted long clay pipes; but these were mostly of the secondary
rank, who sat at the table farthest from the window, and whose
drink was a measure of ale.

The letters had not yet been sorted, but the newspaper had been
brought in, and the Canon Boltby had possessed himself of it, and
was proclaiming scraps of intelligence about the King, Queen, and
Sir Robert Walpole, the character of Marshal Berwick, recently slain
at Philipsburg, an account of Spanish outrages at sea, or mayhap the
story of a marvelous beast, half-tiger, half-wolf, reported to be
running wild in France. The other gentlemen, waiting till the mail-
bags were opened, listened and commented; while one or two of the
squires, and a shabby, disreputable-looking minor canon made each
notable name the occasion of a toast, whether of health to his
majesty's friends or confusion to his foes. A squabble, as to
whether the gallant Berwick should be reckoned as an honest Frenchman
or as a traitor Englishman, was interrupted by the Major's entrance,
and the congratulations on his recovery.

One of the squires inquired after his daughters, and pronounced the
little one with the outlandish name was becoming a belle, and would
be the toast of the neighbourhood, a hint of which the topers were
not slow to take advantage, while one of the guests at the recent
party observed, "Young Belamour seemed to be of that opinion."

"May it be so," said the Canon, "that were a step to the undoing of a
great wrong."

"Mr. Scrivener will tell you, sir, that there was no justice in the
eye of the law," said the Major.

"_Summum jus, summa injuria_," quoted, _sotto voce_, Mr. Arden, a minor
canon who, being well born, scholarly, scientific and gentlemanly,
occupied a middle place between his colleagues and the grandees. He
was not listened to. Each knot of speakers was becoming louder in
debate, and Dr. Boltby's voice was hardly heard when he announced that
a rain of blood had fallen on the Macgillicuddy mountains in Ireland,
testified to by numerous respectable Protestant witnesses, and
attributable, either to the late comet, or to the Pretender.

At that moment the letters were brought in by the postman, and each
recipient had--not without murmurs--to produce his purse and pay
heavily for them. There were not many. The Doctor had two, Mr.
Arden one, Mr. Scrivener no less than five, but of them two were
franked, and a franked letter was likewise handed over to Major
DeLavie, with the word "Aresfield" written in the corner.

"From my Lady," said an unoccupied neighbour.

"Aye, aye," said the Major, putting it into his pocket, being by no
means inclined to submit the letter to the general gaze.

"A good omen," said Canon Boltby, looking up from his paper. And
the Major smiled in return, put a word or two into the discussion
on affairs, and then, as soon as he thought he could take leave
without betraying anxiety, he limped down stairs, and called for
his horse. Lady Belamour's letters were wont to be calls for money,
not easily answered, and were never welcome sights, and this hung
heavy in the laced pocket of his coat.

Palmer met him at the back gate, and took his horse, but judged it
advisable to put no questions about the news, while his master made
his way in by the kitchen entrance of the rambling old manor house,
and entered a stone-paved low room, a sort of office or study, where
he received, and paid, money for my Lady, and smoked his pipe. Here
he sat down in his wooden armchair, spread forth his legs, and took
out the letter, opening it with careful avoidance of defacing the
large red seal, covered with many quarterings, and the Delavie
escutcheon of pretence reigning over all.

It opened, as he expected, with replies to some matters about leases
and repairs; and then followed:--

"I am informed that you have a large Family, and Daughters growing up
whom it is desirable to put in the way of making a good Match, or else
an honourable Livelihood; I am therefore willing, for the Sake of our
Family Connection, to charge myself with your youngest Girl, whose Name
I understand to be Aurelia. I will cause her to be trained in useful
Works in my Household, expecting her, in Return, to assist in the
Care and Instruction of my young Children; and if she please me and
prove herself worthy and attentive, I will bestow her Marriage upon
some suitable Person. This is the more proper and convenient for
you, because your Age and Health are such that I may not long be
able to retain you in the Charge of my Estate--in which indeed you
are continued only out of Consideration of an extremely distant
Relationship, although a younger and more active Man, bred to the
Profession, would serve me far more profitably."

When Betty came into the room a few minutes later to pull off her
father's boots she found him sitting like one transfixed. He held
out the letter, saying, "Read that, child."

Betty stood by the window and read, only giving one start, and
muttering between her teeth, "Insolent woman!" but not speaking the
words aloud, for she knew her father would treat them as treason. He
always had a certain tender deference for his cousin Urania, mixed
with something akin to compunction, as if his loyalty to his betrothed
had been disloyalty to his family. Thus, he exceeded the rest of his
sex in blindness to the defects that had been so evident to his wife
and daughter; and whatever provocation might make him say of my Lady
himself, he never permitted a word against her from any one else. He
looked wistfully at Betty and said, "My little Aura! It is a kindly
thought. Her son must have writ of the child. But I had liefer she
had asked me for the sight of my old eyes."

"The question is," said Betty, in clear, incisive tones, "whether we
surrender Aurelia or your situation?"

"Nay, nay, Betty, you always do my cousin less than justice. She means
well by the child and by us all. Come, come say what is in your mind,"
he add testily.

"Am I at liberty to express myself, sir?"

"Of course you are. I had rather hear the whole discharge of your
battery than see you looking constrained and satirical."

"Then, sir, my conclusion is this. The young baronet has shown himself
smitten with out pretty Aurelia, and has spoken of tarrying on his
return to make farther acquaintance. My Lady is afraid of his going
to greater lengths, and therefore wishes to have her at her disposal."

"She proposes to take her into her own family; that is not taking her
out of his way."

"I am sure of that."

"You are prejudiced, like your poor dear mother--the best of women, if
only she could ever have done justice to her Ladyship! Don't you see,
child, Aurelia would not be gone before his return, supposing he should
come this way."

"His visit was to be for six weeks. Did you not see the postscript?"

"No, the letter was enough for one while."

"Here it is: 'I shall send Dove in the Space of about a Fortnight or
three Weeks to bring to Town the young Coach Horses you mentioned.
His Wife is to return with him, as I have Occasion for her in Town,
and your Daughter must be ready to come up with them.'"

"Bless me! That is prompt! But it is thoughtful. Mrs. Dove is a good
soul. It seems to me as if my Lady, though she may not choose to say
so, wishes to see the child, and if she approve of her, breed her up
in the accomplishments needed for such an elevation."

"If you hold that opinion, dear sir, it is well."

"If I thought she meant other than kindness toward the dear maid, I had
rather we all pinched together than risk the little one in her hands.
I had rather-if it comes to that--live on a crust a day than part with
my sweet child; but if it were for good, Betty! It is hard for you all
three to be cooped up together here, with no means of improving your
condition; and this may be an opening that I ought not to reject. What
say you, Betty?"

"If I were to send her out into the world, I had rather bind her
apprentice to the Misses Rigby to learn mantua-making."

"Nay, nay, my dear; so long as I live there is no need for my children
to come to such straits."

"As long as you retain your situation, sir; but you perceive how my
Lady concludes her letter."

"An old song, Betty, which she sings whenever the coin does not come
in fast enough to content her. She does not mean what she says; I
know Urania of old. No; I will write back to her, thanking her for
her good offices, but telling her my little girl is too young to be
launched into the world as yet. Though if it were Harriet, she might
not be unwilling."

"Harriet would be transported at the idea; but it is not she whom the
Lady wants. And indeed I had rather trust little Aurelia to take care
of herself than poor Harriet."

"We shall see! We shall see! Meantime, do not broach the subject to
your sisters."

Betty assented, and departed with a heavy heart, feeling that, whatever
her father might believe, the choice would be between the sacrifice of
Aurelia or of her father's agency, which would involve the loss of home,
of competence, and of the power of breeding up her darling Eugene
according to his birth. She did not even know what her father had
written, and could only go about her daily occupations like one under
a weight, listening to her sisters' prattle about their little plans
with a strange sense that everything was coming to an end, and
constantly weighing the comparative evils of yielding or refusing
Aurelia.

No one would have more valiantly faced poverty than Elizabeth Delavie,
had she alone been concerned. Cavalier and Jacobite blood was in her
veins, and her unselfish character had been trained by a staunch and
self-devoted mother. But her father's age and Eugene's youth made
her waver. She might work her fingers to the bone, and live on
oatmeal, to give her father the comforts he required; but to have
Eugene brought down from his natural station was more than she could
endure. His welfare must be secured at the cost not only of Aurelia's
sweet presence, but of her happiness; and Betty durst not ask herself
what more she dreaded, knowing too that she would probably be quite
incapable of altering her father's determination whatever it might be,
and that he was inclined to trust Lady Belamour. The only chance of
his refusal was that he should take alarm at the manner of requiring
his daughter from him.

CHAPTER V. THE SUMMONS.

But when the King knew that the thing must be,
And that no help there was in this distress,
He bade them have all things in readiness
To take the maiden out.--MORRIS.

The second Sunday of suspense had come. The Sundays of good young
ladies little resembled those of a century later, though they were not
devoid of a calm peacefulness, worthy of the "sweet day, so cool, so
calm, so bright." The inhabited rooms of the old house looked bright
and festal; there were fresh flowers in the pots, honey as well as
butter on the breakfast table. The Major and Palmer were both in full
uniform, wonderfully preserved. Eugene, a marvel of prettiness, with
his curled hair and little velvet coat, contrived by his sisters out
of some ancestral hoard. Betty wore thick silk brocade from the same
store; Harriet a fresh gay chintz over a crimson skirt, and Aurelia
was in spotless white, with a broad blue sash and blue ribbons in her
hat, for her father liked to see her still a child; so her hair was
only tied with blue, while that of her sisters was rolled over a
cushion, and slightly powdered.

The church was so near that the Major could walk thither, leaning on
his stout crutch-handled stick, and aided by his daughter's arm, as
he proceeded down the hawthorn lane, sweet with the breath of May,
exchanging greetings with whole families of the poor, the fathers in
smock frocks wrought with curious needlework on the breast and back,
the mothers in high-crowned hats and stout dark blue woollen gowns,
the children, either patched or ragged, and generally barefooted, but
by no means ill-fed.

No Sunday school had been invented. The dame who hobbled along in
spectacles, dropping a low curtsey to the "quality," taught the
hornbook and the primer to a select few of the progeny of the farmers
and artisans, and the young ladies would no more have thought of
assisting her labours than the blacksmith's. They only clubbed their
pocket money to clothe and pay the schooling of one little orphan,
who acknowledged them by a succession of the lowest bobs as she
trotted past, proud as Margery Twoshoes herself of the distinction
of being substantially shod.

The church was small, and with few pretensions to architecture at the
best. It had been nearly a ruin, when, stirred by the Major, the
church-wardens had taken it in hand, so that, owing to Richard Stokes
and John Ball, as they permanently declared in yellow letters on a
blue ground, the congregation were no longer in danger of the roof
admitting the rain or coming down on the congregation. They had
further beautified the place with a huge board of the royal arms, and
with Moses and Aaron in white cauliflower wigs presiding over the
tables of the Commandments. Four long dark, timber pews and numerous
benches, ruthlessly constructed out of old carvings, occupied the
aisle, and the chancel was more than half filled with the lofty
"closet" of the Great House family. Hither the Delavie family betook
themselves, and on her way Betty was startled by the recognition, in
the seat reserved for the servants, of a broad back and curled wig
that could belong to no one but Jonah Dove. She did her utmost to
keep her mind from dwelling on what this might portend, though she
followed the universal custom by exchanging nods and curtsies with
the Duckworth family as she sailed up the aisle at the head of the
little procession.

There was always a little doubt as to who would serve the church.
One of the Canons was the incumbent, and the curate was Mr. Arden,
the scientific minor canon, but when his services were required at
the cathedral, one of his colleagues would supply his place, usually
in a sadly perfunctory manner. However, he was there in person, as
his voice, a clear and pleasant one, showed the denizens of the
"closet," for they could not see out of it, except where Eugene had
furtively enlarged a moth-eaten hole in the curtain, through which,
when standing on the seat, he could enjoy an oblique view of the back
of an iron-moulded surplice and a very ill-powdered wig. This was a
comfort to him. It would have been more satisfactory to have been
able to make out whence came the stentorian A-men, that responded to
the parson, totally unaccompanied save by the good Major, who always
read his part almost as loud as the clerk, from a great octavo prayer-
book, bearing on the lid the Delavie arms with coronet, supporters,
and motto, "_Ma Vie et ma Mie_." It would have been thought unladylike,
if not unscriptural, to open the lips in church; yet, for all her
silence, good Betty was striving to be devout and attentive, praying
earnestly for her little sister's safety, and hailing as a kind of
hopeful augury this verse from the singers--

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