Books: Love and Life

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

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"Your young half-brothers and sisters must be of about the same age,"
said Betty.

"My little brother, Archer, is somewhat younger. He is with my mother
in London, the darling of the ladies, who think him a perfect beauty,
and laugh at all his mischievous pranks. As to my little sisters, you
will be surprised to hear that I have only seen them once, when I rode
with their father to see them at the farm houses at which they are
nursed."

"No doubt they are to be fetched home, since Mrs. Dove is gone to wait
on them, and my Lady said something of intending my sister to be with
her young children."

"Nay, she must have no such troublesome charge. My mother cannot
intend anything of the kind. I shall see that she is treated as---"

Betty, beginning to perceive that he knew as little of his own mother
as did the rest of his sex, here interrupted him. "Excuse me, sir, I
doubt not of your kind intentions, but let me speak, for Aurelia is a
very precious child to me, and I am afraid that any such attempt on
your part might do her harm rather than good. She must be content
with the lot of a poor dependant."

"Never!" he exclaimed. "She is a Delavie; and besides, no other ever
shall be my wife."

"Hush, hush!" Betty had been saying before the words were out of his
"You are but a silly boy, begging your Honour's pardon, though you
speak, I know, with all your heart. What would your Lady mother say
or do to my poor little sister if she heard you?"

"She could but send her home, and then flood and fire could not hold
me from her."

"I wish that were the worst she could do. No, Sir Amyas Belamour, if
you have any kindness for the poor helpless girl under your mother's
roof, you will make no advance to excite alarm or anger against her.
Remember it is she who will be the sufferer and not yourself. The
woman, however guiltless, is sure to fall under suspicion and bear
the whole penalty. And oh! what would become of her, defenceless,
simple, unprotected as she is?"

"Yet you sent her!" said he.

"Yes," said Betty, sadly, "because there was no other choice between
breaking with my Lady altogether."

He made an ejaculation under his breath, half sad, half violent, and
exclaimed, "Would that I were of age, or my father were returned."

"But now you know all, you will leave my child in peace," said Betty.

"What, you would give me no hope!"

"Only such as you yourself have held out," said Betty. "When you are
your own master, if you keep in the same mind till then, and remain
truly worthy, I cannot tell what my father would answer."

"I am going to speak to him this very day. I came with that intent."

"Do no such thing, I entreat," cried Betty. "He would immediately
think it his duty to inform my Lady. Then no protestation would
persuade her that we had not entrapped your youth and innocence.
His grey head would be driven out without shelter, and what
might not be the consequence to my sister? You could not help us,
and could only make it worse. No, do nothing rash, incautious, or
above all, disobedient. It would be self-love, not true love that
would risk bringing her into peril and trouble when she is far out
of reach of all protection."

"Trust me, trust me, Cousin Betty," cried the youth. "Only let me hope,
and I'll be caution itself; but oh! what an endless eternity is two
years to wait without a sign!"

But here appeared the Major, accompanied by Captain Herries and Dean
Churchill, who had ordered out his coach, Sunday though it were, to
pay his respects to my Lady's son, and carry him and his hosts back
to sup at the Deanery. It was an age of adulation, but Betty was
thankful that perilous conversations were staved off.

CHAPTER VII. ALL ALONE.

By the simplicity of Venus' doves.
_Merchant of Venice_.

That Sunday was spent by Aurelia at the Bear Inn, at Reading. Her
journey had been made by very short stages, one before breakfast,
another lasting till noon, when there was a long halt for dinner
and rest for horse and rider, and then another ride, never even in
these longest summer days prolonged beyond six or seven o'clock at
latest, such was the danger of highwaymen being attracted by the
valuable horses, although the grooms in charge were so well armed
that they might almost as well have been troopers.

The roads, at that time of year, were at their best, and Aurelia
and Mrs. Dove were mounted on steady old nags, accustomed to pillions.
Aurelia could have ridden single, but this would not have been thought
fitting on a journey with no escort of her own rank, and when she
mounted she was far too miserable to care for anything but hiding
her tearful face behind Mr. Dove's broad shoulders. Mrs. Dove was
perched behind a wiry, light-weighted old groom, whom she kept in
great order, much to his disgust.

After the first wretchedness, Aurelia's youthful spirits had begun to
revive, and the novel scenes to awaken interest. The Glastonbury thorn
was the first thing she really looked at. The Abbey was to her only
an old Gothic melancholy ruin, not worthy of a glance, but the breezy
air of the Cheddar Hills, the lovely cliffs, and the charm of the open
country, with its strange islands of hills dotted about, raised her
spirits, as she rode through the meadows where hay was being tossed,
and the scent came fragrant on the breeze. Mr. Dove would tell her
over his shoulder the names of places and their owners when they came
to parks bordering the road, and castles "bosomed high in the tufted
trees." Or he would regale her with legends of robberies and point
to the frightful gibbets, one so near to the road that she shut her
eyes and crouched low behind him to avoid seeing the terrible burthen.
She had noted the White Horse, and shuddered at the monument at Devizes
commemorating the judgment on the lying woman, and a night had been
spent at Marlborough that "Miss" might see a strolling company of
actors perform in a barn; but as the piece was the _Yorksire Tragedy_,
the ghastly performance overcame her so completely that Mrs. Dove had
to take her away, declaring that no inducement should ever take her to
a theatre again.

Mr. Dove was too experienced a traveller not to choose well his
quarters for the night, and Aurelia slept in the guest chambers
shining with cleanliness and scented with lavender, Mrs. Dove always
sharing her room. "Miss" was treated with no small regard, as a lady
of the good old blood, and though the coachman and his wife talked
freely with her, they paid her all observance, never ate at the same
table, and provided assiduously for her comfort and pleasure. Once
they halted a whole day because even Mr. Dove was not proof against
the allurements of a bull-baiting, though he carefully explained
that he only made a concession to the grooms to prevent them from
getting discontented, and went himself to the spectacle to hinder
them from getting drunk, in which, be it observed, he did not succeed.

So much time was spent on thus creeping from stage to stage that
Aurelia had begun to feel as if the journey had been going on for ages,
and as if worlds divided her from her home, when on Sunday she timidly
preceded Mrs. Dove into Reading Abbey Church, and afterwards was shown
where rolled Father Thames. The travellers took early morning with
them for Maidenhead Thicket, and breakfasted on broiled trout at the
King's Arms at Maidenhead Bridge, while Aurelia felt her eye filled
with the beauty of the broad glassy river, and the wooded banks, and
then rose onwards, looking with loyal awe at majestic Windsor, where
the flag was flying. They slept at a poor little inn a Longford,
rather than cross Hounslow Heath in the evening, and there heard all
the last achievements of the thieves, so that Aurelia, in crossing the
next day, looked to see a masked highwayman start out of every bush;
but they came safely to the broad archway of the inn at Knightsbridge,
their last stage. Mrs. Dove took her charge up stairs at once to
refresh her toilette, before entering London and being presented to
my Lady.

But a clattering and stamping were heard in the yard, and Aurelia,
looking from the window, called Mrs. Dove to see four horses being
harnessed to a coach that was standing there.

"Lawk-a-day?" cried the good woman, "if it be not our own old coach,
as was the best in poor Sir Jovian's time! Ay, there be our colours,
you see, blue and gold, and my Lady's quartering. Why, 'twas atop of
that very blue hammercloth that I first set eyes on my Dove! So my
Lady has sent to meet you, Missie. Well, I do take it kind of her.
Now you will not come in your riding hood, all frowsed and dusty, but
can put on your pretty striped sacque and blue hood that you wore on
Sunday, and look the sweet pretty lady you are."

Mrs. Dove's intentions were frustrated, for the maid of the inn knocked
at the door with a message that the coach had orders not to wait, but
that Miss was to come down immediately.

"Dear, dear!" sighed Mrs. DOve. "Tell the jackanapes not to be so
hasty. He must give the young lady time to change her dress, and eat
a mouthful."

This brought Dove up to the door. "Never mind dressing and fallals,"
he said; "this is a strange fellow that says he is hired for the job,
and his orders are precise. Miss must take a bit of cake in her hand.
Come, dame, you have not lived so long in my Lady's service as to
forget what it is to cross her will, or keep her waiting."

Therewith he hurried Aurelia down stairs, his wife being in such a
state of _deshabille_ that she could not follow. He handed the young
lady into the carriage, gave her a parcel of slices of bread and meat,
with a piece of cake, shut the door, and said, "Be of good heart,
Missie, we'll catch you up by the time you are in the square. All
right!"

Off went Aurelia in solitude, within a large carriage, once gaily
fitted though now somewhat faded and tarnished. She was sorry to be
parted from the Doves, whom she wanted to give her courage for the
introduction to my Lady, and to explain to her the wonders of the
streets of London, which she did not _quite_ expect to see paved
with gold! She ate her extemporised meal, gazing from the window,
and expecting to see houses and churches thicken on her, and hurrying
to brush away her crumbs, and put on her gloves lest she should arrive
unawares, for she had counted half-a-dozen houses close together.
No! here was another field! More fields and houses. The signs of
habitation were, so far from increasing, growing more scanty, and
looked strangely like what she had before passed. Could this be the
right road! How foolish to doubt, when this was my Lady's own coach.
But oh, that it had waited for Mrs. Dove! She would beg her to get
in when the riders overtook her. When would they? No sign of them
could be seen from the windows, and here were more houses. Surely
this was Turnham Green again, or there must be another village green
exactly like it in the heart of London. How many times did not poor
Aurelia go through all these impressions in the course of the drive.
She was absolutely certain that she was taken through Brentford again,
this time without a halt; but after this the country became unknown
to her, and the road much worse. It was in fact for the most part
a mere ditch or cart track, so rough that the four horses came to a
walk. Aurelia had read no novels but _Telemaque_ and _Le Grand Cyrus_,
so her imagination was not terrified by tales of abduction, but alarm
began to grow upon her. She much longed to ask the coachman whither
he was taking her, but the check string had been either worn out or
removed; she could not open the door from within, nor make him hear,
and indeed she was a little afraid of him.

Twilight began to come on; it was much later than Mr. Dove had ever
ventured to be out, but here at last there was a pause, and the swing
of a gate, the road was smoother and she seemed to be in a wood,
probably private ground. On and on, for an apparently interminable
time, went the coach with the wearied and affrighted girl, through
the dark thicket, until at last she emerged, into a park, where she
could again see the pale after-glow of the sunset, and presently she
found herself before a tall house, perfectly dark, with strange
fantastic gables and chimneys, ascending far above against the sky.

All was still as death, except the murmuring caws of the rooks in
their nests, and the chattering shriek of a startled blackbird. The
servant from behind ran up the steps and thundered at the door; it
was opened, a broad line of light shone out, some figures appeared,
and a man in livery came forward to open the carriage door, but to
Aurelia's inexpressible horror, his face was perfectly black, with
negro features, rolling eyes, and great white teeth!

She hardly knew what she did, the dark carriage was formidable on one
side, the apparition on the other! The only ray of comfort was in
the face of a stout, comely, rosy maid-servant, who was holding the
candle on the threshold, and with one bound the poor traveller
dashed past the black hand held out to help her, and rushing up to
the girl, caught hold of her, and gasped out, "Oh! What is that?
Where am I? Where have they taken me?"

"Lawk, ma'am," said the girl, with a broad grin, "that 'ere bees only
Mr. Jumbo. A' won't hurt'ee. See, here's Mistress Aylward."

A tall, white-capped, black-gowned elderly woman turned on the new-
comer a pale, grave, unsmiling face, saying, "Your servant--Miss
Aurelia Delavie, as I understand."

Bending her head, and scarcely able to steady herself, for she was
shaking from head to foot, Aurelia managed to utter the query,

"Where am I?"

"At Bowstead Park, madam, by order of my Lady."

Much relieved, and knowing this was the Belamour estate, Aurelia said,
"Please let me wait till Mrs. Dove comes before I am presented to my
Lady."

"My Lady is not here, madam," said Mrs. Aylward. "Allow me--" and
she led the way across a great empty hall, that seemed the vaster
for its obscurity, then along a matted passage, and down some steps
into a room surrounded with presses and cupboards, evidently belonging
to the to the housekeeper. She set a chair for the trembling girl,
saying, "You will excuse the having supper here to-night, madam; the
south parlour will be ready for you to-morrow."

"Is not Mrs. Dove coming?" faintly asked Aurelia.

"Mrs. Dove is gone to London to attend on little Master Wayland. You
are to be here with the young ladies, ma'am."

"What young ladies?" asked the bewildered maiden.

"My Lady's little daughters--the Misses Wayland. I thought she had
sent you her instructions; but I see you are over wearied and daunted,"
she added, more kindly; "you will be better when you have taken some
food. Molly, I say, you sluggard of a wench, bring the lady's supper,
and don't stand gaping there."

Mrs. Aylward hurried away to hasten operations, and Aurelia began
somewhat to recover her senses, though she was still so much dismayed
that she dreaded to look up lest she should see something frightful,
and started at the first approach of steps.

A dainty little supper was placed before her, but she was too faint
and sick at heart for appetite, and would have excused herself.
However, Mrs. Aylward severely said she would have no such folly,
filled a glass of wine, and sternly administered it; then setting
her down in a large chair, helped her to a delicate cutlet. She
ate for very fright, but her cheeks and eyes were brightened, the
mists of terror and exhaustion began to clear away, and when she
accepted a second help, she had felt herself reassured that she had
not fallen into unkindly hands. If she could only have met a smile
she would have been easier, but Mrs. Aylward was a woman of sedate
countenance and few words, and the straight set line of lips
encouraged no questioning, so she merely uttered thanks for each
act of hospitality.

"There! You will take no more roll? You are better, now, but you
will not be sorry to go to your bed," said Mrs. Aylward, taking up
a candle, and guiding her along the passage up a long stair to a
pretty room wainscoted and curtained with fresh white dimity, and
the window showing the young moon pale in the light of the western
sky.

Bedrooms were little furnished, and this was more luxurious than the
dear old chamber at home, but the girl had never before slept alone,
and she felt unspeakably lonely in the dreariness, longing more than
ever for Betty's kiss--even for Betty's blame--or for a whine from
Harriet; and she positively hungered for a hug from Eugene, as she
gazed timidly at the corners beyond the influence of her candle; and
instead of unpacking the little riding mail she kissed it, and laid
her cheek on it as the only thing that came from home, and burst into
a flood of despairing tears.

In the midst, there fell on her ears a low strain of melancholy music
rising and falling like the wailing of mournful spirits. She sprang
to her feet and stood listening with dilated eyes; then, as a louder
note reached her, in terror uncontrollable, she caught up her candle,
rushed down the stairs like a wild bird, and stood panting before Mrs.
Aylward, who had a big Bible open on the table before her.

"Oh, ma'am," she cried, between her panting sobs, "I can't stay there!
I shall die!"

"What means this, madam?" said Mrs. Aylward, stiffly, making the word
sound much like "foolish child."

"The--the music!" she managed faintly to utter, falling again into the
friendly chair.

"The music?" said Mrs. Aylward, considering; then with a shade of
polite contempt, "O! Jumbo's fiddle! I did not know it could be
heard in your room, but no doubt the windows below are open."

"Is Jumbo that black man?" asked Aurelia, shuddering; for negro
servants, though the fashion in town, had not penetrated into
the west.

"Mr. Belamour's blackamoor. He often plays to him half the night."

"Oh!" with another quivering sound of alarm; "is Mr. Belamour the
gentleman in the dark?"

"Even so, madam, but you need have no fears. He keeps his room and
admits no one, though he sometimes walks out by night. You will only
have to keep the children from a noise making near his apartments.
Good night, madam."

"Oh, pray, if I do not disturb you, would you be pleased to let me stay
till you have finished your chapter; I might not be so frightened then."

In common humanity Mrs. Aylward could not refuse, and Aurelia sat
silently grasping the arms of her chair, and trying to derive all
the comfort she could from the presence of a Bible and a good woman.
Her nerves were, in fact, calmed by the interval, and when Mrs.
Aylward took off her spectacles and shut up her book, it had become
possible to endure the terrors of the lonely chamber.

CHAPTER VIII. THE ENCHANTED CASTLE.

A little she began to lose her fear.--MORRIS.

Aurelia slept till she was wakened by a bounce at the door, and the
rattling of the lock, but it was a little child's voice that was
crying, "I will! I will! I will go in and seem by cousin!"

Then came Mrs. Aylward's severe voice: "No, miss, you are not to waken
your cousin. Come away. Where is that slut, Jenny?"

Then there was a scuffle and a howl, as if the child were being
forcibly carried away. Aurelia sprang out of bed, for sunshine was
flooding the room, and she felt accountable for tardiness. She had
made some progress in dressing, when again little hands were on the
lock, little feet kicking the door, and little voices calling, "Let
me in."

She opened the door, and white nightgowns, all tumbled back one over
the other.

"My little cousins," she said, "come and kiss me."

One came forward and lifted up a sweet little pale face, but the other
two stood, each with a finger in the mouth, right across the threshold,
in a manner highly inconvenient to Aurelia, who was only in her stiff
stays and dimity petticoat, with a mass of hair hanging down below her
waist. She turned to them with arms out-stretched, but this put them
instantly to the rout, and they ran off as fast as their bare pink
feet could carry them, till one stumbled, and lay with her face down
and her plump legs kicking in the air. Aurelia caught her up, but
the capture produced a powerful yell, and out, all at once hurried
into the corridor, Mrs. Aylward, a tidy maid servant, a stout, buxom
countrywoman, and a rough girl, scarcely out of bed, but awake enough
to snatch the child out of the young lady's arms, and carry her off.
The housekeeper began scolding vigorously all round, and Aurelia
escaped into her room, where she completed her toilette, looking out
into a garden below, laid out in the formal Dutch fashion, with walks
and beds centring in a fountain, the grass plats as sharply defined
as possible, and stiff yews and cypresses dotted at regular intervals
or forming straight alleys. She felt strange and shy, but the sunshine,
the cheerfulness, and the sight of the children, had reassured her, and
when she had said her morning prayer, she had lost the last night's
sense of hopeless dreariness and unprotectedness. When another knock
came, she opened the door cheerfully, but there was a chill in meeting
Mrs. Aylward's grave, cold face, and stiff salutation. "If you are
ready, madam," she said, "I will show you to the south parlour, where
the children will eat with you."

Aurelia ventured to ask about her baggage, and was told that it would
be forwarded from Brentford. Mrs. Aylward then led the way to a wide
stone staircase, with handsome carved balusters, leading down into the
great hall, with doors opening from all sides. All was perfectly
empty, and so still, that the sweep of the dresses, and the tap of the
heels made an echo; and the sunshine, streaming in at the large window,
marked out every one upon the floor, in light and shadow, and exactly
repeated the brown-shaded, yellow-framed medallions of painted glass
upon the pavement. There was something awful and oppressive in the
entire absence of all tokens of habitation, among those many closed
doors.

One, however, at the foot of the stairs was opened by Mrs. Aylward.
It led to a sort of narrow lobby, with a sashed window above a low
door, opening on stone steps down to the terrace and garden. To
the right was an open door, giving admittance to a room hung with
tapestry, with a small carpet in the centre of the floor, and a table
prepared for the morning meal. There was a certain cheerfulness about
it, though it was bare of furniture; but there was an easy chair, a
settee, a long couch, a spinnet, and an embroidery frame, so that
altogether it had capabilities of being lived in.

"Here you will sit, madam, with the young ladies," said Mrs. Aylward.
"They have a maid-servant who will wait on you, and if you require
anything, you will be pleased to speak to me. My Lady wishes you to
take charge of them, and likewise to execute the piece of embroidery
you will find in that frame, with the materials. This will be your
apartment, and you can take the young ladies into the garden and
park, wherever you please, except that they must not make a noise
before the windows of the other wing, which you will see closed with
shutters, for those are Mr. Belamour's rooms."

With these words Mrs. Aylward curtsied as if about to retire, Aurelia
held out her hand in entreaty. "Oh, cannot you stay with me?"

"No, madam, my office is the housekeeper's," was the stiff response.
"Molly will call me if you require my services. I think you said you
preferred bread and milk for breakfast. Dinner will be served at one."

Mrs. Aylward retreated, leaving a chill on the heart of the lonely girl.

She was a clergyman's widow, though with no pretensions to gentility,
and was a plain, conscientious, godly woman, but with the narrow self-
concentrated piety of the time, which seemed to ignore all the active
part of the duty to our neighbour. She had lived many years as a
faithful retainer to the Belamour family, and avoided perplexity by
minding no one's business but her own, and that thoroughly. Naturally
reserved, and disapproving much that she saw around her, she had never
held it to be needful to do more than preserve her own integrity, and
the interests of her employers, and she made it a principle to be in
no wise concerned in family affairs, and to hold aloof from perilous
confidences.

Thus Aurelia was left to herself, till three bowls of milk were borne
in by Molly, who was by no means loth to speak.

"The little misses will be down directly, ma'am," she said, "that is,
two on 'em. The little one, she won't leave Jenny Bowles, but Dame
Wheatfield, she'll bring down the other two. You see, ma'am, they be
only just taken home from being out at nurse, and don't know one
another, nor the place, and a pretty handful we shall have of 'em."

Here came a call for Molly, and the girl with a petulant exclamation,
sped away, leaving Aurelia to the society of the tapestry. It was of
that set of Gobelin work which represents the four elements personified
by their goddesses, and Aurelia's mythology, founded on Fenelon, was
just sufficient to enable her to recognise the forge of Vulcan and the
car [chariot--D.L.] of Venus. Then she looked at the work prepared
for her, a creamy piece of white satin, and a most elaborate pattern
of knots of roses, lilacs, hyacinths, and laburnums, at which her heart
sank within her. However, at that moment the stout woman she had seen
in the morning appeared at the open door with a little girl in each
hand, both in little round muslin caps, long white frocks, and blue
sashes.

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