Books: Love and Life

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

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"'Nay, nay,' she sang. 'yoke, pain, and tear,
For Love I gladly greet;
Light, Life, and Mirth are nothing here,
Without Love's bitter sweet.
Give me Love's bitter sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet.'"

"Accept my fervent thanks, kind songstress. So that is the
nightingale's song, and your honoured mother's?"

"Yes, sir. My father often makes us sing it because it reminds him
of her."

"Philomel could not have found a better interpreter," said the
grave voice, sounding so sad that Aurelia wished she could have
sung something less affecting to his spirits.

"I gather from what you said that you are no longer blessed with the
presence of the excellent lady, your mother," presently added Mr.
Belamour.

"No, sir. We lost her seven years ago."

"And her husband mourns her still. Well he may. She was a rare
creature. So she is gone! I have been so long in seclusion that
no doubt time has made no small havoc, and my friends have had
many griefs to bewail."

Aurelia knew not what answer to make, and was relieved when he
collected himself and said:--

"I will trespass no longer on my fair visitor's complaisance, but if
she have not found the gloom of this apartment insupportable, it would
be a charitable action to brighten it once more with her presence."

"O sir, I will come whenever you are pleased to send for me," she
exclaimed, all her doubts, fears, and scruples vanishing at his tone
of entreaty. "My father would be so glad. I will practise my best
song to sing to you to-morrow."

"My best thanks are yours," and her hand was taken, she was carefully
conducted to the door and dismissed with a gentle pressure of her
fingers, and a courteous: "Goodnight, madam; _Au revoir_, if I may
venture to say so."

By contrast, the hall looked almost light, and Aurelia could see the
skip of joy with which Jumbo hurried to fetch a candle. As he gave
it to her, he made his teeth flash from ear to ear, as he exclaimed:
"Pretty missy bring new life to mas'r!"

Thus did a new element come into Aurelia's life. She carefully
prepared Harriet's favourite song, a French _romance_, but Mr.
Belamour did not like it equally well with the Nightingale, which
he made her repeat, rewarding her by telling her of the charming
looks and manners of her mother, so that she positively enjoyed
her visit. The next night he made inquiries into her walks at
Bowstead, asking after the favourite nooks of his childhood, and
directing her to the glades where grew the largest dewberries and
sweetest blackberries. This led to her recital of a portion of
_Midsummer Night's Dream_, for he drew her on with thanks at every
pause: "I have enjoyed no such treat for many years," he said.

"There are other pieces that I can recite another time," said
Aurelia timidly.

"You will confer a great favour on me," he answered.

So she refreshed her memory by a mental review of _Paradise Lost_ over
her embroidery frame, and was ready with Adam's morning hymn, which
was much relished. Compliments on her elocution soon were turned by
her into the praise of "sister," and as she became more at ease, the
strange man in the dark listened with evident delight to her pretty
fresh prattle about sister and brother, and father and home. Thus
it had become a daily custom that she should spend the time between
half past seven and nine in the company of the prisoner of darkness,
and she was beginning to look forward to it as the event of the day.
She scarcely expected to be sent for on Sunday evening, but Jumbo
came as usual with the invitation, and she was far from sorry to
quit a worm-eaten Baxter's _Saints' Rest_ which she had dutifully
borrowed from Mrs. Aylward.

"Well, my fair visitor," said the voice which had acquired a tone of
pleased anticipation, "what mental repast has your goodness provided?"

"It is Sunday, sir."

"Ah!" as if it had not occurred to him, and with some disappointment.

"I could say the Psalms by heart, sir, if you would like it, for it
is the 20th day of the month."

"Thank you. Your voice can make anything sweet."

Aurelia was shocked, and knew that Betty would be more so, but she
was too shy to do anything except to begin: "Praise thou the Lord,
O my soul."

It was a fortunate thing that it was a Psalm of such evident beauty,
for it fell less familiarly on his ear than her passages from the
poets. At the end he said: "Yes, that is true poetry. Praise fits
well with happy young lips. You have been to church?"

"No, sir, Mr. Greaves does not come to-day."

"Then how did the gentle saint perform her orisons?"

"Please do not so call me, sir! I tried to read the service, but I
could not get the children to be still, so I had to tell them about
Joseph, and I found a beautiful Bible full of pictures, like our
Dutch one at home."

"You found the old Bible? My mother used to show it to my brother
and me--my poor mother!"

He mentioned one or two of the engravings, which he had never
forgotten, but the evening was less of a success than usual, and
Aurelia doubted whether we would wish for her that day se'nnight.
All her dread of him was gone; she knew she had brought a ray of
brightness into his solitary broken life, and her mind was much
occupied with the means of affording him pleasure. Indeed she
might have wearied of the lack of all companionship save that of
the young children; and converse with a clever highly cultivated
mind was stimulating and expanding all her faculties. When the
stores or her memory were becoming exhausted, Jumbo was bidden
to open a case of books which had lain untouched since they were
sent sown from Mr. Belamour's chambers at the Temple, and they were
placed at her disposal. Here was Mr. Alexander Pope's translation
of the _Iliad_ of Homer, which had appeared shortly before the fatal
duel, and Aurelia eagerly learnt whole pages of it by heart for
the evening's amusement, enjoying extremely the elucidations and
criticisms of her auditor, who would dwell on a passage all day,
beg to have it repeated a second time in the evening, and then
tell her what his memory or his reflection had suggested about it.
Moreover, having heard some inexplicable report, through Jumbo, of
the Porteous mob, Mr. Belamour became curious to learn the truth,
and this led to his causing the newspapers to be sent weekly to be
read and reported to him by Aurelia. It seemed incredible that a
man of much ability should have been content to spend all these
years in the negro's sole society, but no doubt the injury done
to the brain had been aggravated by grief and remorse, so that he
had long lain, with suspended faculties, in a species of living
death; whence he had only gradually, and as it were unconsciously,
advanced to his present condition. Perhaps Mr. Wayland's endeavours
to rouse him had come too soon, or in a less simple and attractive
form, for they had been reluctantly received and had proved entirely
unsuccessful; while the child-like efforts of the girl, following
his lead instead of leading him, were certainly awakening him, and
renewing his spirits and interest in the world at large in an
unlooked-for manner.

CHAPTER XI. A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE.

He hath a word for thee to speak.
KEBLE.

No difference was made to Aurelia's visits to Mr. Belamour on Sunday
evenings, but he respected her scruples against indulgence in profane
literature, and encouraged her to repeat passages of Scripture,
beginning to taste the beauty of the grand cadences falling from her
soft measured voice. Thus had she come to the Sermon on the Mount,
and found herself repeating the expansion of the Sixth Commandment
ending with, "And thou be cast into prison. Verily I say unto thee,
thou shalt not come out thence until thou hast paid the uttermost
farthing."

A groan startled her. Then came the passage and the unhappy man's
history with a sudden stab. A horror of the darkness fell on her.
She felt as if he were in the prison and she reproaching him, and
cried out--"O sir, forgive me. I forgot; I did not say it on purpose."

"No, my child, it was Mary speaking by your voice. No, Mary, I shall
never come out. It will never be paid."

She shook with fright as Jumbo touched her, saying, "Missee, go; mas'r
bear no more;" but, as she rose to go away, a sweet impulse made her
pause and say, "It is paid, _He_ paid. You know Who did--in his own
Blood."

Jumbo drew her away almost by force, and when outside, exclaimed,
"Missee never speak of blood or kill to mas'r--he not bear it. Head
turn again--see shapes as bad as ever."

The poor child cried bitterly, calling herself cruel, thoughtless,
presumptuous; and for the next few days Jumbo's eyes glared at her
as he reported his master to be very ill; but, on the third day, he
came for her as usual. She thought Mr. Belamour's tones unwontedly
low and depressed, but no reference was made to the Sunday, and she
was glad enough to plunge into the council of Olympus.

A day or two later, Dame Wheatfield sent her husband with an urgent
invitation to Miss Amoret with her sisters and cousin to be present
at her harvest home. Mrs. Aylward, with a certain tone of contempt,
gave her sanction to their going with Molly, by the help of the
little pony cart used about the gardens. Aurelia, in high glee,
told Mr. Belamour, who encouraged her to describe all her small
adventures, and was her oracle in all the difficult questions that
Fidelia's childish wisdom was wont to start.

"To Wheatfield's farm, did you say? That is in Sedhurst. There are
but three fields between it and the church."

Presently he added: "I am tempted to ask a great kindness, though I
know not whether it will be possible to you."

"Indeed, sir, I will do my utmost."

"There are two graves in Sedhurst Church, I have never dared to
inquire about them. Would it be asking too much from my gentle
friend to beg of her to visit them, and let me hear of them."

"I will, I will, sir, with all my heart."

By eight o'clock the next evening she was again with him, apologizing
for being late.

"I scarcely expected this pleasure to-night. These rural festivities
are often protracted."

"O sir, I was heartily glad to escape and to get the children away.
The people were becoming so rude and riotous that I was frightened.
I never would have gone, had I known what it would be like, but at
home the people are fond of asking us to their harvest feasts, and
they always behave well whilst we are there."

"No doubt they hold your father in respect."

"Yes," said Aurelia, unwilling to tell him how much alarmed and
offended she had been, though quite unintentionally. Dame Wheatfield
only intended hospitality; but in her eyes "Miss" was merely a poor
governess, and that to the little Waylands--mere interlopers in the
eyes of the Belamour tenantry. So the good woman had no idea that
the rough gallantry of the young farmer guests was inappropriate,
viewing it as the natural tribute to her guest's beauty, and mistaking
genuine offence for mere coyness, until, finding it was real earnest,
considerable affront was taken at "young madam's fine airs, and she
only a poor kinswoman of my Lady's!" Quite as ill was it received
that the young lady had remonstrated against the indigestible cakes
and strange beverages administered to all her charges, and above all
to Amoret. She had made her escape on the plea of early hours for
the children, leaving Molly behind her, just as the boisterous song
was beginning in which Jack kisses Bet, Joe kisses Sue, Tom kisses
Nan, &c. down to poor Dorothy Draggletail, who is left in the lurch.
The farewell had been huffy. "A good evening to you, madam; I am
sorry our entertainment was not more to your taste." She had felt
guilty and miserable at the accusation of pride, and she could not
imagine how Mrs. Aylward could have let her go without a warning;
the truth being that Mrs. Aylward despised her taste, but thought
she knew what a harvest supper was like.

All this was passed over in silence by Aurelia's pride and delicacy.
She only described the scene when the last waggon came in with its
load, the horses decked with flowers and ribbons, and the farmer's
youngest girl enthroned on the top of the shocks, upholding the
harvest doll. This was a little sheaf, curiously constructed and
bound with straw plaits and ribbons. The farmer, on the arrival in
the yard, stood on the horse-block, and held it high over the heads
of all the harvesters, and the chorus was raised:

"A knack, a knack, a knack,
Well cut, well bound,
Well shocked, well saved from the ground,
Whoop! whoop! whoop!"

After which the harvest doll displaced her last year's predecessor
over the hearth, where she was to hang till next year.

All this Aurelia described, comparing the customs with those of her
own county, her heart beating all the time under the doubt how to
venture on describing the fulfilment of her commission. At last Mr.
Belamour said,

"In such a scene of gaiety, no doubt the recollection of sorrow had
no place."

"O sir, you could not think I should forget."

"I thought I might have asked more than was possible to you."

"It was the only part of the day that I enjoyed. I took little Fay
with me, for no one seemed to care for her, while Amy was queening
it with all the Wheatfields, and Letty was equally happy with her
foster mother. I could see the church spire, so I needed not to ask
the way, and we crossed the stubble fields, while the sun sent a
beautiful slanting light through the tall elm trees that closed in
the churchyard, but let one window glitter between them like a great
diamond. It looked so peaceful after all the noise we left behind,
even little Fay felt it, and said she loved the quiet walk along the
green baulks [An unplowed strip of land--D.L.]. The churchyard has
a wooden rail with steps to cross it on either side, and close under
the church wall is a tomb, a great square simple block, surmounted
by an urn."

"Yes, let me hear," said the voice, eager, though stifled.

"I thought it might be what you wished me to see and went up to read
the names."

"Do not spare. Never fear. Let me hear the very words."

"On one face of the block there was a name--

'WILLIAM SEDHURST,
_AGED_ 27,
DIED MAY 13, 1729.'

On the other side was this inscription:--

'MARY,
ONLY DAUGHTER OF GEORGE SEDHURST, ESQUIRE,
_AGED_ 19,
DIED AUGUST 1st, 1729.

_Love is strong as Death.
Sorrow not as others that have no Hope_.'

In smaller letters down below, 'This epitaph is at her own special
request.'

"Sir," continued Aurelia, "it was very curious. I should not have
observed those words if it had not been that a large beautiful
butterfly, with rainbow eyes on its wings, sat sunning itself on
the white marble, and Fay called me to look at it."

"Her message! May I ask you to repeat it again?"

"The texts? 'Love is strong as death. Sorrow not as others that
have no hope.'"

"Did you call them Scripture texts?"

"Yes, sir; I know the last is in one of the Epistles, and I will look
for the other."

"It matters not. She intended them for a message to me who lay in
utter darkness and imbecility well befitting her destroyer."

"Nay, they have come to you at last," said Aurelia gently. "You
really never knew of them before?"

"No, I durst not ask, nor did any one dare to speak to me. My brother,
who alone would have done so, died, I scarcely know when; but ere the
very consciousness of my own wretched existence had come back to me.
Once again repeat the words, gentle messenger of mercy."

She obeyed, but this time he mournfully murmured, "Hope! What hope
for their destroyer?"

"They are God's words, as well as hers," the girl answered, with
diffident earnestness, but in reply she only heard tightened breaths,
which made her say, "You cannot bear more, sir. Let me call Jumbo,
and bid you good night."

Jumbo came at the mention of his name. Somehow he was so unlike other
human beings, and so wholly devoted to his master, that it never seemed
to be a greater shock to find that he had been present than if he had
been a faithful dog.

A few days later he told Aurelia that Mas'r was not well enough to
see her. He had set forth as soon as the moon had set, and walked
with his trusty servant to Sedhurst, where he had traced with his
finger the whole inscription, lingering so long that the sun was
above the horizon before he could get home; and he was still lying
on the bed where he had thrown himself on first coming in, having
neither spoken nor eaten since. Jumbo could not but grumble out
that Mas'r was better left to himself.

Yet when Aurelia on the third evening was recalled, there was a
ring of refreshment in the voice. It was still melancholy, but
the dejection was lessened, and though it was only of Achilles and
Patroclus that they talked, she was convinced that the pressure of
the heavy burthen of grief and remorse was in some degree lightened.

CHAPTER XII. THE SHAFTS OF PHOEBE.

Her golden bow she bends,
Her deadly arrows sending forth.
_Greek Hymn_ (KEIGHTLEY).

On coming in from a walk, Aurelia was surprised by the tidings that
Mistress Phoebe Treforth had come to call on her, and had left a
billet. The said billet was secured with floss silk sealed down in
the antiquated fashion, and was written on full-sized quarto paper.
These were the contents:--

"Madam,

"My Sister and Myself are desirous of the Honour of your
Acquaintance, and shall be happy if you will do use the
Pleasure of coming to partake of Dinner at Three o'Clock
on Tuesday, the 13th instant.

"I remain,
"Yours to command,
"DELIA TREFORTH."

Aurelia carried the invitation to her oracle.

"My cousins are willing to make your acquaintance?" said he. "That
is well. Jumbo shall escort you home in the evening."

"Thank you, sir, but must I accept the invitation?"

"It could not be declined without incivility. Moreover, the
Mistresses Treforth are highly respected, and your father and
sister will certainly think it well for you to have female friends."

"Do you think those ladies could ever be my friends, sir?" she asked,
with an intonation that made him reply, with a sound of amusement.

"I am no judge in such matters, but they are ladies connected and
esteemed, who might befriend and counsel you in case of need, and
at any rate, it is much more suitable that you should be on terms
of friendly intercourse with them. I am heartily glad they have
shown you this attention."

"I do not mean to be ungrateful, sir."

"And I think you have disproved that

Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together."

"If they were only like you, sir!"

"What would they say to that?" he said with the slight laugh that
had begun to enliven his voice. "I suppose your charges are not
included in the invitation?"

"No; but Molly can take care of them, if my Lady will not object to
my leaving them."

"She cannot reasonably do so."

"And, sir, shall I be permitted to come home in time for you to
receive me?"

"I fear I must forego that pleasure. The ladies will insist on cards
and supper. Jumbo shall come for you at nine o'clock."

Aurelia submitted, and tripped down arrayed in the dress that recalled
the fete at Carminster, except that only a little powder was sprinkled
on her temples. the little girls jumped round her in admiring ecstasy,
and, under Molly's charge, escorted her to the garden gate, and hovered
outside to see her admitted, while she knocked timidly at the door, in
the bashful alarm of making her first independent visit.

The loutish man ushered her into a small close room, containing a
cat, a little spaniel, a green parrot, a spinning-wheel, and an
embroidery frame. There were also the two old ladies, dressed with
old-fashioned richness, a little faded, and a third, in a crimson,
gold-laced joseph [A long riding coat with a small cape, worn by
women in the 18th century.--D.L.], stout, rubicund, and hearty, to
whom Aurelia was introduced thus--

"Mrs. Hunter, allow me to present to you Miss Delavie, a relative of
my Lady Belamour. Miss Delavie, Mrs. Hunter of Brentford."

"I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Miss," said the lady, in a
jovial voice, and Aurelia made her curtsey, but at that moment the man
announced that dinner was served, whereupon Mrs. Delia handed Mrs.
Hunter in, and Mrs. Phoebe took the younger guest.

The ladies' faces both bore token of their recent attention to the
preparation of the meal, and the curious dishes would have been highly
interesting to Betty, but there was no large quantity of any, and a
single chicken was the _piece de resistance_, whence very tiny helps
were dealt out, and there was much unnecessary pressing to take a
little more, both of that and of the brace of partridges which
succeeded it. As to conversation, there was room for none, except
hospitable invitations from the hostesses to take the morsels that
they cut for their guests, praises of the viands from Mrs. Hunter,
and endeavours to fish at the recipes, which the owners guarded
jealously as precious secrets. Aurelia sat perfectly silent, as
was then reckoned as proper in a young lady of her age, except
when addressed. A good deal of time was also expended in directing
John Stiggins, the ladies' own man, and George Brown, who had ridden
with Mrs. Hunter from Brentford, in the disposal of the dishes, and
the handing of the plates. George Brown was the more skilled waiter,
and as the man who was at home did not brook interference, their
disputes were rude and audible, and kept the ladies in agonies lest
they should result in ruin to the best china.

At last, however, the cloth was removed, walnuts, apples, pears, and
biscuits were placed on the table, a glass of wine poured out for each
lady, and the quartette, with the cat and dog, drew near the sunny
window, where there was a little warmth. It was a chilly day, but
no one ever lighted a fire before the 5th of November, Old Style.

Then began one of those catechisms which fortunately are less
unpleasant to youth and simplicity than they are to persons of an
age to resent inquiry, and who have more resources of conversation.
In truth, Aurelia was in the eyes of the Treforth sisters, descendants
of a former Sir Jovian, only my Lady's poor kinswoman sent down to
act _gouvernante_ to the Wayland brats, who had been impertinently
quartered in the Belamour household. She would have received no
further notice, had it not been reported through the servants that
"young Miss" spent the evenings with their own cousin, from whom
they had been excluded ever since his illness.

The subject was approached through interrogations on Miss Delavie's
home and breeding, how she had travelled, and what were her
accomplishments, also whether she were quite sure that none of the
triad was either imbecile nor deformed. Mrs. Hunter seemed to have
heard wonderful rumours about the poor children.

"Has their lady mother seen them?"

"Yes, madam. She had been there with them shortly before my arrival."

"Only once in their lives!" There was a groan of censure such as
would have fired the loyal Major in defence.

"No wonder, Sister Phoebe, my Lady Belamour does not lead the life
of a tender mother."

"She has the little boy, Archer, with her in London," Aurelia ventured
to say.

"And a perfect puppet she makes of the poor child," said Mrs. Hunter.
"My sister Chetwynd saw him with his mother at a masquerade, my Lady
Belamour flaunting as Venus, and he, when he ought to have been in
his bed, dressed in rose-colour and silver, with a bow and arrows,
and gauze wings on his shoulders!"

"What will that child come to?"

"Remember, Sister Delia, he is no kin of ours. He is only a Wayland!"
returned Mrs. Phoebe, in an accent as if the Waylands were the most
contemptible of vermin.

"I hope," added Mrs. Delia, "that these children are never permitted
to incommode our unfortunate cousin, Mr. Belamour."

"I trust not, madam," said Aurelia. "Their rooms are at a distance
from his; they are good children, and he says he likes to hear young
voices in the gardens."

"You have, then, seen Mr. Belamour?"

"I cannot say that I have seen him," said Aurelia, modestly; "but I
have conversed with him."

"Indeed! Alone with him?"

"Jumbo was there."

The two old ladies drew themselves up, while Mrs. Hunter chuckled
and giggled. "Indeed!" said Mrs. Phoebe; "we should never see a
gentleman in private without each other's company, or that of some
female companion."

"I consulted Mrs. Aylward," returned Aurelia, "and she said he was
old enough to be my father."

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