Venus, thy eternal swayAll the race of man obey.EURIPIDES (Anstice).
Aurelia sat up late to finish her despatches to the beloved ones at home, and pack the little works she had been able to do for each, though my Lady’s embroidery took up most of her sedentary hours. Mrs. Dove undertook the care of the guinea’s worth of presents to the little sisters from Sir Amyas, which the prudent nurse advised her to withhold till after Master Archer was gone, as he would certainly break everything to pieces. He was up betimes, careering about the garden with all his sisters after him, imperiously ordering them about, but nevertheless bewitching them all, so that Amoretta was in ecstasies at her own preferment, scarcely realising that it would divide her from the others; while Letty made sure that she should soon follow, and Fidelia gravely said, “I shall always know you are loving me still, Amy, as Nurse Rolfe does.”
Lady Belamour breakfasted in her own room at about ten o’clock. Her woman, Mrs. Loveday, a small trim active person, with the worn and sharpened remains of considerable prettiness of the miniature brunette style, was sent to summon Miss Delavie to her apartment and inspect the embroidery she had been desired to execute for my Lady. Three or four bouquets had been finished, and the maid went into such raptures over them as somewhat to disgust their worker, who knew that they were not half so well done as they would have been under Betty’s direction. However, Mrs. Loveday bore the frame to her Ladyship’s room, following Aurelia, who was there received with the same stately caressing manner as before.
“Good morning, child. Your roses bloom well in the forenoon! Pity they should be wasted in darkness. Not but that you are duly appreciated there. Ah! I can deepen them by what our unhappy recluse said of you. I shall make glad hearts at Carminster by his good opinion, and who knows what preferment may come of it—eh? What is that, Loveday?”
“It is work your Ladyship wished me to execute,” said Aurelia.
“Handsome—yes; but is that all? I thought the notable Mistress Betty brought you up after her own sort?”
“I am sorry, madam, but I could not do it quickly at first without my sister’s advice, and I have not very much time between my care of the children and preparing repetitions for Mr. Belamour.”
“Ha! ha! I understand. There are greater attractions! Go on, child. Mayhap it may be your own wedding gown you are working at, if you finish it in time! Heavens! what great wondering eyes the child has! All in good time, my dear. I must talk to your father.”
It was so much the custom to talk to young maidens about their marriage that this did not greatly startle Aurelia, and Lady Belamour continued: “There, child, you have done your duty well by those little plagues of mine, and it is Mr. Wayland’s desire to make you a recompense. You may need it in any change of circumstances.”
So saying, she placed in Aurelia’s hand five guineas, the largest sum that the girl had ever owned; and as visions arose of Christmas gifts to be bestowed, the thanks were so warm, the curtsey so expressively graceful, the smile so bright, the soft eyes so sparkling, that the great lady was touched at the sight of such simple-hearted joy, and said, “There, there, child, that will do. I could envy one whom a little makes so happy. Now you will be able to make yourself fine when my son brings home his bride; or—who knows?—you may be a bride yourself first!”
That sounds, thought Aurelia, as if Mr. Belamour had made her relinquish the plan of that cruel marriage, for I am sure I have not yet seen the man I am to marry.
And with a lighter heart the young tutoress stood between Fay and Letty on the steps to see the departure, her cheeks still feeling Amoret’s last fond kisses, and a swelling in her throat bringing tears to her eyes at the thought how soon that carriage would be at Carminster. Yet there were sweet chains in the little hands that held her gown, and in the thought of the lonely old man who depended on her for enlivenment.
The day was long, for Amoret was missed; and the two children were unusually fretful and quarrelsome without her, disputing over the new toys which Brother Amyas’s guinea had furnished in demoralising profusion. It was strange too see the difference made by the loss of the child who would give up anything rather than meet a look of vexation, and would coax the others into immediate good humour. There was reaction, too, after the excitement, for which the inexperienced Aurelia did not allow. At the twentieth bickering as to which doll should ride on the spotted hobby-horse, the face of Letty’s painted wooden baby received a scar, and Fay’s lost a leg, whereupon Aurelia’s endurance entirely gave way, and she pronounced them both naughty children, and sent them to bed before supper.
Then her heart smote her for unkindness, and she sat in the firelight listless and sad, though she hardly knew why, longing to go up and pet and comfort her charges, but withheld by the remembrance of Betty’s assurances that leniency, in a like case, would be the ruin of Eugene.
At last Jumbo came to summon her, and hastily recalling a cheerful air, she entered the room with “Good evening, sir; you see I am still here to trouble you.”
“I continue to profit by my gentle friend’s banishment. Tell me, was my Lady in a gracious mood?”
“O sir, how beautiful she is, and how kind! I know now why my father was so devoted to her, and no one can ever gainsay her!”
“The enchantress knows how to cast her spells. She was then friendly?”
“She gave me five guineas!” said Aurelia exultingly. “She said Mr. Wayland wished to recompense me.”
“Did he so? If it came from him I should have expected a more liberal sum.”
“But, oh!” in a tone of infinite surprise and content, “this is more than I ever thought of. Indeed I never dreamt of her giving me anything. Sir, may I write to your bookseller, Mr. Tonson, and order a book of Mr. James Thomson’sSeasonsto give to my sister Harriet, who is delighted with the extracts I have copied for her?”
“Will not that consume a large proportion of the five guineas, my generous friend?”
“I have enough left. There is a new gown which I never have worn, which will serve for the new clothes my Lady spoke of to receive her son’s bride.”
“She entered on that subject then?”
“Only for a moment as she took leave. Oh, sir, is it possible that she can know all about this young lady?”
“What have you heard of her?”
“Sir, they say she is a dreadful little vixen.”
“Who say? Is she known at Carminster?”
“No, sir,” said Aurelia, disconcerted. “It was from Nurse Dove that I heard what Sir Amyas’s man said when he came back from Battlefield. I know my sister would chide me for listening to servants.”
“Nevertheless I should be glad to hear. Was the servant old Grey? Then he is to be depended on. What did he say?”
Aurelia needed little persuasion to tell all that she had heard from Mrs. Dove, and he answered, “Thank you, my child, it tallies precisely with what the poor boy himself told me.”
“Then he has told his mother? Will she not believe him?”
“It does not suit her to do so, and it is easy to say the girl will be altered by going to a good school. In fact, there are many reasons more powerful with her than the virtue and happiness of her son,” he added bitterly. “There’s the connection, forsooth. As if Lady Aresfield were fit to bring up an honest man’s wife; and there’s the fortune to fill up the void she has made in the Delavie estates.”
“Can no one hinder it, sir? Cannot you?”
“As a last resource the poor youth came hither to see whether the guardian whose wardship has hitherto been a dead letter, were indeed so utterly obdurate and helpless as had been represented.”
“And you have the power?”
“So far as his father’s will and the injunctions of his final letter to me can give it, I have full power. My consent is necessary to his marriage while still a minor, and I have told my Lady I will never give it to his wedding a Mar.”
“I was sure of it; and it is not true that they will be able to do without it?
“Without it! Have you heard any more? You pause. I see—she wishes to declare me of unsound mind. Is that what you mean?”
“So Nurse Dove said, sir,” faltered Aurelia; “but it seemed too wicked, too monstrous, to be possible.”
“I understand,” he said. “I thought there was an implied threat in my sweet sister-in-law’s soft voice when she spoke of my determined misanthropy. Well, I think we can guard against that expedient. After all, it is only till my nephew comes of age, or till his stepfather returns, that we must keep the enchantress at bay. Then the poor lad will be safe, providing always that she and her Colonel have not made a rake of him by that time. Alas, what a wretch am I not to be able to do more for him! Child, you have seen him?”
“I danced with him, sir, but I was too much terrified to look in his face. And I saw his cocked hat over the thorn hedge.”
“Fancy free,” muttered Mr. Belamour. “Fair exile for a cocked hat and diamond shoe-buckles! You would not recognise him again, nor his voice?”
“No, sir. He scarcely spoke, and I was attending to my steps.”
Mr. Belamour laughed, and then asked Aurelia for the passage in theIliadwhere Venus carries off Paris in a cloud. He thanked her somewhat absently, and then said,
“Dr. Godfrey said something of coming hither before he goes to his living in Dorsetshire. May I ask of you the favour of writing and begging him to fix a day not far off, mentioning likewise that my sister-in-law has been here.”
To this invitation Dr. Godfrey replied that he would deviate from the slow progress of his family coach, and ride to Bowstead, spending two nights there the next week; and to Aurelia’s greater amazement, she was next requested to write a billet to the Mistresses Treforth in Mr. Belamour’s name, asking them to bestow their company on him for the second evening of Dr. Godfrey’s visit.
“You, my kind friend, will do the honours,” he said, “and we will ask Mrs. Aylward to provide the entertainment.”
“They will be quite propitiated by being asked to meet Dr. Godfrey,” said Aurelia. “Shall you admit them, sir?”
“Certainly. You do not seem to find them very engaging company, but they can scarce be worse than I should find in such an asylum as my charming sister-in-law seems to have in preparation for me.”
“Oh! I wish I had said nothing about that. It is too shocking!”
“Forewarned, forearmed, as the proverb says. Do you not see, my amiable friend, that we are providing a body of witnesses to the sanity of the recluse, even though he may ‘in dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell’?”
The visit took place; Dr. Godfrey greeted Miss Delavie as an old friend, and the next day pronounced Mr. Belamour to be so wonderfully invigorated and animated, that he thought my Lady’s malignant plan was really likely to prove the best possible stimulus and cure.
Then the Canon gratified the two old ladies by a morning call, dined with Aurelia and her pupils, who behaved very well, and with whom he afterwards played for a whole hour so kindly that they placed him second in esteem to their big and beautiful brother. Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia came dressed in the faded splendours of the Louis XIV. period, just at twilight, and were regaled with coffee and pound cake. They were a good deal subdued, though as Aurelia listened to the conversation, it was plain enough what Mr. Belamour meant when he said that his cousin Delia was something of the coquette.
Still they asked with evident awe if it were true that their unfortunate cousin really intended to admit them, and they evidently became more and more nervous while waiting for Jumbo’s summons. Dr. Godfrey gave his arm to Mrs. Phoebe, and Mrs. Delia gripped hold of Aurelia’s, trembling all over, declaring she felt ready to swoon, and marvelling how Miss Delavie could ever have ventured, all alone too!
After all, things had been made much less formidable than at Aurelia’s first introduction. The sitting-room was arranged as it was when Mr. Greaves read prayers, with a very faint light from a shrouded lamp behind the window curtain. To new comers it seemed pitchy darkness, but to Aurelia and Dr. Godfrey it was a welcome change, allowing them at least to perceive the forms of one another, and of the furniture. From a blacker gulf, being the doorway to the inner room, came Mr. Belamour’s courteous voice of greeting to his kinswomen, who were led up by their respective guides to take his hand; after which he begged them to excuse the darkness, since the least light was painful to him still. If they would be seated he would remain where he was, and enjoy the society he was again beginning to be able to appreciate. He was, in fact, sitting within his own room, with eyes covered from even the feeble glimmer in the outer room.
It was some minutes before they recovered their self-possession, but Dr. Godfrey and Mr. Belamour began the conversation, and they gradually joined in. It was chiefly full of reminiscences of the lively days when Dr. Godfrey had been a young Cantab visiting his two friends at Bowstead, and Phoebe and Delia were the belles of the village. Aurelia scarcely opened her lips, but she was astonished to find how different the two sisters could be from the censorious, contemptuous beings they had seemed to her. The conversation lasted till supper-time, and Mr. Belamour, as they took their leave, made them promise to come and see him again. Then they were conducted back to the supper-room, Mrs. Phoebe mysteriously asking “Is he always like this?”
The experiment had been a great success, and Aurelia completed it by asking Mrs. Phoebe to take the head of the supper-table.
And if thou sparest now to do this thing,I will destroy thee and thy land also.—MORRIS.
“Well, sir, have you seen my Lady?”
“Not a year older than when I saw her last,” returned Major Delavie, who had just dismounted from his trusty pony at his garden gate, and accepted Betty’s arm; “and what think you?” he added, pausing that Corporal Palmer might hear his news. “She has been at Bowstead, and brings fresh tidings of our Aura. The darling is as fair and sprightly as a May morning, and beloved by all who come near her—bless her!”
Palmer echoed a fervent “Amen!” and Betty asked, “Is this my Lady’s report?”
“Suspicious Betty! You will soon be satisfied,” said the Major in high glee. “Did not Dove meet me at the front door, and Mrs. Dove waylay me in the hall to tell me that the child looked blooming and joyous, and in favour with all, gentle and simple? Come her, Eugene, ay, and Harriet and Arden too. Let us hear what my little maid says for herself. For look here!” and he held aloft Aurelia’s packet, at sight of which Eugene capered high, and all followed into the parlour.
Mr. Arden was constantly about the house. There was no doubt that he would soon be preferred to a Chapter living in Buckinghamshire, and he had thus been emboldened to speak out his wishes. It would have been quite beneath the dignity of a young lady of Miss Harriet’s sensibility to have consented, and she was in the full swing of her game at coyness and reluctance, daily vowing that nothing should induce her to resign her liberty, and that she should be frightened out of her life by Mr. Arden’s experiments; while her father had cordially received the minor Canon’s proposals, and already treated him as one of the family. Simpering had been such a fattening process that Harriet was beginning to resume more of her good looks than had ever been brought back by Maydew.
“Open the letter, Betty. Thanks, Arden,” as the minor Canon began to pull off his boots, “only take care of my knee. My Lady has brought down her little boy, and one of Aurelia’s pupils; I declare they are a perfect pair of Loves. What are you fumbling at, Betty?”
“The seal, sir, it is a pity to break it,” said Betty, producing her scissors from one of her capacious pockets. “It is an antique, is it not, Mr. Arden?”
“A very beautiful gem, a sleeping Cupid,” he answered.
“How could the child have obtained it?” said Harriet.
“I can tell you,” said the Major. “From old Belamour. My Lady was laughing about it. The little puss has revived the embers of gallantry in our poor recluse. Says she, ‘He has actually presented her with a ring, nay, a ring bearing Love himself.’”
Somehow the speech, even at second hand, jarred upon Betty, but her father was delighted with my Lady’s description of his favourite, and the letters were full of contentment. When the two sisters, arrayed in their stiffest silks, went up to pay their respects to my Lady the next afternoon, their reception was equally warm. My Lady was more caressing to her old acquaintance, Betty, than that discreet personage quite liked, while she complimented and congratulated Harriet on her lover, laughing at her bashful disclaimers in such a charmingly teasing fashion as quite to win the damsel’s heart, and convince her that all censure of Lady Belamour was vile slander. The children were sent for, and Amoret was called on to show how Cousin Aurelia had taught her to dance, sing and recite. The tiny minuet performed by her and Archer was an exceedingly pretty exhibition as far as it went, but the boy had no patience to conclude, and jumped off into an extemporarypas seul, which was still prettier, and as Amoret was sole exhibitor of the repetition of Hay’s “Hare and many friends,” he became turbulent after the first four lines, and put a stop to the whole.
Then came in a tall, large, handsome, dashing-looking man, with the air of a “beau sabreur,” whom Lady Belamour presented to her cousins as “Colonel Mar, my son’s commandant, you know who has been kind enough to take Carminster on his way, so as to escort me to the Bath. I am such a sad coward about highwaymen. And we are to meet dear Lady Aresfield there to talk over a little matter of business.”
Colonel Mar made a magnificent bow, carelessly, not to say impertinently, scanned the two ladies, and having evidently decided they had neither beauty nor fashion to attract him, caught up little Amy in his arms, and began to play a half teasing, half caressing game with the children. Betty thought it high time to be gone, and as she took leave, was requested to send up her little brother to play with his cousins. This did not prove a success, for Eugene constituted himself champion to Amoret, of whom Archer was very jealous, though she was his devoted and submissive slave. Master Delavie’s rustic ways were in consequence pronounced to be too rude and rough for the dainty little town-bred boy, the fine ladies’ pet.
The Major dined at the Great House, but came home so much dismayed and disgusted that he could hardly mention even to Betty what he had seen and heard. He only groaned out at intervals, “This is what the service is coming to! That fop to be that poor lad’s commanding officer! That rake to be always hovering about my cousin!”
Others spoke out more plainly. Stories were afloat or orgies ending in the gallant Colonel being under the supper table, a thing only too common, but not in the house of a solitary lady who had only lately quitted the carousers. Half the dependants on the estate were complaining of the guest’s swaggering overbearing treatment of themselves, or of his insolence to their wives or daughters; and Betty lived in a dreadful unnamed terror lest he should offer some impertinence to her father which the veteran’s honour might not brook. However, there was something in the old soldier’s dignity and long service that kept the arrogance of the younger man in check, and repressed all bluster towards him.
Demands for money were, as usual, made, but the settlement of accounts was deferred till the arrival of Hargrave, the family man of business, who came by coach to Bath, and then rode across to Carminster. The Major dined that day at the Great House, and came home early, with something so strange and startled about his looks that Betty feared that her worst misgivings were realised. It was a relief to hear him say, “Come hither, Betty, I want a word with you.” At least it was no duel!
“What is it, dear sir?” she asked, as she shut his study door. “Is it come at last? Must we quit this place?”
“No, I could bear that better, but what do you think she asks of me now?—to give my little Aurelia, my beautiful darling, to that madman in the dark!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Betty, in a strange tone of discovery. “May I inquire what you said?”
“I said—I scarce know what I said. I declared it monstrous, and not to be thought of for a moment; and then she went on in her fashion that would wile a bird off a bush, declaring that no doubt the proposal was a shock, but if I would turn the matter over, I should see it was for the dear child’s advantage. Belamour dotes on her, and after being an old man’s darling for a few years, she may be free in her prime, with an honourable name and fortune.”
“I dare say. As if one could not see through the entire design. My Lady would call her sister-in-law to prevent her being daughter-in-law!”
“That fancy has had no aliment, and must long ago have died out.”
“Listen to Nurse Dove on that matter.”
“Women love to foster notions of that sort.”
“Nay, sir, you believe, as I do, that the poor child was conveyed to Bowstead in order that the youth might lose sight of her, and since he proves refractory to the match intended for him, this further device is found for destroying any possible hope on his part.”
“I cannot say what may actuate my Lady, but if Amyas Belamour be the man I knew, and as the child’s own letters paint him, he is not like to lend himself to any such arrangement.”
“Comes the offer from him, or is it only a scheme of my Lady’s?”
“He never writes more than a signature, but Hargrave is empowered to make proposals to me, very handsome proposals too, were not the bare idea intolerable.”
“Aurelia is not aware of it, I am sure,” said Betty, to whom Hargrave had brought another packet of cheerful innocent despatches, of which, as usual, the unseen friend in the dark was the hero.
“Certainly not, and I hope she never may be. I declared the notion was not to be entertained for a moment; but Urania never, in her life, would take no for an answer, and she talked me nearly out of my senses, then bade me go home, think it over, and discuss it with my excellent and prudent daughter; as if all the thinking and talking in the world could make it anything but more intolerable.”
His prudent daughter understood in the adjective applied to her a hint which the wily lady would not have dared to make direct to the high-spirited old soldier, namely, that the continuance of his livelihood might depend on his consent. Betty knew likewise enough of the terrible world of the early eighteenth century to be aware that even such wedlock as this was not the worst to which a woman like Lady Belamour might compel the poor girl, who was entirely in her power, and out of reach of all protection; unless—An idea broke in on her—“If we could but go to Bowstead, sir,” she said, “then we could judge whether the notion be as repugnant to Aurelia as it is to us, and whether Mr. Belamour be truly rational and fit to be trusted with her.”
“I tell you, Betty, it is a mere absurdity to think of it. I believe the child is fond of, and grateful to, the poor man, but if she supposed she loved him, it would be mere playing on her ignorance.”
“Then we could take her safely home and bear the consequences together, without leaving her alone exposed to any fresh machination of my Lady.”
“You are right, Betty. You have all your sainted mother’s good sense. I will tell my cousin that this is not a matter to be done blindly, and that I withhold my reply till I have seen and spoken with her and this most preposterous of suitors.”
“Yes, it is the only way,” said Betty. “We can then judge whether it be a cruel sacrifice, or whether the child have affection and confidence enough in him to be reasonably happy with him. What is his age, father?”
“Let me see. Poor Sir Jovian was much older than Urania, but he died at forty years old. His brother was some three years his junior. He cannot be above forty-six or seven. That is not the objection, but the moody melancholy—Think of our gay sprightly child!”
“We will see, sir.”
“We! Mistress Betty? The cost will be severe without you!”
“Nay, sir, I cannot rest without going too; you might be taken ill.”
“You cannot trust a couple of old campaigners like Palmer and me? What did we do without you?”
“Got lamed for life,” said Betty, saucily. “No, I go on a pillion behind Palmer, and my grandfather’s diamond ring shall pay expenses.”
“Sir Archibald’s ring that he put on two baby fingers of yours when he went off to Scotland.”
“Better part with that then resign my Aurelia in the dark, uncertain whether it be for her good.”
Love sweetest lies concealed in night.—T. MOORE.
The Major rode up to the Great House to announce that he would only give his answer after having conferred with both his daughter and the suitor.
With tears in her beautiful blue eyes, Lady Belamour demanded why her dear cousin Harry could not trust the Urania he had known all her life to decide what was for the happiness of the sweet child whom she loved like her own.
She made him actually feel as if it were a cruel and unmerited suspicion, but she did not over come him. “Madam,” he said, “it would be against my orders, as father of a family, to give my child away without doing my poor best for her.”
There, in spite of all obstacles suggested and all displeasure manifested, he stuck fast, until, without choosing to wait till a shower of sleet and rain was over. Vexation and perplexity always overset his health, and the chill, added to them, rendered him so ill the next morning that Betty knew there was no chance of his leaving his room for the next month or six weeks; and she therefore sent a polite and formal note to the Great House explaining that he could not attend to business.
This brought upon her the honour of a visit from the great lady herself. Down came the coach-and-four, and forth from it came Lady Belamour in a magnificent hoop, the first seen in those parts, managing it with a grace that made her an overwhelming spectacle, in contrast with Betty, in her close-fitting dark-grey homespun, plain white muslin apron, cap, kerchief, and ruggles, scrupulously neat and fresh, but unadorned. The visit was graciously designed for “good cousin Harry,” but his daughter was obliged, not unwillingly, though quite truly, to declare him far too suffering with pain and fever.
“La, you there, then,” said the lady, “that comes of the dear man’s heat of temper. I would have kept him till the storm was over but he was far too much displeased with his poor cousin to listen to me. Come, cousin Betty, I know you are in all his counsels. You will bring him to hear reason.”
“The whole affair must wait, madam, till he is able to move.”
“And if this illness be the consequence of one wet ride, how can he be in a condition to take the journey?”
“You best know, madam whether a father can be expected to bestow his daughter in so strange a manner without direct communication either with her or with the other party.”
“I grant you the idea is at first sight startling, but surely he might trust to me; and he knows Amyas Belamour, poor man, to be the very soul of honour; yes, and with all his eccentricity to have made no small impression on our fair Aurelia. Depend upon it, my dear Betty, romance carried the day; and the damsel is more enamoured of the mysterious voice in the dark, than she would be of any lusty swain in the ordinary light of day.”
“All that may be, madam, but she is scarce yet sixteen, and it is our duty to be assured of her inclinations and of the gentleman’s condition.”
“You will not trust me, who have watched them both,” said Lady Belamour, with her most engaging manner. “Now look here, my dear, since we are two women together, safe out of the hearing of the men, I will be round with you. I freely own myself imprudent in sending your sister to Bowstead to take charge of my poor little girls, but if you had seen the little savages they were, you would not wonder that I could not take them home at once, nor that I should wish to see them acquire the good manners that I remembered in the children of this house; I never dreamt of Mr. Belamour heeding the little nursery. He has always been an obstinate melancholic lunatic, confined to his chamber by day, and wandering like a ghost by night, refusing all admission. Moreover my good Aylward had appeared hitherto a paragon of a duenna for discretion, only over starched in her precision. Little did I expect to find my young lady spending all her evenings alone with him, and the solitary hermit transformed into a gay and gallant bachelor like the Friar of Orders Gray in the song. And since matters have gone to such a length, I, as a woman who has seen more of the world than you have, my dear good Betty, think it expedient that the Friar and his charmer should be made one without loss of time.Weknow her to be innocence itself, and him for a very Sidney for honour, but the world—”
“It is your doing, madam,” exclaimed Betty, passionately, completely overset by the insinuation; “you bid us trust you, and then confess that you have exposed my sweet sister to be vilely slandered! Oh my Aurelia, why did I let you out of my sight?” she cried, while hot tears stood in her eyes.
“I know your warmth, my dear,” said Lady Belamour with perfect command of temper; “I tell you I blame myself for not having recollected that a lovely maiden can tame even a savage brute, or that even in the sweet rural country walls have ears and trees have tongues. Not that any harm is done so far, nor ever will be; above all if your good father do not carry his romantic sentiments so far as to be his ruin a second time. Credit me, Betty, they will not serve in any world save the imaginary one that crazed Don Quixote. What advantage can the pretty creature gain? She is only sixteen, quite untouched by true passion. She will obtain a name and fortune, and become an old man’s idol for a few years, after which she will probably be at liberty by the time she is of an age to enjoy life.”
“He is but five-and-forty!” said Betty.
“Well, if she arouse him to a second spring, there will be few women who will not envy her.”
“You may colour it over, madam,” said Betty, drawing herself up, “but nothing can conceal the fact that you confess yourself to have exposed my innocent helpless sister to malignant slander; and that you assure me that the only course left is to marry the poor child to a wretched melancholic who has never so much as seen her face.”
“You are outspoken, Miss Delavie,” said Lady Belamour, softly, but with a dangerous glitter in her blue eyes. “I pardon your heat for your father’s sake, and because I ascribe it to the exalted fantastic notions in which you have been bred; but remember that there are bounds to my forbearance, and that an agent in his state of health, and with his stubborn ideas, only remains on sufferance.”
“My father has made up his mind to sacrifice anything rather than his child,” cried Betty.
“My dear girl, I will hear you no more. You are doing him no service,” said Lady Belamour kindly. “You had better be convinced that it is a sacrifice, or an unwilling one, before you treat me to any more heroics.”
Betty successfully avoided a parting kiss, and remained pacing up and down the room to work off her indignation before returning to her father. She was quite as angry with herself, as with my Lady, for having lost her temper, and so given her enemy an advantage, more especially as when her distress became less agitating, her natural shrewdness began to guess that the hint about scandal was the pure fruit of Lady Belamour’s invention, as an expedient for obtaining her consent. Yet the mere breath of such a possibility of evil speaking was horror to her, and she even revolved the question of going herself to Bowstead to rescue her sister. But even if the journey had been more possible, her father was in no condition to be left to Harriet’s care, and there was nothing to be done except to wait till he could again attend to the matter, calm herself as best she could, so as not to alarm him, and intercept all dangerous messages.
Several days had passed, and though the Major had not left his bed, he had asked whether more had been heard from my Lady, and discussed the subject with his daughter, when a letter arrived in due course of post. It was written in a large bold hand, and the signature, across a crease in the paper, was in the irregular characters that the Major recognised as those of Mr. Belamour.
“DEAR AND HONOURED SIR,
“Proposals have been made to you on my Behalf for the Hand of yourfair and amiable Daughter, Miss Aurelia Delavie. I am well aware howpreposterous and even shocking they may well appear to you; yet, let meassure you, on the Faith of a Man of Honour that if you will entrusther to me, wretched Recluse though I be, and will permit her to bear myName, I will answer for her Happiness and Welfare. Situated as I am,I cannot enter into further explanations; but we are old Acquaintance,though we have not met for many Years, and therefore I venture to beg ofyou to believe me when I say that if you will repose Confidence inme, and exercise Patience, I can promise your admirable Daughter suchPreferment as she is far from expecting. She has been the Blessing ofmy darkened Life, but I would never have presumed to ask further were itnot that I have no other Means of protecting her, nor of shielding herfrom Evils that may threaten her, and that might prove far worse thanbearing the Name of“Your obedient Servant to command,“AMYAS BELAMOUR.
“Bowstead Park, Dec. 3rd, 1737.”
“Enigmatical!” said Betty.
“It could hardly be otherwise if he had to employ a secretary” said her father. “Who can have written for him?”
“His friend, Dr. Godfrey, most probably,” said Betty. “It is well spelt as well as indited, and has not the air of being drawn up by a lawyer.”
“No, it is not Hargrave’s hand. It is strange that he says nothing of the settlements.”
“Here is a postscript, adding, ‘Should you consent, Hargrave will give you ample satisfaction as to the property which I can settle on your daughter.’”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said the Major. “Well, Betty, on reflection, if I were only secure that no force was put on the child’s will, and if I could exchange a few words face to face with Amyas Belamour, I should not be so utterly averse as I was at first sight. She is a good child, and if she like him, and find it not hard to do her duty by him, she might be as happy as another. And since she is out of our reach it might save her from worse. What say you, child?”
“That last is the strongest plea with me,” said Betty, with set lips.
They took another evening for deliberation, but there was something in the tone of the letter that wrought on them, and it ended in a cautious consent being given, on the condition of the father being fully satisfied of his daughter’s free and voluntary acquiescence.
“After all,” he said to Betty, “I shall be able to go up to Bowstead for the wedding, and if I find that her inclinations have been forced, I can take her away at all risks.”
You may put out my eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang meup for the sign of blind Cupid.—Much Ado About Nothing.
Aurelia had been walking in the park with her two remaining charges, when a bespattered messenger was seen riding up to the door, and Letitia dropped her hoop in her curiosity and excitement.
Lady Belamour, on obtaining the Major’s partial acquiescence, had felt herself no longer obliged to vegetate at Carminster, but had started for Bath, while the roads were still practicable; and had at the same time sent off a courier with letters to Bowstead. Kind Mrs. Dove had sent a little packet to each of the children, but they found Cousin Aura’s sympathy grievously and unwontedly lacking, and she at last replied to their repeated calls to here to share their delight, that they must run away, and display their treasures to Molly and Jumbo. She must read her letters alone.
The first she had opened was Betty’s, telling her of her father’s illness, which was attributed in great part to the distress and perplexity caused by Lady Belamour’s proposal. Had it not been for this indisposition, both father and sister would have come to judge for themselves before entertaining it for a moment; but since the journey was impossible, he could only desire Betty to assure her sister that no constraint should be put on her, and that if she felt the least repugnance to the match, she need not consider her obliged to submit. More followed about the religious duty of full consideration and prayer before deciding on what would fix her destiny for life, but all was so confusing to the girl, entirely unprepared as she was, that after hastily glancing on in search of an explanation which she failed to find, she laid it aside, and opened the other letter. It began imperially
“MY COUSIN,“No doubt you are already informed of the Honour that has beendone you by the Proposal that Mr. Amyas Belamour has made to your Fatherfor your Hand. It is no slight Compliment to a young Maid like you, fromone of the most noted Wits about Town in the last Reign; and you willno doubt shew the Good Sense to esteem yourself fortunate beyond allreasonable Expectations or Deserts of your own, as well as to act forthe Advantage of your Family. Be assured that I shall permit no foolishFlightiness nor Reluctance to interfere with you true Welfare. I saythis, because, as you well know, your Father’s Affection is strong andblind, and you might easily draw him into a Resistance which could butdamage both his Health and his Prospects. On receiving the tidingsof your Marriage, I promise to settle on him the Manor House with anAnnuity of Three hundred Pounds; but if he should support you in anyfoolish Refusal, I shall be obliged to inform him that I can dispensewith his Services; therefore you will do wisely to abstain from anychildish expressions of Distaste.
“On your Marriage, you will of course have the enjoyment of the Pin Money with which Mr. Belamour will liberally endow you, and be treated in all Respects as a Married Lady. My Daughters shall be sent to School, unless you wish to make them your Companions a little longer. Expecting to hear from you that you are fully sensible to the good Fortune and the Obligations you are under to me,