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.