You may put out my eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang me
up 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 been
done you by the Proposal that Mr. Amyas Belamour has made to your Father
for your Hand. It is no slight Compliment to a young Maid like you, from
one of the most noted Wits about Town in the last Reign; and you will
no doubt shew the Good Sense to esteem yourself fortunate beyond all
reasonable Expectations or Deserts of your own, as well as to act for
the Advantage of your Family. Be assured that I shall permit no foolish
Flightiness nor Reluctance to interfere with you true Welfare. I say
this, because, as you well know, your Father’s Affection is strong and
blind, and you might easily draw him into a Resistance which could but
damage both his Health and his Prospects. On receiving the tidings
of your Marriage, I promise to settle on him the Manor House with an
Annuity of Three hundred Pounds; but if he should support you in any
foolish Refusal, I shall be obliged to inform him that I can dispense
with his Services; therefore you will do wisely to abstain from any
childish 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,
“I remain
“Yours &c.
“URANIA BELAMOUR.”
It was with a gasp of relief that Aurelia discovered what was required
of her. “Marry Mr. Belamour? Is that all? Then why should they all think
I should so much dislike it, my Lady, and my papa, and sister and all?
Nobody ever was so good to me, and maybe I could make him a little
happier, though it is not what I expected of him, to forget his Mary!
Oh, no, I am not afraid; I might have been afraid six months ago, but
now it is a different thing. I am not so foolish! And my dear papa will
have the Manor House for ever! And Eugene will be able to go to a good
school and have a pair of colours in good time! A fortunate girl! Yes,
of course I am! Then Mrs. Phoebe and Mrs. Delia will not flout me any
more, even if young Sir Amyas should come here! Ah! here are the little
girls returning! Keep them here? Of course I will. What toys and books I
will get for them!”
Yet, when the time for her summons drew nigh, a great dread and shyness
overcame her, lest Mr. Belamour should begin on the subject; and she
only nerved herself by recollecting that he could have had no one to
read to him her father’s letter of reply, and that he was scarcely
likely to speak without knowing the contents. Still, it was only shyness
and embarrassment that made her advance timidly, but in one moment a
new sensation, a strange tremor came over her, as instead of merely her
finger-tips, her whole hand was grasped and fervently pressed, and in
the silence that ensued the throbbing of her heart and the panting of
her breath seemed to find an echo. However, the well-known voice began,
“My fair visitor is very good in honouring me to-night.”
Was it coming? Her heart gave such a throb that she could only murmur
something inarticulate, while there was a hasty repressed movement near
her.
“You have heard from your father?” said Mr. Belamour.
“My father is ill, sir,” she faltered.
“Ah, yes, so I was sorry to understand. Has he not sent a message to you
through your sister?”
“He has, sir,” Aurelia continued, with difficulty, to utter.
There was another silence, another space of tightened breath and
beating heart, absolutely audible, and again a hushed, restless movement
heralded Mr. Belamour’s next words, “Did I no tell you truly that my
Lady devises most unexpected expedients?”
“Then would you not have it so, sir?” asked Aurelia, in a bewildered
voice of perplexity. “Oh!” as again one of those echoes startled her,
“tell me what it all means.”
“Hush! listen to me,” said Mr. Belamour, in a voice that added to her
undefined alarm by what seemed to her imperious displeasure as uncalled
for as it was unusual; but the usual fatherly gentleness immediately
prevailed, “My child, I should never have entertained the thought for a
moment but for--but for Lady Belamour. This sounds like no compliment,”
he added, catching himself up, and manifesting a certain embarrassment
and confusion very unlike his usual calm dignity of demeanour, and thus
adding to the strange fright that was growing upon Aurelia. “But you
must understand that I would not--even in semblance--have dreamt of
your being apparently linked to age, sorrow, and infirmity, save
that--strange as it may seem--Lady Belamour has herself put into
my hands the best means of protecting you, and finally, as I trust,
securing your happiness.”
“You are very good, sir,” she continued to breathe out, amid the
flutterings of her heart, and the reply produced a wonderful outburst of
ardour in a low but fervent voice. “You will! You will! You sweetest of
angels, you will be mine!”
There was something so irresistibly winning in the sound, that it drew
forth an answer from the maiden’s very heart. “Oh! yes, indeed--” and
before she could utter another word she was snatched into a sudden,
warm, vehement embrace, from which she was only partly released,
as--near, but still not so near as she would have expected--this
extraordinary suitor seemed to remonstrate with his ardent self, saying,
“Now! now! that will do! So be it then, my child,” he continued. “Great
will be the need of faith, patience, trust, ay, and of self-restraint,
but let these be practised for a little space, and all will be well.”
She scarcely heard the latter words. The sense of something irrevocable
and unfathomable was overpowering her. The mystery of these sudden
alterations of voice, now near, now far off, was intolerable. Here were
hands claiming her, fervent, eager breathings close upon her, and
that serious, pensive voice going on all that time. The darkness grew
dreadful to her, dizziness came over her; she dashed aside the hands,
started up with a scream, and amid the strange noises and flashes of a
swoon, knew no more till she heard Mrs. Aylward’s voice over her, found
the horrid smell of burnt feathers under her nose, and water trickling
down her face, dim candlelight was round her, and she perceived that she
was on a low settee in the lobby.
“There, she is coming round. You may tell your master, Jumbo, ‘twas
nothing but the mince pies.”
“Oh, no--” began Aurelia, but her own voice seemed to come from
somewhere else, and being inexperienced in fainting, she was frightened.
“That is right, you are better. Now, a drop of strong waters.”
Aurelia choked, and put them aside, but was made to swallow the draught,
and revived enough to ask, “How came I here?”
“Jumbo must have carried you out, ma’am, and laid you here before ever
he called any one,” said Mrs. Aylward. “Dear, dear, to think of your
being taken like that. But the tins of those mince-pies are over large!
You must halve one next time.”
Aurelia was sensible enough to the reproof of greediness to begin to
protest against the mince-pie theory, but she recollected that she could
not account for her swoon, and thereupon became as red as she had been
pale, thus confirming the housekeeper’s opinion. A sound of footsteps
made her start up and cry, “What’s that?” in nervous fright; but Mrs.
Aylward declared it was fancy, and as she was by this time able to walk,
she was conducted to her own room. There she was examined on her recent
diet, and was compelled to allow the housekeeper to ascribe her illness
to neglect of autumnal blood-letting and medicine; and she only stave
off the send for the barber and his lancet the next morning by promising
to swallow a dose compounded of all that was horrible.
She was altogether much shaken, she dreamed strange dreams by night, was
capable of little by day, was declared by the children to be cross, and
was much inclined to plead indisposition as an excuse for not visiting
that alarming room in the evening. Indeed for the greater part of the
day she felt as if she must avail herself of the pretext, and as if she
neither could nor would encounter that strange double creature in the
dark; but somehow she had been as much fascinated as terrified, and, in
spite of her resolve, she found herself mechanically following Jumbo,
shuddering all over and as cold as ice.
The dark chambers were warmed by German stoves, so that the atmosphere
was always equable, and it seemed to revive her, while a kind, warm hand
led her as usual to her seat, and it was the usual gentle, courteous,
paternal tone that addressed her, “How chill and trembling you are! My
poor child, you were sadly alarmed last night.”
Aurelia murmured some excuse about being very foolish.
“It was not you who was foolish,” was the reply; and though her hand
was retained it was evidently for the sake of warming it, and comforting
her, not of caressing it in the startling mode of yesterday. There was
a pause, during which her composure began to be restored, and some
inquiries whether she were quite recovered; to which she replied with
eager affirmatives, feeling indeed quite herself again, now that all was
in its familiar state around her. Then this strange suitor spoke again.
“It is a hard and cruel fate that my Lady has sought to impose on you.”
“Oh, do not say so, sir I---”
“No,” he interrupted somewhat hastily, “do not try to deny it, my child;
I know better than you can what it would amount to. Believe me, I
only lend myself to her arrangement because I know no better means of
guarding you and preserving you for better days.”
“I know how kind you are, sir.”
“And you trust me?”
“Indeed I do.”
“That is all I ask. I shall never be a husband to you more than in name,
Aurelia, nor ask of you more than you give me now, namely, your sweet
presence for a few hours in the evening, without seeing me. Can you bear
thus to devote your young life, for a time at least?”
“You know, sir, how glad I always am to be with you,” said Aurelia,
relieved yet half regretting that strange fervour. “I will do my very
best to please you.”
“Ah! sweet child,” he began, with a thrill of deep feeling in his voice;
but checking himself he continued, “All I ask is patience and trust for
a time--for a time--you promise it!”
“With all my heart,” said Aurelia.
“I will use my best endeavours to requite that trust, my child,” he
said. “Is not the Christian watchword faith, not sight? It must be yours
likewise.”
“I hope so,” she said, scarcely understanding.
He then interrogated her somewhat closely as to the letters which had
prepared her for the proposal; and as Aurelia was far too simple to
conceal anything under cross-examination, Mr. Belamour soon found out
what her Ladyship’s threats and promises had been.
“The Manor House?” he said. “That is the original nucleus of the
property which had hitherto gone to the heir male?”
“So my sister told me,” said Aurelia.
“That letter, which Dr. Godfrey read to me, spoke of my poor brother’s
discomfort in holding it. It is well if thus tardily she refund it,
though not as your price, my poor child. It should have been as
matter of justice, if not by her husband’s dying wish. So this is
the alternative set before you! Has it been set before your father
likewise?”
“Almost certainly she will have threatened to dismiss him if he do not
consent. It was that which made my sister decide on sending me here, or
what would become of him and Eugene? But I should think my Lady knew my
father better than to seem to offer any kind of price, as you call it,
for me.”
“Precisely. You have heard from this maternal sister of yours? Does he
then give his consent?”
“They say they will not have my inclinations forced, and that they had
rather undergo anything than that I should be driven to--to--”
“To be as much a sacrifice as Iphigenia,” he concluded the sentence.
“Indeed, sir,” said Aurelia, quite restored, “I cannot see why they
should imagine me to have such objections, or want me to be so cautious
and considerate. I shall write to my papa that it is not at all
repugnant to me, for that you are very, very good to me; and if I can
make your time pass ever so little more pleasantly, it is a delight to
me. I am sure I shall like you better than if---”
“Stay, stay, child,” he said, half laughing; “remember, it is as a
father that I ask you to love and trust the old recluse.”
She thought she had been forward, crimsoned in the dark, and retired
into her shell for the rest of the evening. She was glad when with his
usual tact, Mr. Belamour begged for the recitation he knew she could
make with the least effort of memory.
At the end, however, she ventured to ask--“Sir, shall I be permitted
ever to see my father and sister?”
“Certainly, my child. In due time I hope you will enjoy full liberty,
though you may have to wait for it.”
Aurelia durst not ask what was in her mind, whether they would not
come to the wedding, but that one great hope began to outweigh all
the strange future. She began to say something about being too young,
ignorant, and foolish for him, but this was kindly set aside, she hardly
knew how. Mr. Belamour himself suggested the formula in which she might
send her consent to Lady Belamour, begging at the same time to retain
the company of the little Misses Wayland. To her father she wrote such
a letter as might satisfy all doubts as to the absence of all repugnance
to the match, and though the Major had sacrificed all to love and honour
himself, _mariages de convenance_ were still so much the rule, and
wives, bestowed in all passiveness with unawakened hearts, so
often proved loving and happy matrons, that it would have been held
unreasonable to demand more than absence of dislike on the part of the
bride.
Therewith things returned to their usual course, and she was beginning
to feel as if all had been a dream, when one evening, about a week
later, her suitor appeared to have one of those embarrassing fits of
youthful ardour; her hand was passionately seized, caressed, toyed with
by a warm strong hand, and kissed by lips that left a burning impression
and that were no longer hairy. Surely he had been shaving! Was the time
for which he bade her wait, his full recovery, and the resumption of the
youthfulness that seemed to come on him in fits and starts, and then to
ebb away, and leave him the grave courteous old man she had first
known? And why was it always in a whisper that he spoke forth all those
endearments which thrilled her with such strange emotions?
When she came into the light, she found her fourth finger encircled with
an exquisite emerald ring, which seemed to bind her to her fate, and
make her situation tangible. Another time she was entreated to give a
lock of her hair, and she of course did so, though it was strange that
it should confer any pleasure on her suitor in the dark.