The lioness, ye may move her
To give o’er her prey,
But ye’ll ne’er stop a lover,
He will find out the way.
Elizabeth Delavie and her little brother were standing in the bay window
of their hotel, gazing eagerly along the street in hopes of seeing the
Major return, when Sir Amyas was seen riding hastily up on his charger,
in full accoutrements, with a soldier following. In another moment he
had dashed up stairs, and saying, “Sister, read that!” put into Betty’s
hand a slip of paper on which was written in pencil--
“If Sir A. B. would not have his true love kidnapped to the plantations,
he had best keep watch on the river gate of Mistress Darke’s garden at
Greenwich. No time to lose.”
“Who brought you this?” demanded Betty, as well as she could speak for
horror.
“My mother’s little negro boy, Syphax. He says Mrs. Loveday, her
waiting-woman, gave it to him privately on the stairs, as she was about
to get into a sedan, telling him I would give him a crown if he gave it
me as I came off parade.”
“Noon! Is there time?”
“Barely, but there shall be time. There is no time to seek your father.”
“No, but I must come with you.”
“The water is the quickest way. There are stairs near. I’ll send my
fellow to secure a boat.”
“I will be ready instantly, while you tell your uncle. It might be
better if he came.”
Sir Amyas flew to his uncle’s door, but found him gone out, and, in too
great haste to inquire further, came down again to find Betty in cloak
and hood. He gave her his arm, and, Eugene trotting after them, they
hurried to the nearest stairs, remembering in dire confirmation what
Betty had heard from the school-girl. Both had heard reports that young
women were sometimes thus deported to become wives to the planters in
the southern colonies or the West Indies, but that such a destiny should
be intended for their own Aurelia, and by Lady Belamour, was scarcely
credible. Doubts rushed over Betty, but she remembered what the
school-girl had said of the captive being sent beyond seas; and at any
rate, she must risk the expedition being futile when such issues hung
upon it. And if they failed to meet her father, she felt that her
presence might prevail when the undefined rights of so mere a lad as her
companion might be disregarded.
His soldier servant had secured a boat, and they rapidly descended to
the river; Sir Amyas silent between suspense, dismay and shame for his
mother, and Betty trying to keep Eugene quiet by hurried answers to his
eager questions about all he saw. They had to get out at London Bridge,
and take a fresh boat on the other side, a much larger one, with
two oarsmen, and a grizzled old coxswain, with a pleasant honest
countenance, who presently relieved Betty of all necessity of attending
to, or answering, Eugene’s chatter.
“Do you know where this garden is?” said she, leaning across to Sir
Amyas, who had engaged the boat to go to Greenwich.
He started as if it were a new and sudden thought, and turning to the
steersman demanded whether he knew Mrs. Darke’s garden.
The old man gave a kind of grunt, and eyed the trio interrogatively,
the young officer with his fresh, innocent, boyish face and brilliant
undisguised uniform, the handsome child, the lady neither young, gay,
nor beautiful, but unmistakeably a decorous gentlewoman.
“Do you know Mrs. Darke’s?” repeated Sir Amyas.
“Aye, do I? Mayhap I know more about the place than you do.”
There was that about his face that moved Betty and the young man to
look at one another, and the former said, “She has had to do with--evil
doings?”
“You may say that, ma’am.”
“Then,” they cried in one breath, “you will help us!” And in a very
few words Betty explained their fears for her young sister, and asked
whether he thought the warning possible.
“I’ve heard tell of such things!” said the old man between his teeth,
“and Mother Darkness is one to do ‘em. Help you to bring back the poor
young lass? That we will, if we have to break down the door with our
fists. And who is this young spark? Her brother or her sweetheart?”
“Her husband!” said Sir Amyas. “Her husband from whom she has been
cruelly spirited away. Aid me to bring her back, my good fellow, and
nothing would be too much to reward you.”
“Aye, aye, captain, Jem Green’s not the man to see an English girl
handed over to they slave-driving, outlandish chaps. But I say, I wish
you’d got a cloak or summat to put over that scarlet and gold of yourn.
It’s a regular flag to put the old witch on her guard.”
On that summer’s day, however, no cloak was at hand. They went down the
river very rapidly, for the tide was running out and at length Jem Green
pointed out the neat little garden. On the step sat a woman, apparently
weeping bitterly. Could it be the object of their search? No, but as
they came nearer, and she was roused so as to catch sight of the scarlet
coat, she beckoned and gesticulated with all her might; and as they
approached Sir Amyas recognised her as his mother’s maid.
“You will be in time yet,” she cried breathlessly. “Oh! take me in, or
you won’t know the ship!”
So eager and terrified was she, that but for the old steersman’s
peremptory steadiness, her own life and theirs would have been in much
peril, but she was safely seated at last, gasping out, “The _Red Cloud_,
Captain Karen. They’ve been gone these ten minutes.”
“Aye, aye,” gruffly responded Green, and the oars moved rapidly, while
Loveday with another sob cried, “Oh! sir, I thought you would never
come!”
“You sent the warning?”
Yes, sir, I knew nothing till the morning, when my Lady called me up. I
lie in her room, you know. She had given orders, and I was to take the
sweet lady and go down the river with her to Mrs. Darke, the perfuming
woman my Lady has dealings with about here hair and complexion. There
I was to stay with her till--till this same sea-captain was to come and
carry her off where she would give no more trouble. Oh, sir, it was too
much--and my Lady knew it, for she had tied my hands so that I had but
a moment to scribble down that scrip, and bid Syphax take it to you. The
dear lady! she said, ‘her God could deliver her out of the mouth of the
lion,’ and I could not believe it! I thought it too late!”
“How can we thank you,” began Betty; but she was choked by intense
anxiety, and Jem Green broke in with an inquiry where the ship was
bound for. Loveday only had a general impression of the West Indies, and
believed that the poor lady’s destined spouse was a tobacconist, and as
the boat was soon among a forest of shipping where it could not proceed
so fast, Green had to inquire of neighbouring mariners where the _Red
Cloud_ was lying.
“The _Red Cloud_, Karen, weighs anchor for Carolina at flood tide
to-night. Shipper just going aboard,” they were told.
Their speed had been so rapid that they were in time to see the boat
alongside, and preparations being made to draw up some one or something
on board. “Oh! that is she!” cried Loveday in great agitation. “They’ve
drugged her. No harm done. She don’t know it. But it is she!”
Sir Amyas, with a voice of thunder, called out, “Halt, villain,” at the
same moment as Green shouted “Avast there, mate!” And their boat came
dashing up alongside.
“Yield me up that lady instantly, fellow!” cried Sir Amyas, with his
sword half drawn.
“And who are you, I should like to know,” returned Karen, coolly,
“swaggering at an honest man taking his freight and passengers aboard?”
“I’ll soon show you!”
“Hush, sir,” said Green, who had caught sight of pistols and cutlasses,
“let me speak a moment. Look you here, skipper, this young gentleman
and lady have right on their side. This is her sister, and he is her
husband. They are people of condition, as you see.”
“All’s one to me on the broad seas.”
“That may be,” said Green, “but you see you can’t weigh anchor these
three hours or more; and what’s to hinder the young captain here from
swearing against you before a magistrate, and getting your vessel
searched, eh?”
“I’ve no objection to hear reason if I’m spoke to reasonable,” said
Karen, sulkily; “but I’ll not be bullied like a highwayman, when I’ve my
consignment regularly made out, and the freight down in hand, square.”
“You may keep your accursed passage-money and welcome,” cried Sir Amyas,
“so you’ll only give me my wife!”
“Show him the certificate,” whispered Betty.
Sir Amyas had it ready, and he read it loud enough for all on the Thames
to hear. Karen gave a sneering little laugh. “What’s that to me? My
passenger here has her berth taken in the name of Ann Davis.”
“Like enough,” said Loveday, “but you remember me, captain, and I swear
that this poor young lady is what his Honour Sir Amyas say. He is a
generous young gentleman, and will make it up to you if you are at any
loss in the matter.”
“A hundred times over!” exclaimed Amyas hotly.
“Hardly that,” said Karen. “Van Draagen might have been good for a round
hundred if he’d been pleased with the commission.”
“I’ll give you and order--” began Sir Amyas.
“What have you got about you, sir?” interrupted Karen. “I fancy hard
cash better than your orders.”
The youth pulled out his purse. There was only a guinea or two and some
silver. “One does not go out to parade with much money about one,” he
said, with a trembling endeavour for a smile, “but if you would send up
to my quarters in Whitehall Barracks---”
“Never mind, sir,” said Karen, graciously. “I see you are in earnest,
and I’ll put up with the loss rather than stand in the light of a couple
of true lovers. Here, Jack, lend a hand, and we’ll hoist the young woman
over. She’s quiet enough, thanks to Mother Darkness.”
The sudden change in tone might perhaps be owing to the skipper’s
attention having been called by a sign from one of his men to a boat
coming up from Woolwich, rowed by men of the Royal navy, who were
certain to take part with an officer; but Sir Amyas and Betty were only
intent on receiving the inanimate form wrapped up in its mantle. What a
meeting it was for Betty, and yet what joy to have her at all! They
laid her with her head in her sister’s lap, and Sir Amyas hung over her,
clasping one of the limp gloved hands, while Eugene called “Aura, Aura,”
and would have impetuously kissed her awake, but Loveday caught hold of
him. “Do not, do not, for pity’s sake, little master,” she said; “the
potion will do her no harm if you let her sleep it off, but she may not
know you if you waken her before the time.”
“Wretch, what have you given her?” cried Sir Amyas.
“It was not me, sir, it was Mrs. Darke, in a cup of coffee. She vowed
it would do no hurt if only she was let to sleep six or eight hours. And
see what a misery it has saved her from!”
“That is true,” said Betty. “Indeed I believe this is a healthy sleep.
See how gently she breathes, how soft and natural her colour is, how
cool and fresh her cheek is. I cannot believe there is serious harm
done.”
“How soon can we reach a physician?” asked Sir Amyas, still anxiously,
of the coxswain.
“I can’t rightly say, sir,” replied he; “but never you fear. They
wouldn’t do aught to damage such as she.”
Patience must perforce be exercised as, now against the tide and the
stream, the wherry worked its way back. Once there was a little stir;
Sir Amyas instantly hovered over Aurelia, and clasped her hand with a
cry of “My dearest life!” The long dark eyelashes slowly rose, the eyes
looked up for one moment from his face to her sister’s, and then to her
brother’s, but the lids sank as if weighed down, and with a murmur,
“Oh, don’t wake me,” she turned her face around on Betty’s lap and slept
again.
“Poor darling, she thinks it a dream,” said Betty. “Eugene, do not. Sir,
I entreat! Brother, yes I _will_ call you so if you will only let her
alone! See how happy and peaceful her dear face is! Do not rouse her
into terror and bewilderment.”
“If I only were sure she was safe,” he sighed, hanging over, with an
intensity of affection and anxiety that brought a dew even to the old
steersman’s eyes; and he kindly engrossed Eugene by telling about the
places they passed, and setting him to watch the smart crew of the boat
from the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, which was gaining on them.
Meanwhile the others interrogated Loveday, who told them of the pretext
on which Lady Belamour had sent her captive down to Mrs. Darke’s. No one
save herself had, in my Lady’s household, she said, an idea of where the
young lady was, Lady Belamour having employed only hired porters except
on that night when Lady Aresfield’s carriage brought her. This had led
to the captivity being know to Lady Belle and her brother, and Loveday
had no doubt that it was the discovery of their being aware of it, as
well as Jumbo’s appearance in the court, that had made her mistress
finally decide on this frightful mode of ridding herself of the poor
girl. The maid was as adroit a dissembler as her mistress, and she held
her peace as to her own part in forwarding Colonel Mar’s suit, whether
her lady guessed it or not, but she owned with floods of tears how the
sight of the young lady’s meek and dutiful submission, her quiet trust,
and her sweet, simple teaching of the children, had wakened into life
again a conscience long dead to all good, and made it impossible to her
to carry out this last wicked commission without an attempt to save the
creature whom she had learnt to reverence as a saint. Most likely her
scruples had been suspected by her mistress, for there had been an
endeavour to put it out of her power to give any warning to the victim.
Yet after all, the waiting-maid had been too adroit for the lady, or,
as she fully owned, Aurelia’s firm trust had not been baulked, and
deliverance from the lions had come.