At last the Queen said, “Girl, I bid thee rise,
For now thou hast found favour in mine eyes,
And I repent me of the misery
That in this place thou hast endured me,
Altho’ because of it the Joy indeed
Shall now be mine, that pleasure is thy meed.”
MORRIS.
Those were evil times, and the court examples were most corrupting,
so that a splendid and imperious woman like Urania, Lady Belamour, had
found little aid from public opinion when left to herself by the absence
of her second husband. Selfish, unscrupulous, and pleasure-loving she
was by nature, but during Sir Jovian Belamour’s lifetime she had
been kept within bounds. Then came a brief widowhood, when debt
and difficulty hurried her into accepting Mr. Wayland, a thoughtful
scientific man, whose wealth had accumulated without much volition of
his own to an extent that made her covet his alliance. Enthralled by
her charm of manner, he had not awakened to the perception of what she
really was during the few years that had elapsed before he was sent
abroad, and she refused to accompany him.
Then it was that wealth larger than she had before commanded, and a
court appointment, involved her in more dangerous habits. Her debts,
both of extravagance and of the gaming table, were enormous, trenching
hard on the Delavie property, and making severe inroads on Mr. Wayland’s
means; but the Belamour estates being safely tied up, she had only been
able to borrow on her dower. She had sinned with a high hand, after the
fashion of the time, and then, in terror at the approaching return of
her husband, had endeavoured to conceal the ravages of her extravagance
by her bargain for her son’s hand.
The youth, bred up at a distance, and then the companion of his
step-father, had on his return found his home painfully altered in his
two years’ absence, and had been galled and grieved by the state of
things, so that even apart from the clearing of his prospects, the
relief was great. The quarrel with Colonel Mar that Mr. Wayland had
interrupted was not made up. There was no opportunity, for Mr. Wayland
at once removed his family to Bowstead, there to remain while he
transacted his business in London.
Moreover Mr. Belamour and Mr. Wayland agreed in selling the young
baronet’s commission. The Major allowed that it was impossible that he
should remain under the command of his present Colonel, but regretted
that he should not continue in the service, declaring it the best
school for a young man, and that he did not want to see his son-in-law
a muddle-brained sporting country squire. He would have had Sir Amyas
exchange into the line, and see a little service before settling down,
but Maria Theresa had not as yet set Europe in a blaze, and in the
absence of a promising war Sir Amyas did more incline to his uncle’s
representations of duties to tenants and to his county, and was even
ready to prepare himself for them when he should be of sufficient age
to undertake them. However, in the midst of the debates a new scheme was
made. Mr. Belamour had been called upon and welcomed by his old friends,
who, being men of rank and influence, had risen in life while he
was immured at Bowstead. One of these had just received a diplomatic
appointment at Vienna, and in spite of insular ignorance of foreign
manners was at a loss for a capable suite. Mr. Belamour suggested Major
Delavie, as from his long service in Austria likely to be very useful.
The Envoy caught at the idea, and the thought of once more seeing his
old comrades enchanted the Major, whose only regret was that his hero,
Prince Eugene, had been dead three years; but to visit his grave would
be something. Appointments ran in families, so that nothing could be
easier than to obtain one for the young baronet; and though Mr. Belamour
did not depend on his own health enough to accept anything, he was quite
willing to join the party, and to spend a little time abroad, while his
nephew was growing somewhat older, making an essay of his talents, and
at any rate putting off the commencement of stagnation. Thus matters
settled themselves, the only disappointed member of the family being
Mrs. Arden, who thought it very hard that she could not stir any one up
to request an appointment of her husband as chaplain--not even himself!
Mr. Wayland was at once called upon to go out to America to superintend
the defences of the Canadian frontier, and he resolved on taking his
family out, obtaining land, and settling there permanently. He would
pay all my Lady’s debts, but she should never again appear in London
society, and cruel exile as it must seem to her, he trusted that his
affection and tenderness would in time reconcile her to the new way of
life, knowing as she did that he had forgiven much that had made him
look like a crushed and sorrowful man in the midst of all the successes
and the honours he received from his country.
She remained quietly at Bowstead, and none of them saw her except her
son and the Major, to the latter of whom her husband brought a message
that she would esteem it a favour if he would come and visit her there,
the day before he returned to Carminster. Very much affected, the good
Major complied with her request, went down with Mr. Wayland and spent a
night at Bowstead.
He found that she had accepted her fate with the good grace of a woman
whose first instinct was not to make herself disagreeable. She was
rather pale, and not “made up” in any way, but exquisitely though more
simply dressed, and more beautiful than ever, her cousin thought, as
he always did whenever he came into her presence. She was one of those
people whose beauty is always a fresh surprise, and she was far more
self-possessed than he was.
“So, Cousin Harry, where am I to begin my congratulations! I did you and
unwitting service when I sent your daughter to search among those musty
old parchments. I knew my father believed in the existence of some such
document, but I thought all those hoards in Delavie House were devoid
of all legal importance, and had been sifted again and again. Besides, I
always meant to settle that old house upon you.”
“I have always heard so, cousin,” he answered.
“But it was such a mere trifle,” she added, “that it never seemed worth
while to set the lawyers to work about that alone, so I waited for other
work to be in hand.”
“There is a homely Scottish proverb, my Lady, which declares that the
scrapings of the muckle pot are worth the wee pot fu’. A mere trifle to
you is affluence to us.”
“I am sincerely rejoiced at it, Harry” (no doubt she thought she was),
“you will keep up the old name, while my scrupulous lord and master
gives up my poor patrimony to the extortionate creditors for years to
come. It is well that the young lovers have other prospects. So Harry,
you see after all, I kept my word, and your daughter is provided for,”
she continued with an arch smile. “Pretty creature, I find my son bears
me more malice than she does for the robbery that was perpetrated on
her. It was too tempting, Harry. Nature will repair her loss, but at out
time of life we must beg, borrow, or steal.”
“That was the least matter,” said the Major gravely.
“This is the reason why I wished to see you,” said my Lady, laying her
white hand on his, “I wanted to explain.”
“Cousin, cousin, had not you better leave it alone?” said Major Delavie.
“You know you can always talk a poor man out of his senses at the
moment.”
“Yet listen, Harry, and understand my troubles. Here I was pledged,
absolutely pledged, to give my son to Lady Aresfield’s daughter. I do
not know whether she may not yet sue me for breach of contract, though
Wayland has repaid her the loans she advanced me; and on the other hand,
in spite of all my precautions, Mar had obtained a sight of your
poor daughter, and I knew him well enough to be aware that to put her
entirely and secretly out of his reach was the only chance preserving
her from his pursuit. I had excellent accounts of the worthy man to whom
I meant her to be consigned, and I knew that when she wrote to you as a
West Indian queen you would be able to forgive your poor cousin. I see
what you would say, but sending her to you was impossible, since I had
to secure her both from Amyas and from Mar. It would only have involved
you in perplexities innumerable, and might have led even to bloodshed! I
may not have acted wisely, but weak women in difficulties know not which
path to choose.”
“There is always the straight one,” said he.
“Ah! you strong men can easily says so, but for us poor much-tried
women! However,” she said suddenly changing her tone, “Love has
check-mated us, and I rejoice. Your daughter will support the credit
of the name! I am glad the new Lady Belamour will not be that little
termagant milkmaid Belle, whom circumstances compelled me to inflict
upon my poor boy! The title will be your daughter’s alone. I have
promised my husband that in the New World I will sink into plain Mrs.
Wayland.” Then with a burst of genuine feeling she exclaimed, “He _is_ a
good man, Harry.”
“He is indeed, Urania, I believe you will yet be happier than you have
ever been.”
“What, among barbarians who never saw a loo-table, and get the modes
three months too late! And you are laughing at me, but see I am a poor
frivolous being, not sufficient to myself like your daughters! They say
Aurelia was as sprightly as a spring butterfly all the time she was shut
up at Bowstead with no company save the children and old Belamour!”
“They are lovely children, madam, Aurelia dotes on them, and you will
soon find them all you need.”
“Their father is never weary of telling me so. He is never so happy as
when they hang about him and tell him of Cousin Aura, or Sister Aura as
they love to call her.”
“It was charming to see them dance round her when he brought them to
spend the day with her. Mr. Wayland brought his good kinswoman, who will
take charge of them on the voyage, and Aurelia was a little consoled at
the parting by seeing how tender and kind she is with them.”
“Aye! If I do not hate that woman it will be well, for she is as much a
duenna for me as governess for the children! Heigh-ho! what do not our
follies bring on us? We poor creatures should never be left to the great
world.”
The pretty air of repentance was almost irresistible, well as the Major
knew it for the mood of the moment, assumed as what would best satisfy
him.
“I rejoice,” she went on, “in spite of my lovely daughter-in-law’s
discretion, she will be well surrounded with guardians. Has the
excellent Betty consented?”
“At last, madam. My persuasions were vain till she found that Mr.
Belamour would gladly come with us to Austria, and that she should be
enabled to watch over both her young sister and me.”
“There, again, I give myself credit, Harry. Would the sacred flame ever
have awakened in yonder misanthrope had I not sent your daughter to
restore him to life?” She spoke playfully, but the Major could not help
thinking she had persuaded herself that all his present felicity was
owing to her benevolence, and that she would persuade him of it too, if
she went on much longer looking at him so sweetly. He _would_ not tax
her with the wicked note she had written to account for Mr. Belamour’s
disappearance, and which she had forgotten; he felt that he could not
impel one, whom he could not but still regard with tenderness, to utter
any more untruths and excuses.
“By the by,” she added, “does your daughter take my waiting-maid after
all? I would have forgiven her, for she is an admirable hairdresser,
but Wayland says he cannot have so ingenious person in his house;
though after all I do not see that she is a bit worse than others of
her condition, and she herself insists on trying to become Aurelia’s
attendant, vowing that the sight of her is as good as any Methodist
sermon!”
“Precisely, madam. We were all averse to taking her with us, but Aurelia
said she owed her much gratitude; and she declared so earnestly that the
sight of my dear child brought back all the virtuous and pious thoughts
she had forgotten, that even Betty’s heart was touched, and she is to go
with us, on trial.”
“Oh! she is as honest as regards money and jewels as ever I knew a
waiting-maid, but for the rest!” Lady Belamour shrugged her shoulders.
“However, one is as good as another, and at least she will never let her
lady go a fright! See here, Harry. These are the Delavie jewels: I shall
never need them more: carry them to your daughters.”
“Nay, your own daughters, Urania.”
“Never mind the little wretches. Their father will provide for them, and
they will marry American settlers in the forests. What should they do
with court jewels? It is his desire. See here, this suit of pearls is
what I wore at my wedding with Amyas’s father, I should like Aurelia to
be married in them. Farewell, Harry, you did better for yourself than if
you had taken me. Yet maybe I might been a better woman---” She stopped
short as she looked at his honest face, and eyes full of tears.
“No, Urania,” he said, “man’s love could not have done for you what only
another Love can do. May you yet find that and true Life.”
The sisters were not married at the same time. Neither Mr. Belamour nor
his Elizabeth could endure to make part of the public pageant that it
was thought well should mark the _real_ wedding at Bowstead. So their
banns were put up at St. Clement Danes, and one quiet morning they
slipped out, with no witnesses but the Major, Aurelia, and Eugene, and
were wedded there in the most unobtrusive manner.
As to the great marriage, a month later at Bowstead, there was a certain
bookseller named Richardson, who by favour of Hargrave got a view of it,
and who is thought there to have obtained some ideas for the culminating
wedding of his great novel.
A little later, the following letter was written from the excellent Mrs.
Montagu to her correspondent Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. “There was yesterday
presented, preparatory to leaving England for Vienna, the young Lady
Belamour, incomparably the greatest beauty who has this year appeared
at Court. Every one is running after her, but she appears perfectly
unconscious of the _furore_ she has excited, and is said to have been
bred up in all simplicity in the country, and to be as good as she is
fair. Her young husband, Sir Amyas Belamour, is a youth of much promise,
and they seem absolutely devoted, with eyes only for each other. They
are said to have gone through a series of adventures as curious as they
are romantic; and indeed, when they made their appearance, there was a
general whisper, begun by young Mr. Horace Walpole, of
“CUPID AND PSYCHE.”