Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume

CHAPTER XXXI. THE SECOND TASK.

The little dog’s presence was a comfort, but his night of combat and scuffling was not a restful one and the poor prisoner’s sickness of heart and nervous terrors grew upon her every hour, with misgivings lest she should be clinging to a shadow, and sacrificing her return to Betty’s arms for a phantom. There were moments when her anguish of vague terror and utter loneliness impelled her to long to sign her renunciation that moment; and when she thought of recurring hours and weeks of such days and such nights her spirit quailed within her, and Loveday might have found her less calmly steadfast had she come in the morning.

She did not come, and this in itself was a disappointment, for at least she brought a human voice and a pitying countenance which, temptress though she might be, had helped to bear Aurelia through the first days. Oh! could she but find anything to do! She had dusted her two rooms as well as she could consistently with care for the dress she could not change. She blamed herself extremely for having forgotten her Bible and Prayer-book when hastily making up her bundle of necessaries, and though there was little chance that Madge should possess either, or be able to read, she nerved herself to ask. “Bible! what should ye want of a Bible, unless to play the hypocrite? I hain’t got none!” was the reply.

So Aurelia could only walk up and down the court trying to repeat the Psalms, and afterwards the poetry she had learnt for Mr. Belamour’s benefit, sometimes deriving comfort from the promises, but oftener wondering whether he had indeed deserted her in anger at her distrustful curiosity. She tried to scrape the mossgrown Triton, she crept up stairs to the window that looked towards the City, and cleared off some of the dimness, and she got a needle and thread and tried to darn the holes in the curtains and cushions, but the rotten stuff crumbled under her fingers, and would not hold the stitches. At last she found in a dusty corner a boardless book with neither beginning nor end, being Defoe’s Plague of London. She read and read with a horrid fascination, believing every word of it, wondering whether this house could have been infected, and at length feeling for the plague spot!

A great church-clock enabled her to count the hours! Oh, how many there were of them! How many more would there be? This was only her second day, and deliverance could not come for weeks, were her young husband—if husband he were—ever so faithful. How should she find patience in this dreariness, interspersed with fits of alarm lest he should be dangerously ill and suffering? She fell on her knees and prayed for him and for herself!

Here it was getting dark again, and Madge would hunt her in presently and shut the shutters. Hark! what was that? A bell echoing over the house! Madge came after her. “Where are you, my fine mistress! Go you into the parlour, I say,” and she turned the key upon the prisoner, whose heart beat like a bird fluttering in a cage. Suddenly her door was opened, and in darted Fidelia and Lettice, who flung themselves upon her with ecstatic shrieks of “Cousin Aura, dear cousin Aura!” Loveday was behind, directing the bringing in of trunks from a hackney coach. All she said was, “My Lady’s daughters are to be with you for the night, madam; I must not say more, for her ladyship is waiting for me.”

She was gone, while the three were still in the glad tangle of an embrace beginning again and again, with all sorts of little exclamations from the children, into which Aurelia broke with the inquiry for their brother. “He is much better,” said Fay. “He is to get up to-morrow, and then he will come and find you.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Oh, yes, and he says it is Sister Aura, and not Cousin Aura—”

“My dear, dear little sisters—” and she hugged them again.

“I was sitting upon his bed,” said Letty, “and we were all talking about you when my Lady mamma came. Are mothers kinder than Lady mammas?”

“Was she angry?” asked Aurelia.

“Oh! she frightened me,” said Fay. “She said we were pert, forward misses, and we must hold our tongues, for we should be whipped if we ever said you name, Cousin—Sister Aura, again; and she would not let us go to wish Brother Amyas good-bye this morning.”

Aurelia’s heart could not but leap with joy that her tyrant should have failed in carrying to Bowstead the renunciation of the marriage. Whether Lady Belamour meant it or not, she had made resistance much easier by the company of Faith and Hope, if only for a single night. She gathered from their prattle that their mother, having found that their talk with their brother was all of the one object of his thoughts, had carried them off summarily, and had been since driving about London in search of a school at which to leave them; but they were too young for Queen’s Square, and there was no room at another house at which Lady Belamour had applied. She would not take them home, being, of course, afraid of their tongues, and in her perplexity had been reduced to letting them share Aurelia’s captivity at least for the night.

What joy it was! They said it was an ugly dark house, but Aurelia’s presence was perfect content to them, and theirs was to her comparative felicity, assuring her as they did, through their childish talk, of Sir Amyas’s unbroken love and of Mr. Belamour’s endeavours to find her. What mattered it that Madge was more offended than ever, and refused to make the slightest exertion for “the Wayland brats at that time of night” without warning. They had enough for supper, and if Aurelia had not, their company was worth much more to her than a full meal. The terrier’s rushes after rats were only diversion now, and when all three nestled together in the big bed, the fun was more delightful than ever. Between those soft caressing creatures Aurelia heard no rats, and could well bear some kicks at night, and being drummed awake at some strange hour in the morning.

Mrs. Loveday arrive soon after the little party had gone down stairs. She said the children were to remain until her ladyship had decided where to send them; and she confirmed their report that his Honour was recovering quickly. As soon as he was sufficiently well to leave Bowstead he was to be brought to London, and married to Lady Arabella before going abroad to make the grand tour; and as a true well-wisher, Mrs. Loveday begged Miss Delavie not to hold out when it was of no use, for her Ladyship declared that her contumacy would be the worse for her. Aurelia’s garrison was, however, too well reinforced for any vague alarms to shake even her out works, and she only smiled her refusal, as in truth Mrs. Loveday must have expected, for it appeared that she had secured a maid to attend on the prisoners; an extremely deaf woman, who only spoke in the broken imperfect mode of those who have never heard their own voice, deficiencies that made it possible that Madge would keep the peace with her.

Lady Belamour had also found another piece of work for Aurelia. A dark cupboard was opened, revealing shelves piled with bundle of old letters and papers. There was a family tradition that one of the ladies of the Delavie family had been an attendant of Mary of Scotland for a short time, and had received from her a recipe for preserving the complexion and texture of the skin, devised by the French Court perfumer. Nobody had ever seen this precious prescription; but it was presumed to be in the archives of the family, and her ladyship sent word that if Miss Delavie wished to deserve her favour she would put her French to some account and discover it.

A severe undertaking it was. Piles of yellow letters, files of dusty accounts, multitudes of receipts, more than one old will had to be conned it was possible to be certain they were not the nostrum. In the utter solitude, even this occupation would have been valuable, but with the little girls about her, and her own and their property, she had alternative employments enough to make it an effort to apply herself to this.

Why should she? she asked herself more than once; but then came the recollection that if she showed herself willing to obey and gratify my Lady, it might gain her good will, and if Sir Amyas should indeed hold out till Mr. Wayland came home—Her heart beat wildly at the vision of hope.

She worked principally at the letters, after the children had gone to bed, taking a packet up stairs with her, and sitting in the bedroom, deciphering them as best she might by the light of the candles that Loveday had brought her.

Every morning Loveday appeared with supplies, and messages from her Ladyship, that it was time Miss submitted; but she was not at all substantially unkind, and showed increasing interest in her captive, though always impressing on her that her obstinacy was all in vain. My Lady was angered enough at his Honour having got up from his sick bed and gone off to Carminster, and if Miss did not wish to bring her father into trouble she must yield. No, this gladdened rather than startled Aurelia, though her heart sank within her when she was warned that Mr. Wayland had been taken by the corsairs, so that my Lady would have the ball at her own foot now. The term of waiting seemed indefinitely prolonged.

The confinement to the dingy house and courtyard was trying to all three, who had been used to run about in the green park and breezy fields; but Aurelia did her best to keep her little companions happy and busy, and the sense of the insecurity of her tenure of their company aided her the more to meet with good temper and sweetness the various rubs incidental to their captivity in this close warm house in the hottest of summer weather. The pang she had felt at her own fretfulness, when she thought she had lost them, made her guard the more against giving way to impatience if they were troublesome or hard to please. Indeed, she was much more gentle and equable now, in the strength of her resolution, than she had been when uplifted by her position, yet doubtful of its mysteries.

Sundays were the most trying time. The lack of occupation in the small space was wearisome, and Aurelia’s heart often echoed the old strains of Tate and Brady,

She and her charges climbed up to the window above, which happily had a broken pane, tried to identify the chimes of the church bells by the notable nursery rhyme,

watched the church-goers as far as they could see them, and then came down to such reading of the service and other Sunday occupations as Aurelia could devise. On the Sunday of her durance it was such a broiling day that, unable to bear the heat of her parlour, she established herself and her charges in a nook of the court, close under the window, but shaded by the wall, which was covered with an immense bush of overhanging ivy, and by the elm tree in the court. Here she made Fay and Letty say their catechism, and the Psalm she had been teaching them in the week, and then rewarded them with a Bible story, that of Daniel in the den of lions. Once or twice the terrier (whose name she had learnt was Bob) had pricked his ears, and the children had thought there was a noise, but the sparrows in the ivy might be accountable for a great deal, and the little ones were to much wrapped in her tale to be attentive to anything else.

“Then it came true!” said Letty. “His God Whom he trusted did deliver him out of the den of lions?”

“God always does deliver people when they trust Him,” said Fay, with gleaming eyes.

“Yes, one way or the other,” said Aurelia.

“How do you think He will deliver us?” asked Letty; “for I am sure this is a den, though there are no lions.”

“I do not know how,” said Aurelia, “but I know He will bear us through it as long as we trust Him and do nothing wrong,” and she looked up at the bright sky with hope and strength in her face.

“Hark! what’s that?” cried Letty, and Bob leapt up and barked as a great sob became plainly audible, and within the room appeared Mrs. Loveday, her face all over tears, which she was fast wiping away as she rose up from crouching with her head against the window-sill.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said she, her voice still broken when she rejoined them, “but I would not interrupt you, so I waited within; and oh, it was so like my poor old mother at home, it quite overcame me! I did not think there was anything so near the angels left on earth.”

“Nay, Loveday,” said Fay, apprehending the words in a different sense, “the angels are just as near us as ever they were to Daniel, only we cannot see them. Are they not, Cousin Aura?”

“Indeed they are, and we may be as sure that they will shut the lions’ mouths,” said Aurelia.

“Ah! may they,” sighed Loveday, who had by this time mastered her agitation, and remembered that she must discharge herself of her messages, and return hastily to my Lady’s toilette.

“I have found the recipe,” said Aurelia. “Here it is.” And she put into Loveday’s hand a yellow letter, bearing the title in scribbled writing, “Poure Embellire et blanchire la Pel, de part de Maistre Raoul, Parfumeur de la Royne Catherine.”

CHAPTER XXXII. LIONS.

The next morning Loveday returned with orders from Lady Belamour that Miss Delavie should translate the French recipe, and make a fair copy of it. It was not an easy task, for the MS. was difficult and the French old; whereas Aurelia lived on the modern side of the Acadamie, her French was that of Fenelon and Racine.

However, she went to work as best she could in her cool corner, guessing at many of the words by lights derived from Comenius, and had just made out that the chief ingredients were pounded pearls and rubies, mixed with white of eggs laid by pullets under a year old, during the waxing of the April moon, when she heard voices chattering in the hall, and a girlish figure appeared in a light cloak and calash, whom Loveday seemed to be guiding, and yet keeping as much repressed as she could.

“Gracious Heavens!” were the first words to be distinguished; “what a frightful old place; enough to make one die of the dismals! I won’t live here when I’m married, I promise Sir Amyas! Bless me, is this the wench?”

“Your Ladyship promised to be careful,” entreated Loveday, while Aurelia rose, with a graceful gesture of acknowledgment, which, however remained unnoticed, the lady apparently considering herself unseen.

“Who are these little girls?” asked she, in a giggling whisper. “Little Waylands? Then it is true,” she cried, with a peal of shrill laughter. “There are three of them, only Lady Belamour shuts them up like kittens—I wonder she did not. Oh, what sport! Won’t I tease her now that I know her secret!”

“Your ladyship!” intreated Loveday in distress in an audible aside, “you will undo me.” Then coming forward, she said, “You did not expect me at this hour, madam; but if your French copy be finished, my Lady would like to have it at once.”

“I have written it out once as well as I could,” said Aurelia, “but I have not translated it; I will find the copy.”

She rose and found the stranger full before her in the doorway, gazing at her with an enormous pair of sloe-black eyes, under heavy inky brows, set in a hard, red-complexioned face. She burst into a loud, hoydenish laugh as Loveday tried to stammer something about a friend of her own.

“Never mind, the murder’s out, good Mrs. Abigail,” she cried, “it is me. I was determined to see the wench that has made such a fool of young Belamour. I vow I can’t guess what he means by it. Why, you are a poor pale tallow-candle, without a bit of colour in your face. Look at me! Shall you ever have such a complexion as mine, with ever so much rouge?”

“I think not,” said Aurelia, with one look at the peony face.

“Do you know who I am, miss? I am the Lady Bella Mar. The Countess of Aresfield is my mamma. I shall have Battlefield when she dies, and twenty thousand pounds on my wedding day. The Earl of Aresfield and Colonel Mar are my brothers, and a wretched little country girl like you is not to come between me and what my mamma has fixed for me; so you must give it up at once, for you see he belongs to me.”

“Not yet, madam,” said Aurelia.

“What do you say? Do you pretend that your masquerade was worth a button?”

“That is not my part to decide,” said Aurelia. “I am bound by it, and have no power to break it.”

“You mean the lawyers! Bless you, they will never give it to you against me! You’d best give it up at once, and if you want a husband, my mamma has one ready for you.”

“I thank her ladyship,” said Aurelia, with simple dignity, “but I will not give her the trouble.”

She glanced at her wedding ring, and so did Lady Belle, who screamed, “You’ve the impudence to wear that! Give it to me.”

“I cannot,” repeated Aurelia.

“You cannot, you insolent, vulgar, low”—

“Hush! hush, my lady,” entreated Loveday. “Come away, I beg of your ladyship!”

“Not till I have made that impudent hussy give me that ring,” cried Belle, stamping violently. “What’s that you say?”

“That your ladyship asks what is impossible,” said Aurelia, firmly.

“Take that then, insolent minx!” cried the girl, flying forward and violently slapping Aurelia’s soft cheeks, and making a snatch at her hair.

Loveday screamed, Letty cried, but Fidelia and Bob both rushed forward to Aurelia’s defence, one with her little fists clenched, beating Lady Belle back, the other tearing at her skirts with his teeth. At that moment a man’s step was heard, and a tall, powerful officer was among them, uttering a fierce imprecation. “You little vixen, at your tricks again,” he said, taking Belle by the waist, while she kicked and screamed in vain. She was like an angry cat in his arms. “Be quiet, Belle,” he said, backing into the sitting-room. “Let Loveday compose your dress. Recover your senses and I shall take you home: I wish it was to the whipping you deserve.”

He thrust her in, waved aside Loveday’s excuses about her ladyship not being denied, and stood with his back to the door as she bounced shrieking against it from within.

“I fear this little devil has hurt you, madam,” he said.

“Not at all, I thank you, sire.” said Aurelia, though one side of her face still tingled.

“She made at you like a little game-cock,” he said. “I am glad I was in time. I followed when I found she had slipped away from Lady Belamour’s, knowing that her curiosity is only equalled by her spite. By Jove, it is well that her nails did not touch that angel face!”

Aurelia could only curtsey and thank him, hoping within herself that Lady Belle would soon recover, and wondering how he had let himself in. There was something in his manner of examining her with his eyes that made her supremely uncomfortable. He uttered fashionable expletives of admiration under his breath, and she turned aside in displeasure, bending down to Fidelia. He went on, “You must be devilishly moped in this dungeon of a place! Cannot we contrive something better?”

“Thank you, sir, I have no complaint to make. Permit me to see whether the Lady Arabella is better.”

“I advise you not. Those orbs are too soft and sparkling to be exposed to her talons. ‘Pon my honour, I pity young Belamour. But there is no help for it, and such charms ought not to be wasted in solitude on his account. These young lads are as fickle as the weather-cock, and have half-a-dozen fancies in as many weeks. Come now, make me your friend, and we will hit on some device for delivering the enchanted princess from her durance vile.”

“Thank you, sir, I promised Lady Belamour to make no attempt to escape.”

At that moment out burst Lady Belle, shouting with laughter: “Ho! ho! Have I caught you, brother, gallanting away with Miss? What will my lady say? Pretty doings!”

She had no time for more. Her brother fiercely laid hold of her, and bore her away with a peremptory violence that she could not resist, and only turning at the hall door to make one magnificent bow.

Loveday was obliged to follow, and the children were left clinging to Aurelia and declaring that the dreadful young lady was as bad as the lions; while Aurelia, glowing with shame and resentment at what she felt as insults, had a misgiving that her protector had been the worse lion of the two.

She had no explanation of the invasion till the next morning, when Loveday appeared full of excuses and apologies. From the fact of Lady Aresfield’s carriage having been used on Aurelia’s arrival, her imprisonment was known, and Lady Belle, spending a holiday at Lady Belamour’s, had besieged Loveday with entreaties to take her to see her rival. As the waiting-woman said, for fear of the young lady’s violent temper, but more probably in consideration of her bribes, she had yielded, hoping that Lady Belle would be satisfied with a view from the window, herself unseen. However, from that moment all had been taken out of the hands of Loveday, and she verily believed the Colonel had made following his sister an excuse for catching a sight of Miss Delavie, for he had been monstrously smitten even with the glimpse he had had of her in the carriage. And now, as his sister had cut short what he had to say, he had written her a billet. And Loveday held out a perfumed letter.

Aurelia’s eyes flashed, and she drew herself up: “You forget, Loveday, I promised to receive no letters!”

“Bless me, ma’am, they, that are treated as my lady treats you, are not bound to be so particular as that.”

“O fie, Loveday,” said Aurelia earnestly, “you have been so kind, that I thought you would be faithful. This is not being faithful to your lady, nor to me.”

“It is only from my wish to serve you, ma’am,” said Loveday in her fawning voice. “How can I bear to see a beautiful young lady like you, that ought to be the star of all the court, mewed up here for the sake of a young giddy pate like his Honour, when there’s one of the first gentlemen in the land ready to be at your feet?”

“For shame! for shame!” exclaimed Aurelia, crimson already. “You know I am married.”

“And you will not take the letter, nor see what the poor gentleman means? May be he wants to reconcile you with my lady, and he has power with her.”

Aurelia took the letter, and, strong paper though it was, tore it across and across till it was all in fragments, no bigger than daisy flowers. “There,” she said, “you may tell him what I have done to his letter.”

Loveday stared for a minute, then exclaimed, “You are in the right, my dear lady. Oh, I am a wretch—a wretch—” and she went away sobbing.

Aurelia hoped the matter was ended. It had given her a terrible feeling of insecurity, but she found to her relief that Madge was really more trustworthy than Loveday. She overheard from the court a conversation at the back door in which Madge was strenuously refusing admission to some one who was both threatening and bribing her, all in vain; but she was only beginning to breathe freely when Loveday brought, not another letter, but what was less easy to stop, a personal message from “that poor gentleman.”

“Loveday, after what you said yesterday, how can you be so—wicked?” said Aurelia.

“Indeed, miss, ‘tis only as your true well-wisher.”

Aurelia turned away to leave the room.

“Yes, it is, ma’am! On my bended knees I will swear it,” cried Loveday, throwing herself on them and catching her dress. “It is because I know my lady has worse in store for you!”

“Nothing can be worse than wrong-doing,” said Aurelia.

“Ah! you don’t know. Now, listen, one moment. I would not—indeed I would not—if I did not know that he meant true and honourable—as he does, indeed he does. He is madder after you then ever he was for my lady, for he says you have all her beauty, and freshness and simplicity besides. He is raving. And you should never leave me, indeed you should not, miss, if you slipped out after me in Deb’s muffler—and we’d go to the Fleet. I have got a cousin there, poor fellow—he is always in trouble, but he is a real true parson notwithstanding, and I’d never leave your side till the knot was tied fast. Then you would laugh at my lady, and be one of the first ladies in the land, for my Lord Aresfield is half a fool, and can’t live long, and when you are a countess you will remember your poor Loveday.”

“Let me go. You have said too much to a married woman,” said Aurelia, and as the maid began the old demonstrations of the invalidity of the marriage, and the folly of adhering to it when nobody knew where his honour was gone, she said resolutely, “I shall write to Lady Belamour to send me a more trustworthy messenger.”

On this Loveday fairly fell on the floor, grovelling in her wild entreaty that my Lady might hear nothing of this, declaring that it was not so much for the sake of the consequences to herself as to the young lady, for there was no guessing what my lady might not be capable of if she guessed at Colonel Mar’s admiration of her prisoner. Aurelia, frightened at her violence, finally promised not to appeal to her ladyship as long as Loveday abstained from transmitting his messages, but on the least attempt on her part to refer to him, a complaint should certainly be made to my lady.

“Very well, madam,” said Loveday, wiping her eyes. “I only hope it will not be the worse for you in the end, and that you will not wish you had listened to poor Loveday’s advice.”

“I can never wish to have done what I know to be a great sin,” said Aurelia gravely.

“Ah! you little know!” said Loveday, shaking her head sadly and ominously.

Something brought to Aurelia’s lips what she had been teaching the children last Sunday, and she answered,

“My God, in Whom I have trusted, is able to deliver me out of the mouth of lions, and He will deliver me out of thy hand.”

“Oh! if ever there were one whom He should deliver!” broke out Loveday, and again she went away weeping bitterly.

Aurelia could not guess what the danger the woman threatened could be; so many had been mentioned as possible. A forcible marriage, incarceration in some lonely country place, a vague threat of being taken beyond seas to the plantation—all these had been mentioned; but she was far more afraid of Colonel Mar forcing his way in and carrying her off, and this kept her constantly in a state of nervous watchfulness, always listening by day and hardly able to sleep by night.

Once she had a terrible alarm, on a Sunday. Letty came rushing to her, declaring that Jumbo, dear Jumbo, and a gentleman were in the front court. Was it really Jumbo? Come and see! No, she durst not, and Fay almost instantly declared that Madge had shut them out. The children both insisted that Jumbo it was, but Aurelia would not believe that it could be anything but an attempt of her enemies. She interrogated Madge, who had grown into a certain liking for one so submissive and inoffensive. Madge shook her head, could not guess how such folks had got into the court, was sure they were after no good, and declared that my Lady should hear of all the strange doings, and the letters that had been left with her. Oh, no, she knew better than to give them, but my Lady should see them.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE COSMETIC.

Late on that Sunday afternoon, a muffled and masked figure came through the house into the court behind, and after the first shock Aurelia was relieved to see that it was too tall, and moved too gracefully, to belong to Loveday.

“Why, child, what a colour you have!” said Lady Belamour, taking off her mask. “You need no aids to nature at your happy age. That is right, children,” as they curtsied and kissed her hand. “Go into the house, I wish to speak with your cousin.”

Lady Belamour’s unfailing self-command gave her such dignity that she seemed truly a grand and majestic dame dispensing justice, and the gentle, shrinking Aurelia like a culprit on trial before her.

“You have been here a month, Aurelia Delavie. Have you come to your senses, and are you ready to sign this paper?”

“No, madam, I cannot.”

“Silly fly; you are as bent as ever on remaining in the web in which a madman and a foolish boy have involved you?”

“I cannot help it, madam.”

“Oh! I thought,” and her voice became harshly clear, though so low, “that you might have other schemes, and be spreading your toils at higher game.”

“Certainly not, madam.”

“Your colour shows that you understand, in spite of all your pretences.”

“I have never used any pretences, my lady,” said Aurelia, looking up in her face with clear innocent eyes.

“You have had no visitors? None!”

“None, madam, except once when the Lady Arabella Mar forced her way in, out of curiosity, I believe, and her brother followed to take her away.”

“Her brother? You saw him?” Each word came out edged like a knife from between her nearly closed lips.

“Yes, madam.”

“How often?”

“That once.”

“That has not hindered a traffic in letters.”

“Not on my side, madam. I tore to fragments unread the only one that I received. He had no right to send it!”

“Certainly not. You judge discreetly, Miss Delavie. In fact you are too transcendent a paragon to be retained here.” Then, biting her lip, as if the bitter phrase had escaped unawares, she smiled blandly and said, “My good girl, you have merited to be returned to your friends. You may pack your mails and those of the children!”

Aurelia shuddered with gladness, but Lady Belamour checked her thanks by continuing, “One service you must first do for me. My perfumer is at a loss to understand your translation of the recipe for Queen Mary’s wash. I wish you to read and explain it to her.”

“Certainly, madam.”

“She lives near Greenwich Park,” continued Lady Belamour, “and as I would not have the secret get abroad, I shall send a wherry to take you to the place early to-morrow morning. Can you be ready by eight o’clock?”

Aurelia readily promised, her heart bounding at the notion of a voyage down the river after her long imprisonment and at the promise of liberty! She thought her husband must still be true to her, since my lady would have been the first to inform her of his defection, and as long as she had her ring and her certificate, she could feel little doubt that her father would be able to establish her claims. And oh! to be with him and Betty once more!

She was ready in good time, and had spent her leisure in packing. When Loveday appeared, she was greeted with a petition that the two little girls might accompany her; but this was refused at once, and the waiting-maid added in her caressing, consoling tone that Mrs. Dove was coming with their little brother and sister to take them a drive into the country. They skipped about with glee, following Aurelia to the door of the court, and promising her posies of honeysuckles and roses, and she left her dear love with them for Amoret and Nurse Dove.

At the door was a sedan chair, in which Aurelia was carried to some broad stone stairs, beside which lay a smartly-painted, trim-looking boat with four stout oarsmen. She was handed into the stern, Loveday sitting opposite to her. The woman was unusually silent, and could hardly be roused to reply to Aurelia’s eager questions as she passed the gardens of Lincoln’s Inn, saw St. Paul’s rise above her, shot beneath the arch of London Bridge, and beheld the massive walls of the Tower with its low-browed arches opening above their steps. Whenever a scarlet uniform came in view, how the girl’s eyes strained after it, thinking of one impossible, improbable chance of a recognition! Once or twice she thought of a far more terrible chance, and wondered whether Lady Belamour knew how little confidence could be placed in Loveday; but she was sure that their expedition was my lady’s own device, and the fresh air and motion, with all the new scenes, were so delightful to her that she could not dwell on any alarms.

On, on, Redriffe, as the watermen named Rotherhithe, was on one bank, the marshes of the Isle of Dogs were gay with white cotton-grass and red rattle on the other. Then came the wharves and building yards of Deptford, and beyond them rose the trees of Greenwich Park, while the river below exhibited a forest of masts. The boat stopped at a landing-place to a little garden, with a sanded path, between herbs and flowers. “This is Mistress Darke’s,” said Loveday, and as a little dwarfish lad came to the gate, she said, “We would speak with your mistress.”

“On your own part?’

“From the great lady in Hanover Square.”

The lad came down to assist in their landing, and took them up the path to a little cupboard of a room, scented with a compound of every imaginable perfume. Bottles of every sort of essence, pomade, and cosmetic were ranged on shelves, or within glass doors, interspersed with masks, boxes for patches, bunches of false hair, powder puffs, curling-irons, and rare feathers. An alembic [a device used in distillation—D.L.] was in the fireplace, and pen and ink, in a strangely-shaped standish, were on the table. Altogether there was something uncanny about the look and air of the room which made Aurelia tremble, especially as she perceived that Loveday was both frightened and distressed.

The mistress of the establishment speedily appeared. She had been a splendid Jewish beauty, and still in middle age, had great owl-like eyes, and a complexion that did her credit to her arts; but there was something indescribably repulsive in her fawning, deferential curtsey, as she said, in a flattering tone, with a slightly foreign accent, “The pretty lady is come, as our noble dame promised, to explain to the poor Cora Darke the great queen’s secret! Ah! how good it is to have learning. What would not my clients give for such a skin as hers! And I have many more, and greater than you would think, come to poor Cora’s cottage. There was a countess here but yesterday to ask how to blanch the complexion of miladi her daughter, who is about to wed a young baronet, beautiful as Love. Bah! I might as well try to whiten a clove gillyflower! Yet what has not nature done for this lovely miss?”

“Shall I read you the paper?” said Aurelia, longing to end this part of the affair.

“Be seated, fair and gracious lady.”

Aurelia tried to wave aside a chair, but Mrs. Darke, on the plea of looking over the words as she read, got her down upon a low couch, putting her own stout person and hooked face in unpleasant proximity, while she asked questions, and Aurelia mentioned her own conjectures on the obsolete French of the recipe, while she perceived, to her alarm, that the woman understood the technical terms much better than she did, and that her ignorance could have been only an excuse.

At last it was finished, and she rose, saying it was time to return to the boat.

“Nay, madam, that cannot be yet,” said Loveday; “the watermen are gone to rest and dine, and we must wait for the tide to shoot the bridge.”

“Then pray let us go out and walk in Greenwich Park,” exclaimed Aurelia, longing to escape from this den.

“The sweet young lady will take something in the meantime?” said Mrs. Darke.

“I thank you, I have breakfasted,” said Aurelia.

“My Lady intended us to eat here,” said Loveday in an undertone to her young lady, as their hostess bustled out. “She will make it good to Mrs. Darke.”

“I had rather go to the inn—I have money—or sit in the park,” she added as Loveday looked as if going to the inn were an improper proposal. “Could we not buy a loaf and eat in the park? I should like it so much better.”

“One cup of coffee,” said Mrs. Darke, entering; “the excellent Mocha that I get from the Turkey captains.”

She set down on a small table a wonderful cup of Eastern porcelain, and some little sugared cakes, and Aurelia, not to be utterly ungracious, tasted one, and began on the coffee, which was so hot that it had to be taken slowly. As she sipped a soothing drowsiness came over her, which at first was accounted for by the warm room after her row on the river; but it gained upon her, and instead of setting out for her walk she fell sound asleep in the corner of the couch.

“It has worked. It is well,” said Mrs. Darke, lifting the girl’s feet on the couch, and producing a large pair of scissors.

Loveday could not repress a little shriek.

“Hush!” as the woman untied the black silk hood, drew it gently off, and then undid the ribbon that confined the victim’s abundant tresses. “Bah! it will be grown by the time she arrives, and if not so long as present, what will they know of it? It will be the more agreeable surprise! Here, put yonder cloth under her head while I hold it up.”

“I cannot,” sobbed Loveday. “This is too much. I never would have entered my Lady’s service if I had known I was to be set to such as this.”

“Come, come, Grace Loveday, I know too much of you for you to come the Presician over me.”

“Such a sweet innocent! So tender-hearted and civil too.”

“Bless you, woman, you don’t know what’s good for her! She will be a very queen over the black slaves on the Indies. Captain Karen will tell you how the wenches thank him for having brought ‘em out. They could never do any good here, you know, poor lasses; but out there, where white women are scarce, they are ready to worship the very ground they tread upon.”

“I tell you she ain’t one of that sort. She is a young lady of birth, a cousin of my Lady’s own, as innocent as a babe, and there are two gentlemen, if not three, a dying for her.”

“I lay you anything not one of ‘em is worth old Mr. Van Draagen, who turns his thousands every month. ‘Send me out a lady lass,’ says he, ‘one that will do me credit with the governor’s lady.’ Why she will have an estate as big as from here to Dover, and slaves to wait on her, so as she need never stoop to pick up her glove. He has been married twice before, and his last used to send orders for the best brocades in London. He stuck at no expense. The Queen has not finer gowns!”

“But to think of the poor child’s waking up out at sea.”

“Oh! Mrs. Karen will let her know she may think herself well off. I never let ‘em go unless there’s a married woman aboard to take charge of them, and that’s why I kept your lady waiting till the Red Cloud was ready to sail. You may tell her Ladyship she could not have a better berth, and she’ll want for nothing. I know what is due to the real quality, and I’ve put aboard all the toilette, and linen, and dresses as was bespoke for the last Mrs. Van Draagen, and there’s a civil spoken wench aboard, what will wait on her for a consideration.”

“Nay, but mistress,” said Loveday, whispering: “I know those that would give more than you will ever get from my Lady if they found her safe here.”

“Of course there are, or she would not be here now,” said Mrs. Darke, with a horrid grin; “but that won’t do, my lass. A lady that’s afraid of exposure will pay you, if she pawns her last diamond, but a gentleman—why, he gets sick of his fancy, and snaps his fingers at them that helped him!” Then, looking keenly at Loveday, “You’ve not been playing me false, eh?”

“O no, no,” hastily exclaimed Loveday, cowering at the malignant look.

“If so be you have, Grace Loveday, two can play at that game,” said Mrs. Darke composedly. “There, I have left her enough to turn back. What hair it is! Feel the weight of it! There’s not another head of the mouse-colour to match your Lady’s in the kingdom,” she added, smoothing out the severed tresses with the satisfaction of a connoisseur. “No wonder madame could not let this be wasted on the plantations, when you and I and M. le Griseur know her own hair is getting thinner than she would wish a certain Colonel to guess. There! the pretty dear, what a baby she looks! I will tie her on a cowl, lest she should take cold on the river. See these rings. Did you Lady give no charge about them?”

“I had forgot!” said the waiting-woman, confused; “she charged me to bring them back, old family jewels, she said, that must not be carried off to foreign parts; but I cannot, cannot do it. To rob that pretty creature in her sleep.”

“Never fear. She’ll soon have a store much finer than these! You fool, I tell you she will not wake these six or eight hours. Afraid? There, I’ll do it! Ho! A ruby? A love-token, I wager; and what’s this? A carved Cupid. I could turn a pretty penny by that, when your lady finds it convenient, and her luck at play goes against her. Eh! is this a wedding-ring? Best take that off; Mr. Van Draagen might not understand it, you see. Here they are. Have you a patch-box handy for them in your pocket? Why what ails the woman? You may thank your stars there’s some one here with her wits about her! None of your whimpering, I say, her comes Captain Karen.”

Two seafaring men here came up the garden path, the foremost small and dapper, with a ready address and astute countenance. “All right, Mother Darkness, is our consignment ready? Aye, aye! And the freight?”

“This lady has it,” said Mrs. Darke, pointing to Loveday; “I have been telling her she need have no fears for her young kinswoman in your hands, Captain.”

He swore a round oath to that effect, and looking at the sleeping maiden, again swore that she was the choicest piece of goods ever confided to him, and that he knew better than let such an article arrive damaged. Mr. Van Draagen ought to come down handsomely for such an extra fine sample; but in the meantime he accepted the rouleau of guineas that Loveday handed to him, the proceeds, as she told Mrs. Darke, of my Lady’s winnings last night at loo.

All was ready. Poor Aurelia was swathed from head to foot in a large mantle, like the chrysalis whose name she bore, the two sailors took her up between them, carried her to their boat, and laid her along in the stern. Then they pushed off and rowed down the river. Loveday looked up and looked down, then sank on the steps, convulsed with grief, sobbing bitterly. “She said He could deliver her from the mouth of lions! And He has not,” she murmured under her breath, in utter misery and hopelessness.