Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ out, “Oh! What is that? Where am I? Where have they taken me?”

      “Lawk, ma’am,” said the girl, with a broad grin, “that ‘ere bees only Mr. Jumbo. A’ won’t hurt’ee. See, here’s Mistress Aylward.”

      A tall, white-capped, black-gowned elderly woman turned on the new-comer a pale, grave, unsmiling face, saying, “Your servant—Miss Aurelia Delavie, as I understand.”

      Bending her head, and scarcely able to steady herself, for she was shaking from head to foot, Aurelia managed to utter the query,

      “Where am I?”

      “At Bowstead Park, madam, by order of my Lady.”

      Much relieved, and knowing this was the Belamour estate, Aurelia said, “Please let me wait till Mrs. Dove comes before I am presented to my Lady.”

      “My Lady is not here, madam,” said Mrs. Aylward. “Allow me—” and she led the way across a great empty hall, that seemed the vaster for its obscurity, then along a matted passage, and down some steps into a room surrounded with presses and cupboards, evidently belonging to the to the housekeeper. She set a chair for the trembling girl, saying, “You will excuse the having supper here to-night, madam; the south parlour will be ready for you to-morrow.”

      “Is not Mrs. Dove coming?” faintly asked Aurelia.

      “Mrs. Dove is gone to London to attend on little Master Wayland. You are to be here with the young ladies, ma’am.”

      “What young ladies?” asked the bewildered maiden.

      “My Lady’s little daughters—the Misses Wayland. I thought she had sent you her instructions; but I see you are over wearied and daunted,” she added, more kindly; “you will be better when you have taken some food. Molly, I say, you sluggard of a wench, bring the lady’s supper, and don’t stand gaping there.”

      Mrs. Aylward hurried away to hasten operations, and Aurelia began somewhat to recover her senses, though she was still so much dismayed that she dreaded to look up lest she should see something frightful, and started at the first approach of steps.

      A dainty little supper was placed before her, but she was too faint and sick at heart for appetite, and would have excused herself. However, Mrs. Aylward severely said she would have no such folly, filled a glass of wine, and sternly administered it; then setting her down in a large chair, helped her to a delicate cutlet. She ate for very fright, but her cheeks and eyes were brightened, the mists of terror and exhaustion began to clear away, and when she accepted a second help, she had felt herself reassured that she had not fallen into unkindly hands. If she could only have met a smile she would have been easier, but Mrs. Aylward was a woman of sedate countenance and few words, and the straight set line of lips encouraged no questioning, so she merely uttered thanks for each act of hospitality.

      “There! You will take no more roll? You are better, now, but you will not be sorry to go to your bed,” said Mrs. Aylward, taking up a candle, and guiding her along the passage up a long stair to a pretty room wainscoted and curtained with fresh white dimity, and the window showing the young moon pale in the light of the western sky.

      Bedrooms were little furnished, and this was more luxurious than the dear old chamber at home, but the girl had never before slept alone, and she felt unspeakably lonely in the dreariness, longing more than ever for Betty’s kiss—even for Betty’s blame—or for a whine from Harriet; and she positively hungered for a hug from Eugene, as she gazed timidly at the corners beyond the influence of her candle; and instead of unpacking the little riding mail she kissed it, and laid her cheek on it as the only thing that came from home, and burst into a flood of despairing tears.

      In the midst, there fell on her ears a low strain of melancholy music rising and falling like the wailing of mournful spirits. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with dilated eyes; then, as a louder note reached her, in terror uncontrollable, she caught up her candle, rushed down the stairs like a wild bird, and stood panting before Mrs. Aylward, who had a big Bible open on the table before her.

      “Oh, ma’am,” she cried, between her panting sobs, “I can’t stay there! I shall die!”

      “What means this, madam?” said Mrs. Aylward, stiffly, making the word sound much like “foolish child.”

      “The—the music!” she managed faintly to utter, falling again into the friendly chair.

      “The music?” said Mrs. Aylward, considering; then with a shade of polite contempt, “O! Jumbo’s fiddle! I did not know it could be heard in your room, but no doubt the windows below are open.”

      “Is Jumbo that black man?” asked Aurelia, shuddering; for negro servants, though the fashion in town, had not penetrated into the west.

      “Mr. Belamour’s blackamoor. He often plays to him half the night.”

      “Oh!” with another quivering sound of alarm; “is Mr. Belamour the gentleman in the dark?”

      “Even so, madam, but you need have no fears. He keeps his room and admits no one, though he sometimes walks out by night. You will only have to keep the children from a noise making near his apartments. Good night, madam.”

      “Oh, pray, if I do not disturb you, would you be pleased to let me stay till you have finished your chapter; I might not be so frightened then.”

      In common humanity Mrs. Aylward could not refuse, and Aurelia sat silently grasping the arms of her chair, and trying to derive all the comfort she could from the presence of a Bible and a good woman. Her nerves were, in fact, calmed by the interval, and when Mrs. Aylward took off her spectacles and shut up her book, it had become possible to endure the terrors of the lonely chamber.

      CHAPTER VIII. THE ENCHANTED CASTLE

          A little she began to lose her fear.—MORRIS.

      Aurelia slept till she was wakened by a bounce at the door, and the rattling of the lock, but it was a little child’s voice that was crying, “I will! I will! I will go in and seem by cousin!”

      Then came Mrs. Aylward’s severe voice: “No, miss, you are not to waken your cousin. Come away. Where is that slut, Jenny?”

      Then there was a scuffle and a howl, as if the child were being forcibly carried away. Aurelia sprang out of bed, for sunshine was flooding the room, and she felt accountable for tardiness. She had made some progress in dressing, when again little hands were on the lock, little feet kicking the door, and little voices calling, “Let me in.”

      She opened the door, and white nightgowns, all tumbled back one over the other.

      “My little cousins,” she said, “come and kiss me.”

      One came forward and lifted up a sweet little pale face, but the other two stood, each with a finger in the mouth, right across the threshold, in a manner highly inconvenient to Aurelia, who was only in her stiff stays and dimity petticoat, with a mass of hair hanging down below her waist. She turned to them with arms out-stretched, but this put them instantly to the rout, and they ran off as fast as their bare pink feet could carry them, till one stumbled, and lay with her face down and her plump legs kicking in the air. Aurelia caught her up, but the capture produced a powerful yell, and out, all at once hurried into the corridor, Mrs. Aylward, a tidy maid servant, a stout, buxom countrywoman, and a rough girl, scarcely out of bed, but awake enough to snatch the child out of the young lady’s arms, and carry her off. The housekeeper began scolding vigorously all СКАЧАТЬ