And to the castle gate approached in quiet wise,
Whereat soft knocking, entrance he desired.
SPENSER.
“Nephew, is Delavie House inhabited?” inquired Mr. Belamour, as the baffled seekers sat together that evening.
“No, sir,” replied Sir Amyas. “My Lady will only lease it to persons of quality, on such high terms that she cannot obtain them for a house in so antiquated a neighbourhood. Oh, you do not think it possible that my dearest life can be in captivity so near us! An old house! On my soul, so it must be; I will go thither instantly.”
“And be taken for a Mohock! No, no, sit down, rash youth, and tell me who keeps the house.”
“One Madge, an old woman as sour as vinegar, who snarled at me like a toothless cur when I once went there to find an old fowling-piece of my father’s.”
“Then you ar the last person who should show yourself there, since there are sure to be strict charges against admitting you, and you would only put the garrison on the alert. You had better let the reconnoitring party consist of Jumbo and myself.”
The ensuing day was Sunday. Something was said of St. Paul’s, then in bloom of youth and the wonder of England; but Betty declared that she could not run about to see fine churches till her mind was at ease about her poor sister. Might she only go to the nearest and quietest church? So she, with her father and Eugene, repaired to St. Clement Danes, where their landlord possessed a solid oak pew, and they heard a sermon on the wickedness and presumption of inoculating for the small-pox.
It was not a genteel neighbourhood, and the congregation was therefore large, for the substantial tradesfolk who had poured into the Strand since it had been rebuilt were far more religiously disposed than the fashionable world, retaining either the Puritan zeal, or the High Church fervour, which were alike discouraged in the godless court. The Major and his son and daughter were solitary units in the midst of the groups of portly citizens, with soberly handsome wives, and gay sons and daughters, who were exchanging greetings; and on their return to their hotel, the Major betook himself to a pipe in the bar, and Eugene was allowed to go for a walk in the park with Palmer, while Betty sat in her own room with her Bible, striving to strengthen her assurance that the innocent would never be forsaken. Indeed Mr. Belamour had much strengthened her grounds of hope and comfort by his testimony to poor Aurelia’s perfect guilelessness and simplicity throughout the affair. Yet the echo of that girl’s chatter about Lady Belle’s rival being sent beyond the sea would return upon her ominously, although it might be mere exaggeration and misapprehension, like so much besides.
A great clock, chiming one, warned her to repair to the sitting-room, where she met Eugene, full of the unedifying spectacle of a fight between two street lads. There had been a regular ring, and the boy had been so much excited that Palmer had had much ado to bring him away. Betty had scarcely hushed his eager communications and repaired his toilette for dinner before Sir Amyas came in, having hurried away as soon as possible after attending his men to and from church.
“Sister,” he said, for so he insisted on calling Betty, “I really think my uncle’s surmise may be right. I went home past Delavie House last night, just to look at it, and there was—there really was, a light in one of the windows on the first floor, which always used to be as black as Erebus. I had much ado to keep myself from thundering at the gate. I would have done so before now but for my uncle’s warning. Where can he be?”
The Major and Mr. Belamour here came in together, and the same torrent was beginning to be poured forth, when the latter cut it short with, “They are about to lay the cloth. Restrain yourself, my dear boy, or—-” and as at that moment the waiter entered, he went on with the utmost readiness—“or, as it seems, the Queen of Hungary will never make good her claims. Pray, sir,” turning to Major Delavie, “have you ever seen these young Archduchesses whose pretensions seem likely to convulse the continent to its centre?”
The Major, with an effort to gather his attention, replied that he could not remember; but Betty, with greater presence of mind, described how she had admired the two sisters of Austria as little girls walking on the Prater. Indeed she and Mr. Belamour contrived to keep up the ball till the Major was roused into giving an opinion of Prussian discipline, and to tell stories of Leopold of Dessau, Eugene, and Marlborough with sufficient zest to drive the young baronet almost frantic, especially as Jumbo, behind his master’s chair, was on the broad grin all the time, and almost dancing in his shoes. Once he contrived to give an absolute wink with one of his big black eyes; not, however, undetected, for Mr. Belamour in a grave tone of reprimand ordered him off to fetch an ivory toothpick-case.
Not till the cloth had been remove, and dishes of early strawberries and of biscuits, accompanied by bottles of port and claret, placed on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, did Mr. Belamour observe, “I have penetrated the outworks.”
There was an outburst of inquiry and explanation, but he was not to be prevented from telling the story in his own way. “I know the house well, for my brother lived there the first years of his marriage, before you came on the stage, young sir. Perhaps you do not know how to open the door from without?”
“Oh, sir, tell me the trick!”
Mr. Belamour held up a small pass-key. There was a certain tone of banter about him which almost drove his nephew wild, but greatly reassured Miss Delavie.
“Why—why keep me in torments, instead of taking me with you?” cried the youth.
“Because I wished my expedition to be no failure. I could not tell whether my key, which I found with my watch and seals, would still serve me. Ah! you look on fire; but remember the outworks are not the citadel.”
“For Heaven’s sake, sir, torture me not thus!”
“I knew that to make my summons at the out gate would lead to a summary denial by the sour porteress, so I experimented on the lock of the little door into the lane, and admitted myself and Jumbo into the court; but the great hall-door stood before me jealously closed, and the lower windows were shut with shutters, so that all I could do was to cause Jumbo to awake the echoes with a lusty peal on the knocker, which he repeated at intervals, until there hobbled forth to open it a crone as wrinkled and crabbed as one of Macbeth’s witches. I demanded whether my Lady Belamour lived there. She croaked forth a negative sound, and had nearly shut the door in my face, but I kept her in parley by protesting that I had often visited my Lady there, and offering a crown-piece if she would direct me to her.”
“A crown! a kingdom, if she would bring us to the right one!” cried Sir Amyas.
“Of course she directed me to Hanover Square, and then, evidently supposing there was something amiss with the great gates, she insisted on coming to let me out, and securing them after me.”
The youth gave a great groan, saying, “Excuse me, sir, but what are we the better of that?”
“Endure a little while, impatient swain, and you shall hear. I fancy she recognised the Belamour Livery on Jumbo, for she hobbled by my side maundering apologies about its being against orders to admit gentle or simple, beast or body into the court, and that a poor woman could not lose her place and the roof over her head. But mark me, while this was passing, Jumbo, who had kept nearer the house whistling ‘The Nightingale’ just above his breath, heard his name called, and presently saw two little faces at an up-stairs window.”
“My little sisters!” cried Sir Amyas.
“Even so; and he believes he heard one of them call out, ‘Cousin, cousin Aura, come and see Jumbo;’ but as the window was high up, I scarce dare credit his ears rather than his imagination, and we were instantly hustled away by the old woman, whose evident alarm is a further presumption that the captive is there, since Faith and Hope scarce have reached the years of being princesses immured in towers.”
“It must be so,” said Betty; “it would explain Lady Belle’s having had access to her! And now?”
“Is it impossible to effect an entrance from the court and carry her away?” asked Sir Amyas.
“Entirely so,” said his uncle. “The only door into the court is fit to stand a siege, and all the lower windows are barred and fastened with shutters. The servants’ entrance is at the back towards the river, but no doubt it is also guarded, and my key will not serve for it.”
“I could get some sprightly fellow of ours to come disguised as Mohocks, and break in,” proceeded the youth, eagerly. “Once in the court, trust me for forcing my way to her.”
“And getting lodged in Newgate for your pains, or tried by court-martial,” said the Major. “No, when right is on our side, do not let us make it wrong. Hush, Sir Amyas, it is I who must here act. Whether you are her husband I do not know, I know that I am her father, and to-morrow morning, as soon as a magistrate can be spoken with, I shall go and demand a search warrant for the body of my daughter, Aurelia Delavie.”
“The body! Good Heavens, sir,” cried Betty.
“Not without the sweet soul, my dear Miss Delavie,” said Mr. Belamour. “Your excellent father has arrived at the only right and safe decision, and provided no farther alarm is given, I think he may succeed. It is scarcely probable that my Lady is in constant communication with her stern porteress, and my person was evidently unknown. For her own sake, as well as that of the small fee I dropped into her hand, she is unlikely to report my reconnoissance.”
Sir Amyas was frantic to go with his father-in-law, but both the elder men justly thought that his ambiguous claims would but complicate the matter. The landlord was consulted as to the acting magistrates of the time, and gave two or three addresses.
Another night of prayer, suspense, and hope for Betty’s sick heart. Then, immediately after breakfast, the Major set forth, attended by Palmer, long before Mr. Belamour had left his room, or the young baronet could escape from his military duties. Being outside the City, the Strand was under the jurisdiction of justices of the peace for Middlesex, and they had so much more than they could do properly, that some of them did it as little as possible. The first magistrate would not see him, because it was too early to attend to business; the second never heard matters at his private house, and referred him to the office in Bow Street. In fact he would have been wiser to have gone thither at first, but he had hoped to have saved time. He had to wait sitting on a greasy chair when he could no longer stand, till case after case was gone through, and when he finally had a hearing and applied for a warrant to search for his daughter in Delavie House, there was much surprise and reluctance to put such an insult on a lady of quality in favour at Court. On his giving his reasons on oath for believing the young lady to be there, the grounds of his belief seemed to shrink away, so that the three magistrates held consultation whether the warrant could be granted. Finally, after eying him all over, and asking him where he had served, one of them, who had the air of having been in the army, told him that in consideration of his being a gentleman of high respectability who had served his country, they granted what he asked, being assured that he would not make the accusation lightly. The reforms made by Fielding had not yet begun, everybody had too much work, and the poor Major had still some time to wait before an officer—tipstaff, as he was called—could accompany him, so that it was past noon when, off in the Bowstead carriage again, they went along the Strand, to a high-walled court belonging to one of the old houses of the nobility, most of which had perished in the fire of London. There was a double-doored gateway, and after much thundering in vain, at which the tipstaff, a red-nosed old soldier, waxed very irate, the old woman came out in curtseying, crying, frightened humility, declaring that they would find no one there—they might look if they would.
So they drove over the paved road, crossing the pitched pebbles, the door was unbarred, but no Aurelia sprang into her father’s arms. Only a little terrier came barking out into the dismal paved hall. Into every room they looked, the old woman asseverating denials that it was of no use, they might see for themselves, that no one had been there for years past. Full of emptiness, indeed, with faded grimy family portraits on the walls, moth-eaten carpets and cushions, high-backed chairs with worm-holes; and yet, somehow, there was one room that did look as if it had recently been sat in. Two little stools were drawn up close to a chair; the terrier poked and smelt about uneasily as though in search of some one, and dragged out from under a couch a child’s ball which he began to worry. On the carpet, too, were some fragments of bright fresh embroidery silk, which the practiced eye of the constable noticed. “This here was not left ten or a dozen years ago,” said he; and, extracting the ball from the fangs of the dog, “No, and this ball ain’t ten year old, neither. Come, Mother What’s’-name, it’s no good deceiving an officer of the law; whose is this here ball?”
“It’s the little misses. They’ve a bin here with their maid, but their nurse have been and fetched ‘em away this morning, and a good riddance too.”
“Who was the maid?—on your oath!”
“One Deborah Davis, a deaf woman, and pretty nigh a dumb one. She be gone too.”
Nor could the old woman tell where she was to be found. “My Lady’s woman sent her in,” she said, “and she was glad enough to be rid of her.”
“Come, now, my good woman, speak out, and it will be better for you,” said the Major. “I know my daughter was here yesterday.”
“And what do I know of where she be gone? She went off in a sedan-chair this morning before seven o’clock, and if you was to put me to the rack I couldn’t say no more.”
As to which way or with whom she had gone, the old woman was, apparently, really ignorant.
The poor Major had to return home baffled and despairing, still taking the tipstaff with him, in case, on consultation with Mr. Belamour, it should be deemed expedient to storm Hanover Square itself, and examine Lady Belamour and her servants upon oath.
Behold, the parlour was empty. Even Betty and Eugene were absent. The Major hastened to knock at Mr. Belamour’s door. There was no answer; and when he knocked louder it was still in vain. He tried the door and found it locked. Then he retreated to the sitting-room, rang, and made inquiries of the waiter who answered the bell.
Mr. Belamour had received a note at about ten o’clock, and had gone out with him “in great disorder,” said the waiter.
At the same moment there was a knock at the door, and a billet was brought in from Lady Belamour. The Major tore it open and read:—
“MY DEAR COUSIN,
“I grieve for you, but my Suspicions were correct. We have all
been completely hoodwinked by that old Villain, my Brother-in-law. I
can give him no other Name, for his partial Aberration of Mind has only
sharpened his natural Cunning. Would you believe it? He had obtained
access to Delavie House, and had there hidden the unfortunate Object of
your Search, while he pretended to be assisting you, and this Morning
he carried her off in a Sedan. I have sent the good Doves to Bowstead in
case he should have the Assurance to return to his old Quarters, but I
suspect that they are on the Way to Dover. You had better consult with
Hargrave on the means of confirming the strange Marriage Ceremony that
has passed between them, since that affords the best Security for your
Daughter’s Maintenance and Reputation. Believe me, I share in your
Distress. Indeed I have so frightful a Megrim that I can scarcely tell
what I write, and I dare not admit you to-day.
“I remain,
“Your loving and much-grieved Cousin,
“URANIA BELAMOUR.”
Poor Major! His horror, perplexity, and despair were indescribable. He had one only hope—that Sir Amyas and Betty might be on the track.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg