CHAPTER XXXIII. THE COSMETIC.
But one more task I charge thee with to-day,
For unto Proserpine then take thy way,
And give this golden casket to her hands.
MORRIS.
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.”