Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century CostumeYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
English fiction -- 19th century
Of course Elizabeth Delavie did not perceive all these details at once.
Her first sensation was the shock to the decorum of a modest English
lady at intruding into a bed-room; but her foreign recollections coming
to her aid, she accepted the fashion with one momentary feminine review
of her own appearance, and relief that she had changed her travelling
gear for her Sunday silks, and made her father put on his full uniform.
All this passed while Sir Amyas was leading her into the room, steering
her carefully out of the monkey’s reach. Then he went a step or two
forward and bent before his mother, almost touching the ground with one
knee, as he kissed her hand, and rising, acknowledged the lady with a
circular sweep of his hat, and his Colonel with a military salute, all
rapidly, but with perfect ease and gracefulness. “Ah! my truant, my
runaway invalid!” said Lady Belamour, “you are come to surrender.”
“I am come,” he said gravely, holding out his stronger hand to his
little brother and sister, who sprang to him, “to bring my father-and
sister-in-law, Major and Miss Delavie.”
“Ah! my good cousin, my excellent Mrs. Betty, excuse me that my tyrant
_friseur_ prevents my rising to welcome you. It is so good and friendly
in you to come in this informal way to cheer me under this terrible
anxiety. Let me present you to my kind friend, the Countess of
Aresfield, who has been so good as to come in to-day to sustain
my spirits. Colonel Mar you know already. Pray be seated.
Amyas--Archer--chairs. Let Syphax give you a cup of chocolate.”
“Madam,” said the Major, disregarding all this and standing as if on
parade, “can I see you alone? My business is urgent.”
“No evil news, I trust! I have undergone such frightful shocks of late,
my constitution is well nigh ruined.”
“It is I that have to ask news of you madam.”
She saw that, if she trifled with him, something would break out that
she would not wish to have said publicly. “My time is so little my own,”
she said, “I am under command to be at the Palace by two o’clock, but in
a few minutes I shall be able to dismiss my tormentor, and then, till
my woman comes to dress me, I shall be at your service. Sit down, I
entreat, and take some chocolate. I know Mrs. Betty is an excellent
housekeeper, and I want her opinion. My dear Lady Aresfield, suffer me
to introduce my estimable cousin, Mrs. Betty Delavie.”
The Countess looking in her feathers and powder like a beetroot in white
sauce, favoured Betty with a broad stare. Vulgarity was very vulgar in
those days, especially when it had purchased rank, and thought manners
might be dispensed with. Betty sat down, and Amoret climbed on her lap,
while a diversion was made by Archer’s imperious entreaty that his mamma
would purchase a mandarin who not only nodded, but waved his hands and
protruded his tongue.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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