JANE'S WEDDING
Nanty described it as a calm, gracious sort of wedding. There was no
blare of trumpets when Jane and the Doctor plighted their troth.
"Just as it should be," said Nanty. "A wedding at all times is to me a
depressing spectacle; and when accompanied by a sound of brass and
tinkling of cymbals, and shawms, and ringing of bells, and thumping of
wedding marches, it simply becomes ridiculous, not to mention that the
making of such noises is a relic of barbarism."
Mother said a bright ray of sunshine found Jane out, and lit up and
illumined her face just as she was repeating the beautiful and solemn
words, "Till death us do part."
"She looked--she looked----" Mother paused for suitable words.
"As though she had been sunstruck," interposed Nanty.
Mother was mildly indignant.
"She looked like an angel, Anastasia."
Nanty gave a little grunt.
"An angel in a Paris hat, eh? But I must admit she looked rather nice.
She's certainly far too good for the Doctor."
"Of course, Jane is getting on," said mother doubtfully.
"If she were sixty she would be too good for any man," pronounced Nanty
decisively, and when she adopted that tone mother ceased to argue.
I was glad that the wedding morning dawned serenely beautiful. I had
feared lowering skies, heavy, white mists, a dripping, gloomy,
sad-faced world, but November was on her best behaviour. The sun sent
mild, warm rays across the garden, and the few leaves which still clung
to the trees across the fence were as splashes of gold against the
brown branches and quiet, blue sky.
They bade me remain in bed till late on in the morning, so that I might
be well and strong for the reception, which was a grand name to give to
a gathering of a dozen or more people.
I lay and laughed at the various sounds of the household, which were
carried to me through my open door--at Amelia's shrill expostulations
with the Help, who seemed to be bent upon doing the wrong thing at the
wrong time; at Peter's explosions as he was chivied about from pillar
to post by "tiresome women who would go putting silly decorations all
over the confounded place"; and at Dimbie's perpetual wailing at the
disappearance of the corkscrew. "Tie it round your neck on a ribbon,
Dumbarton," I could hear Peter growl; and Dimbie said it was a most
excellent suggestion on the part of his father-in-law, and he would
carry it out at once.
"Would you mind moving once again, General Macintosh, we must arrange
the refreshments now," came Jane's voice pleading and ingratiating.
"Well, I'm not preventing you."
"But we want the table, please." And he straightway burst into my room
to tell me what he thought of the institution of marriage.
"Not so much as a hole left for a cat to creep into," he said angrily.
"Jumbles is here; _you_ can stay if you like. The easy chair by the
fire is very comfortable."
He dropped into it a little ungraciously.
"So you don't like weddings?" I said with a smile.
"Like weddings!"
"Why did you come?"
"Your mother insisted. When your mother gets an idea into her head you
might as well talk to a mule."
"But _you_ needn't have come," I said gently.
He put some coal on the fire with unnecessary energy.
"What is mother doing?"
"Getting in everybody's way."
"I thought it was you who were doing that."
He vouchsafed no reply, and buried himself behind _The Times_,
thinking, I suppose, like the ostrich, that if he covered up his head
his body would not be detected.
But Jane soon routed him out.
"I have come to dress Marguerite," she announced. "Amelia is
permitting it."
There was no movement from behind the paper.
"General Macintosh, I am sorry to disturb you, but the time is getting
on."
"I thought Marguerite was dressed, she looks very grand."
"It is the ribbons of my nightingale which have deceived you, I have
only that and my nightdress on. I can hardly appear in so scanty an
attire."
"Give 'em something to talk about."
"Father," I said, "_will_ you go." And growling and grumbling he went
in search of mother, presumably to have a row.
The sunshine streamed into the room, the tits chattered, and a robin
blithely showed what could be done with a range of eight notes: tweet,
tweet, ta ra ra tweet, tre la, tre la, ta ra ra tweet.
"Listen, Jane," I said, "it is singing to you. Isn't it a lovely day!
I'm so glad the sun is shining. Are you happy, Jane?"
"Yes," she said simply, dropping a kiss on to my hair, which she was
gently brushing. "I'm too happy to talk about it; and I must hurry,
Dimbie will be here in a minute, he has got something for you."
And there he was, peeping through the door with Amelia close behind
him. In his arms was a large cardboard box.
"It's a new tea-gown straight from Paris, mum," said Amelia, excitedly,
as Dimbie removed the lid. "There were twenty to choose from," added
Jane, "and _we_ were over an hour in settlin' on it," completed Amelia.
Very carefully Dimbie removed all the folds of soft, white paper, and
shook out the gown--a lovely mass of pearly satin, soft as the petals
of a rose, and marvellous old lace of cobweb transparency and texture.
"It is too beautiful!" I whispered to him, folding my arms around his
neck.
"And there is a rose for your neck, sweetheart, just the colour of your
hair. Isn't he a beauty?"
I held the fragrant, yellow softness to my face, for the tears were
coming, and Jane and Amelia stole softly away and left us by ourselves
for ten minutes--ten minutes which would alone make the saddest life
worth living, and mine was not sad because I had Dimbie.
Presently Jane came back.
"You must go, sir," she commanded, "or your wife will not be ready."
And Dimbie went.
Deftly and quickly she arranged my hair, got me into the lovely gown,
and fastened the rose at my breast. And while she worked she talked.
She made me laugh at her description of the Help, who was sitting dazed
and "amoithered" in the middle of the kitchen, drinking the strongest
black tea, and regarding every onslaught of Amelia with the utmost
indifference and apathy. And Amelia! She, of course, was working like
a traction engine in the refreshment-room, shaking her fist at the
creams and jellies, some of which refused to stand up, and persuading
trails of briony to stick to their proper position on the cake and not
wander away to the dishes of oyster pâtés.
"And now you are ready, and you look--well, Dimbie will tell you how
you look. I will call him."
"Don't," I said, "he will stay so long, and then you will go to another
room to dress, and I do so want to watch you. I shall be awfully
particular about your hair."
"You won't suggest a hair-frame?"
"God forbid! You are not the type of woman for a frame. But you drag
your hair too much off your temples at times, and although your
forehead is low and broad and all that a forehead ought to be, I fancy
a few tendrils straying across it would look sweet under your
chinchilla toque, and you must humour my fancy, Jane."
Obediently she knelt down and let me do what I would with her.
"Be very careful getting into your skirt," I commanded. "Don't ruffle
your hair whatever you do."
She made a comical face.
"What a fuss!" she said.
"If you don't fuss on your wedding-day you never will. And men don't
like dowdy women. Come here and I will fasten your bodice. I can if
you will kneel very close to me."
For a moment I rested my cheek against the soft, beautiful fur which
trimmed the bolero-bodice--Nanty had indeed been generous.
"Jane, dear," I said, "I _am_ glad you are going to be married, and
that you will have no more sticky children to teach. I should like to
have seen the Doctor as a bridegroom. I feel sure that he will use
profane language in the stress of his emotions. Now put on your hat
and walk across the room with stately mien so that I may have a good
look at you." I nodded approval. "You'll do. You look sweet--a study
in grey. And you are quite tall and slight in that elegant frock. I
believe even Nanty will be satisfied."
She came and knelt again by my couch. How strong and yet gentle was
her face! I thought. How steady and clear were her eyes! How sweet
and expressive the large, sensitive mouth!
"I want to say good-bye to you alone--not before the others. I want to
thank you, little, patient Marguerite, for all your goodness to me----"
"Jane," I said, "if you utter another word I shall weep, and then my
eyes will be red. Be merciful to me."
"God bless you and keep you!" she murmured with a great earnestness,
and then she bowed her head for a moment, and I knew that she was
praying.
Mother forced an entrance.
"Peter has hidden my bonnet"--her air was tragic--"and I can't find
him, he has hidden himself as well."
"He was under the pine tree in the hall when I last saw him," said
Jane. "He may have slipped behind the clock."
"I'll go and see," said mother breathlessly, "I shall never be ready in
time. The carriages are due now." Mother and Peter were to have one
to themselves, and Dimbie was to take Jane.
She was back in a moment.
"I've got it. Amelia found it. He says he never touched it, and that
it was the Help."
And now Dimbie came banging at the door.
"Time's up," he shouted. "How much longer are you going to prink,
Jane?" Then popping his head in, "Peter will be smashing the wedding
presents if you don't all hurry up."
"I'm ready. What do you think of your wife, sir?" said Jane.
I covered my face with my hands at the look in his eyes.
"Wheel me to the drawing-room," I whispered to him, "you don't go so
fast as Amelia; and put me right in the window, so that I may see you
all coming down the path."
"What a lovely Marguerite!" he murmured, shutting the door. "I must
kiss my little wife. Why, even your cushions are gold! You look like
a golden lily."
"The carriages are waiting," I said.
"I shall come home the very minute I have given Jane away; I shan't
wait to the end. You will be lonely."
And Dimbie little knew how earnestly during the next quarter of an hour
I longed for the loneliness he had predicted. Never had I more
fervently yearned to be by myself, for as soon as ever Jane and Dimbie
had driven away the Help appeared. She came slowly and deliberately
into the room and seated herself on a chair opposite to the couch. She
wore the black crêpe bonnet, a black dress, black kid gloves, and she
carried a black parasol and a prayer-book.
"Good afternoon," I said politely.
"Good afternoon," she returned.
"Are you going--to a funeral?"
She stared at me with hard, black eyes.
"I've come to the reception."
"Oh!" I said.
"Master said me and 'Melia could hear their health drunk--the bride and
bridegroom's."
"But they are not here yet."
"No," she said, still staring at me unwaveringly.
"Where's Amelia?" The Help alarmed me.
"'Melia's gone to the wedding, and then she's going to run 'ome before
the others to make the tea and coffee."
"Couldn't you make it?" I cried with sudden relief.
"No, 'Melia's going to make it. She said I was to look after you and
see that you wanted for nothin'."
"I don't require anything, thank you; if I do, I will ring."
She did not move.
I closed my eyes.
"I do not require anything at present, thank you," I repeated.
There was no movement, and I opened my eyes. The Help was still
staring at me unflinchingly--not a flicker of an eyelid, not a movement
of a muscle.
I felt I was going to scream.
"Don't you think,--perhaps, it would be advisable--will you be so good
as to see to the potatoes?"
I clasped and unclasped my hands feverishly.
"What pertaters?"
"Oh--er--the potatoes we are going to eat."
"We're not goin' to eat no pertaters. 'Melia never told me. There's
to be tea, coffee, jelly, and champagne."
"But shan't we require some later on with our dinner?"
She shook her head.
"It's to be 'igh tea. There'll be no time for dinner."
"But I should like potatoes."
The Help looked doubtful.
"I love potatoes."
"I'll ask 'Melia when she comes in."
"There is no occasion to ask Amelia. Won't you go now, please,
Mrs.----?"
She still stared at me steadfastly.
"There's plenty of time; pertaters only takes half an hour."
"It's not enough," I cried sharply.
"I've boiled 'undreds of 'em--Skerry blues, magnums, queen of them all,
Cheshires--none of 'em takes more than half an hour."
I closed my eyes and clung to the tortoise. "Oh, when would Dimbie
come?" I moaned to myself. I lay thus for some minutes. It seemed
ridiculous, absurd to be frightened of a mere Help. I told myself this
over and over again. At length I ventured to open one eye. I longed
to know if the Help were still staring at me. She was, and I shut it
again quickly. What was I to do? When would the wedding be over? I
opened my eye again. The Help was staring harder than ever. Most
wickedly I wished that she could be struck dead by lightning. But it
was unlikely, the day was brilliantly fine and sunny. Now I put a
handkerchief over my eyes. I would not look at the Help. The gate
banged. I heard Dimbie's step, and he came into the room, but I dare
not remove the handkerchief.
"What is it?" he cried anxiously. "Are you poorly, Marguerite?"
"Come here," I said.
He stooped down.
"Is the Help still staring?" I whispered.
"Yes."
"Can you get her out of the room?"
He began to laugh.
"Can you?" I repeated.
"Of course."
"Well, do so quickly, please."
His voice rang out pleasantly and commandingly--
"Will you go and tell Amelia, please, that when the carriage returns I
shall be glad if she will give the coachmen some dinner--some meat and
potatoes."
Would the Help think that we were all in a conspiracy to make her boil
potatoes?
"'Melia is not here."
"Where is she?"
"At the weddin'."
"Well, then, you go and get the dinner ready, please."
She looked at her black dress and gloves and parasol.
"I didn't know as there was to be cookin'. I've got my best dress on."
"You can put on an apron," I said gently.
She wavered.
Dimbie opened the door for her as he would have opened it for a
duchess, and looked at her.
She rose, carefully placed her parasol and prayer-book on the chair in
order to reserve it for future use, and unwillingly went out of the
room.
"Move the chair quickly," I gasped, "and hide the parasol and
prayer-book. That woman must never be permitted to stare at me again
or I shall go mad. How could you tell her that she might come in to
hear the health of the bride and bridegroom drunk?"
"She asked me. What could I say?" said Dimbie ruefully.
"And dressed up as though she were going to a funeral----"
Dimbie began to laugh.
"And is she going to hand tea to the guests in a crêpe bonnet?"
"Can't say, you are the mistress of the house."
"Oh, Dimbie, what shall I do? I daren't tell her to remove it."
"Wait till Amelia comes home. She'll manage her."
Amelia came rushing through the gate, and I signalled to her from the
window.
"Yes, mum!"
"The Help is--wearing a crêpe bonnet. I thought you said she was to
wear a cap and collar and cuffs?"
"So she is, mum. She must have slipped into that bonnet the minute my
back was turned. She'll be out of it in a jiffy, I'll see to that.
She's that deceitful, she'll wear me into my grave. And the weddin'
was _that_ beautiful! Miss Fairbrother looked----"
"I think I hear a carriage," I interrupted; and Amelia miraculously
flew into her cap and apron, and the next moment announced--
"Doctor and Mrs. Renton."
Jane advanced to the couch with outstretched hands. Her eyes were
shining and her lips smiling.
"Did your husband swear?" I asked as she kissed me.
"Certainly not," said the Doctor. "How's my patient to-day?"
"Quite well, thank you," I replied. "Now that you've got Jane safely
tied up you'll begin to remember that you have some patients hanging on
your words. Jane, he mustn't let his practice go to the wall. You
have to live, you know."
"There's another carriage," said Dimbie, looking through the window.
"Ah, and here's Nanty!--what a howling swell!--and a whole host of
people I don't know."
"Jane, I am frightened of Miss Rebecca Sharp. Stand by me when you
introduce us. I am not used to Suffragettes," I said.
And a most delightful half-hour followed, while we discussed Jane's and
Amelia's united efforts at refreshments. Dimbie would not permit my
being wheeled to the refreshment-room and noise, so my cake and
champagne were brought to the drawing-room, and I was entertained in
turn by Nanty and Professor Leighrail, the Doctor and Jane, Miss
Rebecca Sharp, who was most mild and unassuming, Mr. Tom Renton, the
best man, who ran to a heavy moustache and pimples, and even Peter came
for a moment to give me his opinion of Amelia's jelly.
Nanty and the Professor interested me greatly. She, resplendent in
purple velvet and old lace, was composed and sarcastic; he genial,
happy, and detached.
"Down with all weddings!" was the gist of her conversation.
"Do all you can to encourage them," said the Professor cheerfully.
"Disillusionment and misery are the inevitable sequence." Nanty
nibbled at the almond on a piece of wedding-cake.
"Happiness and a fuller life are the natural result." The Professor
waved his glass in the air.
She regarded him with amusement.
"And you really think so?"
"I do, madam."
"You are optimistic."
"There was a time when I believed that the world contained no
happiness."
"And now?"
"Now I am older, and think that most people are as happy as they will
allow themselves to be."
"But the sin, the suffering?"
"Many sufferers are happy." (His glance rested for a second upon me.)
"And as for the sinners--well, surely they wouldn't sin if they didn't
enjoy it?"
"I do not agree with your philosophy."
"Madam, I am open to argument."
"The room is too warm for discussion."
"It is pleasant in the garden, and there are some late roses. Will you
come?"
Nanty hesitated.
He held out his arm.
"The sunshine is inviting."
"Perhaps it is," she admitted; and laying a beautifully-gloved hand
lightly upon his arm, she went out with him.
Dimbie came in and found me smiling.
"What is it, girl?"
His eyes followed mine through the window.
"Humph!" he said.
"He asked her to go and look at the roses."
"And now I suppose you are happy?"
"Nanty's and the Professor's desire for roses does not affect my
happiness," I said gravely.
"Liar!" He laughed, stroking my hair.
And now the bride and bridegroom came to say "good-bye." The Doctor
held back while Jane kissed me and said, "I'll come back soon, little
old pupil; and I will drive over the day after our return and tell you
everything." Her eyes were full of unshed tears. The Doctor held my
hand in a strong, close grip, and they were gone.
Through the window I could see everyone assembled on the path.
Confetti was in the air, congratulations, good-byes. The Help with her
cap all askew, into which Amelia had insisted upon her changing, hurled
rice and a slipper at the retreating cab. And so Jane and the Doctor
drove away to happiness.