AN AGREEABLE WEDDING.
That circumstances, combined with the countess-dowager, worked terribly
against Lord Hartledon, events proved. Had the Ashtons remained at the
Rectory all might have been well; but they went away, and he was left to
any influence that might be brought to bear upon him.
How the climax was accomplished the world never knew. Lord Hartledon
himself did not know the whole of it for a long while. As if unwilling to
trust himself longer in dangerous companionship, he went up to town with
Thomas Carr. Whilst there he received a letter from Cannes, written by
Dr. Ashton; a letter that angered him.
It was a cool letter, a vein of contemptuous anger running through it;
meant to be hidden, but nevertheless perceptible to Lord Hartledon. Its
purport was to forbid all correspondence between him and Miss Ashton:
things had better "remain in abeyance" until they met, ran the words,
"if indeed any relations were ever renewed between them again."
It might have angered Lord Hartledon more than it did, but for the
hopelessness which had taken up its abode within him. Nevertheless he
resented it. He did not suppose it possible that the Ashtons could have
heard of the dilemma he was in, or that he should be unable to fulfil his
engagement with Anne, having with his usual vacillation put off any
explanation with them; which of course must come sometime. He had taken
an idea into his head long before, that Dr. Ashton wished to part them,
and he looked upon the letter as resulting from that. Hartledon was
feeling weary of the world.
How little did he divine that the letter of the doctor was called forth
by a communication from the countess-dowager. An artful communication,
with a charming candour lying on its surface. She asked--she actually
asked that Dr. Ashton would allow "fair play;" she said the "deepest
affection" had grown up between Lord Hartledon and Lady Maude; and she
only craved that the young man might not be coerced either way, but might
be allowed to choose between them. The field after Miss Ashton's return
would be open to the two, and ought to be left so.
You may imagine the effect this missive produced upon the proud,
high-minded doctor of divinity. He took a sheet of paper and wrote a
stinging letter to Lord Hartledon, forbidding him to think again of Anne.
But when he was in the act of sealing it a sudden doubt like an instinct
rushed over him, whether it might not be a ruse, and nothing else, of the
crafty old dowager's. The doubt was sufficiently strong to cause him to
tear up the letter. But he was not satisfied with Lord Hartledon's own
behaviour; had not been for some few months; and he then wrote a second
letter, suspending matters until they should meet again. It was in effect
what was asked for by the countess-dowager; and he wrote a cold proud
letter to that lady, stating what he had done. Of course any honourable
woman--any woman with a spark of justice in her heart--would have also
forbidden all intercourse with Lady Maude. The countess-dowager's policy
lay in the opposite direction.
But Lord Hartledon remained in London, utterly oblivious to the hints and
baits held out for his return to Calne. He chiefly divided his time
between the House of Lords and sitting at home, lamenting over his own
ill-starred existence. He was living quite en garçon, with only one man,
his house having been let for the season. We always want what we cannot
obtain, and because marriage was denied him, he fell into the habit of
dwelling upon it as the only boon in life. Thomas Carr was on circuit,
so that Hartledon was alone.
Easter was early that year, the latter end of March. On the Monday in
Passion-week there arrived a telegram for Lord Hartledon sent apparently
by the butler, Hedges. It was vaguely worded; spoke of a railway accident
and somebody dying. Who he could not make out, except that it was a
Kirton: and it prayed him to hasten down immediately. All his goodness of
heart aroused, Val lost not a moment. He had been engaged to spend Easter
with some people in Essex, but dispatched a line of apology, and hastened
down to Calne, wondering whether it was the dowager or Maude, and whether
death would have taken place before his arrival.
"What accident has there been?" he demanded, leaping out of the carriage
at Calne Station; and the man he addressed happened to be the porter,
Jones.
"Accident?" returned Jones, touching his cap.
"An accident on the line; somewhere about here, I conclude. People
wounded; dying."
"There has been no accident here," said Jones, in his sulky way. "Maybe
your lordship's thinking of the one on the branch line, the bridge that
fell in?"
"Nonsense," said Lord Hartledon, "that took place a fortnight ago. I
received a telegram this morning from my butler, saying some one was
dying at Hartledon from a railway accident," he impatiently added. "I
took it to be either Lady Kirton or her daughter."
Mr. Jones swung round a large iron key he held in his hand, and light
dawned upon him.
"I know now," he said. "There was a private accident at the station here
last night; your lordship must mean that. A gentleman got out of a
carriage before it stopped, and fell between the rail and the platform.
His name was Kirton. I saw it on his portmanteau."
"Lord Kirton?"
"No, my lord. Captain Kirton."
"Was he seriously hurt?"
"Well, it was thought so. Mr. Hillary feared the leg would have to come
off. He was carried to Hartledon."
Very much relieved, Lord Hartledon jumped into a fly and was driven home.
The countess-dowager embraced him and fell into hysterics.
The crafty old dowager, whose displayed emotion was as genuine as she
was! She had sent for this son of hers, hoping he might be a decoy-duck
to draw Hartledon home again, for she was losing heart; and the accident,
which she had not bargained for, was a very god-send to her.
"Why don't you word your telegrams more clearly, Hedges?" asked Lord
Hartledon of his butler.
"It wasn't me worded it at all, my lord. Lady Kirton went to the station
herself. She informed me she had sent it in my name."
"Has Hillary told you privately what the surgeons think of the case?"
"Better of it than they did at first, my lord. They are trying to save
the leg."
This Captain Kirton was really the best of the Kirton bunch: a quiet,
unassuming young man, somewhat delicate in health. Lord Hartledon was
grieved for his accident, and helped to nurse him with the best heart
in the world.
And now what devilry (there were people in Calne who called it nothing
less) the old countess-dowager set afloat to secure her ends I am unable
to tell you. She was a perfectly unscrupulous woman--poverty had rendered
her wits keen; and her captured lion was only feebly struggling to escape
from the net. He was to blame also. Thrown again into the society of
Maude and her beauty, Val basked in its sunshine, and went drifting down
the stream, never heeding where the current led him. One day the
countess-dowager put it upon his honour--he must marry Maude. He might
have held out longer but for a letter that came from some friend of the
dowager's opportunely located at Cannes; a letter that spoke of the
approaching marriage of Miss Ashton to Colonel Barnaby, eldest son of a
wealthy old baronet, who was sojourning there with his mother. No doubt
was implied or expressed; the marriage was set forth as an assured fact.
"And I believe you meant to wait for her?" said the countess-dowager, as
she put the letter into his hand, with a little laugh. "You are free now
for my darling Maude."
"This may not be true," observed Lord Hartledon, with compressed lips.
"Every one knows what this sort of gossip is worth."
"I happen to know that it is true," spoke Lady Kirton, in a whisper. "I
have known of it for some time past, but would not vex you with it."
Well, she convinced him; and from that moment had it all her own way, and
carried out her plots and plans according to her own crafty fancy. Lord
Hartledon yielded; for the ascendency of Maude was strong upon him. And
yet--and yet--whilst he gave all sorts of hard names to Anne Ashton's
perfidy, lying down deep in his heart was a suspicion that the news was
not true. How he hated himself for his wicked assumption of belief in
after-years!
"You will be free as air," said the dowager, joyously. "You and Maude
shall get ahead of Miss Ashton and her colonel, and have the laugh at
them. The marriage shall be on Saturday, and you can go away together for
months if you like, and get up your spirits again; I'm sure you have both
been dull enough."
Lord Hartledon was certainly caught by the words "free as air;" as he had
been once before. But he stared at the early day mentioned.
"Marriages can't be got up as soon as that."
"They can be got up in a day if people choose, with a special license;
which, of course, you will have," said the dowager. "I'll arrange things,
my dear Val; leave it all to me. I intend Maude to be married in the
little chapel."
"What little chapel?"
"Your own private chapel."
Lord Hartledon stared with all his eyes. The private chapel, built out
from the house on the side next Calne, had not been used for years and
years.
"Why, it's all dust and rust inside; its cushions moth-eaten and fallen
to pieces."
"Is it all dust and rust!" returned the dowager. "That shows how
observant you are. I had it put in order whilst you were in London; it
was a shame to let a sacred place remain in such a state. I should like
it to be used for Maude; and mind, I'll see to everything; you need not
give yourself any trouble at all. There's only one thing I must enjoin
on you."
"What's that?"
"_Secrecy._ Don't let a hint of your intentions get abroad. Whatever you
do, don't write a word to that Carr friend of yours; he's as sharp as a
two-edged sword. As well let things be done privately; it is Maude's
wish."
"I shall not write to him," cried Hartledon, feeling a sudden heat upon
his face, "or to any one else."
"Here's Maude. Step this way, Maude. Hartledon wants the ceremony to take
place on Saturday, and I have promised for you."
Lady Maude advanced; she had really come in by accident; her head was
bent, her eyelashes rested on her flushed cheeks. A fair prize; very,
very fair! The old dowager put her hand into Lord Hartledon's.
"You will love her and cherish her, Percival?"
What was the young man to do? He murmured some unintelligible assent, and
bent forward to kiss her. But not until that moment had he positively
realized the fact that there would be any marriage.
Time went on swimmingly until the Saturday, and everything was in
progress. The old dowager deserved to be made commander of a garrison for
her comprehensive strategy, the readiness and skill she displayed in
carrying out her arrangements. For what reason, perhaps she could not
have explained to herself; but an instinct was upon her that secrecy in
all ways was necessary; at any rate, she felt surer of success whilst
it was maintained. Hence her decision in regard to the unused little
chapel; and that this one particular portion of the project had been long
floating in her mind was proved by the fact that she had previously
caused the chapel to be renovated. But that it was to serve her own turn,
she would have let it remain choked up with dust for ever.
The special license had arrived; the young clergyman who was to perform
the service was located at Hartledon. Seven o'clock was the hour fixed
for the marriage: it would be twilight then, and dinner over. Immediately
afterwards the bride and bridegroom were to depart. So far, so good. But
Lady Kirton was not to have it quite her own way on this same Saturday,
although she had enjoyed it hitherto.
A rumour reached her ears in the afternoon that Dr. Ashton was at the
Rectory. The doctor had been spending Easter at Cannes, and the dowager
had devoutly prayed that he might not yet return. The news turned her
cheeks blue and yellow; a prevision rushing over her that if he and Lord
Hartledon met there might be no wedding after all. She did her best to
keep Lord Hartledon indoors, and the fact of the Rector's return from
him.
Now who is going to defend Lord Hartledon? Not you or I. More foolish,
more culpable weakness was never shown than in thus yielding to these
schemes. Though ensnared by Maude's beauty, that was no excuse for him.
An accident--or what may be called one--delayed dinner. Two county
friends of Hartledon's, jolly fox-hunters in the season, had come riding
a long way across country, and looked in to beg some refreshment. The
dowager fumed, and was not decently civil; but she did not see her way to
turning them out.
They talked and laughed and ate; and dinner was indefinitely prolonged.
When the dowager and Lady Maude rose from table the former cast a meaning
look at Lord Hartledon. "Get rid of them as soon as you can," it plainly
said.
But the fox-hunters liked good drinking as well as good eating, and sat
on, enjoying their wine; their host, one of the most courteous of living
men, giving no sign, by word or look, that he wished for their departure.
He was rather silent, they observed; but the young clergyman, who made
the fourth at the table, was voluble by nature. Captain Kirton had not
yet left his sick bed.
Lady Maude sat alone in her room; the white robes upon her, the orthodox
veil, meant to shade her fair face thrown back from it. She had sent away
her attendants, bolted the door against her mother, and sat waiting her
summons. Waiting and thinking. Her cheek rested on her hand, and her
eyes were dreamy.
Is it true that whenever we are about to do an ill or unjust deed a
shadow of the fruits it will bring comes over us as a warning? Some
people will tell you so. A vision of the future seemed to rest on Maude
Kirton as she sat there; and for the first time all the injustice of the
approaching act rose in her mind as a solemn omen. The true facts were
terribly distinct. Her own dislike (it was indeed no less than dislike)
of the living lord, her lasting love for the dead one. All the miserable
stratagems they had been guilty of to win him; the dishonest plotting and
planning. What was she about to do? For her own advancement, to secure
herself a position in the great world, and not for love, she was about to
separate two hearts, which but for her would have been united in this
world and the next. She was thrusting herself upon Lord Hartledon,
knowing that in his true heart it was another that he loved, not her.
Yes, she knew that full well. He admired her beauty, and was marrying
her; marrying partly in pique against Anne Ashton; partly in blindfold
submission to the deep schemes of her mother, brought to bear on his
yielding nature. All the injustice done to Anne Ashton was in that moment
beating its refrain upon her heart; and a thought crossed her--would God
not avenge it? Another time she might have smiled at the thought as
fanciful: it seemed awfully real now. "I might give Val up yet," she
murmured; "there's just time."
She did not act upon the suggestion. Whether it was her warning, or
whether it was not, she allowed it to slip from her. Hartledon's broad
lands and coronet resumed their fascination over her soul; and when her
door was tried, Lady Maude had lost herself in that famous Spanish
château we have all occupied on occasion, touching the alterations she
had mentally planned in their town-house.
"Goodness, Maude, what do you lock yourself in for?"
Maude opened the door, and the countess-dowager floundered in. She was
resplendent in one of her old yellow satin gowns, a white turban with a
silver feather, and a pink scarf thrown on for ornament. The colours
would no doubt blend well by candlelight.
"Come, Maude. There's no time to be lost."
"Are the men gone?"
"Yes, they are gone; no thanks to Hartledon, though. He sat mooning on,
never giving them the least hint to depart. Priddon told me so. I'll tell
you what it is, Maude, you'll have to shake your husband out of no end of
ridiculous habits."
"It is growing dark," exclaimed Maude, as she stepped into the corridor.
"Dark! of course it's dark," was the irascible answer; "and they have had
to light up the chapel, or Priddon couldn't have seen to read his book.
And all through those confounded fox-hunters!"
Lord Hartledon was not in the drawing-room, where Lady Kirton had left
him only a minute before; and she looked round sharply.
"Has he gone on to the chapel?" she asked of the young clergyman.
"No, I think not," replied Mr. Priddon, who was already in his
canonicals. "Hedges came in and said something to him, and they went out
together."
A minute or two of impatience--she was in no mood to wait long--and then
she rang the bell. It should be remarked that the old lady, either from
excitement or some apprehension of failure, was shaking and jumping as if
she had St. Vitus's dance. Hedges came in.
"Where's your master?" she tartly asked.
"With Mr. Carr, my lady."
"With Mr.--What did you say?"
"My lord is with Mr. Carr. He has just arrived."
A moment given to startled consternation and then the fury broke forth.
The young parson had never had the pleasure of seeing one of these
war-dances before, and backed against the wall in his starched surplice.
"What brings him here? How dare he come uninvited?"
"I heard him say, my lady, that finding he had a Sunday to spare, he
thought he would come and pass it at Hartledon," said the well-trained
Hedges.
Ere the words had left his lips Lord Hartledon and Mr. Carr were present;
the latter in a state of utter amazement and in his travelling dress,
having only removed his overcoat.
"You'll be my groomsman, Carr," said Hartledon. "We have no adherents;
this is a strictly private affair."
"Did you send for Mr. Carr?" whispered the countess-dowager, looking
white through her rouge.
"No; his coming has taken me by surprise," replied Hartledon, with a
nervousness he could not wholly conceal.
They passed rapidly through the passages, marshalled by Hedges. Lord
Hartledon led his bride, the countess-dowager walked with the clergyman,
and Mr. Carr brought up the rear. The latter gentleman was wondering
whether he had fallen into a dream that he should wake up from in the
morning. The mode of procession was a little out of the common order of
such affairs; but so was the marriage.
Now it happened, not very long before this, that Dr. Ashton was on his
way home from a visit to a sick parishioner--a poor man, who said he
believed life had been prolonged in him that his many years' minister
should be at his deathbed. Dr. Ashton's road lay beyond Hartledon, and
in returning he crossed the road, which brought him out near the river,
between Hartledon and the Rectory. Happening to cast his eyes that way,
he saw a light where he had never seen one before--in the little unused
chapel. Peering through the trees at the two low diamond-paned windows,
to make sure he was not mistaken, Dr. Ashton quickened his pace: his
thoughts glancing at fire.
He was well acquainted with Hartledon; and making his way in by the
nearest entrance, he dashed along the passages to the chapel, meeting at
length one of the servants.
"John," he panted, quite out of breath with hurrying, "there's a light in
the chapel. I fear it is on fire."
"Not at all, sir," replied the man. "We have been lighting it up for my
lord's marriage. They have just gone in."
"Lighting it up for what?" exclaimed Dr. Ashton.
"For my lord's marriage, sir. He's marrying Lady Maude. It's the old
dowager, sir, who has got it up in this queer way," continued the man,
venturing on a little confidential gossip with his Rector.
Dr. Ashton paused to collect his wits ere he walked into the chapel. The
few wax-candles the servants had been able to put about only served to
make the gloom visible. The party were taking their places, the young
clergyman directing them where to stand. He opened his book and was
commencing, when a hand was laid upon Hartledon's shoulder.
"Lord Hartledon, what is the meaning of this?"
Lord Hartledon recognised the voice, and broke into a cold perspiration.
He gave no answer; but the countess-dowager made up for his silence. Her
temper, none of the mildest, had been considerably exasperated by the
visit of the fox-hunters; it was made worse by the arrival of Mr. Carr.
When she turned and saw what _this_ formidable interruption was, she lost
it altogether, as few, calling themselves gentlewomen, can lose it. As
she peered into the face of Dr. Ashton, her own was scarlet and yellow,
and her voice rose to a shriek.
"You prying parson, where did you spring from? Are you not ashamed
to dodge Lord Hartledon in his own house? You might be taken up and
imprisoned for it."
"Lord Hartledon," said Dr. Ashton, "I--"
"How dare you persist, I ask you?" shrieked the old woman, whilst
the young clergyman stood aghast, and Mr. Carr folded his arms, and
resolutely fixed his eyes on the floor. "Because Hartledon once had a
flirtation with your daughter, does that give you leave to haunt him as
if you were his double?"
"Madam," said Dr. Ashton, contriving still to subdue his anger, "I must,
I will speak to Lord Hartledon. Allow me to do so without disturbance.
Lord Hartledon, I wait for an answer: Are you about to marry this young
lady?"
"Yes, he is," foamed the dowager; "I tell you so. Now then?"
"Then, madam," proceeded the doctor, "this marriage owes its rise to you.
You will do well to consider whether you are doing them a kindness or an
injury in permitting it. You have deliberately set yourself to frustrate
the hopes of Lord Hartledon and my daughter: will a marriage, thus
treacherously entered into, bring happiness with it?"
"Oh, you wicked man!" cried the dowager. "You would like to call a curse
upon them."
"No," shuddered Dr. Ashton; "if a curse ever attends them, it will not
be through any wish of mine. Lord Hartledon, I knew you as a boy; I have
loved you as a son; and if I speak now, it is as your pastor, and for
your own sake. This marriage looks very like a clandestine one, as though
you were ashamed of the step you are taking, and dared not enter on it in
the clear face of day. I would have you consider that this sort of
proceeding does not usually bring a blessing with it."
If ever Val felt convicted of utter cowardice, he felt so then. All the
wretched sophistry by which he had been beguiled into the step, by which
he had beguiled himself; all the iniquity of his past conduct to Miss
Ashton, rose up before his mind in its naked truth. He dared not reply to
the doctor for very shame. A sorry figure he cut, standing there, Lady
Maude beside him.
"The last time you entered my house, Lord Hartledon, it was to speak of
your coming marriage with Anne--"
"And you would like him to go there again and arrange it," interrupted
the incensed dowager, whose head had begun to nod so vehemently that she
could not stop it. "Oh yes, I dare say!"
"By what right have you thus trifled with her?" continued the Rector,
ignoring the nodding woman and her words, and confronting Lord Hartledon.
"Is it a light matter, think you, to gain a maiden's best love, and then
to desert her for a fresh face? You have been playing fast-and-loose for
some little time: and I gave you more than one opportunity of retiring,
if you so willed it--of openly retiring, you understand; not of doing so
in this secret, disreputable manner. Your conscience will prick you in
after-life, unless I am mistaken."
Val opened his lips, but the Rector put up his hand.
"A moment yet. That I am not endeavouring to recall Anne's claims on you
in saying this, I am sure you are perfectly aware, knowing me as you do.
I never deemed you worthy of her--you know that, Lord Hartledon; and you
never were so. Were you a free man at this moment, and went down on your
knees to implore me to give you Anne, I would not do it. You have
forfeited her; you have forfeited the esteem of all good men. But that
I am a Christian minister, I should visit your dishonour upon you as you
deserve."
"Will you cease?" raved the dowager; and Dr. Ashton wheeled round upon
her.
"There is less excuse for your past conduct, madam, than for his. You
have played on Lord Hartledon's known irresolution to mould him to your
will. I see now the aim of the letter you favoured me with at Cannes,
when you requested, with so much candour, that he might be left for a
time unfettered by any correspondence with Miss Ashton. Well, you have
obtained your ends. Your covetous wish that you and your daughter should
reign at Hartledon is on the point of being gratified. The honour of
marrying Lady Maude was intended both by you and her for the late Lord
Hartledon. Failing him, you transferred your hopes to the present one,
regardless of who suffered, or what hearts or honour might be broken in
the process."
"Will nobody put this disreputable parson outside?" raved the dowager.
"I do not seek to bring reproach home to you; let that, ladies, lie
between yourselves and conscience. I only draw your attention to the
facts; which have been sufficiently patent to the world, whatever Lord
Hartledon may think. And now I have said my say, and leave you; but I
declare that were I performing this burlesque of a marriage, as that
young clergyman is about to do, I should feel my prayers for the divine
blessing to attend it were but a vain mockery."
He turned to leave the chapel with quick steps, when Lord Hartledon,
shaking off Maude, darted forward and caught his arm.
"You will tell me one thing at least: Is Anne _not_ going to marry
Colonel Barnaby?"
"Sir!" thundered the doctor. "Going to marry _whom_?"
"I heard it," he faltered. "I believed it to be the truth."
"You may have heard it, but you did not believe it, Lord Hartledon. You
knew Anne better. Do not add this false excuse to the rest."
Pleasant! Infinitely so for the bridegroom's tingling ears. Dr. Ashton
walked out of the chapel, and Val stood for a few moments where he was,
looking up and down in the dim light. It might be that in his mental
confusion he was deliberating what his course should be; but thought and
common sense came to him, and he knew he could not desert Lady Maude,
having brought matters so far to an end.
"Proceed," he said to the young clergyman, stalking back to the altar.
"Get--it--over quickly."
Mr. Carr unfolded his arms and approached Lord Hartledon. He was the only
one who had caught the expression of the bride's face when Hartledon
dropped her arm. It spoke of bitter malice; it spoke, now that he had
returned to her, of an evil triumph; and it occurred to Thomas Carr to
think that he should not like a wife of his to be seen with that
expression on her bridal face.
"Lord Hartledon, you must excuse me if I do not remain to countenance
this wedding," he said in low but distinct tones. "Before hearing what I
have heard from that good man, I had hesitated about it; but I was lost
in surprise. Fare you well. I shall have left by the time you quit the
chapel."
He held out his hand, and Val mechanically shook it. The retreating steps
of Mr. Carr, following in the wake of Dr. Ashton, were heard, as Lord
Hartledon spoke again to the clergyman with irritable sharpness:
"Why don't you begin?"
And the countess-dowager fanned herself complacently, and neither she nor
Maude cared for the absence of a groomsman. But Maude was not quite
hardened yet; and the shame of her situation was tingeing her eyelids.