A WEDDING
I rowed myself aboard that evening in a strange condition of
exultation, for I had now no doubt--no doubt at all--that the charges
were true, and that a conspiracy of the most deadly kind was not only
discovered, but also checked. And I could not but admire the craft and
subtlety displayed by the favourite of the Muses in devising a plan by
which it was made possible for the conspirators to come all together
without the least suspicion to the town of Lynn. How else could they
come? For reasons political? But Lynn is a borough in the hands of Sir
Robert Walpole, of Houghton. Nobody could stand against him, nor could
any one in Lord Fylingdale's rank visit the town in its ordinary
condition without receiving an invitation to Houghton if Sir Robert
was there. Unless, indeed, there were reasons why he should not be
visited or received. What Sam had not expected was, without doubt, the
wonderful success of his deception; the eagerness with which the
country round accepted his inventions; the readiness with which they
drank those innocent waters; the miraculous cures effected; and the
transformation of the venerable old port and trading town into a haunt
and resort of fashion and the pursuit of pleasure.
Thinking of all these things, and in blissful anticipation of the
discomfiture of all the conspirators, there was an important thing
that I quite forgot, namely, to send Molly's letter to her suitor in
his room at the "Crown." I carried the letter in my pocket. I
undressed and lay down in my bunk. I slept with a light heart,
dreaming only of things pleasant, until the morning, when the earliest
stroke of the hammer from the yard and the quay woke me up. It was
then half-past five. I sat up. I rubbed my eyes. I then suddenly
remembered that the letter was in my pocket still.
It was, I say, half-past five. The engagement was for six o'clock. I
might have to run, yet, to stop Lord Fylingdale.
It does not take long to dress. You may imagine that I did not spend
time in powdering my hair. In a quarter of an hour I was over the side
of the ship and in my dingey.
By the clock on the Common Stathe it was five minutes to six when I
landed and made her fast. I climbed the stairs, and ran as fast as my
legs could carry me to the "Crown Inn." As I reached the door the
clock struck six. Was Lord Fylingdale in his room? I was too late. He
had left the house some ten minutes before, and had been carried in
his chair across the market-place.
I followed. It was already five minutes past the hour. I should find
him in the church, chafing at the delay. I should give him the letter
and retire.
The market-place was filled with the market people and with the
townspeople who came to buy. I pushed across, stepping over a basket,
and jostled by a woman with poultry and vegetables. It was, however,
seven or eight minutes past six when I arrived at the church; the
doors of the south porch were open. Within I heard the sound of
voices--or, at least, of one voice. I looked in.
Heavens! What had happened? Not only was I late with my letter,
but--but--could I believe my eyes? Molly herself stood before the
altar; facing her was Lord Fylingdale, who held her hand. Within the
rails stood the Reverend Benjamin Purdon; beside him, the clerk, to
make the responses. And the minister, when I arrived, was actually
saying the words which the bridegroom repeats after the minister,
completing in effect the marriage ceremony.
"I, Ludovick, take thee, Mary, to my wedded wife ..." and so on
according to the form prescribed. And again, the words beginning--
"With this ring I thee wed...."
I stood and listened, lost in wonder.
Then came the prayer prescribed. After which the clergyman joined
their hands together, saying:--
"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
I heard no more. I sat down on the nearest bench. What was the meaning
of this sudden change? Remember that I had left Molly only a few hours
before this, fully resolved that she would demand an inquiry into the
statements and charges made in the two letters; resolved that she
would not keep that engagement; her admiration for the proud, brave,
noble creature, her lover, turned into loathing.
And now--now, in the early morning, with her letter in my pocket
stating her change of purpose--I found her at the altar, and actually
married.
"Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder."
What if the man Purdon was all that he was described? The priestly
office confers rights and powers which are independent of the man who
holds that office. Whatever his private wickedness, Purdon was a
clergyman, and therefore he could marry people.
Molly stood before the altar as had been arranged; she wore a black
silk domino; she had on a pink silk cloak with a hood drawn over her
head, so that she was quite covered up and concealed. But I knew her
by her stature, which was taller than the common, and by the dress,
which had been agreed upon.
Then the bridegroom offered his hand and led the bride into the
vestry. They were to sign the marriage register.
And here I rose and slunk away. I say that I slunk away. If you like
it better, I crawled away, for I was sick at heart. The thing which I
most dreaded, the marriage of our girl to a rake and a gamester, had
been actually accomplished. Misery and ruin; misery and ruin; misery
and ruin would be her lot. And in my pocket was her letter asking for
explanations--and withdrawing her promise for the morrow! Could one
believe one's senses?
I crawled away, ashamed for the first time in my life of the girl I
loved. Women, I said to myself, are poor, weak creatures. They believe
everything; Lord Fylingdale must have been with her early. He had but
to deny the whole; she accepted the denial; despite her resolution she
walked with him to the church as the lamb goes to the shambles. Oh,
Molly! Molly! Who would have believed it of you?
I left the church and went away. I thought of going to the captain; of
telling my father; of telling the vicar; but it seemed like treachery,
and I refrained. Instead, I walked back to the quay, and paddled to
the ship, where presently the barges came alongside and the day's work
began. Fortunate it is for a man that at moments of great unhappiness
his work has to be done and he is desirous to put aside his sorrow and
to think upon his duty. But, alas! Poor Molly! Who could have believed
it possible?
Well, you see, I did not follow this wedding to an end. Had I gone
into the vestry I should have been witness of something very
unexpected. Why, had not the Lady Anastasia--who, I now understand,
was tortured by jealousy--promised that "something should happen"?
* * * * *
The clergyman had the registers lying on the table open. He took a pen
and filled in the forms. He then offered the pen to the bride.
"My lady," he said. "I must ask your ladyship to sign the register. In
duplicate, if you please."
The bride sat down, and in a large bold hand wrote her name, "Mary
Miller."
Then the bridegroom took the pen and signed, "Fylingdale."
The clergyman sprinkled the pounce box over the names and shut up the
books, which he gave to the clerk. This officer took the books and
locked them in the great trunk which held the papers and books of the
church, putting the key in his pocket.
"And now," said Mr. Purdon, "let me congratulate my noble patron and
the newly made countess on this auspicious event. I have brought with
me a bottle of the finest port the 'Crown' possesses, and I venture to
drink health, happiness, and prosperity." So saying he produced a
bottle and glasses. The bride without saying a word inclined her head
to the bridegroom and drank off her glass. Lord Fylingdale, who
looked, if one may say so of a bridegroom, peevish and ill at ease,
raised his glass. "To your happiness, Molly!" he said.
So, all was finished. "You are going home, Molly?" he asked. "For the
present. That is to say, for a day or two it will be best. I shall
claim you very soon. There is no one but ourselves in the vestry," for
the clerk, having locked the box and accepted the guinea bestowed upon
him by the bridegroom, was now tramping down the church and through
the porch. No one but themselves was in the vestry or the church. "You
may, therefore, take off your domino."
"As your lordship pleases." Lord Fylingdale started. Whose voice was
that? "As you order, I obey." So the bride removed her domino and
threw back the hood.
The bridegroom started. "What is this?" he cried furious, with certain
words which were out of place in a church.
[Illustration: "WHAT IS THIS?" HE CRIED FURIOUS, WITH CERTAIN WORDS
WHICH WERE OUT OF PLACE IN A CHURCH.]
"Lady Anastasia!" cried Mr. Purdon. "Good Lord! Then we are all
undone!"
"What does it mean? Tell me, she devil--what does it mean? Where is
Molly? But this is play acting. This is not a marriage."
"I fear, my lord," said the parson, "that it is a marriage. The
registers are in the strong box. They cannot be altered."
"Go after the clerk, man. Order him to give up the keys. Tear the
pages out of the registers."
"I cannot," said Mr. Purdon. "I dare not. The man is a witness of this
marriage; he has seen the entry in the register. I dare not alter them
or destroy a single page. I have done a great deal for your lordship,
but this thing I cannot do. It is a marriage, I say. You are married
to the Lady Anastasia here."
"Talk! talk! Go after the man. Bring back the man. Tear the keys from
him. Silence the man! Buy his silence! Buy--I will murder him, if I
must, in order to stop his tongue."
"Your lordship forgets your bride--your happy, smiling, innocent
bride!"
He cursed her. He raised his hand as if to strike her down, but
forbore.
"I told you," she continued, "that in everything I was at your
service--except in one thing. Tear the registers; murder the clerk;
but the bride will be left. And if you murder her as well you will be
no nearer the possession of the lovely Molly."
The bridegroom sank into a chair. He was terrible to look at, for his
wrath and disappointment deprived him of the power of speech. Where
was now the cold and haughty front? It was gone. He sat in the chair,
upright, his face purple, his eyes starting from his head as one who
hath some kind of fit.
The clergyman, still in his white surplice, looked on and trembled,
for his old pupil was in a murderous frame of mind. There was no
knowing whom he might murder. Besides, he had before this divined the
true meaning of the visit to Lynn; and he foresaw ruin to himself as
well as his patron.
Lord Fylingdale turned upon him suddenly and cursed him for a fool, an
ass, a villain, a traitor. "You are in the plot," he said. "You knew
all along. You have been suborned."
"My lord--my lord--have patience. What could I know? I was bidden to
be here at six to marry you. I supposed that the bride was the fair
Miss Molly. I could not tell; I knew nothing. The lady was in a
domino. It is irregular to be married in a domino. But your lordship
wished it. What could I do?"
"Send for the key, then, and destroy the registers."
"Alas! my lord, it is now, you may be sure, all over the town that you
have been married, and to Miss Molly."
"Where is Molly? Where is Molly, then? Why did she keep away?"
The bride looked on with her mocking smile of triumph. "You may murder
me," she said, "but you will not undo the marriage. I have been
married, it is true, under a false name; but I am married none the
less."
"You have brought ruin upon us all," her husband said. "Ruin--headlong
ruin. I am at my last guinea. I can raise no more money--I have no
more credit. You, yourself, are as much discredited."
"If you are ruined," the lady replied, "you are rightly punished. How
many vows have you made to me? How many lies have you invented to keep
me quiet?"
"With submission, my lord," Mr. Purdon stammered, for terror and
bewilderment held him, "this is a bad morning's work. Let me advise
that before the town is awake we leave the church and talk over the
business in her ladyship's rooms, or elsewhere. We must be private. To
curse and to swear helps nothing; nor does it help to talk of a
jealous revenge. Let us go."
It was with a tottering step, as if he was smitten with palsy, that
the bridegroom walked down the aisle. The bride put up her domino, and
threw her hood over her head, and so with the parson, in silence,
walked away from the church to her lodging, leaving the bridegroom to
come by himself.
As yet the market people had not heard the news.
But the news spread. The clerk told his wife. "I come from the
church," he said. "I have witnessed the marriage of Miss
Molly--Captain Crowle's Molly--with the noble lord who wears the star
and looks so grand--a private wedding it was. I know not why. The
parson was the Reverend Mr. Purdon, he who reads the morning prayers
and preaches on Sunday."
Then the clerk's wife, slipping on her apron--for such folk find the
shelter of the apron for their hands necessary in conversation--ran
round to the pump room. No one was there as yet, but the two dippers.
To them she communicated the news.
Then she went on to the market and told all the people of the town who
were chaffering there.
At seven o'clock the captain, walking in his garden, was surprised by
the arrival of the horns, who stood before the house and performed a
noble flourish. "What the devil is that for?" said the captain. Then
there arrived the butchers, with their marrowbones and cleavers, and
began to make their music with zeal. The captain went out to them. Up
went their hats.
"Huzza for Miss Molly and her husband."
"Her husband? What do you mean?"
"Her husband--his lordship--married this morning."
"What?" The captain stared in amazement. Then he rushed into the
house. Molly was in the kitchen. "What is this?" he asked. "The
butchers are here and the horns, and they swear you were married this
morning, Molly?"
"Why, captain, I have not been outside the door. I am not married, I
assure you, and I begin to think, now, that I never shall be married."
The captain went out and dismissed the musicians. But the thing
troubled him, and he was already sick at heart on account of the last
night's discourse and its discoveries.