TWO TO ONE.
“NEVER wur any luck in a wadding, as wur put off from app’inted day.
For why? Why, because it be flying in the vace of the Lard, as hath
app’inted ’un.”
Knowing that Tabby was very often right in her prophecies, and could
prove them right—even when they were wrong—as most prophets can, I
begged her not to say a word about that to my darling; because she was
a little superstitious, although sprung from the very highest form of
science. But science very seldom keeps its dates; and to make them
tally, we had postponed our day from Tuesday even till Thursday. For
Captain Fairthorn had written again, to say that he could not be with
us on the Tuesday, but was almost sure that he could manage it, if
we would only leave it till two days later. My uncle had frowned and
said—“Not a single hour. If his wheels and his wires are more to him
than his only child, let him stop with them. But you must leave it to
Kitty. Such a question is for her.”
Vexed as I was, I could not deny this. And she pleaded so well, though
with reason on her side, that we vented our anger on the absent man,
and only our affection and good will on her.
But the one who made the greatest grievance of it was my aunt, Miss
Parslow. She had hurried her dressmaker to the verge of mutiny, and
made her sit up (either in person, or by deputy) two whole nights, and
she felt that she would have to pay deeply for this, and now here it
was all needless! “I have the greatest mind not to come at all,” she
wrote; “and if it were for anything but pure compassion, you may be
quite sure that I would wash my hands of you. Men manage everything
in this world, even the things that they understand least; and you
will see what comes of it. If I come on Thursday, I shall be quite
unprepared; though I should have been in perfect readiness on Tuesday.”
This was a hard saying; but we agreed that she knew what she meant,
and could explain it to her liking. And seeing that the ladies were
now so full of reason, I thought that I would have another try at Miss
Coldpepper.
I had ventured to call upon that lady once, while the preparations
were in full swing; but she had said that she was not at home, and of
course she must know best, though I had seen her walking in her great
Camelia-house. My Uncle Cornelius had been of opinion that, even if
she would not honour our church with her presence, she could scarcely
escape from the duty of sending her former visitor and favourite
something very handsome as a wedding present. A silver tea-service was
the least thing he could think of, but unluckily the last thing that
occurred to her as needful. She had made it a grievance, as she wanted
one, that Miss Fairthorn should have dared to go to Widow Cutthumb’s,
when everybody in the village knew how shockingly the widow had behaved
to Mrs. Marker.
But all this appeared to me to be very small talk now; for I was in a
generous and large condition, such as is only too apt to credit all
fellow-creatures with the like expansion. It should never be said
of me, that any petty pride had prevented me from holding out the
olive-branch—whether to be gilded, or even to be peeled—at a time when
I was hoping to be crowned with myrtle. Scorning all considerations of
a silver teapot, I went to Coldpepper Manor, and rang gently.
“Missus will see you this time,” said my friend Charles, who had tasted
our strawberries many a time, when he durst not steal any more at home;
“she is all agog about you, sir, though she shams to know nothing.
Happiness to you and dear Miss Kitty, sir!”
The least I could do was to give him half a crown, for he had
always appeared to me to be a worthy fellow. He slipped it into
his hornet-coloured waistcoat, and bawled out, “Mr. Christopher
Orchardson,” as if I had come in a coach and four.
“I am pleased to see you, Mr. Orchardson,” said the lady of the Hall,
as I made a low bow; “take a chair, and tell me what you are doing. I
never hear anything that happens in the village.”
I am not at all certain what reply I made, being fluttered by the force
of habit in her stately presence. But she was better pleased by this,
than she would have been by any assumption of ease and self-command.
“Although I hear so little, a report has reached me,” she went on with
a smile which was not at all disdainful, “that you are about to marry
Kitty Fairthorn. If so, you are a wonderfully fortunate young man.”
“It would add very greatly to our happiness, madam,” I ventured to
say, though with some misgivings, “if you would be kind enough to give
us your good wishes. Miss Fairthorn has not been to call upon you,
because—because she was not sure that you would wish it. And she is
acting entirely without the consent of her step-mother, who is your
sister. I hope you will not think the worse of her for that. The lady
has never been very kind to her.”
“Kitty was quite right in not coming here; it would have placed me in
an unpleasant position. I have not seen much of my sister for years.
But I cannot enter into such matters. And you have done right in coming
to me thus. Certainly you both have my good wishes. And though Kitty
might have looked for a much higher marriage—I may say that without any
disrespect to you—I believe that she will be happier in a very simple
life. You will understand that I cannot be present—under the peculiar
circumstances. Neither will you expect me to receive Kitty here, when
she is Mrs. Orchardson; she is no relative of mine, and she has chosen
her own path. But I like her none the less, and you may tell her that.
She has plenty of proper pride, and would resent my patronage. I was
told that the wedding was to be to-day. Why have you put it off? You
are unwise.”
She looked as if she knew something which would alarm me, if declared;
but I did not presume to ask about it, and simply told her the cause of
the delay.
“You may expect him; but you will not see him,” she answered, as if she
knew more than we did; “don’t put it off another day, if you wish it to
be at all. But it is no affair of mine. Good morning to you.”
I returned in an anxious state of mind, for she had clearly dismissed
me, that I might ask no questions. And instead of going straight to
my uncle’s house, I hurried to that of the widow, to make sure that
my darling was safe, and all due care observed. After what had been
already done to Kitty, how could I tell that there was no plot yet
in store? My bodily strength was restored by this time, and I felt
myself a match for almost any man; and surely intense and incessant
devotion must vanquish unholy pursuit and vile designs. All we knew
of our enemies at present was that they had retired from the scene of
their defeat, and locked up the cottage where they had felt so sure
of victory. But my Uncle Cornelius had good reason for believing that
his premises were watched; and a couple of his men had been tempted to
drink by some mysterious stranger, who showed the greatest interest
in our ways, and works, and manners. And the worst of it was that the
river (being almost at our doors, and not frequented then as it is
now) afforded such a space for roguish travel, that there ought to be
a paling put up against it, with tenter-hooks, and wire-netting on the
top, if any man desired to keep his garden to himself. For the people
who come up, as they get away from London, seem to claim the country
more and more, and to think that it was made for nothing else except to
be a change for them; and they reason that as a river must have banks,
those banks are a part of it, and the whole belongs to them.
My beloved (who was both my banks, and the channel of all my life as
well) had not been left alone all this time, with only Widow Cutthumb
to amuse her. Otherwise she would have had a sorry time; for that widow
had but two subjects of discourse—the merits of her late husband, and
the scarcity of all vegetables. But a very sharp young lady, Miss
Gertrude Triggs, about three years older than my Kitty, being in need
of country air after an attack of nettle-rash, had kindly consented
to come and occupy the best room at Widow Cutthumb’s. At first I was
uneasy, for if Kitty were to catch that complaint, after all her other
troubles, was she likely to look well upon the bridal day? But Dr.
Sippets said that he would warrant no infection; and so Miss Triggs
came and occupied. And certainly she helped to set off the complexion,
upon which it was impossible to imagine any rash. At first, I was not
fond of Miss Triggs, for she had too much sting in her words and ways;
and I made no allowance for what she had been through. And to my mind
women should never try to sting, being apt to get the worst of it (as
even do the bees), and intended more by nature to do the honey-making.
But my poor ideas have always been old-fashioned; and I am sorry (for
the sake of others) that it should be so.
But when I came to understand Gerty Triggs, and to value her real
friendship for my dear one, I acknowledged (as a man should do) that I
had been a gaby. Not only had she protected Kitty at school, and even
lent her under-clothing when she got no supplies from her step-mother,
but she had actually made an inroad into Bulwrag Castle, to try a round
with the great lady herself, on behalf of the innocent captive. She was
rapidly discomfited, of course; she had resolved to show the truth, but
she was quickly shown the door; and though she maintained that she had
triumphed, it may have been in logic, but it was not so in fact; and
the result to herself had been this nasty nettle-rash. However, as she
got over that, and put the air of our garden upon her cheeks, I began
to esteem her, and to find her rather pretty.
It was settled by the laws of nature that she should be bridesmaid; and
Uncle Corny found another not connected much with trade, yet able to
provide her own outfit. My uncle said, though not to Kitty—for he was
quite a gentleman to her throughout—that he could not discover any call
on him to fit everybody up with gew-gaws. It was her father’s place, if
he wanted things to be done in proper style, to come and see to them
himself, or at any rate to send directions, and the money to have them
carried out. Instead of that, he had left everything to us, kept us
in trouble about the day, and perhaps driven off Miss Parslow and her
twenty thousand pounds. It was plain that he thought it a higher duty
to fit out his ship than his only child. Considering all this, Uncle
Corny was only surprised at his own generosity; but when I joined him
in that surprise, he cut me very short, and asked what I knew about
him. It was natural enough that he should be cross; and I told him so,
which only made him worse.
Nevertheless when the true day came, which I always recall with
gratitude and wonder at a grace so far beyond my merits, everybody
behaved as if there were nothing but peace and good will in the world.
We received a telegram quite early that the ship was ordered to sail
that day, and the Captain could only send his blessing. Kitty shed some
tears, but all the rest of us were pleased, because it fulfilled our
predictions. And my uncle was proud to give the bride away, and at the
same time to keep her, as he neatly said.
Miss Parslow came over in style, with a mass of white flowers piled
high on the seat before her, and wearing her silver gray silk dress,
which set her off to great advantage. And she presented the bride with
a silver basket, fit either for flowers or fruit, and containing a very
neat cheque for a hundred guineas. Sam Henderson acted as my best man,
and did everything better than I did, for I scarcely knew my right hand
from my left. Mrs. Wilcox was present, and so was Mrs. Rowles, without
whom we should never have been there, and Selsey Bill of course, and
every man who possessed a top hat in the parish. And to our amazement,
Miss Coldpepper was sitting in her curtained pew, although she had said
that she would not come. And after the service she kissed my Kitty,
and said that she would give her something by-and-by.
What my darling wore I have not the least idea, or at least I had not
on that day, though I came to know too well afterwards. But all the
men said, and nearly all the women too, that she was the fairest, and
sweetest, and most lovely of all the brides ever seen in Sunbury, which
was no little thing to say; for our village is celebrated in that way.
And she behaved with such grace and goodness, that it seemed as if
those blessings must be multiplied upon her.
Several women cried to think that she should look so Christian after
all the treatment that she had received—for Mrs. Rowles declared that
she had been in a wire cage—and if I were to try to straighten half the
crooked tales they told, I never should find any time for a separate
word with Kitty.
Only I remember that when she came and kissed me in her simple, and
loving, and bewitching way, I saw the gleam of tears in her deep blue
eyes; and when I asked (without words) what it was, she answered,—
“I should have liked to have one kiss from father.”
This proof of her tenderness increased my adoration; for an
affectionate daughter must become a loving wife. Then I took away my
treasure to be mine alone; and Kit and Kitty, for the time, are one.