THE WEDDING-DAY FIXED, AND THE GUESTS INVITED.
When she was to receive so handsome a reward for the intelligence that
she had wrung a reluctant consent from Helen to be the baron’s bride,
it was not likely that Mrs. Williams would let a long time elapse
before she communicated that fact to him, and, accordingly, she started
to do so personally.
It would appear that the baron fully expected her, for he made no
remark at all expressive of surprise, but received her with that
courtly grace which Mrs. Williams attributed to his intercourse with
the highest and the noblest.
He did not seem so impatient as any one would have supposed a very
ardent lover would have been, and, before he would allow Mrs. Williams
at all to enter into the object of her visit, he requested her to be
seated, and would insist upon placing before her some of the very
choicest refreshment.
Indeed, as often as she then attempted to enter into the subject-matter
which had brought her there, he interrupted her with some remark of a
different nature, so that she found it very difficult to say anything
regarding it.
At length, however, when he had satisfied the claims of hospitality, he
said,—
“I presume that I shall have the pleasure of listening to something
particularly pleasant and delightful to me, inasmuch as it will convey
to me the realisation of my dearest hopes.”
“Why, my lord baron, I must confess,” said Mrs. Williams, “that
notwithstanding the extremely liberal offers of Admiral Green——”
“Admiral Green, madam? This is the first moment I have heard of such a
personage.”
“No doubt—no doubt; but for all that, since we have had the honour of
your offer for the hand of Helen, Admiral Green has made one, and such
a liberal one that it’s quite distressing to refuse him.”
“Then allow me to say, madam, that I hope you won’t distress yourself
about it, but accept of Admiral Green at once. I should be very sorry
indeed to stand in the way of any advantageous arrangement, and,
therefore, I beg you will close with Admiral Green.”
The adage about coming to the ground between two stools forcibly
presented itself to the memory of Mrs. Williams, and she replied, in a
great hurry,—
“Oh, no, baron, certainly not—certainly not. I have refused the admiral
on your account. I told him, most distinctly, I could not think of
entertaining his offer for a moment, and I refused him at once.”
“Then why trouble me about him, madam?”
“Oh, I thought I would only merely mention it, because the admiral said
he would have great pleasure—which, of course, was a very liberal thing
of him—in handing me a cheque for two thousand pounds.”
“Oh, now I understand,” said the baron. “I give you credit, madam, for
having a good reason for making this report to me. You think that I
may be induced to emulate the munificence of Admiral Green; but when I
assure you that I have not the remotest intention of so doing, probably
you will think that it would have been just as well if the matter had
never been mentioned.”
The baron was right; for Mrs. Williams did think so; and she felt
all that bitterness of disappointment which wonderfully clever
people do feel when they find that some pet scheme has most signally
failed, leaving behind it all the consequences of a failure; and,
whatever people may say to the contrary, failures do always have bad
consequences, and never leave the circumstances exactly where they were.
There was rather an awkward pause of some moments’ duration, and then
Mrs. Williams thought she would get over the baron completely, for she
put on the most amiable smile she could, and said,—
“My dear baron, I am sure we shall all be the most happy and united
family that can possibly be imagined; and it is the greatest pleasure
to me to be able to give you the intelligence that my daughter has
consented to become yours.”
“Madam, I am much obliged.”
“And, although Admiral Green did say that if I would bring him similar
intelligence he would there and then, on the spot, without any further
delay, hand me two thousand pounds, I said to him,—‘Admiral Green, I am
only to get five hundred pounds from the Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh,
and that five hundred pounds he has likewise promised to pay me down.’
Down—you understand, baron?”
“Madam, I am not deaf.”
“But you understand—down?”
“Oh, I begin to see; you want the money. Why could you not say so at
once? It’s of no use hinting things to me; but if you had said to me at
once,—‘Baron, I have brought you the consent to the marriage, and now
I expect at once the five hundred pounds that I am to receive for so
doing,’ I should have understood you, and said at once,—‘Oh, certainly,
madam; here is the money,’—as I do now. You will find that check drawn
for the amount.”
“What a charming thing it is,” said Mrs. Williams; “what a charming
thing it is to do business in such a real business sort of way; but
there are so few people, baron, with your habits, and upon whom one can
so thoroughly depend, as one can upon you.”
“Madam, you do me too much honour. Of course, having promised you this
insignificant sum of money, it was not likely that I should but keep my
word; and now let me ask, when is to be the happy day?”
“If this day week will suit you, baron.”
“Wonderfully well, madam—wonderfully well.”
“Then, we will consider that as settled. I suppose you will have a
public marriage?”
“No—no, strictly private. I am resolved, madam, not to have more
than one hundred and fifty people, and to keep the expenses within
a thousand pounds; so you see, I am going to do it in the plainest
possible manner, and make no fuss at all about it.”
“Gracious Providence!” thought Mrs. Williams; “what would he call a
public marriage, if he considers a thousand pounds expense, and one
hundred and fifty guests, a private one, and making no fuss about it.”
“On one of my former marriages——” said the baron, with an air of
abstraction.
“One of them?” said Mrs. Williams; “may I presume to ask how often you
have been married, my lord?”
“Oh, certainly. Let me see; I think eleven times.”
“Eleven! and pray, sir, what became of your wives?”
“Why, really, madam, I cannot say. I hope the majority of them went to
Heaven; but there were one or two I most heartily wished at the other
place.”
“My gracious!” thought Mrs. Williams, “he is quite a bluebeard; but,
however, things have gone too far now; and I am not going to give up
my cheque if he had twenty wives; and, after all, it shows he must be
a man of great experience, and of great wealth, too, or so many women
would not have had him; but, if that little fact about all his wives
should come to the ears of Helen, I am really afraid she wouldn’t have
him, so I must caution him about it.”
“My lord baron.”
“Yes, madam.”
“I think, between you and I, my lord baron, that it would be quite as
well to say nothing to my daughter about her being the twelfth wife;
but just let her quietly think she is the first, because, you know, my
lord, young people have prejudices upon those subjects, and she might
not exactly like the idea.”
“Oh, certainly, madam, I shall not mention the little affairs that
have preceded her’s. I assure you I am quite aware that it is likely
there should be a prejudice against a man who has had eleven wives; and
people will think that he smothered a few of them.”
“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Williams; “you don’t mean that, my lord
baron. I hope that nobody ever accused you of such a thing.”
“Nay,” said the baron; “how are the best of us to escape censure? You
know as well as I, Mrs. Williams, what a bad world it is we live in;
and how dreadfully selfish people are.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Williams, “that’s remarkably true; but it ain’t often,
my lord baron, that one man has eleven wives.”
“No; and it ain’t often that such a man would exactly like to venture
upon a twelfth.”
“Well, no, there is something in that; but I will now, my lord, take
my leave, entertaining no doubt whatever, but that this will be an
extremely happy marriage, and in every respect just what we might all
of us desire.”
Mrs. Williams left the baron with these words; but, to say that she
believed them, would be to make by far too powerful an experiment upon
the credulity of our readers.
When he was alone, the baron smiled a strange and ghastly smile.
“That woman,” he said, “is so fond of gold, that she sells her child
without hesitation to me. If, upon hearing of my pretended marriages,
she had given me back my money, I should have thought some good of her;
but no, that she could not do. Money is her idol, and when once in her
possession, she could not dream of parting with it. But what is it to
me? Have I not made up my mind to this affair, let the consequences be
what they may? Have I not resolved upon it in every possible shape?
Henceforward I will cast aside all feelings of regret, and live for
myself alone; for what have I now to hope, and what have I now to fear,
from mankind?”
“Hope! did I say I had nothing to hope? I was wrong; I have something
to hope; and it is a something I will have—it is revenge. Yes, it is
revenge—revenge! which I must and will have against society, that has
made me what I am; and the time shall yet come when my name shall be a
greater terror than it is, and that to some were needless, for it is
such a terror already, that but to mention it, would cause a commotion
of frightful inquietude.”
He looked from one of the windows of his house, and he saw Mrs.
Williams, as she proceeded down one of the garden walks, take his
cheque from out her reticule, where she had placed it, and look at it
attentively.
“Ah!” he said, “now she is worshipping her divinity, gold. She knows
that that piece of paper carries weight with it, and that, flimsy as it
looks, it is sufficient to purchase her. Fool! fool! and she thinks she
is buying contentment.”