It was gala day in Dumford. The past bitter times were forgotten, and
the men had rigged up an arch of evergreens. The children were in their
best, and gardens had been stripped of their flowers. Half the town had
been twice to the Bull to see the barouche and the four greys that had
been ordered from Ranby, and the postboys, in their white beaver hats,
had been asked to drink more times than was safe for those they had to
drive.
The church, too, was decorated with flowers from the vicarage garden,
and new gravel laid down from porch to gate. The ringers were there,
and the singers, and the musicians making their way to the loft, while
the various pews and sittings were filled to a degree "not knowed,"
Jacky Budd said, "for years an' years."
The school children were ready, armed with baskets of flowers, and had
been well tutored by the school-mistress to throw them as the bride and
bridegroom came out. This lady sighed as she saw the preparations, and
told Jacky Budd to open more windows, because the bodies smelt so bad,
and Jacky said they did, and it gave him quite a sinking: but the hint
was not taken.
In the vicarage Murray Selwood sat looking pale and stern, beside his
untasted breakfast, and it was not till, with affectionate earnestness
and the tears in her eyes, Mrs Slee had begged him to take a cup of
tea, that he had yielded, and eaten also a slice of toast.
"I know thou'rt ill, sir," she said. "Let me send for Mr Purley."
"No, no, Mrs Slee," he said, shaking off his air of gloom; "only a fit
of low spirits. I shall be better soon."
Mrs Slee shook her head as she went back to the kitchen.
"He wean't: he's been getting worse for weeks and weeks, and it makes me
wretched to see him look so wankle."
Meanwhile at the House all was excitement. Eve had risen at daybreak to
sit and watch the rising sun and ask herself what she should do. She
had promised to be Richard's wife. Her aunt's happiness, perhaps her
life, depended upon it, and it was to save her cousin. She was to
redeem him, offering herself as a sacrifice to bring him back to better
ways, to make him a good and faithful husband, and yet in her bosom lay
those damning lines, telling of his infidelity in spirit--of his passion
for another, and again and again she wailed--
"He never loved me, and he never will."
Should she go--could she fly somewhere far away, where she might work
and gain her own living, anywhere, in any humble station, in peace?
And Richard--her aunt?
No, no, it was impossible; and think how she would, the bitter feeling
came back to her that she had promised her aunt, and she must keep her
word.
And besides, if Richard was like this now, what would he be if she
refused him at this eleventh hour, and cast him off. She shuddered at
the thought, and at last grew calmer and more resigned.
In this way the hours passed on, till in a quiet mechanical manner she
was dressed by the maid, who was enthusiastic in her praises of dress,
jewels, flowers, everything.
Mrs Glaire was very pale, but bright and active, and in a supercilious,
half-sneering way, Richard watched till all was ready, and the guests
who had been invited had arrived.
A look from his mother brought him a little more to his senses, and he
went to and kissed Eve, to find her lips like fire, while her hands were
as ice, and at last he sat there peevish and impatient.
"I want it over," he said, angrily, to Mrs Glaire. "I hate being made
such an exhibition of. Will the carriages never come?"
An end was put to his impatience by the arrival of the first, in which
he took his departure with his best man, his appearance being the signal
for a volley of cheers.
Mrs Glaire went last, in the same carriage with Mr Purley, the doctor,
and Eve, the stout old fellow trying to keep up the bride's spirits by
jokes of his ordinary calibre, the principal one being that he hoped the
carriage would not break down under his weight, a witticism at which he
laughed heartily, as he responded with bows and hand-wavings to the
cheers of the people who lined the High Street of the little town.
Everything looked bright and gay, for the sun shone brilliantly; ropes
laden with streamers were stretched across the street, while flags hung
here and there, where satisfactory places could be found; and in front
of the Bull, a party of the workmen had arranged a little battery of
roughly-cast guns, sufficiently strong and large to give a good report
when loaded with powder, the landlord having arranged to have a red-hot
poker ready for discharging the pieces as soon as the wedding was over.
Volume 3, Chapter XVIII.
"WILT THOU--?"
The old troubles of the strike were over and forgotten, and the town's
intent on this day was to give itself up to feasting, with its ordinary
accompaniment of more drink than was good for those who partook.
Down by the churchyard the crowd had long secured to itself the best
positions, the favourite places for viewing the coming and departing of
the bridal party being the churchyard wall and the two railed tombs; but
the boys put up with tombstones, and hurrahed till they were hoarse.
Jacky Budd got the first cheer, as he went up solemnly to the church
door, evidently feeling his own importance, but he was checked half-way
along the path by some one saying in a quiet, remonstrating tone--
"Say, Jacky, wean't yow stop an' hev a drain?"
He looked sharply round, and his hand went to his mouth, while a roar of
laughter rose up from the merry crowd, and hastened his steps into the
porch.
Trappy Pape was the next to be joked, as he came up hugging the green
baize bag containing his violoncello.
"Say, Trappy, hast thee fed thee be-ast?" said one.
"Hast giv' the poor owd fiddle its rozzum?" cried another.
"Trappy, lad," shouted another, "does ta sleep inside that owd thing?"
The violoncello player hurried into the church, and Joey South came into
view, to the great delight of the crowd.
"Here comes owd Poll Pry," cried one.
"Look at his owd umbrella," cried another.
"Why don't ta put th' umbrella up?" cried another voice, "it's going to
ree-an next week."
Here there was another roar of laughter.
"Look at his leather breeches."
"Say, Joey, wast ta sewed in 'em when they weer made?"
"Ay, lad, they weer made on him i' the year one, and niver been off
since."
"Mind yon goon don't go off," cried one of the chief jokers, as the boy
came by bearing Joey's bassoon.
"Is she loaded, Joey?"
"Ay, lad, he rams her full wi' kitchen poker," cried another.
Joey South escaped into the porch, grinning angrily, for a fresh
minstrel appeared in the shape of "Owd Billy Stocks" with his clarionet.
"Hey, lads, here's owd Billy. How's the clarinet, Billy?"
"Didst put a bit more waxey band round her, Billy?"
"Ay, lads, and she's got a new reed."
"Don't split parson's ears, Billy."
"Hey, here's Tommy Johnson and Johnny Buffam. Tak' care, lads."
"Where's the brass?" shouted somebody.
"Hey," cried another, "stop 'em--big goons aint allowed i' the pooblic
street."
The two musicians hugged the French horn and ophecleide to their sides,
and tried to smile.
"Don't 'e blow paarson's brains out wi' that thing, Johnny Buffam."
"Dost a make the dead rise wi' it, Tommy, lad?" cried another.
"Say, Tommy," said another, "keep thee fist tight i' the bell, or
thee'll do some un a mischief."
The appearance of Robinson, the landlord, and his wife, in gorgeous
array, saved the brass instrument players from further banter, for the
landlord had to be cheered. Then came churchwarden Bultitude, with,
close behind, Jessie and John Maine, and this party had to be cheered.
"Say, Chutchwarden, why don't a give parson a job for them two?" shouted
some one; and, with scarlet cheeks, poor Jessie hurried into the church,
where her eyes met John Maine's with no disfavour.
"Wheer's Tom Podmore? Why don't he bring his lass?" shouted a workman.
But neither Daisy, Tom, nor Banks put in an appearance; and the crowd
were on the look-out for some one else to banter, when the vicar
appeared, to be received with deafening cheers, the men pressing forward
to shake hands as he went slowly up the path.
"Say, mun, parson looks straange and wankle," said one.
"Ay, but he is pasty-faced; he's been wucking too hard."
"Wucking!" said another; "why, he's nowt to do."
"Nowt to do, lad! why, he does as much i' one week as thou dost i' a
month."
"Say," said another, "I'm getting strange and hungry."
"Theer'll he plenty to yeat by and by," said another. "Hey, here's owd
Ransome and Tomson, the man as neither liked gristle nor swarth, but was
very fond o' pig's feet."
"It warn't he, but the servant gell as they had. Say, owd Ransome, hast
got a new gell yet?"
"What weer it about t'owd one?" said another.
"Why, they 'most pined her to dead."
"Hey, I thought they lived well theer."
"She towd my missus that she should leave, for she had beef and mutton
and pigeon-pie till she wus sick to dead on 'em."
"Poor lass!" said another. "That weer her as see owd Ransome's wife
makking the pie."
"Hey, and what weer that?"
"Ah, she says, `Sugarmum and buttermum, it'll be a straange dear pie,
mum.'"
"Here's Dicky Glaire!" now was shouted, and plenty of cheers arose; but
the men talked critically about his personal appearance as he got out of
the carriage and went up the path with a supercilious smile upon his
face.
"He's another pasty-faced un," said one of the chief speakers. "Dicky
isn't half the man his father weer."
"Hearken to owd Mother Cakebread," said one of the men; "she says she'd
sooner marry tawn's poomp."
"Here's owd Satan comin' to chutch," cried a voice, as Primgeon, the
lawyer, a tall, smooth-faced, sallow man, got out of the next carriage,
but they cheered him well, and the guests in the next two carriages,
when the cry arose--
"Here's the Missus!"
"Gi'e the owd gell a good un, lads. Hats off."
"Three cheers for the doctor."
"Gie's a ride i' the chay, doctor."
"Hooray."
The cheers were hearty enough, as Purley handed out Mrs Glaire and the
bride, and began to move slowly up the path, for the excitement was such
that the crowd pressed forward upon them in the midst of the deafening
cries, while a faint flush came upon Eve Pelly's face, as she raised her
eyes, and the icy look upon her face passed off, thawed by the sunshine
of the warm greetings.
"God bless you, Miss Eve--hooray for Miss Eve!"
"Hurray!" shouted one of the leaders of the strike. "May all her bairns
be gells."
"Like their moother," shouted another.
"Hooray, lads! Gi'e her another; put your showthers into it."
There was a deafening roar from a couple of hundred throats, and then
the poor school-mistress's arrangements were overset, for a voice
shouted--
"Fling thee flowers now, bairns;" and the bride went up to the church on
a floral carpet, and with a shower falling upon her from all around.
"What a shame!" cried the school-mistress, as the party disappeared
through the porch, and she was carried after them by the crowd which
followed.
"Niver mind, owd lass, the bairns can pick 'em up, and fling 'em again."
Poor flowers, they looked crushed and drooping now, though, as Eve Pelly
walked up the damp old aisle, feeling as if it were all some dream, and
beginning to tremble now as she approached the altar, where the rest of
the party were assembled, from among whom came Richard, who had cast off
his supercilious air, and was trying to play his part of bridegroom as
became his position.
The young fellow was flushed now with the excitement of the scene, and
somewhat carried away by the interest displayed by the town on the
occasion of his marriage. He hardly heeded his mother's words as she
clung to his hand for a moment, and whispered--
"You see, my son: now take your position that your father won for you,
of the first man in Dumford."
"I will, mother," he exclaimed, proudly; and he glanced round the
church, to see it crowded, even the aisles being densely packed, a low,
murmuring buzz arising, which was checked, though, as the vicar, in his
white surplice, moved from behind the great tomb, looking white almost
as the linen he wore, and took his place inside the low wooden altar
rails, which Jacky Budd bustled officiously to close, giving his lips a
smack as if he scented the feasting that generally followed this
operation, and hastened to replace the hassocks in front of the little
gates.
Eve's eyes rested upon the vicar's for a moment as she was led by some
one, she could not tell whom, and told to stand in a particular
position: there was a strange whirring sound in her head, and the place
was alternately swimming round her, and then coming to a dead stand, and
beginning to recede, till the whole of the chancel seemed to be
reproduced with photographic minuteness far away, as if seen through the
wrong end of a telescope.
Then the mutterings of the crowd in the church reached her; Mrs Glaire
whispered, "Be strong for my sake," and Richard Glaire, dimly seen,
stood beside her; and before her, calm and motionless, divided from her
by the quaint old wooden barrier, soon to be divided from her by bars
that were a thousand times as strong, stood the man that she knew and
owned now, with a kind of desperation, that she loved.
It was a blasphemy, she told herself, to stand there as she did, ready
to lie before her Maker; but as she mentally said this she prayed that
her sin might be forgiven, and her act looked upon as a sacrifice to
save her who had been to her as a mother, and Richard Glaire from a
downward career; and as this prayer was repeated she heard the deep, sad
voice of the vicar speaking.
The words came slowly, and the utterance grew deeper as, hardly able to
bear the bitter agony he experienced, Murray Selwood addressed the first
solemn words of the service to those before him, going on to "I require
and charge you both," while the silence in the church was almost
painful.
Then turning to Richard, and with his voice rising, he asked the
question--
"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after
God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, (a
pause) comfort her, (another pause) honour, and keep her in sickness and
in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, (a long and
painful pause, during which Richard Glaire winced as he tried to meet
the questioning eyes fixed on his, and failed) so long as ye both shall
live?"
"I will," answered Richard, once more trying to meet the eyes that were
fixed upon him in solemn question, and failing miserably.
Those who watched the service from close by, remembered afterwards that
the vicar's voice became low and trembling as, turning to Eve, he asked
her--
"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after
God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him,
and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and
forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall
live?"
There was a dead silence, and Richard Glaire felt his breath catch, as
if a hand was at his throat, as he saw Eve look wildly round from face
to face, and at last let her eyes rest with a horrified expression upon
those of the man who had asked her that solemn question. So deep was
the silence, that a whisper would have been plainly heard, and the voice
of the clerk sounded painful and strange, as he said in a low
voice--"Answer `I will.'"
There was another painful pause, and then throwing herself on her knees,
and clutching the altar rail as one might have sought sanctuary in days
of old, Eve shrieked out--
"No, no, no, no--God forgive me--I do not love him, and I never can!"
Richard Glaire muttered an oath between his teeth, and stooped to raise
her, but the book was dropped, and the vicar's strong arm thrust him
away.
"Stand back, sir," he exclaimed; "this marriage cannot proceed. Mr
Purley."
The doctor stepped forward, raised, and laid the fainting girl upon the
cushions hastily spread upon the stones of the chancel; and, tearing off
his surplice, the vicar was the first to bring wine, and take one of the
cold thin hands, as he knelt beside her, while Richard, trembling with
fury, sought to be heard.
"It's no use," said the doctor, firmly. "Poor girl! over-excitement--
nerves unstrung. We shall have brain fever if there is not the greatest
care."
"It's all nonsense," cried Richard, passionately. "A mere whim--a
girl's silly fainting-fit. Bring her to, doctor, and the marriage shall
go on."
"I told you, sir," said the vicar, sternly, "that it could not go on.
Poor girl: she could bear no more."
"But," shrieked Richard, "it shall go on. Do you think I'll be made
such a fool of before the town? Curse you, this is your doing, and--"
"Silence, sir," thundered the vicar. "You are in God's house. Leave it
this instant."
Richard clenched his fists menacingly, but the stern eyes upon him made
him drop them, and he fell back, the crowd opening to let him pass, when
Mrs Glaire tottered to his side.
"My son, my son," she faltered, clinging to his hand, but he flung her
off, and strode out at the little chancel door, ran hastily round to
where the carriage with its four greys was in waiting, and as the
wondering crowd closed round, he whispered to the nearest
post-boy:--"Quick--to the station. Gallop!" The crowd parted and the
boys raised a cheer; and, as if to make the mocking sounds more painful,
a man ran out from the Bull with a red-hot poker, and applied it to one
of the little rough cannon.
There was a deafening explosion, and a tremendous jerk, as the
frightened horses tore off at full gallop along the High Street, the
chariot swaying from side to side on its tall springs, while all the
postboys could do was to keep their seats.
Shrieks and cries arose as the horses tore along, gathering speed at
each stride, and growing more frightened at the gathering noise.
On past the various houses, past his home and the works, and Richard
clung desperately to the seat. For a moment he thought of throwing
himself out, but in that moment he saw himself caught by the wheel, and
whirled round and beaten into a shapeless pulp, and with a cry of horror
he sank back.
On still, and on, at a wild gallop; and, to his horror, Richard saw that
the horses were making straight for the great chalk pit, and in
imagination he saw the carriage drawn right over the precipice, to fall
crushed to atoms upon the hard masses below.
"I cannot bear this," he exclaimed; and, turning the handle, he was
about to leap out when the fore wheel of the chariot came with fearful
violence against the short thick milestone; there was a tremendous crash
as the vehicle was turned completely over, and Richard knew no more.
A dozen stout fellows, who had run panting after the carriage, came up a
few minutes later, to find one of the postboys holding the trembling
horses, which, after being released from the wreck, they had succeeded
in stopping, and the other was striving hard to extricate Richard from
where he lay, crushed and bleeding, amidst the splinters of the broken
chariot.
The sturdy foundry-men soon tore away the part of the carriage that held
the injured man, and a gate being taken from its hinges, he was carried
back to the town; the doctor, who had been attending Eve at the
vicarage, where she had been carried, having reached his house to fetch
some medicine, which he sent on with a message to Mrs Glaire, who was
in ignorance of the catastrophe, to come home at once.
Volume 3, Chapter XIX.