WED
"WELL, Uncle Derrick, here I am, and how well you are looking. Quite
ten years younger!"
Adrienne had arrived at her country station, and, as usual, her uncle
was there to meet her. He had violets in his buttonhole, and his whole
appearance was alert and smart.
"I have only been home for a few days," he said, as he drew her hand
into his arm and walked her out of the station into the road to the car
which was waiting. He was driving himself; and when they were once off,
he turned to her in a kind of shamefaced way.
"We couldn't wait. I didn't tell you, as it might have hurried you back
before you were ready to come, but we've had a quiet week in the New
Forest together, and now I've brought her home."
Adrienne drew a long breath, then she said:
"I'm so glad. You're such a dear that I love to think that you're going
to have a little happiness on your own at last."
But for a moment blank dismay filled her heart. She had so counted on
having a cosy time alone with her uncle before her marriage.
Resolutely she packed her disappointment away out of sight.
"Were you surprised at my news?" she asked him.
"Rather. You started off with a dislike to him. I am not sure that I
think him good enough for you. Not a patch on Godfrey."
"Oh, oh! I must protest! Godfrey is a dear, but he's always the same,
always serene and good and straight, and never perturbed or excited. He
always would assent to everything I suggested, and we should have lived
a placid level life, knowing each other through and through and never
discovering anything more of each other. Now Guy is different. He is
masterful, and reserved and passionately tender at times, and at other
times impervious to coaxing or persuasion, and sternly obdurate. He has
more in him than ever he lets escape, and I'm always discovering fresh
traits in his character."
"I think," said the Admiral slowly, "that I would rather know anyone
through and through, than be in ignorance of how they might act on
certain occasions."
"Oh, but he would be always right. I know he would."
"He is perfect in your eyes. That makes a good beginning. I want to
have a talk with him about the future. Has he enough income to keep you
comfortably in that old Château?"
"Don't speak disrespectfully of my darling Château. I wish you could
have come over before I left. Yes—he was telling me the other day that
he has money and property from his own mother. He has done a great deal
for Aunt Cecily. I am almost ashamed to think how much."
"She ought to have got rid of that old house long ago."
"She was deep in debts and misery, but it seemed quite hopeless to help
her. And then it all came to a crisis as I wrote and told you, and now
everything is fair and square—except her health. I can't bear to say
it, but she is so gentle and quiet now that it makes everything easy.
Poor Aunt Cecily! She will never play Bridge again. That was her great
temptation. She always played for money. And never minded how high the
stakes were—so of course she lost a good deal. She was not a brilliant
player, so I was told. Now give me the village news."
They talked on till they reached home. Adrienne wondered how she
would have felt had she been coming back to take up her old home life
again. As she entered the hall, she had a strange forlorn feeling that
her place had been filled, and she was wanted no longer. Yet when
she entered the drawing-room and met her uncle's wife, her grace and
beauty and affectionate interest in her overcame the awkwardness of the
meeting. Mrs. Chesterton was no longer young, she did not disguise her
grey hair; she had naturally a good complexion, beautiful dark eyes,
and a very charming smile. Tall and slight, she held herself with great
dignity and composure. As she kissed Adrienne, she said:
"Your uncle has been longing to see you. His happiness will be complete
now. Dear Adrienne, I hope you will soon be as happy yourself as we
are. You have youth and a long life in front of you. We have old
age creeping on and life mostly behind us. But it is so good, so
satisfying, to be together at last."
"You have waited a long time," said Adrienne as she returned the kiss
warmly. "I wonder now, why you waited so."
"Just thirty years," said Mrs. Chesterton. She said no more, but as
Adrienne caught her radiant smile of welcome to her uncle, who had
followed her in, she felt content and glad that the long waiting for
them was over.
Those first few days were rather difficult. It seemed so unnatural
to Adrienne to take a back seat in the home over which she had been
mistress ever since she had left school. But she was very thorough in
her abnegation, and more than once Mrs. Chesterton remonstrated with
her.
"Let us do things together, dear, as much as possible. Don't be always
trying to retire and push me forward. And let me help you all I can
with your trousseau. I have always been a busy woman with many irons in
the fire; and just at first after town, this country life seems rather
quiet and empty."
"You won't move Uncle Derrick up to town?" Adrienne begged her. "He
does so love the country, and all his councils and committees in our
small town."
"You need not be afraid; I am too fond of him to take him away from all
his work. I mean to adapt myself to the country and not try to adapt
him to the town."
Adrienne's relief of mind was great.
The big event now locally was Godfrey's marriage, and the whole
neighbourhood was most excited about it. Adrienne had many hours with
Phemie, who was sewing for herself in her bedroom at the farm and
making good resolutions for the future.
Her mother no longer harried and bustled her about. She wisely left her
alone, and had already a land girl in her place. Adrienne was amused
when she heard she was a parson's daughter in a neighbouring parish;
and was certainly neither old nor plain in looks. She wondered if Dick
would be susceptible; but when she said something of this kind to
Phemie, she scoffed at it.
"Don't you know that Dick has always secretly worshipped you? It sounds
ridiculous, of course; but he'll take a long time in adjusting his
affections in a fresh direction."
"I never thought—I never knew—" faltered Adrienne.
"No; with Godfrey's open and undisguised admiration, Dick knew he had
no chance. I believe faint hopes were stirred when I told him about
myself and Godfrey. But I felt that over in that Château, you and that
stepcousin would naturally come together. I hope he's really all you
wish, Adrienne dear. Godfrey can't understand it. He says you told him
that you wanted a lover who would thrill you through and through and
carry you off your feet, one whom you could follow to the death."
"I talked a lot of nonsense to Godfrey," said Adrienne with rising
colour.
She felt hurt that he should discuss her so openly with Phemie, but
would not let herself be affected by it.
"I do think I could follow Guy anywhere," she said quietly. "Don't you
feel that with Godfrey?"
"Of course I do. I adore him."
The two girls sewed and talked together.
Then Adrienne went up to town with Mrs. Chesterton, and a busy
fortnight of shopping followed. Her uncle would not accompany them.
When she returned, it was to be present at the young squire's wedding.
Lady Sutherland was the only one who could not and would not rejoice.
Phemie told Adrienne in confidence that it needed all her pluck and
courage to go through with it. But the anticipation of a honeymoon
spent in Florence, Rome, and Venice was sufficient compensation for
what she suffered beforehand.
It was a very quiet wedding; Adrienne felt as if she were in a dream,
wondering all the time how she should feel when her turn came.
The villagers did their best to show their approval. Bells were rung,
flowers strewn on the pathway, and small flags and bunting flying on
every house in the village.
They knew Phemie, and liked her, but considered that she was not quite
up to Sir Godfrey. They all loved him, and wished him well. The general
opinion was that it was time he married and settled down!
When it was all over, and the happy pair had gone off to Rome, Lady
Sutherland asked Adrienne to come and stay a few days with her. And
out of pity Adrienne went. She felt sorry for the old lady, who talked
about going to a small dower house about four miles away, but evidently
thought she ought not to be obliged to do it. She confided in Adrienne:
"Of course Godfrey wishes me to stay; he says I can help Phemie so
much, but she is not a girl who will like to be helped. It is the
bitterest time in a woman's life when she has to give up her home, the
reins of authority and her son to a stranger. Ah, my dear, I should not
feel it so much were you my daughter-in-law."
"I believe you would," said Adrienne, trying to laugh. "In some ways
Phemie is more capable than I am. I am very fond of her, and you will
be too when you've learnt to know her. She has had a hard girlhood,
has she not? And I think that prosperity will soften her. She adores
Godfrey, and he deserves to be adored."
Adrienne had a way with her of lightening people's burdens. When she
left Lady Sutherland, that good lady was resigned to her circumstances,
and determined to make the best of them.
"You're a dear girl," the old lady said, as she kissed her on parting.
"I know you've had your own troubles, but you're fortunate in having
a fresh home waiting for you. I know how you felt the loss of your
Uncle Tom. It was a blow to all of us, and now this marriage of the
Admiral's!—I only hope it will turn out well for them both."
Adrienne had no doubt upon that point. Day by day she saw how
increasingly happy her uncle became. It was quite pathetic to note how
his eyes followed his wife, as she moved about, with both dignity and
grace.
With all her home interests, Adrienne never failed to write and to hear
from Guy. They had fixed their wedding for the 15th of November.
His last letter before he came over was as follows:
"MY DEAREST,—
"This is to be followed by me myself. How the days have dragged since
you left us! But I have been busy, and have tried vainly to distract my
thoughts from your little figure and personality. I was playing on the
organ yesterday evening—just letting my thoughts run on—you need not
be told the subject of them—and suddenly a small voice piped up from
behind me:
"'I think, Daddy, you're making up about Cousin Adie when she sings.'
That was rather cute, wasn't it? He's making giant strides in his
music. I don't want him to be a prodigy, but I'm convinced he'll be a
musician. Yesterday he came an awful cropper off his pony and cut his
head badly. It happened close to little Agatha's cottage and I took him
straight in. He was howling horribly, but in an instant she calmed him.
She put her hands upon his head, and he looked up at her and smiled:
"'Why the pain is all gone!' he said. Then Marie bathed and bound the
cut up, and he's never had any more pain in it since. I do believe she
has healing power in her fingers, the village firmly declares she has.
"Your aunt is about the same, no better, no worse—Mathilde is feeling
very dull, but has generously promised to stick to her post till we
come back from our trip abroad. She and I garden sometimes together,
and she's helping me to smarten up bits of the house for my bride. This
is enough about our household here. My tongue is tied when I come to my
heart's centre. I can neither write nor speak of what I feel, but you
know always and utterly my life is yours, with all its imperfections
and crudity and roughness.
"I pray God continually to keep my darling safe and happy, until I am
able to undertake the care of her. For that moment I impatiently wait.
"Ever and entirely yours,
"GUY."
And the day after she received this, Guy arrived. His train was late,
and it was seven o'clock when he reached the station. One swift look
around, and then he saw Adrienne, standing slim and straight in her
long fur coat, the one lamp in the little station shining on her eager,
smiling face. Without a thought of onlookers, he drew her out of the
lamplight and into his arms.
But his words were few:
"I hardly expected you to meet me."
"Uncle was coming, but he has a slight cold, and it was raining, so we
persuaded him to stay at home."
In the car Adrienne was given all the news of the Château. Alain had
wanted to accompany his father, but though he had been invited, Guy
would not bring him.
"He is best where he is, and he is company for Mathilde, who is getting
restive. She finds it deplorably dull."
"It is winter and the gloomiest month in the year," said Adrienne by
way of apology for her.
"It beats me how any sane, intelligent person can be affected by
weather."
"That's just like a man! You go out all weathers. Many women do not.
And they are really physically affected by atmospheric changes. I'm
sure you've been very kind to Mathilde."
Guy looked at her, and there was a little sparkle in his eye.
"I compare her every hour of the day with my little girl, and wonder
how one Creator fashioned such different souls. We won't talk of
Mathilde any more."
They reached the house, and Adrienne took him straight into the
drawing-room.
There was a blazing fire; the Admiral and his wife greeted Guy very
kindly. To Guy, fresh from the spacious, mellowed old salon in the
Château, English rooms were too full of luxuries and of knickknacks
for comfort. But he had not much thought for anything but Adrienne.
His eyes hardly ever left her face. Yet before others they were both
absolutely undemonstrative and matter of fact.
Adrienne discussed all the details of the eventful day, and informed
Guy that they were to be in the church by eleven o'clock.
"Then we will come back, have some lunch, and catch the three o'clock
train to town. I think waiting about all the afternoon is so tiring for
everyone."
After dinner Guy retired into the library with the Admiral, and
Adrienne sat with her aunt till the gentlemen returned to the
drawing-room.
"You do like him?" she inquired anxiously of Mrs. Chesterton.
"He is a man," she responded. "Yes, I do, but I should be afraid myself
that he might prove somewhat hard and obstinate at times."
"Perhaps," said Adrienne slowly; "but still I would rather live with a
strong man than with a weak one. And if one loves very much, one can
trust, and—and yield."
"Not on every point," said her aunt decidedly; "keep your
individuality, my dear child, and remember that to only God above are
you responsible for the actions of your soul."
Adrienne smiled. But she had no fears for the future; only the sense
of utter rest and happiness that she would have Guy to lean upon when
difficulties arrived.
One whole day they had together, and then the wedding day dawned.
Adrienne wore a soft ivory satin gown, and looked perfectly charming.
But she had no bridesmaids; a few girl friends clustered round her. The
service was very quiet and only a few old friends were present, Lady
Sutherland amongst them.
Adrienne was rather glad that Godfrey and Phemie were still away. Dick
and his mother, of course, were there. And a friend of Guy's, a Colonel
Skipwith, an American come down from town to be his best man. He was a
smart soldierly man, who had very amusing reminiscences of himself and
Guy as youngsters out in the Colonies.
"I remember," he said, "when we first heard that a young Frenchy was
coming out to try his hand at farming. We were all learning together,
and there were a couple of us who meant to get some fun out of the new
arrival. But it didn't take us many days to discover that we'd met our
match in Froggy, as we called him. His fists and muscles belonged to a
Hercules. We went down under them, and his tongue was as scathing as
his fists."
"Not a very attractive picture of me, eh, Adrienne?" laughed Guy.
"But you must remember I was one against four in that farm, and I had
to show them that French parentage does not always mean softness and
imbecility."
And so in the little village church Adrienne and Guy pledged their
troth. It was a clear frosty day, and when they drove to the station
the sun was giving them his blessing.
Adrienne's last words with her uncle had been tearful ones.
"I shall look forward to seeing you and Aunt Grace out with us one
day," she said. "When the spring comes I shall expect you. And oh, dear
Uncle Derrick, let me feel always that this is my English home."
"Why, naturally, my dearest child. God bless and keep you, and grant
that you may be the sunshine of your old Château as you have been over
here."
They were gone.
Adrienne turned and met her husband's tender eyes with perfect
confidence. "And now," she said to him, as she slipped her hand into
his, "I am yours utterly, and entirely, and for evermore."
Guy could make no answer at first; he only drew her closer to him, but
after a moment murmured:
"May I be worthy of such a gift."
And the car glided on, and the journey together through life commenced.