THE MILLIONAIRE'S WIFE.
'Don't you be taking on so, Netta, fach! if you do be crying this way,
your eyes 'll be as red as carrots, and Howel 'ont like it.'
'Oh! Aunt 'Lisbeth, I can't help thinking of mother, and how she is
vexing about me.'
'Look you at yourself in the glass, Netta, fach! and you 'ont be vexing
any more. I never was seeing such a glass as that before. Look you! you
can see yourself from the beauty-flowers in the white bonnet--dear!
there is a bonnet! and you was looking so well in it--down to them
lovely white shoes on your foots, I never was thinking before you had
such little foots.'
This conversation takes place whilst Mrs Jenkins is engaged in dressing
Netta for her wedding, and in endeavouring at the same time to soothe
various ebullitions of grief that burst out ever and anon, between the
different acts of the attiring. The girl cannot quite forget the friends
she left behind her, when she so suddenly ran away from home. The appeal
to her personal appearance is not, however, in vain. She looks in the
cheval-glass which draws forth Mrs Jenkins' admiration, and thinks she
has seldom seen anything so pretty as the reflection of her own person
in her bridal dress. She hastily dries her eyes, and turns round and
round several times to assure herself that all is right.
'Ah! Howel is knowing everything!' says Mrs Jenkins. 'Silks and laces,
and flowers, and worked-handkerchiefs, and all as white as a lily! And
your cheeks a deal redder than any I do see here along! My deet! but you
do be looking genteel.'
'Do I look as if I had been crying, aunt?' asks Netta, wetting her eyes
with lavender water. 'I'm afraid of Howel and those grand people. I wish
he hadn't asked them.'
'Oh, for sham! Netta. There they are, I shouldn't wonder! Yes indeet!
says Mrs Jenkins, 'I hear them talking on the stairs.'
A knock at the bedroom door is followed by the entrance of two ladies,
apparently mother and daughter; the former a portly and roseate dame,
clad in the richest of brocades and white lace shawls--the latter a thin
and somewhat yellow damsel, a tired in white and pink bonnet and mantle
to match, evidently in bridesmaid's gear.
'Ah I how charming! how beautiful! what a country-flower in London
leaves!' exclaim the ladies, rushing up to Netta and kissing her. 'Good
morning, Mrs Jenkins, your son has chosen a bewitching young person
indeed!'
'Treue for your ladyship,' says Mrs Jenkins, making her very best
curtsey, as the ladies alternately shake hands with her.
'Your ladyship' is no less a person than Lady Simpson, the wife of Sir
John Simpson, a gentleman who acquired that title on an occasion when
William the Fourth, of blessed memory, was feted in the city. Sir John,
having made a considerable fortune in trade, and being blessed with a
helpmate of an aspiring mind, has removed from his old neighbourhood to
that of Hyde Park, where he is spending the money he earned on the
general advancement of his family. This family consists of a son and
daughter, who have been highly educated according to the general
acceptation of the term. With the son Howel is very intimate, and
through him he has long been known to the rest of the family; but it is
only since his vast accession of wealth that he has had the
distinguished honour of claiming Sir John and Lady Simpson as his
particular friends. To them he confided his intended marriage with a
beautiful cousin, who, for family reasons, was coming to London, he
said, under his mother's protection, to be united to him. They had
called on Mrs Jenkins and Netta the previous day, and were invited to
the wedding in the various capacities of father, bridesman, and
bridesmaid. Previously to their making his mother's acquaintance, Howel
informed them that being Welsh, she naturally spoke the language of her
country, and was so patriotic that she disliked any other; and said that
they must not be surprised at her peculiar English, which was simply a
translation of the Welsh idioms into what, to her, was a foreign tongue.
He also gave his mother an hour's lecture upon her dress and deportment;
and Netta a few hints as to her general behaviour, which, whilst it
enchanted the elder, frightened the younger lady. Thus 'forewarned,' if
not 'fore-armed' the forces of Simpson and Jenkins were thrown together.
Lady Simpson is an average specimen of a vulgar woman aping gentility;
her daughter of a would-be fine lady.
After they have sufficiently admired Netta's dress, and put the
finishing touches to it, Miss Simpson informs Netta of her duty as bride
elect.
'Of course, my dear, papa will take you to the hymeneal altar, and our
friend Captain Dancy will take me.'
'Oh! I hope there is no other stranger,' gasps Netta.
'Only a particular friend of my brother's and of Mr Jenkins'. Do not be
alarmed, you shy little dove.'
'Netta, fach!' whispers Mrs Jenkins, 'the ladies was knowing what is
right'
'Then my brother must take up Mrs Jenkins, and Mr Jenkins, mamma. I
declare we shall be a charming party; and remember to take off your
glove, dear, and give it to me.'
'We had better go downstairs now,' said Lady Simpson. 'Bridegrooms are
very impatient at these times.'
Lady Simpson took the blushing, frightened Netta by the hand, and led
her into the drawing-room. Truly the poor child did look like a lovely
country rose, as Miss Simpson had not inaptly called her. Howel led her,
proud of her beauty, to the portly Sir John, who patted her kindly on
the cheeks, and reminded Netta so strongly of her father that the tears
sprung into her eyes. Howel's frown soon checked them, and a thundering
knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Mr Simpson, junior, and
his friend, Captain Dancy, turned her attention from the father to the
son. The look of decided admiration that the new comers cast upon her,
quite revived her drooping spirits, and she smiled, curtseyed, and
blushed as becomingly and naively as Howel could have wished.
Mr Horatio Simpson was a young man very much adorned with chains, rings,
studs, and black curls. He had, moreover, a very fine waistcoat, and was
altogether well fitted by his tailor. His face was not unlike that of an
otter. He used grand words when he spoke, but did not tire his
companions by quite as voluble a tongue as did his mother. He was one of
those fine gentlemen who would, or could neither plod nor dash at his
studies, and who was quite willing to take all his knowledge second hand
from any one who would kindly impart it.
Captain Dancy was so entirely his devoted friend, that he gladly gave
him the advantage of his superior parts, in return for various favours
which Miss Simpson also aided in conferring.
Captain Dancy is a tall, fashionable-looking man, with what Miss Simpson
and her mamma consider a splendid figure. 'And such a lovely moustache!'
Miss Simpson usually adds with a sigh. The moustache and hair are,
however, inclined to red, and the face within them is not unlike that of
a fox. Perhaps some of his friends might be surprised if they found him
in the present company; but he would do anything to oblige Simpson and
Jenkins, who are, in turn, always at his service, in more ways than one.
After a little preliminary conversation, Mr Simpson offers Netta his
arm; and followed by the rest of the bridal party, leads the way
downstairs. A smart little liveried page is at the door, and two fine
carriages are in the street, each with its horses and coachman
ornamented with bridal favours.
'We cannot make all our arrangements' as I could wish, whispers Howel
to Miss Simpson, 'owing to circumstances; or I should have met you at
the church from another house.'
Netta, Mr Simpson, and the two ladies are in the first carriage, which
soon arrives at St James's Church, followed by the other. How the
bouquet in Netta's hand trembles, as she takes Mr Simpson's arm, and
walks with him up the steps, and finally through the centre aisle to the
altar! She has never been in a London church before, and the varied
colours of that magnificent painted window strike her with wonder even
now.
Netta turns very pale as she stands by the altar, and waits until Howel
comes up. Sir John whispers some kindly words, which so forcibly remind
her of her father, that she can scarcely repress her tears. She glances
at Howel, as he stands opposite, gazing at her, and sees that his
handsome face is calm and determined. He smiles as she looks at him,
which reassures her. A prettier bride could never stand before an altar;
Howel feels this and is satisfied. And Netta has loved her cousin all
her life, and thinks him perfect. She can truly say that she leaves
father, mother, all for him.
And these are the feelings with which they receive the first words of
the earnest-spoken grey-haired priest, who tells them that they are
assembled in the sight of God, to be joined indissolubly together.
Netta once read through the marriage service years ago. She had
forgotten it, and would have read it again, but she did not take away
either her Bible or prayer book when she fled from her home, and did not
like to ask Howel to buy her one. Now, as the clergyman continues his
exhortation, the words sound to her as some solemn and wonderful address
spoken for her alone. She listens in spite of a multitude of feelings
that are struggling within her, and is struck with fear when she is
adjured to confess, if there is any impediment to her being lawfully
wedded. She knows that her father's anger and her mother's sorrow are
broad impediments in her road to happiness.
Her hand trembles, as he who holds the office that offended father ought
to hold, takes it and places it in that of the clergyman It trembles
still more as she hears the question put to her concerning her future
conduct to him, so soon to be her husband, and to think she must audibly
respond. Howel has already answered firmly and boldly, and she strives
to say the final, 'I will,' firmly too, but her voice falters; she is
too much absorbed in her own emotions to notice how carelessly and
thoughtlessly Howel repeats his solemn promise to her after the
clergyman, but she feels him press her hand and is reassured.
Tremblingly, but in all earnestness of purpose, she makes her vow to
'love, cherish, and obey' him whom she has resolutely chosen for her
husband; and, as if touched by her manner, and by the searching glance
of the clergyman, Howel becomes more serious as he places the ring on
her finger and repeats the last words in those great and awful names,
which it is sin to utter but with humility and prayer.
Truly, as they kneel before the altar to receive the final blessing of
the clergyman, they are a sight for much joy or much grief. Who shall
say what the end will be? Two human beings joined in one to all
eternity!
As that prayer and blessing are being spoken, a bright flash of
lightning darts through the church, followed by a heavy peal of thunder;
suddenly a great gloom fills the sacred edifice, and a storm of hail and
rain dashes against the windows.
Poor Netta is superstitious and as easily frightened as a child; she
starts and gives an involuntary little cry as the lightning flashes
before her eyes, and the thunder seems to shake her as she kneels. She
turns paler and paler as the storm continues, and can scarcely hear the
concluding psalms, prayers, and exhortation, for her fear of the
lightning which fitfully and at intervals slants through the painted
windows.
Stronger nerves than Netta's have been shaken by a thunderstorm on a
wedding-day. Even Howel involuntarily quails at this evil omen, and Mrs
Jenkins clasps her hands and mutters a Welsh proverb. She and Netta had
been congratulating each other on the sunshine of the morning, and such
a storm was bad indeed.
However, the service proceeds, and then he who addresses the
newly-married pair in God's name, makes himself heard in spite of the
pattering hail. He seems the more impressive as he cannot but remark
Howel's frowning brow and Netta's agitation.
It is a relief to all the wedding-party when the last words are spoken
and Howel leads his bride into the vestry. By this time tears are
running fast down her pale cheeks, and Howel's efforts at encouragement,
and the warm kiss he gives her, fail to dry them; Sir John Simpson's
fatherly embrace rather serves to increase than diminish the emotion,
and poor Netta is conscious that Howel must be very displeased.
She mutters something about her great fear of lightning and thunder;
signs her name even more stragglingly than usual, and is at last led by
Howel through the church to the carriage.
'I don't wonder she is frightened and nervous,' says Miss Simpson? 'I am
sure I should have fainted if such a storm had come on at my marriage.
It is--'
'Nonsense!' exclaims Howel, somewhat rudely, as they drive quickly
through Jermyn Street, up St James's Street, down Piccadilly, and into
Half Moon Street, without much farther conversation, whilst the storm
rolls on. Netta hurries upstairs and gives way to a burst of sobs and
tears; Howel follows, and knowing the best way to console her, takes her
in his arms, and having told her that she is his own little wife now,
begs her to remember all the grand things they are going to do.
'You are a great lady now, Netta. We must astonish the little people
down in Wales. Think of Paris, and that Lady Nugent and Miss Rice Rice,
and all your old rivals will hear of your being there, and soon see you
return smarter and richer than any one,'
'But the storm, cousin Howel! All those solemn words! I am frightened to
death!'
'Silly little Netta! what has the storm to do with you and me? All our
prosperity and happiness are beginning.'
'But they say, "Blessed is the bride the sun shines on," and that
thunder and lightning are such a bad omen.'
'Don't be'--a fool, Howel was going to say, but he modified it into
'Don't be such a silly little puss, but dry your eyes, and come and make
yourself agreeable to our first visitors. _Ours,_ Netta dear.'
Netta did as she was bid, and in a short time was at the head of the
table, on which a wedding-breakfast had been duly placed, according to
the general rules laid down for such occasions. Howel had given _carte
blanche_ to a fashionable confectioner, and everything was as it should
be for the quiet and private marriage of a man of large fortune. The
cake was splendidly ornamented, the champagne iced, and the other viands
and wines in keeping with them; the hired waiters vied with Sir John's
servants in propriety of demeanour, and Howel's page was as pompous as
pages generally are.
All Netta's pride and ambition returned when she saw herself mistress at
a table more luxuriously spread than that of Mr Gwynne, and she soon
began to enjoy her new dignity very much.
'I am to have a French maid when I get to Paris,' she said to Miss
Simpson. 'Howel does not like to take one with us, and we shall form our
establishment when we return.'
Howel laughed in his sleeve when he heard this: he managed to hear every
word that Netta uttered, and gave her an approving glance; he also saw
that his friends, Captain Dancy and Mr Horatio Simpson, greatly admired
his beautiful young wife, and little cousin Netta rose in his,
estimation.
'We shall soon meet in Paris, I hope,' said Captain Dancy. 'Simpson and
I are going to run over next week. I should like to assist in showing
you some of the lions, Mrs Howel Jenkins,'
'Lions! name o' goodness don't tak' her to see them!' exclaims Mrs
Jenkins, now put off her guard by fear.
'Ah! you have not that Welsh figure; it means--' began Miss Simpson, but
she was interrupted by Mr Simpson proposing the health of the bride and
bridegroom.
The breakfast went off very well, and the champagne went round only too
often; ladies as well as gentlemen were flushed by this exhilarating
beverage, and Mrs Griffith Jenkins was beginning to be very voluble on
the subject of 'my son Howels,' when that gentleman gave her a look that
silenced her, and that reminded Netta that he had told her to look at
Lady Simpson when it was time for her to put on her travelling-dress.
The ladies went to their retiring-room, whilst the gentlemen drank more
champagne, and arranged various Parisian amusements.
It was understood that, as Howel had no friends to leave behind him for
the final settlement of lodgings and the like, his guests were to depart
before he and his bride left. They accordingly took their leave as soon
as Netta reappeared in fashionable travelling costume. No sooner were
they fairly gone than Howel set to work to pay and arrange; this done,
he called Netta to look at their wedding cards. There were a great
number directed to different friends, some to acquaintances in their old
neighbourhood, and one to David Prothero, Esq., Glanyravon.
Netta quailed but said nothing.
'Now let me read you this, Netta? it is for the _Welshman,_ and every
one will see it:--"On the 16th instant, at St James's Church,
Piccadilly, London, Howel Jenkins, Esq., of our county, was married to
Miss Prothero, daughter of D. Prothero, Esq., of Glanyravon. Sir John
Simpson gave away the lovely bride, and the wedding-breakfast was
attended by a select, but fashionable party of friends."'
'Father will see that,' said Netta; 'he will be in such a passion.'
'Serve him right,' replied Howel, and called the page and sent the
letters to the post.
The carriage was at the door, and the luggage in. Mrs Griffith Jenkins
was busily engaged in packing up the cake and a spare bottle of
champagne, together with a few other confections' in a stray hamper.
'Make haste, mother,' cried Howel.
'Stop you, Howel, bach! in a minute. We must be wishing you joy at home;
and I should like to be sending cousin Prothero some of this grand
cake.'
At last Mrs Jenkins and her hamper were ready, and the trio started for
the Paddington Station.
When they arrived there Howel took a second-class ticket for his mother
as far as Swansea, telling her to take a first-class from that place
home. She was to sleep with some friends at Swansea.
'We mustn't waste money, mother.'
'Treue for you, Howel.'
'Tell everybody at home of the grand wedding.'
'Don't be afraid of that.'
When Howel had seen his mother off, he and Netta drove to their station,
and, per first-class carriage, with page in second, steamed off to
Folkestone, which was to be the first stage of their life-journey.