The interest of the town was now divided between the danger of the
government and the new preacher who electrified the world at St.
Rosicrucius. The Rev. Nigel Penruddock was not at all a popular preacher
according to the vulgar acceptation of the term. He disdained all cant
and clap-trap. He preached Church principles with commanding eloquence,
and he practised them with unceasing devotion. His church was always
open, yet his schools were never neglected; there was a perfect choir,
a staff of disciplined curates, young and ascetic, while sacred sisters,
some of patrician blood, fearless and prepared for martyrdom, were
gliding about all the back slums of his ferocious neighbourhood. How
came the Whigs to give such a church to such a person? There must have
been some mistake. But how came it that all the Whig ladies were among
the most devoted of his congregation? The government whips did not like
it; at such a critical period too, when it was necessary to keep
the Dissenters up to the mark! And there was Lady Montfort and Lady
Roehampton never absent on a Sunday, and their carriages, it was
whispered, were often suspiciously near to St. Rosicrucius on week-days.
Mr. Sidney Wilton too was frequently in Lady Roehampton’s pew, and one
day, absolutely my lord himself, who unfortunately was rarely seen at
church--but then, as is well known, critical despatches always arrive on
a Sunday morning--was successfully landed in her pew by Lady Roehampton,
and was very much struck indeed by what he heard. “The fact is,” as he
afterwards observed, “I wish we had such a fellow on our bench in the
House of Commons.”
About this time also there was another event, which, although not of so
general an interest, much touched the feelings of Endymion, and this was
the marriage of the Earl of Beaumaris with Imogene. It was solemnised in
as private and quiet a manner as possible. Waldershare was the best man,
and there were no bridesmaids. The only other persons invited by Mr.
Rodney, who gave away the bride, were Endymion and Mr. Vigo.
One morning, a few days before the wedding, Sylvia, who had written
to ask Lady Roehampton for an interview, called by appointment in St.
James’ Square. Sylvia was received by Lady Roehampton in her boudoir,
and the interview was long. Sylvia, who by nature was composed, and
still more so by art, was pale and nervous when she arrived, so much so
that her demeanour was noticed by the groom of the chambers; but when
she departed, her countenance was flushed and radiant, though it was
obvious that she had been shedding tears. On the morning of the wedding,
Lady Roehampton in her lord’s brougham called for Endymion at the
Albany, and then they went together to the vestry of St. James’ Church.
Lord Beaumaris and Mr. Waldershare had arrived. The bridegroom was a
little embarrassed when he was presented to Lady Roehampton. He had made
up his mind to be married, but not to be introduced to a stranger, and
particularly a lady; but Mr. Waldershare fluttered over them and put
all right. It was only the perplexity of a moment, for the rest of the
wedding party now appeared. Imogene, who was in a travelling dress, was
pale and serious, but transcendently beautiful. She attempted to touch
Lady Roehampton’s hand with her lips when Myra welcomed her, but Lady
Roehampton would not permit this, and kissed her. Everybody was calm
during the ceremony except Endymion, who had been silent the whole
morning. He stood by the altar with that convulsion of the throat and
that sickness of the heart which accompany the sense of catastrophe.
He was relieved by some tears which he easily concealed. Nobody noticed
him, for all were thinking of themselves. After the ceremony, they all
returned to the vestry, and Lady Roehampton with the others signed the
registry. Lord and Lady Beaumaris instantly departed for the continent.
“A strange event!” exclaimed Lady Roehampton, as she threw herself back
in the brougham and took her brother’s hand. “But not stranger than what
has happened to ourselves. Fortune seems to attend on our ruined home. I
thought the bride looked beautiful.”
Endymion was silent.
“You are not gay this morning, my dear,” said Lady Roehampton; “they say
that weddings are depressing. Now I am in rather high spirits. I am
very glad that Imogene has become Lady Beaumaris. She is beautiful, and
dangerously beautiful. Do you know, my Endymion, I have had some uneasy
moments about this young lady. Women are prescient in these matters, and
I have observed with anxiety that you admired her too much yourself.”
“I am sure you had no reason, Myra,” said Endymion, blushing deeply.
“Certainly not from what you said, my dear. It was from what you did
not say that I became alarmed. You seldom mentioned her name, and when
I referred to her, you always turned the conversation. However, that is
all over now. She is Countess of Beaumaris,” added Myra, dwelling slowly
and with some unction on the title, “and may be a powerful friend to
you; and I am Countess of Roehampton, and am your friend, also not quite
devoid of power. And there are other countesses, I suspect, on whose
good wishes you may rely. If we cannot shape your destiny, there is no
such thing as witchcraft. No, Endymion, marriage is a mighty instrument
in your hands. It must not be lightly used. Come in and lunch; my lord
is at home, and I know he wants to see you.”