CHAPTER XVIII
"TILL DEATH US DO PART"
Within a fortnight of Mallory's departure from St. Wennys, the whole ofthe house-party at Mallow had scattered. Lord St. John was the firstto go--leaving in order to pay a short visit to Eliza McBain beforereturning to town. Often though she might scarify him with her sharptongue, she was genuinely attached to him, and her clannishlyhospitable soul would have been sorely wounded if he had not spent afew days at Trevarthen Wood while he was in the neighbourhood. RalphFenton had been obliged to hurry north to fulfil an unexpected concertengagement; and on the same day Barry left home to join ashooting-party in Scotland. A few days later Nan and Penelope returnedto London, accompanied by Kitty, who asserted an unshakabledetermination to take part in the orgy of spending which Penelope'sforthcoming wedding would entail.
Meanwhile Ralph, being "a big fish" as Penny had once commented, hadsecured his future wife's engagement as a member of the concertparty--by the simple method of declining to accept the American tourhimself unless she were included, so that to the joy of buying atrousseau was added the superlative delight of choosing special frocksfor Penelope's appearances on tour in the States. Lord St. John hadinsisted upon presenting the trousseau, Barry Seymour made himselfresponsible for the concert gowns, and Kitty announced that the weddingwas to take place from her house in Green Street.
For the first time in the whole of her brave, hard-working life,Penelope knew what it was to spend as she had seen other women spend,without being driven into choosing the second-best material or the lessbecoming frock for the unsatisfying reason that it was the cheaper.The two men had given Kitty carte blanche as regards expenditure andshe proceeded to take full advantage of the fact, promptly quelling anytentative suggestions towards economy which Penelope, ratheroverwhelmed by Mrs. Seymour's lavish notions, occasionally put forth.
The date on which the concert party sailed was already fixed; leaving abare month in which to accomplish the necessary preparations, and thetime seemed positively to fly. Nan evaded taking part in the shoppingexpeditions which filled the days for Penelope and Kitty, since eachnew purchase, each frail, chiffony frock or beribboned box whicharrived from dressmaker or milliner, served only to remind her that theapproaching parting with Penelope was drawing nearer.
In women's friendships there must always come a big wrench when one orother of two friends meets the man who is her mate. The old, triedfriendship retreats suddenly into second place--sometimes for a littlewhile it almost seems as though it had petered out altogether. Butwhen once the plunge has been taken, and the strangeness and wonder andglory of the new life have become ordinary and commonplace with thesweet commonness of dear, familiar, daily things, then the oldfriendship comes stealing back--deeper and more understanding, perhaps,than in the days before one of the two friends had come into herwoman's kingdom.
Nan sat staring into the fire--for the first breath of autumn hadalready chilled the air--trying to realise that to-day was actually theeve of Penelope's wedding-day. It seemed incredible--even moreincredible that Kitty and she should have gone off laughing together tosee about some detail of the next day's arrangements which had beenoverlooked.
She was suddenly conscious that if this were the eve of her ownmarriage with Roger laughter would be far enough away from her.Regarded dispassionately, her decision to marry him because shecouldn't marry the man she loved, seemed rather absurd and illogical.It was like going into a library and, having discovered that the bookwhich you required was out, accepting one you didn't really wantinstead--just because the librarian, who knew nothing whatever aboutyour tastes in literature, had offered it to you. You always began thesubstitute hopefully and generally ended up by being thoroughly boredwith it and marvelling how on earth anybody could possibly have foundit interesting! Nan wondered if she would get bored with hersubstituted volume.
She had rushed recklessly into her engagement, regarding marriage withRoger much as though it were a stout set of palings with "No Right ofWay" written across them in large letters. Outside, the waves ofemotion might surge in vain, while within, she and Roger would settledown to the humdrum placidity of married life. But the dull, ceaselessache at her heart made her sometimes question whether anything in theworld could keep at bay the insistent claim of love.
She tried to reassure herself. At least there would always remain hermusic and the passionate delight of creative work. It was true she hadwritten nothing recently. She had been living at too high an emotionalstrain to have any surplus energy for originating, and she knew fromexperience that all creative work demands both strength and spirit,heart and soul--everything that is in you, if it is to be worth while.
These and other disconnected thoughts flitted fugitively through hermind as she sat waiting for Penelope's return. Vague visions of thefuture; memories--hastily slurred over; odd, rather frightened musingson the morrow's ceremony, when Penny would bind herself to Ralph ". . ._in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation_."
Rather curiously Nan reflected that she had never actually read theMarriage Service--only caught chance phrases here and there in thecourse of other people's marriages. She switched on the light andhunted about for a book of Common Prayer, turning the pages with quick,nervous fingers till she came to the one headed: _The Solemnization ofMatrimony_. She began to read.
"_I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful dayof judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed . . ._"
How tremendously solemn and searching it sounded! She never rememberedbeing struck with the awfulness of matrimony when she had solight-heartedly attended the weddings of her girl friends. Herprincipal recollection was of small, white-surpliced choir-boys shrillysinging "The Voice that breathed o'er Eden," and then, for a briefspace, of a confused murmur of responsive voices, the clergyman and thebride and bridegroom dividing the honours fairly evenly between them,while the congregation rustled their wedding garments as they cranedforward in their efforts to obtain a good view of the bride.
Followed the withdrawal into the vestry for the signing of theregister, when everybody seemed to be kissing everybody else withconsiderable lack of discrimination. Finally, to the inspiritingstrains of Mendelssohn--who evidently saw nothing sad or sorrowful in awedding, but only joy and triumph and the completing of life--the wholecompany, bride and bridegroom, relatives and guests, trooped down theaisle and dwindled away in cars and carriages, to meet once more, likean incoming tide, at the house of the bride's parents.
But this! . . . This solemn "_I charge ye both . . ._"--Nan readon--"_If either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfullyjoined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it_."
There would certainly be an impediment in her own case, since the bridewas in love with someone other than the bridegroom. Only, in thestrange world we live in, that is not regarded in the light of a"lawful" impediment, so she wouldn't need to confess it--at least, notto anyone except Roger, and her sense of fair play had already impelledher to do that.
Her eyes flew along the words of the service, skimming hastily over thetender beauty of the vows the man and woman give each other. For theyare only beautiful if love informs them. To Nan they were ratherterrifying with their suggestion of irrevocability.
"_So long as ye both shall live . . ._"
Why, she and Roger were young enough to anticipate thirty or fortyyears together! Thirty or forty years--before death came and releasedthem from each other.
"_Then shall the priest join their right hands together and say, Thosewhom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder._"
Nan stretched out a slender right hand and regarded it curiously. Sometime to-morrow--at about half-past twelve, she supposed--the priestwould join the hands of Penelope and Ralph and henceforth there wouldbe no sundering "till death did them part."
Driven by circumstances, she had not stopped to consider the possibleduration of marriage when she pledged her w
ord to Roger, and during thetime which had elapsed since she left Mallow the vision of the Rogerwho had sometimes jarred upon her, irritating her by his narrowedoutlook and his lack of perception, had inevitably faded considerably,as the memory of temperamental irritations is apt to do as soon asabsence has secured relief from them.
Latterly, Nan had been feeling quite affectionately disposed towardshim--he was really rather a dear in some ways! And she had accepted aninvitation to spend part of the winter at Trenby Hall.
The Seymours had planned to go abroad for several months and, sincePenelope would be married and on tour, it had seemed a very naturalsolution of matters. So that when Lady Gertrude's ratherstiffly-worded letter of invitation had arrived, Nan accepted it,determining in her own mind that, during the visit, she would try toovercome her mother-in-law's dislike to her. The knowledge of how muchRoger loved her and of how little she was really able to give him inreturn, made her feel that it was only playing the game to please himin any way she could. And she recognised that to a man of Roger'sideas, the fact that his wife and mother were on good terms with oneanother would be a source of very definite satisfaction.
But now, as she re-read the solemn phrase: _So long as ye both shalllive_, she was seized with panic. To be married for ten, twenty, fortyyears, perhaps, with never the hand of happy chance--the wonderful,enthralling "might be" of life--to help her to endure it! With alittle stifled cry she sprang up and began pacing the roomrestlessly--up and down, up and down, her slim hands clenching andunclenching as she walked.
Presently--she could, not have told whether it was five minutes or fivehours later--she heard the click of a latch-key in the lock. At thesound, the imperative need for self-control rushed over her. Penelope,of all people, must never know--never guess that she wasn't happy inher engagement to Roger. She didn't intend to spoil Penny's ownhappiness by the faintest cloud of worry on her account.
She snatched up the prayer-book she had let fall and switching off thelights, dropped down on the hearthrug just as Penelope came in, freshand glowing, from her walk.
"All in the dark?" she queried as she entered. "You look like a kittencurled up by the fire." She stooped and kissed Nan with unwontedtenderness. Then she turned up the lights and drew the curtains acrossthe window, shutting out the grey October twilight.
"Penny," said Nan, fingering the prayer-book, "have you ever read themarriage service?"
Penelope's face lightened with a sudden radiance.
"Yes, isn't it beautiful?"
Nan stared at her.
"Beautiful?" She gave an odd little laugh. "It sounds to me much morelike a commination service. Doesn't it frighten you?"
"Not a bit." Penelope's serenely happy eyes confirmed her quick denial.
"Well"--Nan regarded her contemplatively--"it rubs in all the dreadfulthings that may happen to you--like ill-health, and poverty, and 'forworse'--whatever that may mean--and dins into your ears the fact thatnothing but death can release you."
"You're looking at the wrong side of it, Nan. It seems to me to showjust exactly _how much_ a husband and wife may be to each other, andhow--together--they can face all the ills that flesh is heir to."
"Reminds one of a visit to the dentist--you can screw your courage upmore easily if someone goes with you," remarked Nan grimly.
"You're simply determined to look on the ugly side of things,"protested Penelope.
"And yet, Penny dear, at one time you used to scold me for being tooidealistic in my notions!"
But Penelope declined to shift from her present standpoint.
"And now you're expecting so little that, when your turn comes, you'llbe beautifully disappointed," she remarked as she left the room inorder to finish some odds and ends of packing.
* * * * * *
In her capacity of sole bridesmaid Nan followed Penelope's tall,white-clad figure up the aisle. Each step they made was taking herfriend further away from her--nearer to the man whom the next half-hourwould make her husband. With a swift leap of the imagination, shevisioned herself in Penelope's place, leaning on Lord St. John'sarm--and the man who waited for her at the chancel steps was Roger!She swayed a moment, then by an immense effort forced herself back tothe reality of things, following steadily once more in the wake of heruncle and Penelope.
There seemed to her something dream-like in their slow progression.The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of flowers, a sea of blurredfaces loomed up at her from the pews on either side, and the young,sweet voices of the choristers soared high above the organ. She stolea glance at her uncle. He looked frailer than usual, she thought, witha sudden pang of apprehension; perhaps the heat of the summer had toldupon him a little. Then her gaze ran on to where the bridegroom stood,the tall altar-lights flickering behind him, his face turned towardsthe body of the church, and his eyes, very bright and steady, restingon Penelope as she approached.
He stepped forward quickly as she neared the chancel and Nan saw that asmile passed between them as he took his place beside her. A feelingof reassurance crept over her, quieting the sense of almost breathlesspanic which had for a moment overwhelmed her when she had picturedherself in Penny's place. There was dear old Ralph, looking quiteordinary and matter-of-fact, only rather sprucer than usual in hisbrand-new wedding garments. The feeling of reassurance deepened.Marriage wasn't so appalling. Good heavens! Dozens of people weremarried every day and she was quite sure they were not all wildly inlove with each other.
Then the service commenced and the soft rise and fall of responsivevoices murmured through the church a little space. . . .
It was over very quickly--Nan almost gasped to find how astonishinglyshort a time it takes to settle one of the biggest things in life. Ina few minutes the scented dimness of the church was exchanged for thepale gold of the autumn sunlight, the hush of prayer for the throb ofwaiting cars.
Later still, when the afternoon was spent, came the last handshakingsand kisses. A rising chorus of good wishes, a dust of confetti, theclosing of a door, and then the purr of a car as Penelope and Ralph,were borne away on the first stage of that new, untried life into whichthey were adventuring together.
Nan's face wore a queer look of strain as she turned back into thehouse. Once more the shadow of the future had fallen across her--theshadow of her marriage with Roger Trenby.
"My dear"--she looked up to meet Lord St. John's kindly gaze. "Mydear, come into the dining-room. A glass of champagne is what youwant. You're overdone."
He poured it out and mechanically Nan lifted it to her lips, then setit down on the table, untasted, with a hand that shook.
"I don't want it," she said. Then, unevenly: "Uncle, I can't--I can'tever marry--"
"Drink this," insisted St. John. He held out the champagne once more,quietly ignoring her stumbling utterance.
Nan pushed the glass aside. The whole of her misery was on the tip ofher tongue.
"Listen Uncle David--you must listen!" she began rather wildly. "Idon't care for Ro--"
"No, my dear. Tell me nothing." He checked the impending confessionhastily. He guessed that it had some hearing upon her marriage withTrenby. If so, it would be better left unsaid. Just now she was tiredand unstrung; later, she might regret her impulsive confidence. Hewanted to save her from that.
"Don't tell me anything. What's done is done." He paused, then added:"Don't forget, Nan, a Davenant's word is his bond--always."
She responded to the demand in his voice as a thoroughbred answers tothe touch of the whip. The champagne glass trembled a little in herfingers, as she took it from him, and clicked against her teeth. Sheswallowed the wine and replaced the glass on the table.
"Thank you," she said quietly. But it wasn't the wine for which shethanked him. She knew, just as he had known, that she had been on theverge of utter break-down. Her nerves, on edge throughout the wholemarriage ceremony she had just witnessed, had almost given way beneaththe strain, un
dermining the courage with which she had hitherto facedthe future.
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