CHAPTER XIII.
Mrs. Fielden came to Stowel for the funeral, and did not return toLondon again. She went to pay some visits, I believe, and afterwardsshe will go to Scotland to stay with the Melfords, as she always doesin August. It was a very quiet summer. Anthony went to Ireland tofish, and Major Jacobs went with him instead of me: Anthony and I usedto take the fishing together. Even Frances Taylor went north to staywith Mrs. Macdonald, and the Reading Society postponed its futuremeetings till the winter should come again.
Undoubtedly Kate Jamieson's wedding was a stirring event in a very dulltime. The festivities connected with it were carried out with theJamiesons' usual energy and lavishness. It is possible to be lavish onfive hundred a year. That is one of the pleasing things thatkind-hearted people like the Jamiesons can prove. No one was omittedin the list of invitations to the reception which was held on the lawnin front of the house. And there the whole of the Jamiesons' widecircle of friends was gathered together, forming an assembly whichsurely only the censorious mind could find fault with. Therefreshments, these good Jamiesons informed us, with their ingenuousinterest in discussing detail, were prepared by Margaret, and Katecontributed to the payment of their ingredients from her small savings.The group of bride and bridesmaids, which was photographed at the frontdoor, each wearing an expression of acute distress upon her face, wasGeorge's own idea, and was nobly paid for by him.
It was announced at the wedding-feast--although it had been whisperedfor a long time--that there was soon to be another break in theJamieson family. We all instantly prepared a smile of congratulationfor Maud, and some disappointment was felt when it was discovered thatthe remark applied to Mrs. Jamieson's youngest son, Kennie. The Piratehad for some time been informing his friends that the Wild West was"calling to him," and that he had the "go fever," and that "once he hadknown the perfect freedom of life out there" it was impossible tosettle down to the conventionalities of English society again. ThePirate had obtained a post as purser on one of the ships of the companyto which he belonged, and he appeared at the wedding-breakfast in asuit of white ducks, a gold-laced cap, and the famous cummerbund. Ihave a strong suspicion that he had a revolver concealed in amysterious pocket, from the way his hand, in moments of excitement,occasionally moved towards it; but fortunately the wedding-party was ofso peaceful a description that it was not necessary to produce theweapon.
Since the exciting news of Kennie's proposed departure for Buenos AyresMettie has developed nerves and hysteria. But so limited is the powerof imagination or discrimination in the human mind, that I musthonestly confess that I never once connected her indisposition and lowspirits with the news of her cousin's departure. Mettie has added to acertain helplessness which always distinguishes her a tendency totears, and to sitting alone in her bedroom and sniffing dolorously; thebig thin nose requires constant attention, and there are red rims roundpoor Mettie's eyes. The Jamiesons, who trace every variation in lifeto a love affair, are not long of course in coming to the right and thesentimental--nay, from the Jamieson point of view, the only reasonableexplanation of this change in their little cousin. But Mettie hasentreated them to say nothing, and to let her suffer in silence, andthey are too loyal to betray her interesting confidences. Kenniehimself is, I believe, still unaware of the interest he is exciting inMettie's gentle breast, but doubtless the little woman's extremetimidity and her clinging disposition appeal in no small measure to theDefender of the Sex. Mettie raises meek, adoring eyes to the Pirate'sruddy face, under the gold-laced cap, and murmurs with clasped hands:"You will never come back to us--I know it, I feel it! You will bemurdered by some gang of cut-throats, and then what will I--I mean yourmother, do?" The Pirate plumes himself and struts, and the dangersthat his little cousin has so powerfully depicted for him make hisyoung heart swell.
The village church was quite full of spectators and friends; nearly allour acquaintances in the village wore new gowns--or apparently newgowns--for the wedding. Mrs. Lovekin, in a black-cloth mantle withbead-trimming, showed guests into their pews, and directed the childrenat the doorway into giving a ringing cheer as the bride drove up to thechurch. It was whispered by a wag that Mrs. Lovekin would like to dona surplice and officiate at the interesting ceremony herself. Therewas a party in white cotton gloves, who banged doors and shouted "Driveon!" and it was hard to realize that this was the Jamiesons' odd manand gardener, transformed for the occasion. He wore a large whiteribbon rosette in his button-hole, and all the morning he had been busyerecting an archway over the gate at Belmont with Union Jacks displayedthereon, out of consideration, as he explained, to the late CaptainJamieson, he being military. The Miss Traceys were resplendent inbrown dresses and profuse lace neckties, securely anchored to theirchests by massive brooches; the dresses were afterwards mentioned in anaccount of the wedding in the local paper, and it was cut out andcarefully kept by the Miss Traceys, who pasted the interesting news ina small album for news-cuttings which they bought for the purpose.
At the Jamiesons' little house there was, I understand, a wild state ofconfusion and energy from a very early hour in the morning, andlooking-glasses and hand-mirrors were in great demand. The centre ofinterest there, it seems, was Kate's bedroom, where the whole of TheFamily congregated to give Kate a last kiss before the veil was put on,and to wish her happiness again and again. George, who throughout theentire proceedings made a laudable attempt to appear calm, at last toldhis sister that it really was time to start, and the carriage rolleddown the hill, and Kate Jamieson alighted from it, and walked up theaisle of the old church leaning upon her brother's arm. Eliza Jamiesonwas busy with a note-book the whole time, and almost one seemed tobegin to see the wedding through her journalistic eyes.
Our curate's wife, who is still far from strong, asked Palestrina tolook after Peggy, who expressed a wish to see the wedding, and I wasinterested to find how many little games Peggy had invented for herselfby way of getting through the tedium of a service--games which, Iimagine, she had been preparing during the many services which acurate's little girl is supposed to attend.
"If you press your eyes to the back of your head as far as you can,"she whispered to me, "you can see green and red and blue spots, andthen open them and you can see green and red and blue spots roundfather." And again: "I can say, 'We beseech Thee!' seven times overwhile the choir are singing it, if we have Jackson's _Te Deum_." Andthen: "Do you know what Georgie and I do, when we are sent to churchalone? We hide in the pew until no one thinks we are there, and thenwe pop up in the middle of the service and begin to say the responses.When we sit with the Sunday-school children we play at 'My husband andyour husband,' and then we each choose in turn which husband we'll havein the congregation. You see, the first man who comes in is to be thefirst child's husband, and the second the second child's, that's how wemanage; last Sunday I got the baker's boy."
Mr. Swinnerton was at the wedding, somewhat inclined to beconsequential, as usual; but as he devoted his whole attention toMargaret, one could not but feel that his presence was acceptable. (Weare on the tip-toe of expectation to know when Mr. Swinnerton will"come to the point.") Margaret Jamieson looked after the needs of theHigginses' relations, and attended to the wants of all the humbler ofthe guests.
There was still another element of interest in the marriage-party inthe person of Mr. Evans, who ran down from Hampstead for it. "If Mr.Evans comes," Maud said, with the characteristic fine common sense ofthe Jamiesons, "I want you all to understand that it is all quite overbetween him and me. But what I have always thought about Mr. Evans isthis--that he is the sort of man who would like The Family, and I donot see why he should not take a fancy to one of the other members ofit. I am quite sure his affection for me was based upon mysuitability. He often told me, for instance, that he would like a wifewho had been brought up to do things for herself, and could manage on asmall income and dress cheaply, and I am sure we can all do that. Andafter all, if that is so, one of us is as suit
able as another. He hadvery definite ideas about a wife; but I couldn't help feeling all thetime that it was some one like ourselves that he had in his mind. Heseemed to have a great dread of any one who was too smart; and I saidto him at the time--for of course we both talked about our families agood deal, as one does in the first stages--that we were all veryhomely sort of people. I could always put myself in the background ifhe seemed, for instance, to take a fancy to Gracie. And Gracie herselfhas often said that she thinks she would like a man to wear a whitewatered-silk waistcoat."
Gracie looked quite pleased with the arrangement, and Mr. Evans wasasked down "as a friend." And I should here like to record--only ofcourse it is going too far ahead--that before the summer was over, Mr.Evans, charmed with The Family, as Maud felt he would be, and convincedof their suitability, had chosen Gracie from amongst the remaining MissJamiesons who were still at the disposal of those who seek a wife.Gracie's energy charmed Mr. Evans. He often said afterwards that hebelieved he had got the pick of the basket after all.
It was quite evident to me, and I believe to most of the Jamiesons'guests, that one of the mysteries, so dear to the hearts of Stowel, wasin preparation for the wedding afternoon. Not even my sister and I hadbeen initiated into the secret; but Mrs. Jamieson, it must beconfessed, took away from the shock of surprise which might have beenours, by referring during the whole afternoon to the entertainmentwhich was to take place later. The Jamiesons had decided that thelawn, newly mown, was to be suddenly cleared of trestle-tables andgarden-chairs, and that a small band of musicians was to spring upunexpectedly out of the ground, as it were, and that every one was toknow suddenly that they were in the midst of an impromptu dance. NowMrs. Jamieson, nervously expectant, and half fearing from the detachedmanners of her daughters (so well did the Miss Jamiesons simulate theirignorance of what was before them) that they must indeed have forgottenabout the dance, interrupted every conversation by creeping up to themin her melancholy, quiet way, and saying, "Shall I get them to clearaway now?"
"It's to be impromptu, mamma," entreated the Miss Jamiesons in agitatedwhispers. It had been decided between them that Gracie, as theyoungest of the party, should exclaim suddenly, as if by some happyinspiration, "I vote we dance;" and that then in a perfectly easy andnatural manner guests and entertainers alike should, with the utmostfriendliness, help to push back the tables and chairs into the lilacbushes, and that then the musicians should be hastily summoned from thekitchen, where they were to have tea. Before that time arrived theunfortunate Mrs. Jamieson had, as one might say, almost skimmed thecream off the whole thing. Her nervousness would not allow her torest, and in the end she had established the musicians in the threechairs so artlessly prepared for them under the chestnut-tree; andthere they were with fiddle and concertina long before Gracie had foundan opportunity for making her impromptu suggestion. Their suddenappearance, one could not but feel, detracted from the unpreparedeffect that had been intended, and they stood waiting to begin withquite a forlorn appearance until the Pirate, for whom the arrival ofthe hour means the arrival of the man (if the Pirate is anywhereabout), called out in his loud tones, "Strike up, you fellows, and letus have a dance!" and the very next moment the white drill suit and thegold-laced cap of Kennie might have been seen in the middle of thelawn. He gallantly seized Mettie round the waist and scattered theguests by the onslaught and the fierce charge he made upon them, andsoon had cleared a space in which he footed it gaily. The Higginses,who had been rather shy during the reception, hastened to findpartners, and warmed to the occasion at once. Young Abel Higgins, thehandsome young farmer from Dorming, said it was the pleasantestentertainment he had ever been at. "There is no cliquism about it," heremarked. "You just say to a girl, 'Will you dance?' and up she comes;it doesn't matter if she's a lord's daughter!"
Mr. Swinnerton devoted much of his attention and his conversation to meduring the afternoon. He discussed what he calls "military matters" atgreat length, pointing out the mistakes of every general in SouthAfrica, at the same time clearly stating what Mr. Swinnerton would havedone under similar circumstances, and lamenting the inefficiency of theWar Office. Later in the afternoon, however, when he found me where,as I hoped, I had effectually concealed myself behind a laurel bush,Mr. Swinnerton plunged heavily into the question of marriage; and this,as Maud would say, was surely a very hopeful sign. I was disappointed,however, to find that his views regarding the happy state of matrimonyseemed to have been made almost entirely from one point of view, andthat point of view himself.
"Don't you think," he began ponderously, as he seated himself beside meafter the rather heavy fatigue of dancing on a lawn to the strains of aband that did not keep scrupulous time--"don't you think that a manought to see a girl in her own home before he makes up his mind?"
I dissented on the plea of over-cautiousness, but Mr. Swinnerton didnot hear me.
"What I think," he went on, "is that marriage is a serious undertakingfor a man, and that one ought to be very sure of one's own mind."
I admitted the seriousness of matrimony, but thought it applied equallyto the woman.
This remark also seemed to escape Mr. Swinnerton's attention. Indeed,I found that what is extremely irritating about this fellow is that hismind never diverges from his own topic; he seems quite incapable ofexcursions into the thoughts and feelings of the persons he addresses,but plods steadily on his own path, pleased to give his own views, andquite unaffected by the differences of opinion that are offered him.There is a legend of my childhood that records that a man once said,"It is bitt----" and then went to sleep for a thousand years, and whenhe woke up he said, "--erly cold." I am often reminded of this storywhen I listen to Mr. Swinnerton's plodding conversation.
"What I feel is," he went on--and one knew that no fatigue on the partof the listener would be noticed by him--"what I feel is, that the manbeing the head of the woman he should always choose some one who isdocile and good-tempered, and perhaps above all things a good cook.That's the very first thing I would teach a woman--to be a good cook.It's so important for a man to have his meals really nice and nicelyserved. Don't you agree with me?"
"It is very important," I said.
"I am so glad you agree with me." Mr. Swinnerton occasionally remarkson an agreeable clause in one's conversation, whereas a disagreementnever even penetrates his mind. "Of course, you fellows with your messand all that can scarcely realize how necessary it is that a man's wifeshould be a good cook. And then she ought to be thoroughlydomesticated," went on Mr. Swinnerton's heavy voice; "a woman shouldnot always be wanting to go out in the evening. What I feel is thatthe home should constitute the woman's happiness."
"And cooking?" I said.
"Yes, and cooking," said Mr. Swinnerton. "I do not want my wife tohave any money; I had much rather she had to come to me for things. Iam not greedy about money. I am comfortably off, but I think a manshould have entire control of the purse. One could knock off anyexpenditure on a wife's dress, if that is the case. Ladies like a newbonnet, and I should always give my wife a new bonnet if things hadbeen nice."
I remarked that Mr. Swinnerton was very generous.
"I know I am generous. Of course, a man gives up a great deal when hemarries, but I do not know that in the matter of expense it would costme more to keep a small house than to pay for lodgings."
"It depends," I said, "what wages you give your wife. An occasionalnew bonnet would not be an extravagant salary, if she turned out to bea really good cook."
For the first time Mr. Swinnerton seemed struck by the wisdom of myremarks. "No, it would not," he said; "it would not. I know that Iwould make a good husband," he remarked; "and I feel that I have afuture before me in the volunteers."
Margaret joined us at this moment, and Swinnerton smiled indulgently ather, without offering, however, to give her his seat. I do not thinkthat Margaret noticed this, as she did not notice any omission on Mr.Swinnerton's part.
"I hope you
are not very tired," she said. "Your journey from Londonand then this little dance must be very fatiguing, I am afraid."
"Men don't get tired," said Mr. Swinnerton grandiosely, and he lookedtowards me for applause. He did not, however, ask her to dance, andMargaret moved away to attend to other guests.
"She's a very nice-looking girl," said Mr. Swinnerton approvingly, "anda well-brought-up girl, too."
So I suppose it is still hopeful, as the Jamiesons would say. But Ipray that Margaret Jamieson will remove Mr. Swinnerton hence when shehas married him.
Kate and Mr. Ward drove to the station in the best landau and pair ofhorses from Stowel Inn. Mr. Ward was so upset from first to last bythe ceremonies and the heat that his conical-shaped head, covered withthe dew of nervous perspiration, steamed like a kettle; but hisaffection for his bride and his evident delight and pride in her wereundeniable, and although resenting in his mild way the stinging showerof rice with which he was pelted, and the usual facetious jokes thatwere made on the bride and bridegroom, Mr. Ward nevertheless beamedwith good-nature all the time.
Palestrina made me laugh when she came home in the evening. She hadbeen down to the village to see the Pettifers and to show them herwedding finery, as she promised to do; for Mrs. Pettifer is ill in bedagain, and was unable to stand at the church door with the rest of thecrowd to see the wedding-party. My sister found the old lady weepingbitterly, and for a long time she could not guess the cause of herdistress, until at last a remark of her husband's explained it. "Shedo take on like that tur'ble queer," he said, "as soon as ever thewedding-bells ring after a marriage is over."
"Yes," said Mrs. Pettifer; "I always say to myself, 'She's got him, andhe ain't disappointed her after all.'"
Kennie sailed for Buenos Ayres the day after the wedding, and Mettiewalked over to see us, being sent on some errand, I have no doubt,wherein she would be more usefully employed than in getting into theway of the staff of workers who were clearing up after yesterday'sfestivities. Mettie brought over Mrs. Ward's first telegram receivedthat morning from Dover, and said it was too funny to think of Katebeing Mrs. Ward. "Kate Ward," she said with one of her curious littlechirruping laughs, "Kate Ward--do look at it!" And we dutifullyreplied that it certainly seemed the height of drollery.
Palestrina is not perfectly just to me when Mettie comes to call. Shealways remembers something important which she has until this momentforgotten, and with apologies to Mettie she flies off to see to it, andI am left with our caller. And then the marriage question is in fullswing before one can prevent it. Mettie says she would never, neverallow a man to know that she cared for him, and that no nice girlwould. Did I think that if a girl never gave any evidence of her love,and died, it would be a very pitiful end? And of course I said thatthe pathos of the thing would strike one directly.
"After death," said Mettie, "she might still be his good angel. It isvery strange," she said, "to think of becoming a being with wings. Doyou know I often wonder what those wings can be like, and I cannotimagine them made of anything but white ostrich feathers, which I mustsay would look very pretty.... I am sure it is a brave thing to partand say nothing, but do you think that one might write?"
It was only then, at that precise moment, that I in any way connectedMettie's remarks with the thought of the Pirate Boy, now a purser inthe ---- Line.
"My dear Mettie," I said, "I should certainly write to him--writeoften, write affectionately, send him your photograph, work him ahousewife for his cabin, carve him a frame for your photograph. I amdelighted----"
"Oh! but nothing is settled yet," simpered Mettie.
It has sometimes struck me since, although one generally denies thesuggestion, that the first sentiment of love-making may emanate fromthe woman's mind. But probably the Pirate will never know that it wasnot his own idea that he should fall in love with Mettie.
This evening I was looking over a lot of old letters, such as ourfathers and mothers used to keep, put away in drawers with bits ofribbon tied round them in the days when there was more time for thatsort of thing than there is now. And I came across the followingletter, written in ink that has grown rather faded, and dated 1845. Itdescribes a wedding, and I have saved it from a number of other letterswhich I have destroyed, to stick it into my diary as an appropriatesort of ending to my entries for to-day. The letter is a genuine one,and I have the original of it beside me now.
"MY DEAREST AUNT,
"You wished to hear all about our doings on Thursday. Though I daresay you have heard many editions of the affairs of that day, I take theearliest opportunity of relating to you, as I promised, my version ofit, though how often was it wished that dear aunt and uncle hadthemselves been present to illuminate the picture. We all assembled ata quarter-past ten o'clock. The married ladies (and gentlemen, whetherthey were in that happy state or not) remained in the drawing-roomtill, at a given signal, the bride descended, followed by herbridesmaids--first Emily and myself, then Anne and Jane Schofield, thenAnna and Eliza Schofield. The four first were in pink, the two last inblue. After talking over matters a little, we entered our respectivecarriages, mamma going in the first carriage, and papa and Marybringing up the rear. We went through the ceremony very well. Maryresponded in a perfectly clear and audible voice; but once the worthybride-groom faltered, and as I stood next to him could perceive he wassomewhat agitated. The ceremony of kissing being finished, we returnedfrom church, when numerous and costly presents were exhibited to theeyes, and amongst them none more beautiful than my dear uncle andaunt's. But, by way of parenthesis, mamma wishes me to ask you, asMary has two silver canisters, whether you would have any objection tochange the kind and elegant expression of your feeling for Mary into asilver waiter. Knowing your kindness, we sent it by Uncle Kershaw.Now to proceed. We descended to breakfast--a most important business,which occupied us a considerable time--in the middle of which UncleAinsworth produced a bunch of grapes, and signified his intention ofdrinking Mary Schofield's health in the red juice of the grape. Heimmediately expressed the juice and suited the action to the word.Robert Arncliffe made a beautiful speech--quite a gem. We thenproceeded to dress the bride in travelling attire. Then came thedreadful moment of parting. Mamma and papa got over it mostwonderfully; suffice it to say our sisters' tears flowed most copiouslyon that day. After her departure, we took a drive to restore us tothat harmony of spirits so desirable when persons are the entertainersof others. We drove through Hyde Park and Regent's Park in procession,and stopped to walk in the Zoological Gardens, coveting the society ofthe brute creation as well as the rational. We then returned todinner, which was at seven, when, to our indescribable horror, oncalling over the names of certain young ladies, we discovered theirtoilet was not complete when dinner was announced. After a smalldelay, however, the offenders appeared, and the business of dinner wascommenced with astonishing vigour. There is no occasion to describe toyou the manners and customs of a dinner-table, as a sameness mustnaturally pervade all such employments. We ladies at length signifiedour intention of leaving the gentlemen masters of the field, and UncleJesse came out with us and went to bed. We proceeded to enjoy a smallquadrille, till I suppose the sound of feet called the other portion ofthe community from below. After tea and a little display of musicalpowers, we had another quadrille; but this did not occur till Emily wasgone. We finally separated at half-past eleven. We have heard twiceor three times from the newly-married people. They are in Bath to-day.Will you excuse, my dear aunt, this dreadful scrawl, but I have had somany notes to write, added to which I have sprained my right arm, whichis now pleading to be spared any further exertions. Hoping that dearuncle and yourself, as well as dear Sarah, are well, and again beggingto be excused this unconnected epistle, With united love to all,Believe me,
"Your very affectionate niece, "MARGARET M. NAYLOR.
"MECKLENBURGH SQUARE, _August_ 1845."
A Lame Dog's Diary Page 13
