by Joan Smith
“I can get on to Cambridge now that you’re here,” Gabriel offered, to make amends.
“I think not, cawker.”
“If you mean because it’s Sunday . . .”
“You think I can object to that after the shenanigans you’ve been up to! You don’t seem to realize you’ve put Loo in the devil of a position—or she has put herself in one. The whole neighborhood knows she’s gone, and has a fair notion she’s with you. Your having been away overnight together gives rise to the worst possible reflections.”
“Do you mean I am compromised?” Loo asked, brightening remarkably. “Must he truly marry me now?”
Hillary observed the light in Gabriel’s eyes, the whisper of a smile playing on his lips, and the quick but hopeful glance the would-be lovers exchanged.
“I hope you mean to do the right thing by her,” he said to Gabriel.
“I will! The old weasel of a rector was hinting he’d do it for us—though why he thought it necessary when he put Loo in his daughter’s room—and it was a maiden’s chamber, behind his own and his wife’s, with no access from the hall—so he can’t think I—that is—it was all very proper, uncle.”
“Oh yes, very proper! It is a pity our neighbors aren’t aware of the propriety of the whole escapade. But this coming on top of your little candlelight dinner in Billericay the other evening is bound to set up gossip.”
“I shall wear white,” Luane said, falling into a careless rapture. “Cousin Claudia will be my bridesmaid, and you can be . . .”
“Before you dash off a note hiring St. George’s in Hanover Square, I might point out, brat, that it is to be done with the utmost dispatch, preferably before we return.”
“I haven’t a stitch with me! I can’t be married in this dusty old gown I have walked miles in!”
“Oh, lord, and my bags gone on ahead on the post,” Gabriel said, remembering his oversight of yesterday. “Couldn’t we go home and change, uncle?”
“What a pair!” Hillary shook his head in wonder, but being preoccupied with marriage himself, he was in a tender mood. “One day can make no difference. Claudia will like to be there, too. We’ll arrange with our minister to do it tomorrow then, in a quiet way. It will look better if such of the family as is in the vicinity attends, but I can’t be your best man, Loo. It will be my duty to give you away. And a relief it will be to be rid of you.”
“Jonathon can be our best man. Seems a pity he is the best man we can lay our hands on,” she said happily.
“Shouldn’t we be getting home to arrange things?” Gab asked.
“I’m starved,” Loo objected.
“Naturally,” Hillary said mildly. While awaiting their meal, he arranged for Loo’s mount to be returned to Swallowcourt, and before long the three were headed home in the curricle.
Thoreau felt he should be lecturing them the whole way, but their happy spirits infected him, and they discussed instead plans for the future. Miss Bliss would accompany them to an apartment near Cambridge while Gabriel finished his term. Sir Hillary was losing his excellent excuse to marry Claudia at once, to provide a chaperone for Luane, but was not much dismayed. He had no intention of allowing her to return to Devon to be governess to her cousins, and whipping boy to her fanatical grandmother.
Before they turned up the road to Swallowcourt, Sir Hillary stopped the curricle. “We have all spent the night at Braintree,” he announced blandly.
Loo looked to see if his mind had become deranged. She realized he had been acting oddly in permitting the marriage. “That’s what we’re to say to make it look decent,” Gabriel told her.
“And don’t forget it,” Hillary warned her. “The wedding is being performed to accede to your late aunt’s wishes. Everyone will think you do it to secure her fortune and will laud your good sense.”
“Yes, and the will was so strange that no one will be in the least surprised she made us get married,” Loo said smiling.
“Don’t count on getting the money though,” Thoreau warned.
“Good gracious, we don’t need it. I can sell my diamond, now that I’m getting married.”
“Five hundred a year is hardly an easy competence, but if you can curb your lust for red and green bonnets, it will keep the wolf from the door,” Sir Hillary said and could have said a deal more if not confined by the terms of the will.
“I am as well as graduated, and can find some work,” Gab reminded them.
They were rehearsed once more as to the imaginary manner in which they had passed the night, and then went on to Swallowcourt, to be received into the grateful arms of Miss Bliss and Miss Milmont. Jonathon and Mrs. Milmont had taken a run down to Chanely to see what they could learn there and so missed out on the arrival. They had a nice chat with Mrs. Robinson though, pumping her for information regarding the domestic arrangements of Sir Hillary, and Marcia garnered up some new ways of dispensing some of her groom’s wealth.
Chapter Seventeen
On Saturday evening, Claudia and Miss Bliss sat together in the Crimson Saloon till after midnight waiting for word from Sir Hillary. When the old clock in the hall clanged twelve, Miss Bliss suggested they might as well retire. They went to bed, but neither of them had any hope of sleeping. They both heard the captain tiptoe from his room and glide down the servants’ stairs with his boots in his hand. They also saw him, since the silly clunch lighted his way with a candle, and they both eased their doors open to make sure that it was in fact him. Mrs. Milmont slept through it all.
As soon as the candle disappeared round the bend in the stairs, Miss Bliss crept down the hall to Miss Milmont’s room. She had her hair twisted up into a loose knot and a netted shawl around her shoulders. “You know where he’s off to!” she warned.
“He’s gone to the graveyard, and there is no one to stop him. What shall we do?”
“We can’t stop him, but we can follow and be witnesses in court,” Miss Bliss announced.
“Do you mean you will come with me?” Claudia asked. “I am so glad. I was frightened to death to go alone.”
“I too disliked the thought of going alone,” Miss Bliss allowed primly, which brought an involuntary chuckle from Claudia. “We must get dressed at once. I do not plan to wear footmen’s trousers at my age. I shall wear my oldest frock and a good warm shawl. And my brogues.”
“How did you know we wore the footmen’s outfits?”
“Luane carelessly put them in the laundry. I was sorry to see them damp. I was afraid you’d both take a chill.”
They parted and within minutes were well bundled up. “I have brought a couple of tallow candles and a flint box, in case it is so dark we need them to make an identification,” Miss Bliss said.
“We should have included you in our scheme from the beginning!” Claudia declared.
“With Sir Hillary on hand, there could be no need for my services. But since he is not here, I am happy to lend a hand.”
They struck off down the road to the graveyard. Miss Bliss set a brisk pace, and before they had gone half-way, they had to slow down to avoid overtaking Jonathon.
They followed their quarry silently. “There is a short cut here, if you don’t mind to hop a stone drywall, Miss Milmont,” Miss Bliss said in a low, civil tone. “In this manner we will be there five minutes before him and can seek concealment behind a large tombstone. The monument of Alexander Coughlin is the one I have in mind. Close to Sophie’s and offers sufficient width to hide us both.”
They scuttled over the wall and wended their way through the tombstones to the spot mentioned. They were no sooner settled than Jonathon loped through the shadows, looking around him for spies. Believing himself alone, he set to work with his shovel, sharp from Sir Hillary’s honing the night before.
It took him an age to dig out the grave. “My limbs become cramped,” Miss Bliss whispered. “I’m going for a short walk—away from Sophie’s grave.” She faded silently into the night and was swallowed up by the shadows. She was gone for
about ten minutes, at the end of which time Claudia became worried.
When she returned, she said, “This is a strange business.” A sound as of metal being filed came to them, and they nodded knowingly. “Mr. Fletcher is here,” Miss Bliss went on, her voice pitched low. “He is behind Mrs. McIntyre’s monument—the large white cross there to your left. It gave me quite a turn when he spoke to me. He tells me he comes every night, not to prevent action, but only to witness it, like ourselves. He wishes us to remain that there may be three witnesses. Poor Jonathon—it must be that the one who plunders the grave is subject to reprisal. One can feel some pity for him. I would warn him, but he would only come back again, and I know Sir Hillary is anxious, too, to have it over with. Ah, there seems to be some commotion at the grave. Jonathon is hauling himself out. Has he the diamonds, I wonder?”
“Hadn’t you better light the taper so we can see?” Claudia asked.
“I shall wait for Mr. Fletcher to make his move,” she replied.
Before many seconds, Mr. Fletcher advanced from behind the white marble cross, carrying in his hands a lighted lantern. Jonathon dropped his shovel, and some garbled shriek escaped his lips.
“There—you see in the light, he has the necklace,” Miss Bliss pointed out.
In the lantern’s light, a multicolored sparkle was dimly visible, as was Mr. Fletcher’s hand, reaching out for it.
“We are to remain hidden and observe,” Miss Bliss said. “It will be more convenable for our presence to remain a secret, as we must go on living with Jonathon a while. It could not but be embarrassing for us all.”
“I feel wretched! It is so underhanded,” Claudia lamented.
“It is regrettable, but we must be guided by Mr. Fletcher, I think. There, Fletcher is leaving, and poor Jonathon’s filling in the earth. What a dreary task for him. Our task, however, is over. We may return home now.”
Noiselessly they faded away into the night, over the drywall, up the road to Swallowcourt, and finally to bed.
Their late night had one unseen advantage, in that it caused them to sleep in late the next morning, and thus avoid some part of the long, wearying day ahead of them. Sir Hillary’s continued absence allowed them to imagine every horrible reason for it. Mrs. Milmont and Jonathon, the latter not visibly changed by the activities of the preceding night, joined together in outlining Loo’s likely fate, finishing up by consigning her to a Magdalen house, where the chit belonged.
It was a long day, made longer by the degree of vigilance required to keep well away from a pursuing Jonathon, but in the afternoon he went out somewhere, and when the curricle drove up to the door later, only Miss Bliss and Miss Milmont were on hand to greet it. The latter was at the carriage before they had climbed down, running to pull Loo out and throw her arms around her. She expected to see a face ravaged by its ordeal, but Luane was bright-eyed and laughing merrily.
“You will never guess what, Claudia! I am compromised, and Gabriel must marry me.”
Claudia looked to Sir Hillary, who was in despair at his carefully arranged story being so soon exposed. “Let us go inside and explain the real story to everyone, to avoid repetitions,” he said, frowning heavily at Luane.
Loo’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I forgot. We all slept together at Braintree.”
“The sooner you forget that particular version, the better,” Hillary said with a despairing look at Miss Milmont, who knew not what to think.
“You observed it was Gabriel who must marry her,” he added to Claudia.
Mrs. Milmont was descending the staircase as they entered the house, and it was to the three ladies that Sir Hillary explained the expurgated version of the history of the past day and night, with so many side comments from Luane that he might as well have saved himself the bother of lying.
“We are going ahead with the wedding at once to avoid talk,” Sir Hillary finished up.
“What about our mourning?” Marcia demanded at once, not to spike the plan, but only to hear Sir Hillary’s views, as she was eager to get on with her own nuptials.
“It was always known Sophie wished for the match,” he replied. “It will be thought it is done to oblige her memory, and of course to secure Loo’s fortune.”
However suitable this excuse might be for the youngsters, it did nothing to palliate the shame of her own hasty union.
“When do you plan to tie the knot, Marcia?” Hillary went on to enquire. “I have not thought to offer my best wishes. I am very happy for you.”
“So kind of you to say so, but as to when . . . I do not wish to dishonor my dear sister’s memory.”
“If you mean to do it very soon, it must be a small wedding, I collect,” he replied.
‘Very soon.’ The words were music to her ears. “And not in London,” she added, for her own mind had not been entirely unemployed during the past day.
“Why not be married from Marcyhurst?” he asked. “You and Mr. Blandings could take a family party up there for a week or so and get things in progress. If we all go, there can be no hint of impropriety in it.”
‘We.’ Another word to charm her flintlike heart. “But I am presumptuous to think you mean to include me in your wedding party,” he added with a smile.
“No indeed! You must always be welcome at my home, Sir Hillary. Mr. Blandings, too, will be happy to have you. Why, you might be best man if you like.”
“Delighted!” he returned. “And the captain will give you away, I suppose, if the Guards can spare him another week. He is to be best man at Loo’s wedding, for I must give her away.”
“And you are to be my bridesmaid, Claudia,” Loo added.
“When is the wedding to be?” Claudia asked.
“Tuesday. We were to do it tomorrow,” Loo answered, “but Sir Hillary has to get a special license, and I told him we must get new gowns. And, of course, the cook must have time to prepare the feast. We mean to hold the party at Chanely.”
“Very wise,” Mrs. Milmont said. For one delightful moment she pictured herself too being wed from Sir Hillary’s home, but she didn’t think her groom would like it.
With so much to discuss, the party sat talking for an hour, till Jonathon returned and was informed of the duties devolved on him. “I’ll have to send a note off to London to get leave,” he replied. He was thrilled to have two formal occasions to sport his scarlet tunic and, with all the talk of weddings, he hoped Miss Milmont might become infected with the idea.
Sir Hillary tried vainly to get Mrs. Milmont detached from the group to speak to her in private, but her euphoria required a larger audience than one, and she was immune to his hints. At length, he had to leave to set in motion the many chores Loo’s wedding involved.
In the excitement, Claudia forgot till after he was gone that she hadn’t told him about Jonathon’s getting the diamonds.
Mr. Blandings returned in high gig at having paced out as dandy a little piece of land as he’d seen this twelve-month, and settled a mortgage at twelve per cent. He offered no demur to any plans of wee wifie, as he was already calling Marcia, and agreed to being wed from Marcyhurst. Loo and Gabriel were to go too, as a honeymoon. He went to his room and dispatched a sheet of instructions to his housekeeper for the visit.
Sir Hillary did not return that evening, for the very good reason that he had to drive to London to procure the special license for the wedding. Gabriel was left to speak to the minister, and the ladies to the harrowing but delightful task of arranging their toilettes. Luane was not at all disappointed to have to wear a gown off the rack, nor was her bridesmaid. After toiling over seams to make their own for a few years, they both thought it a rare treat. They were escorted to Maldon for the shopping by the Trump, with wee wifie to oversee the all-important selection of the wares.
Luane had received a walloping sum from Sir Hillary, and was intent on spending every penny of it, and even Claudia had such trifles as gloves, slippers, silk stockings, and a charming bonnet showered on her. She had a shr
ewd (and accurate) idea that the money, though given to her by her mama, had come from the Trump’s capacious pocket, and it bothered her not in the least. What she never for one moment suspected was that half her shopping money stayed in her mama’s moneybag.
Sir Hillary arrived from London at about the same time as the others returned from shopping in Maldon, and he went immediately to Swallowcourt. His hope of a private interview with Mrs. Milmont was thwarted on this occasion by the presence of the Trump, who dogged her heels as assiduously as the greenest suitor. He even became jealous when he noticed Sir Hillary’s attempts to engage her attention.
The party remained together throughout the evening. The girls brought down their finery to be admired; Loo asked him a million questions about her wedding feast, her main concern being whether there would be plenty of cream buns. Gabriel got his bride aside on a sofa for a quarter of an hour for a little discreet lovemaking that involved a deal of giggling, and concealed touching of fingers, and coy calling of his beloved by the title of Mrs. Tewksbury. At a fairly early hour, the gentlemen from Chanely left, for it is was, of course, traditional that the bride got to bed early on that one night when she was assured of not closing an eye before dawn.
Claudia went to her cousin’s room to wish her good-night, but in her heart she felt it was good-by. Her cousin and her mama were being married, but her own hopes, pinned on Sir Hillary’s enigmatic phrase of two days ago, had withered to dust. Twice he had been in her company, and he had neither spoken to her mother, nor to her, about his plan. Clearly Luane required no abigail now, and clearly he had decided it was unnecessary to marry her.
In a bitter mood, she mentioned that it was surprising Sir Hillary was allowing the marriage, after having prevented it for so long. But her old confederate failed her. Luane had nothing but praise for Sir Hillary. A gentle hint that Jonathon wasn’t really so bad was blasted when Claudia related the tale of his grave-digging. Even Loo didn’t think a husband destined for Newgate would be much company.
“Gab and I will have you to visit us and find a beau for you,” she promised airily, but neither girl put much credence in this offer, and it was with a heavy heart that Claudia lagged to her room to consider the old adage, “Always a bridesmaid; never a bride.” She had stood bridesmaid to another cousin the year before.
