“Jane?” said Lady Cranstoun faintly, but to Peregrine’s sharp ears she sounded quite as much pleased as surprised.
“God bless my soul!” exclaimed poor Sir Magnus, totally unprepared. “Aren’t you making a mistake? I thought you wanted to marry Love?”
“No, sir, that was the mistake,” said John, gaining courage from the feel of Jane’s hand as it found and clasped his. “Jane and I—Jane and I—” he broke off, not knowing how to continue without blurting out a great many things that were better left unsaid.
“It’s all right, Father. My heart isn’t even cracked,” Love broke in gaily. “Our engagement was just a joke, wasn’t it, John? This is the real affair, so wish them luck and don’t look as if you were in the dentist’s waiting-room.”
“Magdalen, I do not care for your idea of humour,” said Sir Magnus stiffly. “Well, Marsh—er—John—this has come as a complete surprise to my wife and me, and you must forgive us if we seem more astonished than delighted. There seems to have been a good deal of confusion about these engagements altogether. At the same time, if Jane really wants to marry you—”
“Oh, I do, Father!” said Jane.
“Then I can only wish you both joy. Helen, my dear—” said Sir Magnus, stepping back as if to leave the platform to the next speaker.
Lady Cranstoun said:—“Bless you, my silly children!” and kissed them both.
“Loud cheers, showers of blessings, and curtain with wedding-bells heard faintly in the distance,” Maggie ended up for them, filling in an embarrassed pause.
“How about some sherry to drink the health of the happy pair?”
“Of course,” said his mother. “Ring the bell for Gunn, Love dear—”
“No need. Here she is,” said Love, as the ubiquitous Gunn made a beaming entry behind a tray on which were ranged, not the sherry decanter, but champagne glasses and a large, comely bottle topped with gold foil.
“My best Heidsieck,” murmured Sir Magnus resignedly, but no one heard him for they had all burst into laughter.
“Gunn, you naughty old girl!” cried Maggie, seizing her by her ample waist. “Listening again!”
“Now, Mr. Maggie, you leave me alone, sir, or I’ll drop the tray,” said Gunn, beaming. She set her burden on a table, stood back, and addressed Sir Magnus. “As it is such a special occasion, sir, I thought you and her ladyship would wish champagne rather than sherry,” and her stern eye dared him to disapprove.
“Quite right, Gunn,” he said feebly.
“Mr. MacKenzie, sir, making a late turn of the garden, brought the glad news to the servants’ hall,” Gunn continued, holding the centre of the stage. “And I would wish, sir, on behalf of Mrs. Sword, myself, and the rest of the indoor staff, to hope that Miss Jane and Mr. John will enjoy long life and happiness.”
“Oh, thank you. Gunn!” said Jane and newly-restored fiancé in happy duet.
Sir Magnus sighed. “You’d better open a bottle of port for the servants’ hall, Gunn,” he said and, as if she had been waiting tor these words, Gunn said: “Very good, sir,” and melted away.
“Health and happiness!” said everyone after the cork had flown from the bottle with a most satisfactory pop! and glasses, filled with golden, whispering wine, were raised on high.
“What a good thing,” said Love, pensively, lifting dove-like eyes to Peregrine’s face between lady-like small sips. “What a very good thing that it isn’t perry, Sherry. I mean, sherry, Perry. I’ll never dare to drink sherry again—or at least,” she added thoughtfully, “not for a long, long time!”
Chapter Twelve
WEDDING RECEPTION
The three bridesmaids, free for the moment, made a little patch of rich colour in a dark corner of the hall, where an escort, composed of the best man, the ushers, and several of John Marsh’s brother-officers who had come from Rosyth to form an arch of swords outside the church and generally add to the spectacular value of the scene, plied them with refreshment and conversation.
“I have quite made up my mind,” said Violet, “that my wedding is to be a very quiet one.”
“I thought you were going to be a nurse, Vi?” said Maggie, who leaned against the banisters beside her. “And those magazine stories where the pretty nurse marries the doctor are quite untrue, so don’t let your hopes soar too high.”
“I’ve decided that my health would break down if I took up nursing,” said Violet solemnly. “And health is the most precious possession one can have. I am going to marry a bad man and reform him.”
“First catch your bad man,” suggested Love.
Maggie, who noticed that Violet’s eyes were following the progress of the best man through the gay crowd of wedding-guests towards them, a splendid figure in frock-coat, epaulettes dripping fringes of gold lace, and gold buttons, said brutally. “You can take your mind off him. He’s a respectable married man with three little children.”
Violet’s steady gaze never wavered. “I hope he’s remembered to bring me an ice and some more wedding-cake as well as sandwiches,” she murmured hopefully, and Maggie burst into rude laughter.
“How very rude you are, Maggie,” said Violet . . . “I suppose you’re laughing at my appetite. Of course I’m hungry. You were only an usher, showing people to seats in church. A bridesmaid has a very tiring job, let me tell you, all that standing while the rest of you kneel or sit. And these dresses are heavy.”
She looked down complacently at the gown of thin supple velvet, the colour of a red rose’s heart, which lent her buxom form an unusually becoming line, and sniffed at her great bunch of violets. “We look nice, don’t we?” she asked, longing for a compliment even from Maggie.
“Yes, all three of you are considerably less hard on the eye than usual,” was all he would admit, but he looked with appreciation from her to Althea Johnston and Love. Especially Love. She glowed in her red dress like the rose itself, it set off her vivid darkness to perfection, and evidently the susceptible hearts of the naval officers had been severely smitten, for they hovered eagerly about her, hanging over her chair as if she had been a princess holding court.
“They’ll spoil the brat between them,” he thought with brotherly disapproval, but he had to remember that Love had seemed much less the spoilt child of the family during the three months which had passed between Jane’s engagement and this, her wedding-day in early December.
A thin sprinkle of snow had fallen the night before, and the whole world outside was white as the wedding-cake which Jane had cut with her husband’s sword an hour earlier. But no wedding-cake could show the aching sparkle which the many-faceted crystals of the snow threw back at the pale, wintry sun, covering the ground with a thousand rainbows of jewel-brightness for Jane to drive through on her way to Milton church.
White and silver herself, her misty veil floating about her, she looked like the Snow Queen in her chariot, but no lump of ice froze in her heart’s place. Sitting beside her father in the car, which had been decorated almost out of recognition with white satin ribbon, she had gazed her fill at the places she knew and loved—at the Greenriggs, the harsh scars of their cliffs showing dark through the snow, the trees, every branch of them down to the last twig outlined in stark beauty against the cold, pale blue of the sky, the Lily Loch, frozen over, silent as a dream. The car purred softly over the light snow, and Jane lifted her head suddenly.
“Open the window, please, Father, just for a minute,” she said. “I hear geese going over.”
“Won’t you catch cold?” asked Sir Magnus doubtfully, but he opened the window as she smiled and shook her head, and both looked out to see the familiar, long, dark wedge flying south-westward in search of open water with the sun gilding their beating wings, to hear the wild music of their crying again.
“Lovely,” said Jane, sinking back when the car turned a bend and they lost them. It added the final touch of beauty to the day for her.
Now, her veil thrown back, her train held in one hand, she was mak
ing her way with John towards the stairs. Mounting a few steps she held up her bouquet of red roses and white heather, and someone called for the bridesmaids to come and catch it.
Love and Althea and Violet, amid laughter and talk, crowded to the foot of the staircase, and “Catch!” called Jane, throwing the flowers. She looked at Love, but it was Violet Graham whose long arms seized and held them, Violet who looked about her in half-bewildered triumph until she caught sight of Maggie’s grinning face.
“You see?” she said calmly. “I told you I was to be married.”
“I believe you cheated,” retorted Maggie, but Violet could afford to ignore this impertinence. Turning from him with a bored air she clutched at the arm of a passing man and said plaintively: “I’m so hungry! Could you please find me something to eat?”
Meanwhile Love, with a last smile at Maggie, gathered her long skirt about her ankles and sped upstairs to help Jane to dress. The bride, her dark, rumpled head rising oddly above the stately gown of white and silver brocade, her wreath and veil tossed on the bed, was standing by her window reading a letter. The envelope lay on the floor, and Love, stooping to pick it up, saw the foreign stamp and large, sprawling handwriting and frowned instinctively.
“What has Kitty Mariner to say?” she asked rather indignantly. “When did this come?”
“By the afternoon post,” answered her sister absently. “Oh, Kitty wishes me joy with John, and she has fallen madly in love with a Sapper. The most charming, handsome and wealthy young man, with a wife, conveniently in England, who is, apparently, no handicap either in Kitty’s eyes or those of her new young man.”
“Revolting!” cried Love. And then, rather hesitantly: “Janey, how do you feel about Kitty? I’ve wanted to ask for a long time, but I didn’t like to. But now—now that you’re going away, I feel I must know.”
“Why? Are you afraid that John will fall for her again?”
“N-no. But I’m glad,” added Love, illogically, “that she is safely in China.”
“She is coming home in the spring,” said Jane, and laughed at the dismay which Love could not quite hide in time. “It will be all right, Love. Don’t worry. I know John’s failings by this time, and I think I cope with things.”
“But, Janey! Janey! Is that the way marriage ought to begin? Knowing your husband’s failings and being able to cope with them?” cried Love. “It sounds as if—as if you didn’t expect to be happy without a struggle.”
“Well, that’s fair enough,” said Jane philosophically. “Help me out of this, Love. I really must dress, or we’ll be late—”
And as Love started to unfasten the long row of tiny buttons which closed the gown from neck, to waist at the back, Jane went on comfortingly. “It isn’t anything like as bad as I made it sound, my pet. John and I know a great deal more about each other than in those days at Chatham, and it’s all to the good. We can’t be fooled now. We may not think each other perfect any longer, but as we aren’t, so much the better. At least we’re not living in a fool’s paradise from which we may be thrown out into the darkness of disillusionment by the first signs of feet of clay, cloven hoofs, and all the rest! Besides, John is one of those men with a very strong pride in his own possessions, which ought to help a lot. I know that he’s—well, susceptible, and I must put up with it. You see, I thought it out long ago, when you and he were engaged, and I knew then that susceptible or not, I’d rather have him than anyone else in the world. He is the only man for me.”
“What about Kitty, though?” asked Love as she slipped the wedding-dress off over Jane’s head and laid it tenderly on a chair. “That was worse than just a sort of passing flirtation, I thought.”
“Kitty? Kitty?” Jane repeated musingly. “It’s very difficult to try to explain about Kitty and me, Love. There’s something between us, some funny likeness, sympathy—I don’t know what to call it, but it pulls us together. Whatever happens we can’t dislike each other. I sometimes think it was just that resemblance that first drew John’s attention to her after Chatham. Of course she made him fall in love with her, but though I am still angry with her, and mean to make her realize quite clearly that she must keep off the grass as far as John and I are concerned, I’ll always be fond of her. Kitty! She can’t help it. When she’s an old lady without any teeth I believe she’ll ogle every man she sees, if poor, dear George has to wheel her out in a bath-chair to do it!”
“You’re not like that,” Love said quickly, defensively. “I refuse to believe it. It’s no use telling me that you and Kitty are alike.”
“Not in that, certainly, but then I haven’t her powers of attraction, and I’ll be quite content with one man,” said Jane. “There. I’m almost ready. Give me my hat, Love, like an angel, and thank you a thousand times, darling, for seeing me through. You’ve been a wonderful chief bridesmaid.”
She pulled the hat over her hair, glanced at herself in the mirror, turned again to Love. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how your plans have worked out after all, Love. You meant me to marry and you were coming to stay with me and meet lots of eligible men, weren’t you? Well, you can meet them when you honour us at Rosyth, and you’re to come as soon as we are back from our honeymoon, but I won’t answer for their eligibility!”
“Oh,” said Love. “I’m glad you think my plans haven’t altogether misfired and been idiotic, Janey. It is sweet of you to say that. But I don’t think you need bother about the—the men for me. I’ve made new plans, you see. I mean to help father with his history of the parish, and he seems rather pleased with the idea. So you see I’ll have to be at home a good deal now. Besides, I’m not sure I won’t take over the Guides. I must have something to do now you’re going away.”
“Good heavens, Love! You sound like Violet Graham! By the way. I hope she has had enough nourishment this afternoon? I thought her dress looked considerably tighter just now when she grabbed my bouquet than when I saw her first waiting in the church porch? Incidentally, I meant you to catch the bouquet.”
“I did my best,” said Love, “but Violet has a reach like a gorilla’s, and her strength is as the strength of ten because she eats more than a ploughboy. Never mind, Janey, she’s delighted, because you see she has now decided to marry a bad man and reform him. Isn’t that delicious?”
“Dear Violet,” said Jane, laughing, but affectionately. “She really is the most utter ass, but very lovable. I do hope she doesn’t ever manage to capture her bad man, for she’d simply hate him.”
Both were speaking lightly, conscious that in a very few minutes now Jane would leave her home, Miss Cranstoun of Craigrois no longer, but Mrs. John Marsh of wherever My Lords of the Admiralty chose to send her husband.
“Isn’t it queer,” babbled Love, holding to her sister’s sleeve as if to put off the parting, and talking of the first thing which occurred to her, “that you’re the one who should be going away? You always loved this place and the birds and things so much, and I meant you to marry Perry and stay here for ever, and now you’re going and I’m staying!”
“I shall come back, you know, often,” Jane said, putting her hand over Love’s, which was shaking a little. “And you’ll have to start watching the birds.”
Love sped down a passage, turned a corner, and met John coming towards her. “Jane ready?” he asked.
“Yes. She’s ready. And if you don’t look after her properly, John Marsh,” said Love ferociously, “I’ll kill you with your own sword!”
“I’ll look after her, Love, I promise you,” he said gravely. “Now let me go to her.”
The next moment Love, who had gained the hall by the backstairs, saw them come running down hand in hand, to be greeted with showers of rose-petals, hails of rice, and loud cries of “Good luck!” There was a confusion of farewells, in the course of which Jane kissed the delighted General, John kissed the withered cheek of Gunn, and Violet bestowed a similar salute on the shrinking and indignant Maggie; and then the bride and bridegroom were safely into th
e car, and it had rolled off down the dark drive, over the crisp carpet of snow, with one brilliant star shining on their departure from the depths of the dusky sky.
“It was a mistake,” Violet was haughtily assuring Maggie. “I hadn’t any intention of kissing you. And oh, Maggie, I’m so hungry!”
“Well, go and find another victim to feed you. I’m afraid of being compromised,” said Maggie. And he added to Love, as Violet prowled away in search of a more courteous or less wary cavalier: “As for a mistake, I’m not so sure. By the reforming look in her eyes I have a hideous fear that Violet has picked me for the bad man she means to marry!”
Love laughed at his comical expression of dismay, but she was feeling strangely bereft and at a loose end. Guests were beginning to leave, she was not wanted for the moment, and she wandered into the library, certain to find it quiet, for Sir Magnus, who had acquiesced in every other detail of the arrangements, had absolutely and finally refused to allow his room to be used for the wedding reception in any capacity whatever. Not a present should be displayed in it, not a hat laid there, not a guest should so much as cross its sacred threshold.
Love was correspondingly annoyed to see, when she went noiselessly in, that the room was not empty after all.
A log fire, recently made up, burned brightly with soft crackling sounds, sending rose and green and blue flames up the wide chimney, making shadows dance in dark corners of the room, gilding and reddening the sober bindings of the books which lined the walls.
“Father?” asked Love, blinking a little after the light of the rooms which she had just left.
“No. Peregrine Gilbert,” came the answer even as she realized that the figure in black coat, grey-striped trousers and button-hole, was too tall for Sir Magnus by at least four inches.
“Are you tired out? Shall I go and leave you in peace?” he added, advancing a little so that the firelight flickered over his lean, hawk-like, ugly face. “You’ve had a pretty hard day, haven’t you?”
Love Comes Home Page 25
