The Marriage Machine

by Patricia Simpson

Chapter Seven

 

  “Let me go!” Elspeth commanded, yanking at the hands that held her. “I promise I won’t run. I need to go to the Ramsays.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, citizen,” snapped the guard at her right.

  She writhed. The guard’s grip burned her wrist. She could see the crowd milling around Alexander Ramsay. She pulled. The guard held fast. She gave a quick yank, but only strained her own joints. Desperate, Elspeth bent down and bit the soft flesh at the guard’s elbow while at the same time she stomped on the top of his foot with the heel of her shoe. With a yelp of pain, he released her. She lunged toward the steps that led to the crowd below.

  “Elspeth!” she heard a woman cry from the back of the room. She recognized the voice of her aunt. But she couldn’t take the time to worry about Aunt Fi or her cousin Amelie.

  Elspeth pushed through the throng to find Mark patting the face of his great-grandfather, and his mother fanning the old man with her program.

  “Grandfather,” the regal woman called. “Can you hear me? Grandfather!”

  The old man slumped in his chair, his head lolling to the side, his eyes closed, and his complexion a frightening shade of gray. His respiration was so shallow, Elspeth couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

  “Gramps!” Mark urged, his voice quaking. He smoothed back the older man’s hair at his temple. “Gramps!”

  Elspeth’s heart caught in her throat. “Sir!” she cried. “Wake up! Please, I won’t cause any more trouble. I promise.”

  Mark glanced back at her, his eyes dark and damning.

  “I’m sorry,” Elspeth exclaimed. “I’m truly sorry, Mark.”

  Without a word, Mark turned back to his great-grandfather. In that moment, Elspeth’s heart broke all the way in two.

  She didn’t care what happened to her now. She didn’t care whom she had to marry. She would do anything to make reparation for what she had just done to Mark and his family.

  Elspeth edged closer, near enough to touch the old man’s hand. “I know I’ve been headstrong, sir. I know I’ve wanted to have my way. But I just couldn’t bear to see your great-grandson getting married.” Elspeth didn’t care that everyone heard. She was beyond caring about her reputation. All she could hope was that Alexander Ramsay might hear her and return to consciousness. “I just cracked. I’m so sorry, sir.”

  Elspeth felt stares brand her from every corner of the auditorium, but the shameful glances washed over her unheeded. She thought she saw Alexander’s left eyelid flutter.

  Elspeth squeezed his gnarled fingers. “If I have to get in that machine of yours, I will. I’ll do anything it takes. Just come back to Mark. Please come back.”

  The eyelid fluttered again.

  “Gramps!” Mark exclaimed, patting the old man’s cheek. “Gramps!”

  Alexander’s watery blue eyes opened. He blinked and struggled to find Elspeth’s face. She leaned closer.

  “Shutterhouse,” he wheezed.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “You damnable interfering chit.”

  She blanched. “I won’t interfere anymore, Mr. Ramsay. The wedding can continue. I promise I’ll keep quiet. I swear I won’t make any more trouble.”

  He raised an arthritic hand and wiggled a finger. She bent close to his mouth.

  “Love him?” Alexander whispered into her ear.

  She rose up and gave a slight nod.

  The old man squinted one eye and stared up at her, panting.

  Mark took her arm, unaware of what had just been said between the old man and Elspeth. “That’s enough, Elspeth. You’re disturbing him.” He helped his great-grandfather straighten in the chair.

  She rose to her feet, encouraged that Alexander had returned to his senses, but struck numb by Mark’s cold gruffness. She backed away, which prompted the crowd to step back as well.

  “Someone, please get my grandfather a glass of water,” Mark called out.

  “Make that a sherry,” the old man gasped. “My heart is fluttering like a damn girls’.”

  A young man went running for the drink as Mark and his family restored the old man in his chair. Slowly, the audience drifted back to their seats as Citizen Davies approached the Mark Ramsay.

  “Shall we continue, Citizen Ramsay?” he asked, training his goggles on Mark’s face.

  “Yes.” Mark sank into the chair next to his great-grandfather.

  “Come, Citizen Shutterhouse,” Davies said, holding out his hand.

  Elspeth allowed herself to be led back up the stairs while a million questions swirled in her head. Why had Mark sat down with his family? Wasn’t he next in line to be married? And would he ever look at her again? She stumbled to the side of the stage, worried and perplexed, but knowing she might not get any answers before the afternoon was done—if ever. She had promised to not make any more trouble. And she would keep that promise.

  “Thanks so much!” the bride with the painted lips hissed as she walked by. “You’ve completely ruined the mood!”

  “Sorry,” Elspeth muttered. “But look at the bright side.”

  “What could possibly be bright about any of this? No one has ever had her marriage interrupted. No one!”

  “Then you’ll have some story to tell your little Ramsay brood, won’t you--about the scandal that happened on your wedding day.” She brushed past the woman. “That is, if you can remember.”

  “What do you mean—can?” The bride planted her hands on her generous hips. “I will never be able to forget this horrible bungle, no matter how hard I try. Never!”

  “Sixteen, you’re up again.” Davies put in with a tremulous smile. He motioned for the woman to come back on stage.

  She flounced off.

  Only the woman with the gloves and Elspeth were left. The other bride stood to the side and stared at her as if she were infected with a contagious disease. Elspeth sighed and stepped backward into the shadows.

  She had made a mess of everything, including her fledgling relationship with Mark Ramsay. She had almost killed his beloved great-grandfather. The least she could do was stand quietly by in the gloom and wait her turn. But one thing she couldn’t watch was Mark Ramsay being married to another woman. She turned her back and concentrated on straightening her tousled hair. She yanked down her dress where the sash had been pulled crosswise by her struggle with the guard. Then she pinched her cheeks, knowing she probably looked as deathly pale as Alexander Ramsay.

  While the quartet launched into a lively minuet, Elspeth felt the strain of the last week descend upon her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. Had it been the peaches and chicken at the Ramsay townhouse? And when had she last slept? At the townhouse as well? Swirls of blackness swam before her eyes as she stood in the wings. Her knees wobbled and her ears began to ring.

  A vague shape approached. Citizen Davies? She couldn’t tell. Everything wore a fuzzy halo. She heard the number eighteen called. It echoed over and over again, as if she stood at the end of a long tunnel. Voices and music buzzed in her ears, all jumbled together in a nauseating cacophony. A gloved hand propelled her forward. She stumbled onto the stage. There, the bright footlights blinded her, and she tripped on the hem of her dress. She plunged forward, but someone caught her and steered her toward the stairs of the Marriage Machine. And that is all she remembered of her wedding day.

  Elspeth woke up, her head on fire, and glanced around in surprise. She was on the couch in her Aunt Fi’s house, with a blanket thrown over her and a pillow under her head. Her aunt sat nearby, calmly sewing a bib for her grandson. For a moment, she wondered if everything she’d just experienced in the last week had been nothing but a bad dream. But as she threw back the blanket, something glinted in the light, and she saw a golden band encircling a finger of her left hand.

  It hadn’t been a dream. She was a married woman. But if she was married, why was she still at her aunt’s house?

  “Oh, there you are, dear,”
her aunt exclaimed, smiling at her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” Elspeth struggled to sit up. “What happened?”

  “You fainted. Hit your head.” Aunt Fi set aside her sewing and stood up. “Really, Elspeth, that was some show you put on. People are still talking about it. I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Fi.”

  “You were such an outspoken young lady.” Her aunt touched her shoulder. “I always worried about you. Thank goodness that’s all over now. You’ll discover a great sense of peace with the calmness of marriage. I promise you.”

  “You’re right, Aunt Fi. It was stupid. And nothing was gained from it.” Elspeth threw her legs over the side of the couch. “Is Citizen Ramsay okay?”

  “Do you mean the old man, Alexander?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, he revived quite well after the glass of sherry. He seems surprisingly resilient for such an old man.”

  Relief swept over Elspeth. Then her heart twisted. “And Mark Ramsay? Did he seem happy? To be married, I mean?”

  Aunt Fi shrugged. “It was hard to tell. He was quite upset with you. And then you fainted. And really, the ceremony kind of went to pieces after that.”

  “Great.” Elspeth stood up. For a moment her senses reeled. “But I did get married.”

  “Yes.” Aunt Fi took her arm to steady her. “Perhaps you should sit down, Elspeth. You don’t look well.”

  “But I do have a husband. I am married.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  Aunt Fi glanced at the door and frowned. “Your husband said he would prefer that you stay with me until you came to your senses.”

  “Oh.” That didn’t seem normal to Elspeth, but she was glad for the breach of protocol. The last thing she wanted was to try to be nice to a stranger when all she could think about was Mark and Miss Lipstick together and how depressed that made her.

  Depressed? Wait a minute. She should not be sad if she had spent the allotted time in the Marriage Machine. Something was not right.

  “Are you sure I’m married?”

  Aunt Fi nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes, dear.”

  “Who did I marry? Did you recognize him?”

  “He asked that he remain anonymous until you come to your senses.”

  “I’ve come to my senses.” Elspeth said. “I never lost my senses. That’s what everybody doesn’t understand.” She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, careful not to touch the bump on her skull, and looked over at her aunt.

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Since the wedding last night.”

  “Maybe they’re still in town then.”

  “Who, dear?”

  “The Ramsays.” She headed for the stairs. “I have to go, Aunt Fi. Mark Ramsay promised to take me to the Outer Islands. And I’m going to hold him to his word—if they haven’t left already.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? You’ve had quite a bump on the head.”

  Elspeth nodded. “I have to, Aunt Fi. I can’t be married to someone I don’t love. It will never work. I won’t be happy. And I will make my husband unhappy. I would rather live in the wilderness than face that kind of life. And I intend to go before your calmness of marriage descends upon me.”

  “But the Outer Islands, Elspeth?” Her aunt looked at her and sighed. “I will never see you!”

  “Oh Aunt Fi.” Elspeth wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “You will. The world is changing. I’ve ridden in a Flying Horse—did you know that? I bet one day, they’ll be all over the city, and people will be able to travel again.”

  “In my time?” Her aunt drew back.

  “Without a doubt.” Elspeth kissed her on the cheek. “But for now, I must go.”

  “I understand, dear. But do be careful.”

  Elspeth nodded and hurried up to her tiny room, packed a bag, and slipped out of the house into a wonderland of snow.

  Elspeth stopped in the middle of the square, and slowly turned around, thunderstruck. The ground was covered in white fluff three feet deep. The sky was clear of fog and blue—as blue as, as blue as Mark Ramsay’s eyes. The air smelled fresh and clean and full of promise—almost as if the world had been born anew.

  Elspeth gaped at her surroundings and sucked in a deep breath of the cool crisp air. The world was different. But by some quirk of Fate, she was still the same old Elspeth, with the same old fire and determination. She knew nothing inside her had changed. Though the thought puzzled her, she set off at a quick trot, her tools clanking in her backpack, her spirits high.