CHAPTER VI.
GEORGIE'S WEDDING.
In newspaper descriptions of the last moments of celebrated criminals,we constantly read that "the unfortunate man did full justice to asubstantial meal;" but nobody ever yet heard of a bridegroom who had anyappetite for his breakfast; his own real breakfast is meant, and not theelaborate entertainment which follows close upon the ceremony. ReginaldHaggard and his friend, Lord Spunyarn, were the vicar's guests at King'sWarren Parsonage, but in vain did Mrs. Dodd press upon Haggard thenumerous dainties with which her hospitable board was provided. Haggardwas in a state of suppressed excitement, and he couldn't eat a mouthful.They were a cheerful enough party though, and Lord Spunyarn made up forhis friend's deficiencies, for the young nobleman had an almost Homericappetite. Justice Haggard, Reginald's father, and Lord Hetton, who hadpassed the night at the "Dun Cow," were present, for the sportingnobleman was supposed to represent the head of the family, his father,Lord Pit Town; and though he looked upon the whole matter as a verygreat nuisance indeed, still it was a family function at which hispresence was a matter of course.
That breakfast at the Parsonage seemed interminable to Haggard, but evenclerical breakfasts must have an end, and at length Mrs. Dodd rose, tothe general relief of all present. There were yet two mortal hours toget through, and the men of the party sought the cool shades of thevicarage garden.
"Pull yourself together, old man," said Spunyarn to his friend, forHaggard was looking pale and miserable; "you're as sulky as a bear witha sore head. It's quite unnecessary to pose as a hero of romance.What's up with you, man; boots too tight?"
"I'll be hanged if I can tell you what's up," said his friend, "but thisI know, I'm confoundedly depressed."
"Perhaps it's your natural timidity," said the other.
"Don't chaff, Shirtings; you're a very good fellow, you know, but I'mnot in a laughing humour."
"Well, you needn't sulk all the same," said Spunyarn; "take my adviceand have a glass of brandy."
Justice Haggard looked far more like a bridegroom than his son; the oldgentleman, in his blue frock coat, his blue bird's-eye neckerchief, andwith a flower in his button-hole, was the picture of health andhappiness; while his white hat, which was cocked a little on one side,completed his festal appearance. He gave his son a hearty smack on theback.
"When I married your mother, Reginald, my boy, I was as jolly as a mancould be; why, there's nothing to be alarmed about, unless you've lostthe ring, you know; and the ladies wouldn't let you off with thatexcuse, for there's always the key of the church door in case of anemergency."
Haggard forced a smile.
"The ring's safe enough, father," he said.
"Don't worry him, gentlemen," cried the vicar; "it's only natural. I'vehad a good deal of experience with bridegrooms; believe me, it's thegeneral symptom. I felt just the same when I was married myself; butit's nothing to preaching one's first sermon. It's all very well for youto talk, Haggard; but I'll be bound we were both just as miserable asour young friend, though we've forgotten all about it now. But herecomes my wife with the sacrificial emblems."
There was no compromise about Mrs. Dodd, as she advanced straight to thebridegroom and proceeded to firmly secure a large white favour to hisbreast. The rest of the party were soon similarly decorated.
"There's one comfort, we haven't far to go," said Lord Hetton. "I feelwe look rather like a parcel of fools."
"At all events, we haven't any time to lose," suggested the vicar, as helooked at his watch; "and, unless we mean to keep the bride waiting, wehad better be off."
The whole party passed through the little wicket, crossed thechurchyard, which was thronged with the whole population of King'sWarren in its Sunday best, and entered the church, and the bridegroomand his friends at once took their place at the altar rails.
If Georgie Warrender had acted with proper decorum, she would have weptupon her father's bosom; but this ill-regulated young person did nothingof the kind. They must have been all very glad to get rid of her at TheWarren, for nobody shed a single tear; there was a great deal ofrunning about; the young person from the West End milliner's, her mouthfull of pins, issued innumerable orders in a muffled whisper; and MissLucy Warrender and her three fellow bridesmaids appeared completelyattired, at least half-a-dozen times, to submit themselves to oldWarrender's inspection in the drawing-room quite half-an-hour before thecarriages drew up at the door to take them to the church.
Georgie was not sufficiently old-fashioned to be married in a bonnet.Even a plain girl looks well in white, and Georgie was not a plain girlby any means. Of course, according to all proper precedent she ought tohave rushed into her father's arms, and with floods of tears have bidhim a touching farewell. What she did do, however, as she entered theroom, was to rapidly advance and affectionately embrace him, then shestepped back and dropped him a low courtesy.
"Shall I do, papa?" she said with a loving smile.
"My dear, you're a credit to all of us," said the old gentleman, and herappearance certainly justified the ecstatic looks of Miss Hood, the fourbridesmaids, and the young person from the West End.
Georgie was fully conscious of her privileges. No woman can twice in herlife dress in white satin and orange blossoms, and if she mars theeffect by the regulation tears, it is quite certain that there must be ascrew loose somewhere. There was a great deal of tittering, smiling, andblushing; but the squire glanced at the clock, Lucy handed the bridalbouquet to her cousin, then the squire gave his daughter his arm, and,preceded by the bridesmaids, the little procession entered thecarriages, and five minutes' drive brought them to the church.
Haggard, when he cast his eyes upon Georgie Warrender, seemed to regainhis composure at once; there must have been a terrible amount offorwardness about this young lady, for according to rule and thepictures in the illustrated papers, her eyes should have been fixed uponthe ground; and as the latest etiquette book says, "the bride shouldonly acknowledge the bridegroom's presence by an assumption of shrinkingtimidity suitable to the occasion." But the bride smiled at Haggard, andso did the vicar, and so did the four bridesmaids.
The Reverend John Dodd didn't take long in tying the knot. The villageorganist had distinguished himself by his florid rendering of theWedding March. As Lord Spunyarn gave his arm to Lucy Warrender, healmost felt as if he had been married himself, and that it was a ratherpleasant process than otherwise.
"It's rather rough on us, Miss Warrender, having to play second fiddle,"he said, while they were standing in the vestry during the signing ofthe register.
"Well, we can look upon it as a dress rehearsal, Lord Spunyarn; but wemustn't forget that it is a solemn moment, for I see that Mrs. Dodd islooking this way."
The bells were clashing merrily from the village spire as the partypassed out of the church porch. As Haggard handed his wife into thecarriage, she appeared still lost to all sense of the proprieties, forshe nodded and smiled in every direction at the King's Warren villagers,among whom she had grown up; even poor Blogg, the poacher, and hishoyden daughter, Jemima Ann, were not unnoticed. And the patriarchalblessing of the village veteran, "Master" Jasper, as he was called (whohad represented King's Warren on the field of glory some five-and-fortyyears before, and stood bobbing his palsied head, arrayed in his holidaygarment, a linen ephod or smock frock, to which his Waterloo medal wasproudly affixed), was given heartily enough. "God bless 'ee, Missy,"cried the old man in the shrill cracked voice of age, as he pressed upto the carriage window.
"Thank you, Jasper," said the girl with a sunny smile. Strange to say,those two words gave the old fellow more pleasure than the thought ofthe unlimited potations he knew he would enjoy that afternoon at thesquire's expense.
The wedding breakfast very much resembled the similar festivities atwhich most of us have assisted. The usual speeches were made, nobodyseemed very much inclined to eat, but everybody's health was drunk; andI think it was rather a relief to all present when young Mrs. Haggardappeared i
n travelling dress, ready to quit, for the first time in herlife, the happy home of her childhood. Then, and then only, did theyoung person from the West End millinery establishment remove the pinsfrom her mouth, which enabled her to swallow a much needed glass ofsherry; and then the squire's voice failed him, and he saw his daughterrather dimly as he pressed her to his heart for the last time upon thesteps. The bridesmaids relieved their feelings by many salutes and muchtittering. As the carriage moved off there was a perfect shower of satinslippers, and it wasn't till it got quite out of King's Warren villagethat the bride was able to leave off bowing and kissing her hand to hernumerous well-wishers.
Then the wedding party broke up into little groups in the garden; atfirst they didn't amalgamate; the men smoked, and came to the universalconclusion that Haggard was a lucky beggar; while the ladies talked overthe interesting details of the ceremony. Old Warrender retired to hisstudy in a rather excited frame of mind, excusing himself on the groundof his age.
And now everybody turned out with a feeling of intense relief to witnessthe rejoicings on the village green. The school children were thereenjoying rustic games in a somewhat half-hearted manner, for they hadpartaken with the appetites of young boa constrictors of the squire'shospitality, and each of them had a brand new shilling or half-crown inhis or her pocket, according to age. A cricket-match was in progress,but the bowling and batting were extremely wild, thanks to The Warrenstrong beer. But soon the Rev. John Dodd imparted fresh vigour into theproceedings. The youths and maids pulled themselves together on hisapproach; the more bibulous among the men left the proximity of the bigbarrels of strong ale, over which the squire's head gardener waspresiding. Lovers, who had been promenading arm-in-arm, separated forthe moment by mutual consent, the swains touched their forelocks to thevicar, while Phyllis and Chloe smoothed their skirts and courtesied lowto Mrs. Dodd as Lady Paramount. But the vicar meant that they shouldenjoy themselves, and he whispered to the squire, the squire nodded,and the vicar called loudly for Blogg.
"Where's your father, Jemima Ann?" he said to the poacher's daughter,who, in all the glories of a pink print dress and a much beribbonedstraw hat, had gone off into a succession of courtesies.
"Please, sir, he's gone to fetch _it_," she said.
At that moment the sound of a fiddle was heard, and the smiling rascalwho played it, stopping his melody for an instant, made a low andsweeping bow, which took in the vicar, the squire and the gentrygenerally. Then he clapped his fiddle under his chin and without moreado struck up "Bobbing Joan."
"That's right, my man," said the vicar, "you couldn't do better. Nowmen, now girls."
But not one of them stirred.
"Goodness me!" cried the vicar, and then he forgot himself. Could Mrs.Dodd believe her eyes? Her husband seized Jemima Ann Blogg by the hand.
"Come, gentlemen, set them a good example," he said, and he commenced toturn Miss Blogg violently round. Before her father had got throughanother two bars of "Bobbing Joan," every soul on the green hadcommenced to gyrate, the frown died off Mrs. Dodd's face, as she toobegan to turn with slow but majestic movements, her hand clasped by oldWarrender's, her virtuous waist encircled by his aged though stillvigorous arm. Lord Spunyarn pounced upon Lucy Warrender, Lord Hettonseized another bridesmaid, Justice Haggard somehow got possession of athird; every village Jack gripped his Jill, and all the parish of King'sWarren, gentle and simple, twirled with one accord to the fine old tuneof "Bobbing Joan." Once started there was no stopping them, the funbecame fast and furious, and I fancy that it was with some regret thatthe wedding party itself, having set the ball a-rolling, retired to themore dignified festivities which awaited them in the great drawing roomat The Warren.
It wasn't a large party; they were most of them Warrenders and Haggards,and offshoots and branches of those prolific trees, or people connectedwith the families from old association or friendship, but there werequite enough of them to fill the big drawing-room. Old Biggs, the familysolicitor, who had come down to The Warren the day previously about thesettlements, and Blatherwick, of Lincoln's Inn, who had fought him toothand nail over every item, in the interest of the Haggard family, gottheir rubber; but both the legal lights had soon declared that it wasimpossible to play whist with dance music ringing in their ears. Thelawyers looked rather sheepishly at each other when they foundthemselves _vis-a-vis_ in a quadrille, Miss Hood having honoured theone, while Stacey Dodd clung lovingly to the arm of old Mr.Blatherwick. Of course it was most unprofessional, but they probablykept their indiscretions to themselves, and no doubt charged them totheir clients under the head of "sundry attendances." As for theReverend John Dodd he seemed to be everywhere at once, no one refusedthe Reverend John. When the youngest and best-looking of the bridesmaidstold him that she was danced off her feet the clerical Lothariooverpersuaded her in a few seconds, and round they went like a couple ofdancing dervishes, being the last to hold the floor.
But even wedding parties must come to an end, though it was midnightbefore they finally broke up, and at last Justice Haggard and LordHetton walked over to their rooms at the "Dun Cow."
"It went off wonderfully well," said Hetton to the Justice.
"Capital, capital," assented the bridegroom's father. "It's a greatweight off my mind, you know, Hetton. Reginald's been an awful anxiety,but he's a lucky beggar, he manages somehow to always turn up trumps."
"Yes," remarked his lordship, "that's been his principal occupationsince I've known him."
"Boys will be boys, my dear fellow; he'll sober down now, of course hewill. I know I did when I married," said the Justice.
"I'll tell you what it is, Justice. Warrender's daughter is a veryplucky girl; if she had known half you and I know, Justice, she wouldhave thought twice about it."
"The reformed rake, cousin, makes proverbially the best husband. Why,'pon my word," continued the Justice, "when I was a young fellow I was aregular devil."
Lord Hetton blew out a big volume of smoke, and looked at his companionwith some curiosity.
When an old gentleman, in the fulness of his heart, tells you that he'sbeen a regular devil, you are bound to believe him, particularly if he'sa Justice of the Peace.
"We were all devils in those days, my dear fellow, but a man outgrowsit; he marries, and he lives it down; he takes to a hobby. I did. Ican't tell how I drifted into pigs; much in the same way as you driftedinto horses, I suppose. You may take my word for it that pigs are farmore interesting and far more respectable, though they're expensive,mind you. Yes, they're uncommonly expensive; so are horses for thematter of that," continued the Justice. "Every man has his ideal, yousee, Hetton. The perfect pig must ultimately be produced. You mustn'tlook upon me, you know, as a mere breeder of pigs. I am a benefactor ofmy species." Here the pair reached the "Dun Cow" and retired to theirrespective quarters.
So ended Georgie Warrender's wedding-day. As Lord Hetton had remarked,in engaging herself to Haggard she had done a very plucky thing.Marriage is like Mayonnaise sauce, either a great success or an absoluteand entire failure. The materials which are blended together to form aperfect whole are dissimilar and have nothing whatever in common, butonce really thoroughly amalgamated the result is very happy. Perhaps themarriage celebrated in King's Warren church may turn out well after all.It is to be feared that like the sauce of sauces in the hands of theinexperienced cook, the result is more than doubtful. Fortunatus, thougha good fellow enough, is, like his patroness, notoriously fickle. All wehave got to do, however, is to make ourselves as comfortable as possiblein our stalls. The overture is over, the curtain is about to rise on thedrama of Georgie's married life. We haven't a play bill, and don't knowwhether we are to listen to some pretty pastoral, to a long three-actfarce, dignified by the title of a comedy, or whether we are to bethrilled with horror by a gruesome drama of intrigue, limelight effect,and blood. We haven't even seen a review of the piece; the footlightsgo up with a jump, and now the curtain rises. Let us watch the players.