By Birth a Lady

Volume Three – Chapter Six.

Had She Won?

It was one of the things generally known in the neighbourhood of Blandfield, that Sir Philip Vining gave up the Court to his son, who, in a very short time, was to confer upon it a new mistress in the shape of Laura Bray.

Every one said that it was an admirable match; and old ladies, who had set themselves up for prophets, laughed and nodded together, and reminded one another of how they had always said so. That croquet-party at the Court was not for nothing, they knew!

Then came a round of congratulatory calls, and a general disposition amongst the callers to declare that they had never heard of anything that had given them more pleasure.

“Really,” they said, “it was exquisite, and just the thing that was wanted to make the Lexville circle complete. For, you see, Sir Philip was indeed most charming, but he gave so few dinner-parties!”

“But what Charles Vining could see in that great, tall, coarse woman, when there were my nice quiet gentle girls, I don’t know. But there, every eye forms its own beauty!”

So said Mrs Lingon; and, in fact, allowing for a little variety, so said every mother of marriageable daughters; but all the same, at the end of a fortnight Laura Bray was to be Mrs Charles, and in future Lady Vining, always allowing, of course, that nothing occurred to put off the wedding, that every one declared to be, on the whole, rather hurried.

There was certainly, too, a little disappointment felt by some of the marriageable young ladies; but that was soon mastered: for there was to be the wedding, after all, if they were not to be the principals in the thrilling ceremony; and also, after all, there was not one of them who might not be asked to act as bridesmaid.

It was the theme of discussion throughout the district. Even gentlemen had their say, as they hoped that Vining wouldn’t be so shabby as to cut off his subs. to the hounds, even if he had no more idea of hunting. While, as for the ladies, they knew to an inch how many yards of white gros-de-Naples there would be in Laura’s wedding-dress; how many breadths there would be in the skirt; and that Miss Bray had decided not to have it gored.

“And quite right too,” said some with a titter, “with such a figure as she has!”

“Don’t you think Laura Bray looks quite yellow and thin?” said the elder Miss Lingon, who was certainly neither yellow nor thin, but very plump, fair, and dumplingy.

“O, decidedly!” said her sister. “She looks anxious and worried, too.”

“Well, no wonder,” said the elder Miss Lingon, with a sigh. “Any stupid would know that it is a most anxious and trying time for her. She is about to take a step which – ”

“There’s not much fear of your taking, Miss Fan,” said her sister spitefully. “And how you should know anything about its being an anxious time, I’m sure I don’t know, without you read it in a book.”

The elder Miss Lingon tossed her head.

“But I know why she’s anxious,” said the second Miss Lingon. “Hugh told me. It’s because he will hunt so recklessly now.”

“I don’t believe that’s it. All gentlemen hunt,” said the other.

“You can believe what you like,” was the snappish answer. And there the matter dropped, as each lady waited anxiously for the request that should make her a bridesmaid.

But, all the same, Laura did look thin and anxious. Not that Charley Vining was wanting in attention, for he was constantly at the Elms; but there was a great dread always oppressing her, that the wedding would not take place. Each day that passed without adventure, she reckoned as so much gained; and though Miss l’Aiguille was engaged with her staff especially on Miss Bray’s account, and dresses for bride and bridesmaids were in rapid progress, yet would Laura start at the slightest sound, and tremble as every letter came to the house.

She counted the days and the hours that must intervene, and mentally checked them off as they passed away. She clung nervously to Charley as he left her at night, and seemed loth to let him leave her, though he smiled at her anxiety and tried to seem happy, but all the while there was an aching void in his heart, as he told himself that he was about to be guilty of a wrongful act.

And still the time glided on. A few more days, and Laura told herself that she could be at rest.

“At rest?” She shivered as she repeated the words, and then tried to look pleased at the rich presents sent by Sir Philip Vining, or brought to her by Charley himself to swell the bridal trousseau.

But she could not conceal the agitation she felt; for ever, by night and day, thrown athwart the light of her understanding was the dark shadow of a peril to come – a peril coming as surely as day would succeed unto night.

Costly preparations at Blandfield Court; painters and decorators busy; fresh carpets here, and fresh carpets there; Laura fetched over by Sir Philip to give her opinion upon this, her consent to that, or to choose something else. The old gentleman seemed never happy save when he was superintending some fresh arrangement that should add to the pleasure and comfort of his fixture daughter-in-law. He was almost angry at times on seeing how little interest was taken in such matters by his son; but ever ready with an excuse, he set it down to Charley’s renewed pleasure in the sports of the field.

Laura did not complain, although Nelly, but for her youth, might have been taken for the favoured one, since she was constantly Charley’s companion, to the great astonishment of Hugh Lingon. For the little well-broken mare had been purchased, and had come down to Blandfield, where, one day when Nelly was over with her sister, Charley proposed a ride, the horses were brought round, and Nelly’s rough black pony sent back, to her utter astonishment; while, when informed that the graceful little creature that stood arching its neck, and softly pawing at the gravel, was her own, Nelly’s joy knew no bounds, as, in turns, she literally smothered Sir Philip and Charley with kisses.

It was not from mortification at being so unceremoniously left that Laura turned pale; but, in her nervous state, it seemed that the danger she apprehended – the peril that should stay the wedding – might come from any direction, and that a delay of a month, a fortnight, or even of a week, might be fatal to her prospects; for might not Charley alter his mind? or – no, there was no fear of that now. But might not this prove a danger that should delay that which she so ardently prayed for? Nelly might meet with an accident, and be brought back half-killed.

There was certainly some foundation for Laura’s fears; for had Miss Nelly been left to herself, in her wild exhilaration she would most probably have come to grief; in fact she tried her best to get thrown; but there was ever a strong hand ready to be laid upon her rein, so that, in spite of Laura’s forebodings, she was brought back in safety.

Laura counted: six days – five days – four days – three days before – two days before – one day before the wedding; and all this time Max Bray might have been forgotten, for his name was never once mentioned at the Elms. Hugh Lingon, though, on making an excuse for not having repaid Charley’s loan, mentioned having felt sure that he had seen Max in London, but that he had been unable to overtake him before he disappeared, but that, after all, he was not sure.

That news slightly disturbed Charley, and he winced as he thought upon the probable future fate of Ella Bedford; his brow contracted too, as he seemed to see a pale face appealing to him for help, and he shuddered slightly as he drove away the thoughts.

He spent the evening with Sir Philip at the Elms, and all seemed to be working to the one end.

Nelly was in a tremendous state of excitement, and displayed it as she darted about with brightened eye and flushed cheek; but now that the time was so near, Laura had so nerved herself that she was calm and composed in appearance, though her heart was agitated by varied emotions.

But what cause could there be for fear? Had not the woman who had been her rival fled, in, apparently, a most discreditable manner, with her own brother? Was not Charles Vining, if not a warm and passionate, at all events a most respectable lover as to his attentions? Surely she could wish for nothing more, if the proverb be true, that the hottest love the soonest cools.

And, besides, how gleefully were all the preparations being made! Gunters were providing the breakfast, and even then the men were in the house. The wedding garments were waiting, and Miss l’Aiguille was coming herself in the morning to superintend the dressing, to the great disgust of Laura’s maid. The wedding was expected to be one of the grandest that had been in the neighbourhood for some years; and the weather had been for many days past so settled and bright, that there was every prospect of the bride being bathed in the sunshine of good fortune.

“Good-night, for the last parting!” said Charley, as he held Laura in his arms, previous to taking his departure; and she clung to him, for he was more tender and gentle to her.

He must love her, she felt, or he could not have spoken as he had.

Only a few more hours, then, and the suspense would be at an end. The wedding-breakfast over, dresses changed, the carriage would be in waiting to convey them to the station. They were to pass the first night in London, and depart by tidal boat the next morning for Paris, Marseilles, Hyères, Genoa, Rome – a month of pleasant touring in Southern Europe; and in that period old sorrows would be forgotten, and her husband’s heart would have warmed to her.

But still Laura trembled, for she had been gambling for a great stake.

Had she won?

It seemed so; for once more he repeated those words, “Good-night, for the last parting!” as they stood in the hall.

“But you’ll have to put up with me, my dear!” said Sir Philip, kissing Laura in his turn; “but I won’t bother you – I won’t interfere in any way – only let me have my study fire in the cold weather; and don’t stop away from home too long. I say so now, because I shall have no chance to-morrow. There, good-bye!”

They were gone; and, proud and elate, Laura returned to the drawing-room. The victory was nearly won, and the happy congratulatory looks of friends and those who were to act as her bridesmaids seemed to be mirrored in her face, as they clustered laughingly round her – Mrs Bray forbearing to shriek, and little pudgy Mr Bray disregarding her evening dress as he caught her in his arms, to give her a sounding kiss on either cheek.

Meanwhile Sir Philip and Charley were returning in their carriage to Blandfield: the former light-hearted and chatty, the latter quiet, but apparently content. He had weighed all well, and pondered the matter again and again, and still his heart told him that it was his duty. The faint spark of his old passion, as he called it, that would still keep showing, in spite of his efforts to crush it out, he told himself would soon be extinct – hiding the fact that that spark was a consuming fire that was not even smouldering, but though concealed, eating its way fiercely to the light.

“Good-night; heaven bless you, my dear boy!” said Sir Philip, as he stood, candle in hand, in the hall. “It will be hard work sparing you, Charley; for I’m an old man now, and growing feeble, and in want of humouring. You may have your month, but don’t exceed it.”

Charley did not answer; but shook his father’s hand warmly, and they parted.

Volume Three – Chapter Seven.

On the Point

The wedding-morning, with all its flutter, flurry, and excitement! The bride pale, but collected; Nelly and her sister bridesmaids appealing vainly to one another for help; hair, that at any other time would fall into plait, or bandeau, or roll, with such ease, now obstinate and awkward, and requiring to be attended to again and again; hair-pins becoming scarce, and, where plentiful, given to bending; eyes with a disposition to look red; hands ditto – for it is winter; while, as if out of sheer spite, more than one nose follows suit, and is decidedly raw and chappy.

“O, do, do, do fetch a knife!” whimpered Nelly. “I shall never be dressed in time! I must have a knife to open these horrible old hooks, that have flattened down when ’Lisbeth ran an iron along the back plait. O, what shall I do? I shall never be ready! And the old chilblains have swelled up on my heels, and I can’t get on those little satin boots; and I can’t go in my others, because they haven’t got high heels. I could sit down and have a good cry – that I could! Here, ’Lisbeth – ’Lisbeth! why don’t Miss l’Aiguille come and help some of us?”

“Lor, miss, how you do talk!” cried the excited ’Lisbeth. “And is that what you called me back for? Miss Luggle’s a-doing of Miss Lorror, and couldn’t leave her, was it ever so. There, don’t stop me, miss; they’re waiting for pins, and there’ll be no end of a row if I don’t go.”

“But, please, come and do my back hair, ’Lisbeth,” cried one of the bridesmaids – a cousin, who was staying in the house.

“Lor, miss, I can’t. You must ask Miss Nelly!” cried ’Lisbeth, vainly struggling to get out, for Nelly was holding on with both hands to her dress, and dragging her back.

“There, do let go, Miss Nelly – pray! Here, miss, ask your cousin to leave go, and come and do it. She’ll put it right – beautiful!”

“But she has done it twice,” cried the other; “and see how it has come tumbling down again; it’s worse now than if it hadn’t been touched!”

“I don’t care; I shan’t try any more,” whimpered Nelly. “I can’t get dressed decent. But you’ll all have to wait for me; for I’m sure Charley Vining won’t go to be married if I ain’t there.”

“For goodness gracious’ sake, now just look there, Miss Nelly, at what you’ve been and done! You’ve pulled all the gathers out of my frock!”

“Don’t care!” said Nelly, throwing herself down, half-dressed, into a chair. “Fasten ’em up again: you’ve got lots of pins.”

“’Lisbeth – ’Lisbeth!” was shouted from the passage, and the girl disappeared.

We have nothing to do with the bride’s mental sufferings at present, the remarks now made appertaining to dress alone; but she must have borne something at the hands of Miss l’aiguille and her staff of assistants, before, tall, dark, and handsome, she stood amidst a diaphanous cloud of drapery, which floated from and around her, descending, as it were, from the orange wreath twined amidst her magnificent raven ringlets.

Miss l’aiguille clasped her hands, and went down upon one knee in an ecstasy of admiration at the glorious being she had made, as a gentle chorus of “O!” and “O, miss!” was raised by her satellites; while, wonderful to relate, when she descended to the drawing-room, she was not the last, for two of the bridesmaids were not ready.

But Mrs Bray was there, gorgeous to behold, bearing upon her everything in the shape of costly dress that money would purchase. To describe her costume would be simply impossible, save to say that it was as solid-looking as her daughter’s was light and airy – the plaits and folds of her silken robe literally creaked and crackled as she moved, which was all of a piece. Colour there was too; but what, it would be impossible to say, the prevailing hue being warm scarlet, which was shed upon Mr Bray, whose white vest was so stiff and grand, that nothing could have been whiter and stiffer and grander, unless it was the tremendous cravat that held his head as if he was being garotted – symptoms of strangulation being really visible in the prominence of his eyes. But then, as he said, in regard to his sufferings, he did not have a daughter married every day.

“I should have liked for Mr Maximilian to have been here,” said Mrs Bray, as they were waiting for Nelly, who, now under the hands of Miss l’Aiguille, was being made up rapidly – her thin bony form growing quite graceful under the dressmakers fingers.

“Bless me, though, what is the matter?” cried Mrs Bray. “Laura my dear, pray don’t faint in those things, whatever you do!”

“Hush!” cried Laura hoarsely, as, by a strong effort, she recovered herself. “Did you – did you say Max was here?”

“No – no! I said I wished he was here,” said Mrs Bray pettishly. “I do not see what you have got to turn queer about in that. Your own brother too!”

Laura gave a sigh of relief and then closed her eyes for a few moments.

“Only a little while now,” she thought.

The hour was very near, and surely nothing could stay the event.

Then, summoning her resolution she began to pace slowly up and down the room. No tremulous maiden now, but a firm determined woman, who told herself that she had persevered and won the lover – the husband soon.

“What are we waiting for?” said Mr Bray.

“Two bridesmaids,” said Mrs Bray: “Nelly and Miss Barnett. But we have plenty of time; and the Miss Lingons are not here yet. O, here they are, though!”

The young ladies were set down at the door as she spoke; and soon the Bray drawing-room was well filled.

The horses were pawing up the gravel, to the disgust of the gardener, who thought of the rolling to be done; but went and drowned his sorrows in some of the beer on the way, with ample solids, in the Bray kitchen.

A bright brisk winterly day, with a wind that kissed each cheek as bride-elect and bridesmaids descended the steps, and entered the carriages drawn up in turn. Rattle, rattle, bang! went steps and doors; footmen were more upright than ever, and raised their chests into glorious hills, crowned with white satin-and-silver wedding-favours – Mrs Bray insisting upon their being mounted at once.

A grinding of the gravel, and first one and then another carriage departing, Laura, with Mr Bray, completing the cortege; Mrs Bray going before, after declaring that she ought to have stopped behind to superintend the wedding-breakfast arrangements.

And proud was Mr Bray of the stern handsome girl before him; for he had given up the whole of the back seat to his daughter – and her dress. The pallor and look of dread seemed now to have passed away, as if Laura, by her determination, had exorcised the phantom of coming ill; and well-merited were the remarks made, as a glance was obtained at the beauty “arrayed for the bridal.”

People had plenty of ill-natured things to say when the wedding was first settled; but now all these remarks were forgotten; and again and again, as the Bray carriage rolled on towards the church, there was a cheer raised; while, on coming abreast of the Lexville Boys’ School, there was a tremendous scattering volley of shouts, followed by a rush, for the boys were to have a holiday for the occasion; and away they went to the churchyard, to cluster thickly on walls, tombstones, and iron railings – wherever they could find a post of vantage.

Carpet rolled down to the church-gate, and the clerk in a state of fume and worry, that brought him, in spite of the wintry day, into a profuse perspiration, because, no matter how he “begged and prayed,” people would walk over the carpet, and print upon it the mark of their dirty boots.

The church was filled in every part where a view of the communion-table could be obtained; and the pew-openers gave up at last in despair, for the people would stand on the cushions. The organist was ready with the “Wedding March” – Mendelssohn’s, of course – and the ringers were already giving those thirsty lips of theirs a dry wipe, in anticipation of the beer to be on the way by and by, when they made the town echo with a peal of bob-majors and grandsire-caters. While last, but not least, and posted side by side with panting Miss l’Aiguille, who had run down, and was now promising him an account of each lady’s dress, with the proper terms to be applied thereto – was the reporter of the local paper, busy at work with a spikey pencil.

He had already put down a list of the notabilities present – people whom “we observed” – and had added the name of the officiating clergyman, who was to be assisted by a couple more; the two being now engaged in robing in the vestry.

There was no mistake about its being a errand wedding; for the covers were off the communion hassocks – those worked by the Lexville ladies – and people were on the tiptoe of expectation, for the hour was at hand.

Wheels!

“Here they come: the bridegroom, of course!” “’Tain’t. It’s some ladies!” “’Tain’t, I tell you; the bridegroom always comes first.” “Sir Philip’s chariot is to have four horses, and the first and second grooms are to ride post in blue and silver, and black-velvet caps.” “There, I was right – they are ladies.”

Such were a few of the buzzing remarks made as the leading carriage drew up to the gates, and the first batch of friends and bridesmaids descended, hurried up to the old church porch, shook out their plumage, and then swept gracefully up the nave, while remarks full of admiration were passed by those excited fair ones who would not miss a wedding on any consideration, and had duly posted in their mental ledgers the account of every affair that had taken place at Lexville church for the last twenty years; though, during all that long space of time, no one had ever asked them to take the little journey for the purpose of saying, “I will.”

Wheels again, and another buzz of excited voices, for this time there is a volley of cheers faintly heard.

This is the bridegroom, then; and there is a perfect rustle amongst the ancient and modern doves of Lexville to catch a good glimpse of the stalwart handsome heir of Blandfield.

But the next minute the rustle subsides, for the carriage that stopped at the gate only brought friends and bridesmaids. And so did the next, and the next, till the chancel began to wear a goodly aspect, though every face was turned now towards the entrance, and all were upon the extreme point of the tiptoe of expectation.

“The bridegroom ought to be here now,” said some one in the chancel.

“Isn’t Charley Vining here, then?” whispered Nelly to her cousin.

But there was no answer.

Volume Three – Chapter Eight.

Was it an Accident?

Wheels again, and louder cheers than ever; a rolling scattering volley from a hundred young throats.

“Here he is then, now,” said some one. “The Vinings are so popular!”

More bustle, and pressing, and confusion; the steps round the font invaded, and two small boys mounted on the stove to get a good view, while no one interrupts them; the organ-gallery crammed as it never was on Sundays; and the organist hard put to it to keep people from invading his own little sanctum behind the red curtains, and treading upon the pedal keys.

The boy at the bellows has already pumped the wind-chest full, and there is a wheezing sound of escaping air. But the excitement down below is now at its height, and a murmur of admiration is heard as pudgy Mr Bray, hat in hand, leads in Laura – proud, sweeping, stately, and with her eyes cast down, but her head thrown back.

No modest retiring bride she, though the lids do droop and the long black fringes conceal the dark flashing eyes. For she has arrived at the moment of her triumph, and there is a curl to her upper lip as she leads, rather than is led, and passes between scores of the envious.

The chosen one of Charles Vining of Blandfield, the heir to the old baronetcy, Laura knows that there is many a one present who would give ten years of her life to exchange places – to become the future Lady Vining, the leader of the society of the district for miles round. How could she think of the past, when so bright a future was before her? How could she trouble now about forebodings and shadows of coming evil? All were forgotten as she swept down the long nave, each moment more queenly of aspect.

The chancel screen was passed, and the chancel entered – the chancel filled with friends, who smilingly part to allow her to pass to where the invited hedge-in the bridesmaids – a light and cloudy bevy of eight, all white and pale blue, and pale blue fading into white. Dainty forget-me-nots hidden here by lace, or peeping out there from amidst transparent tissue, while every cheek is tinged with the bright damask-rose hue of excitement. The flowers in the bouquets tell tales of the hands that hold, for they tremble and nod; and more than one of those white-gloved hands has drawn out the end of a delicately-scented and laced pocket-handkerchief, so as to have it ready for the tears that will be sure to flow anon; but for a moment the tears, are forgotten, as the bride appears.