Sketches in Lavender, Blue and Green. Jerome Klapka Jerome

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СКАЧАТЬ ability to go through the ceremony, provided everybody would keep away, and not worry her. The “treasure” was the only person she felt she could bear to have about her. Half an hour before it was time to start for church her mother looked her up again. She had grown still paler, if possible, during the interval, and also more nervous and irritable. She threatened to go to bed and stop there if she was not left quite alone. She almost turned her mother out of the room, locking the door behind her. Mrs. Hodskiss had never known her daughter to be like this before.

      The others went on, leaving her to follow in the last carriage with her father. The contractor, forewarned, spoke little to her. Only once he had occasion to ask her a question, and then she answered in a strained, unnatural voice. She appeared, so far as could be seen under her heavy veil, to be crying.

      “Well, this is going to be a damned cheerful wedding,” said Mr. Hodskiss, and lapsed into sulkiness.

      The wedding was not so quiet as had been anticipated. The village had got scent of it, and had spread itself upon the event, while half the house party from G- Hall had insisted on driving over to take part in the proceedings. The little church was better filled than it had been for many a long year past.

      The presence of the stylish crowd unnerved the ancient clergyman, long unaccustomed to the sight of a strange face, and the first sound of the ancient clergyman’s voice unnerved the stylish crowd. What little articulation he possessed entirely disappeared, no one could understand a word he said. He appeared to be uttering sounds of distress. The ancient gentleman’s infliction had to be explained in low asides, and it also had to be explained why such an one had been chosen to perform the ceremony.

      “It was a whim of Clementina’s,” whispered her mother. “Her father and myself were married from here, and he christened her. The dear child’s full of sentiment. I think it so nice of her.”

      Everybody agreed it was charming, but wished it were over. The general effect was weird in the extreme.

      Lord C- spoke up fairly well, but the bride’s responses were singularly indistinct, the usual order of things being thus reversed. The story of the naval lieutenant was remembered, and added to, and some of the more sentimental of the women began to cry in sympathy.

      In the vestry things assumed a brighter tone. There was no lack of witnesses to sign the register. The verger pointed out to them the place, and they wrote their names, as people in such cases do, without stopping to read. Then it occurred to some one that the bride had not yet signed. She stood apart, with her veil still down, and appeared to have been forgotten. Encouraged, she came forward meekly, and took the pen from the hand of the verger. The countess came and stood behind her.

      “Mary,” wrote the bride, in a hand that looked as though it ought to have been firm, but which was not.

      “Dear me,” said the countess, “I never knew there was a Mary in your name. How differently you write when you write slowly.”

      The bride did not answer, but followed with “Susannah.”

      “Why, what a lot of names you must have, my dear!” exclaimed the countess. “When are you going to get to the ones we all know?”

      “Ruth,” continued the bride without answering.

      Breeding is not always proof against strong emotion. The countess snatched the bride’s veil from her face, and Mary Susannah Ruth Sewell stood before her, flushed and trembling, but looking none the less pretty because of that. At this point the crowd came in useful.

      “I am sure your ladyship does not wish a scene,” said Mary, speaking low. “The thing is done.”

      “The thing can be undone, and will be,” retorted the countess in the same tone. “You, you – ”

      “My wife, don’t forget that, mother,” said Lord C- coming between them, and slipping Mary’s hand on to his arm. “We are both sorry to have had to go about the thing in this roundabout way, but we wanted to avoid a fuss. I think we had better be getting away. I’m afraid Mr. Hodskiss is going to be noisy.”

* * * * *

      The doctor poured himself out a glass of claret, and drank it off. His throat must have been dry.

      “And what became of Clementina?” I asked. “Did the naval lieutenant, while the others were at church, dash up in a post-chaise and carry her off?”

      “That’s what ought to have happened, for the whole thing to be in keeping,” agreed the doctor. “I believe as a matter of fact she did marry him eventually, but not till some years later, after the contractor had died.”

      “And did Mr. Hodskiss make a noise in the vestry?” I persisted. The doctor never will finish a story.

      “I can’t say for certain,” answered my host, “I only saw the gentleman once. That was at a shareholders’ meeting. I should incline to the opinion that he did.”

      “I suppose the bride and bridegroom slipped out as quietly as possible and drove straight off,” I suggested.

      “That would have been the sensible thing for them to do,” agreed the doctor.

      “But how did she manage about her travelling frock?” I continued. “She could hardly have gone back to her Aunt Jane’s and changed her things.” The doctor has no mind for minutiæ.

      “I cannot tell you about all that,” he replied. “I think I mentioned that Mary was a practical girl. Possibly she had thought of these details.”

      “And did the countess take the matter quietly?” I asked.

      I like a tidy story, where everybody is put into his or her proper place at the end. Your modern romance leaves half his characters lying about just anyhow.

      “That also I cannot tell you for certain,” answered the doctor, “but I give her credit for so much sense. Lord C- was of age, and with Mary at his elbow, quite knew his own mind. I believe they travelled for two or three years. The first time I myself set eyes on the countess (née Mary Sewell) was just after the late earl’s death. I thought she looked a countess, every inch of her, but then I had not heard the story. I mistook the dowager for the housekeeper.”

      BLASÉ BILLY

      It was towards the end of August. He and I appeared to be the only two men left to the Club. He was sitting by an open window, the Times lying on the floor beside him. I drew my chair a little closer and remarked: – “Good morning.”

      He suppressed a yawn, and replied “Mornin’” – dropping the “g.” The custom was just coming into fashion; he was always correct.

      “Going to be a very hot day, I am afraid,” I continued.

      “’Fraid so,” was the response, after which he turned his head away and gently closed his eyes.

      I opined that conversation was not to his wish, but this only made me more determined to talk, and to talk to him above all others in London. The desire took hold of me to irritate him – to break down the imperturbable calm within which he moved and had his being; and I gathered myself together, and settled down to the task.

      “Interesting paper the Times,” I observed.

      “Very,” he replied, taking it from the floor and handing it to me. “Won’t you read it?”

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