The Pit Town Coronet Volume I Part 5

Georgie was not sufficiently old-fas.h.i.+oned to be married in a bonnet.

Even a plain girl looks well in white, and Georgie was not a plain girl by any means. Of course, according to all proper precedent she ought to have rushed into her father's arms, and with floods of tears have bid him a touching farewell. What she did do, however, as she entered the room, was to rapidly advance and affectionately embrace him, then she stepped 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 her appearance certainly justified the ecstatic looks of Miss Hood, the four bridesmaids, and the young person from the West End.

Georgie was fully conscious of her privileges. No woman can twice in her life dress in white satin and orange blossoms, and if she mars the effect by the regulation tears, it is quite certain that there must be a screw loose somewhere. There was a great deal of t.i.ttering, smiling, and blus.h.i.+ng; but the squire glanced at the clock, Lucy handed the bridal bouquet to her cousin, then the squire gave his daughter his arm, and, preceded by the bridesmaids, the little procession entered the carriages, and five minutes' drive brought them to the church.

Haggard, when he cast his eyes upon Georgie Warrender, seemed to regain his composure at once; there must have been a terrible amount of forwardness about this young lady, for according to rule and the pictures in the ill.u.s.trated papers, her eyes should have been fixed upon the ground; and as the latest etiquette book says, "the bride should only acknowledge the bridegroom's presence by an a.s.sumption of shrinking timidity suitable to the occasion." But the bride smiled at Haggard, and so did the vicar, and so did the four bridesmaids.

The Reverend John Dodd didn't take long in tying the knot. The village organist had distinguished himself by his florid rendering of the Wedding March. As Lord Spunyarn gave his arm to Lucy Warrender, he almost felt as if he had been married himself, and that it was a rather pleasant 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 of the register.

"Well, we can look upon it as a dress rehearsal, Lord Spunyarn; but we mustn't forget that it is a solemn moment, for I see that Mrs. Dodd is looking this way."

The bells were clas.h.i.+ng merrily from the village spire as the party pa.s.sed out of the church porch. As Haggard handed his wife into the carriage, she appeared still lost to all sense of the proprieties, for she nodded and smiled in every direction at the King's Warren villagers, among whom she had grown up; even poor Blogg, the poacher, and his hoyden daughter, Jemima Ann, were not unnoticed. And the patriarchal blessing of the village veteran, "Master" Jasper, as he was called (who had represented King's Warren on the field of glory some five-and-forty years before, and stood bobbing his palsied head, arrayed in his holiday garment, a linen ephod or smock frock, to which his Waterloo medal was proudly affixed), was given heartily enough. "G.o.d bless 'ee, Missy,"

cried the old man in the shrill cracked voice of age, as he pressed up to 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 of the unlimited potations he knew he would enjoy that afternoon at the squire's expense.

The wedding breakfast very much resembled the similar festivities at which most of us have a.s.sisted. The usual speeches were made, n.o.body seemed very much inclined to eat, but everybody's health was drunk; and I think it was rather a relief to all present when young Mrs. Haggard appeared in travelling dress, ready to quit, for the first time in her life, the happy home of her childhood. Then, and then only, did the young person from the West End millinery establishment remove the pins from her mouth, which enabled her to swallow a much needed gla.s.s of sherry; and then the squire's voice failed him, and he saw his daughter rather dimly as he pressed her to his heart for the last time upon the steps. The bridesmaids relieved their feelings by many salutes and much t.i.ttering. As the carriage moved off there was a perfect shower of satin slippers, and it wasn't till it got quite out of King's Warren village that the bride was able to leave off bowing and kissing her hand to her numerous well-wishers.

Then the wedding party broke up into little groups in the garden; at first they didn't amalgamate; the men smoked, and came to the universal conclusion that Haggard was a lucky beggar; while the ladies talked over the interesting details of the ceremony. Old Warrender retired to his study in a rather excited frame of mind, excusing himself on the ground of his age.

And now everybody turned out with a feeling of intense relief to witness the rejoicings on the village green. The school children were there enjoying rustic games in a somewhat half-hearted manner, for they had partaken with the appet.i.tes of young boa constrictors of the squire's hospitality, and each of them had a brand new s.h.i.+lling or half-crown in his or her pocket, according to age. A cricket-match was in progress, but the bowling and batting were extremely wild, thanks to The Warren strong beer. But soon the Rev. John Dodd imparted fresh vigour into the proceedings. The youths and maids pulled themselves together on his approach; the more bibulous among the men left the proximity of the big barrels of strong ale, over which the squire's head gardener was presiding. Lovers, who had been promenading arm-in-arm, separated for the moment by mutual consent, the swains touched their forelocks to the vicar, while Phyllis and Chloe smoothed their skirts and courtesied low to Mrs. Dodd as Lady Paramount. But the vicar meant that they should enjoy 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 beribboned straw 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 rascal who played it, stopping his melody for an instant, made a low and sweeping bow, which took in the vicar, the squire and the gentry generally. Then he clapped his fiddle under his chin and without more ado struck up "Bobbing Joan."

"That's right, my man," said the vicar, "you couldn't do better. Now men, 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 to turn Miss Blogg violently round. Before her father had got through another two bars of "Bobbing Joan," every soul on the green had commenced to gyrate, the frown died off Mrs. Dodd's face, as she too began to turn with slow but majestic movements, her hand clasped by old Warrender's, her virtuous waist encircled by his aged though still vigorous arm. Lord Spunyarn pounced upon Lucy Warrender, Lord Hetton seized another bridesmaid, Justice Haggard somehow got possession of a third; every village Jack gripped his Jill, and all the parish of King's Warren, gentle and simple, twirled with one accord to the fine old tune of "Bobbing Joan." Once started there was no stopping them, the fun became fast and furious, and I fancy that it was with some regret that the wedding party itself, having set the ball a-rolling, retired to the more dignified festivities which awaited them in the great drawing room at 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 connected with the families from old a.s.sociation or friends.h.i.+p, but there were quite enough of them to fill the big drawing-room. Old Biggs, the family solicitor, who had come down to The Warren the day previously about the settlements, and Blatherwick, of Lincoln's Inn, who had fought him tooth and nail over every item, in the interest of the Haggard family, got their rubber; but both the legal lights had soon declared that it was impossible to play whist with dance music ringing in their ears. The lawyers looked rather sheepishly at each other when they found themselves _vis-a-vis_ in a quadrille, Miss Hood having honoured the one, while Stacey Dodd clung lovingly to the arm of old Mr.

Blatherwick. Of course it was most unprofessional, but they probably kept their indiscretions to themselves, and no doubt charged them to their clients under the head of "sundry attendances." As for the Reverend John Dodd he seemed to be everywhere at once, no one refused the Reverend John. When the youngest and best-looking of the bridesmaids told him that she was danced off her feet the clerical Lothario overpersuaded her in a few seconds, and round they went like a couple of dancing dervishes, being the last to hold the floor.

But even wedding parties must come to an end, though it was midnight before they finally broke up, and at last Justice Haggard and Lord Hetton walked over to their rooms at the "Dun Cow."

"It went off wonderfully well," said Hetton to the Justice.

"Capital, capital," a.s.sented the bridegroom's father. "It's a great weight 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 lords.h.i.+p, "that's been his princ.i.p.al occupation since I've known him."

"Boys will be boys, my dear fellow; he'll sober down now, of course he will. I know I did when I married," said the Justice.

"I'll tell you what it is, Justice. Warrender's daughter is a very plucky girl; if she had known half you and I know, Justice, she would have 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 a regular devil."

Lord Hetton blew out a big volume of smoke, and looked at his companion with some curiosity.

When an old gentleman, in the fulness of his heart, tells you that he's been a regular devil, you are bound to believe him, particularly if he's a Justice of the Peace.

"We were all devils in those days, my dear fellow, but a man outgrows it; he marries, and he lives it down; he takes to a hobby. I did. I can't tell how I drifted into pigs; much in the same way as you drifted into horses, I suppose. You may take my word for it that pigs are far more interesting and far more respectable, though they're expensive, mind you. Yes, they're uncommonly expensive; so are horses for the matter of that," continued the Justice. "Every man has his ideal, you see, Hetton. The perfect pig must ultimately be produced. You mustn't look upon me, you know, as a mere breeder of pigs. I am a benefactor of my species." Here the pair reached the "Dun Cow" and retired to their respective 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 absolute and entire failure. The materials which are blended together to form a perfect whole are dissimilar and have nothing whatever in common, but once really thoroughly amalgamated the result is very happy. Perhaps the marriage 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 the inexperienced cook, the result is more than doubtful. Fortunatus, though a good fellow enough, is, like his patroness, notoriously fickle. All we have got to do, however, is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in our stalls. The overture is over, the curtain is about to rise on the drama of Georgie's married life. We haven't a play bill, and don't know whether we are to listen to some pretty pastoral, to a long three-act farce, dignified by the t.i.tle of a comedy, or whether we are to be thrilled with horror by a gruesome drama of intrigue, limelight effect, and blood. We haven't even seen a review of the piece; the footlights go up with a jump, and now the curtain rises. Let us watch the players.

CHAPTER VII.

LORD MAYOR'S DAY.

It was Lord Mayor's Day. Haggard and his wife sat in the little drawing-room of their bijou house in May Fair. The room was prettily furnished, and Georgie had often accused herself of extravagance. The regulation chairs and tables of the furnished house had been banished from Mrs. Haggard's drawing-room. It had been a pleasure to choose the various tasteful specimens of the upholsterer's art. The nesting faculty is perhaps even more strongly developed in young married ladies than in birds; young Mrs. Haggard was no exception to this rule. Many had been the happy pilgrimages made by Georgie and her lover, for Haggard was her lover still, to the great firm in Pall Mall and to the world-famed house in Bond Street.

"Pick up what you like, my dear, and make our drawing-room, your drawing room, as pretty as you please; nothing can be good enough in the little kingdom in which my Georgie deigns to reign."

But sugared compliments and furniture-buying cannot go on for ever. A pile of invitations attested the Haggards' popularity. Dance-giving mammas were anxious to secure the success of their entertainments by obtaining the presence of "lovely Mrs. Haggard."

A well-known professional beauty in the heyday of her charms was "sitting-out" at a great ball, the observed of all observers, in a _dos-a-dos causeuse_ with a Royal Highness.

"And is your Royal Highness also a wors.h.i.+pper at the shrine of budding bucolic beauty? I mean pretty Mrs. Haggard," said the spoilt darling of society, as with a little _moue_ she had indicated Georgie, who entered the room on her husband's arm. The good-natured prince glanced carelessly in the direction indicated; his lazy eyes sparkled as he quickly replied in a tone of reproof:

"Pretty is not the word, Mrs. Charmington; if that is the lady you allude to, she is lovely, absolutely lovely, and must count amongst her admirers every member of the human race who has had the happy privilege of beholding her." His Royal Highness rose.

Mrs. Charmington hastened to spread the report that his Royal Highness was seriously smitten.

"Royals ripen early, I suppose; naturally they age as quickly; perhaps his Royal Highness is arriving at a second childhood, and his heart turns to people of the Dolly the Dairymaid type."

But in her first rage Mrs. Charmington had been weak enough to let out that the prince had called young Mrs. Haggard "lovely." Mrs.

Charmington had received her own unsigned patent as a recognized beauty from the discriminating admiration of his Royal Highness. The _fiat_ had gone forth, and Julia Charmington had commenced her reign. The Charmington boot and the Charmington Bouquet were very freely advertised. A reproduction of Mrs. Charmington herself decorated the interior of the omnibuses.

"Why use dangerous cosmetics when Jones' soap retains youth and health for the complexion, and fosters the development of beauty?" Underneath the portrait was a facsimile of Mrs. Charmington's fas.h.i.+onable scrawl, "I owe you so much, so very much. I have never used any other soap than yours. Very faithfully yours, Julia Charmington."