The Five-Minute Marriage (9 page)

“
But you do not
want
a real marriage,
”
Delphie objected.
“
Mr. Penistone for sure does not wish to be married to me. And I am very certain that I do not wish to marry
him
.”

Mr. Penistone cast her an inimical look, and observed,

“
All that needs is for some other piece of paper to be substituted for the license, and for some other person to borrow the clerical robes. Deuce take it, ma
’
am—the whole affair will only take five minutes!
”

“
But the clergyman himself cannot approve of such a scheme?
”

“
On the contrary,
”
said Fitzjohn.
“
He thinks it essential for my uncle
’
s peace of mind—otherwise he is like to die in a wretched state of agitation and useless repining, without having properly made his peace with God.
”

“
He sounds a most singular creature
...
But if that is really so—
”
said Delphie slowly. It had occurred to her that here, at least, by agreeing to this bedside ceremony, she must achieve a chance, which would not otherwise be granted, of getting to see her great-uncle. She might have an opportunity to mention her mother—

“
Come, miss,
”
said Fitzjohn.
“
We have—I promise you—no time to waste in arguing. Lord Bollington
’
s state is critical. Even now it may be too late. Is it to be yes, or no?
”

Delphie looked at him. His square face was impassive; he did not seem as if he personally were greatly interested in the outcome of her deliberations, but merely wished a tiresome problem to be resolved; he gave her a brief, encouraging smile, however. Penistone seemed much more agitated; he slightly loosened his carefully tied neckcloth, and drew a short, weary breath.

“
Very well,
”
said Delphie.
“
I do not approve—I do not at all condone your scheme—but—in the circumstances—and if it is truly for the welfare of a dying man—I am prepared to co-operate with you.
”

“
In that case,
”
said Fitzjohn,
“
be so good as to come with us. There is no time to be lost.
”

He led the way out of the room and, after an instant
’
s hesitation, Philadelphia followed him, with Mr. Penistone close behind her.

4

The distance from the library to Lord Bollington
’
s chamber was by no means so great as the way that Delphie had been taken to the West Wing; within a very few minutes they were standing in a broad carpeted anteroom, while Mr. Fitzjohn tapped on a paneled door; then they passed through another antechamber, in which a thin man in a close snuff-colored suit and an old
-
fashioned wig—presumably the lawyer—sat writing busily at a table in a
corner
, while two others—the elderly Fidd, and a black
-
clad man, no doubt the doctor—conferred in low voices. Fitzjohn stopped to say a word to them and they glanced at Delphie with a kind of apathetic, gloomy curiosity; then Fitzjohn passed through yet another door and led them into the room beyond.

This was an enormous chamber; it had mullioned windows, a high ceiling with elaborate moldings, and bosses suspended from its plasterwork, a thick carpet, and a few massive pieces of furniture at large distances from each other. An immense pile of coal on the hearth had burned down to a hot red glow; two oil lamps supplied a shadowy and insufficient light. Fitzjohn, with a nod of his head, signaled Delphie to approach the roomy four-poster bed which stood on the far side of the hearth.

For a few moments she found it difficult to distinguish the man who lay on the bed from the shadows surrounding him; then as her eyes by degrees became accustomed to the somber light, she slowly began to take in his appearance.

Her great-uncle lay propped against a pile of pillows; despite the pains that had evidently been taken to ease his position, he drew each breath with a harsh rattle, as if the effort gave him severe pain. He looked to be about seventy years of age; his face was
much lined, and all the color and blood seemed to have been drained away from it. His hair was a shock of coarse white, like a thistle head; his eyebrows, too, bristled white above the closed eyes, deep sunk in their hollows. He looked all skin and bone; the hands that lay inertly before him on the counterpane might have been carved from grainy, weather-beaten wood.

It was hot and close in his chamber; a smell of burnt paper and Russia leather hung in the air, and the lingering aromatic fumes of some vinegary medicament; Delphie began to wish herself elsewhere; she felt it very oppressive in there, as she stood silently waiting for the man in the bed to open his eyes.

“
Ahem!
”
said Fitzjohn, quite loudly.
“
I have brought my cousin, sir—my cousin Miss Carteret.
”

The small eyes under the frosty brows flew open. Delphie was uncomfortably reminded of a spider, couched motionless in a shadowy
corner
, waiting for its prey, as the head slightly moved, and the sparks in the deep-socketed caverns traveled slowly around toward her. She fancied that there was an expression of considerable malice in them.

“
Found your way here at last, then miss, have you? A moneyless mare trots fast to the market! Heh, heh, heh!
”
He spoke in a kind of whispering rattle, but his laugh was disagreeably loud and shrill.

Delphie opened her lips to reply, but he gestured her to silence with one of the gray, bony hands.
“
Quiet, miss! I want no parleying!
I
do the talking here. Silence is a woman
’
s best garment.
”
His face wrinkled into a scowl; his lower lip thrust out. She thought that he looked a most evil old scarecrow.

“
Ay,
”
he muttered,
“
they
’
re all alike; bright eyes and hard grasping hands, lying tongues and mouths that will suck the life
’
s blood out of you. Hearts like stones; she-hyenas who would eat their own children if no other food offered.
”

Delphie wondered if Lord Bollington
’
s mother had been unkind to him—or had his wife, the former Prissy Privett, played him false? Or was he raving in delirium? His spiteful glance moved round to Gareth Penistone, who was standing with no very submissive expression on his dark features, at a slight
l
y farther remove from the bedside.

“
Well, Gareth,
”
croaked the old man.
“
Are you prepared to have the knot tied—hey? Are you ready for the noose?
”

“
Yes, sir; I have already expressed my willingness,
”
replied Gareth shortly.

“
Wise man!
”
Lord Bollington gave his disagreeable chuckle.
“
Knows which side his bread is buttered on! To be sure, she
’
s a handsome wench enough—the outside of the platter, hah! Favors the family, too. I daresay the inside
’
s as black as the rest of her species. Well, fetch in the parson! Let
’
s get it done with!
”

Mr. Fitzjohn walked rapidly and noiselessly from the room. Penistone made a hasty movement, of impatience or despair, as if minded to call his cousin back; then desisted, and, turning, stood by the mantel with a slightly bent head, staring down into the red coals.

Delphie stood calmly regarding the old man, and he looked back at her.

“
Spirit, too,
”
he muttered.
“
Put that white thing over your head, girl—no, no, not right over!—ay, that will do
”
—as she draped the white scarf, framing her face.
“
Ay, ay, so she looked
—
it must be fifty years agone.
”

“
Who looked, Uncle Mark?
”
said Gareth, but not as if he had any particular interest in the answer.

“
Why, Mary—your Great-uncle Lancelot
’
s first wife—this girl
’
s grandmother.
”
He added, as if to himself,
“
A Howard,
she
was.
”

At this moment the old man
’
s mutterings were drowned by a strange noise—a kind of loud, staccato rattling, which was audible somewhere high up in the room, above the bed valance. The wind had got up, and was probably disturbing some loose board or piece of lath in the ancient structure of the house.

“
Hush! Hush!
”
gasped Lord Bollington. Even in that dim light it could be seen that his face had blanched to a paler, more leaden hue; his fingers worked convulsively on the cover.
“
Do you hear them? They are impatient! They are waiting for me!
”

“
It is nothing, uncle!
”
said Penistone irritably.
“
Rats in the timbers perhaps! Or just the joists creaking.
”

“
Nay! It is the spirits telling me to make haste. My brother is angry. He that dieth in the water shall never lie quiet; and he that lacketh burial shall be for ever unappeased; his voice crieth in the wind! It is my brother and his son Tristram.
”

For a moment Delphie wondered where nephew Tristram fitted into the family pattern; then she recollected that he was her own uncle, her mother
’
s brother, who had died at the Battle of St. Vincent; presumably that was why his aged relation felt that his restless spirit wandered in the wind.

“
It is nothing, sir,
”
she murmured.
“
My cousin was right—it was the timbers creaking, I daresay. It has stopped again.
”

“
Quiet, girl! I tell you, the spirits are angry with me!
”

And it was true that, in a moment or two, the rattling began again. Delphie looked upward, but could see nothing above the shadowed bed valance.
Then
the sound died away again.

Shortly afterward, Fitzjohn returned with a tall, balding man in clerical robes, who moved swiftly, with a rustle of his gown, to Lord Bollington
’
s bedside.

Jenny accompanied them, looking both amazed and subdued.
“
We needed a witness,
”
Fitzjohn explained to Philadelphia in a low tone.
“
I thought you might like your friend to assist you at the ceremony.
”
She was somewhat surprised at this consideration, but thanked him with a nod, and smiled at Jenny
’
s look of round
-
eyed amazement, laying a finger on her lips.

“
Uncle Mark,
”
murmured Fitzjohn,
“
here is His Grace, the Bishop of Bengal, who has expressed his willingness to perform the marriage ceremony for my cousins.
”

“
Why the devil need you fetch a
bishop
into the business?
”
demanded the old man testily.
“
What
’
s wrong with Bragg from the rectory, pray?
”

“
Mr. Bragg is attending a diocesan conference, sir.
”

“
Got no right to slope off without my permission,
”
grumbled Lord Bollington.

Delphie had been wondering to herself what reason Mr. Fitzjohn would give for having some stranger perform the mock ceremony; she was impressed by his power of invention, for up till now she had put Fitzjohn down as a decidedly sober and prosaic person. The Bishop of Bengal—good heavens! And no doubt, once the ceremony was over, he would conveniently return to Bengal again.

Mr. Fitzjohn now turned and made the introductions between the clergyman, herself, and Mr. Penistone.

“
How do you do, Your Grace?
”
said Delphie with a slight curtsy.
“
I hope you are enjoying your visit to this country?
”

“
T
h
ank you, my child. Unfortunately this chilly spell has given me a severe cold,
”
the apparent bishop replied, blowing his nose and sneezing several times.
“
I am afraid it is but a hoarse blessing that I shall be able to pronounce over you. And I think it as well if we perform the ceremony without delay. I have no wish to add to his lordship
’
s troubles by giving him my cold.
”

“
No indeed,
”
agreed Delphie.
“
That would be the outside of enough.
”

Mr. Penistone threw her a sardonic glance, but said nothing.

“
Have you the license, Mr. Fitzjo
h
n?
”
inquired the bishop.

“
Certainly, sir; here it is.
”

The bishop scanned the paper that Fitzjohn handed him, apparently found it in order, and handed it back.

He then, without more ado, pulled a prayer book out of a pocket in his robe and proceeded to read the marriage service.

Delphie listened in a kind of wondering calm. When the priest reached that formidable adjuration: If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, she felt both sadness and guilt. How do we dare fool that poor old sinner on the bed with such a mockery as this? she thought. And when the final exhortation came: Let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace, she half expected some voice, perhaps from above the bed valance, to cry, I do! It is all a false deceit. I do!

But no such interruption occurred.

At the point where the ring was called for, she wondered fleetingly if this necessity had been remembered; but apparently it had; Mr. Penistone produced a gold ring from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the pretended bishop, who gave it an approving glance and passed it back. Next moment it was on Delphie
’
s finger.

“
I now pronounce you man and wife,
”
said His Grace, and added,
“
You may kiss your bride.
”

Philadelphia coolly inclined her cheek; Mr. Penistone slightly touched it with his lips; their eyes met for a brief moment.

Lord Bollington
’
s chamber was now in profound silence; the rapping in the shadows had died away during the short ceremony.

“
Are they tied up?
”
demanded the old man, opening his eyes, which had been shut while the service was going on.
“
Are they properly shackled?
”

“
They are, sir; tight as holy church can make them,
”
replied the bishop.

Jenny stepped forward, threw her arms round Delphie in a warm hug, and gave her a smacking kiss. Her eyes sparkled, but she still did not dare speak.

“
Very good! Then get out of my room, the whole pack of you!
”
declared Lord Bollington when the witnesses had signed their names, Mr. Fitzjohn acting as the second.
“
I do not wish to see any of you again. But let Fidd come in with a decanter of brandy, and send that lawyer fellow the very minute he has finished his scratching and scribing.
I’
ll need witnesses for my will, too,
”
he added, recollecting.
“
The servants won
’
t do—they are all mentioned in the will. The doctor
’
s assistant can be one. And you, sir
”
—to the pretended bishop—
”
you can be the other.
”

“
Indeed, Lord Bollington, I think it best—considering my cold
—
that I do not remain in your presence, if you will be so good as to excuse me,
”
said the bishop.

Lord Bollington muttered some words, among which
“
devilish awkward disobliging shovel-faced fellow
”
could be distinguished, but said,
“
Oh, very well! Let the wench remain, then,
”
indicating Jenny with a look of loathing.
“
The rest of you—clear out! Yes
—
you as well,
”
to Fitzjohn, who seemed as if he wished to say something to his uncle.
“
I will see you later!
”

The instant they were all outside Lord Bollington
’
s chamber, Mr. Fitzjohn took the bishop
’
s arm and led him away, calling back some brief explanation over his shoulder as he did so.

“
Allow me to escort you back to the library, Miss Carteret,
”
said Mr. Penistone.

Delphie cast a quick nervous look backward, in case the old man might have caught the name
Miss Carteret,
but the door was already closed.

“
Thank you,
”
she said absently,
“
you are very good,
”
and was silent for the rest of the short walk downstairs. Something about the artificiality of the brief, odd constrained ceremony had moved her very strangely: the bitter old man, churlish in his loneliness and guilt, beset by superstitious terrors; the hot, close, dim room; the total lack of any sympathy or affection for the dying man in his last illness; the two cousins, impassively practicing their deceit by means of this elaborate pretense; these things had affected her deeply, and gave her a feeling of inexpressible sadness. But she could hardly expect that the same impression had been made on Mr. Penistone. When they reached the library, therefore, rather than remain with him, alone in another uncomfortable silence, she said,

“
Pray, sir, do not feel that you need be at the trouble of keeping me company. No doubt, now that you have achieved the end for which you came to Chase, you have many things that you will wish to be doing—
”

Without immediately answering her, he turned and tugged at the bellpull. Then he said, with some difficulty, it seemed,

“
Miss Carteret—I cannot express to you how much I disliked the—the necessity of—of going through the performance which has just been concluded. Believe me, if I could have seen any means of avoiding it, I would have done so. But one kind of unreasonable behavior leads to another. My uncle brought it on himself.
”

“
Pray do not concern yourself, sir,
”
she answered coolly.
“
In order to achieve pos
s
ession of a fortune, I believe it is occasionally necessary to do things which one may dislike.
”

His eyes flashed.
“
You do not understand how matters are in the very least! It was not only my own interests which were at stake—you do not realize how I am circumstanced—I was not the only party who would have been struck out of my uncle
’
s will
—
other, innocent persons would also have suffered—
”

“
Do not be at the trouble of explaining, sir. I perfectly comprehend the case. There was also the—ah—the other Miss Carteret to be taken into consideration! Little did she realize, when electing to remain in Bath for that tempting Assembly, that she ran the risk of being disinherited—all for the sake of a waltz or two and a few quadrilles.
”

“
She had nothing to do with the matter!
”
snapped Mr. Penistone.
“
If it were only for
her
sake—but I cannot explain to you!
”

“
No, and I beg that you will be at no further pains to do so. It is not of the smallest consequence, after all!
”

A young nervous footman came into the room, and said,