CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST.MARRIAGE!
HAD Jabez been vindictive, the opportunity, or at least the promise of revenge on his successful rival was not wanting. Various efforts had been made to call the Manchester Yeomanry to account for their doings at Peterloo, and many had been the overtures and suggestions to Jabez Clegg by members of the Radical party to join in the prosecution of the offenders. But he resolutely refused to identify the trooper who struck him, saying—
“I forgave the man at the time, believing him to be drunk, and incapable of discrimination. If I have since had reason to think otherwise, I cannot be so mean as to allow private feeling to influence a public act.”
It would be false to say there never was a tug at his heartstrings when the tempters were again at his elbow, before they made their final attempt in 1822. But he said to himself—
“If it would have been revengeful at the time when the bodily injury was fresh, it would be doubly revengeful, mean, and dishonourable now that he has supplanted me in love. And in striking at him I should wound Augusta, and that must never be.”
The temptation to expose his adversary was set aside, and thus it was that Laurence Aspinall’s name was not added to those of the four defenders on the record of the trial at Lancaster in April; and as that trial, after the examination of nearly a hundred witnesses of all ranks, terminated unsuccessfully for the prosecution, the forbearance of our friend Jabez spared him at least the mortification of defeat.
The year rolled on. At the instance of Mr. Ashton, Jabez withdrew the bulk of his deposits from the Savings Bank, and adding to Joshua Brookes’s gift the £200 he had accumulated by working late and early and saving small sums even duringhis apprenticeship, placed all in his master’s hands, to be invested in the business and so return him a higher rate of interest. And this was the first absolute start of Jabez as a capitalist.
The joyous excitement attending Augusta’s own preparations for her approaching nuptials was somewhat damped by the unaccountable condition of Ellen Chadwick, whose health, instead of improving during her visit to Carr Cottage, had appeared to decline still more perceptibly. A constant pain at her chest, frequent headaches, uncertain spirits, and increasing languor gave Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick real cause for uneasiness; but Ellen would not hear of a doctor, and maintained that it was “nothing to trouble about,” she should “be better soon.”
But she did not get “better soon,” and when the first August sun shone on Augusta’s birthday and bridal, it taxed her powers to the utmost to sustain efficiently her part as bridesmaid.
Had Captain Travis accepted his lieutenant’s invitation to be groomsman, she would have found it still more difficult; but a comparative stranger, a Mr. Joseph Bennett, of Gorton, filled the post, the bride’s father having objected very decidedly to bold Ned Barret.
Yet Ben Travis and Jabez Clegg were both among the guests, albeit it cost each a struggle. The two had mutually strengthened each other as such friends should, arriving at the Spartan decision to “suffer and be silent, facing their fate like men.” And indeed, old Mr. Ashton had wrung the hand of Jabez at least a week before, and said—
“I’m sorry for you, Clegg; I am, upon my soul; and I’m sorry for our poor lass too, for she’s made a mistake. But keep a brave heart, and don’t let that slashing yeomanry fellow crow over you. As Mrs. Ashton would say, ‘What can’t be cured must be endured,’ and we must all of us show the best face at the wedding that we can.”
If that meant elaborate display in dress and decorations, and provision for the bridal breakfast and dinner, then the face exhibited was a shining one. Mrs. Hodgson, the fashionable mantua-maker and milliner of Oldham Street (where two or three of the private houses had already been converted into shops), had kept her apprentices at work almost night and day for weeks, executing bridal orders from the Ashtons and their friends. A very snowstorm might have passed through the work-room, such heaps of white French-crape and satin, laceand organdi, lute-string and gauze, littered and covered available space, putting matronly brocade, velvet, and llama quite into the shade.
The warehouse saw little of Mrs. Ashton for a week or ten days previously. Cicily, who had gone over to the Aspinalls, had begged to be allowed to help Kezia for that occasion; and she roasted her own face in spinning gold and silver webs and baskets from sugar for the table, making “floating islands,” syllabubs, trifles, jellies, and blanc-mange to supplement the solid dishes Kezia dressed with so much skill. And Mr. Mabbott sent in a sugary “Temple of Hymen” and a bride’s cake prepared six weeks in advance.
The bride, alternately radiant and tearful like an April day, veiled with lace, and crowned with white rose-buds and orange-blossoms, wore a low-bodiced dress of white satin, festooned round the narrow skirt with costly lace, whilst on neck and arms, and in her tiny ears, were negligé, bracelets, and earrings of pearl, the gift of the gallant bridegroom’s gallant father.
The bridegroom was scarcely less resplendent in his high-collared blue coat and gold buttons, his white waistcoat buttoned to match, his glossy white trousers, and low shoes tied with a bunch of silk ferret. An oblong brooch set with a rim of pearls held down his broad fine shirt-frills; from his fob hung a huge bunch of gold seals pendant from a flat gold watch chain; and in his hand (not crushing his elaborate curls, now clustering richly as ever) he carried a hat of white beaver of the newest shape.
To Mr. and Mrs. Ashton it was a matter of open regret that Joshua Brookes, who had christened Augusta, should not have lived to marry her also; but Mr. Aspinall, whose reminiscences of the old chaplain were of another order, was much better satisfied to see his own personal friend Parson Gatliffe, thebon vivant, behind the altar-rails.
If the bride was tall and graceful, with sunshine in her eyes and in her classic curls, tall and stately was the bride’s mother, whose long train of purple silk velvet swept the aisles, though trains had ceased to be general. There was no faltering over the responses. There was a glow of modest pride on the cheek of Augusta; a look of mingled ardour and exultation on the face of Laurence; his “I will” was pronounced with a force which was almost fierce, yet, as she faintly promised to “obey,” he pressed her hand with smiling significance.
The ceremony over, the bride did not faint, but turning toher tearful-eyed father, threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, whispering how grateful she was that he had given her the man of her choice, and that he should see what a good wife she would make; and the impromptu embrace sent a shower of snuff over white satin and lace.
Yet some one fainted, whom Ben Travis caught in his strong arms and carried to the church door for air; a dark-haired, black-eyed bridesmaid, whose face was white and skin transparent as her own robe.
Custom had not set its imperative seal on the wedding tour as a necessity, but after a magnificent solid dinner, to which the party did full justice, and an elaborate dessert, during which the cake was cut, and Mr. Aspinall proposed the health of the bride in an inflated toast, demanding that it should be drunk in bumpers, “and no heel-taps,” the wedded pair drove off in Mr. Aspinall’s carriage to the family mansion at Fallowfield, there to spend the honeymoon.
“Good-bye, Jabez,” said Augusta, putting her small soft hand into his as they left the house; “you will comfort my father and mother, will you not? I trust them to you.”
And he replied with the fervency of truth, “I accept the trust willingly. Good-bye, Mrs. Aspinall” (how the word choked him!) “May God bless you, and the marriage you have contracted. Good-bye!”
He did not kiss her hand, had not taken the common liberty of guests to kiss the bride’s lips in church; he did but press her hand as any old friend who had grown up with her under the same roof might have done; but before the carriage had well dashed from the door, or the bridegroom had fairly settled himself on his seat, Laurence turned to the fair young wife, whose prophetic tears were now falling fast, with the sharp rebuke—
“What was that foundling fellow mumbling over your hand? You will please to remember that that hand is mine now, Mrs. Aspinall. You have promised toloveandobeyme—MEyourLORDandMASTER. AndMASTERI mean to be. I have borne the fooling of your friends and your own pretty caprices long enough. It is my turn now; and if any man so much as dares to look at you I’ll pound him to a jelly! And now dry your eyes and give me a kiss!”
And that was the inauguration of Augusta Aspinall’s married life.
It has been said that the bridesmaid fainted. Every ladycarried a smelling bottle, and means to revive her were not far to seek. She soon recovered, and with a sensitive blush withdrew from the arms which had been so proud to sustain her, casting her eyes round as if in search of some other whose service might have been more acceptible. But she suffered no relapse. She was ready to wait upon the bride, to sign “Ellen Chadwick” in the church register, and to assist Mr. Joseph Bennett in cutting up the cake for distribution, with cards and gloves, to friends not present. It was an arduous task, and she succumbed before it was half completed.
“Miss Chadwick, you are not well; let me relieve you,” said Jabez, coming to her assistance after the “happy pair” had driven off, and whilst peals of laughter, shouts, and hurrahs came from the dining-room where gentlemen were honouring the bridal by drinking themselves senseless and speechless.
Ellen remained with her aunt a few days longer, during which Jabez, exceedingly pained to see the ravages hidden disease had made in so estimable a young lady, was pitifully attentive.
He could not, however, fail to see that his attentions distressed her; and, on the whole he was not sorry when Augusta’s parents and he were left to themselves, to talk of their own dear one and speculate on her future.
Weeks went by. Mrs. Aspinall visited her old home, but never without her husband; and seldom was she allowed to remain more than an hour. Her spirits seemed exuberant, but somehow her unusual vivacity jarred on her mother’s nerves, and she suspected that her spirits were forced.
Meanwhile Ellen Chadwick faded. Dr. Hardie, called in at last, watched his patient with curious and attentive eye, perplexed and dubious. He had been friend as well as physician since Mr. Chadwick’s attack of paralysis, and was a close observer. Now he came and went in a gossiping sort of way, to put his patient at ease, and off her guard. He was there one day when Jabez was announced, and saw a sudden spasmodic action of the face, a dilation of the pupils, a scarcely perceptible pant and parting of the lips, and then he watched her closer. He introduced Mr. Clegg’s name, as if casually, whilst his fingers were on her pulse. The result of his observations were told to Mr. Chadwick the same day.
“Your daughter has no specific disease, Mr. Chadwick, she is simplylove-sick.”
“L-love-s-sick?”
“Yes; and her secret passion is consuming her. Medicine cannot save the patient’s life if her affection be not returned, and that right speedily.”
Mr. Chadwick was aghast.
“I feared as much,” said Mrs. Chadwick, with a sigh.
“Then you will have an inkling who is the desired object?” said the doctor.
“I think so.”
“Does your maternal instinct point to Mr. Clegg?” he asked, with a curious look.
“It does; but he himself has no suspicion, and I am sure regards Ellen only as a friend—a friend elevated a little above him.”
“Is the young man courting?”
“I believe not.”
“Then,” said the doctor sententiously, “the sooner he is, the better for Miss Chadwick. Her life is not worth a month’s purchase unless Mr. Clegg become the buyer. But let not Miss Ellen hear a whisper of my opinion. Good day.”
And snatching up his hat the doctor departed, leaving them to their reflections.
Here was a delicate subject to be dealt with, and that without either loss of time or the sacrifice of their beloved child’s sensitiveness and reserve.
Unknown to Ellen a family conclave assembled under the Mosley Street roof, to discuss the momentous question, and deliberate what was best to be done. Long and grave were their deliberations. At length, taking Mr. Chadwick’s imperfect speech into consideration, Mr. Ashton consented to lay the case before Jabez, and leave his brother-in-law to supplement it, if necessary; though opinions were divided as to the result.
It was after business hours, and Mr. Ashton found Jabez in his own room, doing his best to dissipate thought by hard work, mind and hand being busy with a chintz-pattern for calico-printing.
There was a nervous plunge into the gold snuff-box, and a consequent flourish of a gay bandana, and some time spent in examining the incomplete design on the desk, before Mr. Ashton could fairly enter on his embassy. After a little prelude, in which, whilst enlarging on the serious nature of his niece’s illness, he elicited from Jabez that he held the young lady in the very highest esteem, and was deeply grieved to hear of herperilous state, he put down his snuff-box on the table before him, and drawing up his chair so as to bring their heads closer together, looked steadfastly into the other’s clear eyes as he put the question—
“And what should you think ofloveas the cause of her malady?”
“Love!” echoed Jabez, his mind running off to the agonised confession made to him on the Taxal hillside.
“Yes,love, and for the very man whose meritsmyfoolish child failed to see.”
Jabez looked at him vaguely.
“Surely not Mr. Marsland!”
“Pah! no!” exclaimed Mr. Ashton, as if disgusted at his obtuseness. “Yourself, man—Jabez Clegg.”
Jabez fixed his eyes on his informant in blank amazement, a monosyllabic long-drawn “Me!” being his sole response.
“Just so!” assented Mr. Ashton, and he took a pinch of snuff on the strength of it.
“Oh, sir, there must be some mistake! How has this been ascertained? Has Miss Chadwick made——”
“No, Clegg, the poor lass has never said one word, except with her eyes and pulse. Dr. Hardie has made the discovery now, and it turns out Mrs. Chadwick suspected it long ago.”
“Oh, dear! dear! this is very terrible!”
He was estimating the pain in Ellen’s heart by that in his own.
“Very terrible indeed, Clegg, for Hardie says the lass’s life is not worth so much as a yard of filleting if her love meet no return.”
The head of Jabez sank in his open hands upon the table. What would his friend Travis think of all this? Presently he raised his face, over which a strange change had passed.
“Mr. Ashton, what would you have me do?”
“Whatever Jabez Clegg thinks he ought to do,” he answered steadily, adding in another tone, “I would have been glad to have given thee my own child: my brother-in-law implores thee to takehischild, to save her life.”
After a prolonged silence Jabez spoke.
“Mr. Ashton, I hold that love alone can sanctify marriage: my love has blossomed and died fruitless. Yet so highly do I esteem Miss Chadwick, and so proud am I of the great honour she has done me in her preference, that I place myself in your hands. If I can spare so amiable a young lady the pain Isuffer from rejected love, I should be a brute and a savage to refuse her the remnant of a valueless life. We may at least soften its asperities for each other.”
The Chadwicks went home with minds relieved, but Jabez had stipulated that nothing should be said to Ellen of their overtures to him, no hint given which could alarm her shrinking modesty.
The following day he called to inquire about her health, made his genuine anxiety apparent, and noted, as he had never done before, how her lip trembled and her eyelid drooped. Gradually, as his attentions became more marked, her health and spirits rose, and when at last he proposed to her calmly, quietly, as though he sought a haven when the frothy waves of a first passion had subsided, she accepted him as God’s best gift, all unaware that his offer was not spontaneous, or that her cousin Augusta was yet deeply shrined in his secret heart.
He had been at first greatly concerned about Ben Travis but the generous fellow, to whom he felt in honour bound to explain his conduct, only wrung his hand and said—
“I could not resign her to a worthier.”