CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XII

THE news in the telegram was authentic. Blagdon’s determination and her aunt’s strong support, had overborne Letty’s reluctance, and almost in spite of herself, she was about to make what is called ‘a great match.’ When the suitor appeared at The Holt, and laid his intentions and hopes before Mrs. Fenchurch, it was with difficulty that the lady could conceal her satisfaction. With suppressed emotion, she assured her would-be nephew, that he had her own and her husband’s warmest goodwill: to which he rejoined with a nonchalant laugh:

“Oh yes—of course—that’s all right; but what about Miss Glyn?”

“Letty is in absolute ignorance of her conquest,” replied the lady with measured emphasis. “She is only seventeen, very, very shy and innocent; if you startle or frighten her, nothing on earth would induce her to marry you. She is not worldly in any sense, and all the splendid fairy tale things you can bestow, will not appeal to her, as they would to other girls.”

Blagdon made no reply; he was standing with his back to the fire, looking down thoughtfully on his irreproachable boots. Suddenly he raised his eyes andfixed them on his companion, with an expression of insolent incredulity.

“I think with a horse and a dog of her own, some pretty frocks and a few young friends, Letty would be contented and happy,” she continued with composure. “Be very quiet with her at first, and allow the idea to dawn upon her by degrees. I mean, the idea of becoming your wife.”

“How do you mean, dawn?”

“Well, if I may make a suggestion, suppose you put up at Ridgefield and ride over to lunch occasionally; I have a quiet mare I can lend Letty—my husband will do gooseberry—do you see?”

“Isee,” he nodded, “all right. Yes I’ll take your tip. But look here, Mrs. Fenchurch, don’t let us have a long engagement, and all that sort of tomfoolery!”

“No, no, certainly not; happy is the wooing that’s not long a-doing,” she quoted. “And now I’ll send Letty to talk to you, and go and see if they are bringing in tea.”

Blagdon accepted the chaperon’s advice, assuring himself that Mrs. Fen was a clever woman, she should runthispart of the show; and accordingly, on various pretexts, he was to be seen at The Holt, two or three times a week.

He was really fond of the little girl. What colouring! what hair! what lovely, innocent eyes! The magic quality of her youth and freshness was indescribably piquant to his jaded taste.

It was a fact that Letty—ever sensitive to her surroundings—had in the present genial atmosphere unfolded like an exquisite flower. Her aunt was a puzzle, she was changed, and had become so thoughtful and indulgent, and had actually lent her a beautiful mare called ‘Mouse,’ and every day, wet or fine, she and her uncle openly and happily enjoyed long rides and long, confidential conversations. Occasionally these rides and conversations were shared by Mr. Blagdon, who would drop in to lunch and join the party. Exercise and April sunshine, brought smiles and radiance into the girl’s face, and Blagdon was astonished to discover how animated and gay Miss Glyn could be. How she and her uncle chaffed one another; how many jokes they shared. With respect to himself, her manner was guarded—not to say distant; a supreme indifference to his wealth and importance, enhanced her value tenfold. Supposing—chilling thought—that in spite of his boastful confidence, sweet seventeen were to refuse him?

Pricked by this apprehension, Blagdon took, for him, infinite pains to please, and tuned his personality in a lower key, more in harmony with that of his companion; and exhibited the best side of his character—generosity, a love of animals, a certain brusque sincerity. He looked his best in the saddle, was a bold and admirable horseman, and Miss Glyn began to like him. He had made her a present of a fox terrier, and was so good-natured, and not at all grandnow.

By sundry subtle indications, half a word, a quick glance, Letty gathered that her new friend wasnotone of her aunt’s disciples—indeed, rather the reverse! Here was one strong, if secret, bond between them, a rooted dislike of the same individual: and on this slender foundation, did Letty Glyn venture to build her home!

At first, when ‘the idea’ presented itself to her mind—the idea, that Mr. Blagdon wished to marry her—she thrust it from her in dismay. This was not the husband she looked for, when, with her face buried in the counterpane, she had made to herself a sobbing, smothered, vow. And yet, whispered the persistent ‘idea,’ he was kind, and he was strong; he would give her a home of her own, and protect her from Aunt Dorothy! And Aunt Dorothy was so bent upon this marriage. The girl shivered as she thought of her future, if her tyrant were disappointed! Poor Uncle Tom did not count; truth held before her, the remorseless fact, that she had to choose between her aunt, and Mr. Blagdon—Which was it to be?

Naturally Mrs. Fenchurch had enlarged upon Blagdon’s position and wealth; when she spoke of Sharsley and its splendours she became positively eloquent.

“The Scrope heirlooms, my dear child, are worth a fortune, and beyond the reach of American dollars. Old Scrope made them over with the place; the miniatures are marvellous, and there are two Nankin jars there that a Chinaman would worship on his knees! If Hugo asks you to marry him, Letty, you will be theluckiest girl in England! Has he said anything?” she enquired after a moment’s silence.

“No,” faltered the victim, with scarlet cheeks. “Nothing.”

“What?” The question was like a bullet.

“But I—I—I think he wishes to, Aunt Dorothy.”

“Then let him speak, for Heaven’s sake!” urged Mrs. Fenchurch with authoritative emphasis.

“Do remember, my dear, that you have only your little pension, and if anything were to happen to your uncle,” she paused expressively, leaving the question to be answered by the imagination of her companion.

One morning shortly after this conversation, Letty found herself in the drawing-room alone with Blagdon, and he spoke.

“Look here, Miss Glyn,” he began abruptly, “I’m no good at beating about the bush.”

Letty glanced up at him interrogatively. She was sitting in the window, knitting golf stockings for her uncle.

“You can bet it’s not to see your aunt I’ve been coming over here, eh? It’s to seeyou!”

Letty looked down: her fingers were shaking visibly.

“I am older than you, and all that sort of thing,” he continued airily; “but I’m not a bad sort, as my sister can tell you, and I want to know if you will marry me. Come now, don’t turn away like that, if it’s going to be ‘yes.’ Give me your hand.”

Suddenly she heard her aunt’s voice in the hall; it sounded unusually sharp, and dictatorial, and in apanic of terror, Letty extended a cold, limp little hand, on which Blagdon instantly imprinted a lingering, and burning kiss.

Then the door-handle turned noisily to admit Mrs. Fenchurch, and her newly pledged niece rose hastily to her feet, and all but ran out of the room.

Dorothy Fenchurch sat late that night, writing her great news on her best crested paper, to all her most important correspondents. She and Hugo, as she now called him, had had a talk: the wedding could take place soon—there was really nothing to wait for. Tom Fenchurch was, of course, brought into the consultation: he had lately begun to think that Blagdon was not such a bad sort, and that Letty might make something of him, after all—though down in his heart he did not approve of the match; but who could withstand Dorothy? Now, as he took part in and listened to this discussion, his contribution consisted of the words, repeated over and over again:

“Too young, too young; the child is too young; much too young.” But it was as the voice of one crying in a wilderness, Tom Fenchurch was in the minority, the vote for an early wedding was easily carried, and a notice toThe Morning Postto that effect, clinched the business.

Telegrams and letters poured in upon clever Mrs. Fen: congratulating her upon this, her most glorious achievement; not only was she the best housekeeper, the best gardener, the best judge of old furniture in the land, she had now crowned all her successesby marrying her niece to the greatestpartiin the County!

Naturally there were some spiteful and envious detractors, and one or two disappointed matrons shook their heads, and confided to their friends that, “They weresorryfor the poor little girl.”

The trousseau engrossed a good deal of time. Mrs. Fenchurch and her niece made many trips to London for shopping and fittings—fashionable frocks, far, far beyond the ability, but not the ambition, of Mrs. Cope.

Owing to these absences, and Blagdon’s own engagements, the happy pair did not see much of one another. Once or twice he came over and stayed at The Holt for a week-end, bringing wonderful offerings for his fiancée. He was absurdly proud of Letty, but surprisingly discreet and thoughtful. Colonel Tom assured his quaking heart, that the match might turn out all right after all! His wife had no fears.

Letty noticed, with grateful surprise, how extremely kind and friendly everyone had become; people to whom she was almost a stranger, and various far-away and important visitors, came to The Holt, talked to her with unaffected interest, and gazed at her curiously. One and all, offered their warmest congratulations, and declared that they would call as soon as ever she was settled at Sharsley.

But Mrs. Hesketh was discontented—her normal attitude—she refused to be reasoned with, overpowered with grandeur or talked down. Her ownmarried life had not been happy, and the first time she was alone with Letty she said:

“My dear child, of course I congratulate you, and I wish you all happiness; but have you thoroughly made up your mind? You do not know the world yet; you have no idea what marriage means; and you are so diffident, and unassertive. I think that the post of wife to Mr. Blagdon is toobigfor you!”

“I’m afraid in some ways it is,” she assented. “I am not accustomed to money. The most I have ever had to spend as I chose, was the ten pounds Uncle Tom gave me last Christmas. Still, I think Mr. Blagdon and I will get on together; he is so kind, he brings me the most lovely flowers and jewels, and says that once I am married to him, I shall do exactly as I please.”

“I wonder what you will please to do?”

“I will try to pleasehim, and set about learning ever so many things—to ride well—to talk amusingly—and——”

“It is not so easy to ride well, and talk amusingly,” Mrs. Hesketh quickly interposed. “Such things come by nature. Now shall I give you a little advice? Do not make confidantes of anyone in a hurry—be yourself, and keep to yourself till you know a little more of life and do not expect too much; remember that marriage is a blessing to few, a curse to many, and a great uncertainty to all.”

Letty broke into a merry laugh.

“Well, youarea Job’s comforter!”

“Neverover-exert yourself to please; your husband’s imagination may endow you with great gifts.”

“And when I am found to be merely a silly, inexperienced little chit of seventeen?”

“Oh, experience will come fast enough. I want you to promise me one thing.”

“I will promise you anything you like,” said Letty recklessly.

“Then if you are in any trouble or difficulty come tome—whatever you tell me, will be sacred, and as an old stager, if I may call myself so, I can advise you what to do, and what not to do.”

“I can promise you this with all my heart, and I would a thousand times rather come to you than to Aunt Dorothy,” and her delicate lips trembled. “She has always been so cold to me.”

“Well, at any rate, she is immensely proud of you now, my dear. You know she is a typical, strong-willed sort of person, who lies awake at night thinking of what is for everyone’s good. She cannot concentrate ononeindividual.”

“Yes, and at present she is thinking day and night about the wedding preparations: Uncle has given two hundred pounds to spend on my trousseau, and aunt is choosing it; but I have been allowed to have a say in my wedding dress. I’m sure I don’t know how we shall squeeze all the congregation into the church.”

“You have seen your mother-in-law, have you not?”

“I spent a day with her in London—she is rather a formidable old lady with a long, white face, astraight back, and beautiful hands. I cannot imagine her being Hugo’s mother—she is so unlike him, but I feel sure that she means to be kind: she gave me a most beautiful lace veil, and a set of opals and diamonds, and by and by, when we return from the honeymoon, she is coming down to stay with us. Hugo says that I’m bound to like her in time—and that her bark is worse than her bite.”

On her way from Oldcourt, Letty called to see her friend, the Rector’s wife. Mrs. Denton had received that morning a letter from her nephew Lancelot—who was still stationed at Aldershot—which said:

“What is this that I hear about Miss Glyn and Blagdon? Is it true that they areengaged? Oh, my dear aunt, I believe that Miss Glyn is fond of you, and if you could possibly give her a word of warning, it would save her from the most frightful leap in the dark a girl has ever taken. Blagdon will tire of her within six months, and bully her for the rest of his days. People at home don’t know the sort of fellow he is elsewhere, and it is shameful for the Fenchurchs to allow him to marry their niece. I know Mrs. Fen; she will enjoy the glory of a great match, and that poor little girl will be led like a lamb to the slaughter. Can’tyoudo something? You will think I’m gone off my chump, and am writing like a raving idiot, but I feel crazy, and it is no secret to you, dear, clear-sighted auntie, that I’m awfully fond of Letty myself. It’s bad enough that she should marry at all—a regular facer forme—but that she should marry this ruffian, is too awful!”

“What is this that I hear about Miss Glyn and Blagdon? Is it true that they areengaged? Oh, my dear aunt, I believe that Miss Glyn is fond of you, and if you could possibly give her a word of warning, it would save her from the most frightful leap in the dark a girl has ever taken. Blagdon will tire of her within six months, and bully her for the rest of his days. People at home don’t know the sort of fellow he is elsewhere, and it is shameful for the Fenchurchs to allow him to marry their niece. I know Mrs. Fen; she will enjoy the glory of a great match, and that poor little girl will be led like a lamb to the slaughter. Can’tyoudo something? You will think I’m gone off my chump, and am writing like a raving idiot, but I feel crazy, and it is no secret to you, dear, clear-sighted auntie, that I’m awfully fond of Letty myself. It’s bad enough that she should marry at all—a regular facer forme—but that she should marry this ruffian, is too awful!”

When the bride-elect, all smiles and blushes, ran in to tell Mrs. Denton about the kind letters, and the lovely presents, she had received, and how her train was to be of white satin, and she was to have two pages, the poor lady had this explosive missive under her pillow. Yet she dare not allude to it; her courage failed her, she could not utter the necessary word. Already she had thrown cold water on one love affair, and how was she to defy Mrs. Fenchurch, and dash her splendid project to the ground? She only said:

“Dear Letty, you are so young to marry! I do wish you could have waited a year, and seen a little more of the world.” There were tears in her eyes, as she added: “The great thing that is necessary, at any rate during the first year of married life, is forbearance. Everyone is on their best behaviour during their engagement, and afterwards—so many little things come out—things that surprise one. I wonder if you realise the solemn vow, ‘Till death us do part,’ marriage is such a serious step.”

“But it cannot be anything so very dreadful,” objected Letty. “I know so many married people, and they don’t look a bit different to the rest of the world.”

“Well, dear child, I pray that you may be truly happy in your new home, and remember, you will always have a loving friend in me.”

What did these two ladies, Mrs. Denton and Mrs. Hesketh, mean by impressing upon her the fact, thatthey were her friends? Why did Mrs. Denton cry? What could happen? Once or twice a certain trembling shook the bride-elect; a nervousness, in the face of the unknown; but this was a mere passing tremor: and crafty and vigilant Mrs. Fenchurch contrived, that Letty was left little time for solitude or reflection.

Three weeks later the wedding took place. It was a beautiful May day, the whole village wasen fête, the bride looked lovely—this was the truth, no mere conventional statement; the bride’s aunt wore blue velvet, bird of paradise plumes, and an expression of radiant triumph. Everything went off with great éclat, and a carriage with four horses whirled away the happy pair, upon the first stage of their honeymoon.

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