Chapter III.The Marriage“When are we going to Italy?” asked Carlotta. She was sitting happily on Hugh’s knee, and the sunlight came through the window of the old Inn.“I have got the tickets, and booked our passages. The boat sails on Saturday from Dover, and we go through France by train.”She clapped her hands with pleasure.He looked at her with delight, what a perfect little girl she was!“And I’ve got lots of clothes for you. You must come and see them. Mrs. Southgate has laid them all out in your bedroom.”“You are a dear,” she said, and kissed him.His method had been simple. He had written to London, explaining that he required a complete outfit, and giving a description of the lady. It was not the first time, and the articles had arrived by return. He had a wealth of faults, but always paid his debts; it was a peculiarity of the family.Carlotta was delighted; what a child she was. She had worn the school costume, sombre and uninteresting, so long that the sight of all these lovely things made her joyous.Desmond sat and watched her with a glow of pleasure.Nothing would satisfy her but to try them on, and she came to him to do up fastenings or hooks.It was all joy and happiness, then quite suddenly she came and put her arms round his neck, and said:“Where are we going to get married, here or in Italy?”The question staggered him. There was nothing coaxing or challenging in the voice, and the question was asked so simply, as though she was asking where they were going to dine.Her great dark innocent eyes looked at him, and a wave of pity, and something as near remorse as he was capable of, touched him.“Why, damme,” he said with a laugh, and with one of those strange resolutions which madness dictated. “I had not thought of that, little Daphne, so you would really like to marry me?” He watched her narrowly. If there had been tears or reproach he would have stiffened, but she merely said “Yes please, if you would like to,” and he was disarmed. He gave a great laugh and held her to him.“Caught! By Jove. Very well, sweetheart, we will get married. Why not, after all? Married women have a pretty good time, so why not men?” She looked at him with grave eyes.“Fancy being your wife. It will be lovely.”They had no time to spare, as although the Southgates were loyal and true, the search for the girl might find them at any moment. He obtained a special license, and they set out by road for Dover with gaiety in their hearts, and in his case an unusual sense of virtue. If she wondered that she had not met his family or friends, she put it down to the fact that they must escape pursuit. He told her they would come back when all the bother was over and he would show her London.At a little village church, where a friend of Desmond’s was parish priest, and keener on hunting than his work, they were made man and wife. She was a Catholic, and did not understand the ceremony, which was witnessed by young Southgate and the verger, but when he placed the ring on her finger, whispering “It was my Mother’s,” she thought it all very beautiful.The parson entertained them to a gargantuan meal, and both the men were soon happily and noisily drunk, but Carlotta noticed nothing.“Reckavile, you ruffian, this is the last straw,” said the parson. Carlotta had never heard the name before, but in after years she remembered.“You married! Oh Lord! I thought your line would at last end with you—at any rate on the right side. You dog!”Drunk as he was Reckavile turned grey. “I had sworn the Curse should die with me. The Devil has a hand in most things. Pass the bottle.”Southgate and the parson’s man helped him into the chaise, and the parson kissed the bride.“God bless you, my dear,” he said unsteadily. “Come and see me again.”But it was not to be. A stroke took the worthy man off the next night with consequences which none of them could have foreseen.The weeks that followed were one dream of delight to Carlotta.They journeyed from town to town, discovering fresh beauties everywhere. He was charmed with his young bride, and for a moment the horrible craving for something new was stayed.She thought he was showing her Italy, but the restless craze drove him on, only now he was happy at last, and satisfied with her sweetness.At Ancona, where they stayed for several days, he got his letters.He was utterly careless in these matters, but his butler sent him a batch now and then.They had been watching the Bay from the battlements, with the sun flashing on the Adriatic waters, when he took a bulky packet from his pocket, and opened it carelessly.There were some bills, some letters from his Club, and statement from his butler. Nothing to worry about. Then his eye caught a familiar writing, and with a quick catch in his breath, and a dull presentiment of evil he broke the seal.It was from Winnie, as he had known by the writing, and he read it through twice. The large scrawly handwriting was clear enough, but the news was startling.My Darling Hugh,Where have you hidden yourself all this time? I have enquired everywhere, but no one knows anything about you. I am in such dreadful trouble, I must see you at once. It is too awful. My husband knows all about us. When he came back from Germany the servants told him I had been away, and he found that we had been stopping at that hotel. He put a lawyer on the track, and discovered everything. Oh! What are we to do! You must come and advise me, and you will stand by me won’t you? You know how much I love you, and you know you made me unfaithful to my husband. You will not leave me now? He is getting a divorce and what am I to do? I am staying with my mother, as he will not have me. Do come to me.Your broken-heartedWinnieThere were tear stains, and corrections, and crosses at the end. The letter was unfair and gross, and as Hugh looked up from reading it, he contrasted in his mind the fair young girl, now throwing little stones over the hedge to see them drop far below, and the flamboyant beauty of the other, to whom now he must go, for so the twisted honour of his race would have it.“Come, Daphne, let us go back. It is getting late,” he said, but there was a solemn note in his voice, which made her ask. “Have you had bad news?”“Oh no, just the ordinary worries, but it will probably mean I shall have to go to England. Business affairs you know, but don’t trouble, little girl, I shall not be away from you for long.”A shadow crossed her lovely face. It was the first separation.“Can’t I come too? I would love to see England properly, London and the big cities.”“I am afraid not this time, and besides you would hate the winter. I must get a villa for you, and you can make everything ready for me when I come back. It will be quite exciting for you, furnishing.”And so it was arranged. Everything had to be done in a hurry, but then he was used to that. He bought a charming little Villa at Murano, and obtained servants for her, while she was to stay in Venice till she had furnished it. On the last night she was sad.“Come back soon,” she said “I shall be so lonely without you, and …” she stopped.He was tender with her, but there was a hunted look in his eyes. He could see only one way out of the mess, and that he could not tell her.She faced the parting bravely, and he was proud of her. There was no scene such as he had been accustomed to with others; she smiled at him, and waved as the train moved out. Only when she got home to the hotel, she went to her room and burst into a passionate flood of tears.Reckavile found all London talking about the case. The worthy draper had filed his petition, and only awaited his turn to come to the courts. Winnie he would not see, and rumour gathered round the action Reckavile would take. Betting was about even on his marrying the woman or killing the draper.Those who knew him were certain he would face the music.He paid two visits, one to his family lawyer to enter a defence, and one to an intimate friend, Captain Wynter. He found the latter at the Club, and with his usual abruptness opened at once.“You’ve heard of this silly business about the man Wheatland, eh?” Wynter nodded.“Well, I want you to take a challenge to him. Tell him I’ll fight him for the lady.”“My dear fellow,” said the other, dropping his eyeglass in his astonishment, “are you joking? That sort of thing is quite out of date, unfortunately, otherwise one would not have to put up with the insults one meets with nowadays.”“I mean it quite seriously, I am in a devil of a mess, and if he can plug me, all the better. It will end the line, and everyone will be satisfied.”Wynter looked at him, and realised he was serious, and in a dangerous mood. It would be best to pacify him, and rather a joke to frighten the draper; perhaps even it might stay proceedings.He drew up the challenge with all the formality of a century ago, and showed it to Reckavile, who gravely agreed, without apparently seeing any humour in the situation.Wynter dressed himself in his best, and hailing a hansom cab, drove to Wheatland Emporium in Highbury.He found him, an anxious worried little man, pompous and vain, with horrible mutton chop whiskers.He had risen by energy and hard work through the stages of assistant to shop-walker and manager, until he had obtained a shop of his own, and his middle aged affection had been lavished on his cashier Winnie, then a beautiful young girl, and ambitious.She had married him for his money, hoping to twist him round her fingers, and found him vain and jealous, and exacting in his ideas both of marital duty and spending limits.Wynter he greeted with the artificial smile of the business man expecting custom, and the latter bowed politely; he was enjoying his part. “Mr. Wheatland, I believe?” he said.“The same, sir, at your service,” answered the other.“May I have a word with you, sir?” said the soldier.“Certainly, come to my office.”Seated in Wheatland’s private room, Wynter felt a sudden distaste at his mission. After all, this poor man had been treated badly, and he had his rights like anyone else.“I am afraid I have come on an unpleasant errand,” he said “I represent Lord Reckavile.”The draper stiffened. “I do not wish to hear anything from that man, my lawyer has the matter in hand.”Wynter waved his hand. “This is not a lawyer’s business, but a personal one—my friend Reckavile feels that you have a distinct grievance, in fact that you have the right to demand satisfaction. He is willing to waive his rank, and will meet you, if you will nominate a second with whom I may arrange details.”“A second, I don’t understand,” said the bewildered Wheatland.“Exactly, a friend who will act for you. You can then fight for the lady. He feels that as the aggrieved party you have the right to challenge, but you might feel diffident on account of the disparity in rank.” He produced his Cartel and spread it out.The little man’s eyes fairly bulged in his head.“Either you are playing a very discreditable practical joke, or your friend is mad. Fight, sir, I never heard such rubbish. Are we back in the Middle Ages? The Law, sir, will give me protection, and I shall immediately communicate with my solicitor to stop this murderous ruffian.”Then his manner changed, and in a whining tone he said, “Is it not enough that he has seduced my wife, whom I loved with all my heart, but he must seek my life as well.”Wynter felt uncomfortable, and cursed himself for coming.He rose to his feet, and buttoned up his coat, thrusting his famous challenge into his pocket.“Then I may take it, Mr. Wheatland, that you will not fight,” he said.“Certainly not, sir, I never heard anything so preposterous in my life,” said the other.“Very good, but on one point you are wrong. Reckavile is a strange creature, and he does not wish to kill you; in fact he was hoping you would kill him.”Wheatland gazed at him open-mouthed.“Kill him, sir, and how much better off should I be if I were hanged for murder, than if I were murdered myself. And what would become of my business; I should look ridiculous.”Wynter felt he had better terminate the interview.“Good-day, Mr. Wheatland,” he said bowing slightly.Wheatland laid a hand on his arm.“He will marry her, won’t he sir, when I have my divorce; I should not like to think he would desert her.”There was something in the tone which went to Wynter’s heart. This stubborn man, who would not forgive, and who was willing to face publicity for the sake of his personal honour, yet hoped that the woman would find happiness or at any rate safety by marrying the man.“I’ll tell him,” said Wynter hurriedly, and went out.Reckavile was waiting for him in the Club. He had occupied his time in tossing a friend for sovereigns, and had liberally attended to his needs for liquid refreshment.He listened in scornful silence to Wynter’s recital.“And so the merchant won’t fight,” he said.“Not likely,” said Wynter with a loud laugh “and the best of the joke is he wants you to marry the woman.”Reckavile sat up straight and Wynter eyed him narrowly.“Of course, that’s your affair, old man, but it certainly looks as though you are caught at last,” and he slapped the other on the back. “We all know about the Reckavile honour. You are all blackguards of the worst type, but men of honour of a sort—a curious sort.”There were several in the group, and they laughed boisterously.“Damn you, you need not remind me of that,” said Reckavile, his thoughts were with a little lady with great eyes in Italy, watching for his coming with a lovelit face, whom this same sense of honour has compelled him to marry. He shook himself.“You’ll all dine with me,” he said “and we’ll have a flutter afterwards, but I’m sorry the merchant would not fight.”
“When are we going to Italy?” asked Carlotta. She was sitting happily on Hugh’s knee, and the sunlight came through the window of the old Inn.
“I have got the tickets, and booked our passages. The boat sails on Saturday from Dover, and we go through France by train.”
She clapped her hands with pleasure.
He looked at her with delight, what a perfect little girl she was!
“And I’ve got lots of clothes for you. You must come and see them. Mrs. Southgate has laid them all out in your bedroom.”
“You are a dear,” she said, and kissed him.
His method had been simple. He had written to London, explaining that he required a complete outfit, and giving a description of the lady. It was not the first time, and the articles had arrived by return. He had a wealth of faults, but always paid his debts; it was a peculiarity of the family.
Carlotta was delighted; what a child she was. She had worn the school costume, sombre and uninteresting, so long that the sight of all these lovely things made her joyous.
Desmond sat and watched her with a glow of pleasure.
Nothing would satisfy her but to try them on, and she came to him to do up fastenings or hooks.
It was all joy and happiness, then quite suddenly she came and put her arms round his neck, and said:
“Where are we going to get married, here or in Italy?”
The question staggered him. There was nothing coaxing or challenging in the voice, and the question was asked so simply, as though she was asking where they were going to dine.
Her great dark innocent eyes looked at him, and a wave of pity, and something as near remorse as he was capable of, touched him.
“Why, damme,” he said with a laugh, and with one of those strange resolutions which madness dictated. “I had not thought of that, little Daphne, so you would really like to marry me?” He watched her narrowly. If there had been tears or reproach he would have stiffened, but she merely said “Yes please, if you would like to,” and he was disarmed. He gave a great laugh and held her to him.
“Caught! By Jove. Very well, sweetheart, we will get married. Why not, after all? Married women have a pretty good time, so why not men?” She looked at him with grave eyes.
“Fancy being your wife. It will be lovely.”
They had no time to spare, as although the Southgates were loyal and true, the search for the girl might find them at any moment. He obtained a special license, and they set out by road for Dover with gaiety in their hearts, and in his case an unusual sense of virtue. If she wondered that she had not met his family or friends, she put it down to the fact that they must escape pursuit. He told her they would come back when all the bother was over and he would show her London.
At a little village church, where a friend of Desmond’s was parish priest, and keener on hunting than his work, they were made man and wife. She was a Catholic, and did not understand the ceremony, which was witnessed by young Southgate and the verger, but when he placed the ring on her finger, whispering “It was my Mother’s,” she thought it all very beautiful.
The parson entertained them to a gargantuan meal, and both the men were soon happily and noisily drunk, but Carlotta noticed nothing.
“Reckavile, you ruffian, this is the last straw,” said the parson. Carlotta had never heard the name before, but in after years she remembered.
“You married! Oh Lord! I thought your line would at last end with you—at any rate on the right side. You dog!”
Drunk as he was Reckavile turned grey. “I had sworn the Curse should die with me. The Devil has a hand in most things. Pass the bottle.”
Southgate and the parson’s man helped him into the chaise, and the parson kissed the bride.
“God bless you, my dear,” he said unsteadily. “Come and see me again.”
But it was not to be. A stroke took the worthy man off the next night with consequences which none of them could have foreseen.
The weeks that followed were one dream of delight to Carlotta.
They journeyed from town to town, discovering fresh beauties everywhere. He was charmed with his young bride, and for a moment the horrible craving for something new was stayed.
She thought he was showing her Italy, but the restless craze drove him on, only now he was happy at last, and satisfied with her sweetness.
At Ancona, where they stayed for several days, he got his letters.
He was utterly careless in these matters, but his butler sent him a batch now and then.
They had been watching the Bay from the battlements, with the sun flashing on the Adriatic waters, when he took a bulky packet from his pocket, and opened it carelessly.
There were some bills, some letters from his Club, and statement from his butler. Nothing to worry about. Then his eye caught a familiar writing, and with a quick catch in his breath, and a dull presentiment of evil he broke the seal.
It was from Winnie, as he had known by the writing, and he read it through twice. The large scrawly handwriting was clear enough, but the news was startling.
My Darling Hugh,Where have you hidden yourself all this time? I have enquired everywhere, but no one knows anything about you. I am in such dreadful trouble, I must see you at once. It is too awful. My husband knows all about us. When he came back from Germany the servants told him I had been away, and he found that we had been stopping at that hotel. He put a lawyer on the track, and discovered everything. Oh! What are we to do! You must come and advise me, and you will stand by me won’t you? You know how much I love you, and you know you made me unfaithful to my husband. You will not leave me now? He is getting a divorce and what am I to do? I am staying with my mother, as he will not have me. Do come to me.Your broken-heartedWinnie
My Darling Hugh,
Where have you hidden yourself all this time? I have enquired everywhere, but no one knows anything about you. I am in such dreadful trouble, I must see you at once. It is too awful. My husband knows all about us. When he came back from Germany the servants told him I had been away, and he found that we had been stopping at that hotel. He put a lawyer on the track, and discovered everything. Oh! What are we to do! You must come and advise me, and you will stand by me won’t you? You know how much I love you, and you know you made me unfaithful to my husband. You will not leave me now? He is getting a divorce and what am I to do? I am staying with my mother, as he will not have me. Do come to me.
Your broken-hearted
Winnie
There were tear stains, and corrections, and crosses at the end. The letter was unfair and gross, and as Hugh looked up from reading it, he contrasted in his mind the fair young girl, now throwing little stones over the hedge to see them drop far below, and the flamboyant beauty of the other, to whom now he must go, for so the twisted honour of his race would have it.
“Come, Daphne, let us go back. It is getting late,” he said, but there was a solemn note in his voice, which made her ask. “Have you had bad news?”
“Oh no, just the ordinary worries, but it will probably mean I shall have to go to England. Business affairs you know, but don’t trouble, little girl, I shall not be away from you for long.”
A shadow crossed her lovely face. It was the first separation.
“Can’t I come too? I would love to see England properly, London and the big cities.”
“I am afraid not this time, and besides you would hate the winter. I must get a villa for you, and you can make everything ready for me when I come back. It will be quite exciting for you, furnishing.”
And so it was arranged. Everything had to be done in a hurry, but then he was used to that. He bought a charming little Villa at Murano, and obtained servants for her, while she was to stay in Venice till she had furnished it. On the last night she was sad.
“Come back soon,” she said “I shall be so lonely without you, and …” she stopped.
He was tender with her, but there was a hunted look in his eyes. He could see only one way out of the mess, and that he could not tell her.
She faced the parting bravely, and he was proud of her. There was no scene such as he had been accustomed to with others; she smiled at him, and waved as the train moved out. Only when she got home to the hotel, she went to her room and burst into a passionate flood of tears.
Reckavile found all London talking about the case. The worthy draper had filed his petition, and only awaited his turn to come to the courts. Winnie he would not see, and rumour gathered round the action Reckavile would take. Betting was about even on his marrying the woman or killing the draper.
Those who knew him were certain he would face the music.
He paid two visits, one to his family lawyer to enter a defence, and one to an intimate friend, Captain Wynter. He found the latter at the Club, and with his usual abruptness opened at once.
“You’ve heard of this silly business about the man Wheatland, eh?” Wynter nodded.
“Well, I want you to take a challenge to him. Tell him I’ll fight him for the lady.”
“My dear fellow,” said the other, dropping his eyeglass in his astonishment, “are you joking? That sort of thing is quite out of date, unfortunately, otherwise one would not have to put up with the insults one meets with nowadays.”
“I mean it quite seriously, I am in a devil of a mess, and if he can plug me, all the better. It will end the line, and everyone will be satisfied.”
Wynter looked at him, and realised he was serious, and in a dangerous mood. It would be best to pacify him, and rather a joke to frighten the draper; perhaps even it might stay proceedings.
He drew up the challenge with all the formality of a century ago, and showed it to Reckavile, who gravely agreed, without apparently seeing any humour in the situation.
Wynter dressed himself in his best, and hailing a hansom cab, drove to Wheatland Emporium in Highbury.
He found him, an anxious worried little man, pompous and vain, with horrible mutton chop whiskers.
He had risen by energy and hard work through the stages of assistant to shop-walker and manager, until he had obtained a shop of his own, and his middle aged affection had been lavished on his cashier Winnie, then a beautiful young girl, and ambitious.
She had married him for his money, hoping to twist him round her fingers, and found him vain and jealous, and exacting in his ideas both of marital duty and spending limits.
Wynter he greeted with the artificial smile of the business man expecting custom, and the latter bowed politely; he was enjoying his part. “Mr. Wheatland, I believe?” he said.
“The same, sir, at your service,” answered the other.
“May I have a word with you, sir?” said the soldier.
“Certainly, come to my office.”
Seated in Wheatland’s private room, Wynter felt a sudden distaste at his mission. After all, this poor man had been treated badly, and he had his rights like anyone else.
“I am afraid I have come on an unpleasant errand,” he said “I represent Lord Reckavile.”
The draper stiffened. “I do not wish to hear anything from that man, my lawyer has the matter in hand.”
Wynter waved his hand. “This is not a lawyer’s business, but a personal one—my friend Reckavile feels that you have a distinct grievance, in fact that you have the right to demand satisfaction. He is willing to waive his rank, and will meet you, if you will nominate a second with whom I may arrange details.”
“A second, I don’t understand,” said the bewildered Wheatland.
“Exactly, a friend who will act for you. You can then fight for the lady. He feels that as the aggrieved party you have the right to challenge, but you might feel diffident on account of the disparity in rank.” He produced his Cartel and spread it out.
The little man’s eyes fairly bulged in his head.
“Either you are playing a very discreditable practical joke, or your friend is mad. Fight, sir, I never heard such rubbish. Are we back in the Middle Ages? The Law, sir, will give me protection, and I shall immediately communicate with my solicitor to stop this murderous ruffian.”
Then his manner changed, and in a whining tone he said, “Is it not enough that he has seduced my wife, whom I loved with all my heart, but he must seek my life as well.”
Wynter felt uncomfortable, and cursed himself for coming.
He rose to his feet, and buttoned up his coat, thrusting his famous challenge into his pocket.
“Then I may take it, Mr. Wheatland, that you will not fight,” he said.
“Certainly not, sir, I never heard anything so preposterous in my life,” said the other.
“Very good, but on one point you are wrong. Reckavile is a strange creature, and he does not wish to kill you; in fact he was hoping you would kill him.”
Wheatland gazed at him open-mouthed.
“Kill him, sir, and how much better off should I be if I were hanged for murder, than if I were murdered myself. And what would become of my business; I should look ridiculous.”
Wynter felt he had better terminate the interview.
“Good-day, Mr. Wheatland,” he said bowing slightly.
Wheatland laid a hand on his arm.
“He will marry her, won’t he sir, when I have my divorce; I should not like to think he would desert her.”
There was something in the tone which went to Wynter’s heart. This stubborn man, who would not forgive, and who was willing to face publicity for the sake of his personal honour, yet hoped that the woman would find happiness or at any rate safety by marrying the man.
“I’ll tell him,” said Wynter hurriedly, and went out.
Reckavile was waiting for him in the Club. He had occupied his time in tossing a friend for sovereigns, and had liberally attended to his needs for liquid refreshment.
He listened in scornful silence to Wynter’s recital.
“And so the merchant won’t fight,” he said.
“Not likely,” said Wynter with a loud laugh “and the best of the joke is he wants you to marry the woman.”
Reckavile sat up straight and Wynter eyed him narrowly.
“Of course, that’s your affair, old man, but it certainly looks as though you are caught at last,” and he slapped the other on the back. “We all know about the Reckavile honour. You are all blackguards of the worst type, but men of honour of a sort—a curious sort.”
There were several in the group, and they laughed boisterously.
“Damn you, you need not remind me of that,” said Reckavile, his thoughts were with a little lady with great eyes in Italy, watching for his coming with a lovelit face, whom this same sense of honour has compelled him to marry. He shook himself.
“You’ll all dine with me,” he said “and we’ll have a flutter afterwards, but I’m sorry the merchant would not fight.”