Chapter V.The Second MarriageThe summons had come, and Hugh braced himself to meet the call. Would to God he could have refused to go; to pretend that he was dead, anything to get out of it. But the perverted honour of the Curse drove him to play the last scene to the end.“I shall only be away for a week, Darling,” he told her. “There is a certain property of mine I must look after.” That was true.“When I come back this time, I shall not leave you again.”She smiled at him; the wrench was not so bad this time, and she had other things to think of. When he came back she would tell him, and she hid her secret close, nursing the thought in her breast.She came with him to Venice, careful that he had everything for the journey, papers and cigars. He watched her with a dull sense of pain; the deception hurt him as nothing had done before.He had converted a shed into a studio, and she had posed for him, as he had said at their first meeting. Already one picture was finished, and he would have sold it, but could not bear to part with it. Another was half done, which he would finish when he came back, he told himself.In London, summer was at its height, but he had no pleasure in it. The Club nauseated him, and the old companions found him changed, dull and uninteresting. He was out of touch with things. Only Wynter and a few intimates who knew, surmised that the prospect of marriage had caused the change, and behind his back betted how long he would retain faithful to his marriage vows.Winnie he met only at the lawyer’s the day before the wedding. She found him cold and reserved, but he was startled with the change in her. She was sweetness itself, her voice subdued and a look in her eyes he had never seen before. He thought her much improved, and was glad of it. She made no mention of his absence, nor did she speak of the past, she seemed to be seeing a vision. Wynter and two friends had promised to come to the registry office with him, prepared for a joke, but his face subdued them, and they became silent. A visit to the Club first was insisted upon. Reckavile wore his ordinary clothes, with no sign of the bridegroom about him.“Cheer up, man,” said Wynter “it’s not an execution you know, and after all there are worse things. You will have a better chance as a married man, they always get the pick of the bunch.”They all laughed, and Reckavile seemed to rouse himself.“Another bottle,” he said with his old gaiety, “why are we going thirsty? Call that damned waiter.”They were far from thirsty, when they came to the place where Curtis looking like an undertaker, met them with the marriage settlement. It was the most wicked document he had ever drawn up, for Reckavile had made over everything which was not entailed to his wife, no doting swain sick with love could have bartered himself away so completely. It was the price he was paying for his folly, but Curtis little knew what was in his mind. It appeared to him sheer madness. Winnie had scarcely looked at it, and she went up in the opinion of the old lawyer, who expected a sordid interest. She seemed quite content to have Hugh without any thought of money. And she certainly was beautiful, more so than ever before, thought Hugh, not realising that every woman is transfigured on her bridal day.Then for a moment something comes to her in a flash, whether with the organ pealing in some grand old Church, or in the squalid surroundings of the registry office, a light from the Unknown illuminates her soul, and departs leaving only the memory of a guest that tarrieth but an hour.Winnie had brought a girl friend with her, a devoted little soul who had stuck by her all through and borne with her moods. That she was young and attractive was quite enough for the amorous Wynter, who began to make violent love to her at once.The ceremony was over, with that blinding swiftness which has an element of indecency in it. Before they realised that it had started, they were signing their names, and the step had been taken from which there is no retreat. The situation was beginning to appeal to Reckavile’s cynical mind. After all Italy was far, and why the devil should one be tied up with one woman. To hell with convention. He had been too solemn, too wrapped up in domesticity; it was a great mistake. There was an awkward pause, and Winnie looked shyly at him, while the fussy little registrar buzzed around getting signatures of witnesses.Well, why not? Reckavile took Winnie by both hands and kissed her, if not with affection, at any rate with a satisfying thoroughness.The ice was broken, and Wynter and the two friends he had brought followed suit, taking liberal toll both with Winnie and Florrie, her friend, whose surname no one troubled to ask.Even the old lawyer began to thaw, now that the irrevocable step had been taken.Wynter had arranged for a private room at the Gloucester, and thither they adjourned. Curtis protested, but was lifted bodily into a cab by the others, and brought along as a trophy.The lunch was a merry one; Reckavile threw off all his moodiness. It would be time enough to tell Winnie what he intended to do later on. He was going to send her to Reckavile Castle, where he had arranged matters with the butler, and he was for Italy. He knew there would be a scene, and it would be as well to play the farce out first.Soon corks were popping, the wine was running free and Wynter filled Curtis’ glass to the brim.“But I never take anything now,” he protested “I suffer much with the gout.”“That shows what a wicked youth you were,” said Wynter “but all doctors agree about the hair of the dog that bit you. Drink up old Deed Box, and smile at the Bride.”As the meal proceeded the guests became more riotous. Wynter was one who seldom showed signs of excess; he became solemnly humorous, and then slept, but now he rose unsteadily to his feet and gazed around with an owlish expression.“Ladies and Gentlemen, I rise to propose t’health of the Bride. ’Ont congratulate you. Reckavile is sad dog, like all his family, but hope fot’ best. Congratulate Hugh, damned pretty woman, beg pardon, Ladies, but ’struth. Wish I had married her myself. Never mind. Lucky to have hooked him, many tried unsuccessively—wrong—unsuccess …, without success, t’ats better.“Well, don’t want long speeches. Here’s to Bride, and all the little Reckaviles, past, present and to come,” and he sat down.“Get up you ass, and propose the toast,” said Harding, one of the guests attempting to pour port into Curtis’ glass, and spilling most on the table.“I never take port now,” said the unhappy Curtis “the doctor has absolutely forbidden it.”“Stupid ass, the doctor,” said Harding “Port best thing for gout in the world.”Wynter rose again with difficulty and gave his toast which was drunk with musical or unmusical honours. A waiter entered to ask whether anything was required, and Harding hit him with a ripe watermelon, which exploded over his shirt front, and he retired.“Speech,” said Wynter clapping his hands vigorously.Winnie’s face was flushed though she had drunk sparingly. In a few tasteful words she thanked Wynter, and hoped that she would make a good wife for Hugh, and that he did not regret the step he had taken. It was a good little speech, and Reckavile was pleased with her. She was a damned good sort, he found himself repeating, and the subaltern on his left whose very name he had forgotten agreed heartily with him.Florrie had left the table and was sitting at the piano playing soft tunes, while Harding was tickling her neck with a peacock’s feather he had taken from an ornament on the mantelpiece.Wynter rose to his feet again.“Young couple want to start on Honeymoon. Got a proposiss … a proposal. They want to go to Reckavile Castle. The trains no good, too unromantic, I got my coach here, won competition yesterday, or day before, I forget which. Bring it round here, and we’ll all go in style. Only just beyond Brighton eh? No distance. What der say Hugh, old bounder?”It suited Reckavile’s mood. Anything to get into the air, and the swift motion especially with the excitement of being driven by a drunken man appealed to him. After all he might just as well see her to the Castle, it was more seemly, then he could slip away from there.Wynter issued his orders to a waiter who peeped through the door, holding it like a shield in case of attack. The meal had now become an orgy; even Winnie had let herself go, and Curtis was recitingrisquéstories which had lain dormant in his mind for a generation. The subaltern had slipped to the floor, and Florrie was sitting on Harding’s knee, while he proposed solemnly to her again and again. Reckavile was singingTom Bowlingto his own accompaniment, while empty bottles strewed the floor, and the spilt wine ran on the table like the blood of a sacrifice.The sound of a horn outside roused the revellers, and Wynter gathered his passengers together.They must all come, he would take no refusals. Only Curtis was adamant, and at last they gave up trying to persuade him. The rest were packed away, and they started off, the horses trotting bravely out of London.They were all sound asleep before they reached Portham, and the gloomy old castle in the woods, only Wynter had driven at a cracking pace, and the air had sobered him.“Sound your horn, now, a joyful blast,” he said to the groom, and the lad responded with vigour.All was bustle and excitement when they arrived, the servants crowded to the door, the butler leading, and helped the stiff party down. They had expected only Lady Reckavile, as Hugh had told them, but the great kitchen was soon busy, for in those days when telephones and motors were unknown every country house was well stocked, and soon chickens and hams were simmering, and the table groaned with good fare.“Brandy, and plenty of it,” said Reckavile swallowing a lump in his dried throat.Winnie went straight to her room; she wanted to look her best at dinner. The mad party had no luggage, except Wynter who had brought his on the coach, and there was much merriment as Wynter’s two friends raided Reckavile’s ample wardrobe.The night was far spent when they rose to seek repose.Reckavile through a mist saw a vision of loveliness, and Italy was forgotten.“There’s a lot to be said for Mahomet, and his sporting religion,” he said musingly. “It’s a dull life with only one woman.”
The summons had come, and Hugh braced himself to meet the call. Would to God he could have refused to go; to pretend that he was dead, anything to get out of it. But the perverted honour of the Curse drove him to play the last scene to the end.
“I shall only be away for a week, Darling,” he told her. “There is a certain property of mine I must look after.” That was true.
“When I come back this time, I shall not leave you again.”
She smiled at him; the wrench was not so bad this time, and she had other things to think of. When he came back she would tell him, and she hid her secret close, nursing the thought in her breast.
She came with him to Venice, careful that he had everything for the journey, papers and cigars. He watched her with a dull sense of pain; the deception hurt him as nothing had done before.
He had converted a shed into a studio, and she had posed for him, as he had said at their first meeting. Already one picture was finished, and he would have sold it, but could not bear to part with it. Another was half done, which he would finish when he came back, he told himself.
In London, summer was at its height, but he had no pleasure in it. The Club nauseated him, and the old companions found him changed, dull and uninteresting. He was out of touch with things. Only Wynter and a few intimates who knew, surmised that the prospect of marriage had caused the change, and behind his back betted how long he would retain faithful to his marriage vows.
Winnie he met only at the lawyer’s the day before the wedding. She found him cold and reserved, but he was startled with the change in her. She was sweetness itself, her voice subdued and a look in her eyes he had never seen before. He thought her much improved, and was glad of it. She made no mention of his absence, nor did she speak of the past, she seemed to be seeing a vision. Wynter and two friends had promised to come to the registry office with him, prepared for a joke, but his face subdued them, and they became silent. A visit to the Club first was insisted upon. Reckavile wore his ordinary clothes, with no sign of the bridegroom about him.
“Cheer up, man,” said Wynter “it’s not an execution you know, and after all there are worse things. You will have a better chance as a married man, they always get the pick of the bunch.”
They all laughed, and Reckavile seemed to rouse himself.
“Another bottle,” he said with his old gaiety, “why are we going thirsty? Call that damned waiter.”
They were far from thirsty, when they came to the place where Curtis looking like an undertaker, met them with the marriage settlement. It was the most wicked document he had ever drawn up, for Reckavile had made over everything which was not entailed to his wife, no doting swain sick with love could have bartered himself away so completely. It was the price he was paying for his folly, but Curtis little knew what was in his mind. It appeared to him sheer madness. Winnie had scarcely looked at it, and she went up in the opinion of the old lawyer, who expected a sordid interest. She seemed quite content to have Hugh without any thought of money. And she certainly was beautiful, more so than ever before, thought Hugh, not realising that every woman is transfigured on her bridal day.
Then for a moment something comes to her in a flash, whether with the organ pealing in some grand old Church, or in the squalid surroundings of the registry office, a light from the Unknown illuminates her soul, and departs leaving only the memory of a guest that tarrieth but an hour.
Winnie had brought a girl friend with her, a devoted little soul who had stuck by her all through and borne with her moods. That she was young and attractive was quite enough for the amorous Wynter, who began to make violent love to her at once.
The ceremony was over, with that blinding swiftness which has an element of indecency in it. Before they realised that it had started, they were signing their names, and the step had been taken from which there is no retreat. The situation was beginning to appeal to Reckavile’s cynical mind. After all Italy was far, and why the devil should one be tied up with one woman. To hell with convention. He had been too solemn, too wrapped up in domesticity; it was a great mistake. There was an awkward pause, and Winnie looked shyly at him, while the fussy little registrar buzzed around getting signatures of witnesses.
Well, why not? Reckavile took Winnie by both hands and kissed her, if not with affection, at any rate with a satisfying thoroughness.
The ice was broken, and Wynter and the two friends he had brought followed suit, taking liberal toll both with Winnie and Florrie, her friend, whose surname no one troubled to ask.
Even the old lawyer began to thaw, now that the irrevocable step had been taken.
Wynter had arranged for a private room at the Gloucester, and thither they adjourned. Curtis protested, but was lifted bodily into a cab by the others, and brought along as a trophy.
The lunch was a merry one; Reckavile threw off all his moodiness. It would be time enough to tell Winnie what he intended to do later on. He was going to send her to Reckavile Castle, where he had arranged matters with the butler, and he was for Italy. He knew there would be a scene, and it would be as well to play the farce out first.
Soon corks were popping, the wine was running free and Wynter filled Curtis’ glass to the brim.
“But I never take anything now,” he protested “I suffer much with the gout.”
“That shows what a wicked youth you were,” said Wynter “but all doctors agree about the hair of the dog that bit you. Drink up old Deed Box, and smile at the Bride.”
As the meal proceeded the guests became more riotous. Wynter was one who seldom showed signs of excess; he became solemnly humorous, and then slept, but now he rose unsteadily to his feet and gazed around with an owlish expression.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I rise to propose t’health of the Bride. ’Ont congratulate you. Reckavile is sad dog, like all his family, but hope fot’ best. Congratulate Hugh, damned pretty woman, beg pardon, Ladies, but ’struth. Wish I had married her myself. Never mind. Lucky to have hooked him, many tried unsuccessively—wrong—unsuccess …, without success, t’ats better.
“Well, don’t want long speeches. Here’s to Bride, and all the little Reckaviles, past, present and to come,” and he sat down.
“Get up you ass, and propose the toast,” said Harding, one of the guests attempting to pour port into Curtis’ glass, and spilling most on the table.
“I never take port now,” said the unhappy Curtis “the doctor has absolutely forbidden it.”
“Stupid ass, the doctor,” said Harding “Port best thing for gout in the world.”
Wynter rose again with difficulty and gave his toast which was drunk with musical or unmusical honours. A waiter entered to ask whether anything was required, and Harding hit him with a ripe watermelon, which exploded over his shirt front, and he retired.
“Speech,” said Wynter clapping his hands vigorously.
Winnie’s face was flushed though she had drunk sparingly. In a few tasteful words she thanked Wynter, and hoped that she would make a good wife for Hugh, and that he did not regret the step he had taken. It was a good little speech, and Reckavile was pleased with her. She was a damned good sort, he found himself repeating, and the subaltern on his left whose very name he had forgotten agreed heartily with him.
Florrie had left the table and was sitting at the piano playing soft tunes, while Harding was tickling her neck with a peacock’s feather he had taken from an ornament on the mantelpiece.
Wynter rose to his feet again.
“Young couple want to start on Honeymoon. Got a proposiss … a proposal. They want to go to Reckavile Castle. The trains no good, too unromantic, I got my coach here, won competition yesterday, or day before, I forget which. Bring it round here, and we’ll all go in style. Only just beyond Brighton eh? No distance. What der say Hugh, old bounder?”
It suited Reckavile’s mood. Anything to get into the air, and the swift motion especially with the excitement of being driven by a drunken man appealed to him. After all he might just as well see her to the Castle, it was more seemly, then he could slip away from there.
Wynter issued his orders to a waiter who peeped through the door, holding it like a shield in case of attack. The meal had now become an orgy; even Winnie had let herself go, and Curtis was recitingrisquéstories which had lain dormant in his mind for a generation. The subaltern had slipped to the floor, and Florrie was sitting on Harding’s knee, while he proposed solemnly to her again and again. Reckavile was singingTom Bowlingto his own accompaniment, while empty bottles strewed the floor, and the spilt wine ran on the table like the blood of a sacrifice.
The sound of a horn outside roused the revellers, and Wynter gathered his passengers together.
They must all come, he would take no refusals. Only Curtis was adamant, and at last they gave up trying to persuade him. The rest were packed away, and they started off, the horses trotting bravely out of London.
They were all sound asleep before they reached Portham, and the gloomy old castle in the woods, only Wynter had driven at a cracking pace, and the air had sobered him.
“Sound your horn, now, a joyful blast,” he said to the groom, and the lad responded with vigour.
All was bustle and excitement when they arrived, the servants crowded to the door, the butler leading, and helped the stiff party down. They had expected only Lady Reckavile, as Hugh had told them, but the great kitchen was soon busy, for in those days when telephones and motors were unknown every country house was well stocked, and soon chickens and hams were simmering, and the table groaned with good fare.
“Brandy, and plenty of it,” said Reckavile swallowing a lump in his dried throat.
Winnie went straight to her room; she wanted to look her best at dinner. The mad party had no luggage, except Wynter who had brought his on the coach, and there was much merriment as Wynter’s two friends raided Reckavile’s ample wardrobe.
The night was far spent when they rose to seek repose.
Reckavile through a mist saw a vision of loveliness, and Italy was forgotten.
“There’s a lot to be said for Mahomet, and his sporting religion,” he said musingly. “It’s a dull life with only one woman.”