Bessie's Fortune Part 59

CHAPTER XV.

WEDDING BELLS.

They rang first for Lord Hardy and Augusta Browne, who had intended to be married in October, but whose wedding was deferred until the second week in November, because, as Mrs. Rossiter-Browne expressed it, "Gusty's bridal trouses could not arrive in time from Paris." Everything pertaining to the young lady's wardrobe was ordered either from London or Paris, and could Mrs. Browne have done it she would have bought the Arch of Triumph, and, transporting it to Allington, would have set it up in front of her house and illuminated it for the occasion. She should never have another daughter marry an Irish lord, she said, and she meant "to make a splurge and astonish the natives," and she did.

She had a temporary ball-room built at one side of the house, and lighted it with a thousand wax candles. She had a bra.s.s band from Springfield and a string band from Worcester. She had a caterer from Boston, whom with her usual happy form of expression she called a "canterer." She had colored waiters in white gloves in such profusion that they stumbled over and against each other. She had an awning stretched from the front door to the gate, with yards and yards of carpeting under it.

"She had not been abroad for nothing, and she guessed she knew what was what," she said to Lord Hardy when he hinted that a plainer wedding would suit him quite as well, and that the money she was expending could be put to better purpose.

"I guess we can stand it, and still have a nice little sum for Gusty,"

she added, and patting her future son-in-law upon the back she bade him "keep cool and let her run the machine."

After that, Lord Hardy kept quiet, though he was never so near a fever as during the week which preceded his nuptials. For Augusta herself he did not care at all, as men are supposed to care for the girl they are about to marry. He did not dislike her, and he thought her rather pretty and lady-like, with a far better education than his own; but, strangely enough in these last days of his bachelorhood, he often found himself living over again those far-off times in Monte Carlo, when, as Cousin Sue from Bangor, he had laughed and talked and flirted with poor little Daisy, as he called her to himself, now that she was dead, and the grave had closed over all her faults and misdemeanors. She had been the cause of his ruin, and he had, at times, hated her for it, but she had been jolly company for all that, and he wondered what she would say if she could know that Mrs. Rossiter-Browne was to be his mother-in-law and Augusta Lady Hardy.

"She would turn over in her coffin, I do believe," he thought, and then he wondered how much Augusta's wedding portion would be, and how far it would go toward restoring his Irish home to something like its former condition. But on this point, _pere_ Browne maintained a rigid silence, and he was obliged to be content with the hints which _mere_ Browne dropped from time to time. She had made minute inquiries with regard to Hardy Manor, her daughter's future home, and at her request he had made a drawing of it, so that she knew just how many rooms there were, and how they were furnished.

"I shall h'ist them feather beds out double quick," she said, "and them high four-posters, with tops like a buggy. I'd as soon sleep in a hea.r.s.e, and I shall put in some bra.s.s bedsteads and hair mattresses, and mabby I shall furnish Gusty's room with willer work. I'll show 'em what Uncle Sam can do."

Was she then going with him to Hardy Manor, and must he present her to his aristocratic friends as the mother of his bride? The very possibility of such a calamity made the perspiration ooze from the tips of Lord Hardy's fingers to the roots of his hair, and once he contemplated running away and taking the first s.h.i.+p which sailed for Liverpool. But when he remembered his debts he concluded to swallow everything, even the mother-in-law, if necessary. He was to sail the last week in November, and as, when he engaged his state-room, nothing had been said about a second one for Mrs. Browne, he comforted himself with the hope that she did not meditate going with him. She would, perhaps, come in the spring, by which time he might be glad for the bra.s.s bedsteads and hair mattresses which abounded at the Ridge House, and which were really more in accordance with his luxurious tastes than the feather beds and high four-posters which had done duty at Hardy Manor for more years than he could remember.

Over four hundred invitations were given to the wedding, as Mrs. Browne said she "didn't mean to make n.o.body mad." But she did offend more people than if her party had been more select, for when Mrs. Peter Stokes, the truckman's wife, heard that her next door neighbor, Mrs. Asa Noaks, the hackman's wife, had received an invitation and she had not, her indignation knew no bounds, and she wondered who _Miss Ike Browne_ thought she was, and if she had forgotten that she once went out to work like any other hired girl; and when Susan Sloc.u.m, whose mother took in was.h.i.+ng, heard that her friend Lucy Smith, who worked in the mill, was invited and she was not, she persuaded her mother to roll up the four dozen pieces which had been sent from the Ridge to be washed, and return them with the message that if she wa'n't good enough to go to the wedding she wa'n't good enough to wash the weddin' finery. This so disturbed poor Mrs. Browne, who really wished to please every body, that but for the interference of Allen and Augusta she would have gone immediately to the offended washerwoman with an apology, and an earliest request to be present at the wedding.

"Don't for pity's sake, ask any more of the sc.u.m," Allen said, adding, that if she had not invited any of them no one would have been slighted.

"Well, I don't know," Mrs. Browne rejoined, with a sigh; "I can't quite forget when I was _sc.u.m_ myself, and knew how it felt."

On the whole, however, everything went smoothly, and the grand affair came off one November night when the air was as soft and balmy as in early summer, and the full moon was sailing through a cloudless sky as carriage after carriage made its way to the brilliantly lighted house through the dense crowd of curious people which filled the road in front, and even stretched to the left along the garden fence. All the factory hands were there, and all the boys in town, with most of the young girls, and many of the women whose rank in life was in what Allen called the sc.u.m, forgetting that but for his father's money he might have been there too.

There were four bridemaids in all, and their dresses and trains were something wonderful to behold, as they swept down the stairs and through the long drawing-room to the bay-window where, amid a wilderness of roses, and azalias, and lilies, they were to stand. This was the part the most distasteful to Lord Hardy, who would greatly have preferred being married in church according to the English form--and, in fact, Augusta would have liked that, too; but Mrs. Browne was a stanch Baptist, and opposed any deviation from the good old rule, and so Lord Hardy was compelled to submit, though his face wore the look of anything but a happy man as he went through the ordeal which made him Augusta's husband, and then received the congratulations of the guests, most of whom addressed the bride as Lady Hardy.

When Augusta heard of Bessie's engagement with Grey she went at once to congratulate her, and insisted upon her being one of her bridemaids. But Bessie declined; she was too much a stranger to take so conspicuous a place, she said, and would rather be a quiet looker-on.

But she was there with Grey, to whose arm she clung as she looked wonderingly on at the gorgeous display, unlike anything which was ever seen in Allington before, or ever would be again.

Altogether it was a most brilliant and successful affair, and the reporters, who had been hired to be present, did it ample justice in the next day's papers. "Festivities in High Life" headed the column, in which the beauty and accomplishments of the bride were dwelt upon at large, while free scope was given to the imagination and the pen when it came to the elegant manners of the hostess, the air of refinement and cultivation perceptible among the guests, and the signs of wealth and perfect taste everywhere visible. The great popularity of the family was also dwelt upon as proven by the immense crowd thronging the streets, and Lord Hardy was congratulated upon his rare good luck, and hints were thrown out that England and Ireland ought to feel complimented that so many of America's fair daughters were willing to wear a foreign t.i.tle and grace a foreign home.

"What fools those reporters are, to be sure, and the Brownes are bigger fools to allow such stuff to be printed," was Miss McPherson's comment upon the articles which appeared in the _Spy_ and the _Gazette_, and the Springfield _Republican_, and her opinion was pretty generally shared by the citizens of Allington, who immediately raked up the ashes of the Brownes' past history, and recalled with great zest the times when Mrs.

Browne had worked in the kitchen at Grey's Park, while poor Mr. Browne was charged with every possible second-cla.s.s occupation, from mending bra.s.s kettles down to peddling clothes-pins.

Fortunately, however, Mrs. Browne was in happy ignorance of all this.

She only knew that she had "killed a bear," as she expressed it, and that she had been described as an elegant and accomplished lady, who led the _ton_ in Allington.

"I guess I've whipped 'em all, though I'll wait and see what Miss McPherson does," she said; but Miss McPherson did nothing.

It was the wish of both Bessie and Grey that the wedding should be as quiet as possible. Any one was free to go to the church where the ceremony took place one morning the last week in November, and which was filled with plain, respectable people. But only Hannah and Lucy Grey, Mr. and Mrs. Burton Jerrold, and the clergyman, Mr. Sanford, went to the house, where the wedding-breakfast was served, and where Miss Betsey broke down more than once, as she thought how soon she had lost the girl whom she had learned to love so much. Grey and Bessie were going to New York that afternoon, for they were to sail the next day, and Hannah was going with them. No good reason had been a.s.signed for this sudden trip across the ocean at this season of the year, and only Mr. Sanford knew why it was taken. Hannah had told him everything, and while he expressed his pleasure that the long search and waiting had at last been rewarded in so satisfactory a manner, he added, sadly:

"I hope you will not stay there long. I shall be very lonely without you, Hanny."

It was the first time he had given her the pet name of old, since Martha had been laid to rest in the church-yard, and as a penance for doing so, he went the same day to Martha's grave and stood there at least fifteen minutes, with the November rain falling upon him until his clothes were nearly wet through.

"Poor Martha," he sighed, as he turned away, "she would be fidgeted to death if she knew how wet I am. I guess I had better drink some boneset when I get home. I believe that is what she used to give me."

He went with the party to New York, and so did Miss Grey and Miss McPherson, and the loungers at the Allington station made some joking remarks about one widower going off with three old maids, but each of the old maids knew her business, and cared little what the rabble said.

The Brownes, too, were in New York with Lord and Lady Hardy, who sailed in the same s.h.i.+p with Grey and Bessie. Just how much Augusta's wedding portion was, was never known, but that it was satisfactory was proven by the felicitous expression of Lord Hardy's face, which beamed with delight as he said good-by to his mother-in-law, whom he kissed in the exuberance of his joy. But his countenance fell a little when he heard her tell Augusta not to be so down in the mouth, for she should be over there herself early in the spring, in time to see to house-cleaning!

The day was bright and warm, as the days in Indian summer often are, and the McPherson party stood upon the wharf waving their good-bys as long as Grey and Bessie were discernible among the pa.s.sengers; then they returned to their Hotel, and Miss Betsey sent the following cablegram to Neil in London:

"Bessie was married yesterday to Grey Jerrold, and sails to-day for Liverpool."

CHAPTER XVI.

BESSIE'S FORTUNE.

At last there came a day when Hannah Jerrold sat in the yew-shaded garden at Stoneleigh, on the same bench where Archie once lay sleeping, with Daisy at his side keeping the flies from him. Archie and Daisy were dead, and Hannah Jerrold, whose life had reached out and laid hold upon theirs, was there in the old home to make rest.i.tution, and coming to her down the walk were Grey and Bessie, whose face was wonderfully beautiful as she lifted it to her husband, and said something which made him stoop down and kiss the sweet mouth from which the old, tired look had nearly vanished.

She was so happy now, this little Welsh girl, who had borne so much, and suffered so much, and it seemed to Hannah as she drew near as if a halo of joy shone in her deep blue eyes and irradiated every feature of her lovely countenance.

"Oh, it is so nice to be home again, and the old place is so dear to me," she said, as she sat down by Hannah upon the bench, "I half wish we were going to stay here, though I like America very much, and shall in time, become as genuine a Yankee as Grey himself. You know he is in a way a cosmopolitan."

They had taken Anthony and Dorothy completely by surprise, for although Bessie had written to them of her engagement, she had said nothing of coming home, as she did not then expect to do so. But circ.u.mstances had changed, and the old couple were just sitting down to their frugal breakfast of bread and tea when a carriage from the station drove into the park, and in a moment Bessie was in Dorothy's arms, laughing and crying and talking in the same breath, presenting Hannah as her husband and her husband as her Aunt Hannah, in her joy and excitement at being home once more.

It did not take long to explain why they had come, to the old people, who entered heart and soul into the matter Anthony offering to go at once to Carnavon and hunt up some one who could swear to the hand-writing of Joel Rogers and help to prove the will, while Dorothy said she had no doubt that among some papers, bills and receipts which had belonged to Bessie's grandmother and which were still lying in an old writing-desk where Daisy had put them when her mother died, there were letters from Joel to his sister, which proved to be a fact.

"I remember him well, though he was a good bit older than I am," Anthony said. "A little sandy-haired man, very kind-hearted and honest, though rather touchy and quarrelsome if he had too much beer in him, I shouldn't wonder but he died in some spree brought on by drink."

"Yes, he died in a spree brought on by drink," Hannah answered, sadly, and that was the only time she was ever called upon to speak of the manner of Joel Rogers' death.

Indeed, the whole matter was managed far more easily than she had feared. No troublesome questions whatever were asked, for there was no one enough interested in Joel Rogers to ask them, and when the will was proven and Bessie's claim as his rightful heir established, Grey found no difficulty whatever in obtaining from the company where the deceased had owned shares so many years ago, a full and correct account of all moneys invested and the dividends which had been accruing since, the whole of which was at once made over to Bessie, who found herself an heiress to so large an amount that it fairly took her breath away at first.

"Why, I am rich!" she exclaimed, and then, as the tears gathered in her eyes, she continued: "Oh, if this had come to me while poor father was alive, it would have made him so comfortable, and we were so poor."

Then she began to wonder what she should do with it all, and how dispose of it to the best advantage.

"If you were only poor and wanted it, I should be so glad," she said to Grey; "but you do not, and so I must do the best I can."

It never occurred to her to use any part of it for herself. She meant to give it away, and make a great many people happy. And within a day or two she had decided what to do with a part of it at least. She was sitting alone with Grey around the bright fire in the drawing-room one evening after their late dinner, and Grey was saying to her, as she sat on a low stool at his side, leaning her head on his knee and holding his hand in hers:

"It will soon be two years since I first saw you, with your face against the window, looking out into the darkness at the big American. I dare say you wished me in Guinea."

"That I did," Bessie answered laughingly, as she deepened her clasp of his hand, "for I did not at all know what to do with you."

"But I remember well that you gave up your own cozy bedroom, like the dear, unselfish little girl you are," Grey said, and Bessie rejoined.