By Birth A Lady Part 44

Volume 3, Chapter VII.

ON THE POINT.

The wedding-morning, with all its flutter, flurry, and excitement! The bride pale, but collected; Nelly and her sister bridesmaids appealing vainly to one another for help; hair, that at any other time would fall into plait, or bandeau, or roll, with such ease, now obstinate and awkward, and requiring to be attended to again and again; hair-pins becoming scarce, and, where plentiful, given to bending; eyes with a disposition to look red; hands ditto--for it is winter; while, as if out of sheer spite, more than one nose follows suit, and is decidedly raw and chappy.

"O, do, do, do fetch a knife!" whimpered Nelly. "I shall never be dressed in time! I must have a knife to open these horrible old hooks, that have flattened down when 'Lisbeth ran an iron along the back plait.

O, what shall I do? I shall never be ready! And the old chilblains have swelled up on my heels, and I can't get on those little satin boots; and I can't go in my others, because they haven't got high heels.

I could sit down and have a good cry--that I could! Here, 'Lisbeth--'Lisbeth! why don't Miss l'Aiguille come and help some of us?"

"Lor, miss, how you do talk!" cried the excited 'Lisbeth. "And is that what you called me back for? Miss Luggle's a-doing of Miss Lorror, and couldn't leave her, was it ever so. There, don't stop me, miss; they're waiting for pins, and there'll be no end of a row if I don't go."

"But, please, come and do my back hair, 'Lisbeth," cried one of the bridesmaids--a cousin, who was staying in the house.

"Lor, miss, I can't. You must ask Miss Nelly!" cried 'Lisbeth, vainly struggling to get out, for Nelly was holding on with both hands to her dress, and dragging her back.

"There, do let go, Miss Nelly--pray! Here, miss, ask your cousin to leave go, and come and do it. She'll put it right--beautiful!"

"But she has done it twice," cried the other; "and see how it has come tumbling down again; it's worse now than if it hadn't been touched!"

"I don't care; I shan't try any more," whimpered Nelly. "I can't get dressed decent. But you'll all have to wait for me; for I'm sure Charley Vining won't go to be married if I ain't there."

"For goodness gracious' sake, now just look there, Miss Nelly, at what you've been and done! You've pulled all the gathers out of my frock!"

"Don't care!" said Nelly, throwing herself down, half-dressed, into a chair. "Fasten 'em up again: you've got lots of pins."

"'Lisbeth--'Lisbeth!" was shouted from the pa.s.sage, and the girl disappeared.

We have nothing to do with the bride's mental sufferings at present, the remarks now made appertaining to dress alone; but she must have borne something at the hands of Miss l'aiguille and her staff of a.s.sistants, before, tall, dark, and handsome, she stood amidst a diaphanous cloud of drapery, which floated from and around her, descending, as it were, from the orange wreath twined amidst her magnificent raven ringlets.

Miss l'aiguille clasped her hands, and went down upon one knee in an ecstasy of admiration at the glorious being she had made, as a gentle chorus of "O!" and "O, miss!" was raised by her satellites; while, wonderful to relate, when she descended to the drawing-room, she was not the last, for two of the bridesmaids were not ready.

But Mrs Bray was there, gorgeous to behold, bearing upon her everything in the shape of costly dress that money would purchase. To describe her costume would be simply impossible, save to say that it was as solid-looking as her daughter's was light and airy--the plaits and folds of her silken robe literally creaked and crackled as she moved, which was all of a piece. Colour there was too; but what, it would be impossible to say, the prevailing hue being warm scarlet, which was shed upon Mr Bray, whose white vest was so stiff and grand, that nothing could have been whiter and stiffer and grander, unless it was the tremendous cravat that held his head as if he was being garotted-- symptoms of strangulation being really visible in the prominence of his eyes. But then, as he said, in regard to his sufferings, he did not have a daughter married every day.

"I should have liked for Mr Maximilian to have been here," said Mrs Bray, as they were waiting for Nelly, who, now under the hands of Miss l'Aiguille, was being made up rapidly--her thin bony form growing quite graceful under the dressmakers fingers.

"Bless me, though, what is the matter?" cried Mrs Bray. "Laura my dear, pray don't faint in those things, whatever you do!"

"Hush!" cried Laura hoa.r.s.ely, as, by a strong effort, she recovered herself. "Did you--did you say Max was here?"

"No--no! I said I wished he was here," said Mrs Bray pettishly. "I do not see what you have got to turn queer about in that. Your own brother too!"

Laura gave a sigh of relief and then closed her eyes for a few moments.

"Only a little while now," she thought.

The hour was very near, and surely nothing could stay the event.

Then, summoning her resolution she began to pace slowly up and down the room. No tremulous maiden now, but a firm determined woman, who told herself that she had persevered and won the lover--the husband soon.

"What are we waiting for?" said Mr Bray.

"Two bridesmaids," said Mrs Bray: "Nelly and Miss Barnett. But we have plenty of time; and the Miss Lingons are not here yet. O, here they are, though!"

The young ladies were set down at the door as she spoke; and soon the Bray drawing-room was well filled.

The horses were pawing up the gravel, to the disgust of the gardener, who thought of the rolling to be done; but went and drowned his sorrows in some of the beer on the way, with ample solids, in the Bray kitchen.

A bright brisk winterly day, with a wind that kissed each cheek as bride-elect and bridesmaids descended the steps, and entered the carriages drawn up in turn. Rattle, rattle, bang! went steps and doors; footmen were more upright than ever, and raised their chests into glorious hills, crowned with white satin-and-silver wedding-favours-- Mrs Bray insisting upon their being mounted at once.

A grinding of the gravel, and first one and then another carriage departing, Laura, with Mr Bray, completing the cortege; Mrs Bray going before, after declaring that she ought to have stopped behind to superintend the wedding-breakfast arrangements.

And proud was Mr Bray of the stern handsome girl before him; for he had given up the whole of the back seat to his daughter--and her dress. The pallor and look of dread seemed now to have pa.s.sed away, as if Laura, by her determination, had exorcised the phantom of coming ill; and well-merited were the remarks made, as a glance was obtained at the beauty "arrayed for the bridal."

People had plenty of ill-natured things to say when the wedding was first settled; but now all these remarks were forgotten; and again and again, as the Bray carriage rolled on towards the church, there was a cheer raised; while, on coming abreast of the Lexville Boys' School, there was a tremendous scattering volley of shouts, followed by a rush, for the boys were to have a holiday for the occasion; and away they went to the churchyard, to cl.u.s.ter thickly on walls, tombstones, and iron railings--wherever they could find a post of vantage.

Carpet rolled down to the church-gate, and the clerk in a state of fume and worry, that brought him, in spite of the wintry day, into a profuse perspiration, because, no matter how he "begged and prayed," people would walk over the carpet, and print upon it the mark of their dirty boots.

The church was filled in every part where a view of the communion-table could be obtained; and the pew-openers gave up at last in despair, for the people would stand on the cushions. The organist was ready with the "Wedding March"--Mendelssohn's, of course--and the ringers were already giving those thirsty lips of theirs a dry wipe, in antic.i.p.ation of the beer to be on the way by and by, when they made the town echo with a peal of bob-majors and grandsire-caters. While last, but not least, and posted side by side with panting Miss l'Aiguille, who had run down, and was now promising him an account of each lady's dress, with the proper terms to be applied thereto--was the reporter of the local paper, busy at work with a spikey pencil.

He had already put down a list of the notabilities present--people whom "we observed"--and had added the name of the officiating clergyman, who was to be a.s.sisted by a couple more; the two being now engaged in robing in the vestry.

There was no mistake about its being a errand wedding; for the covers were off the communion ha.s.socks--those worked by the Lexville ladies-- and people were on the tiptoe of expectation, for the hour was at hand.

Wheels!

"Here they come: the bridegroom, of course!" "'Tain't. It's some ladies!" "'Tain't, I tell you; the bridegroom always comes first." "Sir Philip's chariot is to have four horses, and the first and second grooms are to ride post in blue and silver, and black-velvet caps." "There, I was right--they are ladies."

Such were a few of the buzzing remarks made as the leading carriage drew up to the gates, and the first batch of friends and bridesmaids descended, hurried up to the old church porch, shook out their plumage, and then swept gracefully up the nave, while remarks full of admiration were pa.s.sed by those excited fair ones who would not miss a wedding on any consideration, and had duly posted in their mental ledgers the account of every affair that had taken place at Lexville church for the last twenty years; though, during all that long s.p.a.ce of time, no one had ever asked them to take the little journey for the purpose of saying, "I will."

Wheels again, and another buzz of excited voices, for this time there is a volley of cheers faintly heard.

This is the bridegroom, then; and there is a perfect rustle amongst the ancient and modern doves of Lexville to catch a good glimpse of the stalwart handsome heir of Blandfield.

But the next minute the rustle subsides, for the carriage that stopped at the gate only brought friends and bridesmaids. And so did the next, and the next, till the chancel began to wear a goodly aspect, though every face was turned now towards the entrance, and all were upon the extreme point of the tiptoe of expectation.

"The bridegroom ought to be here now," said some one in the chancel.

"Isn't Charley Vining here, then?" whispered Nelly to her cousin.

But there was no answer.

Volume 3, Chapter VIII.

WAS IT AN ACCIDENT?

Wheels again, and louder cheers than ever; a rolling scattering volley from a hundred young throats.

"Here he is then, now," said some one. "The Vinings are so popular!"