Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (ereader manga .txt) 📕

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND

The day that Mrs. Bird wrote her letter to Henry was the day of

Ellen’s marriage with Mr. Edward Milward. It was settled that the

ceremony should be a quiet one, because of the recent death of the

bride’s father—an arrangement which suited Lady Graves and her

daughter very well, seeing that it was necessary to cut down the

expenses to the last farthing. Indeed, the possibility of a financial

esclandre at Rosham before she was safely married and independent of

such misfortunes, haunted Ellen like a nightmare. Edward, it is true,

was now perfectly in hand, and showed no further symptoms of

backsliding. Still, slips between the cup and the lip are many, and in

the event of a public scandal anything might happen. However private

the marriage, it proved, in fact, impossible to dispense with a

certain amount of the hospitality usual upon these occasions: thus a

dinner must be given to the tenants, and a reception held after the

wedding to which all the neighbouring families were invited. In these

preparations Henry took but a small part, though, as head of the

family, it would be his duty to give away the bride and to receive the

guests. This marriage, and everything connected with it, was hateful

to him, but not the less on that account must he keep up appearances

before the world. There had been no reconciliation between himself and

his sister, though outwardly they were polite and even affectionate to

each other; and he had scarcely exchanged a word in private with his

future brother-in-law since the day when Edward read him a lecture

upon morals and conduct.

Thus it came about that not even Ellen herself was more anxious that

the marriage should be over and done with. As it chanced, the bride’s

good luck did not desert her, and everything went smoothly. At the

last moment, indeed, Edward showed some disposition to jib at the

settlements, which, considering that the lady brought him nothing,

were disproportionate and unfair; but Ellen’s lawyers, assisted by a

judicious letter from herself, were equal to the emergency, and he

grumbled and signed.

At length, to everybody’s relief, the day came—one of those rare and

beautiful November days when the falling leaves dropped silently as

snowflakes through the crisp and sunlit air to the frosted grass

beneath. Rosham church was full, and when the bride, looking very

stately and handsome in her wedding robes, swept up the aisle on her

brother’s arm, followed by her two bridesmaids, Emma Levinger and an

aristocratic cousin of Mr. Milward’s, a low hum of admiration ran

round the crowded pews. Then Edward, exceedingly uncomfortable in the

newest of coats and the shiniest of boots, took his place by her side;

the service began, Henry, wearing anything but an amiable expression

of countenance, gave his sister away, and presently Mr. and Mrs.

Milward were receiving the congratulations of their relatives and

friends.

The wedding took place at two o’clock, so that there were no speeches

or breakfast, only a glorified tea with champagne, at which the rector

of the parish, vice Sir Henry Graves, who declared himself quite

incapable of public speaking, proposed the bride and bridegroom’s

health in a few well-chosen words and a Latin quotation. Edward

responded, stuttering horribly, saying with much truth, but by

inadvertence, “that this was the proudest moment of his wife’s life,”

whereat Henry smiled grimly and everybody else tittered. Then the

company wandered off to inspect the marriage offerings, which were

“numerous and costly”; the newly married pair vanished, and reappeared

in appropriate travelling costume, to be driven away amid showers of

slippers and rice, and after a little feeble and flickering

conversation the proceedings terminated.

Mr. Levinger and Emma were the last to go.

“You look tired, Graves,” said the former, as his trap came round.

“Yes,” he answered, “I never was more tired in my life. Thank Heaven

that it is done with!”

“Well, it is a good business well over, and, even if you don’t quite

like the man, one that has many advantages.”

“I dare say,” Henry replied briefly. “Good-bye, Miss Levinger; many

thanks for coming. If you will allow me to say so, I think that dress

of yours is charming, with those shimmering ornaments—moonstones, are

they not?”

“I am glad you like it, Sir Henry,” she answered, looking pleased.

“By the way, Graves,” broke in Mr. Levinger, “can you come over next

Friday week and stop till Tuesday? You know that old donkey Bowles

rears a few pheasants in the intervals of attending the public-house.

There ought to be three or four hundred to shoot, and they fly high on

those hillside covers—too high for me, anyway. If you can come, I’ll

get another gun or two—there’s a parson near who has a couple of

pupils, very decent shots—and we’ll shoot on Saturday and Monday, and

Tuesday too if you care for driven partridge, resting the Sabbath.”

“I shall be delighted,” answered Henry sincerely. “I don’t think that

I have any engagement; in fact, I am sure that I have none,” and he

looked at Emma and, for the first time that day, smiled genially.

Emma saw the look and smile, and wondered in her heart whether it were

the prospect of shooting the three or four hundred pheasants that

“flew high” with which Henry was delighted, or that of visiting Monk’s

Lodge—and herself. On the whole she thought it was the pheasants;

still she smiled in answer, and said she was glad that he could come.

Then they drove off, and Henry, having changed his wedding garments

for a shooting coat, departed to the study, there to smoke the pipe of

peace.

That night he dined tête-à-tête with his mother. It was not a

cheerful meal, for the house was disorganised and vestiges of the

marriage feast were all about them. There had been no time even to

remove the extra leaves from the great oval dining-table, and as Henry

and his mother’s places were set at its opposite extremes,

conversation was, or seemed to be, impossible.

“I think that this is a little dismal, dear,” said Lady Graves,

speaking across the white expanse of cloth, when the butler had served

the dessert and gone.

“Yes,” answered Henry; “it reminds me of South Africa, where the

natives talk to each other across the kloofs. Suppose that we go into

the study—we sha’n’t want a speaking trumpet there.”

His mother nodded in assent, and they adjourned, Henry taking a

decanter of wine with him.

“I think that it went off very well,” she said presently, when he had

made up the fire.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so. You don’t mind my smoking, do you, mother?”

“I know that you didn’t like the marriage, Henry,” she went on, “nor

do I altogether, for Edward is not—well, quite the class of man that

I should have selected. But different people have different tastes,

and I think that he will suit Ellen admirably. You see, she will rule

him, and she could never have got on with a man who tried to be her

master; also he is rich, and wealth is necessary to her comfort. I

shall be very much surprised if she does not make a great success of

her marriage.”

“Ellen would make a success of anything, mother—even of Edward

Milward. I have a great admiration for Ellen, but somehow I do not

envy my brother-in-law his bargain, though he has married a lady,

which, strictly speaking, is more than he deserves. However, I dare

say that he will find his place.”

“I have no doubt