Authors: Stella Gibbons
Phoebe, who was on her way up to her room to put on her wedding array, nudged Susan.
‘Did ’ee see that, soul? Ah! there’s somethin’ strange in the air today, love ’ee. And to think on it … our Rennett is no more a maid! Last night, as ever was, ’un came to say goodbye to me before ’un took the twelve-thirty train from Godmere with un’s husband-to-be.’
‘Was ’un weepin’, poor soul?’ enquired Susan.
‘Nay; but ’un said ’un would feel safer when once the words was said, and un’s man could not get away. Well …’tes done now, Lord love ’ee. And they will be here for th’ breakfast, man and wife, as ever was.’
A hush now fell upon the cool, flower-garlanded, sweet-smelling farm. The sun climbed royally towards his zenith, and the shadows grew shorter. In a dozen bedrooms the Starkadders struggled with their wedding garments. Flora came out of Aunt Ada’s room exactly at half-past eleven, and went along to her own room.
She was soon dressed. A bathe in cool water, ten minutes’ brushing of her hair and some business with her make-up boxes, and she emerged, serene, gay and elegant, and ready for the pleasures of the day.
She went straight down into the kitchen, to reassure herself that everything was still as it should be; and arrived just in time to prevent Mr Mybug, who had arrived unexpectedly early, from picking a cherry off one of the cakes. Rennett was imploring him not to, and he was laughing like a boyish faun (or so
he
thought) and just about to pick at it when Flora sailed in.
‘Mr
My
bug!’ exclaimed Flora.
He jumped as though he had been stung and gave a boyish laugh.
‘Ah, dear lady … there you are!’
‘Yes. And so are you, I see,’ said Flora. ‘There is plenty for
everybody
, Mr Mybug. If you are hungry, Mrs Beetle will cut you some bread and butter. How are
you
, Mrs Mybug?’ and Flora pressed Rennett’s hand graciously, and congratulated her upon her striking toilette, which had been borrowed from one of Mr Mybug’s girl friends who drank rather a lot in one way
and another and kept a tame boxer in her studio for the sheer love of the thing.
The other Starkadders now began to come downstairs; and as the sound of the church clock coming across the sunny fields now warned them it was twelve, they thought it time to go down to the church.
After a last glance round the flowery kitchen, Flora floated out with one hand on Reuben’s arm, and the others followed.
They found quite a big crowd already assembled outside the church, for the wedding had aroused much interest in neighbouring villages, as well as in Howling itself. The little church was crammed and the only empty seats were those for the County and those in which the party from the farm now took their places.
On rising from her knees, Flora had leisure to study the decorations. They were really charming. Agony Beetle had done them, with the help of Mark Dolour. They had agreed with pleasing unanimity that only white flowers were suitable to Elfine’s extreme youth and undoubted purity. So the pews were hung with chains of marguerites, and two tall lilies stood like archangelic trumpets at the end of each pew, lining the aisle. There were many jars filled with white pinks, and the altar steps where the bride would kneel were banked with snowy geraniums.
Flora repressed the unworthy reflection that it reminded her of a White Sale at Messrs Marshall & Snelgrove’s, and turned her attention to Letty, Jane, Phoebe, Prue and Susan, who had all begun to cry. Silently she fitted them all out with clean handkerchiefs from a store previously laid in for this very purpose.
Reuben, very nervous, stood at the door, waiting for Elfine. The sun blazed down outside, the organ wandered softly through a voluntary, and the crowd respectfully buzzed at the County as it came in, bursting with curiosity and wearing its direst hats. The hands on the clock tower jumped on, minute by minute, to the half-hour.
Flora took one cautious glance round the church before she settled down to wait in decorous quietude for the last few minutes.
The church seemed full of Starkadders. They were all there; and all there by her agency, except the four whom she had helped to escape.
There they all were. Enjoying themselves. Having a nice time. And having it in an ordinary human manner. Not having it because they were raping somebody, or beating somebody, or having religious mania or being doomed to silence by a gloomy, earthy pride, or loving the soil with the fierce desire of a lecher, or anything of that sort. No, they were just enjoying an ordinary human event, like any of the other millions of ordinary people in the world.
Really, when she thought what they had all been like, only five months ago …
She bowed her head. She had accomplished a great work; and had much to be thankful for. And today would see her achievements crowned!
At last! The organ struck bravely into ‘Here Comes the Bride!’ and every head turned towards the door, and every eye fixed itself upon the large car which had just drawn up outside the church. A low murmur of interest went up.
And now the crowd was cheering. Something tall, white and cool as a cloud detached itself from the car, and floated quickly along the path to the church door.
Here comes the Bride! Here is Elfine, pale and serious and starry-eyed, as a bride should be, leaning upon the arm of Reuben. Here is Dick Hawk-Monitor, his pleasant red face betraying none of the nervousness he must feel. Here is Mrs Hawk-Monitor, looking vague in grey; and the healthy Joan Hawk-Monitor in pink organdi (a deplorable choice – quite deplorable, thought Flora, regretfully).
The procession reached the altar steps, and halted.
The music ceased. Into the hush that fell the vicar’s voice broke quickly yet gravely: ‘Dearly beloved …’
It was not until she was standing in the vestry, smilingly watching the best man (Ralph Pent-Hartigan) kiss the bride, that Flora felt an unusual sensation in the palm of her right-hand glove. She looked down at it, and saw to her surprise and amusement that it was split right across.
She realized then that she had been extremely nervous least anything should go wrong. But nothing had; and now she was extremely hungry.
Susan, Letty, Phoebe, Prue and Jane were still roaring away like town-bulls, and Flora had to tell them rather sharply not to make such a noise. Several persons had already asked them, in kindly concern, if they were in pain, or had had bad news.
‘Of course,’ Mr Mybug was explaining to Rennett, who was also crying because she had had only a nasty registry office wedding and no lovely dress or wreath – ‘of course, this is all the sheerest barbarism. It’s utterly pagan … and a bit obscene, too, if we only look below the ritual. That business of throwing the shoe, for instance—’
‘Mr Mybug, we are all going up to the farm now. Of course you’re coming too?’ Flora had interrupted him, she felt, just at the right moment. He hastily promised Rennett another wedding, a proper one, if she would only stop crying, and rushed away with her under his arm after the rest of the party.
In fifteen minutes they were all going in at the farm gate, chattering and laughing and experiencing that curious exultation which always follows a wedding or a funeral.
And how gay and cheerful the farm looked, with the awning all bravely white and crimson in the sun, and the wreaths of flowers and the rosy clouds of peonies shining out of the darkness of the kitchen, through the open door. And, oh, look! Someone had put a rope of wallflowers and geraniums round the neck of Big Business, who was proudly stamping round the big field, and pausing to stare over the hedge at the wedding guests with his huge, soft eyes!
‘What a charming idea. So original,’ said Mrs Hawk-Monitor, thinking it was rather indelicate. ‘And the cows, I see, are also wreathed. Quite an idea.’
Adam came forward; the desolate Atlantic pools that were his eyes were filmed with the ready tears of ninety years. He stopped in front of Elfine, who looked kindly down at him, and held out to her his cupped hands.
‘A wedding present for ’ee, maidy,’ he crooned (much to Flora’s annoyance, who was afraid the ice would melt and the champagne be tepid). ‘A gift for my own wild marsh-tigget.’
And he opened his hands, revealing a marsh-tigget’s nest with four pink eggs in it.
‘Oh Adam … how sweet of you,’ said Elfine, pressing his arm affectionately.
‘Put it in thy bosom. ’Twill make ’ee bear four children,’ advised Adam, and was proceeding to give further instructions when Flora broke up the meeting by sweeping Adam before her
towards the kitchen, with the soothing assurance that Elfine would certainly do as he suggested when she had had something to eat.
She led the way into the room, followed by the bride and bridegroom, Mrs Hawk-Monitor and Joan, Ralph Pent-Hartigan, Reuben, Micah, Mark and Luke, Caraway, Hark-away, Ezra, Phoebe, Susan, Letty, Mr Mybug and Rennett, Jane and, following somewhat in the rear, such minors as Mrs Beetle, Mark Dolour’s Nancy, Agony and the jazz-band, Mark Dolour himself, and Urk and Meriam, to say nothing of Mrs Murther from the Condemn’d Man and a number of other worthies whom Reuben considered were entitled, by their connection with the farm, to come to the feast. These included the three farm-hands who worked directly under Mark Dolour, and old Adam himself.
As she crossed the threshold and passed from the hot sunshine into the cool gloom, Flora suddenly stepped aside, to let the guests have a clear view of the kitchen, and of somebody who rose from a chair wreathed in peonies, greeting them with a ringing cry:
‘So here you all are! Welcome to Cold Comfort!’
And a handsome old lady, dressed from head to foot in the smartest flying kit of black leather, advanced to meet the astounded party. Her hands were stretched out in welcome.
A roar of amazement broke from Micah, who never did have any tact, anyway.
‘’Tes Aunt Ada! ’Tes Aunt Ada Doom!’
And the others, released from their first frozen shock of surprise, broke also into ejaculations of amazement:
‘Why, so ’tes!’
‘’Tes terrible!’
‘’Tes flying in the face of Nature!’
‘Ay … and in trousers, too! Do ’ee mark ’em, lovee?’
‘The first time these twenty year …’
‘She’m rising eighty.’
‘’Tes enough to kill her.’
‘Dear me … how delightful … so unexpected. How do you
do, Miss Doom … or should I say Mrs Starkadder? … so confusing.’
‘Oh,
Grandmother
!’
‘’Tes the old ’un herself!’
‘Well, you could knock me down with a warming-pan! Miracles will never cease!’
‘Ay … fruit and flower, by their growth ’ee shall know ’em! That I should live to see this day!’
Aunt Ada stood in smiling silence while the roar of voices gradually subsided. She glanced once or twice at Flora, with raised eyebrows, and her friendly smile deepened into one of amusement.
At last she held up her hand. Silence immediately fell. She said:
‘Well, good people, all this is very flattering, but if I am to spend any time with my granddaughter and the rest of you, we must hurry up and begin the wedding breakfast. I leave for Paris by air in less than an hour.’
On this confusion broke forth again. The Starkadders were so flabbergasted, so knocked clean out of the perpendicular by the bosom-shattering stupendosity of the event, that nothing but a good deal of food could persuade them to shut their mouths.
So Flora and Ralph Pent-Hartigan (she was beginning to approve of that young man: he had the rudiments) caught up plates of crab patties and began to circulate among the guests, persuading everybody to begin to eat and keep up their strength.
Then Elfine, roused from her fascinated stare at her grandmother by a gentle touch from Flora, cut the wedding cake; and the feast officially began.
Soon everybody was enjoying themselves tremendously. The shattering surprise of Aunt Ada’s appearance gave everybody something to talk about, and enhanced the delicious flavours of the food they ate. It would, of course, have been even more stimulating to the appetite if she had appeared in her usual clothes and with her usual manner, and tried to stop the wedding, and had been defied by the Starkadders in a body. That
would
have been worth seeing, if you like. However, one cannot have everything, and what there was, was good.
After she had moved around a little among the guests, and said a few pleasant phrases to everyone, Aunt Ada sat down again in her flowery chair, and addressed herself to champagne and some caviare sandwiches.
Flora sat by her side, also eating caviare. She thought it best to watch over her handiwork up to the last minute. In only half an hour the aeroplane which was to take Aunt Ada to Paris would land in Ticklepenny’s Field. But a lot of things could happen in half an hour. Apparently, Aunt Ada had thoroughly realized what a nasty time she had had for twenty years, and had now made up her mind to have a nice one. But you never knew.
So there Flora sat, watching over her aunt, smiling occasionally at people from under the brim of her hat, and seeking an opening in the conversation with her aunt to introduce her rights; those mysterious rights Judith had mentioned in her first letter to Flora nearly six months ago.
Soon it came. Aunt Ada was in excellent spirits. She thanked Flora for the hundredth time for pointing out to her what a nice time was had by Miss Fanny Ward, who looked so much younger than she really was; and for telling her how luxurious was the Hôtel Miramar in Paris, and emphasizing what a pleasant life could be had in this world by a handsome, sensible old lady of good fortune, blessed with a sound constitution and a firm will.
‘And I will remember, my dear,’ she was saying, ‘to preserve my personality, as you advise. You shall not find me plucking my eyebrows, nor dieting, nor doting on a boy of twenty-five. I am very grateful to you, my pippet. What pretty thing shall I send you from Paris?’
‘A work-box, please. Mine is wearing out,’ said Flora, promptly. ‘But, Aunt Ada, there is something else you can do for me, too, if you will. What was the wrong that Amos did to my father, Robert Poste? And what are my “rights”, of which Judith used to speak? I feel that I cannot let you go off on your tour without asking you.’