 Volume 3, Chapter 14 of That Unfortunate Marriage. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. That Unfortunate Marriage by Frances Eleanor Trollop. Volume 3, Chapter 14. Cannon Hadlow had resolved that his daughter, when she returned to Old Chester for May's wedding, to which she was, of course, invited, should remain in her own home at least for some months. He had grown very discontented with her prolonged and frequent absences. Mrs. Hadlow, at the earnest request of Constance, backed by a polite invitation from Lady Belcraft, went to comb St. Mildred's to remain there one day and bring her daughter back with her. But instead of doing so, she sent a telegram home, desiring that a box of clothes might be packed and sent to her. And most surprising of all, the box was to be addressed to Dover. This item of news was disseminated by the Hadlow's servants, whose duty it was to see the trunk conveyed to the railway station. And the woman declared, she believed, from what she could make out, that her mistress was going to France. Of course the cannon knew the truth, but the cannon was not visible to collars. He had a cold and kept his room. All the circle of the Hadlow's acquaintances, and the circle seemed to be immediately widened by the dropping into its midst of this puzzling bit of news, as a stone dropped into water, is surrounded by a ring of ever-increasing circumference, were, however, spared further conjecture by the publication in due course of the supplement to the Times newspaper of Tuesday, the 27th of February. It contained the announcement of the marriage at the British Embassy in Paris on the preceding Saturday, a Viscount castle-comb to Constance Jane, only daughter of the Reverend Edward Hadlow, canon of Old Chester. The general public, or as much of it as had ever heard of the parties concerned, for that vast entity the general public is really as divisible as a jellyfish, each portion being perfect for all purposes of its existence when cut off from the rest, was ranged, as is usual in such cases, in two main camps, those who couldn't have believed it beforehand, though an angel from heaven had denounced it, and those who had all along had their suspicions and were not so very much surprised as you expected, but only the nearest friends and relatives of the family enjoyed the not inconsiderable advantage for judging the matter of really knowing anything about it. Owen was the first person whom his uncle admitted to see him. The old man was greatly overcome. His daughter's marriage was a blow to him. It gave a rude shock to the ideal Constance, whom he had loved and admired with a sort of delicate paternal chivalry. There could be no question of love in such a marriage as this, no question even of gratitude or reverence, or any of the finer feelings. To the pure-hearted, simple-minded old man, it seemed to be a sad degradation for his daughter. Not a soul except his wife ever fully understood his state of mind on the subject, for he spoke of it to no one. Mrs. Dobbs, perhaps, came nearest to doing so. She had a great reverence and admiration for the canon and considerable sympathetic insight into his feelings. And when, afterwards, people said in her presence, how proud and elated Cannon Hadlow must be at his daughter's making so great a match, she would tighten her lips and observe Soto Voce that you might as well expect a Christian saint to be gratified by being decorated with the peacock's feather of a Chinese mandarin. When Mrs. Hadlow came home, of course, more particulars were divulged. She came out by degrees in confidential talks with her nephew. Mrs. Hadlow spoke to him quite openly. Constance had earnestly begged her mother to go to her at Combe St. Mildred's, and almost immediately on her arrival there had announced that she was about to marry Lord Casselcombe and that everything was arranged for the ceremony to take place in Paris since, under the circumstances, they both felt that it could not be managed too quietly. She much wished her mother and father to accompany her to Paris in order that everything might be en règue. When the first astonishment was over, Mrs. Hadlow impulsively tried to dissuade her daughter from taking this step. It was dreadful. It was really monstrous to think of her Connie marrying that old man who was several years the senior of her own father, a man, too, of a hard, unameable character, one who was much feared, little respected, and loved not at all. She was revolted by the idea, and, as to the cannon, she could not bear to think of what he would feel. He would never allow it. It was hopeless to think of gaining his consent. When her mother's tearful excitement had somewhat subsided, Constance pointed out that she had a very sincere regard for Lord Casselcombe, who had behaved in every way excellently towards her, and that, as to falling in love, as depicted by poets and novelists, she had her private opinion, which was, briefly, that all that was about as historically true as the adventures of Oberon and Titania, and that, at all events, she was sufficiently acquainted with her own character to be persuaded that she was incapable of that species of temporary insanity. Further, with regard to her father's consent, she deeply regathered to hear that he was likely to withhold it, since she would, in that case, be compelled to marry without it, which would be very painful to her. And when she said that it would be painful to her, her mother knew that she spoke quite sincerely. She was of full age to judge for herself in the matter, and could not think of breaking her word to Lord Casselcombe. She further pointed out that, although, of course, old Chester people would chatter about her, she spoke already as though she were looking down on those common mortals from the serene and luminous elevation of some fixed star. Yet there could be nothing scandalous said if she were known to be accompanied to Paris by her mother. As to Papa, his health and his duties, and many other excuses, might be alleged for his not undertaking a journey at that inclement season. Constance spoke with perfect calmness, and without the slightest disrespect of manner. But Mrs. Hadlow was made aware within five minutes that nothing on earth which she had power to say or do would, for an instant, shake her daughter's resolve to be a vicountess. There was nothing to be done but to put the best face possible on the matter and go to Paris. She could not allow her child to travel thither alone. The bridegroom had already preceded them to make all needful preparations. Poor Mrs. Hadlow was in such a whirl of confusion and emotion as scarcely to know what she was doing or saying. Had Lady Belcraft known of this, she asked, Constance smiled rather scornfully as she replied that nobody would be more surprised than poor dear Lady Belcraft when she should learn the news. No, Connie was not going to share the glory of her capture with anyone. And in truth, such glory as belonged to it was all her own. Mrs. Griffin, on hearing the news, was at first half inclined to be sharp and spiteful at being kept in the dark, although, of course, she did not allow herself to continue in that vulgar frame of mind. But Lady Belcraft was subdued and almost prostrate in spirit before this gifted young creature. She's a wonderful young woman, my dear. A wonderful young woman, declared Lady Belcraft. Just before they landed from the steamboat at Calais, Constance said to her mother, mama, I do think you and papa are the most unworldly people I ever heard of. You have never thought of saying a single word about settlements. Mrs. Hadlow started and looked blankly at her daughter. She stood rebuked. I have felt, ever since you told me, as if I had received a stunning blow on the head which deprived me of half of my faculties, she answered. But I ought to have thought of that. It is not too late now, perhaps, to secure some provision for you. Is it, Connie? I should not have thought of marrying Lord Castlecomb without a proper settlement, mama. We might have been married a fortnight ago if it had not been for the delays of the lawyers. Although matters were simplified for them by my having nothing at all, I am quite satisfied with the arrangements and I hope you and papa will be so too. I think you will admit that Lord Castlecomb has been very generous. Mrs. Hadlow was a woman of bright intelligence and she had been apt to consider Connie a little below the river's standard of brains. But now, as she looked and listened, she felt tempted to exclaim, like Lady Belcraft, that this was a wonderful young woman. But what words can paint the effect of that fateful announcement in the times on the family party assembled in Mrs. Dormersmith's house at Kensington? Augustus behaved so outrageously, used such a vituperative language and comported himself altogether with such violence that his brother-in-law privately fortified himself by securing the presence of a policeman well in view of the windows on the opposite side of the way before requesting Captain Sheffington to withdraw at once from his house. Much to his surprise and immensely to his relief, the request was complied with promptly. Captain Sheffington disappeared in a handsome cab with a smart traveling bag and followed by a second vehicle containing two well-filled portmanteaus. Whereas, as James cynically remarked to the cook, a cigar case and a toothpick was about the amount of his luggage when he arrived. James had not been feed. Augustus asserted his claim to be considered one of the family by swearing at the servants and never giving any of them a sixpence. The explanation of this speedy departure was shortly forthcoming in the shape of a variety of bills which poured in with astonishing rapidity. Augustus also, as has been stated, had been clever enough to raise a little money on the strength of his airship, and Mr. Dormersmith had to endure some contumely from creditors who had looked to getting something like 25% above market prices out of the captain and were roused to a frenzy of moral indignation when they discovered that he was safe out of England and beyond their reach. To Pauline, the blow was the more severe because she persuaded herself that she had been the victim of black ingratitude on the part of Constance. That girl, she would murmur weeping, that girl whom I upheld as a model and who really did behave perfectly when she was here quite perfectly, to think of that girl being the one to turn round on the family in this treacherous way. I do not know how I shall endure to see her face again. Then don't see it, suggested Frederick, if you think she has behaved so badly, cut her and have done with it. Cut her, exclaimed Pauline, sitting up from among the pillows in her chair's lounge with a vinaigrette in one hand and a pocket handkerchief in the other. How can I cut my uncle's wife? She is now Lady Castlecomb, Frederick. You seem to have no idea that private feelings must give way to the duty one owes to society. I wonder who will present her. I dare say Mrs. Griffin will persuade the Duchess to do it. It would not surprise me at all. Probably they will open the townhouse now and come up every season. Cut her, Frederick, you talk like that nihilist who was going to marry poor darling May. Frederick more than ever thought that poor darling May was to be congratulated on having secured the love and protection of the honest young Englishman to whom his wife persisted in attributing anarchical principles. He wrote a kind letter in which he proposed to come down to Old Chester and give his niece away at the marriage, if that would be agreeable to her and Mr. Rivers. May's affection at heart was overjoyed by this proposal, a joint letter signed by May and Owen was sent by Return of Post, in which both Aunt Pauline and Uncle Frederick were warmly invited to the wedding, and May put in a special petition that Harold and Wilfrid should be allowed to be present. Granny would find a nook for them in Jessamine Cottage. May also sent an invitation to Mrs. Bransby to be present, but she replied that she would not bring her black gown to be a blot on their brightness, but that no more loving prayers would be breathed for their happiness than those of their affectionate friend Louisa Bransby. Neither did Aunt Pauline accept the invitation. She did not write unkindly. Her reply seemed to be indeed a sort of homily on the text, how all unconscious of their doom, the little victims play. It was a sad business, but she was mildly compassionate and forbearing. But the best of all was that Harold and Wilfrid were to be permitted to come. In fact, their father insisted on bringing them to their inexpressible rapture. They took to Granny at once, and she had to keep a watch upon her tongue lest she should let slip before Mr. Dormersmith, the word she had said on first seeing the children. Poor dear motherless little fellows. On the wedding morning, a letter arrived for Mrs. Dobbs from Mr. Bragg. Mr. Bragg was about to sail for Buenos Aires on a 12 months visit to his son. Before going away, he thought it would be agreeable to May and her husband, he wrote, to be the means of communicating something to Mrs. Bransby, which he hoped would be to her advantage. The new premises, which he had taken for his office, now removed from Friars Row, were to be furnished throughout and a couple of rooms reserved for Mr. Bragg's use whenever he wished to come to Oldchester from his country house. Under these circumstances, a resident housekeeper would be required to look after the place and govern the servants. Mr. Bragg hoped that Mrs. Bransby would do him the favor to accept this post, and that she would find herself more comfortable among her old friends in Oldchester than in the wilderness of London. Moreover, he enclosed a cheque for a handsome sum of money as to the disposal of which he thus wrote. The cheque, I would ask Mr. Rivers to apply in paying young Martin Bransby's school fees for the ensuing year. And any little matter that may be over can be used for the boy's books and so on. He is a fine boy, I think, and worth helping. Learning is a great thing. I never had it myself, but I don't undervalue it for that. I have thought that this would perhaps be the best way I could find of what you might call testifying my appreciation of Mr. Rivers' services to me. I hope he will accept it as a wedding present. To me, he sent no gift. I could offer her nothing but dross, he wrote, and I don't want her thoughts of me to be mixed up with gold and diamonds and such poor things as are oftentimes the best a rich man has to give. Some young ladies would be disappointed at this. I don't believe she will. When she's dressed and ready to go to church, just you please kiss her forehead with a blessing in your mind. And you needn't say anything to her, but just say to yourself, this is from Joshua Bragg. Of the wedding it may be said that although it was no doubt in many respects like other weddings, yet in several it was peculiar and its peculiarities were in such flagrant violation of the regulations of society that it was almost providential, Mrs. Dormersmith escaped witnessing it. In the first place, although Uncle Frederick was present, a welcome and an honored guest, may insisted that Mr. Weatherhead should give her away. And perhaps nothing she had ever done in her life had caused Granny Moore heartfelt satisfaction. As to Uncle Joe, the honor nearly overpowered him. His appearance in wedding garments with an enormous white waistcoat and a bright rose-colored tie was an abiding joy to all the little boys at the neighborhood who were lucky enough to behold him. Then the Miss Pipers fluttered into the church in such extremely bridal attire with long white veils attached to their bonnets as utterly to eclipse May in her quiet traveling dress. May, however, wore two ornaments of considerable value, a pearl bracelet and brooch, which had arrived the previous evening. Inside each Morocco case had been found a slip of paper bearing respectively the inscriptions to Miranda Chuffington with the good wishes of her great-uncle and, to dear May, with the love of her affectionate friend Constance Casselcombe. Lastly, Amelia Simpson was so floored in her raiment and so exuberant in her delight as to be the observed of all observers. In her excitement, she backed heavily upon people behind her and trot upon the gowns of people before her, knelt down at the wrong moment and then discovering her mistake, jumped up again at the very instant when the rest of the congregation were sinking onto their knees, dropped her metal clasped prayer book with a crash in a solemn pause of silence, lost her pocket handkerchief and, in her nearsightedness and confusion, seized on Miss Polly Piper's long white veil to wipe her tear-dimmed spectacles and was altogether a severe trial to the nerves of the officiating clergyman. Many other friends were there, Major Mitten with his amiable face and erect soldierly figure, Dr. Hatch who said he doubted whether he could snatch a moment to witness the ceremony, but who remained to the very last to wish the young couple Godspeed when they drove away from the door of the church on their honeymoon trip. Even Sebastian Bach Simpson was in a softened mood. The entire absence of pretension about the whole affair conciliated his goodwill and he played Mendelssohn's wedding march as a voluntary when the bride and bridegroom walked down the church arm in arm with unusual spirit and heartiness. And so May and Owen began their voyage of life together, followed by many good wishes and by less of envy, hatred, malice and uncharitableness then perhaps fall to the lot of most mortals. Marriage, which is the end of most story books is but the beginning of many stories, but this chronicle cannot follow the personages who have figured in it much beyond that fateful chapter of the wedding day. One or two facts may however be told and a few outlines sketched in to indicate the course of future events on a more or less distant horizon. For a long time Pauline clung with the soft pertinacity which was part of her character to the hope that poor dear Augustus might yet inherit the castle home acres and resume his place in society. Uncle George could not live forever, but one fine day the bells of Combe St. Mildreds rang a merry peal and the news spread like wildfire through the village that an heir was born in a foreign city called Naples and that my Lord and my Lady, who was doing extremely well and the all important baby were coming home to Combe Park as soon as ever my Lady was strong enough to travel. Then indeed, Pauline felt that Providence had decided against her brother and that her own duty to society lay plain and clear before her. During the following year or two, she suffered considerable persecution in the shape of appeals for money from Augustus. The first were in a haughty strain, but before long they sank into the wine of the regular begging letter writer. She gave him what she could, for to the last she had a soft place in her heart for her brother, but her husband, finding the case hopeless, forbade her to give any more and as far as he could, prevented Augustus's letters from reaching her. Captain Sheffington then brought his wife to London. He had little fear of his creditors, having by this time sunk so low as not to be worth powder and shot. He got his wife engaged under her real name at a music hall of the third class and caused paragraphs to be inserted in sundry sporting and theatrical prints. To the effect that the Mrs. Augustus Sheffington, whose Italian bravura singing was so successful a feature in the nightly entertainment, et cetera, et cetera, was the niece by marriage of a peer of the realm, Viscount Castelcombe of Comb Park, and he furnished his relations liberally with copies of these papers. Probably he had some hope that they would buy him off to save the honour of the family, but in this he was totally at fault. The old lord, who in the joy of his little son's birth seemed to have taken a new lease of life, merely chuckled at Gus's making such a confounded ass of himself and cared not a snap of the fingers for anything he could do or say. Owen Rivers privately supplied his father-in-law with all the necessaries and some of the comforts of life on condition that he was never to annoy May by making any kind of appeal to her. On the first infringement of this condition, the supplies would be withdrawn. And in order to secure it's not being all lost at the gaming table, Owen paid the money into the hands of La Bianca, who, according to her lights, was by no means a bad wife and was certainly a much better one than her selfish and graceless husband deserved. Mrs. Bransby gratefully accepted the position offered to her and fulfilled its duties entirely to Mr. Bragg's satisfaction. Indeed, when the latter returned from Buenos Aires, he took the habit of spending a good deal of time in the apartment reserved for him over the office. The house, one of the roomy old fashioned mansions in Friar's Row, contained ample accommodation for Mrs. Bransby's family. Ms. Enid completed and maintained her conquest of Mr. Bragg and some persons thought that it was this young lady's personal attractions which caused him to spend so much of his time in Friar's Row. But other observers thought differently. And indeed, quite laterally, Mrs. Dormersmith has had her ill opinion of Mrs. Bransby strengthened by certain rumors touching the likelihood of that lady's promotion to a higher position in Mr. Bragg's household than that of paid housekeeper. If that should ever come off, says Mrs. Dormersmith, I suppose poor dear foolish May's eyes will be opened at last and she may repent when it is too late, having thrown away her magnificent opportunity to be picked up by that designing woman. When these mysterious forecasts are imparted to Lady Casselcombe, she only smiles faintly and says in her quiet, well-bred way, well, but why not? My lady has her own views on the subject, views in which the discomforture and mortification of Theodore Bransby form a conspicuous and pleasing feature, but hitherto nothing has happened to justify the provisions of either lady on this score. Theodore is not often seen in Old Chester now. The place is full of disagreeable associations for him. His political candidature was a failure. The Casselcombe influence on his behalf, having been suddenly withdrawn after his lordship's marriage, greatly to the perplexity of his lordship's agent. Nevertheless, Mr. Theodore Bransby by no means despairs of being able to write MP after his name at some future time. But if he ever does enter parliament, it will probably be on what our continental neighbors term the extreme left of the chamber, for Theodore's political opinions have undergone a great revulsion, and he is now loftily contemptuous of the territorial aristocracy. In fact, he has been heard to support advanced theories of an almost communistic complexion, stopping short, however, at the confiscation of other people's property and maintaining the inviolability of government stock, of which he is a large holder. This sort of theory he finds to be quite compatible with the pursuit of fashionable society. Although surrounded by every luxury which can minister to his personal comfort, he is not at all extravagant and indeed saves more than half his annual income. This he does not from positive avarice, but because he feels ever more and more strongly that money is power. Moreover, it will be well to have a handsome sum in hand whenever he marries, for he is still firmly minded to find a wife who will devote herself to taking care of him. Quite recently, a paragraph has appeared in the old Chester newspaper, announcing the probability of a marriage between our distinguished townsman, Mr. Theodore Bransby, whose career at the bar is being washed with pride and pleasure in his native city, and the Lady Euphemia Haggastown, daughter of the Earl of Caldecael, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Lady Euphemia is a faded, timid, gentle woman of some five or six and 30 years of age with neither money nor beauty. She is sometimes haunted by the ghost of a romantic attachment to a penniless young Navy officer lost at sea, hard upon 20 years ago, but she has a soft, submissive desire to win the kindly regard of their remarkably stiff and cold young gentleman whom her father has decided she is to marry whenever he shall see fit to ask her. But poor Lady Effie does not succeed in softening the implacable correctness of her suitors demeanor into anything very humanly sympathetic. Theodore is quite certain to make the most of his wife's title and social standing dealing with the world in general. But it is to be feared that he may think fit to balance matters by tyrannizing over her in private with some rigor. Mrs. Dormersnith often moralizes her family history, entangling herself in many metaphysical knots in the course of her cogitations as to what would have happened if something else had happened which never did happen. Of course, if poor dear Augustus had not thrown himself away on Susan Dobbs, things would have been very different. But even in spite of that, much might have been retrieved. Had he not made a second and still more shocking mesallions with a strolling Italian singer, because probably if Augustus had come home after the death of his cousin Lucius in a proper spirit and under not discreditable circumstances and had conducted himself so as to insiliate his uncle, the old man would never have thought of marrying again. Constance Hadlow would never have become by countess Castlecombe and no heir would have appeared to thrust Augustus from his inheritance. There was an ever-recurring difficulty in fixing the exact point at which poor dear Augustus's misfortunes had become irretrievable. So that, although Pauline was on perfectly civil terms with the Castlecombes and although Frederick was asked down to Comepark for the shooting every season and although my lady was happy to receive the Dormersniths with the least little indefinable touch of condescension. Whenever she was at her house in town, yet in her confidential moments, Pauline's intimate friends were never quite sure which of the three momentous alliances she was alluding to when she talked plaintively of that unfortunate marriage. End of chapter 14. End of that unfortunate marriage by Francis Eleanor Trollop.