All eyes were directed to the church-gate, as the travellers descended the hill. No wedding carriages were there, no favours, no slatternly group of women brimming with interest, no aged pauper on two sticks, who comes because he has nothing else to do till dying time, no nameless female passing by on the other side with a laugh of indifference, no ringers taking off their coats as they vanish up a turret, no hobbledehoys on tiptoe outside the chancel windows--in short, none whatever of the customary accessories of a country wedding was anywhere visible.
'Thank God!' said Chickerel.
'Wait till you know he deserves it,' said Mountclere.
'Nothing's done yet between them.'
'It is not likely that anything is done at this time of day. But Ihave decided to go to the church first. You will probably go to your relative's house at once?'
Sol looked to his father for a reply.
'No, I too shall go to the church first, just to assure myself,' said Chickerel. 'I shall then go on to Mrs Petherwin's.'
The carriage was stopped at the corner of a steep incline leading down to the edifice. Mountclere and Chickerel alighted and walked on towards the gates, Sol remaining in his place. Christopher was some way off, descending the hill on foot, having halted to leave his horse and trap at a small inn at the entrance to the village.
When Chickerel and Mountclere reached the churchyard gate they found it slightly open. The church-door beyond it was also open, but nobody was near the spot.
'We have arrived not a minute too soon, however,' said Mountclere.
'Preparations have apparently begun. It was to be an early wedding, no doubt.'
Entering the building, they looked around; it was quite empty.
Chickerel turned towards the chancel, his eye being attracted by a red kneeling-cushion, placed at about the middle of the altar-railing, as if for early use. Mountclere strode to the vestry, somewhat at a loss how to proceed in his difficult task of unearthing his brother, obtaining a private interview with him, and then, by the introduction of Sol and Chickerel, causing a general convulsion.
'Ha! here's somebody,' he said, observing a man in the vestry. He advanced with the intention of asking where Lord Mountclere was to be found. Chickerel came forward in the same direction.
'Are you the parish clerk?' said Mountclere to the man, who was dressed up in his best clothes.
'I hev the honour of that calling,' the man replied.
Two large books were lying before him on the vestry table, one of them being open. As the clerk spoke he looked slantingly on the page, as a person might do to discover if some writing were dry.
Mountclere and Chickerel gazed on the same page. The book was the marriage-register.
'Too late!' said Chickerel.
There plainly enough stood the signatures of Lord Mountclere and Ethelberta. The viscount's was very black, and had not yet dried.
Her strokes were firm, and comparatively thick for a woman's, though paled by juxtaposition with her husband's muddled characters. In the space for witnesses' names appeared in trembling lines as fine as silk the autograph of Picotee, the second name being that of a stranger, probably the clerk.
'Yes, yes--we are too late, it seems,' said Mountclere coolly. 'Who could have thought they'd marry at eight!'
Chickerel stood like a man baked hard and dry. Further than his first two words he could say nothing.
'They must have set about it early, upon my soul,' Mountclere continued. 'When did the wedding take place?' he asked of the clerk sharply.
'It was over about five minutes before you came in,' replied that luminary pleasantly, as he played at an invisible game of pitch-and-toss with some half-sovereigns in his pocket. 'I received orders to have the church ready at five minutes to eight this morning, though I knew nothing about such a thing till bedtime last night. It was very private and plain, not that I should mind another such a one, sir;' and he secretly pitched and tossed again.
Meanwhile Sol had found himself too restless to sit waiting in the carriage for more than a minute after the other two had left it. He stepped out at the same instant that Christopher came past, and together they too went on to the church.
'Father, ought we not to go on at once to Ethelberta's, instead of waiting?' said Sol, on reaching the vestry, still in ignorance.
''Twas no use in coming here.'
'No use at all,' said Chickerel, as if he had straw in his throat.
'Look at this. I would almost sooner have had it that in leaving this church I came from her grave--well, no, perhaps not that, but Ifear it is a bad thing.'
Sol then saw the names in the register, Christopher saw them, and the man closed the book. Christopher could not well command himself, and he retired.
'I knew it. I always said that pride would lead Berta to marry an unworthy man, and so it has!' said Sol bitterly. 'What shall we do now? I'll see her.'
'Do no such thing, young man,' said Mountclere. 'The best course is to leave matters alone. They are married. If you are wise, you will try to think the match a good one, and be content to let her keep her position without inconveniencing her by your intrusions or complaints. It is possible that the satisfaction of her ambition will help her to endure any few surprises to her propriety that may occur. She is a clever young woman, and has played her cards adroitly. I only hope she may never repent of the game! A-hem.
Good morning.' Saying this, Mountclere slightly bowed to his relations, and marched out of the church with dignity; but it was told afterwards by the coachman, who had no love for Mountclere, that when he stepped into the fly, and was as he believed unobserved, he was quite overcome with fatuous rage, his lips frothing like a mug of hot ale.
'What an impertinent gentleman 'tis,' said Chickerel. 'As if we had tried for her to marry his brother!'
