Chapter 8

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_ CHAPTER VIII

Old Miss Tremount had come up from Cornwall for the occasion, accompanied by her poodle, her female toady, and her father confessor. The good lady had altered her will some years before, on hearing of her favorite nephew's changed condition, and it was feared she would leave her money to the Church of Rome, of which she was a member. But on receiving the announcement of her intended visit, Lady Malmaison had begun to entertain hopes that Sir Edward might succeed in so favorably impressing his aunt as to induce her to divert at least some portion of her thousands in his direction. But it is not likely that Miss Tremount had come to Malmaison with any such views; in fact, her reason for coming had little or no connection with the late baronet's family. It was not generally known that, between forty and fifty years previously, there had been tender passages between Colonel Battledown and this snuffy old maid, whose soul was now divided between her cards and her psalter. So it was, however; they were even betrothed to one another, though the betrothal was kept a secret, the Colonel then being a comparatively penniless young lieutenant, and as such by no means a desirable son-in-law from the parental point of view. An elopement was contemplated so soon as the young lady should be of age; and it would be difficult to explain the occasion of the trumpery quarrel between the lovers, which ended in the lady taunting the gentleman with caring only about her money, and resulted in the rupture of the engagement. Doubtless it might have been renewed; but at this juncture the lieutenant was ordered away on active service to the American Colonies, where he remained for some years. Later, he was stationed in India; and the next time he met his old love, in London, he was twenty years older than when she had last seen him, and a major, and with ribbons on his breast, and a wife on his arm. Miss Tremount never betrayed any grief or disappointment, except in so far as she remained single all her life, and latterly waxed religious and became a convert to the Jesuits. But when the Colonel was dead, and she heard that his daughter was about to be married, she resolved to make a journey to Malmaison; and who can tell whether in the bottom of her heart, hidden even from her father confessor, she may not have cherished a secret purpose of making Mistress Kate her heir? It is certain at all events that she brought her will with her in her trunk.

This romance, I say, was known to but few, and as Miss Battledown did not happen to be among the number, she was less cordial in her behavior to the old lady than she might otherwise have been. Kate was not constitutionally a lover of old women, and not herself old enough to be aware that no truly charitable person should ever be inattentive to seventy thousand pounds, no matter to how unprepossessing a human being the money might be attached. Her manner, therefore, was tolerant and patronizing rather than flattering; and honest Lady Malmaison, though she liked Kate very much, and would have been delighted to see her inherit seventy thousand pounds from the Shah of Persia or the President of the United States, was not quite so unnatural an idiot as to recommend to the young lady a more conciliating behavior. As for Miss Tremount, she preserved her composure and kept her counsel perfectly, and never referred to her will even in her most unguarded moments. She was courteous and complimentary to Sir Edward, indulgent to Archibald, kind and sisterly to Lady Malmaison, and quietly observant of everything and everybody. On the wedding morning she criticised and admired the bride's toilet with a taste and appreciation that caused the proud young beauty's eyes to sparkle; and just before the party entered the hall, she pressed Kate's hand affectionately, and said, in her gentlest tones, that she hoped she would be happy. "I have always looked upon your mother as one of the happiest of women, my dear," she added. "May your fortune equal hers!" This good-natured benediction caused Lady Malmaison a good deal of anxiety; Sir Edward smiled aside at what he fancied was a subtle stroke of irony; and Kate herself became thoughtful, and regretted that it was rather late in the day to begin to show Miss Tremount what a charming elderly lady she thought her.

The great hall looked its stateliest that morning. The March sunshine came slanting through the tall windows, and lay in bright patches upon the broad floor, or gleamed upon the ancient swords and breastplates, or glowed in the festal hangings. Quite a large number of titled and fashionable persons were collected at the upper end of the room, whispering and rustling, and dressed in what we should now consider very wonderful costumes, though they were all the mode then. A few minutes before eleven the very reverend dean, and an assistant divine, together with the bridegroom and Archibald, entered and took their places in great pomp and dignity beneath the canopy which had been constructed for the occasion, and which, was covered with fresh flowers, whose fragrance breathed over the gay assemblage like a sacred incense. At eleven o'clock there was a general hush of expectation; and presently the door at the bottom of the hall was thrown open, and the bridal procession came in. Very pretty they looked as they paced, up the long stretch of carpeting which had been laid down for them to walk upon, and which had been scattered over with a profusion of flowers. The bride, with her veil and her orange-blossoms, was supported on the arm of Sir Henry Rollinson (the good Doctor had been knighted the year before by an appreciative sovereign), who was to give her away. She looked calm, pale, and exceedingly handsome. The widow of Colonel Battledown was escorted by Lord Epsom, the Honorable Richard's elder brother, and wore a very splendid pink turban, and red eyes. But all these details, and many more, may be read in the _Morning Post_ of March 7th, 1821, to which I refer the curious.

The service commenced. As Sir Henry Rollinson was in the act of giving the bride away, he happened to glance at Archibald, and observed that the latter wore a very strange expression on his face; and a moment afterward the young man dropped into a chair that happened to be near him, pressing his head between his hands, and breathing heavily. No one else noticed this incident; and Sir Henry, who supposed the youth was going to faint, was of course unable at the time to afford any assistance. The service went on. Richard Pennroyal and Catherine Battledown were pronounced man and wife; and man was warned not to put asunder those whom God had joined together. The ring shone on the new-made wife's finger. The very reverend dean gave the pair his blessing. All this time Archibald remained with his head between his hands, the physician watching him not without apprehensions, and inwardly cursing the folly of those who were responsible for the poor half-witted creature's appearance in such a scene.

The register was now brought forth, in which the happy couple and their friends were to inscribe their names. The principal personages signed first. It came to Archibald's turn. It had previously been ascertained that he knew how to string together the requisite letters upon paper. There he sat, with his head in his hands. Sir Henry touched him on the shoulder.

"Now, then, lad--Archie! wake up! Come! you're wanted!" He spoke sharply and imperatively, in the hope of rousing the young fellow out of his stupor, and at least getting him decently out of the room.

Archibald raised his face, which was deadly pale and covered with sweat, and looked at the persons around him with a kind of amazed defiance. He started to his feet, oversetting his chair as he did so, which rolled down the steps of the dais and fell with a crash on the stone floor below.

"I came in by the staircase door!" he said in an excited voice, which startled every one who heard it, so different was it from his usual tones. "If you thought it locked, you were wrong. How else could I have come?... When did you bring me here? This is the great hall! What have you been doing? How came _you_ here?"

There was a dead silence. Every one felt that some ugly thing was about to happen. Several women began to laugh hysterically. It seems to have been supposed, at first, that Archibald had exchanged his inoffensive idiocy for a condition of raving madness. The old physician was probably the only one present who had a glimmering of what might be the truth. The Honorable Richard Pennroyal had none. He pushed between the venerable knight and his "best man," and relying upon his oft-proved and established influence over the latter, he took him firmly by the arm, and looked in his face.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Archie," said he, in a low distinct voice, in which was a subdued ring of menace. "It's all right. You're my best man, you know. You are to sign your name as one of the witnesses of the marriage--that's all."

"I have witnessed no marriage," replied Archibald, returning with surprise Richard's look. "Who are you?" he continued, after a moment. Then he exclaimed, "You are Richard Pennroyal--I didn't know you at first, you look so old!"

"Oh, the fellow's quite mad!" muttered Richard, turning away with a shrug of the shoulders. "I should have known better than to run the risk of having such a lunatic here. We must have him moved out of the room at once."

Young Sir Edward overheard this latter sentence. "Pardon me for reminding you that my brother is at home in Malmaison," he said gravely.

"Oh, as you please, of course," returned Richard, frowning.

Meanwhile Archibald had caught sight of Kate, and recognized her at once; and breaking away from his mother and Sir Henry Rollinson, who were endeavoring to quiet him, he came up to her and planted himself in front of her, just as Richard was approaching to take her off. Archibald took both her hands in his.

"Kate, I have never seen you look so beautiful," he said. "But why have you got this white veil on?--and orange blossoms! It's like a wedding. What were they saying about a wedding? ... is it to be our wedding?"

"The wedding has already taken place, my dear Archie," interposed the bridegroom, offering his arm to the bride, and smiling with no very good grace. "This lady is now Mrs. Pennroyal. Stand aside, like a good boy--"

Archibald grasped Richard by the padded sleeve of his coat, and with an angry movement of his powerful arm threw him backward into the embrace of his new mother-in-law, who happened to be coming up from behind.

"You are under my father's roof, or I would tell you that you are a liar," said the young man, grimly. Then turning to the bride, who had said not a word since this scene began, but had kept her eyes constantly fixed upon the chief actor in it, "He shall not insult you again, my dear. But all this is very strange. What does it mean?"

"It means.... It is too late!" replied the girl, in a low, bitter voice. What could she have meant by that?

Richard, white with fury, came up again. There was a general murmur and movement in the surrounding assemblage, who expected to see some deed of violence committed.

"Mrs. Pennroyal," said he between his teeth, "I am obliged to request you peremptorily to take my arm and--and leave this house where guests are insulted and outraged!"

Archibald turned, his face darkening. But Kate held up her hand entreatingly; and Archibald caught the gleam of the plain gold ring on her finger. At that sight he stopped abruptly, and his arms fell to his sides.

"Is it true?" He asked in a tone of bewilderment.

Here Sir Edward interposed again, with, his cool courtesy: "Mr. Pennroyal, and my friends, I trust you will find it possible to overlook the behavior of my brother. You may see that he is not himself. When he has had time to recover himself, he will ask pardon of each and all of you. Mr. Pennroyal, I entreat you and your wife to forget what has passed, and to reconsider the heavy imputation which has been cast upon my house. Let the shadow pass away which has threatened for a moment this--most auspicious occasion!"

If the last words were ironical, the irony was too grave and ceremonious to be obtrusive, Pennroyal was fain to return Sir Edward's bow with the best grace he could muster. The rest of the company accepted the apology, as at least a formal way out of the difficulty. An effort was made to resume indifferent conversation, and to act as if nothing had happened. Sir Edward, with admirable self-possession and smiling courtesy, marshalled the guests out of the hall, to a neighboring room in which the wedding breakfast had been set out. Archibald remained behind, and the Doctor and old Miss Tremount remained with him. He stood still, with his arms at his sides, his glance fixed upon the floor. The Doctor and Miss Tremount exchanged a look, and then the latter went up to him, and took one of his hands between hers.

"Do you know me, my dear?" she said.

Archibald looked at her, and shook his head.

"I am your aunt, Ruth Tremount. My dear, I am so sorry for you."

"Can you tell me what is the matter with me? Am I mad?"

"On the contrary," put in the Doctor, "you are yourself for the second time in your life. You've overslept yourself, my lad, that's all!"

Archibald cast his eyes round the hall, as if searching for some one. "Where is my father?" he asked at length.

There was an awkward pause. Finally Miss Tremount said, "My dear, your sleep has lasted seven years. Much may happen in such a length of time."

"But my father--where is he? I want to see him; I will see him!" and he made some steps toward the door.

"My poor lad, you cannot see him now--he ... he--"

"Where is he?" cried Archibald, stamping his foot.

"He has been for five years in his grave."

Archibald stared at the Doctor a moment, and then burst out laughing. _

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