Part 18 (1/2)
He left the room and pa.s.sed through the silent house, mounted his horse, and rode away. A crowd had witnessed his arrival there; only a few wondering servants were gathered to see him depart. He gave them gold, but though they thanked him, they thanked him with a difference. He felt it, and that more keenly than he might have felt a greater thing. Could he not even give largesse like one to the manner born, or was it only that all the air was hostile? He rode away. From the saddle he could have seen the distant summer-house, but he forced himself not to look.
The lawn fell away behind him, and the trees hid the house. The gleam of a white pillar kept with him for a while, but the driveway bent, and that too was hidden. With Joab behind him on the iron grey, he pa.s.sed through the lower gate, and took the way that led to Mrs. Jane Selden's on the Three-Notched Road.
CHAPTER XII
A MARRIAGE AT SAINT MARGARET'S
”Yes,” said Unity. ”That is just what the Argus says. 'On Thursday M.
Jerome Buonaparte, the younger brother of the First Consul, pa.s.sed through Annapolis with his bride--lately the lively and agreeable Miss Elizabeth Patterson of Baltimore. M. Buonaparte's Secretary and Physician followed in a chaise, and the valets and _femmes-de-chambre_ in a coach. The First Consul's brother wore--' I protest I don't care what the First Consul's brother wore! The Argus is not gallant. If you were the First Consul's brother--”
”The Argus should describe the bride's dress, not mine,” said Fairfax Cary. ”How lovely you would look, in that gown you have on, in a curricle drawn by grey horses! What is the stuff--roses and silver?”
”Heigho!” sighed Unity. ”'Tis a bridesmaid's gown. I am out with men. I shall never wear a bride's gown.”
”Don't jest--”
”Jest! I never felt less like jesting! I laugh to keep from crying. Here is the coach.”
The great Fontenoy coach with the Churchill arms on the panel drew up before the porch. It was drawn by four horses, and driven by old Philip in a wig and nosegay. Mingo was behind, and Phyllis's Jim and a little darky ran alongside to open the door and let down the steps. ”All alone in that!” exclaimed Cary. ”I shall ride with you as far as the old road to Greenwood. Don't say no! I'll hold your flowers.”
Unity looked down upon the roses in her arms. ”They should all be white,” she said. ”I feel as though I were going to see them bury Jacqueline.” Her voice broke, but she bit her lip, forced back the tears, and tried to laugh. ”I'm not. I'm going to her wedding--and people know their own business best--and she may be as happy as the day is long! He is fascinating,--he is dreadfully fascinating,--and we have no right to say he is not good--and everybody knows he is going to be great! Why shouldn't she be happy?”
”I don't know,” answered Cary. ”But I know she won't be.”
”You say that,” cried Unity, turning on him, ”because you are a Federalist! Well, women are neither Federalists nor Republicans! They have no party and no soul of their own! They are just what the person they love is--”
”That's not so,” said Cary.
”Oh, I know it's not so!” agreed Miss Dandridge, with impatience. ”It's just one of those things that are said! But it remains that Jacqueline must be happy. I'll break my heart if she's not! And as long as I live, I'll say that Uncle d.i.c.k and Uncle Edward are to blame--”
”Where are they?”
”Oh, Uncle d.i.c.k is in the long field watching the thres.h.i.+ng, and Uncle Edward is in the library reading Swift! And Aunt Nancy has ordered black scarfs to be put above the pictures of Uncle Henry and of Great-Aunt Jacqueline that Jacqueline's named for. Oh, oh!”
”And Deb?” asked the young man gently.
”Deb is at Cousin Jane Selden's. She has been there with Jacqueline a week--she and Miranda. Oh, I know--Uncle d.i.c.k is a just man! He does what he thinks is the just thing. Deb shall go visit her sister--every now and then! And all that Uncle Henry left Jacqueline goes with her--there are slaves and furniture and plate, and she has money, too.
The Rands don't usually marry so well--There! I, too, am bitter! But Uncle d.i.c.k swears that he will never see Jacqueline again--and all the Churchills keep their word. Oh, family quarrels! Deb's coming back to Fontenoy to-morrow--poor little chick! Aunt Nancy's got to have those mourning scarfs taken away before she comes!”
Miss Dandridge descended the porch steps to the waiting coach. The younger Cary handed her in with great care of her flowers and gauzy draperies, and great reluctance in relinquis.h.i.+ng her hand. ”I may come too?” he asked, ”just as far as the old Greenwood road? I hate to see you go alone.”
”Oh, yes, yes!” answered Miss Dandridge absently, and, sinking into a corner, regarded through the window the July morning. ”Those black scarfs hurt me,” she said, and the July morning grew misty. ”It's not death to marry the man one loves!”
The coach rolled down the drive to the gate, and out upon the sunny road. The dust rose in clouds, whitening the elder, the stickweed, and the blackberry bushes. The locusts shrilled in the parching trees. The sky was cloudless and intensely blue, marked only by the slow circling of a buzzard far above the pine-tops. There were many pines, and the heat drew out their fragrance, sharp and strong. The moss that thatched the red banks was burned, and all the ferns were shrivelling up.
Everywhere b.u.t.terflies fluttered, lizards basked in the sun, and the stridulation of innumerable insects vexed the ear. The way was long, and the coach lumbered heavily through the July weather. ”I do not want to talk,” sighed Unity. ”My heart is too heavy.”
”My own is not light,” said Cary grimly. ”I am sorry for my brother.”
”We are all sorry for your brother,” Unity answered gently, and then would speak no more, but sat in her silver and roses, looking out into the heat and light. The Greenwood road was reached in silence. Cary put his head out of the window and called to old Philip. The coach came slowly to a stop before a five-barred gate. Mingo opened the door, and the young man got out. ”Unless you think I might go with you as far as the church--” he suggested, with his hand on the door. Unity shook her head. ”You can't do that, you know! Besides, I am going first to Cousin Jane Selden's. Good-bye. Oh, it is going to be a happy marriage--it must be happy!”