Vexed; or, The Wife's Sister/Chapter 1

AS it is true that little fires kindle great matters, it is equally true that great matters involve an infinitude of small detail.

It was one thing to plan St. Paul's, quite another to build it stone by stone. We can hardly think of Sir Christopher Wren as "architect and builder," nor should we expect to find the creator of such a design, toiling up the dizzy scaffolding, hod in hand, to execute his own stupendous plan. But a bride-elect can claim no such exemption from the tiresome details an approaching marriage involves. When the papers ​announced that a marriage had been arranged between Graham Heathcote, only son of the late Gerald Heathcote, Esquire, of Warburton, in the county of D——shire, and Catharine, youngest daughter of Lieut.-General Darcy, R.E., of Tunleigh Manor, S——shire, it was as a matter of course that the contracting parties took upon themselves a principal part in the preliminary arrangements.

For months previous to the eventful day, Catharine Darcy had been beset by a motley train of milliners and dressmakers engaged in providing her trousseaux. Now she sat patiently, while her sister adjusted the wreath, and put a few finishing touches to her bridal veil.

All the morning, bridesmaids had been bustling in and out of her room. She had so many especial friends among them, but tired out at last, she had begged for quiet, and they had been dismissed.

"Oh, dear," she said wearily, "how I wish one could be married without all this fuss and fatigue."

"It will soon be over, now," returned her sister encouragingly; "and I can quite trust you with Graham, Kitty."

"Thank you—you are very kind," she returned, amused at the motherly tone. "It has been a double responsibility, you know, choosing a ​husband for myself and a brother for you. I don't think I could have married without your approval, and Graham admires you so much, and thinks you so good and clever, I can't think why he chose me."

"It is strange," said her sister laughing, and pointing to the mirror, in which they were both pictured.

There could be no doubt as to the relative degrees of beauty.

The fair transparent skin and faultless profile of the younger sister were undeniably beautiful, while Albreda could only boast of features which seemed to have rebelled against any fixed rules, and had taken their own way with more or less determination.

Her eyes perhaps alone could defy criticism. The few who had been favoured with a look right into their depths read there a power to subdue which wrought strangely upon them. But Albreda was conscious of this potency, and by a scarcely perceptible closing of the lids would warn off the too ardent gazer. Perhaps the strength had increased as the will held it back; but so it was that the elder sister, while she laughingly compared the two faces mirrored before them, recognized in herself a pent-up force whose influence once freed she could not as yet estimate. But it was not only the fact ​that she could afford to be generous, that had made her habitually put her sister forward, and claimed for her the admiration to which beauty seemed to entitle her. There was a strength of sisterly love between the two that made any sacrifice easy to either, and though in Albreda it took the form of absolute unselfishness, the other gave her share in clinging love and faith in her sister. She took perhaps the best of things as a matter of course, but only because Breda had taught her that it was her right, and she never disputed the wisdom of it.

"I think that is perfect, Kitty," said her sister at last, standing back to take in the whole effect.

The last kiss had been given—that kiss in which love, anxiety, and happiness all wanted to find expression together; and now Albreda Darcy half reluctantly drew down the veil which would not be lifted again till Kitty was a bride.

"It is not good-bye for ever," she said cheerfully. "I shall often be dropping in upon you at Warburton; perhaps oftener than you will care to have me."

"That could not be, Breda; we shall always keep a prophet's chamber for you. Remember, you are not to marry, because Graham and I want a sister. He said so the other day. ​Here's the dear father—yes, I am ready, papa. I feel quite brave, but it's rather a plunge, you know."

The bridal carriages with their white horses and white-favoured coachmen had deposited the wedding-party at the gate of the village church. The bridesmaids, six in number, stood each side of the door. Albreda, watching anxiously for the entrance of her sister, was unconscious of a pair of eyes that watched her too, their owner wondering whether she was the first bridesmaid, who would be his charge for the day.

And now the bridal party sweeps up the aisle. There is a little rustling as they near the Holy Table and fall into their places, and then the service commences. It was not the first time that Albreda had acted as bridesmaid and had listened to the solemn utterance of the marriage service, but never before had she so intensely comprehended the meaning of the awful words. Slowly and distinctly they were spoken, dwelt upon, she fancied with intentional impressiveness, "He that loveth his wife loveth himself: for no man ever yet hated his own flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the Church: . . . For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife; and they two shall be one flesh."

As she listened she glanced up at her sister, ​and then her eyes travelled to the man by her side. His head was bent reverently while he listened to the exhortation. She felt she could trust her to his care.

It was natural, as they were motherless, that she should feel great anxiety at such a crisis in Kitty's life, particularly as, being delicate, she had needed constant care and watchfulness at home.

Such unnecessary squeezing in and out of the vestry door as no wedding would be complete without, of course took place in this well-regulated party. Breda must sign her name, if she can get through the guests lingering about the door.

She is no sooner inside than she is greeted with a hearty kiss, and looks up to see her new brother Graham throwing back his head with a little nervous laugh at his own presumption, but pleading the rights of a brother as an excuse.

You needn't apologize," she answers merrily, looking beyond him to her sister.

"I am all right, Breda"—for Kitty had caught her inquiring gaze. "Yes, I dare say I am too flushed; but who wouldn't be? It's a dreadful thing to be married. Take warning by me! I shall never do it again! Here, Graham, introduce your sister to Mr. Ned Foley."

The two gentlemen thus addressed turned ​round, but Albreda, who was at that moment occupied with her pen, and whose thoughts were for her sister alone, returned a slight and uninterested bow, as Graham presented Mr. Foley as "my greatest friend at Trinity;" but when it was announced that the carriages were waiting, Edward Foley as best man claimed the honour of conducting her down the aisle. She looked at him now for the first time. He was a big man, richly tanned, his colour alone being worth a second glance; and when added to this she noticed a strong chin and kind eyes, the bluer for their sunburnt setting, she did not question her companion's good looks—he was at any rate interesting and worth talking to, she thought.

"You must be glad the ceremony is over, Miss Darcy," he said, as they stepped out into the porch. "I notice that women always take a very gloomy view of such proceedings."

"Well, you see, one cannot help feeling very much parting with an only sister; and Kitty is so frail that I sometimes wonder how she will get on without me to take care of her."

"Trust Graham for that, Miss Darcy. You wouldn't find a woman to beat him for tenderness. I always said he would choose for his wife a little thing that wanted care. He was just the same at school, the champion of the ​weaker boys; and at college half his time was spent in looking after freshmen."

"Dear fellow!" Albreda ejaculated, her eyes filling. She had been on the verge of a breakdown before, and the comforting assurance of the words seemed too much at the moment. Seeing this, Edward thought it wise to rally her at once, and risked a pleasantry that he would have otherwise left unuttered.

"Happy brothers-in-law," he said, laughing. "Their position will not long remain what it now is."

"What do you mean, Mr. Foley?" asked Albreda, quickly; his mysterious words had had the effect of arousing her.

"I was only thinking of the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill," he said carelessly. "How astonishing it is, all the fuss that people make about it."

He was not looking at his companion, or the sudden change in her expression would have struck him. They had reached the carriage, and another groomsman with his lady getting in with them, the conversation was abruptly ended.

Albreda did not speak during the short drive to the Manor House. The other bridesmaid, a lively girl of eighteen, kept up an incessant ripple of small talk, and peremptorily engaged the attention of both the men.

Edward Foley wandered aimlessly through ​the large rooms, where the wedding presents were arranged for view, during the short interval before the announcement of the breakfast. He was not thinking of the silver-gilt apostle-spoons, or the antique silver inkstands, though he ever and anon paused and fingered them minutely, even feeling the apostle's noses, and being vaguely conscious that he was sorry to find those features so poorly represented, as he had always understood that the nose was the seat, or at any rate the outward manifestation of power, in the man. No, he was thinking of his friend, whom he had blamed for shackling himself with a wife. Graham had led such an independent life up to now, and was doing such a lot of good in the world, and Edward looked upon this step as fatal to his usefulness. He had told him so when first the confession was made. He remembered the eager, almost angry, way in which he warned him, and the provoking answer, "Wait till you are caught, old fellow." And now this fool was married; and, curiously enough, Edward didn't feel quite sure that he was such a fool after all.

He took another turn round the rooms, and then, seeing the guests pairing off for the breakfast, went in search of the first bridesmaid. He found her in a remote corner, tête-à-tête with the bride. They seemed to be making the most of ​the short time that remained to them, and he hesitated to intrude his presence, but stood watching them, screened by the crowd.

He had never before quite realized the sacredness of sisterly affection. Not having had a sister of his own, women had always been a sort of enigma to him, and each new phase of feminine life a wonder and study.

"How pretty!" he said, half aloud, leaning against the mantelpiece and taking in the grouping with the eye of one who noticed form rather than colour.

Kitty, with her veil turned back, had thrown herself into a low chair. A dainty white satin shoe, which looked to the big man absurdly small and impossible, was peeping out of her skirts, giving little petulant kicks to emphasize her words. One arm was flung carelessly over her knee, and the elbow of the other rested lightly on the rail of the chair, while the small hand drooped, making a study of curves.

Albreda leant over her caressingly. She was talking earnestly. Her figure, which was more developed than her sister's, was full of womanly dignity, and something in the protecting, motherly attitude reminded Edward forcibly of that charming delineation of a woman in Charles Kingsley's "Mrs. Do-as-you-would-be-done-by," the "Pussie-Mother" of the Water Babies.

​At that minute his meditations were interrupted by Miss Darcy suddenly lifting her head and looking straight at him. Without knowing that he was near, she had instinctively become conscious of the scrutinizing gaze. He felt for the minute like a naughty water-baby that had been caught in some flagrant act of insubordination; but immediately pulling himself together, he wedged his way through the intercepting groups, and approached the two.

"It is quite a pity to disturb you," he said. "The arrangement was so perfect that I was trying to get it photographed on my eye."

If there was one thing that Albreda disliked more than another, it was flattery, and hastily concluding that there was no foundation for the remark, she made no answer; but her lip curled slightly, and she turned away and appeared to be looking for something across the room.

"Here is Graham at last, Kitty. And I suppose, Mr. Foley, you and I go together as best man and first bridesmaid?"

The tone in which this was said was hardly complimentary, and Edward winced under it, but accepted the position with an air of equal resignation.

He could think of nothing to say as they made their way to the breakfast-room, and they took their seats in silence. That sneer ​had done for him; he would not risk another distasteful remark.

He fell into a reverie upon the unaccountable ways of women. Why should this creature, who had beamed on him so pleasantly before, and had been looking the incarnation of tenderness as she hung over her sister, suddenly give him a cruel little prick with claws which lay concealed under velvet pads? Perhaps Kingsley had recognized this peculiarity when he compared a woman to the soft but treacherous feline animal.

He was not a cynic, however; so this mood could not last long. He thought he would venture a remark as soon as there should be a break in the conversation, which Miss Darcy seemed purposely to keep up with the man on her left side, apparently unconscious of the misery she was causing to Minnie Fleetwood, the lively bridesmaid, who had never been so neglected before.

Fortunately for Edward, the groomsman seemed suddenly to become aware of the fact, and, turning to the girl, was immediately caught in a tangle of conversation, from which it was impossible for him again to extricate himself. "You dislike compliments, Miss Darcy?" said Edward, determined to find out what had offended her.

​"Oh, not compliments particularly; but there is such a lot of careless talk and trifling with grave subjects, that I own does make me impatient."

What could she mean? She was evidently referring to something more than the expression of admiration. Edward cast about in his mind to recall their previous conversation, but he could make nothing of it.

"I agree with you, that an immeasurable amount of harm is done by thoughtless talking, especially giving opinions upon unstudied subjects. As for compliments, excuse me, but your judgment was rather hasty. I repeat, at the risk of offending you, that the accidental arrangement of your two figures struck me as a perfect study; and, as I am more or less of an amateur sculptor, perhaps you will forgive me for the spontaneous remark."

Albreda felt a little ashamed of herself. "It was what Mr. Foley had said before that had ruffled her," she explained.

Edward looked at her with eyebrows raised.

"No, I dare say you will hardly remember," she said quickly. "And if I tell you, you will be amused, and I should be angry."

Edward felt anything but inclined to be amused, and already he had seen a light in her eyes that warned him to be careful. "Look ​here, Miss Darcy," he said, turning and looking full at her, and waiting till she looked at him, "you are mistaken. I am not the superficial creature you determine to make me. How have I offended? What did I say?" He was still looking at her, but turned away when he saw that the effort to answer was painful.

"I don't think I can tell you," she said, with heightened colour.

"It is fair that I should know," he urged, full of interest and wonder. "Let me see: we were talking about the happy pair, and I was sounding the praises of my good friend Graham, I thought it pleased you."

"Yes, it did; but it was what you mentioned after that." Albreda felt that it was out now, and she waited, expecting that he would be surprised into the smile that she dreaded.

It was out, and in a minute he had grasped the whole position. What a bat he had been, flapping about with his eyes half shut, and clawing on to everything but the right object.

She could safely glance at him now; his face was as grave as could be wished.

"I see, it was the way I mentioned the Bill. I remember now I did make some stupid joke about it; but it was to save you from a breakdown, so I was hardly responsible."

Albreda looked at him gratefully.

​"I see you feel strongly about this question," he continued. "I am interested to hear a lady's view of the matter; I have only discussed it with men."

There was a pause before she answered. With all the self-possession of which Miss Darcy was mistress, and that queenly savoir faire which had been the envy of many another woman, there were times when her keenly sensitive nature was so stirred that the struggle for mastery was visible even to an outside observer. Her voice was not free from emotion when, at last, she said—

"It is a subject that touches me deeply, Mr. Foley. If I could do anything to resist it, it would be easier to bear; but to be obliged to sit quietly by, in utter helplessness, makes one almost inclined to feel that it is hard to be a woman. I can understand now a sentence that once shocked me in the Jewish Prayerbook, where the man is told to say, 'O God, I thank Thee that Thou hast not made me a woman.'"

She tried to smile, but there was a bitterness that Edward noticed with pain. It roused all the chivalry of his nature. "Excuse me, but I thank God that he has made you a woman."

He said it in the heat of his spirit, but over his brown face came a quick flush that crept up ​to the roots of his hair. He was half afraid of the effect of rash words, and remembered the claws.

But Albreda was not angry. She liked the spontaneous kindness. However, it did not affect the question, so she went on—

"I mean that it would not matter what every woman in the world might feel about it. We must quietly submit, and read in the papers, when it is too late, what took place in the last sitting of Parliament—how the first reading of the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill was carried by a large majority, and, worse still, what honourable members chose to say with regard to the opinion of women upon it."

"Looked upon in that light, it certainly does seem hard," replied Edward; "but why should this be more a question for women than a hundred others that they are content to leave? I suppose that the interests of the two sexes are the same in the matter, so that by deciding what is lawful for the man equal justice is done to the woman."

"That is the great point, Mr. Foley," said Albreda, warmly. "Is equal justice done to the sexes by the passing of this Bill? It makes the marriage laws unequal, and gives the man a liberty denied to the woman. He may marry his deceased wife's sister, but she may not marry her deceased husband's brother."

​"That is rather odd," said Edward. "But supposing that followed the passing of the other bill, wouldn't you think it a wise law then?"

"If you think that Adam was wise to take the fruit because his wife did, and to fall because she fell."

"You are rather hard in your judgment of the case, I think, Miss Darcy. Surely you cannot look upon it as anything worse than inexpedient?"

"I look upon it as distinctly sinful, Mr. Foley, both as breaking the written law of God and outraging the natural law graven on every true woman's heart."

Edward had never looked on the matter in so serious a light before. Many as were the discussions he had had over it with other men, he could recall few that had not been the occasion for much joking and amusement. He found himself again wondering at the unaccountable ways of women. Here was one, an intellectual, strong-minded woman too, ready to weep for earnestness over a subject that many men seemed incapable of treating seriously. This, then, was the woman's side of the question; but he didn't quite see yet how widely it differed from the man's.

"You must; we are all waiting for you, and you are the youngest groomsman."

​A sudden hush in the room made the words come out so boldly that the little bridesmaid who uttered them, and who was vigorously poking a lank, ungainly boy, fell back in her chair abashed. The struggle had been going on for some time, and at last the wretched creature, feeling all eyes upon him, saw that further resistance was useless.

"Very well, I will," he said, in a loud defiant voice; "and as you've made me get up, you shall hear what I've got to say. I call weddings a beastly nuisance! What do we want with a chap coming to carry off the prettiest girl in the house? And as for you, Kitty, why, I'm ashamed of you for making yourself such a donkey, and I've told you so before. Here's a health to a pair of jolly duffers. Who'll second the vote? You'll be very rude if you don't, and very rude if you do, and I sincerely trust you'll ask me to make a speech next time." This with a low bow to Albreda.

"For shame, Dick," said that lady, knitting her brows and trying to look ferocious at him, but terribly inclined to laugh at the bold impudence of the wilful boy and the shocked expression of several of the older and more stately relations.

"Behave yourself, sir!" came in a voice of thunder from the vicinity of the cake. General ​Darcy was looking very black indeed, and was only soothed when the hand of the bride was laid on his arm.

"He only meant it in fun, papa," she whispered; "you know, we mustn't have anything to spoil the breakfast. Here, you wicked boy, go and see if you can find my fan in the drawing-room!"

The culprit, who was by this time feeling rather quelled, thankfully made his escape.

"He's so absurdly fond of me," Kitty explained, "that I believe he would have cried if he hadn't said something desperate."

And so the wedding breakfast proceeded without interruption, until there was a general rising as the bride prepared to move.

In a short time Kitty appeared in her travelling dress.

"Good-bye, darling; let me have just a line from Dover," said Albreda, as she took the last kiss, which had been reserved for her.

"Mind, you must come to us directly we get back; mustn't she, Graham?"

"Indeed, she will always be welcome," said the bridegroom, heartily.

Then it was as if every one was seized with a sudden craziness, and all the buffoonery of rice and slipper throwing was gone through.

Thankfully Albreda threw herself into a lounge ​chair in her boudoir, when all the guests had departed. A first wedding in a house is a formidable event, and she was glad to find herself safely the other side of all the responsibilities and arrangements. She sat with her head thrown back, thinking quietly over the events of the day.