The Wedding Portrait

by Fiona Hill

  “I suspect that is not quite true, Miss Shaw,” Mr. Lowland responded gallantly. “Neither must I allow you all to believe that I am a great artist, with a correspondingly great reputation. Indeed, I am only an amateur myself; but my work is said to be pleasing and, perhaps even more important, faithful to the subject. I must say,” he continued, smiling at Laura, “it will be a delight to be faithful to this subject! I have hitherto been confined to rather elderly ladies, and to children.”

  “Perhaps,” Laura said eagerly, “you will like to do Lizzy’s portrait as well; I am sure she too is a most agreeable subject.”

  “If time permits,” agreed Mr. Lowland, but he kept his eyes fixed upon Laura, studying her with the licence that he knew would be allotted to a painter. She was small, and rather slight, almost, as Lady Eleanor sometimes thought, thin to a fault. Her figure, however, was neat and elegant, her hands and feet tiny and perfect. Her hair, of a deep, shining yellow, was tiresomely straight if left to itself, but it had been curled diligently by her abigail and was now dressed in a becoming coiffure, pulled up high in the back to accent her delicate profile and falling in soft ringlets on her cheeks. Her countenance, like the rest of her, was small and neat, except her eyes, which were large, green, and expressive. In manner she was a little like a bird, seeming to be forever in motion, fluttering, hopping, and tilting her blond head to the side. Lady Eleanor had often deplored her only daughter’s inability to remain at rest, but there seemed to be no remedy for it. Laura was always as full as she could hold of energy and excitement, and it was past her power to control this side of her nature.

  Mr. Lowland was soon discovered to be a delightful wit. “I considered,” he said dryly, “presenting myself upon your doorstep with a bow tied round my neck, so that you would know who I was, but my father thought it would not answer. I begged him next to wrap me as a parcel and have me sent by stage, but again he refused me. Indeed, I believe my only resemblance to a gift is that I carry a card—but then, so does every gentleman.”

  Jacob groaned, but the rest of the party laughed.

  “If you like,” teased Laura, “we can put you on the side table in the Blue Saloon. That is where the rest of my wedding gifts reside,” she explained.

  “I should find the accommodations suitable indeed,” responded Ashley gravely, “though I do not believe I have ever before had a teapot for a neighbour. I trust you have received enough teapots?”

  “How did you know?” asked Laura, fascinated. “I have received five, in fact!”

  “There is no witchcraft involved,” Ashley reassured her. “I believe every couple begins married life with a minimum of four tea sets; there always seems to be a conspiracy among the givers. I expect, moreover, that you are by now the proud owner of quite a gaggle of fire screens, let alone work baskets!”

  “You hit upon it exactly, sir,” said Laura wonderingly. “One would almost think you had been in the Blue Saloon and seen them.”

  “Not in the least necessary,” Ashley averred, with a graceful wave of the hand.

  “I say,” interrupted Jacob, who had been standing at the heavily curtained windows for some minutes, “I’ll lay a pony we’re snowed in by tomorrow morning!”

  “Done!” cried Mr. Lowland, to Jacob’s astonishment. To say truth, Mr. Lowland was rather of Jacob’s own opinion with regard to the snow, but he sensed that the boy felt rather neglected by the conversation of the others, and he could easily part with the five-and-twenty pounds this losing wager would certainly cost him.

  “My word!” said Jacob, startled. “I hardly expected anyone to take me up on that!” He rushed up to Ashley, shaking his hand warmly. “I’m much obliged to you, sir, much obliged. In fact, hope you win!”

  “Well, that’s not very sporting of you,” Mr. Lowland observed in mock dismay.

  At this juncture the party was joined by Miss Lavinia Webb, a lady, as it is said, of uncertain years. Miss Webb had been a part of the household at Harkness Abbey for so many years that her presence, unremarkable in any case, often went unnoticed by the Fieldons. Lady Eleanor introduced her absently to Mr. Lowland and directly forgot that she had come in at all. There was one occupant of the room, however, who paid her more than passing attention, and that was the Reverend Mr. Chance. He even went so far as to offer Miss Webb his chair, although she refused it (which was wise indeed, for it was very uncomfortable), saying that she had only come in to apprise my lady of the fact that Mr. Thaddeus Grey was just now come, and that he was waiting in the hall outside. Ought she to show him in?

  No, said Lady Eleanor; Laura would go and escort him back with her. Laura, who took her cue as she was meant to and rose obediently, though she would rather have pursued her banter with Mr. Lowland, went to greet her betrothed in the entrance hall.

  Chapter II

  It seemed to Laura that she ought properly to kiss Thaddeus upon this occasion, with their wedding only seven days distant, but habits are hard to break and she found herself simply taking his hand and leading him to the drawing room as she had so many times in their youthful days together. Indeed, the young couple had tried once to kiss as lovers do, when Laura accepted his offer, but both found it awkward and they soon gave up the attempt. Instead, she had pecked at his cheek, and he had reciprocated with a chaste salute upon her brow. They had not discussed the matter.

  Now she dragged him towards the assembled party, chattering brightly about the snow, and her portrait, and the teapots. By the time Thaddeus was introduced to Ashley he knew all about him. Thaddeus was a young man of the type generally described as sturdy: he was of middle height, and had a hard, lithe body. He was more at home in riding clothes than in the stiff white cravat and tight pantaloons he now sported, but he wore this evening attire with passable grace. His features were rude but handsome, and his dark complexion contrasted admirably with his thick, gleaming blond hair. Laura had seen him far too many times to need, or even to wish, to make these observations, but Elizabeth was forcibly struck by every detail. When she had last seen Thaddeus he had been a mere stripling; his head had seemed too large for his body and his voice was changing. Now he had filled out; he was taller and perfectly proportioned, and his voice, when he spoke, she discovered to be rich, deep, and melodious. He grinned at her and assured Lady Eleanor that there was no need to introduce him to the Shaws; he remembered them perfectly. He shook Jacob’s hand with vigour, and was even gentlemanly enough to remember and inquire after Emily. Miss Webb was despatched to find her.

  Elizabeth, though appreciative of such elegant good looks as Mr. Lowland possessed, could easily understand why her cousin was attracted to Thaddeus Grey. He retained none of the gangling awkwardness she recalled from their last meeting; instead he was straightforward, confident, and radiant with good humour. The confusion she had felt upon learning that he and Laura were to be married disappeared and was replaced by a new, and more distressing distraction: Was it possible that she could be envious of Laura? It was a horrible notion, but Miss Elizabeth Shaw had always been stringently honest with herself, and she now forced herself to search her feelings. The melancholy conclusion was that it was indeed possible—despicably possible—and she began to listen intently to Thaddeus’ discourse, seeking wildly to find something to dislike in him.

  She could find nothing. Mr. Grey’s manner continued to be inarguably genial; his conversation was such as must please. When he spoke to Lady Eleanor of his parents, he was at once amusing and respectful; his conduct towards Laura was attentive and affectionate. There was nothing for Elizabeth to do but shut her eyes and ears and hope he would soon go away.

  This was difficult to achieve as he was seated next to her at dinner. On her other side sat Mr. Lowland, who obligingly tried to engage her in light conversation; still, she could not help but overhear the banter Thaddeus exchanged with Laura. She redoubled her efforts and concentrated on what Mr. Lowland was saying.

  “I do wish you will show me your watercolours, Miss Shaw,” he
said, during the second course. “I am very fond of that medium, though of course I shall do Miss Fieldon’s portrait in oils.”

  “I am sure you will find nothing remarkable in my work,” Elizabeth returned weakly.

  “I pray you will not be so modest!” cried Ashley. “I must caution you, I am not at all partial to modesty. Give me the egoist every time,” he asserted cheerfully. “At least one need not spend half one’s time sifting through his statements to discover what is true and what is not. No, there is nothing so fine as an honest, straightforward, conceited man!”

  “I think you are teasing me,” said Elizabeth.

  “Not at all,” Ashley protested. “Now me, for instance. I will be only too happy to show you my watercolours; I have just now completed a series of illustrations for The Castle of Otranto—Walpole, you know. Perhaps you have read it?”

  “Indeed,” said Elizabeth, shivering at the memory of the gruesome story. “I found it most frightening.”

  “What?” Mr. Lowland exclaimed. “The foolish nightmares of a gouty old man? A collection of grotesque inanities, I assure you! I am sorry indeed to hear you were affrighted.”

  “Yet you found it inspiring, sir, surely? For otherwise, why should you have wished to illustrate it?”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Lowland, his voice lowering and his lively inflection disappearing, “we are all of us fools at heart, are we not? Pray do not misunderstand me. The fact that I recognise the idiocy of the tale does not make me immune to its horror. I assure you, I shuddered all through it—very likely in greater terror than yourself, for I had my own unmanageable imagination to contend with, along with Mr. Walpole’s. I suspect, Miss Shaw, that you are not so plagued with imagination as I.”

  “Possibly not,” replied Elizabeth vaguely. “In general I am extremely practical.”

  “Excellent then!” said Mr. Lowland, his animation returning. “Surely we shall be able to strike a bargain, in that case. A glance at my illustrations for a glimpse of yours; are we agreed?”

  “Yes,” answered Elizabeth, smiling gratefully upon him as she realised that he, in the manner of a true gentleman, was carrying the burden of their conversation. She became aware that he must somehow have perceived that her mind was otherwhere. She appreciated his sensibility and was at once ashamed of her own remissness; she remonstrated with herself severely and, spurred on by this attack, succeeded in finding and initiating a new topic of conversation.

  Dinner over at last, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room. Elizabeth was grateful to be quit of Thaddeus’ hovering presence at her elbow, and strove to forget him in answering Lady Eleanor’s questions about her mother, who was her Ladyship’s sister, and who would join the party some days before the wedding. She could only be thankful that Laura had ceased, for some reason, to tease her about Mr. Lowland, for although she found Ashley everything that was good and kind, she did not like him in the sense that Laura had hinted at. All the agreeable of the evening was over for her, ruined by the selfishness of her own feelings. She resigned herself to this, resolving, as a sop to her conscience, at least not to let her unhappiness become apparent to her hosts. Perhaps, she thought, as she observed Emily pouting in a corner of the drawing room, she refined upon it too much. Very likely the envy would soon melt from her breast, and she could face Thaddeus and Laura without discomfort.

  “Madam,” Miss Webb, who had joined them at dinner, was saying to Lady Eleanor, “how comes it that Mrs. Chance does not accompany her husband?”

  “Mrs. Chance?” asked Lady Eleanor in mild surprise. “But there is no Mrs. Chance!”

  “Indeed!” Miss Webb exclaimed, her sagging cheeks colouring absurdly, for what reason no one knew. “Does the poor rector keep house for himself, then?”

  “I am sure he engages a housekeeper,” said Lady Eleanor, puzzled at this spate of questioning from her usually taciturn companion.

  “A housekeeper,” mused Miss Lavinia Webb, frowning slightly. “Housekeepers…”

  “Emily,” Lady Eleanor called, mostly to turn the conversation, “come and sit by me, pet, and tell me what is troubling you.”

  Emily rose obediently and sat by her aunt, but said nothing.

  “I fear Emily is having a hard time of it,” said her elder sister, “for it is not pleasant to be the youngest of a party.”

  “That is nothing to do with it,” said Emily pettishly. “You do not know what is troubling me, and I shall not tell you.”

  “Indeed!” said Lady Eleanor. “How sad that I should have a niece with troubles too great—or perhaps too secret?—to tell her aunt.”

  “Emily, you must try not to be rude to your aunt Fieldon,” admonished Elizabeth.

  “I am sorry if I have been rude,” said Emily to her aunt, her little mouth pulling into an even greater pout than before.

  “I am sure it must be the same sort of trouble which assails all young ladies,” Laura called gaily.

  “Which is…?” Miss Webb inquired.

  “Why, love, of course!” answered Laura.

  Emily’s mouth dropped open as she looked up in astonishment, but she said nothing. Her sister attacked the filigree she was working with renewed vigour. Miss Webb’s faded cheeks blushed again, and Laura and her mother surveyed the extraordinary company with eyes round with wonder. What on earth had Laura said? thought Lady Eleanor. It was very mysterious.

  “Never mind,” said her Ladyship to Emily. “The Simpsons will soon be here, and you cannot lack companions of your own age when they are about!”

  “Indeed?” asked Lizzy, looking up again from her work.

  “Oh, they are the most comical family!” Laura assured her. “They arrived in the neighbourhood several years ago, and you cannot imagine how we stared when we learned their names. They are—well, no,” she interrupted herself, “I shall not tell you. I shall enjoy watching how you struggle to keep your countenance.”

  Lizzy was mystified, but Laura would say no more. The gentlemen entered the room a few minutes later, and a pleasant hour was passed speculating upon what amusement could be contrived to while away the evening. Soon a great commotion was heard in the front hall of the Abbey—the stamping of what seemed to be an hundred snowy feet and the shaking of fifty snowy heads, along with a good deal of laughter. Garson opened the door of the drawing room and began to announce the Simpsons.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Robert Simpson,” he pronounced solemnly. “Miss Clio Simpson. Miss Calliope Simpson. Miss Urania Simpson. Miss Erato Simpson. Miss Euterpe Simpson. Miss Polyhymnia Simpson. Miss Thalia Simpson. Miss Terpsichore Simpson. Master Meldon Simpson.” He shut the doors as the last of the throng entered.

  Emily and Jacob gaped. Laura watched with amusement as Elizabeth’s mouth twitched its way out of the firm expression she had tried to impress upon it. Mr. Lowland smiled in unchecked enjoyment, and Emily finally had to laugh. For the next ten minutes the room was a riot of hasty introductions, nods, smiles, bows, and courtesies. The eight girls ranged in age from sixteen to nine, Erato and Euterpe being identical twins. Little Meldon Simpson was only eight, but he held his own with his sisters.

  “You can imagine how surprised we were,” Mrs. Simpson, a large, untidy woman, was explaining to Ashley, “when Meldon arrived. We had so wished for another girl, so that we could name her Melpomene, you know, but what could we do? Oh la! I suppose it is just as well, for Melpomene is the tragic Muse, and it might have been unlucky.”

  Mr. Lowland bowed his agreement. Several of the younger Simpsons were pleading with Laura to set up tables in another room so they might play at Lottery, a request to which she soon consented. Erato and Euterpe, who were fourteen, were besieging Emily with questions about London, for they had never been there. Little Meldon had attached himself to the tails of Jacob Shaw’s coat, and stood looking up at him in silent worship. Thaddeus went off with Laura to arrange two tables in the Blue Saloon, one for a game of Commerce and one for Lottery, which not very dignified game Miss Emily Shaw finally
condescended to play, along with most of the Simpsons.

  Those members of the party who felt themselves too old to participate in these games, yet were eager for entertainment, removed themselves to the breakfast room, where a round of Consequences was commenced. The players included Laura, Thad, Elizabeth, Mr. Lowland, Jacob, and the eldest Miss Simpson, Clio. Laura began:

  “A lady and a gentleman meet in a lane,” she said.

  “The lady looks shyly at the gentleman,” Thaddeus, who sat to her left, continued.

  “In consequence whereof, the gentleman makes so bold as to address her,” Clio went on.

  “The gentleman is riding, the lady afoot,” Jacob elaborated, looking to his left at his sister.

  “In consequence whereof, he offers her his horse,” she said, predictably.

  “The lady protests that she is the poorest rider!” Mr. Lowland added, looking at Elizabeth mischievously. “He will find nothing remarkable in her riding!”

  “In consequence whereof the gentleman, believing her, rides off and leaves her to walk,” Laura concluded, giggling.

  There was an immediate outcry. “Laura!” exclaimed Miss Simpson, “you have ruined the story. If I had known the gentleman was so ill-natured as that, I should not have played!”

  “Well, there are gentlemen and gentlemen,” Laura defended herself. “If you did not like it, let someone else start the next round.”

  “A very good notion,” agreed Mr. Lowland. “I shall begin one directly. A gentleman meets a lady, whose wedding portrait he is to paint.” He stopped, looking hard at Laura.

  “Oh dear!” she cried in dismay. “That is a difficult one. He—let me see—he takes her to the window to survey his subject.”

  “But he finds her dreadfully ugly,” continued Thaddeus, glancing wickedly at Laura.