“Oh, I know,” she said slowly, “that everyone will want to see her.”
“That’s part of the delight of the reception, to contemplate the bride . . .”
“I know . . . oh, Conrad, it’s such a shame. No receiving line. I feel as if we’re letting the people down—almost as if we’re taking something from them.”
“They’ll doubtless share that feeling. And that’s not all, Mrs. Hill: what about the other high point of a reception? What about that?”
Conrad paused, but Mrs. Hill just looked back at him without answering.
“What about the cake, Mrs. Hill? What about the ceremonial cutting of the wedding cake? Not to have even that . . .”
Mrs. Hill began to look very sad.
“I’m afraid,” Conrad said, “that it would look peculiar if Harold grasped the knife and cut it all by himself. Indeed, most peculiar. Even portentous, possibly—that is, to simple-minded countryfolk. Besides, Harold, are you looking forward to the reception? It will last all day, at least—Harold!” Conrad had to call Harold’s name several times before drawing the young man’s attention from the cook books. Conrad repeated his question.
“But you know I’m going to be in the kitchen,” Harold objected quietly. “I have things to cook. I can’t go milling about with the guests. It’s out of the question. In fact”—and Harold glanced anxiously at the clock—“I have something on the stove now—if you don’t mind . . .”
“Not at all, Harold, not at all . . .”
Harold quickly gathered up all the cook books and left the room.
“So you see,” Conrad shrugged; “from the point of view of the guests, the wedding day will be less than complete: no reception line, no cutting of the cake. Indeed: ‘Where are the luminaries?’ They won’t even see them! And then of course, Mrs. Hill, from our point of view we shall have failed: we shall have given less than we promised. And the Hill-Vale wedding day will not be something to remember joyfully. On the contrary, it might even be something to forget . . .”
Mrs. Hill was staring down at the table. Slowly, without looking up, she said, “What you say is true, Conrad. Only too true. I’ve tried not to think of these things. I have pushed them out of my mind. Somehow, I suppose, I thought they would all be taken care of. I know that was foolish, but . . . I just wanted to think that the wedding day would be perfect, and I couldn’t bear thinking that—”
Mrs. Hill broke off, as if too dispirited to continue, and even Mr. Hill, who usually masked his emotions perfectly, began looking a little dejected. Only Ester seemed unmoved by the conversation, continuing to stare straight ahead, and even when Conrad began looking directly at her, very intently, it was still not possible to tell where her gaze rested or whether she was aware of his observation.
“Yes, indeed,” Conrad said at last, picking up the packet of letters again and beginning to tap the table with it. “Yes, indeed, some wedding day. Don’t you think, Ester? Won’t it be great? Aren’t you looking forward to it with eager expectation? You must be. It will be a great day in your young life, moving into the Prominence . . .”
“And the guests from the City,” Mrs. Hill said sadly. She was staring at the packet of letters in Conrad’s hands. “What will they make of this? No bride or groom—coming all the way from the City and not even seeing . . .”
“They could drop in at the sick chamber or the kitchen,” Conrad suggested.
“. . . they won’t even be at the reception. And a reception without a receiving line—and without a wedding-cake ceremony. What will those people think of us?”
Conrad smiled coldly. “What indeed, Mrs. Hill? Because you are correct: these letters are acceptances of invitations from people in the City. From the best people in the City—the very best—and we cannot let them down. Or perhaps I should say”—Conrad’s gaze rested for a moment on each of the Hills—“we will not let them down. We will not: they shall have their luminaries. They shall have their bride and bridegroom.”
Conrad rose to his feet and pushed his chair to the table. Then he stood behind it, hands resting on its back. “There shall be a magnificent wedding . . .”
Slowly, intently, Conrad scanned the Hills. Mr. and Mrs. Hill were looking at him fixedly, the latter frowning slightly. Even Ester seemed to be looking at him.
Conrad spoke again: “. . . followed by a great reception. There will be a receiving line. There will be a fine wedding cake. It will be cut by the bride and bridegroom.”
He paused for a moment, and then concluded:
“The wedding day shall be perfect.”
The three Hills continued to stare at him silently. In appearance, Conrad was not quite the same as when he had arrived in Cobb. Most striking, he was no longer gaunt and starved-looking. Not that he was fat, but it was his size that would catch the eye rather than any want of proportion: before, he had only seemed very tall and thin; now he looked huge, which made his presence more powerfully felt. His face, too, was fuller and, consequently, less eagle-like in aspect. Yet, this impression remained quite evident: his nose, which really gave his face its cast, was still sharp and hooked, even though it was broader and not so pointed. Still, it was unmistakably a beak. Indeed, if anything, it was a slightly larger and more forceful beak, as befitted the greater bulk of his figure. His eyes, of course, were as black as ever. That some of the lines around the corners had been smoothed didn’t seem to change their expression: they were still disconcertingly piercing.
As for Conrad’s attire—he still wore black clothes. Only, now these were of excellent fabric and set off by a dazzling white expanse of shirt front, which, as much as the weight he had gained, proclaimed the favorable change in his estate.
It was on this white patch that Ester had had her eyes leveled the entire time Conrad was seated. And when he had stood up, it had drawn her gaze up with it. Only a moment later her eyes had moved to Conrad’s face . . .
For several seconds Conrad just stood there, leaning slightly on the back of the chair, looking at each of the Hills in turn. Then his eyes came to rest on Mrs. Hill.
Slowly then, ever so slowly, a smile commenced lighting up his dark countenance . . .
Conrad picked up the packet of letters and tossed them over to Mrs. Hill. Then he walked around the table and stood beside Ester.
“Read the first letter, Mrs. Hill,” Conrad said. “Read it out loud.”
But Mrs. Hill just stared at the packet of letters, afraid to discover the contents.
“Mrs. Hill—we are waiting.”
Gingerly, then—indeed, Mrs. Hill was shaking a little—she picked up the letters. They were tied together by a thin red ribbon, and as she tried to undo it all her fingers became thumbs.
“It’s only a bow, Mrs. Hill; I tied it myself. Just pull one of the loose ends. That’s right—”
Mrs. Hill removed the ribbon. Shaking still more, she unfolded the first letter. But when she tried to read it she couldn’t make her eyes focus.
“Read it, Mrs. Hill. Read it so we can all hear.”
Mrs. Hill blinked her eyes several times. Then she held the letter out before her and started to read in a nervous and unsure voice:
“. . . pleased to attend the wedding of Miss Ester Hill to Mr. Conrad Venn.
“. . . will attend the reception.
“. . . accept offer of accommodation at the Prominence.”
For a moment Mrs. Hill didn’t seem to realize what she had read. Then her breath came in a sudden gasp and the letter fluttered from her fingers to the table.
“The other letters are of the same purport,” Conrad said. “There are several more packets upstairs—these are only from the most prominent people. You’ll notice the date, Mrs. Hill—it’s the same as for Harold and Daphne.”
Slowly Ester turned her head around.
“Yes, Ester,” Conrad said, grasping her firmly by the shoulder, “we are getting married. You and I.” Hesitatingly Ester smiled at him. “Conrad . . .” she whispered.
And she started to raise her hand to place it on his, but then she changed her mind and let it fall back on the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Hill were coming slowly toward Conrad. Mr. Hill had his arm around his wife, as if to comfort or support her, or give her courage. They stopped just in front of Conrad.
For several seconds they just looked at him.
And then—
Mrs. Hill began smiling at Conrad, through her tears.
38
“Our marriage,” Conrad said later that evening, “shall be a surprise for the townspeople. Instead of being deprived of what they have every right to expect, they shall be treated to a proud wedding and a most sumptuous and unstinting reception. Moreover, that it comes as a surprise will both increase the pleasure and fortify the recollection . . .”
Mr. and Mrs. Hill agreed completely.
And indeed, the townspeople did not learn there were to be two weddings till the very morning of the great day, when they began arriving at the Prominence and overheard the talk of the people from the City: the City people spoke only of the Venn-Hill wedding. And though at first little notice was taken of this—the townspeople thought either they hadn’t heard correctly or that the City visitors were slightly mistaken—finally some clarification became necessary. For the townspeople were speaking loudly to each other of the Hill-Vale wedding so that if a mistake existed it could be corrected; yet the City visitors persisted in referring to it as the Venn-Hill wedding, and they too were raising their voices, also doubtless to rectify.
“It’s Vale, not Venn. Vale,” affirmed one of the townspeople at last. “You’re saying it wrong.”
The City gentleman thus addressed started to walk away, but several Cobb people gathered quickly around him, and all began repeating the name Vale.
“Daphne Vale and Harold Hill,” added the man who had first spoken. “It’s the Hill-Vale wedding.”
“That’s right,” declared an old woman standing beside him. “Daphne Vale and Harold Hill are getting married today.”
“Not Venn,” said another voice. “Vale.”
The City man, rather mild-looking and middle-aged, was still half inclined to walk away without replying—what was there to say to such people? They would believe what they wanted to. But on the other hand, they meant well . . .
Smiling tolerantly, he withdrew an envelope from the pocket of his jacket. He turned it over several times, as if to make sure it was the right one; then he opened it and extracted an embossed card. He read the few lines of print on it with scrupulous attention.
“I am here,” he said at last, “to attend the Venn-Hill wedding. And so are my friends—so is everyone from the City. We are here at the invitation of the groom. We know no one else. If there are any other weddings hereabouts, so be it. It does not matter. We are interested only in Conrad’s.” And with that he handed his wedding invitation to the person nearest him. “You may let the others see it,” he added, as he heard someone from the back of the group still complaining that the City gentleman had the name wrong.
It was not the City man’s words, but rather the written invitation—the coupling of Conrad’s name with Ester’s—that made the townspeople understand. And they stared and stared at the names on the card, in benumbed silence, until its owner had to ask for it back: the townspeople had forgotten about him . . .
“Could Mr. Conrad Venn be Conrad the cook?” they asked.
But to ask the question was to answer it.
The Hill-Vale wedding was a very quiet affair. Indeed, it resembled a funeral. The bride, who now weighed little more than one hundred pounds, looked very tired and weak. She had a difficult time standing without assistance, and when her father gave her away, he literally handed her to Harold—she had to be passed gently from one arm to the other.
Only the two families and Conrad and Louise were present. Though Conrad had employed a resident nurse from the City to look after Daphne, it seemed advisable to keep Louise on until Daphne had made the adjustment from maiden to wife. And since Louise was to stay for a while at the Prominence, she might just as well be invited to the wedding.
The ceremony itself lasted only a few minutes. Then Daphne retired to the bridal chamber in the north wing, and Harold changed clothes and went to the great kitchen.
The Venn-Hill wedding was something else entirely. It resembled a coronation, as several of the guests from the City commented. Of course the people from Cobb had never seen anything like it.
It was held in a great chamber occupying the entire top of the highest tower, which by virtue of the majesty of its view over the surrounding countryside seemed made to order for the crowning of kings and queens. On all sides light streamed in through tall pointed windows. One end of the ballroom was particularly bathed in the bright sunshine, and there a large high dais had been placed. Its steps were covered with purple velvet.
On the dais were two enormous thrones, their backs more than eight feet high and their broad flat arms at least two feet wide. They were of solid rose-yellow gold. The bride and bridegroom were seated on these gold thrones and looking out, as it were, over their massed subjects.
“My, it certainly is different,” Louise whispered to Dr. Law, who was standing beside her.
“I should say it’s different! There’s scarcely anything resembling a traditional wedding. There’s a man dressed in black and a woman dressed in white. That’s all that I recognize.—And all that martial music! I don’t believe the people of Cobb ever heard such music before.”
Louise nodded—the music was responsible for her presence. She had been tending to Daphne when the sounds of trumpets and drums penetrated the bridal chamber, and Daphne had insisted that Louise attend the wedding. “Then you can come back and tell me all about it,” she explained, as Louise looked reluctant to leave her. “And you needn’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. I’ll sleep.”
Hurrying upstairs to the tower ballroom, Louise met Dr. Law.
“I thought it would be in the chapel,” he explained. “Then I heard the music . . .”
“The chapel wouldn’t be big enough,” Louise answered.
The tower ballroom itself was extremely crowded, everyone standing except the bride and bridegroom. The guests from the City were all up front, close to the dais; the townspeople were in the rear, and Dr. Law and Louise squeezed themselves in among them. “You just missed the wedding march,” a young woman said to Louise. “It was wonderful.”
“I heard it, but I was in such a hurry that I got lost—this place is so big. You must tell me about it later. My mistress will want to hear.”
“You should see the bride’s train!” exclaimed another woman. “It was so long! I’ve never seen a train so long . . .”
Louise nodded knowingly. “I helped to make it.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I stayed up all last night finishing it . . . We had to order more material from the City and it didn’t arrive till yesterday morning.”
Louise felt a hand on her arm and turned; it was Mrs. Wigton. The ex-housekeeper was looking quite happy, and she and Louise gave each other an affectionate little hug. “It’s very exciting, isn’t it?” Mrs. Wigton said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And look at Miss Ester! This is the first time I’ve ever seen her smile so happily in all the years that I’ve known her! Even as a child she didn’t smile like that. . .”
Louise whispered confidentially, “If you knew how many yards and yards and yards of cloth it took to make that girl’s gown! Well, you simply wouldn’t believe it—and I don’t mean just for the train either.”
A stout middle-aged woman made her way over to them. “Have you ever seen Conrad so beaming?” asked Nell. “I never have.”
“You better call him ‘Mr. Venn,’ ” Mrs. Wigton reminded her.
“He’s very handsome when he smiles,” said Louise.
“Yes, he is,” the other two agreed. “Extremely handsome . . .”
“Most people are when th
ey smile,” interjected Dr. Law, who had both been listening to the women and observing the wedding ceremony on the dais. “Tell me, Louise,” he went on, “wherever did those marvelous gold thrones come from? Are they from the Prominence?”
“They’re from the grand ballroom.”
“They’re magnificent!”
“Quiet!” hissed an old crone on Dr. Law’s left. “You’re talking so much I can’t hear what they’re saying up there—”
“Madam,” said Dr. Law loudly, “you couldn’t hear them with a six-foot ear-trumpet—their voices aren’t carrying back this far. If you weren’t so deaf you would know that!”
Just then a loud cheer broke from the people up front—and then another cheer—and then a third: the nuptials had been performed! The ceremony was over! Miss Ester Hill was now Mrs. Conrad Venn!
The townspeople in the back took up the cheer: once—twice—thrice—
Ester was now smiling more broadly than ever, and slowly she began nodding at everyone, acknowledging their cheers: nodding first to the left and then gradually moving her head in an arc to the right, and then slowly back again . . .
At last Conrad raised both hands, signaling the mass of guests to be quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” his voice boomed out. “You are invited, one and all, to descend to the grand ballroom and share in and witness the new-found happiness of the bride and bridegroom. The tables are laden. The wedding cake will be brought in shortly.”
He paused as loud cheering greeted these words, and Ester smiled still more. From up front came many huzzas.
“Tables,” he continued, “are also being set up on the grounds: on such a beautiful day, who would want to stay indoors and eat and drink when they can also go outdoors and eat and drink?”
The Cook Page 17