Dawn
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CHAPTER LIII
By return of post Angela received her strange agreement, duly copiedand signed, and after this the preparations for the marriage went onrapidly. But where such a large transaction is concerned as the saleof between three and four thousand acres of land, copyhold andfreehold, together with sundry rent-charges and the lordship of sixmanors, things cannot be done in a minute.
Both George and Philip and their respective lawyers--Sir John wouldhave nothing to do with the matter--did their best to expeditematters, but unfortunately some legal difficulty arose in connectionwith the transfer, and who can hurry the ponderous and capriciousmachinery of the law?
At length it became clear to all concerned, except Angela, that itwould be impossible for the marriage to take place before the eighthof June, and it also became clear that that was the last possible dayon which it could take place. George begged Philip (by letter, beingtoo ill to come and see him) to allow the marriage to be gone throughwith at once, and have the business transactions finished afterwards.But to this Philip would not consent; the title-deeds, he said, mustbe in his possession before it took place, otherwise he would have nomarriage. George had therefore no option but to accept his terms.
When Angela was told of the date fixed for the ceremony--she would notallow the word marriage to be mentioned in connection with it--she atfirst created considerable consternation by quietly announcing thatshe would not have it performed until the tenth of June. At last,however, when matters were growing serious, and when she had treatedall the pressure that it was possible to put upon her with quietindifference--for, as usual, her father declined to interfere, butcontented himself with playing a strictly passive part--she suddenlyof her own mere motion, abolished the difficulty by consenting toappear before the registrar on the eighth of June, as George wished.
Her reasons for having objected to this date in the first instancewill be easily guessed. It was the day before the anniversary ofArthur's departure, an anniversary which it was her fancy to dedicatesolely to his memory. But as the delay appeared--though she could notaltogether understand why--to put others to great inconvenience, andas George's state of health had become such as to render postponement,even for a couple of days of doubtful expediency, and as, moreover,she decided on reflection that she could better give her thoughts toher dead lover when she had gone through with the grim farce that hungover her, she suddenly changed her mind.
Occasionally they brought her documents to sign, and she signed themwithout a question, but on the whole she treated the affair withconsiderable apathy, the truth being that it was repugnant to hermind, which she preferred to occupy with other and very differentthoughts. So she let it go. She knew that she was going to do a thingwhich was dreadful to her, because she believed it to be her duty, butshe comforted herself with the reflection that she was amply securedagainst all possible contingencies by her previous agreement withGeorge. Angela's knowledge of the marriage-law of her country and ofwhat constituted a legal document was not extensive.
For this same reason, because it was distasteful, she had never saidanything of her contemplated marriage to Pigott, and it was quiteunknown in the neighbourhood. Since the Miss Lee scandal and hisconsequent disinheritance, nobody had visited Philip Caresfoot, andthose who took interest in him or his affairs were few. Indeed thematter had been kept a dead secret. But on the seventh of June, beingthe day previous to the ceremony, Angela went down to her nurse'scottage and told her what was about to be done, suppressing, however,from various motives, all mention of her agreement with George. Itadded to her depression to find that Pigott was unaccountablydisturbed at the news.
"Well, miss," she said,--"Lord, to think that I sha'n't be able tocall you that no longer--I haven't got nothing in particular to sayagin it, seeing that sure enough the man's a-dying, as I has on goodauthority from my own aunt's cousin, her that does the servants'washing up at the Hall, and mighty bad she does it, begging of herpardon for the disparagement, and so he won't trouble you for long,and somehow it do seem as though you hadn't got no choice left in thematter, just as though everybody and everything was a-quietly pushingyou into it. But, miss, somehow I don't like it, to be plain; amarriage as ain't no marriage ain't altogether natural like, and in anoffice, too, along with a man as you would not touch with a pair oftongs, and that man on his last leg. I'm right down sorry if I makesyou feel uncomfortable, dearie; but, bless me, I don't know how it is,but, when a thing sticks in my mind, I'm as bound to hawk it up asthough it were a bone in my throat."
"I don't like it any more than you do, nurse, but perhaps you don'tunderstand all about the property being concerned, and about itshaving to pass away from my father, if I don't do this. I care nothingabout the property, but he left it to 'my generosity!' Arthur is dead;and he left it to 'my generosity,' nurse. What could I do?"
"Well, miss, you're acting according to what you thinks right and dueto your father, which is more nor I does; and poor, dead Mr. Arthur upin Heaven there will make a note of that, there ain't no manner ofdoubt. And somehow it do seem that things can't be allowed to go wrongwith you, my dear, seeing how you're a-sacrificing of yourself and ofyour wishes to benefit others."
This conversation did not tend to put Angela into better spirits, butshe felt that it was now too late to recede.
Whilst Angela was talking to Pigott, Sir John and Lady Bellamy werepaying a call at Isleworth. They found George lying on the sofa in thedining-room, in which, though it was the first week in June, a firewas burning on the hearth. He bore all the signs of a man in the laststage of consumption. The hollow cough, the emaciation, and the hectichue upon his face, all spoke with no uncertain voice.
"Well, Caresfoot, you scarcely look like a bridegroom, I must say,"said little Sir John, looking as pleased as though he had made aneminently cheerful remark.
"No, but I am stronger than I look; marriage will cure me."
"Humph! will it? Then you will be signally fortunate."
"Don't croak, Bellamy. I am happy to-day--there is fire dancing alongmy veins. Just think, this time to-morrow Angela will be my legalwife!"
"Well, you appear to have given a good price for the privilege, ifwhat Anne tells me is correct. To sell the Isleworth estates for fiftythousand, is to sell them for a hundred and fifty thousand less thanthey are worth. Consequently, the girl costs you a hundred and fiftythousand pounds--a long figure that for one girl."
"Bah! you are a cold-blooded fellow, Bellamy. Can't you understandthat there is a positive delight in ruining oneself for the woman oneloves? And then, think how she will love me, when she comes tounderstand what she has cost me. I can see her now. She will come andkiss me--mind you, kiss me of her own free will--and say, 'George, youare a noble fellow; George, you are a lover that any woman may beproud of; no price was too heavy for you.' Yes, that is what she willsay, that sort of thing, you know."
Sir John's merry little eye twinkled with inexpressible amusement, andhis wife's full lips curled with unutterable contempt.
"You are counting your kisses before they are paid for," she said."Does Philip come here this afternoon to sign the deeds?"
"Yes; they are in the next room. Will you come and see them?"
"Yes, I will. Will you come, John?"
"No, thank you. I don't wish to be treated to any more of yourladyship's omens. I have long ago washed my hands of the wholebusiness. I will stop here and read the _Times_."
They went out, George leaning on Lady Bellamy's arm.
No sooner had they gone than Sir John put down the _Times_, andlistened intently. Then he rose, and slipped the bolt of that doorwhich opened into the hall, thereby halving his chances ofinterruption. Next, listening at every step, his round face, which wassolemn enough now, stretched forward, and looking for all the worldlike that of some whiskered puss advancing on a cream-jug, he crept ontiptoe to the iron safe in the corner of the room. Arrived there, helistened again, and then drew a little key from his poc
ket, andinserted it in the lock; it turned without difficulty.
"Beau-ti-ful," murmured Sir John; "but now comes the rub." Takinganother key, he inserted it in the lock of the subdivision. It wouldnot turn. "One more chance," he said, as he tried a second. "Ah!" andopen came the lid. Rapidly he extracted two thick bundles of letters.They were in Lady Bellamy's handwriting. Then he relocked thesubdivision, and the safe itself, and put the keys away in histrousers and the packets in his coat-tail pockets, one in each, thatthey might not bulge suspiciously. Next he unbolted the door, and,returning, gave way to paroxysms of exultation too deep for words.
"At last," he said, stretching his fat little fist towards the roomwhere George was with Lady Bellamy, "at last, after twenty years ofwaiting, you are in my power, my lady. Time _has_ brought its revenge,and if before you are forty-eight hours older you do not makeacquaintance with a bitterness worse than death, then my name is notJohn Bellamy. I will repay you every jot, and with interest, too, mylady!"
Then he calmed himself, and, ringing a bell, told the servant to tellLady Bellamy that he had walked on home. When, an hour and a halflater, she reached Rewtham House, she found that her husband had beensuddenly summoned to London on a matter of business.