Miss or Mrs.? Page 5

  FIFTH SCENE.

  The Square.

  Between four and five in the afternoon--when the women of the Westernregions are in their carriages, and the men are at their clubs--Londonpresents few places more conveniently adapted for purposes of privatetalk than the solitary garden inclosure of a square.

  On the day when Richard Turlington paid his visit to Muswell Hill, twoladies (with a secret between them) unlocked the gate of the railedgarden in Berkeley Square. They shut the gate after entering theinclosure, but carefully forbore to lock it as well, and carefullyrestricted their walk to the westward side of the garden. One of themwas Natalie Graybrooke. The other was Mrs. Sancroft's eldest daughter.A certain temporary interest attached, in the estimation of society,to this young lady. She had sold well in the marriage market. In otherwords, she had recently been raised to the position of Lord Winwood'ssecond wife; his lordship conferring on the bride not only the honors ofthe peerage, but the additional distinction of being stepmother to histhree single daughters, all older than herself. In person, Lady Winwoodwas little and fair. In character, she was dashing and resolute--acomplete contrast to Natalie, and (on that very account) Natalie's bosomfriend.

  "My dear, one ambitious marriage in the family is quite enough! I havemade up my mind that _you_ shall marry the man you love. Don't tell meyour courage is failing you--the excuse is contemptible; I decline toreceive it. Natalie! the men have a phrase which exactly describes yourcharacter. You want back-bone!"

  The bonnet of the lady who expressed herself in these peremptory termsbarely reached the height of Natalie's shoulder. Natalie might haveblown the little airy, light-haired, unsubstantial creature over therailings of the garden if she had taken a good long breath and stoopedlow enough. But who ever met with a tall woman who had a will of herown? Natalie's languid brown eyes looked softly down in submissiveattention from an elevation of five feet seven. Lady Winwood's briskblue eyes looked brightly up in despotic command from an elevation offour feet eleven (in her shoes).

  "You are trifling with Mr. Linzie, my dear. Mr. Linzie is a nice fellow.I like him. I won't have that."

  "Louisa!"

  "Mr. Turlington has nothing to recommend him. He is not a well-bred oldgentleman of exalted rank. He is only an odious brute who happens tohave made money. You shall _not_ marry Mr. Turlington. And you _shall_marry Launcelot Linzie."

  "Will you let me speak, Louisa?"

  "I will let you answer--nothing more. Didn't you come crying to me thismorning? Didn't you say, 'Louisa, they have pronounced sentence on me!I am to be married in the first week of the New Year. Help me out of it,for Heaven's sake!' You said all that, and more. And what did I do whenI heard your story?"

  "Oh, you were so kind--"

  "Kind doesn't half express it. I have committed crimes on your account.I have deceived my husband and my mother. For your sake I got mamma toask Mr. Linzie to lunch (as _my_ friend!). For your sake I have banishedmy unoffending husband, not an hour since, to his club. You wretchedgirl, who arranged a private conference in the library? Who sent Mr.Linzie off to consult his friend in the Temple on the law of clandestinemarriage? Who suggested your telegraphing home, and stopping here forthe night? Who made an appointment to meet your young man privately inthis detestable place in ten minutes' time? I did! I did! I did! All inyour interests. All to prevent you from doing what I have done--marryingto please your family instead of to please yourself. (I don't complain,mind, of Lord Winwood, or of his daughters. _He_ is charming; hisdaughters I shall tame in course of time. You are different. And Mr.Turlington, as I observed before, is a brute.) Very well. Now what doyou owe me on your side? You owe it to me at least to know your ownmind. You don't know it. You coolly inform me that you daren't runthe risk after all, and that you can't face the consequences on secondthoughts. I'll tell you what! You don't deserve that nice fellow, whoworships the very ground you tread on. You are a bread-and-butter miss.I don't believe you are fond of him!"

  "Not fond of him!" Natalie stopped, and clasped her hands in despair offinding language strong enough for the occasion. At the same moment thesound of a closing gate caught her ear. She looked round. Launce hadkept his appointment before his time. Launce was in the garden, rapidlyapproaching them.

  "Now for the Law of Clandestine Marriage!" said Lady Winwood. "Mr.Linzie, we will take it sitting." She led the way to one of the benchesin the garden, and placed Launce between Natalie and herself. "Well,Chief Conspirator, have you got the License? No? Does it cost too much?Can I lend you the money?"

  "It costs perjury, Lady Winwood, in my case," said Launce. "Natalie isnot of age. I can only get a License by taking my oath that I marry herwith her father's consent." He turned piteously to Natalie. "I couldn'tvery well do that," he said, in the tone of a man who feels bound tomake an apology, "could I?" Natalie shuddered; Lady Winwood shrugged hershoulders.

  "In your place a woman wouldn't have hesitated," her ladyship remarked."But men are so selfish. Well! I suppose there is some other way?"

  "Yes, there is another way," said Launce. "But there is a horridcondition attached to it--"

  "Something worse than perjury, Mr. Linzie? Murder?"

  "I'll tell you directly, Lady Winwood. The marriage comes first. Thecondition follows. There is only one chance for us. We must be marriedby banns."

  "Banns!" cried Natalie. "Why, banns are publicly proclaimed in church!"

  "They needn't be proclaimed in _your_ church, you goose," said LadyWinwood. "And, even if they were, nobody would be the wiser. You maytrust implicitly, my dear, in the elocution of an English clergyman!"

  "That's just what my friend said," cried Launce. "'Take a lodging neara large parish church, in a remote part of London'--(this is my friend'sadvice)--'go to the clerk, tell him you want to be married by banns, andsay you belong to that parish. As for the lady, in your place I shouldsimplify it. I should say she belonged to the parish too. Give anaddress, and have some one there to answer questions. How is theclerk to know? He isn't likely to be over-anxious about it--his fee iseighteen-pence. The clerk makes his profit out of you, after you aremarried. The same rule applies to the parson. He will have your namessupplied to him on a strip of paper, with dozens of other names; and hewill read them out all together in one inarticulate jumble in church.You will stand at the altar when your time comes, with Brown and Jones,Nokes and Styles, Jack and Gill. All that you will have to do is, totake care that your young lady doesn't fall to Jack, and you to Gill,by mistake--and there you are, married by banns.' My friend's opinion,stated in his own words."

  Natalie sighed, and wrung her hands in her lap. "We shall never getthrough it," she said, despondingly.

  Lady Winwood took a more cheerful view.

  "I see nothing very formidable as yet, my dear. But we have still tohear the end of it. You mentioned a condition just now, Mr. Linzie.

  "I am coming to the condition, Lady Winwood. You naturally suppose, asI did, that I put Natalie into a cab, and run away with her from thechurch door?"

  "Certainly. And I throw an old shoe after you for luck, and go homeagain."

  Launce shook his head ominously.

  "Natalie must go home again as well as you!"

  Lady Winwood started. "Is that the condition you mentioned just now?"she asked.

  "That is the condition. I may marry her without anything serious comingof it. But, if I run away with her afterward, and if you are there,aiding and abetting me, we are guilty of Abduction, and we may stand,side by side, at the bar of the Old Bailey to answer for it!"

  Natalie sprang to her feet in horror. Lady Winwood held up one fingerwarningly, signing to her to let Launce go on.

  "Natalie is not yet sixteen years old," Launce proceeded. "She must gostraight back to her father's house from the church, and I must waitto run away with her till her next birthday. When she's turned sixteen,she's ripe for elopement--not an hour before. There is the law ofAbduction! Despotism in a free country--that's what I call it!"


  Natalie sat down again, with an air of relief.

  "It's a very comforting law, I think," she said. "It doesn't force oneto take the dreadful step of running away from home all at once. Itgives one time to consider, and plan, and make up one's mind. I can tellyou this, Launce, if I am to be persuaded into marrying you, the law ofAbduction is the only thing that will induce me to do it. You ought tothank the law, instead of abusing it."

  Launce listened--without conviction.

  "It's a pleasant prospect," he said, "to part at the church door, and totreat my own wife on the footing of a young lady who is engaged to marryanother gentleman."

  "Is it any pleasanter for _me_," retorted Natalie, "to have RichardTurlington courting me, when I am all the time your wife? I shall neverbe able to do it. I wish I was dead!"

  "Come! come!" interposed Lady Winwood. "It's time to be serious.Natalie's birthday, Mr. Linzie, is next Christmas-day. She will besixteen--"

  "At seven in the morning," said Launce; "I got that out of Sir Joseph.At one minute past seven, Greenwich mean time, we may be off together. Igot _that_ out of the lawyer."

  "And it isn't an eternity to wait from now till Christmas-day. You getthat, by way of completing the list of your acquisitions, out of_me_. In the mean time, can you, or can you not, manage to meet thedifficulties in the way of the marriage?"

  "I have settled everything," Launce answered, confidently. "There is nota single difficulty left."

  He turned to Natalie, listening to him in amazement, and explainedhimself. It had struck him that he might appeal--with his purse inhis hand, of course--to the interest felt in his affairs by the latestewardess of the yacht. That excellent woman had volunteered to do allthat she could to help him. Her husband had obtained situations for hiswife and himself on board another yacht--and they were both eagerto assist in any conspiracy in which their late merciless master wasdestined to play the part of victim. When on shore, they lived ina populous London parish, far away from the fashionable district ofBerkeley Square, and further yet from the respectable suburb of MuswellHill. A room in the house could be nominally engaged for Natalie, in theassumed character of the stewardess's niece--the stewardess undertakingto answer any purely formal questions which might be put by the churchauthorities, and to be present at the marriage ceremony. As for Launce,he would actually, as well as nominally, live in the district close by;and the steward, if needful, would answer for _him_. Natalie might callat her parochial residence occasionally, under the wing of Lady Winwood;gaining leave of absence from Muswell Hill, on the plea of paying one ofher customary visits at her aunt's house. The conspiracy, in brief, wasarranged in all its details. Nothing was now wanting but the consent ofthe young lady; obtaining which, Launce would go to the parish churchand give the necessary notice of a marriage by banns on the next day.There was the plot. What did the ladies think of it?

  Lady Winwood thought it perfect.

  Natalie was not so easily satisfied.

  "My father has always been so kind to me!" she said. "The one thingI can't get over, Launce, is distressing papa. If he had been hard onme--as some fathers are--I shouldn't mind." She suddenly brightened, asif she saw her position in a new light. "Why should you hurry me?" sheasked. "I am going to dine at my aunt's to-day, and you are coming inthe evening. Give me time! Wait till to-night."

  Launce instantly entered his protest against wasting a moment longer.Lady Winwood opened her lips to support him. They were both silenced atthe same moment by the appearance of one of Mrs. Sancroft's servants,opening the gate of the square.

  Lady Winwood went forward to meet the man. A suspicion crossed her mindthat he might be bringing bad news.

  "What do you want?" she asked.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady--the housekeeper said you were walking herewith Miss Graybrooke. A telegram for Miss Graybrooke."

  Lady Winwood took the telegram from the man's hand; dismissed him, andwent back with it to Natalie. Natalie opened it nervously. She readthe message--and instantly changed. Her cheeks flushed deep; her eyesflashed with indignation. "Even papa can be hard on me, it seems, whenRichard asks him!" she exclaimed. She handed the telegram to Launce. Hereyes suddenly filled with tears. "_You_ love me," she said, gently--andstopped. "Marry me!" she added, with a sudden burst of resolution. "I'llrisk it!"

  As she spoke those words, Lady Winwood read the telegram. It ran thus:

  "Sir Joseph Graybrooke, Muswell Hill. To Miss Natalie Graybrooke;Berkeley Square. Come back immediately. You are engaged to dine herewith Richard Turlington."

  Lady Winwood folded up the telegram with a malicious smile. "Welldone, Sir Joseph!" thought her ladyship. "We might never have persuadedNatalie--but for You!"