LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 903, 17 May 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

HELEN WHITNEY'S WEEDING. By Johnny Ludlow. ( Concluded.')

Not until night did we get the chance of a private talk with William. Our bedrooms opened into one another; and after we went up for good, he sat down in our room.

‘You won’t be affronted, Bill, at something I am about to say V struck in Tod, byway of prelude. ‘Affronted!’ cried Bill. ‘I! What on earth do you ask that stupid question for ?’ ‘ In coming up to day, I heard a few words in the train,’ went on Tod. ‘Two fellows were talking, and they brought up a man’s name in a disparaging manner. It is a friend of yours, Bill; and Johnny and I had a precious good discussion, 1 [can tell you, as to whether we should repeat it to you, or not. ’

‘ Was it my name ?’ asked Bilk * What could they have to say against me V

* No, no; they’d have got an answer from me had it been yours. First of all, we thought to mention it to Sir John; but 1 did not bke to, and that’s the truth. So we just concluded to put it before you, as one of ourselves, and you can tell him if you like. ’ ‘ All right,’ said Bill. ‘Go ahead.’ Tod told him all, from the beginning t the end. Nob that it was much to tell; but he brought in our own conversation; the delicacy we felt in speaking all, and the arguments for and against. Bill was not in theleastput out; rather wondered, I thought, that we should be.

‘ It can’t be Dick Foliott, you know,’ said he. ‘ There’s not anything against him; impossible that there should be.’ * 1 am glad you say so,’ cried Tod, relieved. ‘lt was only for Helen’s sake we gave a thought to it.’ ‘ The name was the same, you see— Foliott,’ I put in. * And that man is going to be married as well as this one.’

‘True,’ answered Bill, slowly. ‘Still I feel sure it is quite impossible that it can be foliott. If—-if you think I had better mention it, I will. I’ll mention it to himself,” T should,’ said I eagerly, for somehow my doubts of the man were growing larger. ‘ Better be on the safe side. You don’t know much about him, after all, Bill.’

‘Not know much about him ! AA 7 hat do you mean, Johnny ? AVe know enough. He is Riverside’s nephew, a very re-pcctable old Scotch peer, and he is Foilott the millowner’s nephew ; and 1 am sure he is to be respected, if it’s only for the money he has made. And Dick has a very fair income of his own, and settles ten thousand pounds upon Helen, and will come into a hundred by-and-by, or more. AVhat would you have ?’

I could not say what I would have; but the uneasiness lay on my mind. Tod spoke. ‘ The men alluded to conduct, I expect, Bill; not to means. They spoke of that Foliott as an out and-out scamp, and called the girl he was going to marry poor thing, in a piteous tone. You’d not like to apply to Helen.’

‘By Jove, no. Better be on the safe side, as Johnny says, AVe’Jl say nothing to my father at present; but you and I, Tod, will quietly repeat to Foliott what you heard, and we’ll put it to him, as man to man, to tell us in all honor whether the ‘aspersing words could have related to himself. Of course the idea is is altogether absurd; we will tell him that, and i eg his pardon. ’ So that was resolved upon. And a great relief it was. To decide upon a course of actio >, in any unpleasant difficulty, takes away half the discomfort. Captain Foliott had come to London but once since they met at Malvern. His stay was short; three days; and during those days he was so busy that Gloucester place only saw him in the evenings. He had a great deal to do down in the north against his marriage, arranging his property preparatory to settling it on Helen, and seeing to other business matters. But the zeal he lacked in personal attention he made up by letter. Helen got one from him every morning as regularly as the post came in. He was expected in town on the morrow, Tuesday : indeed, Helen had thought he might perhaps have come to-day. 'Twelve o’clock on Wednesday, at Gloucester place, was the hour fixed for signing the deeds of settlement: and by twelve o’clock on the following day, all going well, he and Helen would be man and wife.

Amidst the letters waiting on the break-fast-table on Tuesday morning was one for Helen. Its red seal and the crest upon it told whence it came.

‘ Foliott always seals his letters to Helen,’ announced Bill for our information. * And what ill news has that one got inside it ?’ continued he to his sister. ‘ You look as cross as two sticks, Nelly.’ ‘Just mind your own business,’ said Helen.

‘ What time will Captain Foliott be here to-day, my dear ?’ questioned her mother. ‘ He’ll not be here at all to-day,’ answered Helen, fractiously. ‘ It’s too bad. He says it is impossible for him to get away by an early train, perhaps won’t reach London in time to see us to-night; but k ho will be here the first thing in the morning. His mother is worse, and he is anxious about her. People always get ill at the wrong time.’ ‘ls Mrs Foliott coming up to the wedding?’ ‘ No,’ said Lady Whitney. ‘ I of course invited her, and she accepted the invitation : but a week ago she wrote me word she was not well enough to come. And now, children, what shall wc set about first? Oh, dear ! there is such a vast deal to do and to think of to-day !’ But we had auother arrival that day, if we had not Captain Foliott. That was Mary Seabright—who was to act as bridesmaid with Anna. Brides did not have a string of maids in those days, as some have in these. Leaving them to get through their multiplicity of work —which must be con nected, Bill said, with bonnets and wedding cake —we went up with Sir John in a boat to Richmond.

That evening wc all dined at Miss Deveen’s. It was to be one of the quietest of weddings: partly by Captain Foliott’s express wish, chietly because they were not at home at the Hall Miss Devecn and Miss Cattledon were to be the only guests besides ourselves and Mary Seabright, and a Major White who would go to church with Foliott. Just twelve of us all told.

‘ But where’s the bridegroom ?’ asked Miss Deveeu, when we reached her house. ' He can’t get up until late to-night; pei--haps not until to-morrow morning,’ pouted Helen.

The dinner-table -was a downright merry one, and wo did not seem to Miss Captain Foliott. Afterwards, when Sir John had got his whist table—with my lady, Miss Devecn, and the grey-haired curate, who had dropped in—we amused ourselves with music and games in the other room.

‘ What do you think of the bridegroom-to-be, Johnny Ludlow V suddenly demanded Miss Cattledon, who had sat down by me. ‘ 1 hear you saw him at Malvern. ’ ‘ Think of him ! Oh, he—he is a very line man; good-looking, and that.’ ‘ That I have seen for myself,’ retorted Cattledon, pinching her hands round her thin waist. ‘ When he was staying in London, two or three weeks ago, we spent an evening in (Gloucester place. Do you like him ?’

She put the ‘like’ so very pointedly, staring into my face at the time, that I was rather taken aback. I did not like Captain Foliott; but there was no particular necessity for telling her so. ‘ 1 like him —pretty well, Miss Cattledon. ’ ‘ Well, I do not, Johnny Ludlow, I

fancy he has a temper; I’m sure he is not good-natured; and I—l don’t think he will make a very good husband.’ ‘ That will be a pity. Helen is fond of him, ’ Miss Cattledon coughed significantly, ‘ls she! Helen is fond of him in-so-far as that she is eager to bo marr ed—all girls ■ire —and the match with Captain Foliott is an advantageous one. But if you think she cares for him in any other way, Johnny Ludlow, you are quite mistaken. Helen Whitney is no more in love with Captain Foliott than you arc in love with me.’ At which I laughed. ‘ Very few girls marry for love,’ she went on, ‘ They fall in love, generally speaking with the wrong person. ’ ‘ Then what do they marry for ?’

For the sake of been married. With the fear of old maidism staring them in the face, they are ready, silly things, to snap at almost any offer they get. Go up to Helen Whitney now, tell her she is destined to live in single blessedness, and she would be fit to fret herself into a fever. Every girl would not be, mind you : but there are girls and girls.’ Well, perhaps Miss Cattledon was not far wrong. I did not think as she did then, and laughed again in answer; but I have learned more of the world and its ways since. In every corner of the house went Helen’s eyes when we got back to Gloucester place, but they could not sec Captain Foliott. She had been hoping againt hope. Wednesday. Young women, bringing in huge band-boxes, were perpetually ringing at the door, and by-aud-by wc got treated to a sight of the finery. Enough gowns and bonnets to set up a shop were spread out in Helen’s room. The wedding dress lay on the bed: a glistening white silk, with a veil and wreath beside it JSf ear to it was the dress she would go away in to Dover, the first halting stage on their trip to Paris; a quiet shot silk, Lady Whitney called it, blue one way, pink another. Shot, or not shot, it was uncommonly pretty. Straw bonnets were the mode in those days, and Helen’s, perched above her travelling dress, bad white ribbons on it and a white veil which was the mode for brides also. lam sure Helen, in her vanity, thought more of the things than of the bridegroom. Rut she thought of him also. Especially when the morning went on and did not bring him. Twelve o’clock struck, and Sir John Whitney’s solicitor, Mr Hill, who had come np on purpose, was punctual to his appointment. Sir John had thought it right that In's own solicitor should be present at the reading and signing of the settlements, to see that they were drawn up properly. So there they sat in the back parlour, which had been converted into a business mom for the occasion, waiting for Captain Foliott and the deeds with what patience they had. At one o’clock, when they came in to luncheon, .Sir John was looking a little blue; and he remarked that Captain Foliott, however busy he might have been, should have stretched a point to get off in time. Appointments, especially important ones, were appointments and ought to be kept. For it was conclusively thought that the delay was caused by the Captain’s having been unable to get oil the previous day, and that he was travelling np now. So Mr Hill waited, and Sir John waited, and the rest of us waited, Helen especially ; and thus the afternoon passed in waiting. Helen was more fidgety than a hen with one chick ; darting to the window each instant, peeping down the staircase at the sound of every ring. Dinner-time; and no appearance of Captain Foliott. After dinner : and still the same. Mary Seabright, a merry girl, told Helen that her lover was like the knight in the old ballad—he loved and he rode away. There was a good deal of laughing, and somebody called for the song, “The Mistletoe Bough.” Of course it was all in jest; as each minute passed, we expected the next would bring Captain Foliott. Not until ten o’clock did Mr Hill leave, with the understanding that he should return next morning at the same hour. The servants were beginning to lay the breakfast table in the dining-room, for a lot of sweet dishes had been brought from the pastry-cook’s, and Lady Whitney thought they had better be put on the table at once. In the afternoon wo had lied the cards together— ‘ Mr and Mrs Richard Foliott’— with white satin ribbon, sealed them up in envelopes with white wax, and directed them ready for the post on the morrow. At twelve o’clock we went upstairs to bed; and until that hour had been expecting Captain Foliott.

‘ I feel positive some dreadful accident has happened,’ whispered Helen to me as we said good night, her usual bright color faded to paleness. ‘lf I thought it was carelessness that is causing the delay, as they arc cruelly saying, I—l should never forgive him.’

‘ Wait a minute,’ said Bill to me, touching Tod also. ‘ Let them go on.’ ‘ Arc you not coming, William ?’ ‘ In two minutes, mother.’ ‘ I don’t like this,’ began Bill, speaking to us both over the bed caudles, for the other lights were out. ‘ I’ll be hanged if I think he means to turn up at all!’ ‘ But why should he not ?’ ‘ Who is to know? Why has he not turned up already ? I can tell you that it seems to me uncommonly strange. Half a dozen times to night I had a great mind to call my father out and tell him all about what you heard in the train, Tod. It is so extraordinary for a man, coming up to bis wedding, not to appear; especially when he is bringing the settlements.’ Neither of us spoke. What, indeed, could wc say to so unpleasant a topic ? Bill went on again.

* If he were a man in business, as bis uncle old Foliott is, I could readily understand that interests connected with it might delay him, detain him till the last moment. But he is not; he has not an earthly thing to do.’ ‘ Perhaps his lawyers are in fault,’ cried Tod. ‘lf they are backward with the deeds of settlement ’

* The deeds were ready a week ago. Foliott said so in writing to my father.’ A silence ensued, rendering the street noises more audible. Suddenly there came a sound of a horse and cab dashing along, and it pulled up at the door. Foliott, of course.

Down we went, helter-skelW, out on the pavement. The servants, busy' in the diningroom still, came running to the steps. A gentleman, getting out of the cab with a portmanteau, stared, first at us, then at the house

‘ This is not right,’ said he to the driver,

after looking about him. ‘ It’s next floor but one ’ ‘ This is the number you told me, sir.’ ‘ Ah, yes. Made a mistake. ’ But so sure did it seem to us that this late and hurried traveller must be, at least, some one connected with Captain Foliott, if not himself, that it was only when he rnd his luggage had disappeared within the house, and the door was shut, and the cab gone away, that we realised the disappointment, and the vague feeling of discomfort it left. The servants went in. We st'ollcd to the opposite side of the street, unconsciously noping that luck might bring another cab with the right man in it. ‘ Look there !’ whispered Bill, pointing upwards. The room over the drawing-room was Lady Whitney’s; the room above that the girls’. Leaning out at the window, gating now up the street, now down it, was Helen, her eyes restless, her face pale and woebegone in the bright moonlight. It was a sad night for Helen Whitney. She did not attempt to undress, as we knew later, but kept her post at that weary window. Every cab or carriage that rattled into view was watched by her with eager, feverish anxiety. But not one halted at the house, not one contained Captain Foliott. Helen Whitney will never forget that unhappy night of tumultuous feeling and its intolerable suspens ■.

But here was the wedding morning come, and no bridegroom. The confectioners were rushing in with more dishes, and the dressmakers to put the finishing touches to Helen. Lady Whitney was just off her head: doubtful whether to order all the paraphernalia away, or whether Captain Foliott might not come yet. In the midst of the confusion a little gentleman arrived at the house and asked for .Sir John. Sir John and ho had a long conference, shut in alone; and when they at length came out Sir John’s nose was of a dark purple tipped with white. The visitor was George Foliott, the mill-owner: returned since some few days from the Cape.

And the ta'e lie unfolded would have struck dismay to the nose of many a wiser man than poor Sir John. The scamp spoken of in the train was Richard Foliott; and a nice scamp he turned out to be. Upon Mr Foliott’s return to Militown the prospective wedding had come Do his ears, with all the villainy encompassing it; he had at once taken means to prevent Mr Richard’s carrying it out, and had now come up to enlighten Sir John Whitney. Richard Foliott had been a scamp at heart from his boyhood; but he had contrived to keep well before the world. Over and over again had Mr Foliott paid his debts and set him on his legs again. Captain Foliott had told the Whitneys that he quitted the array by the wish of his friends: he quitted it because he dared not stay in it. Before Mr Foliott departed far the Cape lie had thrown Richard off; obliged to do it. His fond, doting, foolish mother nad reduced herself to poverty, helping him. The estate, once worth ten thousand pounds, which he had made a pretence of settling upon Helen, belonged to his mother, and was mortgaged about sixteen deep. Ho dared not go much abroad for fear of arrest, especially in Loudon. This and a great deal more was disclosed by Mr Foliott to Sir John, who sab and gasped, and rubbed his face, and wished his old friend Todhetlcy was at hand, and thanked God for the t scape of Helen.

‘ He will never be better,’ affirmed Mr Foliott, ‘be you very sure of that. He is innately bad, and the pain he has in dieted upon me for years has made me old before my time. But—forgive me, Sir John, for saying so—l cannot think you exercised cautious discretion in accepting him so easily for your daughter. ’ ‘ I had no suspicion, you sec,’ returned poor Sir John. ‘ How could I have any? Your nephew, and Lord Riverside’s nephew ’

‘ Riverside's nephew ho called himself, did he ! The ol i man is ninety, as I daresay you know, and never stirs from his home in the extreme north of Scotland. Some twenty years ago, ho fell in with the sister of Richard’s mother (she was a governess in a family up there), and married her. That’s how he comes to be Lord Riverside’s “nephew.” But they have never met in their lives.’ ‘ Oh, dear !’ bemoaned Sir John. ‘What a villain ! —and what a blessed escape ! He made a great point of Helen’s bit of money, three thousand pounds, not being tied up before the marriage. I suposse he wanted to get it into his own hands.’ ‘ Of course he did.’ ‘ And pay his debts with it —as far as it would go.’

‘Pay Ins debts with it!’ exclaimed Mr Foliott. ‘Why, my good sir, it would take thirty thousand to pay them. He would just have squandered it away in Paris, at his gaming-tables, and what not: and then have asked you to keep him. Miss Whitney is well quit of him : and am thankful I came back in time to save her.’ Fine news to tell Helen ! Deeply mortifying to have ordered a wedding-breakfast and wedding things in general when there was no wedding to be. The salt tears were running down Lady Whitney’s homely cheeks, as Miss Devcen drove up.

Mr Foliott asked to see Helen. All lie said to her we never know hut there’s no doubt ho was as kind as a fa"her.

‘ He is a wicked, despicable man,’ sobbed Helen.

‘ He is all that, and more.’ assented Mr Foliott. ‘ You may be thankful your whole life lons' for having escaped him. And, my dear, if it will at all Help you to bear the smart, I may tell you that you are not the first you US' lady by two or three he has served, or tried to serve, in precisely 1 lie same way. And to one of them he behaved more wickedly than 1 care to repeat to you !’ ‘But,’ ruefully answered poor Helen, softly sobbing - , ‘ i don’t suppose it came so near with any of them as the very morning.’ And that was the end of Helen Whitney’s wedding.